Zigzag Street by Nick Earls Page A

shooter? Clint fucking Eastwood more like , she says, andlaughs at me. I might have said short, clear things but I don’t recall saying spaghetti western. The only people who shoot straighter ride into town with a black hat on and a mouthful of chewing tobacco .
    She has a bizarre and appealing sense of humour, an obscure preoccupation with western imagery and a range of silly signals, designed to challenge my composure when cool is required. Some days I think it’s the only intimate thing in my life. Bad train of thought. In my mind I go the finger pistol and blow it away.
    Oh, come on. He was getting all Brando on me, I tell her. So, what’s our position? So, what’s our position like the room was loaded with bugs and I had to speak back in code. I was fine. My response was entirely appropriate.
    They can think what they like? Cowboy. And you used to be so thoughtful, so careful with your responses .
    Trust me sheriff. Trust me. At least I wasn’t the one playing fairy godmother with the happy clauses.
    And I’m thinking, why am I like this? Where did this straight shooter thing come from? Is it just because I really don’t care about the bank in Thailand? Or because I don’t care if I’m right or wrong any more? Do I think it’s impressive? I think I was thoughtful. I think my considered opinion was one of my assets. And I just don’t consider the way I used to.
    This new approach seemed to work with Barry, and that worries me even more. I think I liked it better when I frustrated him with my caution, when my entire work practice was geared around making no mistakes.
    But now that I think about it, that does seem a while ago.

13
    At home that night, among all the junk mail, is an envelope with Kevin Butt’s address crossed out and ‘Richard’ written on it somewhat shakily in blue biro. It contains a cassette and a scrap of paper which says simply, ‘A token of my appreciation’, and underneath, quite unnecessarily, the name Kevin J Butt.
    The tape has no indication of its contents, and this does not reassure me.
    I go inside, feed Greg, and load it into the stereo. I hear Kevin’s voice.
    G’day young Richard. As I am very appreciative of your assistance with the stump on the weekend last , he says with the obvious style of a person reading a prepared text, and understanding something of your musical interests, I have today recorded in my kitchen a few of our favourite songs. Should you happen to look out of your back windows, you will also see that I noticed that your grass was in need of doing and I have attended to that too. I hope this is okay by you . Then, as an afterthought, And I hope you enjoy listening to these songs as much as I enjoyed recording them for you. Thank you, and good night .
    There follows a small amount of throat clearing and a few practice notes, then a version of ‘Rose of Tralee’ that could make the deaf weep. There is so much slide going on with that guitar that I’m surprised he doesn’thurt himself, and at times his interpretation is so individual it’s only my guess that I’m still hearing ‘Rose of Tralee’. He drags his way through a few more of the classics, evoking fond memories of the stump uprooting and ends with one for you and me mate , a lively, up tempo ‘Pub With No Beer’.
    So in the midst of this life of quality I make a friend in the neighbourhood.
    At least the lawn looks good.
    For dinner tonight I sit at the red Laminex table and rest my head upon it. I am not inclined to cook, or to eat.

14
    So I am the one designated to invent the alternative clauses that will make everyone happy.
    Hillary reassures me that I’m just the boy for the job , and I tell her I shall take my obvious surfeit of happiness and direct it to this important purpose.
    I try hard to focus on the screen, but I keep finding myself thinking of other things, or quietly whining my way