‘Ah.’ Something clicked for Parmod. ‘Certainly. You give details please.’ His navigational skills of the ATO website were also apparently minimal, for he pushed the keyboard aside and handed Drew a tiny yellow Post-it block and a pen.
Conscious he was perhaps deviating from the script, Drew summoned the receptionist back over himself.
‘Are you sure about this? I write my details on this?’ He waved the Post-it block. ‘And it gets processed?’
‘That’s right. Just your name and address.’
Not even his TFN? Or his ABN? All the acronyms and their numbers he’d carried around like a mouthful of marbles?
They both assured him the little yellow sticker was sufficient to contain all his details. The minuscule note would be the official and comprehensive record of the details that would generate, via registered post in ten working days, the document he needed. The certificate of residency. Twelve copies.
Was he keeping a straight face as he thanked them and walked to the door? The whole thing was so unreal that it was beyond ordinary humour, though the irony was palpable. He was in a Pirandello play, trapped between reality and illusion. He was a character from the chilly fantasies of Kafka. He was Josef K, he was Gregor Samsa. He scuttled out the door.
At least, he thought he’d not asked her for sex. But maybe there were profound cultural differences here, codes he was incapable of knowing. Perhaps his hand had brushed across her lower back in a way that in Shanghai signified, I think you’re a loose woman. Or he had held her arm too long, tantamount to a marriage proposal. How would he know? He was just a boy from the mountains who’d gone to TAFE and found he had a talent for sculpture.
He had never phoned her after that night. Since then he had only made the most necessary of communications until the appointment in her office at Emu Plains a few days before. Meanwhile he ascertained from another client, someone he knew from the barber’s, that there was a man, in the form of an aged parent. At the appointment she had not betrayed a flicker of either contempt or disappointment. Yet he noticed her lips were garnished with gloss, rosier than usual. And her hand, when she pushed across the little ‘Contacting the ATO’ card, had painted nails. And when he caught himself registering these things, he told himself nothing was new, only that he was noticing things about her for the first time. He allowed himself to recall that at Harry’s Bar she had made a brief phone call, which could have been solicitous, daughterly. She wore no ring. Had she ever? Now he had no idea. One drink. Or two. But how did a well-intentioned drink bring him undone like this? He was baffled by his own actions, ones that he’d assumed were correct all his life and yet were also all wrong. Clearly asking a woman who was also one’s accountant who was also Chinese whose marital status was undetermined out for a drink was a minefield.
Was she even Chinese? There was another assumption. Would he not learn? He was forty. He made timber and metal sculptures that were sold the world over, that sold so well he was obliged to wrestle with the ATO, here in Lang Street, the unknown crucible of international transactions. And yet he was an ignorant klutz, harbouring desires for a woman he knew nothing about. She might have been Malaysian. Or Australian. Maybe she was born there, in Emu Plains, or St Marys, and he was a crass fool unable to shake off prejudices and assumptions as ingrained as his fingerprints.
But she was a genius with figures. There was that in his favour. She had taken his shoeboxes of receipts and bank statements – what a cliché he was – and smoothed over six years’ worth of unlodged returns, placated the ATO, obtained a refund, of all things, and charged him less than his dentist.
Outside, he decided to forget the appointment with the Surry Hills designer. He would ring Mrs Zhang. He would ring her right now. Ebullient with the success of his mission, he would ring her and put any misunderstanding behind them and arrange to meet her after work. He could walk down to the Quay and get the train from there. He went down the pebblecrete steps and over to the lone park bench.
Taking out his phone he punched the numbers quickly, before he changed his mind again. He would only drink soda water this time. The phone rang five times then went to the answer machine. He punched stop, then rang her mobile number. When the voicemail message came he took a breath to speak, then killed the call.
Fuck it. He chewed his lip, glared at the Vespas opposite. Stared back at the ATO at the top of the steps like a shrine on a ziggurat. What sacrifices had been made there in the name of federal fiscal authority? What human blood spilled, and consumed? Metaphorically speaking. He felt exhausted actually, despite his triumph. The Post-it would survive, wouldn’t it? It wouldn’t get stuck on a corner of a desk somewhere, or attach itself to some random document to be folded and filed forever?
He stared at his phone then pressed the envelope symbol. Success at the ATO! he typed, relying on the exclamation mark’s marvellous capacity for breezy self-deprecation along with its reminder not to take its user too seriously.
Drew Saltman was halfway along the Quay when the phone chirped. He stopped in the crowd to read it. That fast? He could almost see her smiling, in that lip-flickering way of hers. She had known all along. He laughed out loud. People passing looked at him. Dinner tonight on me, he typed, and pressed send.
And like in a fantasy story, the Post-it note fluttered through the ATO, a magical yellow bird ultimately transforming into the document that arrived in his letterbox two weeks later. It was only a certificate of residency but it did indeed seem like something from a pirate’s treasure trove. Twelve copies. He placed eleven in an envelope to give to Georgina straight away, and filed the last one in a plastic sleeve in a folder, right next to the copy of the pirate map.
The Moon Will Do
By the fifth letter, she thinks, What the hell, what do I have to lose anyway? In fact, she agrees completely with David Rhodes who says he had nothing to lose and that he couldn’t stop himself thinking: What if it actually works? It’s the fifth in as many months. Someone might be telling her something, and besides, what if it actually works?
Complete these six steps as FAST as possible. SPEED is EVERYTHING.
She is careful not to leave the letter on the kitchen bench for the kids to scribble on, or to collect coffee marks like Olympic rings, or worse, for Margie to spot. Instead she places it in her bag and takes it to work, then brings it home again, then hides it under the Reminder of Penalty notice (a lie, they never sent her the original notice), the AGL bill, the Telstra bill and the FastBuy catalogue because she might buy that skirt. Then she returns it to her bag for work because she realises she’ll need to photocopy it there but she doesn’t leave it on her desk in case someone takes it while she’s not there. And then she panics because for two whole days she cannot find it, and then when she remembers where she’s put it, it’s ten pm. And she’s at the hospital waiting for the last of Jackson’s Ventolin to go through the respirator. She is sure it said something strict about speed.
By Sunday evening she has found the letter. She had placed it between the letter of demand from Friend & Holmes Solicitors and under the photocopied pages from the newsletter that contains the invitation to the charity match between the Western Wildfires third division and the Vagabonds. But they won’t be going to that.
The letters and notices are all white photocopies, no wonder they all look the same. Rereading the letter she wonders if it’s already too late, as more than a week has passed and she still has not acted. But she has made a decision, surely that counts?
Follow the simple step by step plan EXACTLY as it is set out and within 60 days your life will be transformed.
The letter is four pages long and contains a lot of detailed information so she rereads it carefully twice more. The whole plan is clear: she has to send some money off to an unknown person in a spirit of generosity, and then photocopy the letter and send them out to two hundred more people, thus keeping the chain going. And enlarging the possibilities for others to make their fortune too.
&n
bsp; The first step is clear enough, however if she is to be efficient she can see at once that the real first step is to buy lots of paper. David Rhodes doesn’t say you can’t use your employer’s paper, even though the whole tone of his letter is very moral. He points out that he does not stand to receive any financial gain from her and he sincerely respects her decision if her decision is to let this opportunity pass. He concludes with a reminder that life is short. He does not sound to her like a person who would condone the unauthorised use of an employer’s photocopier. Apart from that is the fact that she would never get the chance at work with Ron or some busybody wanting to know why she needed two hundred copies of something. On the other hand she can see that copying the letter up at the newsagent is going to present a lot of problems. There are always people in there, regular queues for the copier. And that copier is not very reliable. It is quite faint, and the letter insists the copies have to be legible. Margie is always in that newsagent too. It was Margie who told her that the copier was no good because she was doing fifty invitations to Ted’s sixty-fifth last summer and the print was too faint for the bright orange paper she’d chosen for the invites. At the time Dawn thought pale blue would have been better anyway. It was Ted, after all. And he was already so sick. Not that his wife shouldn’t have been wanting to celebrate something before it was too late, but Dawn didn’t say that.
She decides that compromise is okay and that the spirit of the thing is what really counts and that although she will follow the plan exactly and send off the ten dollars as quickly as she can, using the work copier will be all right if she uses her own paper. Even the little post office shop has copier paper, so after work the next day she gets two packets. She doesn’t understand why the doorway into this shop is so narrow. Maybe Australia Post is trying to discourage people with strollers, fat people or the disabled. Or everyone.
She gets the $5.95 Post brand and realises while she is there she should get the stamps as well, but two hundred stamps is a big commitment, one she knows she’ll have to make soon (SPEED is EVERYTHING) but not today. She also pays the AGL bill and the Telstra bill. When she gets home the post has arrived, bringing the council rates. She’ll pay that next time. That night when the kids are in bed she is ready for step one.
STEP 1: IMMEDIATELY send a $10 note to the person listed No. 1 on the list at the end of this letter. Do this with a smile on your face because ‘as ye sow, so shall ye reap’.
With a smile on her face she goes to her purse. There is only a ten-dollar note. Clearly this is meant to be, so she does not hesitate in taking it out. Still smiling, she smooths the crease across Mary Gilmore’s face and turns back the corner where it is bent over the windmill.
Wrap your $10 note tightly inside a brief handwritten note containing your name, address (including postcode) and this short statement – ‘Please accept this $10 gift.’
On her desk she has a special notepad, and there is only one page left in this, obviously another sign. The notepad is from Alice Springs and has a dot design along the bottom of the pages. The person listed No. 1 lives in the Northern Territory. Another sign that she is keeping faith with David Rhodes’s convictions.
It is an undeniable law that we must first give in order to receive. Your turn will come. After you have sent a complete stranger $10 in the post, something very eerie happens. It gives you the indescribable, overwhelming sense of certainty, belief and conviction in the system.
She writes the brief note.
David Rhodes instructs her to include her name and address but does not say to write anything else. She adds Dear P. Hickson and at the end writes Yours sincerely. She hopes she is not breaking the spell here but she feels that she should not send the letter without these small formalities. Luckily, there is one postage stamp in the box of paperclips on the desk.
The postbox is ten houses up and when she walks back she makes sure she still has the smile on her face. It is true that something very eerie has happened, it happened when a) she discovered that the ten-dollar note was the only note left in her purse, and b) she realised her Aboriginal design notepaper was destined for a citizen of the Northern Territory. However, she has to admit to not feeling an indescribable sense of certainty, belief and conviction in the system. She does not feel overwhelmed at all, only tired and looking forward to bed. But when she gets back she finds a casserole in a Pyrex dish at the front door. That woman, she thinks, is amazing. She must have been looking out to see if Dawn left the house, which had been for all of five minutes. Tomorrow as soon as she gets home Margie will be wanting to know what she was doing out after ten pm, and if she was posting a letter then she would have done that for her and Dawn wouldn’t have had to leave the kids alone. Across the road all her lights are out, no doubt she’s pretending to be asleep in bed.
STEP 2: After you have posted you [sic] $10 note, delete the name and address of the person who is No. 1 on the list, move all the names and addresses up one position and enter your name and address which will now become No. 5 on the new list.
She wonders if she should correct the typographical error before she goes any further. She wonders how many people will notice. Everything else about the letter calls for precision, so it bothers her that David Rhodes has made this mistake. But she can’t see how to correct it by hand and the only way would be to retype the whole page and then that would mean retyping the whole letter, all four pages, because then the new page would stand out. Although the letter is readable enough it already has that much-copied fuzzy look to it. People would think that if someone had retyped one whole page then why wouldn’t they be bothered to retype the entire letter, and how slack that was. Anyway, she doesn’t know what font David Rhodes has used.
She leaves the letter as it is. She types her list of five names with herself at No. 5. The font is different but that doesn’t matter as the original list is different from the rest of the letter so she reckons that everyone else is doing the same thing and that reassures her. By now it’s way past eleven and when she goes to bed she finds Jackson has sleepwalked into hers again. How can a kid who weighs less than a bag of rice become so heavy when he’s asleep? She gives up trying to move him and flops into bed beside him.
STEP 3: Photocopy 200 (minimum) copies of this letter.
It proves easier than she has thought. Thursday mornings at work are quiet because Ron comes late as he says it’s his turn to take his son to school, except he always looks paler than usual and she knows Wednesdays are his squash round and drinks with the boys afterwards nights, and it doesn’t take a genius to work it out. And Anne and Maria have meetings. They love meetings. So the place is virtually hers until morning tea. It does not even take up an entire packet of paper because she realises she can copy the letter on two sides and thus use half. Ron is stingy but loves technology and if they ask for a five-dollar raise he goes purple but when Anne put in for a copier upgrade just before the end of the financial year he was sweet. She copies 203, two extra just in case, and one to keep. She is stuffing the last of the copies in her bag when the others arrive from Meeting Room # 2 next floor up, still discussing the agenda. The Central Administrative Service is to be relocated by next February. Morning tea is to be fifteen minutes instead of twenty. And they will no longer have Rollerballs 0.5 mm EXPs in red, black, blue and green; instead they’ll be getting Stabilo Liner 808Ms in just red and blue, which come in at forty-five cents per unit cheaper, representing a huge saving when you factor in all the usage. Anne tells her not to be fooled by the fancy name, Stabilos are just glorified biros, plus the caps never stay on.
When she gets home Margie has the kids bathed and Jackson’s medicine measured out all ready to administer. Lacey has completed her list of Ten African Nations and already coloured in half the map which Margie traced from her old Reader’s Digest atlas. Which is kind of her. Dawn suspects it is very out of date, but the teacher has said no printing maps off the internet. The casserole is on the stove heating. Lamb and potato. They wi
ll eat it but only with lots of tomato sauce. Margie could have brought it over with her this afternoon but she says nothing about it sitting at the front door last night. Jackson had a bad day at kindy, she tells Dawn, in a way that implies she’s meant to have asked by now. Some kids pushed him, though it might have been an accident, but he started wheezing and has Dawn thought about getting him to do swimming, she read an article in a magazine just that morning about how swimming’s supposed to be good for it.
No, Dawn hasn’t thought about it and she won’t, seeing as it’s the middle of winter, and yes she knows the local pool’s heated but it’s the getting in and out isn’t it? Margie has obviously forgotten about the bronchitis last winter plus the two months of never-ending coughing, but then why would she, it wasn’t her up every night. Dawn tries to be grateful their grandmother is only over the road and that Ted’s passing means she needs an interest and has the time and everything. Except she’s not grateful Ted’s passed away, in fact she had a soft spot for the old bugger. They enjoyed a mutual private suspicion of Margie.
STEP 4: Pick out 200 names and addresses from your telephone directory. You can also source addresses covering the whole of Australia by going on line at www.whitepagescom.au. DO NOT order a mailing list. You MUST obtain your own names and addresses. Remember a good list will yield a good result.
It seems to take the entire weekend. First she buys the envelopes, which at $2.99 for a packet of one hundred are incredibly cheap. Another good sign. Back home she decides she will indeed source addresses covering the whole of Australia. After consulting the White Pages she realises she must think further before writing out the envelopes. For instance there are lots of Trans and Nguyens in the Sydney White Pages. Plus Lees and Chins and Lams and Suns. And Moons. She does not want to alienate the Asian communities, in fact she is sure they would embrace enthusiastically the idea of such a free-spirited enterprise, however she is struck with the prospect that she may be mailing to households with only basic English. Or entire non-English-reading households. Would they be placed to appreciate the subtle importance of instructions like, Do this with a smile on your face because, ‘as ye sow, so shall ye reap’? Would non-English readers know what ye means? Maybe next time she can get one of Lacey’s schoolfriends to translate the gist of the letter and she can mail it to all the Nguyens in the phone book. That seems like a compromise but one made in the generous and open-minded spirit of David Rhodes’s letter.
Letter to George Clooney Page 14
