Troubador and The Fat girl.

Andy pumped the accelerator pedal five full strokes to flood the cylinders and held the throttle half open as the tired engine churned over in a series of grinding pulses - go you bastard GO! - spun again, coughed and started with enough noise to wake the dead. He jazzed the throttle, waited to make sure it wasnt going to die on him then selecting low gear he eased the pedal up to help preserve what was left of the worn clutch facings. The van rolled away from behind the country pub where hed played last night. His mouth tasted like the floor of a parrots cage; he cruised the main street in hopes of an early morning coffee and grumbling to himself turned left at the end of town to pick up the dirt road that looped North West. The sooner he got out of this place the better. Not that the town itself was a sink-hole, it was much like any other satellite town whose only reason for existence were the huge wheat silos and the business they generated. Last nights audience was a bunch of bastards and the publican had no intention of interfering with the antics of his regular drinkers, especially as he wasnt paying for the event. Andy tried to get a few bucks from the man for the evenings entertainment but wound up stuck in a corner playing and singing for a meal and tips and use of the guests bathroom to shower and change. Occasionally someone in the small crowd passed him a beer. A few drinks were ok, even welcome, they kept him lubricated and loose enough to compete with the jokers in his half pissed audience but it was money he needed, a few bucks for petrol and a decent breakfast to get him going the next day.

/cont.

Troubador

A couple of the drinkers were on his side, they could see he was trying to earn a few bucks but no one was going to compete with the local hero who was built like an ox and had just enough booze in him to be dangerous. Hey! I could play that thing better with me dick mate - and everybody laughed, they had to. Andy laughed too; keep the bastard happy there was no point in competing. Dont talk back - find another level and just play and sing for yourself. The sun had gained some strength and he lowered the drivers side window. The battered Kombi van which was home for both man and dog got warmer and raised the level of their mingled body odours. It was due for a clean out at the next river town where they could camp for a day and air the crumbling foam mattress and wash the blankets. Slowly, his black mood dissolved with the rocking movement of the van and the feel of the sun on his shoulder and he turned his thoughts to the lyrics in his head. Just a country troubador I keep on movin round, a rover with an old guitar I go from town to town - playin country music, singin songs they want to hear, building bridges for old memories that faded down the years. He wasnt sure he was writing it for anybody but himself, it was a bit interior. And as much as he tried to fit the chords they kept on crossing paths with the rhythm and music from an Enya song which fitted perfectly and it annoyed him, it kept on interfering. He wished hed never heard it. The dog stuck his head out of the passenger window and slobbered on the side of the van, pulled it in again and barked a question. All right Jack, as soon as we find a place thats open. They drove on, not too fast, petrol was always a consideration and worn tyres werent best suited for dirt roads and they werent heading anywhere in a hurry, just the next likely looking town. He favoured towns the regular country and western singers didnt include on their itineraries; too small, too distant, small audiences. He wasnt seeking to be famous. His voice was pleasant enough and as a schooled musician he knew how to manipulate what he had within the register of its limitations. Audiences liked his country guitar technique and they would perhaps appreciate it more if they happened to hear him filling the solitary moments in the back rooms of small town hotels where he indulged his gift of accomplishment and revived his senses with the music of Tarrega, Vivaldi, and Bachs lute concertos. Echoes of a lost cause. He pushed the latest country cassette into the player - keep up with the latest if you want to please the locals. One hour more and the fidgety dog was jumping from the front seat to the rear of the van and back again. For Christs sake Jack settle down! git in this seat and bloody well stay there - git down when I tell ya!. /cont.

Troubador

Jack settled unwillingly, he was hungry, the last feed was yesterday and now it was well into the morning. He liked the steady rhythm of the van and the fantastic sense of scenery rushing by without having to lift a paw and he liked it when Andy talked to him for time on end as the world flowed by - even when he howled in that peculiar way of his. But he was hungry and this business of relying on Andy was an occasional pain in the tail and right now Andy was in one of his moods which meant there would be no communication between them. Watch the world go by. There, hes started howling again. Im a wandering minstrel forever movin on, in a busted ute with an old blue dog and a swag of country songs. Should have picked up the main road and had a MacDonalds before heading off the back road, what you think Jack? Despite the idiot who commandeered last nights performance hed made eighteen bucks in tips, enough to get some gas, a light breakfast and a can of dog food. He picked up the song again. I Paint pictures of the outback on this battered old guitar, I send the big rigs humming on their journey down the tar, Im the stockman wrestling cattle, the farmer growing wheat, black singlet robbing fleeces from a million greasy sheep. Thats the tempo - fits beautifully - only wish her music would get out of my head. It was past nine when he sighted the old style service station. Here we go mate, looks like a tucker stop. It was left over from the days of private ownership. Not big enough for the oil companies to acquire but strategically situated on the loop road to maintain a useful presence. It survived now on the chances of lost explorers running out of fuel. A twisted and faded sign at the edge of the road said - Top Up and Tucker. Three pumps dispensed leaded, unleaded and diesel fuel. There was no service bay, there was no mechanic. You could buy petrol and oil, re-treaded tyres in several sizes, fan belts and radiator hoses to fit most popular vehicles. A plastic bucket of water and a ragged squeegee to wash bugs off the windscreen and a spouted can to top up radiators stood by the pumps. This was the sum total of self-service. An inscribed arrow pointed the way to a single toilet at the rear with a vacant / occupied sign on the door that you turned over upon entering. The asphalt apron impregnated with years of grey dust and black oil streaks radiated shimmers of heat from the buckled surface. Before Andy could open the drivers door a girl stepped through the double veranda type doors, descended the single wooden step and walked towards the pumps. She was a fat girl, not pear shaped or grossly double bulbous but firm and rounded with wide hips and wider shoulders. She walked with quick, small steps and because Andy could not see her feet beneath the long, loose cotton dress she appeared to be gliding across the tarmac. /cont.

Troubador

4 Fill er up? she asked as she glided by and lifted the petrol hose from its mount in a hand too small

for such a large body. Andy did a quick calculation as he climbed down. Five bucks worth, shes pretty near the top. Rule number one was never let the tank get too low. The petrol gauge wasnt all that reliable and there was all sorts of crap lurking in the bottom of that rusting tank waiting to be sucked into the carburettor and invite disaster. If you cant move on you cant earn a buck. In truth the tank was nowhere near the top but it was all the budget would allow to get safely to the next town. He walked around the front of the van digging into his pockets, sorting out the coins. Paper money was a rarity, generally a selection of ten, twenty and fifty cent pieces and some occasional dollars. He handed over the shrapnel without looking at the fat girl who read all she needed to know in the pile of mixed offerings. She computed the visuals. Crappy old Kombi van on its last legs - man and dog thin as rakes- lucky if they eat twice a day - they could both do with a bath - western boots cracked and down at the heels - never seen polish - jeans will fall apart if he washes them, same goes for that cowboy shirt - wears his hair long cos he cant afford to cut it - about twenty eight or twenty nine, not bad looking - dont see much sun. Whats the chance of getting breakfast? Yep, steak and eggs, bacon and eggs, sausages and eggs, eggs on toast - beans on toast if you only want something light - and a pot of tea thrown in. There was a thin hint of charity in the pot of tea and instead of feeling grateful he felt embarrassed and resentful. How about coffee, do you have coffee? She smiled lightly and Andy was surprised to see the dimples pop into her cheeks; she had the face of a very big cute little girl, Only out of a jar, were a bit far out for the espresso trade. OK then Ill have the eggs on toast - and the tea. Sure, park the van and Ill see you in the dining room. There was no shade except for a narrow all weather top that covered the distance from the office area to the pumps with just enough space for one vehicle to draw up comfortably. Andy moved the van closer to the end of the service station which was really a weather-board residence with a wider than normal veranda fitted out with windows and doors to serve as an office cum dining room. Out you get Jack, Ill feed you when Ive had mine, go on, dot a few trees. The dining room consisted of three square formica topped tables and peeling chrome chairs set apart from a raise the flap counter that featured an old electric till and a prominent sign that said No cards. It was safe to assume that this was a strictly cash and carry enterprise. The walls were decorated with a collection of girlie trade calendars, assorted fan belts and radiator hoses.

/cont.

Troubador

5 He sat where he could see through the large window and keep an eye on Jack. The girl had

disappeared into the recesses of the house. He took a paper napkin from the plastic dispenser, drew some music staves with a pencil and closed his eyes while he searched for the music he wanted. He used the pencil like a baton while running the lyrics in his head I move on with the seasons, youll find me hanging round country shows and rodeo, I cover lots of ground. Playin in the small town halls for a line of dancing boots, the minstrel keeps on movin on - the travellers got no roots Scuse me, - does your dog eat scraps, Ive got some truckies left-overs if you like? She was standing two yards away with a big pot of tea in one hand and cup and saucer in the other. God only knows what she thought about him conducting a silent symphony. Aaah - hes not real particular Theyre all-right, good bony meat scraps only a couple of hours old. Andy nodded his thanks, yeah fine.,thank you. -and how do you like your eggs ? On the toast and a bit runny thanks. Whats his name? Jack. Mines Rosie, whats yours? Andy. O.K. Andy now that were all introduced Ill get on with brekky.

From somewhere out back he heard her calling Jack! come here Jack! and thought hed better go and get him but when he got round the side of the building Jack was already climbing all over Rosie to get at the goodies. Good boy - get stuck into that. She looked across at Andy. Whats his breed ? Hes a bitser - you knowbits of this and that and lots of everything . Ho yes she chuckled placing her dainty hands on the large hips as she watched Jack attacking the bones, theres lots of them around bush towns, hey and turned to go through the screen door, be ready in a minute. Andy looked on with a broad smile as Jack got his old fangs into the gristle and fat and teased it from the bone. At least the days started well for Jack, have a good time mate and he headed for the toilet to splash his face and hands. Surprisingly, he found it quite clean, no cobwebs; no red backs under the seat and the toilet bowl and hand /cont.

Troubador

basin were unstained. He made a quick decision to have a basin bath with the piece of plain laundry soap and a heap of paper towels from the dispenser. He removed his shirt; a mirror with the silvering broken into scabrous black patches was fixed to the wall above the basin and he had to dodge about to look at his face and body. He was finger mauling his hair and studying the dark circles under his eyes and the spiky stubble on his thinning face and trying to decide whether he really did look that bad or was it just the effect of the scabby mirror? Rosie called from the side door. Yoo-hooo- the hooo quivering on the bright air and Andy recognised the untrained quality of a pleasant soprano voice. Thank you -Im coming. Dont be too long its ready and I dont like my eggs to get greasy. Her eggs? He took his hat from the lid of the toilet bowl and made for the dining room, passing Jack who was too busy with his bony treasures to spare him a glance As he sat, Rosie put down a dish of lightly fried eggs on toast. The table had been set with cutlery, side plate and condiments while he was cleaning up. There were three eggs, and more toast on another side plate. She felt the tea pot, this has gone cold, Ill make another when you finish, enjoy your breakfast and she took the pot with her to the kitchen. He surveyed the glistening whites and yellows of the eggs on their background of lightly toasted country bread and could feel his stomach smiling. He decorated the egg whites with a mixture of tomato and Worcester sauces, added a sprinkle of pepper and salt, then carved delicately away at this palette separating the whites and yellows before puncturing the yolks to let them soak into the toast. He grunted in absolute pleasure. About half way through the meal there came the sound of boots dragging through the short hallway. A shaggy man in rumpled shirt and trousers with the appearance of one who had just rolled out of bed in the clothes he was wearing shambled through without looking right or left and shuffled past the pumps to the edge of the road. He was somewhere in his sixties maybe. Standing in the sun he scratched his hide like a dog with a flea and rolled his head about to loosen up his neck. He studied the sky, squinting into the sun, stuffed his shirt into his trousers then dragged his unlaced boots back to the front entrance and looked across at Andy. A face like a dried up river bed; pitted, cracked, creviced and grey like the straggling crop of short hair on his head. He said nothing, sucked his teeth, nodded casually and continued through to the house. Her father? In a shambolic way he reminded Andy of his past music professor at the Conservatorium. Another rumpled, untidy man who always looked as though he bought his gear from St.Vinnies. and wore it to class straight off the rack. Music- he would entreat, is the universal language of mankind and is well said to be the speech of angels, /cont.

Troubador

combining quotations from Longfellow and Wordsworth , and we are all thieves for none of us can write a note without taking something from the masters. Do at least tryyy to be original ladies and gentlemen; and would fall to scratching his neck below the ear as if trying to conjure up something genuinely useful to follow on. The prof was a music technician, a mechanic not a teacher, and one of the reasons why Andy left his studies. Life is music, he convinced his self, and its as much visual as it is harmonic, get out, fill your senses with the real thing. How long ago was that? Im a wanderin minstrel who keeps on movin on--- . There were two slices of toast left, he slapped on a heap of jam and wrapped them in a paper napkin. How was it - ok.? Rosie took no notice of what he was doing as she cleared the plates and cutlery. DAMN! she had this knack of ghosting in. Ill bring some fresh tea. He looked at her feet as she walked away to be sure she was wearing shoes, she was, flat soled sandal type things. How could a big girl like her move so swiftly and silently?, she was solid all the way down, big bum, and as far as he could guess thighs and legs to match, but her feet, like her hands, seemed too small for the rest of her. The napkin with the staves was still on the table, he reached for it with one hand and fetched the pencil from his shirt with the other, burped a couple of progressive chords from a full belly and fitted them against the lyrics. I travel like the eagle afloat on freedoms wings, gliding on the breezes cos a wanderers got no strings, Ive got memories by the truck loadl of girls in country towns, who tried to catch the troubador and keep him on the ground. He hummed it through, eyes closed as he fingered an imaginary guitar not bad, not bad, still got a tiny trace of the Enya thing but its different. He smelled her light talcum and opened his eyes, CHRIST! she was standing there with the tea pot in her hands, expressionless, neither laughingly or amused, more interested if anything. Andy sat upright. Sorry to interrupt you sunshine she said brightly but heres your tea, and it was done in such a sisterly way Andy felt he should respond to preserve the mood. Rosie was turning to go as he reached for the tea. Good brekkie that was, I enjoyed it. Good, them eggs were fresh laid, we keep our own chook factory out the back. She was standing in that awkward half turned position, expectant, as if waiting to be finally dismissed and Andy got the feeling she would like to talk but not without an invitation. You do much business out here? - a bit off the beaten track isnt it? Oh, we get enough to survive, enough to keep the old bloke happy anyway. She laced her fingers and rested her hands and arms in what seemed to be their natural resting place across her firm belly, and theres always a few truckies dodging the transport cops on the main road and we hold diesel stocks for some of the local farmers and theres people who prefer to use the back road rather than tangle with the traffic so its not all that bad. /cont.

Troubador

There was a pause while he sipped his tea. -except in winter when the road cuts up and the truckies dont come round this way, but we get along , you dont need much out here. Standing as she was with that little smile on her dimpled face she reminded Andy of an upright Buddha. He wondered how much she would spread sitting down. Just you and your father? Christ no! hes not my old man , I just keep house and run the business for him. I wouldnt have him for a father if you paid me; he sleeps most of the day and spends his nights drinking the till. Keeping house had a connotation that raised a question in Andys mind but the spike in her voice dispelled that and raised other questions that were really none of his business. Carefully, he lowered the cup to the saucer and ignoring the tea strainer topped it up again from the pot. Rosie unlocked her hands and smoothed the dress over her stomach and thighs and moved back a small pace, all of which translated into signs of departure. Well then - I guess you must like it out here to stay on, eh? No, not really, its a matter of choices and I dont have a lot. Whys that? -and he kicked himself mentally as the question rolled out but was surprised to hear Rosies peal of laughter and see her big body rock and roll as she shifted feet and threw her arms out wide. Its pretty obvious why Andy, Im a very large girl, a fat girl, and biggies like me find it hard to fit in. People try to make me feel comfortable but its a burden on them and its embarrassing for me. I dont like people to be sorry for me - thats not my style Andy. She spread herself over one of the tubular chairs and leaned her big, firm arms on the table, Im a fat girl who is wise enough to know where I can and cant fit in. It occurred to Andy that she liked to use that phrase, fit in, it carried a hint of humorous philosophy. And this is the place, the place where you fit best - out here in the sticks? He was tempted to follow with an insinuation about hiding away but stopped himself. He had no right, and especially no right to be hurtful. Yes, for the moment, she leaned forward a little and looked straight into Andys eyes, I know I wont be here for ever but for now this is where I fit best, nodding in the direction of the house interior, that old man out there couldnt care less if Im fat or thin, black, white, brown or brindle as long as I keep this so called business operating and cook him the occasional meal. Hes not embarrassed to have me around and Im happy with that. She eased her weight back into the chair which went dangerously past the vertical and she giggled. There are people out there with much bigger problems than me Andy.

/cont.

Troubador

He wondered if her subtle, self-slanted humour wasnt altogether some sort of defence mechanism, a subconscious lance probing the fat boil in her psyche. He wanted to change the subject. Do you ever get away from the place; go to town or something like that? Occasionally, a girls got to cut loose once in a while you know. A trip to town for girlie supplies and all that and these beautiful tresses of mine need pampering about every three months because it takes me that long to get a booking. Theres only two salons in there and Im their worst nightmare and when I ring up to make an appointment they both claim theyre booked out weeks ahead so I enjoy going when I finally get one. Its fun time when I walk into the hairdressers and see the expressions on the ladies faces, especially the one who got the short straw, she doesnt know whether to drag up another chair or not, one for each cheek, ha, ha. One day Im going to ask for three chairs just to see what they do. She was laughing at the thought of it, But the best part is the bit when they have to get you tipped back into the basin for the rinses, her laughter increased and the words came between the small shrieks of hilarity, it-it-takes three of them to-to tip me backwards and ho-hold me there-for insurance reasons I think. Andy was unable to control himself as she pantomimed the scene and the sight of her body jiggling in time to her laughter added an extra dimension. It had been a long time since hed laughed so genuinely and so freely. There was some sort of evacuation taking place inside him, old vapours were being expelled and he was momentarily surprised to find that he felt genuinely happy. It went on for a good minute or two before their laughter diminished to quiet chuckles and subsided into a pleasant, self-conscious silence. Andy groped for a follow up and was sobered by the realisation that he could think of nothing funny or even humorous to recount from his wandering years. Youll leave here one day though wont you Rosie, youll find a better place to fit and giggled at his unintentional slip. She chuckled along with him for a bit, slid her hands together between her knees, sat as tall as she could and composed her face before speaking. Her voice was steady and level and had seriousness about it. One day Andy, one day Ill open the front doors and therell be a lovely big frog waiting there on the doorstep and Ill pick him up and kiss him like youre supposed to do- she leaned forward again and now her face broke out into a huge smile, her eyes opened very wide and they were smiling too -and guess what Andy? The prince and the princess thing? No Andy, Ill turn into a gorgeous fat frog and well hop off to his pond together. She burst into wild peals of laughter again and Andy could only manage a thin smile as he watched her rocking in the old chair; she really did believe there was a place for her, some place where she would fit happily in the world of a fat girl. /cont.

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10

She had something that hed lost a long time ago. He got up smiling and held out his hand. Gotta go Rosie, its been the most entertaining breakfast Ive had in years, Ill know where to come in future for a laugh with my eggs on toast. Any time Andy, and talking about eggs, she released his hand, cocked her head slightly with tongue in cheek turned her palm upwards and grinned at him.. Oh Jesus! I was going without paying, he dredged out the coins, how much Rosie? Five fifty gets you off the hook Andy. He sorted them out and made a mental note that there was seven fifty left. There was no need to call Jack, as soon as he heard the motor grind into action he was around to his side and in the opened door. Youre not bringing that stinking bone with you Jack! its smelly enough in here as it is. At the risk of losing a finger he struggled to take it from the dog and then heaved it across the road into the bush. Jack was furious and made sure everybody within hearing distance knew about it. Shut up and get in your seat or Ill throw you in the bush too. Rosie watched all this from the doorway and returned Andys parting wave, see ya he called, see ya she called back. He caught a glimpse of her in the side mirror before he turned on to the dirt again, one arm half raised and the little fingers twinkling goodbye. It seemed as though hed been there for ages but in reality it wasnt much more than an hour. Rosie watched them vanish beyond the dust cloud that finally separated them and when she could no longer hear the racketty motor on the hot, bright air she sighed and went inside. The distance to the next town, the one with two hairdressing salons was 53 Ks and travelling easy he would be there a bit after mid-day with plenty of time to suss out the likely pubs. He hummed the chords a few times to fix them in his mind, beating time on the rim of the steering wheel with his finger tips, changing a few words here and there But Im a wandering minstrel who must keep movin on, in my worn out truck with my old blue dog and my swag of country songs -she was a nice lady wasnt she Jack? a bit on the big side, but nice, and funny too - I liked that bit about the frog. He concentrated on easing the van through a couple of rough sections and grew thoughtful in the process, yeah well, how many guys would want to kiss a fat girl anyway, well whatever, but itll be a happy pond wherever she is I betcha. The van stopped a couple of Ks before Woolerung which was the hub for the farms and properties that radiused westward. He changed his shirt and jeans to be more presentable and cruised in to select the most likely venue. There were four pubs and he opted for The Imperial in the centre of the main street. It had been recently refurbished with a plush lounge bar and a small stage complete with lights and sound system. The customers would be more up market and less likely to get on his G string. He tried for a money deal, forty bucks for four hours /cont.

Troubador

11

with ten minute breaks and settled for ten dollars in hand, a steak dinner, a beer every half hour and tips. It was a good night with an appreciative audience and no roughies and he tried The Troubador for the first time and was happy with the way it went down. Between sets he sipped his drink and moved pegs in his mind as he reflected on his meeting with Rosie and her uncomplicated acceptance of who she was - what she was. Not embarrassed for herself but for those about her. Maybe she disguises her true feelings too much with her load of good humour about frogs and all that stuff , shes like any other girl, shed like to be thin and sexy and desirable and she never will be - she knows that. And it may bother her some but she wont let it spill over into other peoples lives. No waves in her pond thats for sure. At five thirty Rosie prepared the kitchen for the early truckies; steaks, sausages and eggs lined up on their platters, water boiled and a stack of toasting bread ready to go. Then she raised the window shades and opened the double doors and was surprised to see an early starter parked at the pumps. He must have come in quietly during the night. He made his way to the doorstep. Rosie studied him through the glass and pulled one door aside with a questioning look on her face. I dont do frog imitations Rosie and you dont have to kiss me cos Im no bloody prince, just a wandering minstrel and Im not real sure where Im going or where Ill eventually wind up, not just yet anyway, but wherever it is, I - we - Jack and me wed be real happy if youd like to join us. Rosie, her face beaming yet questioning what she had heard smoothed the flowered cotton dress over her stomach and hips and looked beyond Andy for what seemed a long time, at the van where Jack was now barking his head off, at the bush and the trees across the dusty country road and the spaces beyond. She pressed her lips together in thought, she laced her fingers across her Buddha tummy, and she looked back at Andy with a mischievous smile and Shirley Temple dimples and nodded in the direction of the van. Do you really think Ill fit Andy? Would you like to find out Rosie? ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

04/02/2000. Terrance A. Byrne.

/cont.