The Best Australian Stories 2015 by Amanda Lohrey

Author:Amanda Lohrey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Schwartz Publishing Pty. Ltd

Supernova

Omar Musa

The telescope sat slightly apart from the clutter of the room – aloof, cool, shaded by a closed curtain. Azlan Muhammad ran a chubby hand down the length of its metallic form as he whistled a loud and tuneful melody. He paused to thumb the plastic toy rocket superglued to it before covering it carefully with a cloth. He belched, scratched an arse cheek, then traced a circuitous route through the stacks of books on the concrete floor, nimble for a man of his size. He had important things to do, after all.

Coffee first, though. He made it strong, sweetened by condensed milk, making sure not a drop spilled down the side of the cup. He hated that. ‘Coffee first, and the rest’ll fall into place’ – he could hear his old boss’s thick Aussie accent, even now. Azlan turned on the radio, his eyes still trained on the telescope. A serious voice was commenting on the imminent election. The lead-up had been full of skullduggery and intrigue, and there was a sense of excitement that after more than fifty years in power, the government looked to be in its death throes and the opposition was gaining traction. Today was election day.

Azlan cared little about the messiness of his house, but the surface of his body was sacrosanct. He showered and brushed his teeth fastidiously. Drops of water shone on his hair and big belly before rolling down to the concrete floor. He had once prided himself on a full, Samson-like head of black waves, but he’d taken to cropping it short as it receded slowly to the back of his head. He swore the receding had started around the time his daughter, Rozana, had been born, and he’d tried his best to cover it up by combing his remaining hair forward. But there comes a time, he had told Rozana, where you just have to give in. She was only eight, but the way she had thrown back her head and laughed with such gusto had already seemed so mature and defiant.

Azlan looked at the clothes he’d laid out for himself on the single bed: a traditional Malay outfit – the baju Melayu. He struggled into the matching dark red, long-sleeved shirt and trousers, doing up the imitation diamond studs at the chest. The long-sleeved baju strained at the belly, but how proud and striking it looked. He admired himself in his mirror. He’d hardly ever been able to wear his national dress during his life in Australia, other than to that awful work function where he had been cajoled to wear it, to show ‘diversity’, of course. He tied the kain songket carefully around his waist like a short sarong, its pattern of gold threads shimmering and bending in the light. Last of all came the jet-black songkok, tipped jauntily on his head.

*

Election Day, yes, but food first. Even on an important mission, like today’s, Azlan could never stop thinking of it. After spritzing on some cologne

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