The Old Man and the Sea i Eynest Hemming wayHe was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish. In the first forty days a boy had been with him. But after forty days without a fish the boy’s parents had told him that the old man was now definitely and finally salao, which is the worst form of unlucky, and the boy had gone at their orders in another boat which caught three good fish the first week. It made the boy sad to see the old man come in each day with his skiff empty and he always went down to help him carry either the coiled lines or the gaff and harpoon and the sail that was furled around the mast. The sail was patched with flour sacks and, furled, it looked like the flag of permanent defeat. The old man was thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles in the back of his neck. The brown blotches of the benevolent skin cancer the sun brings from its reflection on the tropic sea were on his checks. The blotches ran’ well down the sides of his. face and his hands had the deep-creased scars from handling heavy fish on the cords. But none of these scars were fresh. They were as old as erosions in a fishless desert. 3Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same colour as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated. ‘Santiago,’ the boy said to him as they climbed the bank from where the skiff was hauled up. ‘I could go with you again, We've made some money.” The old man had taught the boy to fish and the boy loved him. ‘No,’ the old man said. ‘You're with a lucky boat Stay with them.” “But remember how you went cighty-seven days \without fish and then we caught big ones every day for three weeks.” ‘J remember,’ the old man said, ‘I know you did not leave me because you doubted.’ ‘ie was papa made me leave. Tam a boy and I must obey him? ‘know,’ the old man said, ‘It is quite normal.” “Hee hasn’t much faith.’ ‘No,’ the old man ssid ‘But we have, Haven’t we?” ‘Yes,’ the boy said. ‘Can I offer you a beer on the Terrace and then we'll take the stuffhome.’” “Why now che old man said. ‘Between fishermen.” They sat on the Terrace and man} ‘ ¥ of the fisher made fun of the old man and he was not ae Others, of the older fishermen, looked at him and were sad. But they did not show it and they spoke politely about the eurrent and the depths they had drifted their lines at and the steady good weather and 4 of what they had seen, The successful fishermen of Shae day were already in and bad butchered their tnavlin out and carried them laid full Iength across "9 planks, with two men staggering at the end of each plank, to the fish house where they waited for the ice reyck to carry them co the market in Havana, Those vivo had caught sharks had taken them eo the shark factory on the other side of the cove where they were hoisted on a block and tackle, their livers removed, the fins cut off and cheit hides skinned out and their flesh cut into strips for salting. ‘When the wind was in the east @ smell came across the harbour from the shark factory; but today there svar only the faint edge ofthe odour because the wind had backed into the north and then dropped off and it swas pleasant and sunny on the Terrace. ‘Santiago,’ the boy said. «Yes? the old man said. Hee was holding his glass and thinking of many years ago. “can I go out and get sardines for you for tomorrow?” “No. Go and play baseball. I can still row and Rogelio will throw the net.” “Twould like to go. If eannot fish with you, I would € to serve *You bought me a beer, already a man.” “How old was I when you and you nearly were fhe old man said. ‘You are took me ina boat?” when I brought che 5‘When the paramedics had pulled up on the shoulder of the road, they found Farquharson standing near the fence, wet through, with a blanket round his shoulders, His skin was cold and he was shivering. His pulse rate was up, his blood pressure normal. Neither of his lungs was wheezing or crackling, They asked him to cough. He brought up no phlegm. Breathalysed, he blew zero. He had no history of blackouts, he said, but had had a dry cough for the past few days. He told the paramedics that his oldest son had opened the door, causing the car to fill up with water and sink; that he himself had got out, flagged down a vehicle, and gone to Winch to tell the police and his ex-wife what had happened. On the drive to Geelong Hospital the paramedics considered that their patient was more stunned than in shock. They heard him give vent to several more unproductive coughs. As the ambulance sped along the dark road, Farquharson, from his stretcher in the back, asked one of the paramedics, ‘Did I do the right thing? How am I going to live with myself aftr all this has happened?” Perhaps philosophical. Perhaps Farquharson was the paramedic in the witness box, these questions were merely murmuring to himself. Either way, badged and epauleted in his dark blue uniform, dis nor sey whether he had replied or tried to offer comfort. He told the court only that Farquharson then fell silent, and lay in the ambulance shaking © his head. THIS HOUSE OF GRIEF 17 by Helen GarnerSalta tre iv hy Tarr Jone Winch. *m in Sydney, in a ippi if a castle where Salt aepactad Q of baked pumpkin to take me from fed : me where but here. I had pumpkin soup at oo kitchen yesterday but the taste was shit. I could [ ith a feed, a good feed. Sleep was fine, but that food was a load of rubbish, no one ate there less they were teal desperate. It’s a weird neon e forever decorated as Christmas, 2 forgotten tch of Pitt Street stone. in the I'd headed south that day, I remember, in seat of the backpackers” station wagon, lousing the sunset colours of of the car sparkling 1 imagined. It passenger the foreign voices 4 the Top End. The shiny bits red like all the blood I'd ever seen © was then that I knew Pete was right. I knew that ing like that again- ee any! : I would never = ate i dle ba oad L ~~ [Swallow the Aig Uattved with my i he stil spinni art sill hurt Ta per realised T hadn't std 7d ny ha PIEWollongong. My eyes begs ite neycomb. It got easier to ¢ e82n to harden ie lo, bei clogging wale a T spun into the Voices and tides g f ironed and mole te nearest tree. These but pte and searched Pte mals | ded an eM et smooth prani paseo eee rile wag nt and beyond devil ue WAS a crawlin sti ite ovis it Picky ake fide In the midal ‘lmore f th Pat Re nile Of the chaos 1 Pak ety Opposite the station, Llangiek were mass a wih say is ive fig trees wit ine 1208 that cradled stan aie nn the otherwise Fauld aoe in the centre ofthe patkthreny tiles as 4 parachute «: Depor, = roof, The sign Tae of mouldy but people cll tall sores of oe PE o think of it as fit as a castle, feel as if youre sleepi ‘The Block right in some fairytale with its fancy steel stake ae enat wraps around the roofiop, But the os don’t scream ang ambulances don't sts clean of its spilling blood, get rolled and the a balmy fent catto ribbon the stre gronken businessmen don't gangs from Chinatown don’t come to do deals. pave bullshit happy endings © The cartoons make people hope, for @ Pr from whatever it is ince or a hero t0 save Us the dragon or the T didn’t need to be saved; J wasn't walcing a stupid hero. But one came anyway, not in 2 costume but wearing a purple t-shirt, and baring too-perfect false teeth. “Hey, yas? 7 T vas awake already, ing on my side WENT fon my branches dance. I propped m5 ae her voice and dragged elbows at the sound of oe i over the edge. An pelly to the fence £0 100 woman wth white ir nest combed and parted stood sing SP “Tietle sis, who are YOU? us, ya lite cont, yo uP there aren't at me.— Heegpy Valley bag Patrick Wheto ge! un foe the gaol, tilts back his chair, and swots at flies \1 repe: and crucified a roadman on a dead tree. Ol@Harry Grogan found the body. It was like a scarecrox, he said, only it didn’t scare. There was crows all oveyfhe place, sitting there and dipping their beaks into the Muttonholes. Now the gaol is coveredwith snow and the police sergeant is inside, writing aA uneventful repost that he will send later to Moorang’ The gaol is an impressive white mound, the housesAmaller ones. There is a general air of hibernation, of Affe suspended under the snow. Literally under, for in gKe winter the people of Kambala communicate ‘cher by channels or even tunnels carved throu sh the sng. You seldom see any more than a streamer ofsmoke wayhag weakly from the arm of an iron chimney-pot or the ‘elid of an eaves raised cautiously out of the snow. STO Te In one of the hotel bedrooms the publican’s wife wasq—— (fe giving birth to her first child. She lay on her back, a big cxclilee woman with a face that was naturally red, but which had now gone putty-coloured. Sometimes she tossed about and sometimes she just lay still, She was having a child, she told herself dumbly at first, until with the increase of pain she did not know what she was having, only that she was having, having, straining, it was tearing her apart, and the doctor’s hand was on her. She closed her eyes. She had resented the doctor at first, did not want him to touch her, then by degrees she did not mind whether he touched her or not, Because the pain was there, whatever happened. 5 ESShe had come from Tumut with her husband a year a; Everyone told them they were mad, And now she be BO. to wonder herself, somehow confounding her pain . Kambala and all that snow, snow everywhere, you could hardly see out of the window except at the top. She opened and closed her eyes and moaned. The doctor was still there looking at her. There were two other women in the room, one a silent her left eye, and the half-bred Chinese woman with a cast in other an old woman with little greasy puffs of hair standing kind of arch. They had come in out over her forehead in a ith the puffs of hair, to help. Mrs Steele, the old woman wi always came to assist at a birth or a death. She had helped bring a lot of children into the world. She could also lay a body better than any woman in the neighbourhood. Now she stood by the bed and stared at the doctor with all her expert experience, and resenited his presence a great deal, because apart from her own experienc? (she could have managed the lying in herself, only Mr Chalker, the had to send to Happy Valley for the doctor), apart ot old Dr Reardon who had left ald not help holding Dr and Dr Reardon knew f mutual admiration. ry politely though. dditional point for out publican, from this, the doctor was 2 the district a year ago, and she co Halliday responsible for this. She a thing or two. They were a source o Dr Halliday told her to mind out. Ve He was a gentleman. And this was an a s ah . scom, She refused to own that ability was a possible quality ina gentleman. id Mrs 7 Dr Halliday stood by the bed, with his back to ol ele, looking at the patient. 6You could put out the lamp, Mrs Steele, he said, without turning to look. Mrs Steele stood like a post. The Chinese woman climbed up silently on a chair and turned down the wick of the lamp, till the light was out, and a white smoke mean- dered up through the glass. ‘The doctor looked at his watch. It was nine o’clock. He had been there since the evening before, and now it was light again, and there was a shadow of bristle about his chin. The rims of his eyes were dry and taut. They felt as if they might never close again, stuck there, glued. The calves of his legs ached. He had been there how many hours? He would not count, could not be bothered to count. But it was a weary business, and the way she moaned, weary, with that pale hair flattened back from her face. Somebody was cooking bacon and eggs. He could smell the fat, smell the wick of the now extinguished lamp, and the little oil stove against which the Chinese woman was warming her skirts. It was monstrously cold in this room, in this wooden house with the snow piled up outside. The little stove seemed ro make no impression on the temperature. He shivered and put his fingers on the woman's pulse. She opened her eyes and looked at him blankly. I'll soon be over now, he said. he felt. When she moaned It was like delivering @ COW, yw. And that same it was almost like the lowing of a co" Gomtldered stare. Or perhaps he had become callous. called it professional, when perhaps it was like that first time, the woman in the somewhere out in Surry Hills. She had Some peopl just callousness. No tenement in Sydney, 7