One step at a time (PC)

by the bastard child

Posted to Stories on 2002-12-16 18:14:00

1. SETTING THE SCENE

‘Find me a man without any neuroses and I’ll show you a man who isn’t living.’

And so begins the story of Daniel K. Bradford the III. A story that is in many respects exactly the same as every story that’s been written before yet in many others totally different.

A story that begins in late October or maybe it’s early November, who can really tell, for that time of year, mid to late spring, is nothing more than one day on a constant loop running from the end of the football season, that last weekend in September, to the start of the cricket season proper and summer, mid to late November (whenever the first ball of the first test just so happens to be bowled.) But then the exact date isn’t of particular concern for us, as it’s nothing more than an arbitrary time frame used to give the sense that this is actually happening and to help expand create, and unfold the mood and picture in our minds. For instance birds chirping in the trees, flowers coming to bloom, green lawns, kids playing, the sight of gum trees blowing in the dry paddocks out the open windows of cars as the go past, a possible late storm coming in from the west at the end of a balmy 28 degree day. What is of concern to us though is why the red Ford Laser station wagon is pulled over to the side of the road. And why D. K. B. the III has popped the bonnet and now appears to be pouring some kind of liquid (oil? water?) into the general vicinity of the engine. Ahh it’s water. The radiator must have been low or overheated. The red watering canister (matches the car) can be seen as he shuts the bonnet. Don’t worry? A couple more minutes and we’ll be back on the road. A couple more minutes and Roger Wilson of Nagambie will be that little bit closer. For in accordance with the little challenge Professor Jay Milnes has laid down, D. K. B the III’s lecturer in PSY 3120, Abnormal Psychology, a third year subject he’s taking as part of the Psych major his completing for his Bachelor of Arts from Monash University, D. K. B. III has been driving around Victoria for the past two months, in his spare time between Uni and working at Safeway, looking for people without any neuroses. He’s been to:

Wycheproof, where he spent a weekend with Sally Murphy, a woman of forty-five, who lives, by herself, in a small hut on the outskirts of town; her only company the aviary of pigeons she keeps, as her sole source of income, and which she sells, a dozen per week, to a buyer in Melbourne who then sells them onto a Japanese buyer at a hefty (overly inflated) price, what with being considered somewhat of a delicacy in Japan and all, much as monkey brains or snake is considered a delicacy in parts of China, (contrary to the rumour neither of which taste like chicken, in fact snake has an almost, ham like flavour and texture to it, whilst monkey brains is reminiscent of pork stuffed with oysters.) There, after a weekend of conversation, in which he practically learnt Sally’s whole life story (that being that she was born in the town of Stawell to Betty and Jim Murphy, the later the very same Jim ‘Flash’ Murphy who won the Stawell gift twice, was runner-up three times, and third once, between 1949-1954, both of whom had died before Sally was ten (her mother to a snake bite, her father in a car accident) meaning Sally was sent to live with her Aunt Ruth in Bendigo until she was eighteen when she moved down to Melbourne where she held a number of jobs, ranging from a waitress in Prahran to the owner of a dog kennel in Gembrook, before moving back to Wycheproof in 1987, shortly after her thirtieth birthday, and has lived here ever since, working first in the local pub, then in the video and newsagency and lately living in the shack with her pigeons.) D. K. B the III thought he’d found the one. Only to learn, when he was going home, and asked her to come to Melbourne with him to see Professor Milnes, that because of her fathers death she never ever rode in cars but instead preferred to walk, run or ride everywhere. Not to mention the fact that she had training to do for the annual Race To The Top Of Mt Wycheproof Race, that being an old tradition in town harking back to the days of the towns first ancestors where the men of the town had to first carry bricks, then bags of flour, up to the mill that was on top. Nowadays the mill has moved to lower ground but every year the towns folk still gather in the city centre and have a race in which participants have to carry a twenty kilo bag of flour on their back to the top of the mountain, which at 237metres above sea level is in fact one of, if not the, smallest mountains in the world. A race, in which the defending champion is one Sally Murphy and so she couldn’t afford to go back to Melbourne with Daniel K. Bradford the III even if she had been able to.

Redhill, just outside Mildura, on the Murray, where he meet Bill and Jill Dilly and their kids Steve and Eve, who owned a sultana, avocado and orange farm. Where, over the course of a night and a day, he got to know the family so well that he was invited back at Easter to help with the harvesting of the sultana’s. Pity about the fact that Bill had spent a couple of months in a mental institute when he was younger (and was so worried about the blemish this left in his past that he only referred to it as ‘the period in his past he’d prefer not to talk about’, much as one refers to their time in jail as Time) and therefore didn’t meet the criteria.

Harrietville where he met Zappa Flyod a twenty-three-year old tobacco and marijuana farmer, the only problem here being the fact that he (Daniel not Zappa) was stoned so much that he didn’t really remember much of their conversation and therefore couldn’t tell whether he had any neuroses or not. Although Daniel suspects that the fact that Zappa was a marijuana farmer partly, if not whole heartedly, answers the question.

Portland (Gareth Lyon, a fisherman who woke up a four o’clock each morning in order to be out on the water by five. He’s thinking being that he’d catch the fish as they just woken up and therefore when they were at their groggiest and least likely to give any kind of struggle.)
Donald (Janet Brown, a sixty-five widow who drinks a glass of hot water everyday in the morning and night because it helps cleanses her system of any bacteria.)

Orbost (Barry Brine, a farmer who spent all day chewing on gum because he believed it gave him the same calm air as the bovines he looked after.)

In short he’d been to every corner of Victoria and still he hadn’t found his man without any neuroses. In fact Roger Wilson, was his last chance to prove Professor Milne wrong, either Roger Wilson had no neuroses or D. K. B the III will have to be man enough to shake Professor Milnes hand at the end of the semester and admit that the Professor was right. And with that thought lingering on D. K. B the III’s mind he turns the ignition of the car over and, after putting on the indicator and checking his mirror, pulls back onto the Hume and heads up it towards Nagambie.

2. WHAT’S IN A NAME

In the case of Daniel K. Bradford the III not a hell of lot compared to something like S. I. Ntology or Joy Chastity. Names that are so laden with determinism that once chosen there’s no way they’ll turn out any other way than what their name says, that is unless their parents are trying to be ironic, and then well then they can turn out however the fuck they want. A naming system that sought of pays homage to days past when the butcher was called Butcher and names like Thomas Greenhill or Nathan Van der Velt meant Thomas of the Greenhill or Nathan from the town or place that is known as Velt. Although in the case of Daniel K. Bradford the III there maybe something more than meets the eye in that name. Maybe a little of the egotist in his father and his father’s father eye. Lets hope though that the egotist gene stops here with this the third generation otherwise who knows a hundred years from now there might be a story written about Daniel K. Bradford the VII or VIII.

3. WHERE IT TAKES PLACE

Nagambie, Victoria (Central, 123 km from Melbourne), Australia. Population: 1200. Claim to fame: the picturesque Lake Nagambie on which the town is located. Created in 1890, when the construction of the Goulburn Weir was completed, Lake Nagambie is now a favourite picnicking spot for people travelling along the Goulburn Valley to Shepparton, Echuca and beyond. How to get there: Take the Hume Highway from Melbourne to Seymour turning off when you see a sign that says Shepparton, Goulburn Valley. Take this and twenty minutes later you should be driving down Nagambie’s high street. To your left as you drive through you should see Buckley Park and it’s lovely barbeque facilities (take advantage of them if you can). While if your beer cold and your chips hot then the pubs just across the road (stop in and say hello to Ted and Anne Miner for me). And for those whose taste is a little more upmarket there’s a couple of wineries about ten minutes out of town not to mention David Traegers Wines right in the centre of town. There’s a-plenty to do in Nagambie. (source RACV tourist handbook to victoria 1997)

4. WHAT UNFOLDS

And as the station wagon pulls into his driveway Roger Wilson shuts his blind and walks out front.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ he says as Daniel opens the door and stretches his legs.

‘Daniel K. Bradford the III. Roger, I assume?’

‘Yes. And who the fuck are you?’

‘Daniel K. Bradford the third. Pleased to meet you.’ says Daniel extending his right hand to the burly man on the other side of his door. The man who’s arms don’t budge from the C’mon Impress Me position they’ve taking up.

‘You’ve already told me that. What you haven’t told me is who the fuck you are?’

‘Ah, you want to know why I’m here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let me inside for a cup of tea and I’ll tell you.’

‘No how about you tell me who you are first and then I’ll decided whether I want to invite you in for a cup of tea, ok?’

And so Roger Wilson came to learn how Daniel K. Bradford the III was travelling around Victoria looking for someone without any neuroses. A journey that had taken him to all corners of the State, where he’d met all kinds of people, with all kinds of neuroses. From people scared of cars to people who had to do 100 push-ups each morning to people with a fear of spiders. All of which Roger Wilson didn’t give a fuck about until D.K.B the III happened to mention about how he’d met this guy who chewed gum all day because he believed it created a ‘bovine-like air about him’. At which his interest (and ears) pricked up and he invited D.K.B the III into his house. In his mind to find out about his old friend Barry Brine. In Daniel’s mind to help him out.

And so half an hour after pulling into the driveway D.K.B finally the III enters the old white weatherboard house with tin roof and complimentary holes in the fly screen door where he follows, the big hunk of a man that is, Roger Wilson down the narrow hallway into the kitchen watching on as Roger fill up an old silver kettle, puts it on the stove, then sits down at the kitchen table with him.

‘The kettle won’t be long. So how is Barry, it’s been years since I’ve seen him let alone heard from him? The last I heard he was living in Shepparton and working at the cannery there. So you say he’s got a diary farm now? He always did have a soft spot for those creatures.’

‘Yeah it seems that way. Apparently he’s been living down Orbost way for a couple of years now. Doesn’t seem to be doing to bad either, considering the drought and all that. So how you know him?’

‘Barry used to live around here about eight, ten years ago, worked in the pub and captained the cricket side. That’s how we met in fact. We were both members of the side that won the local competition in 91-92 and 92-93. He used to chew gum all the time on the field. It made him relaxed he said. Not to mention the fact that he made him look like Mark Taylor, he’s favourite player at the time. Didn’t he tell you that?’

‘Nah. He didn’t tell me much. In fact he seemed rather reluctant to talk to me at all.’

As this is the said the kettle is brought to the boil and Roger makes his way over to the stove, grabbing a tea towel of the oven door handle and wrapping it around the handle of the kettle, before removing the kettle from the stove and walking over to the bench on the other side of the kitchen where two mugs with tea bags wait.

‘Yeah. That’s old Barry, alright. Never gave anything away to those who he didn’t know. That’s what made him such a great captain and opening batsmen. He always defended his wicket so diligently. Not to mention the fact that he was one of the greatest sledger’s I’ve known. He could get right into your mind. Sugar? Milk? Cream?’

‘Black with two thanks. What about yourself what did you do in the team?’

‘Take a guess. Just look at me. There you go.’ Says Roger sitting back down.

‘Thanks,’ replies D.K.B the III as he takes a sip of his tea. ‘I don’t know. To tell you the truth I’m not that big a fan of cricket.’

‘I was the opening bowler,’ Roger replies taking a sip.

‘They used to call me Swervin, after Merv Hughes, ’cause I kinda had the same figure as him, although I never did have the facial hair, you do know who Merv Hughes is don’t you?’

‘That guy from the Hahn Ice ads with the moustache?’

‘Yep, that’s the one.’

The conversation dies here for a moment as both Roger and D.K.B the III take a sip from there cup of tea before it is resurrected by Roger.

‘You know I took 50 wickets one year too.’

‘Is that good?’

‘Shit yeah. Considering we only play 14 games plus finals a year, but I’m boring you aren’t I.’

‘No not really.’ Says D.K.B the III who is covering his mouth with his right hand as he tries to hide a yawn. ‘It’s just the drive, I’m tired from the drive, that’s all. Go on.’

‘If you say. Yeah that was in 91-92 when we won the first of our titles, went through the season undefeated we did. No real surprise though. I mean beside me grabbing 50 wickets, Barry scored over 600 runs and another couple of our batsmen scored close to 400, so we were pretty much unbeatable. Are you sure Barry didn’t mention any of this?’

‘Yes. As I told you’- another camouflaged yawn- ‘Barry didn’t say much. Why?’

‘I don’t know. I just thought that maybe he would have mentioned something more about me then just where I lived, that’s all.’

‘What makes you think he mentioned anything about you to me?’

‘Well he must have. I mean how else did you find out about me. It can’t just be coincidence that a week after a good friend of mine gets a visit from a one Dan Broadford the III, journalist with The Herald Sun, that I get a visit from a Daniel K. Bradford the III, student at Monash University, now can it?’

‘What? Are you saying…but you told me…’

‘Yes I lied. I knew you were coming. Barry called me up after you left him last week and told me all about you. How you just turned up at his place and begun asking all this questions. About how he had the mind to give you a good old thump but you were a journalist with the Herald Sun, who was doing a piece about the effect the drought has had on East Gippsland diary farmers, and he was afraid he’d get sued if he did. So you were lucky in that respects. Although if you want some advice next time you’re pretending to be a journalist don’t ask questions that involve the words “on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being awful, 10 being excellent, how do you….” Or questions like if you found a spider in your cupboard what would you do? a) run from the room b) kill it c) capture it and take it outside d) eat it e) undress and let it crawl all over you naked body. Just between you and me it does kind off give the game away.’

As all this is said D.K.B the III’s face and demeanour changes: from the cheerful cockiness of youth to the frightened disbelief of a kid who’s been caught by his parents for wagging school. Not only that but D.K.B the III feels his stomach unsettle, like his going to be physically sick or needs to take a big crap, which he attributes to the tea but which has more to do with the unripe fruit he ate on his drive up then on the tea and more to do with the fact that he’s been caught out for his lies then on the fruit. A feeling he tries to overcome by getting out of the kitchen chair and making a dash down the hall towards the toilet, wherever that may well be.

‘Hey where you going?’ asks Roger, holding back a laugh.

‘Toilet. I need to use the toilet.’

‘Down the hall and to the right it’s the first door on the left.’

‘Thanks.’ Says D.K.B the III as he rushes out of the room.

‘No worries’ says Roger to himself has a picks up the paper of the table and flicks through it.

A couple of minutes later.

‘Feeling better,’ says Roger as D.K.B the III walks back into the kitchen.

‘Yeah I am, it was nothing just a case of the runs that’s all.’

‘That’s good then as long as you aren’t sick. Now where were we? …That’s right I was in the middle of belittling you. Do sit down so I can continue?’

‘No I can’t. I really have to get going.’

‘But I was just beginning to enjoy myself. I hope it was nothing I said.’

‘No no nothing like that it’s just …well I’ve got an exam tomorrow and I really should be home studying.’

‘Oh ok, then. So be it for me to make you fail. I’ll walk you out though.’

‘That’s alright I can find my way out.’

‘No no I insist. I’d be a bad host otherwise.’

‘Ok.’

And so twenty minutes after entering the house D.K.B the III is walking back down the hall and out the house no closer to finding out whether Roger Wilson is the one. In fact at this particular moment he couldn’t care less whether Roger Wilson was the one or not he just wants to get as far away from this place as quickly as he can.

‘Oh by the way thanks for the tea’ D.K.B the III shouts of the roof of the car as he climbs aboard.

‘That’s alright. Good luck with the exam.’ Says Roger from the door.

‘What?’ D.K.B the III yells out the open window as he backs out the door.

‘Good luck with the exam.’ Roger shouts back before walking inside.

‘Thanks.’ D.K.B the III replies as he turns up the radio and drives off.


5. REALISATION: THE LONLINESS OF THE DRIVE HOME

The white line blurs almost becoming one as it reaches 120. D.K.B the III eyes fixate on the empty road ahead, his mind however is elsewhere. It’s off running through all the places his been and all the lies he’s told. Whycheproof, local real estate agency; Portland, marine biology student from Warrnambool; Orbost, Herald Sun reporter; Donald, working for the Australian Census; Harrietville, looking to buy some dope (at least that one was true); Redhill, looking for work. And as he remembers the lies he remembers the looks on their faces and begins to wonder whether they knew all along that he was lying (he suspects they did), which makes him begin to wonder whether or not their neuroses were genuine. Sure at the time they looked genuine but then at the time he believed he’d pulled the wool over their eyes and was on such a lied-induced high that he would have believed anything. Now, well now he’s on such a low that he doesn’t know what they fuck to believe or where the fuck he is or why he fucken bothered to come here or why he even gave a shit about Profeesor Milnes challenge in the first place. Then he remembers it has to do with his own neuroses, to question every single fucken thing, and therefore he can’t and won’t believe anything until he’s actually experienced it first hand himself. Hence this journey of the last two months.

6. ONE LAST TWIST

An hour and a half after leaving the red station wagon pulls back into the driveway. Getting out the driver rushes to the door and knocks on it.

‘Coming.’ Shouts the voice from the end of the hall, where it’s been talking on the phone. ‘Ah it’s you again,’ it says as it gets closer to the door. ‘What gives me the pleasure of this second visit?’

‘This,’ the driver says as he opens the door and shoves a gun in his face.

‘Yeah what about this?’ calmly replies the other man, as if he’s had a gun in his face many a times before.

‘I’m going to ask you a question and your going to answer it otherwise bye bye.’

‘Oh so you’ve decided to be direct and honest have we?’

‘Yes. Now would you shut the fuck up and answer this question. Do you have any neuroses?’

‘That depends. What do you mean by neuroses, I have my fears and idiosyncrasies and ’

‘Just answer the fucken question.’

‘Yeah I do. For starters why do you think I live on my own? I have a fear of intimacy. I’m afraid of opening myself up to someone only to have he or her not like me. I’m afraid of opening myself up to someone only to find that I don’t like who I am. I’m afraid of opening myself to someone only to find that they do actually like me. I’m afraid of being afraid. I’m afraid of being alone so I talk to myself all the time, which makes me look crazy and then I became afraid that other people think I’m crazy and that’s the reason why they don’t want to be friends with me so I stop talking to myself but then I become lonely and so I start talking to myself and ’

‘Ok, ok I get the fucken picture. You’re afraid. I’m afraid. We all fucken afraid.’ And with that the driver removes the gun from the other man’s face, putting it away in his jacket, runs back to his car, reverse and then drives off.


7. WHAT IT ALL MEANS

Not much. Come the end of November when his exams are over D.K.B the III will shake Professor Jay Milnes hand and say: ‘You know your right there is no living man without any neuroses.’ To which Professor Milnes will reply: “Was there ever any doubt.” That is if Daniel K. Bradford the III manages to pass the exams shaking Professor Milnes hands and telling him his right but he’ll also be shaking his hand and saying see you next year.