Tide by John Kinsella Page A

Touches of other places. Fathers hating that. Things in common. Hunters. Ride over to each other’s places on dirt bikes. Boundary riders. Are you girls lezzos? What? You know, do you do each other? What? Lick each other out? What? What? What?
    Once, the Boys were hauled up by the new cop in town, but he was disciplined and transferred. At 200 k’s they laugh about it and Josh hurls the empty Jacks bottle out the window, something else at that speed. Beyond the laws of physics. Fuck, man, see that? No! Ha. Funny bastard. I’ll roll a spliff – slow down, you mad cunt.
    Flying fish are mythical as well. Of course. ‘Fish out of water’. It sticks in Josh’s craw as he apologises in private to the girl. His girl. A terrorist. Assumed name, false passport, on the run. I am into peace, she says. But I hate the state, I hate fascists, and I hate racists. Would you kill a racist? he asks. Where is this boat sailing and why? she asks. It is following the flying fish, he says. No, they are accompanying it, she replies. He wonders how Perry is making out. Perry had wanted to sleep with ‘Sumatran hookers’. He was getting sidetracked.
    This car is a fucking flying fish, yells Perry. He is pumped and the car is disintegrating around him. Slow down – fuck ya, Perry. Slow the fuck down.
    But why tell us so much about yourselves? You pulling our legs? Spinning a story, making it up and having a joke at our expense. Sorry! You were giving signals. I thought you wanted it. That you were bi or something. I’d do it with a lezzo, no problem. We’re here because of the flying fish. We caught the ferry at the same time as you. Out of Jakarta. We arrived, went to a hotel, slept, and got a cab down to the port. You gave us money. Lots of money. But we’re not doing it for that, or you. We’re just doing it. You took us on board that yacht? We heard your words, your anger. Didn’t we fuck you senseless while those big crew-mates of yours listened. We had no problem being understood by the driver or anyone in the hotel. You’d think English was the language here. We even tipped the bloke. He seemed fine. And we’ve not complained about the egg, rice and fish-head meals. We’ve not pushed anyone around. When in Rome …
    You’d think Perry was a sports star, but he isn’t. He played footy but was middling. He was a lousy schoolboy cricketer. But he is a fair shot and loves roo shooting. He isn’t averse to wounding, to leaving them hopping around in circles. Actually, he finds it hilarious. ‘Hilarious’ is a Perry word. A catch-all.
    Wanna feel how hard my arm muscles are? See, like rock. That’s because I work hard. Perry does as well. We were on the bins making extra dough for this trip. We’ll both inherit farms. We’ll take wives from outside the district. Maybe from far away. We’ll take them back and … domesticate them. It’s a family tradition. Nah, I’m joking! Can’t you take a joke? You might speak English okay but you sure as hell can’t understand it. Nah. But seriously, if you want to come back to Australia … You bitches think you’ve got us by the short and curlies. You’re mouthy, but you don’t know what that means, do you?!
    Steam erupts from the bonnet and the car rapidly decelerates. Fuck ya, Perry, now you’ve screwed it. The car careens and Perry rights it onto the gravel shoulder, hitting the brakes, skidding, fishtailing back onto the bitumen and then back onto the shoulder. Pounding the wheel, shrieking, Cunt cunt cunt of a thing! Josh hands him the spliff which he’d arced up just before. Perry grabs it, tokes hard, holds it, then slumps back into the seat. Fucken hell, sorry mate, he says. They are friends to the core.
    I don’t get all this political shit, says Perry to ‘his’ girl. I’ve handed out some pamphlets. Keep everything in its place, I