TWO BY TWO

When I first came to the mountains, I rented a room from a Dutchman, who had a Filippino wife, or maid, I could never tell which. They turned out to be Jehovah's Witnesses, with an old bus out back covered with a mural of various scenes taken from the bible, with prophets looking as if they were more from Norway than the desert, that kind of thing. It was the first ad I called that didn't set off the answering machine, and the room was cheap, at least something I could afford before the miniscule savings finally ran out, and I mean miniscule, they'd gotten down to a grand pretty damn quick and were now hovering a baby's step above the five hundred mark. But there was no need to let the Witnesses in on that little bit of information. Better I thought to let them assume by my dress and manner of speaking that I was the resectable sort who wouldn't be a bother come rent day. Rent day was Monday, between one and two in the afternoon, to be precise. That was how the Dutchman like to have it handled, so there'd be no misunderstandings, no mixed messages, that kind of thing. He lived with the woman in the main part of the house, closer to the bus out in the backyard, in case they needed a quick dose of inspiration every now and then, while the tenants - myself and two others - each occupied a room in a building looking as if it must once have been a barn. Occasionally I'd think that there must have one time been a plan to try and replicate Noah's masterpiece, for you'd find long loose pieces of wood around the place, masquerading as floor boards here and there, or sections of wall, or separators between the living quarters, all finely sanded, and of a high grade timber. The wood resembled merbau (not that I'm all too familiar with such things) and reminded me of helping a flighty friend once build a deck on the back of a place up the coast one beetroot summer, and it makes me see shuffling pictures again of the surf, the sisters we met, and the copy of Seneca one of them gave me for the train ride back to the city, now sitting well thumbed on another length of finely sanded, evenly oiled piece of wood, atop two neat piles of bricks. Noel had the largest of the rooms, at least three times the size of the other two combined, on account of his being a tenant of a considerable length, as well as someone of utmost reliability when it came to paying the rent, that kind of thing, according to the Dutchman, who didn't appear too far off from adding Noel's portrait to the side of the bus, limited space perhaps being the only obstacle. Nelly was in the other room. He arrived in the house about an hour before I did, the result was that his room was double the size of mine. But that was okay, his room was a little bit more expensive too, and besides, I needed the extra change for cereal, to go with the change of scenery. And I wasn't expecting any visitors anyhow. I just needed somewhere to sleep, that's all, planning to spend most of the waking hours in the bush somewhere, getting lost, finding my way out, getting lost again, that kind of thing.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS YOU HEATHEN

The letter wrapped up rapidly. I half expected some more pages to promptly follow but nothing came in the post. Hastily scribbled in a red pen half way down the page, Louis brought it all to a close. He agreed to go on traveling the country with Susie but only if he could return first to Katoomba to pick up a manilla folder of papers he said he'd need. And once there, rather than repeat the drive north, they decided to head south. So that's what we did, he said, we drove down the south coast and stayed there a while, places like Tilba, Bermaguii, some place called Tathra I think, Eden, Wilsons Promontory, and then a hellish hot drive on to Melbourne, which is where she left me, making a few calls and then boarding a plane to take her back to London, or so I thought. Here comes the postman. Happy Christmas you heathen. Louis.