Limestone Man (2 page)

We'd seen a film there. But there had been better crowds for The Cockatoos I thought. Yeah, The Black Cockatoos. Again, I showed the photograph. Excuse me, have you seen, excuse me, have you… Please, could you look again, could you…

Over to the Mall and all those shops that Lulu pretended not to like. But of course, why not? Anyone her age. Anyone…

I'd have waited while she tried them on. New clothes, you see. That's what she needed. Better than those… Yeah, show herself off. And changing rooms in the corner, a seat while you wait. Be the first to see her. I could have been… I could have been…

Look. Someone's left that coat on the floor. No, it's not, it's not… But who chooses the music in those places? Who…

See, you have to think about your in
-
shop playlist. Says a lot. About you. About who you are. About who you think you are.

No, Miss. I'm just waiting. I'm just waiting for… Someone… She's coming back. Any…

Minute now. Slice of pizza from a stall outside. Black olives saltier than green. Mushrooms sliced. Not enough mozz, not enough I'd say. Masses of mozz, that's what Lulu liked. Real mozzquito was Lulu, those stones rolling, ungathering… The stones that filled my mouth…

Passed the Lebanese. Down the stairs. A brick cellar with nobody in. Make a great little jazz club, the Lebanese. Ornette, I thought.
Miles Ahead.

Ordered a bottle of their own. Oily, black. The coming place, it said. Restaurant review photocopied and pinned with a stiletto to a beam. Yeah, a knife. Still quivering. As I live and…

Lebanon's time is here, it said and why not? it asked. There are so many Aussies now with Lebanese blood. And we all have a time, don't we?

I tasted the wine. Oh, I thought. Oh…

The Lebanese breads arrived, the hummus. Garlic, I thought. The white garlic bulbs, the purple skins of the garlic cloves.

I planted garlic once. Watched the shoots curl in winter. Out of the old fruits those little fingers.

Here's the
mezze,
I said to myself. In tiny bowls, as if they held paints.

And then,
arak
. The clean
arak
to wash away the dark, the feculent…

Ah
arak
. Its white fire. In the bottle with the milled glass stopper.

You eat alone? the man asked.

No, I said. Any minute now. Any…

But he commanded:

You.

Eat.

Alone.

WEDNESDAY

5am, the tram stops, the buses. Women hunched, men vacant. Who's slept? I wondered. Who's dreamed.

A group of native people were sitting in a corner of that park by the market. Tinnies not even crushed.

One of the men was lugging a fifteen
-
litre box of Henley's Estate red. I showed them all the photograph. And, fair play, a few might have looked.

Yeah, one said. I know her. I know her.

How d'you know her? I asked.

I know her, he said again.

From where? I asked.

One of the women, seamed and haggard but maybe only twenty, in a ruined overcoat with gold braid on the shoulders, spat at my feet. Her gums were bleeding.

Lulu, I said. She's called Lulu.

Yeah, Lulu, the man said.

Don't you know? the woman hissed, bloody drool on her chin. Don't you know? We're all of us called Lulu. Look, I'm Lulu. She's Lulu. He's Lulu. Hey, mister, say hello to Lulu.

That earned her a laugh. Maybe I laughed too.

They'd made their camp under acacia bushes. Spread out on sheets of Panasonic cardboard. There was a loaf, a milk carton and a roll of toilet paper one of their kids had been playing with. All unrolled, that pink paper. Yeah, pink. All unrolled.

You know Kath? I asked. Kath?

Hey mister, the woman said. What happened to Lulu?

That broke them up. I know I laughed too.

Listen, mister, the woman said. Don't you know? Did no one ever tell you? We're all of us Kath. We're all of us Lulu.

Kath's older than Lulu, I said. But in my mind I was walking away.

Please, I said. Look at the picture again.

Yeah, said the woman, looking once more. You know who that is? You know who that is?

That's… the man said.

That's Lulu, the woman spat.

No, the man laughed. No, that's…

Kath.

Then everyone was saying it. That's Lulu, that's Lulu. That's Kath.

Have you seen her this week? I asked. Can you think? Please? This week.

Hey, tell me what day it is, boss, said the man. And I'll tell you if I've seen her.

Half an hour later I was in the university library on North Terrace. My card dated from teaching days and I remembered clearly where I had to go.

The reading room was full of yellow light. I wondered, as I had been first in line, how the other readers had entered. There were already three men standing behind the desks. Men my age, I suppose. But older looking, surely. Older than me. Everyone else was stereotypically a student.

Students seemed younger than I recalled. I thought of hairy, bearded men. With something to say. These kids seemed pallid, even bloodless.

I found the latest
Astronomy Today
where I knew it belonged. Magazines weren't date
-
stamped but this edition, brand new, didn't look as if it had been consulted, even opened. I raised it to my nose. New glue of a fresh edition.

On the cover was a galaxy inside the darkness of space. So many lights. Each light a star or another galaxy. So many lights…

I think of the quartz in the caves at The Caib. That quartz with the sun on it. Like stars, I've thought at times recently. That orange
-
red of Arcturus, the blue and orange of Albireo. As if the quartz had fallen to earth. To shine a moment in cave gloom. Stars trapped in stone. Fossils of starlight.

So here I am, I said to myself. What do I do now? I was trying Facebook. I was trying Bebo. But I thought what I've always thought in the library. That I have lived my life without studying physics. Without understanding mathematics. That I've spent too long with pictures. Too long with poems and plays. With other men's art.

In school, in fact, I'd hated physics. If only…

But it was the same with the guitar, the piano. The failure to persevere. Nicky Hopkins played on thirteen albums by the Stones. He was waiting for the call and Keith always called. Nicky was ready. But I…

My right hand still felt cold. Ice at the fingertips. As if I had cupped water from a rock pool. Yes, the hand was still traumatised.

When I looked round again, there was Sophia, crossing the reading room. Sophia, who helped sometimes in
Hey Bulldog.

Well… I said. Well…

Fancy meeting you, she continued. Here.

Here, I said. Yes, here.

Oh, she said. You've stopped shaving. Maybe…

And I stood. Looking at Sophia's hair. She must have done something to her hair. There was a blonde kink in her hair. Now. Surely that kink was new. The colour was different.

Sophia seemed older, more confident somehow. At least more adult. But people change. Only the dead stay the same.

How's the writing? I asked.

Great, she said. Sometimes it seems like it's not me doing it. The writing, I mean. It feels that I'm being written. Does that make sense?

Yeah, I said. I suppose that's how everyone feels. Eventually. Listen…

Yes, she said. I expect…

Listen. Have you seen Lu?

Sophia looked at me then. I felt I was being appraised.

No, she said finally. Not since before the rains. But I've been away. Lucky you caught me. Why?

No reason, I said. Just thought Lu might be up here. She loved this library.

She's been getting tired of Goolwa, nodded Sophia.

You think?

Oh yes. Everybody gets tired of that place. Like, who wouldn't?

Yeah. I know what you mean.

Yes, she said.

But no reason, I said. I was just… I was just…

Wondering? she asked.

I looked round the main refectory while I was waiting for our coffees. We'd both decided on chocolate bars. I also had a plate of biscuits.

So, the lyrics are…

The songs, she corrected. The songs are going pretty well. I feel playing those sets in the shop brought me on. You know. Confidence wise…

And I played the records you mentioned. Thought about song structure, like you said. Because it's structure that counts. Isn't it?

Oh yes. Always. Can't be left to chance. Can it?

No, she said. You've got to interpose.

Yeah, show your intelligence.

Always. That's right. Always show your intelligence.

A girl with long blonde hair pushed past. She wasn't Lulu. Then a plump, moon
-
faced Korean. He wasn't Lulu.

Look, breathed Sophia. I have a friend up here. Maybe we could go to her room.

I'd been looking around, I think. There seemed to be hundreds of people who weren't Lulu. In a hubbub of voices. There was a coat draped over a chair. A bag encrusted with badges. Maybe students still wore badges.

And yes, I recalled the badges we had worn. Badges about the miners' strike. Badges to save the rainforests.

But maybe I hadn't been listening.

Pardon? I said.

Room 48. Second floor, Flinders. We could go there.

Three chocolate biscuits, I thought. And a pink wafer. No one ever liked the pink wafer. No, no one liked the pink wafer. Did they? Did anyone like the pink wafer? But the chocolate was melting.

We could go there? I repeated.

If you want. If you'd like.

If I'd like? Room…

Forty
-
eight. Second floor on Flinders. I could try out my new song. That's where my guitar is. Been working for ages on it. You heard a version that time in the shop. I'd called it ‘Southern Rain'
.
Well, excuse me, but it's really changed since then… It's unrecognisable. Different key. And the tempo's much slower. The words mean so much more now. I just feel more experienced. A different person.

Yeah. You look…

Older, you said. I take that as a compliment.

Different key?

C. That's C major. But I don't want it to be too mournful. It's got to…
move.
You know?

Move?

All music moves. Doesn't it?

But, to room 48?

Yes. We could go. There.

Great, I said. I'd like that. I'd love that. Flinders?

Forty
-
eight. Second floor. Up the stairs. Look, I'll see you there.

Course, I said. I'm coming. Now. But what did you say that song is…

Is called now? ‘Southern Rain'
.
Oh yeah, it's still ‘Southern Rain'. I won't change that for anything.

And was it called ‘Southern Rain'when I heard it first? I asked.

Yes. It's always been ‘Southern Rain'
.
Always will be ‘Southern Rain'.

And she hummed it. Hummed a song called ‘Southern Rain'.

I tried to remember where I'd heard the song before. I was sure I'd heard it. But there are so many songs these days. Thousands of downloads, millions if you thought. Who needs? I wondered, who needs…?

The Spotify songs. All the box sets. Like cutlery, I thought. The spoons you've never used. Polishing the spoons you'll never need. Your reflection in every spoon. Your face stretched in a silver spoon. All the medicine you've taken. The medicine…

See you, she said. In a bit.

See you, I said. Her hair was different now. Fairer, almost blonde… It was…

She turned and was about to leave.

Hey, I said, as she was disappearing. Let's have a drink. Is it? At the bar? It's crowded in here. Don't you think? The Central's bound to be quieter.

Sophia seemed surprised.

Scores of new people were now coming past. The lovers, the lonely. All with songs in their heads.

Then Sophia smiled.

Yes, it's the lunchtime rush. Getting worse. You know, she whispered. I hardly know any of these people.

Nor me, I said. Maybe I taught some of them. Last year. Or the year before that.