The Simple Gift (3 page)

Tonight, and the
night after

The walk stretches my cold body

and gets me breathing again.

As I near town there's more cars

and school buses, yellow,

full of kids shouting insults

at me, the bum,

walking down the road.

I don't care,

better a bum than a schoolkid.

It's an old town

with stone buildings

and wide streets

and cast-iron street lamps

like crazy ghosts lurking

on the footpaths.

And every shop has a SALE sign

like the whole town's

desperate for money.

As I walk down Main Street

thinking of the $50 in my pocket

and how it's got to last me

a lifetime

I realise Bendarat

is not the only desperate one.

But, today

I don't care.

The sun is shining now

as I reach the library

and sit down on the front steps,

one hour until opening.

My day today is reading,

reading about people who don't need money

and people

who have somewhere to sleep

tonight,

and the night after.

Lord of the lounge

It's a good library.

Lots of books, sure,

and lounges soft and comfortable

for real reading,

and I choose one

in the corner

and I settle down

with a book about these kids

stranded on a deserted island

and some try to live right

but the others go feral

and it's a good book

and I'm there, on the island,

gorging on tropical fruit,

trying to decide

whose side I'm on.

And then it hits me.

I'm on neither.

I'd go off alone,

because you can't trust

those who want to break the rules

and you certainly can't trust

those who make the rules,

so you do the only thing possible,

you avoid the rules.

That's me,

on the deserted island

of a soft lounge

in Bendarat Library.

The librarian

‘You can borrow that if you
like.'

Her badge says

Irene Thompson – Chi
ef Librarian
.

Trouble I'm sure.

‘It's a good book.

It
was my favourite when I was young.'

‘No thanks.

I'm happy to read it here.'

Please just
leave me alone.

‘That's fine.

But we c
lose for lunch in ten minutes.

I'm sorry. But you can come
back at two.'

‘Thanks Mrs Thompson. I will.

It'
s too good a book not to finish.'

She's OK.

Not like
the librarian at home.

She hated kids touching books.

She ran
the perfect library

because no-one ever went in there

to disturb the books.

‘Call me Irene.

I'm old, but not t
hat old.

See you after lunch.'

Lunch

I'm poor, homeless,

but I'm not stupid.

For lunch I go to Coles.

I buy a packet of bread rolls,

some cheese and a tomato.

Enough for three meals.

I sit on the bench

at Bendarat Gardens

with my Swiss Army knife

cutting thin slices of tomato

with chunks of cheese

and I eat two rolls

watching the pigeons

watching me.

I toss them some crumbs.

Lunchtime entertainment,

free of charge,

is a couple kissing on a blanket.

For twenty minutes

they lay together

kissing

hugging.

They hardly touched their sandwiches.

I can't blame them.

As they got up to leave

I felt like applauding,

but as I said

I'm poor, homeless,

but I'm not stupid.

The Motel Bendarat

I finished the book,

nodded goodbye to Irene

and walked out

into the late afternoon cloud

and a slight drizzle.

No sleeping in the park tonight.

Two options:

a church

or a railway station.

Churches are too spooky and cold.

I walk to the station.

Men in suits, like tired penguins,

wait for the bus

and throw furtive glances

at the woman on the seat

reading a magazine.

She ignores them.

The train station is sandstone

with a long veranda platform,

hard wooden seats and a Coke machine.

I walk across the tracks

past the freight yard

to some old carriages,

disused, waiting to be sold

and turned into

fancy bed and breakfast accommodation

or maybe used as someone's chook shed.

I try each door until one opens.

I climb in.

There's a long bench seat

fit to hold eight people

and certainly long enough

for me to sleep on.

It's comfortable too,

being old and well made.

I close the door

and make a home

in Carriage 1864,

painted red and yellow,

my Motel Bendarat.

Night

I had two rolls for dinner,

washed down with

the last of Dad's beer.

The carriage was surprisingly warm

and quiet, so quiet.

I used my bag as a pillow,

wrapped my jacket over me,

lay back and slept

the sleep of the dreamless.

Occasionally I woke

to a train whistle

or the clank of metal on metal

as the night shift worked,

shunting the freight carriages.

I thought of Bunkbrain, my dog,

probably asleep on the veranda

and I wished I had brought him

for the company

on nights like this

in a new town

and in a new home.

Eating out

I finished the rolls

and cheese for lunch today,

so tonight I'm eating out.

McDonald's.

I order a small lemonade,

no ice,

no fries,

no burger,

and no smile from the lady

behind the counter.

She's the manager I'm sure.

Everyone else working here is my age

except this lady

who looks at me as if I'm diseased

for ordering only a drink.

I go upstairs

where it's quiet and warm.

I read the free newspaper

and wait.

Sure enough

the couple in the corner

can't eat all the fries,

and the woman leaves half a burger.

They get up to leave

and before they've reached the stairs

I'm over at the table,

grabbing the burger

and the fries

to go with my lemonade,

the lemonade I bought.

This is the only way to eat at McDonald's.

I sit back

read the newspaper

and wait for the family of five to leave.

I can see dessert

waiting for me.