Omar Musa - Here Come the Dogs

‘So Jimmy’s dad’s Aboriginal?’

‘Doubt it. He said he was at the time, but.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Aw, man.’ Solomon exhales and speaks slowly. ‘Jimmy’s dad. is a mystery. Nobody knows what his background is. Sometimes I wonder if he even knows. A born liar, like I said. He changes his story all the time. The next time I met him he said he was Pakistani. When we were kids, he said Greek. Once the story was even that he was Irish.’

‘Pretty different, aren’t they?’

‘Totally, but his looks are ambiguous — he could pass for anything. A chameleon.’

‘Like Jimmy,’ Scarlett nods.

‘Exactly. The weird thing, though, was that all the shit he said about the land, the names of trees, this place, I looked it up and he was spot on. And later with Islam — he knew it all. I still don’t get it. But back then, to me, it was kind of a novelty. I never liked him, but I realised I could learn shit from him if I just listened.’

‘And Jimmy?’

Solomon laughs, but it sounds like a snort. ‘I can’t begin to tell you about the hatred Jimmy has for his old man. The shame. It consumes him. Always has. A lifelong obsession. To find out what his ethnic background really is.’

‘He can just do a DNA test, surely.’

‘That’s what I say. But to him, it’s more than that. He wants to hear it from his dad’s mouth. And Mum could never understand why; why wasn’t he content just to know her race, why did he have to know his dad’s? But Jimmy couldn’t let it go. Not knowing what he is has become what he is.’

‘Wow. That’s a paradox. Like your only home being homelessness.’

‘Exactly.’

Jimmy is thinking of every movie he’s seen about prison and wonders if anyone has escaped from this one. The security guard can’t stop yawning. The jail smells freshly painted and the overwhelming feel, beneath the boredom and mundaneness, is of fear. Jimmy passes through security and is told to remove his belt. He gets thumb-printed and searched. He wonders if someone might check up his arse. Do they actually do that in jail? He hopes he wiped properly. The security guard pulls the two photos out of his pocket and examines them, suddenly attentive. One of the photos he hands back, the other he holds up. ‘What’s this?’

‘Um. Art.’

‘Did you get a permit for this?’

‘Yes.’ Jimmy tries to hold the guard’s eyes but can feel himself wavering.

The security guard examines it again and then bends it back and forth, back and forth. Jimmy wants to snatch it from the cunt.

‘It’s a present. A special present for my friend.’

‘Looks like graffiti to me. Graffiti’s illegal, mate. Not allowed in here, I’m afraid.’ The man smiles.

‘But I —’

‘Sorry.’

Jimmy looks away so the man can’t see that he’s on the verge of tears. He drags his feet as walks into the meeting area, shoulders slumped, but smiles when he sees Aleks.

There’s glass between them.

‘What’s going on, mate?’ Jimmy shifts in his seat uneasily.

‘Same shit.’

‘Been doing anything fun?’

‘Fun?’ Aleks smiles. ‘Nah, just trying to sort shit out. Bloody lawyer finally came through. Ten thousand bucks later. He’ll get me out of this mess, but.’

‘Dope.’ Silence. Two other men are talking with low voices. Jimmy grins crookedly, then quotes one of their favourite lines from Chopper. ‘Well, ya really landed on ya knees, didn’t ya, mate?’

They both laugh so hard they’re nearly crying. The security guard comes over and quiets them. Rubbing tears from his eyes, Aleks says, ‘So, what ’bout you?’

Jimmy raises his eyebrows, grins and produces the remaining photo.

‘Bullshit! Fuck, that looks nice, bro. Muscle car! Dodge Coronet?’

‘Yep.’

‘Fark. Where’d you get the cash?’

‘Saved up. Drove it here even. Goes like a dream.’ Jimmy’s never looked so proud.

‘Fark me dead. Good on ya, cuz.’ They sit grinning.

‘Solomon loves it.’

Aleks stops smiling. Silence, then, ‘Any good music coming out?’

‘Heaps. Young gun from Melbourne called Dr Flea. Raven. Prime. Bunch of gangsta shit from Sydney.’

‘Gangsta shit, huh?’ Aleks looks away.

‘Yeah. And there’s heaps of tours happening. You gonna be out for the Sin One show?’

‘Should be.’

‘Me and Solomon gonna try go but he’s always with his new missus.’

‘How’s Solomon?’ Aleks is still looking away, seemingly distracted by something on the wall.

‘Good. He’s trying to start this youth basketball team. Dunno. Never seen him like this before.’

‘Good for him.’ Aleks looks back and Jimmy can see that he’s hurt.

‘He wanted to come, bro. Serious.’

‘Yeh.’ Silence again.

‘So. Made any mates in here?’ Jimmy asks, at last.

Aleks is about to snort but then he looks thoughtful. ‘Actually. My cellmate. Sudanese bloke. Tried to top himself a while back. He wouldn’t stop crying, bro, for hours. Eventually calmed him down, got the story out of him. Walked all the way across Sudan, in and out of reffo camps. Poor bastard swallowed ten condoms of heroin in exchange for a plane ticket. Got caught in Sydney airport, shat the bubbles out. They gave him a bunch of time, then they’re probably just gonna deport him.’

‘Jesus. No wonder the poor cunt tried to top himself.’

‘Tell me about it. Been talking to him every night, telling him everything will be all right. He’s good to talk to, brother. Good listener.’

Jimmy doesn’t know if this is a dig at him and Solomon, so he doesn’t reply. They both sit thinking, then Jimmy smiles. ‘We did a piece for ya. Security guard confiscated it.’

‘Cunt.’

‘I know, ay?’ Jimmy shakes his head. ‘Was gonna be a surprise.’

‘All good, brother. Cheer up. Where?’

‘You know that place on the edge of town? Fuel depot?’

‘Ooooh, good spot. Killer,’ says Aleks.

Jimmy, with his right fingertip, draws the piece on the glass, going through the process, explaining the colours, the fight with the seccas. Aleks lets the piece appear in his mind’s eye. It is radiant, shining outwards like a multicoloured sun.

* * *

‘One bottle down, another bottle down, GO!’

Tornts’ aggressive voice is bursting from his headphones.

Jimmy is sitting by himself

at a bar in the City,

a glowing metropolis

of empty glasses and bottles

in front of him.

He thinks it looks like something

from a sci-fi movie.

He stands up

and shakily goes to a table

of people who went to school with Solomon.

They’re all dressed in suits,

having been to a wedding.

He hovers at the edge of the group

until one of them recognises him

and waves him into the group.

The man is gym-built,

the tux fitting like cloth pinned over blocks of stone,

smoothing down a merlot tie.

‘This is Amosa’s brother!

Amosa was the best basketball player ever, remember?

So athletic he could’ve been in the 1st XV.

A Samoan who doesn’t play footy.

First time for everything, ay?’

The man raises a beer to the light,

drains it,

and the rest follow.

He continues,

‘Yeah, he was always going on about all that culture stuff.’

‘Where is Solomon?’ someone else asks.

‘Fuck Solomon,’ says Jimmy.

He means it as a joke but it comes out harsh.

Mutter, mutter, mutter.

Jimmy is watching a leggy, tanned brunette

in a saffron dress,

holding a glass of red wine

with three fingers and thumb.

A creature from a world Jimmy has no passport to.