dirt-encrusted cards, the remnant of games long past. Dandelions and weeds rise from mounds of rubbish. A dog sniffs through the undergrowth, a grey cat sprawls in a cardboard box, asleep under a hot sun, while Josh sits back on a discarded sofa, the sports pages of the Age newspaper in hand.
He smokes cast-off cigarettes. A gaggle of younger children carve tunnels in the dirt. âHoad Beats Gonzales in Marathon Tennis Duelâ, the headline proclaims. Josh reads the sports pages to the last detail. Olympic sprint champion Dawn Fraser is âOut to Better World Recordâ, at a swimming meet next Wednesday night. Australian batsman Les Favell has âStarred Again in Bright Handâ, against Transvaal. World-class milers, Merv Lincoln and John Landy, are due to clash at Olympic Park. There is a straightforwardness in the sport reports: it is all numbers, records, simple forecasts and yesterdayâs results. Josh checks the trotting guides, even though he has little idea of what trotting is about.
When he has read his fill he lies back on a patch of dirt. He prefers the closeness of the ground, the solidity of the earth. The hum of a motor car can be heard on the rim of his world. The rustle of long grass is the last sound he hears until he awakes, an hour later, to the aroma of smoke rising from an incinerator in a backyard nearby. Josh runs his hand over the cooling dirt. The sun is on its descent, its touch mild. He stretches his arms and yawns. He would do anything to stretch the minutes, to elongate the hours. To stop time.
Zofia comes home from the dentistâs by the back lane . Her jaws are clamped on blood-soaked wads of cotton wool. The blood is still fresh upon her gums. She enters the house by the kitchen door. Her face is white with a stoic tightness that Josh has come to know so well.
Even though her mouth is swollen, an hour later, as she prepares the evening meal, she recounts her tale. It is not the first time Josh has heard it. She is proud of this tale. It is her signature story, the way she defines herself and maintains her self-belief. When she was a child, pre-war, in the city of Krakow, the dentist had removed several teeth without sedation. She had borne it in silence. The dentist had been impressed that one so young could be so brave.
âI was just ten years old. I did not utter a sound. I endured it.â She pauses, turns to the stove, adjusts the flames beneath the cooking pots; then returns to the table for a brief rest. âThe dentist said I was the bravest girl he had ever known.â
Zofia sits at the table and talks of teeth and endurance, and of primitive operations conducted in a city of palaces and tombs. She has now had all her teeth removed. It is cheaper this way, the dentist had advised her. It had saved the cost of fillings, the repair of each tooth one by one. The effects of the injection are on the wane. âYes, when I was a child, the dentist said I was the bravest girl he had ever known,â she repeats, as she clamps down on the pain.
And Josh is a little afraid of this dark-eyed woman with her stoic smile. He wonders when the eyes will move away, and when their focus will be fixed elsewhere, on that âother worldâ. And he wonders when the tempest will erupt and pour venom into the darkening rooms.
âHeavenly shades of night are falling. Itâs twilight time.â Bloomfield hums the first bars of the popular song. Papou is back for his daily stroll. The hems of his trousers are again rolled. They reach the lower calf on one leg, the knee on the other. As he chases his toddler grandchild, he gasps for breath. His ample stomach bounces up and down. The three girls are also back by the Moreton Bays. They run to a park tap, and return with a bottle of water. They dip brushes into the bottle and apply the water to a lower trunk.
âWhat are you doing?â asks Bloomfield, who sits on a park bench beneath the Moreton Bays. He
He smokes cast-off cigarettes. A gaggle of younger children carve tunnels in the dirt. âHoad Beats Gonzales in Marathon Tennis Duelâ, the headline proclaims. Josh reads the sports pages to the last detail. Olympic sprint champion Dawn Fraser is âOut to Better World Recordâ, at a swimming meet next Wednesday night. Australian batsman Les Favell has âStarred Again in Bright Handâ, against Transvaal. World-class milers, Merv Lincoln and John Landy, are due to clash at Olympic Park. There is a straightforwardness in the sport reports: it is all numbers, records, simple forecasts and yesterdayâs results. Josh checks the trotting guides, even though he has little idea of what trotting is about.
When he has read his fill he lies back on a patch of dirt. He prefers the closeness of the ground, the solidity of the earth. The hum of a motor car can be heard on the rim of his world. The rustle of long grass is the last sound he hears until he awakes, an hour later, to the aroma of smoke rising from an incinerator in a backyard nearby. Josh runs his hand over the cooling dirt. The sun is on its descent, its touch mild. He stretches his arms and yawns. He would do anything to stretch the minutes, to elongate the hours. To stop time.
Zofia comes home from the dentistâs by the back lane . Her jaws are clamped on blood-soaked wads of cotton wool. The blood is still fresh upon her gums. She enters the house by the kitchen door. Her face is white with a stoic tightness that Josh has come to know so well.
Even though her mouth is swollen, an hour later, as she prepares the evening meal, she recounts her tale. It is not the first time Josh has heard it. She is proud of this tale. It is her signature story, the way she defines herself and maintains her self-belief. When she was a child, pre-war, in the city of Krakow, the dentist had removed several teeth without sedation. She had borne it in silence. The dentist had been impressed that one so young could be so brave.
âI was just ten years old. I did not utter a sound. I endured it.â She pauses, turns to the stove, adjusts the flames beneath the cooking pots; then returns to the table for a brief rest. âThe dentist said I was the bravest girl he had ever known.â
Zofia sits at the table and talks of teeth and endurance, and of primitive operations conducted in a city of palaces and tombs. She has now had all her teeth removed. It is cheaper this way, the dentist had advised her. It had saved the cost of fillings, the repair of each tooth one by one. The effects of the injection are on the wane. âYes, when I was a child, the dentist said I was the bravest girl he had ever known,â she repeats, as she clamps down on the pain.
And Josh is a little afraid of this dark-eyed woman with her stoic smile. He wonders when the eyes will move away, and when their focus will be fixed elsewhere, on that âother worldâ. And he wonders when the tempest will erupt and pour venom into the darkening rooms.
âHeavenly shades of night are falling. Itâs twilight time.â Bloomfield hums the first bars of the popular song. Papou is back for his daily stroll. The hems of his trousers are again rolled. They reach the lower calf on one leg, the knee on the other. As he chases his toddler grandchild, he gasps for breath. His ample stomach bounces up and down. The three girls are also back by the Moreton Bays. They run to a park tap, and return with a bottle of water. They dip brushes into the bottle and apply the water to a lower trunk.
âWhat are you doing?â asks Bloomfield, who sits on a park bench beneath the Moreton Bays. He
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