by David Cohen
I waited for him to continue. A minute or so passed. Then he said, half smiling, ‘But at least I have the consolation of knowing that evil will befall the ones who stole my journal.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘It stands to reason. A person who goes where he doesn’t belong can’t escape unscathed.’
‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we can pursue that conversation later. But I’d like to go back to the journal – to what you’ve written while here in the facility. Can you tell me: what are your thoughts on the Lonely Planet guides, specifically the Israel one?’
He replied, ‘I don’t have any thoughts on them.’
‘But I gather you consulted one before you came to Israel, or while you were here?’
‘No.’
‘So you haven’t read the Lonely Planet?’
‘No.’
‘Haven’t looked at it? Someone hasn’t shown it to you? Quoted from it?’
Gant shook his head.
‘Have you read any other travel guides?’
He shook his head again. ‘I don’t read travel guides. I want authentic, unmediated experiences – exactly like the one I had in the cave – so I just sort of go with the flow, trust in the universe to guide me. For example, I only came to Israel because I overheard some random person at uni saying what a fascinating place it is. And they were right. It’s a land of contradictions: ancient and yet modern; tiny yet powerful; deeply religious yet resolutely secular.’
I didn’t confront him with the passages from Lonely Planet at this point, thinking it better to wait and see if he followed the standard Type III pattern and recovered more or less spontaneously. We usually find that within five to seven days patients return to their old selves without the need for intensive therapeutic intervention. Just separating the patient from Jerusalem’s spiritual centres is usually enough to effect a complete recovery.
Besides, Gant’s delusion was essentially benign. I was confident that he wouldn’t seek revenge on the men who allegedly stole his journal, and he was no more of a danger to himself than any other tourist might be. The fire had already gone out of him; his righteous anger had subsided and now he seemed quite content to sit and kvetch to me about how hordes of people were destroying the once uncharted territory promised to him alone. I spent so much time listening to him lament the loss of his ‘authentic experiences’ on the ‘roads less travelled’ that I began to yearn for a conversation with Ezekiel, the Virgin Mary et al. Perhaps out of spite, I showed him the Lonely Planet passages.
‘Well, it’s obvious,’ he said, having carefully read them. ‘The German backpackers have plagiarised me – plagiarised the voice, that is – word for word.’
‘But look at the publication date – it’s last year.’
‘They’ve obviously falsified the date.’
‘But still,’ I said, ‘it’s only been, what, a day or so since your journal went missing? Could anyone possibly write and publish a travel guide in that short space of time?’
Gant did his damnedest to explain away this Mount Sinai of counterevidence. ‘We live in a world where things happen instantly: instant publication, instant distribution, instant gratification. That’s the problem with our consumer-driven Western society: everything has to be instant. Did you know that the Bedouin women in Dahab will spend two months weaving a single rug, using the same traditional loom that was used a thousand years ago? Not the exact same loom, obviously, but you get my point.’
Psychiatric intervention can help many a delusional patient, but unfortunately no amount of psychotherapy or drugs can make a truly annoying person less annoying. I discharged Gant, strongly encouraging him to leave Jerusalem and Israel altogether. I don’t know if he took my advice.
As to the question of Gant’s recovery or otherwise: several months have passed and I’m afraid he hasn’t responded to the follow-up questionnaires I emailed him. Assuming he’s long gone and free of the Holy City’s intoxicating influence, he probably sees it as an embarrassing episode best forgotten – in which case, his behaviour is entirely consistent with that of other Type III patients. Or perhaps Gant’s silence is simply due to the fact that free wi-fi can be hard to come by on the road less travelled.
FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS
Q. Which areas does NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING service?
A. NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING services all areas within a 30 km radius of Brisbane’s CBD.
Q. How long has NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING been cleaning Brisbane’s carpets?
A. Magnus and Gary started NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING in 2008 as a small part-time business, operating out of Gary’s home in Sunnybank Hills. It has rapidly grown to become one of Brisbane’s leading carpet-cleaning services.
Q. Is Gary still with NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING?
A. No. Gary left the company two years later to set up his own carpet-cleaning business.
Q. Did it develop into a thriving company like NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING?
A. No. Gary went out of business following a period of enforced hospitalisation.
Q. What is Gary doing now?
A. Gary is currently unemployed and living on a disability benefit.
Q. Would Magnus allow Gary to come back and work for NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING?
A. No.
Q. Why not?
A. Magnus and Gary have not spoken to one another for some time due to conflicts of a personal nature.
Q. What caused the rift between Magnus and Gary?
A. It began with a disagreement over the merits of steam cleaning versus dry cleaning. Gary favoured steam cleaning – the method NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING had been using successfully for two years – because it penetrates right down to the underlay. True, it takes longer to dry, but that’s nothing a couple of heavy-duty air movers can’t sort out. Magnus, on the other hand, had been gunning for the encapsulation method: you apply a special cleaning solution to the carpet using a rotary machine or a compression sprayer; the solution contains polymers which crystallise the dirt into a dry residue, which you then vacuum up. But why fix something that isn’t broken? Magnus, though, had to have his way. Gary suggested using both methods, depending on the customer, depending on the carpet, but Magnus said – and I quote – ‘Encapsulation is the way of the future. Deal with it.’ But the future’s here, isn’t it, and steam cleaning is still the best method, isn’t it? Am I right?
Q. Was there also an issue concerning chemicals?
A. Don’t get me started on that. Once Magnus had made a unilateral decision about the encapsulation method, he jumped on the eco-friendly bandwagon: green cleaning products and all that PC bullshit. The propagandists will tell you they’re just as effective as those ‘nasty’ chemicals commercial carpet cleaners have been using for decades. But think for a moment about the dirt embedded deep down in the pile. Think about the dead skin cells, the clumps of hair, the congealed blood. Think about the microscopic traces of evil crouching there among the fibres, just waiting to do you in. Does anyone seriously believe you can shift them with a dash of lemon juice and vinegar, or whatever hippie bollocks Magnus was peddling? No, you’ve got to go holocaust on that stuff; you need your alkylphenol ethoxylate, your diethylhexyl phthalate, your perchloroethylene. The propagandists will tell you they’re unsafe. Bullshit. A few chemicals won’t do you any harm – Gary inhaled that gear day in, day out since he was nineteen years old and look at him. Nothing whatsoever to do with his so-called disability – but that’s another story which we’ll get to in due course.
Q. But Magnus is successful now. He must be doing something right.
A. Rephrase that as a question.
Q. Doesn’t Magnus’s success with NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING indicate that he’s doing something right?
A. You’ll never go broke appealing to trendy wankers. Gary just wanted to do a decent job. Right? A decent and honest job. Magnus, though, was obsessed with one thing: image. Nothing’s changed. And yet now he’s raking it in – just look
at him, with his fleet of green-and-white vans, and his stupid website, and his stupid blog – while Gary struggles. Is that fair? Is that just? I ask you.
Q. Did Magnus’s aforementioned refusal to compromise with Gary re steam versus encapsulation set the pattern for decision-making within NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING?
A. Yes. Gary’s input was never appreciated. Partnership? Like fuck! Time and again, he found himself beating his head against the concrete slab of Magnus’s intransigence. Magnus, you see, was that most dangerous of animals: the control freak in non-control-freak’s clothing. He liked to give Gary the impression that he (Gary) had some agency, but then he’d go ahead and do whatever he wanted. Gary was pushed to the very margins. A man gets tired of pissing into the wind.
Q. You mentioned that Gary’s disability had nothing to do with the chemicals. What did you mean by that?
A. Come on – we all know what happened there.
Q. Do we?
A. Don’t play the fool. I’m talking about surveillance here. As Magnus’s desire for control hit its stride, his methods became … Are you forgetting how he secretly installed tracking devices in Gary’s phone and computer? That was the beginning of a systematic attempt to monitor and record Gary’s movements: where he went, when he went there, how long he was there for – not to mention the secretly recorded phone conversations. All this information was carefully entered in the multivolume dossier Magnus compiled over a period of some twelve months. Ringing any bells? He took micromanagement to a whole new level. But I’m not telling you anything I haven’t already told you fifty times.
Q. Wasn’t it the case that nobody could find the tracking devices or the dossier?
A. Just because you can’t find something doesn’t mean it’s not there. Magnus had the technological know-how to install programs that would completely conceal the tracking software – hide it deep down in the cyber-fabric so nobody could ever find it. The whereabouts of the devices and the dossier is anyone’s guess; Magnus might have turned them into crystals and vacuumed them up, for all I know. This is the thing: nobody realises how ingenious Magnus could be – can be. Not even Gary. And then when Gary tried to expose Magnus, nobody believed him (naturally, inevitably) – not even his own wife, in the end. But then, that’s hardly surprising.
Q. Can you elaborate?
A. It was Magnus’s next step in the long-term project of destroying his former friend and partner. Now, after Gary was –
Q. Why did Magnus want to –
A. For fuck’s sake, does everything have to have a reason? Some people are just evil, full stop. Maybe he resented Gary’s adherence to steam cleaning – that persistent fly in the eco-friendly ointment of encapsulation – although I’m inclined to think it went much further than that. It’s quite possible that Magnus himself was and remains under orders from a more powerful third party. But you can either sit around speculating until Judgement Day, or you can take control of the situation and make today Judgement Day. But if we may return, for the moment, to our chronology: after Gary was hospitalised, Magnus commenced the relationship with Gary’s wife. Remember that time after Gary got out of hospital and thought he saw the green-and-white van parked outside his house? Well, the fact is, these little visits had been going on for ages.
Q. Are you sure Magnus wasn’t there to dry-clean the carpets?
A. Unless that’s a euphemism for ‘fucking Gary’s wife’, no.
Q. Wasn’t Gary’s wife partly to blame?
A. Not really. She was depressed at the time because of Gary’s increasingly ‘odd’ behaviour. She had no idea that Magnus was manipulating things behind the scenes. She felt lonely and confused. Magnus took advantage of a situation he’d created.
Q. Why wasn’t Gary told about this?
A. Magnus convinced Gary’s wife to keep it from Gary ‘for his own good’. If it wasn’t for me, Gary would have remained ignorant of the whole sordid business. If it wasn’t for me, Gary would know nothing.
Q. When you informed Gary, he tried to warn her, did he not?
A. As indicated earlier, he tried to warn her – he tried to warn everyone – of the extent of Magnus’s project. That’s when they took him away. And then came the hospital, the meds, the deprivation of liberty. Fuckers.
Q. Would it be fair to say that Magnus engineered Gary’s hospitalisation in order to (a) take over NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING and (b) steal Gary’s wife?
A. Is the Pope Catholic? But why stop there? What about (c), (d), (e), (f ) and fucking (g)? Oh yes, it’s a veritable alphabet soup of misery, and Magnus is the Master Chef.
Q. Did Magnus end his relationship with Gary’s wife after a period of time?
A. Yes. He cast her aside like last year’s iPhone and upgraded to a younger model. Enough said.
Q. Is Gary still in contact with his wife?
A. No.
Q. Does Magnus continue to actively torment Gary?
A. Indirectly, yes. Magnus now commands a team of operatives in matching uniforms, doing his bidding (within a 30 km radius of the CBD). Those green-and-white NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING vans that cruise past Gary’s house twice a day – do think that’s just a coincidence? Wake up and smell the lemon juice and vinegar, mate.
Q. So, to sum up, is it fair to say that Magnus is entirely responsible for Gary’s current unhappy circumstances?
A. Let’s stop messing about. Gary knows as well as I do what’s happening here. How long does he intend to sit here chewing over all this?
Q. Can you answer the question?
A. The question you must answer is whether Gary has the will to do what’s necessary.
Q. Can you please remind Gary one more time what is necessary?
A. Gary should not need reminding.
Q. Please?
A. Magnus has destroyed everything important to Gary: his business, his marriage, his livelihood, his very freedom. Magnus will not hesitate to crush Gary’s very essence – crystallise it and extract it like so much dirt – unless Gary takes decisive action.
Q. But should Gary really go that far?
A. I refer you to the answer above. What more motivation do you need?
Q. Who is asking these questions?
A. You.
Q. So what must I do now?
A. You know what you have to do: man the fuck up.
Q. When should I take action?
A. We’ve been through this. Every Thursday night around seven o’clock, Magnus drives his Jeep Cherokee to Calamvale to drop his son off at his ex-wife’s house. You’ll note, incidentally, that Magnus has grown a beard, in a sad attempt to appear more hip. He’s also gotten himself a tattoo, in a sad attempt to appear more youthful. He’s even taken up the guitar, in a sad attempt to appear more artistic. You can hear him plinking away in his study (newly renovated: thick, luxuriant carpet – like walking on a cloud). I swear, if I have to listen to ‘Hallelujah’ one more time … But we’re getting off topic.
Q. At what point should I do the deed?
A. When he returns, alone, and enters his study, as he always does. Be waiting there – as discussed. Approach him from behind – as discussed. Say nothing – as discussed. A few seconds and it’s all over. He’ll hit those cloud-soft fibres without a sound.
Q. How shall I do the deed?
A. Use the implement – as discussed.
Q. Where is the implement?
A. In the toolbox, under the tarpaulin, next to the chemical containers, in the back of your HiLux, where it has been waiting patiently for many months.
Q.
A. Hello? Are we on the same page?
Q. Yes, but can we just go through this one more time? Just one more time – and I swear that this is definitely the last time – to get it all perfectly clear in my mind?
A. Seriously, mate, I despair sometimes, I really despair. But go ahead if you must.
Q. Which areas does NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING service?
A. NO PROBS CARPET CLEANING services
all areas within a 30 km radius …
WOODCUTTER
One of the most enjoyable ways to experience the natural beauty of the Gibson Ranges is to take a ride on the Stringybark Express, an original steam-powered locomotive! Winding its way through native Australian forest, the Express takes you on an unforgettable sightseeing odyssey. Its open-air carriages provide close-up views of the stunning flora and fauna. Breathe in the fresh mountain air, wave to the friendly locals as you chug by, or just settle back and enjoy the ride!
—Gibson Ranges tourist brochure
Quite some time ago I quit an admin job in the Justice Department, having worked there for five years. There were several reasons, the most immediate being my persistent headaches. I can only describe these by saying that I felt as if my skull were locked between the jaws of an enormous vice, and with each passing year an unseen hand rotated the handle another three hundred and sixty degrees.
I ended up moving out of my flat and back into my parents’ house in Malvern – an interim measure while I figured out what to do next. Weeks went by, then months. I did nothing. At first my mother was happy for me to be there, but then came the inevitable references to her friends’ children. ‘You know, Sarah’s boy Rodney’s around your age,’ she said, ‘and apparently he’s working for the UN.’ My father, a County Court judge, had always hoped I might study law but he never expressed outright disappointment; that was my mother’s job.
In an effort to appease her, I started looking for part-time work. An advertisement in the paper caught my eye.
INTERESTED IN TOURISM?
Positions available. No experience required.
Join our hardworking team.
I spoke to a man named Roland on the phone, who said something about sightseeing tours through the Gibson Ranges. He didn’t go into detail but invited me to come in and hear more.
I hadn’t been to the Gibson Ranges since my sister and I were kids and my parents took us there on picnics. I recalled the interminable car trip, my sister and I fighting in the back seat, my father invariably taking a wrong turn and getting us lost, my mother screaming more or less continuously. The ranges had always been a popular spot, attracting tourists from all over. The monumental trees induced gasps of amazement, but all I felt was indifference. I suspected that finding trees boring was inappropriate, if not abnormal, and later tended to avoid nature in all its forms. But I was older now, and more accommodating.
