hated him, like that he had nothing to offer any other human being, like that most people were bad. Absimil stopped him thinking silly things about the Sudanese, stopped him conjuring up images from films that he had watched, images of rolling sand dunes and Beduoin tribesmen on camels with rifles hanging from their shoulders, living in hide tents, their faces half covered to protect them from the sand blown by the wind. Handsome, protective, with piercing eyes. Absimil was not like that at all.
Most days Absimil told Special something about life in Sudan. It was he thought, probably like a debrief. The civil strife and the displacement camp outside of Malakal where nothing was as romantic as Beduoins in the desert. I was a child soldier what they call a lost boy he said. I defended my religion against the Islamists from the north. I have lost all of my family but I still count myself lucky. You can’t choose where you are born. At least I am educated and my family were not so poor and here I am in Australia, in Newmarket. Malakal one day, Melbourne the next. What a weird world we live in Special my friend, he liked to say.
Special swayed left into a laneway and left again into an easement. At the rear of the restaurant was a wooden fence that ran along the easement upon which someone had sprayed the outine of a penis and testicles. There was a metal gate. He put his hand through the opening in the gate and slid the snib out and pushed the gate open. The backyard was bare concrete except for a rotary clothes line in the middle which was hung full of tablecloths and napkins. Laksa Queen Malaysian Restaurant they said. On the back wall of the double story brick building were two doors, one shut, that led through into the restaurant via the kitchen and the other open to reveal a very dodgy toilet missing its lid. A wooden staircase led to the second floor of the building, at first climbing parallel with the back wall then at right angles, up to a wooden panel door with a padlock. Up on the landing, Special took the key to the padlock on a chain hanging from his belt loop and let himself in. It was colder than he thought and he would need a jacket if he was to sit on the street all day. He was home.
About two years ago when he had first moved down from Darwin he was sleeping rough and late one cold night he curled up on some cardboard in the doorway of the Laksa Queen restaurant. He chuckled now about the idea of sleeping in when you are sleeping rough but he had and when Thomas and Youixsie came to open up he was in their way. They were very kind to him; they understood that life was difficult for many people because where they had grown up a mob had burnt down their family store in what they called the ethnic tensions. Now they considered themselves lucky.
Quickly, Special had folded up his piece of cardboard and pushed the small pillow that he had fashioned from discarded clothes he found outside St. Vinnies, into his backpack. They talked away in their own language until when he had finished and went to say goodbye. They said that they had seen him walking the footpaths and seen him selling the magazines and there was a room upstairs at the back of their restaurant, very basic he must understand. Maybe in return he could do some odd jobs for them. They introduced themselves. My name is Special. They couldn’t have him scaring the customers away could they? They smiled. It was true that Special had been known to say that there were too many fucken Asians in Australia and this made it tough for Australian kids. He said thank you very much, I will accept your offer.
The back door opened onto a wide narrow room with a bench that almost spanned the far wall. On this bench there was a sink and a portable gas stove. We will give you something to cook in and something to eat off. A gas bottle too Thomas had said. On this wall there was a door too that led into the room where they slept, and in this room was a window that looked out over the laneway. On the floor were two single mattresses, heads up at the window, between the mattresses, a cardboard box, covered with a red cloth that supported a small lamp. Please not try to use too much electricity Thomas had said. This is very expensive. From a rusty metal clothes horse, an assortment of tired clothes hung. Near the foot of Special’s mattress was another door, padlocked from the other side that was the storeroom for the restaurant that could be accessed from the other side.
Special’s backpack was heavy with The Big Issue that he had just collected from the depot and he dumped the backpack on his mattress. No sign of Absimil the Fearless, he had taken to the streets early but that wasn’t unusual. He liked to be outside, to have space. Confined spaces made him anxious he said, particularly when he was alone. Most days he walked the streets, in all weather, socks and sandals.
Special had about an hour before he would start outside Foodworks which was just around the corner, so he had plenty of time to catch up with Absimil before he started selling. He thought he knew where to look. As Eliot shook the hand of Madan and watched Rajmata pick up his red rolling case and large backpack. As Jalal greeted Eliot without a hint of emotion and led the way to the yellow mini bus emblazoned with black letters, Madho Patti Junior Elementary School, Special set of for KFC. He always tried his best to convince Absimil, but he did not listen, or if he did, he took no notice. Special recited didn’t he know that fast food was addictive, didn’t he understand that it killed off many kinds of microbes and a small range of microbes will get you fat and sick. Like diabetes. Special had seen this on TV at the Salvation Army drop in centre. In a minute he was climbing down the stairs and in ten minutes, if he walked quickly, Colonel Sanders would be smiling at him and he would see Absimil. Ten minutes later he was right. Absimil was standing in the already long queue thinking about his popcorn chicken.
I knew you would be here eating that fucken shit. Geez Absimil how do you bloody Africans stay so bloody thin when you eat shit like this?
You know why I eat shit like this? Because I like it, but mostly because my friend Haarun is the day manager today and as you know he slips me some popcorn chicken for free when he is on duty.
Absimil paused as if he didn’t want to say anymore but he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t resist even though Special had heard it many times before.
You want to know why I’m so thin? Because I’m wired that way.That’s the way that Christians have to be wired in Sudan. That’s the way you are wired if you are hungry and shit scared every day, when your mother and sisters are abducted and raped and subjected to slavery and you don’t know where they are or whether they are still alive or what is coming next except that it won’t be good. You don’t care what you eat as long as you eat. What do you think would happen if KFC opened up a free kitchen in the refugee camps? Save your health talks for someone else.
Special’s face broke into a smile and he reached up and put one hand on Absimil’s shoulder.
Ok, Ok, I know, I know my friend. I hope you get fat one day.......... I will start selling the mag soon so I hope that we will have a little money for some treats tonight. I will see you at the Salvos about 5.30pm?
No problem. Don’t you want to wait and have some dirty bird with me?
Absimil smiled and waved at the departing back of Special.
Foodworks were happy for Special to sell The Big issue outside their front door. He was always friendly and polite and sometimes he attracted customers. Only seven dollars to read all about how two of the Monty Pythons were coming to Australia. Good morning, how are you today?Thanks very much, keep the change? Thanks very much and yes, yes you are right, last month the vendor profile was on me, Special, myself.
My bad luck started when I got hit in the side of the head by a golf ball when I was riding to work and my life sort of fell apart cos I started acting funny. I lost my job and I guess I must have been a bit strange after that because all my friends deserted me. They said that I was unpredictable and unstable and I suppose I was and to keep myself going I began smoking a heap of dope so I guess I wasn’t great company. About the same time my Dad had runo off with my Mum’s best friend and then my Mum got diagnosed with breast cancer. Yeh, I know what you are thinking. Lucky people can’t believe this. They think that I am exaggerating, making things up. But there are the very lucky people and therefore you have to have the very unlucky people too and bad luck grows on
