Praise (7 page)

‘I can't believe this place doesn't have any beaches,' Helen said. ‘I always thought Brisbane was a surfing town, a beach town, but all it's got is Moreton Bay. Moreton Bay and mud flats.'

I said, ‘The Gold Coast is the surfing town. Surfers Paradise. Coolangatta. It's only an hour away. That's where the beaches are.'

‘I know, we've already been there. It's disgusting. It's so commercial.'

‘Yes. They've done very well.'

‘Even
Melbourne
has better beaches than you do.'

‘You might be right. Brisbane does have mangroves, though.'

‘Mangroves? What can you do with mangroves?'

‘You can walk through them. Have you ever done that?'

‘No.'

‘Well. Wait until late in the afternoon, just around sunset. And take lots of insect repellent.'

‘Is it worth it?'

‘You might like it more than Surfers Paradise.'

Time passed. I finished my second can of beer. The conversation got around to what we should do for the rest of the day.

‘I could get us some acid,' said Dave. ‘I've got some friends up here who might have some.'

Cynthia jumped up. ‘Acid! I haven't had acid in
ages
. Gordon, you want some acid?'

‘What exactly is acid?'

‘You don't know? You really don't know? It's LSD. Haven't you ever tried it?'

‘No. No one has ever offered me any. I've led a very sheltered life.'

‘Well, do you want to? Tripping is one of the best things ...'

‘Sure. Yes.'

‘I don't have the guy's number on me,' said Dave. ‘We'll have to go back over to our place.'

Dave and Helen were staying at Helen's sister's house in Spring Hill. We all climbed in the Kingswood and drove over.

‘Look at this city,' Helen yelled from the back seat. There's nothing happening. There's no one on the streets. How do you stand it?'

‘Things are happening, you just have to look a little harder. At least no one bothers you. There's worse places than Brisbane.'

‘There's
better:

‘We almost had the tallest building in the world. That would've been something, don't you think?'

‘What do you mean almost?'

‘There was a huge public outcry when the government announced the proposal. People were terrified by the idea. It would've been three times the height of the other local skyscrapers. They thought it would ruin the balance of things — the rest of the CBD would looked ridiculous, the whole
city
would look ridiculous. And it would interfere with radio reception, and TV reception, and it'd put half the suburbs into permanent shade, planes were going to crash into it, the airport would have to be re-arranged, the land underneath would subside into the river ... lobby groups were screaming, it was a nightmare. Finally the Supreme Court ruled the whole thing was illegal. The developers backed down. Now they're not building anything. They've just left a great big hole in the ground.'

‘Christ. Queenslanders.'

‘I agree with them up to a point. The city really
would've
looked ridiculous. But that, of course, is exactly why they should've built it. It would've been an appropriate statement. About Brisbane. About cities in general.'

We got to Spring Hill, found the sister's place. It was a renovated terrace house, overlooking the city centre. Inside it was dark and cool and sparse. The sister had taste. We had the place to ourselves, she was away for the weekend. We settled into the lounge as Dave made the call.

He waited for a while, letting it ring. ‘There's no answer.'

‘Damn!' Cynthia looked at us all. ‘What now?'

‘I know some people,' said Helen. ‘I could try them.'

Dave handed her the phone, left the room.

I leaned over to Cynthia and said, ‘They have a lot of contacts here for two people that live in Melbourne.'

‘It's the drug crowd. You just get to know people. All over the place.'

‘Do you know any dealers in Brisbane?'

‘I might. But I came here to give that up. I didn't try to keep track of anyone.'

We waited. Dave came back in with a bottle of beer and some glasses. He filled them up. Helen got off the phone. ‘No acid,' she said. ‘We can get some smack though.'

‘Smack?' I asked.

‘Heroin,' said Cynthia.

‘Oh.'

‘Well,' said Helen, ‘What d'you think?'

Dave was handing out the beers. ‘Sounds okay to me,' he said. ‘Cynthia?'

‘No, I swore I wouldn't go back to it. But you guys go ahead if you want.' She looked at me.

I looked back. Well, I've never tried it — I wouldn't mind. But not if it's going to bother you.'

‘No, I don't mind. Go on, it's certainly worth trying, at least once. I'll be okay.'

It was settled. Helen rang back and made arrangements to meet in a pub for the sale.

‘How much will it cost?' I asked her.

‘Well, if it's only your first time, you won't need much, probably only a third of a gram. Fifty dollars should cover it.' I took out my wallet, gave her the money.

Cynthia watched us. ‘Oh fuck it,' she said. What the hell. Count me in.'

Helen looked at her. ‘You sure you want to?'

‘I'd go crazy watching you guys.'

‘Okay. Oh, Gordon, can you buy syringes over the counter in Queensland, do you know?'

‘You can. They changed the law just a while ago.'

‘Great. You wanna come along, Cynthia?'

‘Okay. We can take Gordon's car.'

‘You want me to come?' I said.

Cynthia held out her hand for the keys. ‘No. You'd look guilty. You'd have
I'm buying heroin
written all over your face.'

I gave her the keys.

Dave and I were left alone. We sipped on the beer and talked some more about Melbourne and Brisbane, Victoria and Queensland, and how they compared. It was a pointless discussion, but it passed the time. I liked Dave. He was short and ugly, very softly spoken, with a rich quiet laugh.

‘You only just met Cynthia, huh?' he asked.

‘A couple of weeks ago. It's a pity she's leaving so soon.'

‘Yeah. She doesn't sound so happy about it herself.'

‘Darwin is no place to rush off to, if you think Brisbane is boring.'

An hour went by. We wondered about the girls. They had planned to buy two grams all told. I tried to remember what the laws were in Queensland about heroin. I knew they'd been strengthened at the same time that they'd legalised syringes. Mandatory life sentence for possession of a certain amount or above. I didn't think it was as small as two grams, but I wasn't sure. I'd have to front up to the major. I'm sorry sir, your daughter's been arrested. She was caught buying some smack. For me. Who am I? I'm the no-good bum she found out in the bottle shop. What's smack? Well, it's heroin, sir. Fifteen or twenty years is all she'll get, but then she knew the risks. She used to be a junkie, didn't you know?

The girls got back twenty minutes later. It'd all gone okay. There were no problems.

‘But Christ, they were sleazy people,' said Cynthia. ‘They looked evil. They made us play pool with them first. They really dragged it out. None of my dealers in Sydney were like that.'

Helen agreed. ‘They were arseholes, they were cliches. Brisbane is a fucked-up town. No style at all.'

We went into Helen and Dave's room and sat on the bed. Helen brought out a small, folded square of paper, four syringes, a few vials of distilled water, a belt, and a shot glass. The equipment.

She made the preparations. She unfolded the paper and tipped the powder into the glass. She followed it with the distilled water. The powder dissolved. Cynthia drew the mixture into the syringes. Smaller doses for myself and her, about double that amount for Helen and Dave.

‘Okay,' she said, laying the syringes out in a row. ‘Who's first?'

Dave volunteered.

‘Doing it yourself?'

‘No. I'll let the nurse handle it.'

Helen got up off the floor and sat next to him. She wrapped the belt around his upper arm and pulled it tight. The veins on his arms bulged. She took one of the syringes, rubbed one of the bulges with her fingers. Then she slid the needle in. She pulled the plunger backwards, drew enough blood to satisfy her, then shoved it back down. It touched bottom. She pulled it out. Dave put his finger on the puncture and folded his arm up to his chest. Helen took the belt away.

We all watched him. He looked at his arm. He nodded. ‘It's not bad.'

‘Good.'

Helen did herself, and then Cynthia.

‘I
love
this stuff,' Cynthia said, watching her arm. ‘It's like coming and coming for hours.' She lay back, taking deep breaths.

Helen came at me with the last syringe. ‘Your turn.'

‘No, I'll do it,' said Cynthia, sitting up again. ‘I'm okay.'

She wrapped the belt around my arm and stroked the veins until they rose. I watched her face, looked at the syringe.

‘How long since you've done this?'

‘It isn't that long.'

She slid the needle in. I watched my blood seep up into the syringe. It mingled with the heroin. I thought about chemical reactions. The blood would be buzzing, the blood was already stoned. ‘Now look at me,' she said, ‘and keep looking at me.'

‘Why?'

‘I want to watch your face.'

She depressed the plunger.

For a moment there was nothing. Cynthia unwrapped the belt. She was smiling. ‘You feel it?'

And then I did. It rushed into my head.

‘Oh, you feel it all right,' she laughed. ‘Your pupils just screwed down to dots.'

I kept staring at her. It was rebounding down through my arms and legs. Finally I had to sink down on the bed. If this was what it was like for women when they came, then they had it a lot better than men. Cynthia bent over me and stroked my face and for a time we all lay there. Heroin.

After a while though the first rush faded. Cynthia began talking to Helen and Dave. Small talk. I didn't pay attention. I sat up again. I felt a little dizzy, a little nauseous. My mouth was dry.

We decided to go out onto the verandah. Helen cleaned up before we left. She capped the syringes and put away the other things. I stood up. My balance was gone. I reeled along the hallway. The others laughed.

‘It'll go away,' said Cynthia.

We sat on the verandah. It was late afternoon. The sun was setting over the city and the hills and television towers. We sat and chatted, off and on, for an hour or so. The conversation wasn't important. It was good just to sit and look. Everything looked fine.

I rolled and smoked. I decided a beer was in order. I got up and moved down the hall. I was still dizzy. By the time I got to the kitchen I was feeling sick, and then very sick. Battery acid, I thought, washing powder. Overdose. Death. I bounced along the wall to the toilet and kneeled over the bowl. I opened my mouth, gagged. Nothing came. I put my finger down my throat. I gagged again. Nothing.

I felt a little better. I stood up and unzipped. There was pressure in my bladder, but I couldn't piss. I gave up and went back to the fridge. I got a bottle of beer and four glasses, then went back to the verandah.

‘I can't throw up.'

They nodded.

‘We should've told you,' Cynthia said. ‘Sometimes you can't. It's the heroin. It does something to the stomach. It can also stop bodily secretions. Is your mouth dry? You won't be able to shit or piss either, not unless you really have to.'

So that was that. I was still nauseous, but nausea didn't seem so bad if you knew nothing could come from it. We drank the beer. It swilled around in my stomach. I had the feeling that nothing was being digested down there.

‘How about a bath?' Cynthia asked me.

‘Sure.'

‘Not here though. Let's get back to the hotel.'

‘Okay. But I don't think I can drive.'

‘I'll drive. I know what I'm doing. I used to have four or five times this amount in a day, when I was using.'

‘That much?'

‘That's nothing.'

We said our goodbyes to Helen and Dave and climbed in the car. Cynthia started up and drove as well as she ever did.

‘It's when I'm on acid,' she said, ‘that's when things get scary. Traffic lights start talking to me.'

‘We should stop off somewhere,' I said, ‘and get some nitrous.'

‘Nitrous?'

‘Nitrous oxide. Laughing gas. You buy it in supermarkets. It comes in little cylinders that they use to make fresh whipped cream. The little cylinders also fit into soda syphons, so you inhale it from one of those. It's great if you're already stoned or drunk. But it only lasts a minute or two.'

‘Minutes? Is that all? Why bother?'

‘They're very weird minutes.'

But Cynthia wasn't interested. It sounded like kids' stuff to her. Like sniffing glue or petrol.

We got back to the hotel and snuck into her room, in case her parents were around. Cynthia filled the bath. She poured in some shampoo to make bubbles. It was a big tub, with taps at the side, not at the end. Built for two. I got us a beer each. Cynthia went through her bags and found some scented candles. She put a tape on the stereo and switched off the light. We undressed. Climbed in.

It was good. We sat with our heads at opposite ends, with our legs entwined. Mostly we talked, smoked cigarettes. My toes were playing with her cunt. Her hands were around my penis and balls. For long periods we kissed and stroked each other. I'd never enjoyed kissing, but this time it was everything it was supposed to be. Cynthia's lips and Cynthia's tongue and Cynthia's teeth — I could
taste
her. Nothing grotesque at all. This was a person, a good person that I liked a great deal. This was Cynthia. It was better than fucking.