Praise

by Andrew McGahan

‘I’m not sure. Could I call you back in a while?’

  ‘Okay. Only make it this afternoon.’

  ‘I will.’

  I hung up.

  I looked around the flat. I thought about things. It was almost nine months since I’d been employed. Did I want to go back? Was this life working or wasn’t it?

  I didn’t know any more. The old certainty was gone.

  But a job, a job? Surely work wasn’t the answer. Things weren’t going too well for me at the moment, but surely the rest of society didn’t have it right either, did they?

  After a while I picked up the phone. I rang Carla’s number. I thought she’d probably be out, driving her deliveries around. But she wasn’t.

  ‘Gordon? I didn’t think you’d call.’

  ‘I was wondering if you had any plans over the weekend?’

  ‘Nothing much. What’d you have in mind?’

  ‘A few drinks, maybe.’

  ‘Sure. Look, come over tonight if you want. There’ll be a few of us around. No cocktails, though, just wine.’

  ‘That sounds fine.’

  ‘What’ve you been up to anyway? How’d you pull up after the party? You were really out of it when you left ...’

  ‘I know. I didn’t pull up too well at all.’

  ‘No one did. There really was dishwashing liquid in some of those drinks.’

  ‘That explains many things.’

  ‘I know. I’ll see you tonight, then?’

  ‘Okay. I’ll be there.’

  I put the phone down.

  The afternoon was still waiting there. I got up. I put on some clothes and went out. It was a warm, sunny, winter’s day.

  I walked to the nearest corner store. I had eight dollars. I stood at the counter for some time, looking at the shelves. The attendant waited. I thought about him. He looked about my age. He was working. He could take it. What was different about me?

  I looked at the shelves.

  I thought, fifteen years.

  Then I asked him to give me a pouch of White Ox tobacco. And, with it, two packs of cigarette papers, a bag of filters and a box of matches. He handed them over. He put his hand out for the money.

  Eight dollars was just enough.