by Jared Thomas
‘I got no plans to rip anyone off.’
‘I know that, cuz,’ Bruce said quietly.
I watched a shooting star streak above the gulf and then said, ‘Vic thinks I’m trying to rip you fellas off though ’ey?’
‘Like I said, we’ve had a lot taken from us and people get a bit wary. But don’t worry about it, Vic will come around.’
I didn’t know when Vic would come around and I didn’t think it was worth pushing things any further with Bruce. It wasn’t long before we were in our swags, lying flat on our backs ready to crash. I watched the millions of stars shining in the clear dark sky and they kind of made me feel very small. It was a good feeling. Made me think that a god or something is in control and things would work out just how they were supposed to. I thought about the things I was learning about my culture and wondered how many years I’d have to spend with family before I graduated from learning kindergarten stuff. Then Bruce said, ‘See all these stars?’
‘They’re deadly ’ey.’
‘They’re our old people, sitting ’round campfires looking over us.’
‘That’s where you go when you die?’ I asked.
‘Yep.’
‘And what if you’re bad, do you go to hell or something?’
‘Not worth worrying about, cuz. If you’re a good person you’ll end up there … if you think about being a bad person,’ Bruce yawned, ‘you’ll probably end up bad.’
I lay awake for a while after the others were asleep. I could hear Bruce snoring and the girls breathing loudly. It wasn’t annoying though because I had all of those bright stars to look at. There were heap of shooting stars too, must have been an astral shower. I thought about Clare and I thought about my dreadlocks and being Rasta. I started to wonder if being a Rasta was really for me. It was a bit scary because I mean for so long I’d tried living like a Rasta, not just because I love reggae, the West Indian cricket team, Usain Bolt and I used to smoke ganja, but because when I felt I had nothing, no job, no future, living like a Rasta felt like the only thing I had. In some ways I was like Jamaicans … Bob Marley even. You see, he had a black mum and a white dad too. His dad took off, mine died. I’d grown up pretty poor too and I decided that if I couldn’t have money, at least I would be cool. I knew that things were different for me, being a black kid in a white world and I liked the way reggae artists sing about what it means to be black, poor and different. But there I was lying on the land of my ancestors, with my cousins. It was cool the stuff they knew. I wanted to learn more about it, be a part of it too.
14
When Bruce dropped us home on Sunday night Mum and I had a few cuppas so she could tell me some of the things she’d yarned with Aunty Janet about. She wanted to know what I’d got up to with Bruce and the girls too. The next morning I was pretty buggered after camping, fishing, exploring and yarning with Mum. But I still pulled on my yoga pants and went to work in the morning. Nothing was going to stop me from going to Cleopatra’s to suss out Clare.
On my lunch break, I took off to Cleopatra’s scared as hell. I was nervous about seeing Clare, but more scared about getting my dreadlocks chopped off. You see, I thought getting a haircut was going to be the best way to get to know her. I put on my cool short-sleeve shirt and I even bought some new deodorant for the occasion on the way to work. I tried washing my dreads before I left home too because I’d heard stories of things being found in people’s dreads like spider nests and bits of food, a teaspoon even. I just hoped the only thing stuck in my dreads was beach sand, maybe a ten dollar note if I was lucky.
‘No coffee, no cake?’ Steph asked when I entered the salon empty handed.
‘Nah sorry, I’ve come to get my hair cut.’
‘You call that hair?’ she said, giving a little laugh. ‘I’m only joking mate. Take a seat and Clare will be with you in a minute. I’m off to lunch.’
Clare said hello and told me to take a seat in the slick black leather hairdresser’s chair. I walked over real smooth way and tried not to fidget when I sat down but I was freaking out. I looked at my dreads in the mirror and realised it would take ages to re-grow them. Since I started working at Gary’s my dreads had only grown an inch or so, down to about the middle of my back. Some of them were fatter than rope. The ends were even starting to turn blonde.
‘How’s things Calypso?’
‘Yeah, cool,’ I said smiling but trying not to stare at Clare. It was hard because there she was next to me and in the mirror reflection.
‘Are you after a trim?’
‘Nah, all off thanks,’ I said as if I didn’t care.
‘Really! How long did it take you to grow these?’ she asked as she took a pair of scissors from a container on the bench.
‘Three and a half years, maybe longer.’
‘Are you sure you want them all off?’
I nodded realising that however I looked once they were gone, it would be Clare’s work. And then Clare took one of my dreads and held it in her left hand. Then she started moving the scissors in her right towards it. Just before she made the first cut, she suddenly said, ‘Oh shit, wait a minute.’
Clare took a remote from the bench and turned on the television. I swivelled in the chair to see what she wanted to watch.
‘Just checking the score,’ she said.
I couldn’t believe that Clare was watching the cricket, a replay of West Indian captain Veerasammy Permaul being dropped off the bowling of Brett Lee.
‘You like cricket?’ I asked.
‘Like cricket? I don’t like cricket, I love it!’ Clare said laughing.
‘And you’re not angry that catch was dropped then?’
‘No way! I was worried that Permaul was nearly caught. The West Indies are my team.’
My heart started racing flat out ’ey. I couldn’t believe it, a woman that loved the West Indies … and not just any woman … Clare … the babe.
The pause button was pressed on my dread cutting while we watched the cricket and talked about the test series. Clare said she thought about how deadly she thought Chris Gayle was and that it was a pity he wasn’t playing. Then she turned off the television and said, ‘We better get on with it, Steph will be back soon.’
As Clare picked up her scissors again I asked, ‘How did you come to like cricket so much?’
‘My dad took me and my brother to games when we were little. To give Mum a break I guess. Cricket goes all day, hey, not like footy. I liked it but sometimes got bored. But then I started watching one-day internationals. They’re heaps good.’
‘Isn’t it weird that you’re Australian and you like the West Indies?’ I asked.
‘It’s not weird in my family.’
Clare opened the blade of the scissors, picked up one of my fattest dreads and just before she snipped it she asked, ‘Are you sure you want to cut them off?’ Then she said, ‘I think they look great.’
‘Really?’ I asked, happy as.
‘Yeah, I love them.’
I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘That’s good, because I didn’t really want them cut off … I just wanted to come and see you,’ I confessed. Clare smiled at me real deadly way and I just wanted to kiss her then and there.
‘I was hoping to speak with you too, but it’s hard with Steph around. She watches me like a hawk … She’s my mum’s best friend, you know?’
‘Why don’t you just trim a bit off then, give me an excuse to stay for a while?’
‘Okay,’ Clare said, snapping the scissors between her fingers, ‘but only a little trim.’
Even though she was just cutting some of the ends off and the real matted clumps, Clare had to squeeze really hard on the scissors. Even seeing little bits of my dreads fall on the ground freaked me out.
‘There’s something I want to ask you before Steph gets back,’ I said, thinking it was going to be real shame job if she said no while I was stuck there in the hairdresser’s chair.
‘What?’ Clare asked, stopping her cutting an
d leaning in close to me.
‘I was wondering if you’d like to roll with me sometime, go out somewhere?’
‘Like a date?’
‘Yeah, mahn, a date.’
‘There’s the one-day games coming up after Christmas,’ Clare said all excited. ‘We could go to a game. That would be great!’
‘But what about before then, are you free tomorrow?’
‘My lunch break is at twelve-thirty, how about we meet then?’
‘Yeah, let me pick you up and buy you an ice-cream or something at the café next to my work.’
I was too happy when I left Cleopatra’s. Happy that I still had my dreads, that I would see Clare the next day and maybe go to watch the West Indies with her sometime.
°°°
When I got to Cleopatra’s Clare was grabbing her bag from behind the counter. She looked sexy as. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail and was wearing a black dress with little shoulder straps and a pair of red high heels. Steph waved at me when Clare stepped out of the salon to meet me.
‘Hey Clare, how’s it going?’ I tried to act cool and relaxed but my insides were really churning.
‘Great, how about you?’ she said, pushing me playfully on the shoulder.
‘Me, I feel like a sweepstakes winner … but I’m hungry.’ ‘Same same,’ Clare said throwing her handbag over her shoulder.
As I walked down Seaview Road toward Henley Square, I started thinking about holding Clare’s hand or something but instead I just walked pretty close to her. A sea breeze was blowing and I could smell her perfume. I looked at her neck and she turned and smiled at me. She wasn’t wearing that perfume when she was cutting my hair.
‘I like your shoes.’
‘Thanks,’ she said and then she linked her arm through mine. I felt like a movie star or something walking to lunch with Clare hanging on my arm.
At the Greek café, Estia’s, one of the waiters, Paul, said hi and asked us where we wanted to sit. Then he walked outside for us and pulled out a chair for Clare at a table facing the sea and the jetty.
‘Busy day?’ we both asked each other at the same time.
‘You go first,’ I said.
‘Yeah, you know, Christmas, so a lot of people are trying to get in early before all the parties and things start. How about you?’
‘Flat out! Thanks to Steph, we’ve had a lot of business.’
Clare laughed, ‘So I hear. She’s told everyone about the stuff you guys sell ... I bet you don’t need that corn powder stuff though?’ she said, giving me a cheeky look.
I didn’t know what to say, I was all shame even if all I could think about was taking her home to my flat. Thing is though, more than anything, I really wanted to get to know her, proper way you know.
‘I’ll have a menu with you guys in a minute,’ Paul said as he placed a bottle of water and some glasses on the table.
‘Do you like hairdressing?’
‘Yeah but I don’t want to keep working with Steph forever. I want to learn more about make-up. Try to get work doing hair and make-up on films, video clips would be the best.’
‘That would be too deadly. You’d get to meet lots of famous people.’
‘I’d like to own my own business too. Employ Aboriginal girls.’
Why would she just want to employ Aboriginal girls? That took me by surprise and helped me get up the nerve to ask her something that had been on my mind since I first saw her. ‘So where are your mob from, Italy or Spain or what?’
‘Not even close,’ she said shaking her head slowly with a smile.
‘Are you Greek?’
‘Nup.’
‘Spanish?’
Clare laughed, ‘You said that already.’
‘Well I give up then, what are you?’
Clare placed her right arm straight out in front of her with her fingers spread out. ‘I’m the same as you.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘I’m Aboriginal … My Mum’s family is English but Dad’s Aboriginal.’
‘True as god?’
‘Yeah, Dad’s Ngadjuri, from north of here. Still in South Australia though.’
I was surprised as. I had no idea Clare was Aboriginal, even with her olive skin like my niece and nephew’s. I thought Clare was an Italian name or something so I just thought she was Italian. It was cool finding out she was Aboriginal but then something started freaking me out. You see, Mum had always said that if I was scheming a Nunga girl that I had to take her home to meet her to make sure she wasn’t my own cousin. Fuck, I hoped she wasn’t related. ‘I had no idea,’ I said.
‘Most people don’t,’ Clare replied, ‘People always ask me if I’m from Italy, Greece or Asia even. When I tell them I’m Aboriginal and English they never believe me. You must know what it’s like, I mean Steph thought you were from the West Indies, so did I when I first saw you.’
‘I just like reggae music, and cricket.’
‘And what about ganja, do you smoke it?’ Clare enquired.
‘Not any more. Haven’t in ages.’
‘I thought you would because of the dreads I guess.’
‘Nah, I got sick of it … didn’t make me feel good anymore, just tired and lazy … there’s better things ’ey.’
‘I only tried it once and it sent me to sleep.’ Clare studied the menu then said, ‘You know, I think I’ll have the chicken salad.’
I hadn’t really looked at the menu. I couldn’t keep my eyes off Clare. So when she ordered I just said, ‘I’ll have the same thanks.’
‘And to drink?’ Paul asked.
‘Fanta,’ said Clare.
‘I’ll just have water.’
When Paul walked away Clare asked, ‘You don’t think we could be related do you?’
My skin kind of got all hot and prickly. ‘My mob’s from north of here too, in the Flinders Ranges. So I don’t know. But Mum always reckons that if I’m into a Nunga girl, I better check to see that we’re not related first.’
‘Are you into me?’ Clare asked smiling. I just laughed. ‘I’ve never been out with a Nunga fella before either because Dad always said he’d have to meet them first, see if they’re related … That’s pretty embarrassing, hey?’
‘Yeah, it’s a real shame job? I’ve never gone out with a Nunga girl either because of the same thing.’
We just sat there in silence for a while smiling and looking out over the ocean. ‘How about we meet up after work later and we go for a drink at my Mum’s?’
‘Yeah, okay,’ she said, ‘but only if you meet my Dad. Don’t worry, he’s alright, Mum too.’
Having lunch with Clare and thinking she might be related was kind of weird but deadly too because it just made me talk with Clare like friendly way instead of trying to be all smooth. We just talked about music, films and work and of course the cricket.
°°°
I called Mum as soon as I got back to work. ‘There’s someone I want you to meet,’ I told her.
‘Who?’
‘Her name’s Clare, she works at the hairdresser’s down the road.’
‘A girl?’
‘Yes Mum, a girl.’
‘Another one! I don’t know why you bother, Calypso. You’re always meeting nice girls and letting them down. You shouldn’t be doing that.’
‘But this is different Mum, plus how long’s it been since I had a woman? Long time ’ey?’ There was a long silence on the end of the line and then Mum asked, ‘What’s her name again?’
‘Clare,’ I said. ‘And there’s another thing …’
‘You haven’t got that girl pregnant have you?’ Mum asked.
‘No Mum,’ I growled.
‘Well what then?’
‘She’s Aboriginal, Mum.’
‘True?’ I could tell Mum was interested. ‘What’s her surname?’ I felt like an idiot because I hadn’t asked Clare. ‘Don’t know Mum but her dad is Ngadjuri.’
‘Where does he work?’
&nbs
p; ‘I don’t know Mum, find out when I get there,’ I said, already fed up with her questioning. When I hung up I went back to work like a madman to make the time fly. In between serving customers I stacked shelves flat out.
‘You’re energetic today mate, eat your Weet-Bix?’ Gary asked.
‘I just want to leave right on five today … if that’s alright.’
‘Are you meeting with someone about the Aboriginal plants?’ Gary asked keen as.
‘That’s all coming along but nah, I’ve got a date,’ I said grinning.
‘That sounds like trouble … who is she?’
‘Her name’s Clare … she works with Steph.’
‘What, Steph down the road?’
‘Yep.’
‘Well …make sure you bring her by for a visit.’
‘And what about you Gary, you got a girlfriend or what?’
‘Ha! A girlfriend. I have one for about a night or so here and there but that’s about it. I’ve got too many bad habits mate.’
‘And you’re too old anyway, hey granddad?’ I joked.
°°°
I stood in front of the bookshop next door to Cleopatra’s to wait for Clare. I paced up and down a few times but realised I was starting to sweat flat out. I didn’t want to be all smelly around Clare. I leaned against the wall for a few minutes trying to stay in the shade. Some schoolgirls from my old high school walked past drinking milkshakes. I wished I had some water. My mouth was getting dry from my nerves and the heat. And I was dreading all the questions Mum was going to ask. And if Evelyn was home, I knew she’d piss me off too. I was also a bit shame about having to take Clare to Mum’s on the bus ... it was too hot to walk. I thought she might think I was a loser for not having a car or not even having a license.
‘Sorry Calypso, there’s still a client in there … Steph’s finishing up now,’ Clare said when she finally exited Cleopatra’s.
‘No worries, I only got here a second ago,’ I lied.
When I began walking in the direction of the bus stop Clare just stood where she was and called out to me, ‘Where you going?’
