The Everlasting Secret Family by Frank Moorhouse

Author:Frank Moorhouse
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: General, Fiction
ISBN: 9781742746586
Publisher: Random House Australia
Published: 2011-10-25T13:00:00+00:00

WRITING YOURSELF

A PROPER NARRATIVE

“Do you remember me?”

Aes? Bees? Cees? Dees? Aitches—Kays. Kay Harris? No, not Harris.

“Kay,” I said, “Kay Norris. Of course I remember you.”

A seminar.

An adult education seminar in North Queensland.

“This is a long way from North Queensland,” I ventured.

“Not so far across country. And I saw your name on the list of speakers.”

“That’s flattering.”

A drunken night.

“I flew myself down,” she said.

“I’m impressed.”

And the letter, hell yes.

“You didn’t answer that letter, but I understand why. I mean, a silly thirty-eight year old woman from a property in North Queensland with a lot of silly ideas. But you don’t know what that weekend meant to me.”

A drunken night. John. Confessional drinking.

“Could I speak with you alone?” she asked.

I was sitting in the outdoor student cafeteria with some other people from the conference. She crouched the way a girl would.

“Of course.”

We moved away from the table and found a place on the grass.

“I actually want to use you,” she said.

“Go ahead, use me.”

The letter, yes.

“In my letter I hinted at things but you didn’t answer. I want to leave my husband and to get off that blasted property and down south to the city.”

She was the only person in North Queensland, I recalled her telling me, who took Forum magazine. She had to subscribe because the village newsagent wouldn’t handle it and even the postmistress had commented about it.

“I want to get to hell out of it and come down to the city.”

I said that didn’t seem to be a difficult exercise, giving it no thought. “Place an advertisement—‘attractive thirty-eight year old, well read, desires . . . but I realised then that I was being too flippant. “I’m sorry,” I said, “that life hasn’t worked out for you down on the farm.”

I couldn’t stop myself.

“I didn’t go there,” she said, stubbornly serious, “I was born there! I grew up five miles from where I live now.” “Yes, I’m sorry, I remember now.”

“External Studies saved me. I was born again—I .kid you not.”

Four children.

“But as I said,” she went on, “I want to use you.” “Yes, sure.”

“Could you help me rehabilitate myself—in the city?” “How could I do that . . .?”

“Could you introduce me around, help me meet people—find a place to live—which suburb should I live in? Where are all you trendies living now? You see, I don’t even know that. And about schools—for the youngest kids.”

My mind spread like the two pointed legs of a caliper, stretching between the North Queensland cattle station and the cafes and bars of the city. And not quite making the distance.

“I want to meet people who talk.”

I pulled a face.

“But I do! Before I go MAD!” “Oh come off it, Kay.” I tried to make her come back to cynicism. “You’re the one who’s got it made. Flying to conferences in your own aircraft.”

“What would you know!”

I took her point.

“But we don’t,” I said. “Well, it’s not like that.”

I sometimes think we should sit up all night discussing Marquez or arguing about Althusserian marxism, but we never seem to.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.