by Don Zelma
Chapter Two
Dan approached his front fence and opened the rusty gate. The air was still and the river flat and the sugar mill’s tall funnel on the distant bend was smoking. He adjusted his straw hat, looked down at the bundle in his hand and ran his thumb across the corners. After thirty years, the neighbourhood seemed comfortable with his leaflet dropping. He was part of the old town, like the red-bricked city hall or the long-established factory that made passenger trains. He stepped out onto the empty street and started crossing the road – his black polished shoes and thick white socks up to his knees were reminders he was different to his neighbours and knew he didn’t fit.
The sound of the cicadas grew louder and he looked up and saw Vince standing in his yard, hosing down his trailer boat. He had been out in the bay and squinted at Dan in the morning light with a sleepy look in his eyes like he’d been daydreaming.
Dan pulled up at his short wooden fence. ‘Morning, Vince,’ he said, waving with his bundle. Vince’s long red beard adorned his chest like a lion’s mane and he smiled and slowly turned off his hose. He wiped his hands on his shorts and began walking toward the clergyman.
‘G’day, Danny,’ he said quietly. His voice came from between his red whiskers and he arrived at his side of the posts.
‘How’d it go this morning?’ Dan said, glancing at the boat.
Vince looked behind him. ‘Oh, all right, actually,’ he said. ‘This time there were shoals of mullet near the beach then the water boiled near the boat and I hooked a few greenbacks.’
Dan looked down at the fence, feeling good about his neighbour. He relaxed and slipped a hand into his pocket.
‘Hey,’ Vince said. ‘I landed a few choppers. Do you wan’ ’em?’ Dan forgot about the leaflets. ‘They’re a good plate size.’
‘Sure, I would,’ Dan said.
‘I’ll bring ’em over this afternoon.’
‘That’s very kind.’
Vince looked down and pointed at the bundle in his hand. ‘Handing out leaflets?’
Dan blinked. ‘Oh… Yeah…’
‘Same ones?’
‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘I had these printed on slick paper.’ He thumbed the top leaflet’s shinny, smooth surface.
‘Yeah, they look pretty smart,’ Vince said.
Dan unfolded a dog ear. ‘Yeah, I like them…’
Vince glanced down at his boots and gently kicked the grass. Dan took his hand from his business shorts and removed his reading glasses from his shirt pocket. ‘Let me give you one,’ he said, ‘and I’ll be on my way.’ He stretched the rubber band away from the bundle and slipped out a leaflet. Vince exhaled quietly and looked back at the boat – it wasn’t his favourite time.
‘Oh, come on, Vince,’ Dan said. He laughed quietly. ‘You’re used to this by now.’
Vince chuckled. ‘Hey, Danny…’ he said affectionately, rubbing his nose. ‘How many times have we done this over the years?’
Dan paused, thinking – it was a good question. ‘Oh… I don’t know...’ he said. He reached out with the leaflet and tapped it absentmindedly against the fence. ‘We’ve know each other a long time.’ He handed Vince the leaflet. It was wishful thinking but you never know.
As expected, Vince didn’t take it and looked down, smiling painfully. Dan tapped the leaflet against Vince’s fingers, dry and wrinkled from the sun and salt water.
‘Come on, Vince,’ he said. ‘It won’t bite.’
Vince waited a moment. ‘You know what, Danny?’ he said. ‘You’re the funniest man I’ve ever met, you know that?’ He smiled and Dan withdrew his hand.
‘You know…’ he said, slipping the leaflet back under the rubber band, ‘I look forward to the day when you finally give it a go.’
A gentle breeze played across the yard. ‘You’ll be waiting a long time,’ Vince said. He laughed; it was a happy laugh and eventually Dan joined in. Vince reached across the palings and slapped his shoulder. ‘Danny,’ he said, ‘you’re an intriguing bloke.’
Dan looked down. ‘I have my moments,’ he said.
Vince stepped back and pointed at the boat. ‘Well… I gotta get back to work.’
Dan smiled. ‘Sure…’
Vince started walking. ‘I’ll bring those fish over in the afternoon,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘That’s very nice of you,’ Dan said.
Vince arrived back at the trailer, picked up the hose and began spraying down the hull. Dan took off his reading glasses and put them into his shirt pocket. He tapped the bundle against the fence and continued on down the footpath. The sun broke from the clouds and brightly lit the street. It was a glorious day and he felt like whistling. It was spring and the mornings were now free of frost and soon he could plant his tomatoes and cucumbers. He drew out a leaflet, slipped it into a letterbox and continued along the footpath, dropping flyers as he went. Eventually, he then came to a street corner and headed down its footpath. Soon, an hour had passed. Having almost finished his route, he looked up and saw Bob and Maria’s Queenslander down towards the shipyard. He crossed the street then reached in through the familiar hole in their tall paling gate. His shoes mounted the stairs to the main second floor and he gently knocked on the fly screen door. A curtain moved and there were whispers. He waited then heard nothing. He shaded his eyes and peered into the old house, down the long hall towards the open kitchen door.
‘Hello?’
His hand removed his straw hat and he fanned his face. He turned and strolled along the deck and looked over the railing. They had a nice garden with lettuce and beetroot along the fence and a banana tree way down the back. His feet wandered back and he squinted in through the fly screen door, seeing a silhouette standing in the kitchen.
‘Hey? Bob...?’ he said.
The figure quickly looked up, as if surprised.
‘So you are home?’ Dan said.
The man waited, still as a mannequin. ‘Hey, Daniel,’ he said forlornly. ‘I thought you’d gone.’
Dan put his hat back on. ‘Oh, you know me, Bob, and I could see the house was open.’
Bob remained still.
‘So… how’s it going?’
Bob glanced back at the kitchen.
‘Oh come on, Bob. Are you going to leave me standing here?’
Bob sighed, dropped his head and began walking towards the front door. The wind blew and feathered the back of Dan’s neck and he looked around and saw the river far away. The tide was up in the mangroves and the mature sugar cane swaying in the breeze. His eyes tracked up the heavily wooded slope to the manse. It was a modest home and had a good-sized mango in the backyard and the hibiscus along the fence was pruned square like a brick wall.
Bob opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony, chewing gum.
‘Hey…’ Dan said.
‘Hey, mate,’ Bob said. He had a set of deep valley-like wrinkles in his forehead.
‘You know,’ Dan said, as if picking up from where they had left off, ‘I’m also a trained counsellor. I have an office at my house.’ He knew it was a little desperate.
‘Is that right?’ Bob said, pretty unimpressed.
Dan smelt the gum’s strawberry scent. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘if you ever need to chat about anything…’ He glanced back at the manse, ‘you know where I am.’
Bob nodded. ‘Sure, Danny,’ he said.
Dan reached out with the leaflet. And, as expected, Bob didn’t take it. The builder folded his arms and leaned back against the doorframe.
‘Danny, Danny, Danny,’ he murmured. He rested his head back against the house and gazed wearily at the awning. A lone car passed and filled the deck with engine noise. ‘OK, Daniel,’ he said, coming off the wall. ‘I’ll flick through it. Will that make ya feel better?’
The concession surprised him and he sought Bob’s eyes. Bob snatched the leaflet, the Christian cross on the cover looking strange in his callused, working-class hands. He opened the leaflet and started reading. Dan w
atched his eyes carefully and noted that his pupils darted about the page but were never still. It was clear he wasn’t reading and Dan exhaled and looked back at the valley. His spirits sank – if only a little.
The suburb’s tin roofs were shimmering in the midday heat and he imagined cooking Vince’s fish with coriander he had grown in the yard. He yearned to go home to the sanctuary of wife and garden. He glanced back and watched Bob’s muscular fingers close the leaflet.
‘How’s your missus?’ Bob mumbled.
Dan reached out for the leaflet. ‘Oh, she’s wonderful,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’ He slipped the leaflet into his pocket. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘I’d prefer you’d actually read it.’
Bob smiled and started chewing. They both knew the visits were just something their friendship had to tolerate.
‘Well,’ Dan said, pointing behind him, ‘as I mentioned – come visit anytime; you know where I am.’ He had suggested it many times over the years.
‘Sure, Danny.’
Dan turned and began walking down the stairs. He stepped onto Bob’s garden path, passed through the tall wooden gate and gently pulled it closed. His feet stopped on the footpath and he waited, staring down at the ground and heard the fly screen upstairs slap closed. This was the job and, yes, it stung. He removed his hat and began fanning his face. Many times it had occurred to him that he had not penetrated the life of one non-believer, not even after a career of trying. They have their world and he had his.
He looked up and gazed at the sky. Once again the sun broke from a cloud and suddenly warmed his face, energising him. He pulled the leaflet from his pocket, smiled and slipped it into Bob’s letterbox then began heading back up the hill towards his Baptist manse.
