The road into town was long, straight, and dusty. The kind of road you knew would lead to nowhere special and the reward for arriving was less than his lowest expectations.
Good.
He spat the word out though there was no one to hear it.
First order of business, he thought, get some headache tablets. He had been driving for a long time. How long? He had no idea.
He found a chemist shop, entered and stood behind an Aboriginal woman who was swearing at the chemist. She was wearing an old beanie, yellow with green strips interrupted with holes where a moth had carelessly eaten the line and part of the yellow. Her jacket was an equally old and shabby track suit top that had once been colourful, but was now as faded as the jaded look on her face.
“I’ll get me money in a few days but she needs this shit now. Don’t be a bastard all your life. You know she needs it”
Being a shopkeeper in a country town is not as straightforward as it is in the city. When the countryside has been in drought for years and the bank and the post office closed down yonks ago, they are the de facto bank, credit agency, Para-psychologist, social worker and when all else fails; whipping boy.
His face was ……….. impassive. He looked like he wasn’t really there. Where was he right now?
On a beach? No, that’s not his style.
In the garden pulling weeds with a ferocity that he couldn’t bring to work? Maybe.
In the TAB (the ubiquitous betting shop) listening to his horse running a poor race as usual. It didn’t even have the grace to come last. Just one of the pack, like him, ordinary, average, never a winner but not a complete loser either.
“G’on you bastard, you couldn’t deliver milk on time” he would shout to no one in particular. In the betting shop. He is one of the boys, he doesn’t lose too much and he always has a funny quip to make when his horse loses. Yes, this was his favourite place, the place he goes to in his mind.
The argument went back and forth and the man’s headache was pounding. He stepped forward, “excuse me”
“Piss off” she spat at him.
“Look maybe I can help”
“Oh yea of course. Who the fuck are you? The cops?”
“No,” he said, hurt. What’s the problem?” He looked at the chemist.
“She already owes me more than the money she gets on benefits and now she wants more. I don’t get this stuff for free to distribute to the bloody community,” he said. “I have to buy it and pay for it,” he said, looking at the woman.
“What does she want?” the man said
“Oh, morphine for pain, sleeping tablets, and some heavy shit that costs a fortune”
“Is it for her?”
“No, for her kid”
“Look I’ll pay for it” the man said as the woman looked at him suspiciously. “What do you want?” she asked accusingly. “Like a bit of black, do you?”
“No,” he answered sternly.
“Oh, you’re a racist. Black not good enough for you your majesty” she made every word a dagger and threw them all at him with as much brutality as she could muster. She hated the world and right now she hated the two of them the most.
The woman snatched the medicine from the chemist’s outstretched hand. She showed no sign of gratitude. She needed it and they had it, but they didn’t need it. Why shouldn’t he pay for it? He’s white and haven’t they caused us black fellas enough trouble. He’s got the money to buy the stuff, but he doesn’t need it. She needs it but has no money. “It’s a shit world. If you don’t take what you can get, you don’t deserve it” that was her considered opinion.
She walked out of the shop, her head high. She had got the drugs her daughter needed. It was an unexpected win; you never get anything if you don’t try, she thought. The woman, who could have been thirty but looked more like fifty headed home. Along the way, she wondered, would her daughter miss just one vial of the morphine? She deserved some too, wasn’t she hurting as well? Why shouldn’t she have just one hit to help her cope?
The man turned to the chemist. “What’s wrong with her daughter?” he asked.
“Cancer” the chemist said. That one word tells the whole story. it is the one word in the English language that is guaranteed to send shivers down your back. It reeks of pain and terror, of sleepless nights and worry filled days. It tells a tale of hopelessness, of going into battle with spears to fight an enemy that arrives in Planes and rides on tanks.
“How bad is it?” he asked. “Pretty bad. I’m surprised she is still alive. Sometimes I think she just hangs on so I go broke supplying her drugs” the chemist joked. “I don’t want you to think I’m heartless, but if I give in too easy, I’ll have the whole lot of ‘em in here demanding free drugs. I’m not the national health system, you know”. He said defensively.
The man asked how much the drugs cost. He pulled out his credit card and told the chemist to bill the drugs to his card. He asked him not to tell the woman. “And don’t go crazy with it, I’m not rich but whatever she really needs, just put it on this” he handed the chemist his card.
The chemist shrugged, took down the details while the man swallowed a couple of headache tablets the chemist gave him and washed them down with a plastic cup of water. They looked at each other, no words passed between them, but there was a mutual understanding that from now on they shared the burden.
The man left without looking back.
He walked through the drab sun burnt town now descending into the cold dreary months of winter. It was quite empty other than the shopkeepers, two drivers in the garage getting petrol and some mothers pushing strollers aimlessly window shopping and talking to their children who had already learned not to listen.
He felt hungry and, seeing a supermarket, he remembered he needed some supplies. He did a modest shopping and took it to the checkout. “Do you take credit cards” he asked. “Sure,” came the brief but not unfriendly reply. He handed his card over and waited.
“It’s declined” she said looking at him with a frown. “Do you have another one?” “No” he replied almost dreamily. “Do you want to pay with cash?” she asked summing him up in her practiced way. “No not now, I’ll come back later”
The drugs he bought at the chemist had obviously taken him to his limit. He had forgotten these things need to be paid every month. Another problem to add to the pile that he didn’t expect to sort out anytime soon.
He sighed. Looked for his car and when he saw it, he walked towards it. For a few brief seconds, he had a sense of purpose; he knew where he was going, but as soon as he arrived it disappeared and he felt emotionally drained, again.
To Be Continued …………
Read an Analysis of Each Chapter – The Philosophy and Ideas behind the Story:
A Reader’s Review of The Man Chapter 1
An Analysis of The Man Chapter 2
Pre Analysis Background Information for The Man Chapter 3
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