Craig,
I need to talk to you. Or...I don't know, maybe I don't. Maybe I'm over reacting. The thing is...you know Graham's old desk? The big metal one he used to sit at all the time in the shed? The other day Tess decided enough was enough, the desk had to go. It was taking up too much room. She's got plans for a yoga space out there and you know what they say? Happy wife, happy life. And anyway: she's right. I mean, why do we even need a desk like that anymore?
I'll get to the point. As you can probably tell, I'm a bit freaked out. The council guys came by to pick it up. They had to take the draws out and turn the desk on its side to get it through the door. The thing still weighed a bloody tonne. When they do all this, a little photograph falls out. It's just a bit bigger than a passport photo. A little colour photo of Graham in the late 70's or maybe the early 80's. You can see by the fashion and the muttonchops it has to be at least thirty years ago. At least. Besides, in the photo, he is still big and robust, still built like a bull. All 6'3 of him. Remember how he used to tower over us in the back garden? Remember how we used to think his hands were big as shovels and he had fucking rock hard grapefruits for biceps?
Anyway, in the photo the old bastard is wearing like a desert camouflage get up with combat boots. He looks like he's sweaty, covered in dust. And get this...he is holding a South African Vector R4 assault rifle. Do you how I know this? I had to look it up on Wikipedia. That's how much I know about guns. Anyway, he is standing there, smiling, squinting against the glare of the sun which must be setting or rising because of the length of the shadows. He has a cigarette in his mouth. Remember he used to smoke?
There are four other men with him, all dressed the same and armed. All roughly his age. At first, I thought, oh, this is a costume party out in the bush. But then I noticed, in the background, a bombed-out mud hut with a collapsed thatched roof. And what looks like a black blast mark covering one wall. So unless they built some kind of set....I'm thinking this is authentic.
I drove over to the home to visit him. The staff were a bit confused because it wasn't my regular day. He was sitting in the day room. I told him what I'd found. He just shrugged and looked out the window. There was an amazing view of the harbour. Then I showed him the photo. I couldn't be sure but it seemed to me like there was a glimmer of recognition. Some little mental connection being made. Something. I mean what the hell was he doing for all those years? Remember how mum used to say he was involved in the mining industry out there? We thought he was a businessman flying around in a three-piece suit & swilling scotch? Remember that?
Now? Jesus, he is so...small. So shrunken up. Especially in the last couple of years, my god! Remember how we'd used to get postcards and little trinkets from him? How when he came back he always had something in his suitcase. Remember those gemstones and the necklace with the shark teeth?
So much is starting to make sense to me now. I mean, think about it. It's no wonder that....remember mum said he had problems adjusting to life back in Australia after so much time working offshore? How bad his temper was at times?
I'm not sure what to do with this photograph. I think I'll just put it away somewhere. Or destroy it. There is no point in everyone else knowing, is there? What good would that do? Especially now.
Max.
I need to talk to you. Or...I don't know, maybe I don't. Maybe I'm over reacting. The thing is...you know Graham's old desk? The big metal one he used to sit at all the time in the shed? The other day Tess decided enough was enough, the desk had to go. It was taking up too much room. She's got plans for a yoga space out there and you know what they say? Happy wife, happy life. And anyway: she's right. I mean, why do we even need a desk like that anymore?
I'll get to the point. As you can probably tell, I'm a bit freaked out. The council guys came by to pick it up. They had to take the draws out and turn the desk on its side to get it through the door. The thing still weighed a bloody tonne. When they do all this, a little photograph falls out. It's just a bit bigger than a passport photo. A little colour photo of Graham in the late 70's or maybe the early 80's. You can see by the fashion and the muttonchops it has to be at least thirty years ago. At least. Besides, in the photo, he is still big and robust, still built like a bull. All 6'3 of him. Remember how he used to tower over us in the back garden? Remember how we used to think his hands were big as shovels and he had fucking rock hard grapefruits for biceps?
Anyway, in the photo the old bastard is wearing like a desert camouflage get up with combat boots. He looks like he's sweaty, covered in dust. And get this...he is holding a South African Vector R4 assault rifle. Do you how I know this? I had to look it up on Wikipedia. That's how much I know about guns. Anyway, he is standing there, smiling, squinting against the glare of the sun which must be setting or rising because of the length of the shadows. He has a cigarette in his mouth. Remember he used to smoke?
There are four other men with him, all dressed the same and armed. All roughly his age. At first, I thought, oh, this is a costume party out in the bush. But then I noticed, in the background, a bombed-out mud hut with a collapsed thatched roof. And what looks like a black blast mark covering one wall. So unless they built some kind of set....I'm thinking this is authentic.
I drove over to the home to visit him. The staff were a bit confused because it wasn't my regular day. He was sitting in the day room. I told him what I'd found. He just shrugged and looked out the window. There was an amazing view of the harbour. Then I showed him the photo. I couldn't be sure but it seemed to me like there was a glimmer of recognition. Some little mental connection being made. Something. I mean what the hell was he doing for all those years? Remember how mum used to say he was involved in the mining industry out there? We thought he was a businessman flying around in a three-piece suit & swilling scotch? Remember that?
Now? Jesus, he is so...small. So shrunken up. Especially in the last couple of years, my god! Remember how we'd used to get postcards and little trinkets from him? How when he came back he always had something in his suitcase. Remember those gemstones and the necklace with the shark teeth?
So much is starting to make sense to me now. I mean, think about it. It's no wonder that....remember mum said he had problems adjusting to life back in Australia after so much time working offshore? How bad his temper was at times?
I'm not sure what to do with this photograph. I think I'll just put it away somewhere. Or destroy it. There is no point in everyone else knowing, is there? What good would that do? Especially now.
Max.
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