heavily and seemed in a state of total confusion.
Yes, who are you? irritated Uptown mimicked, losing patience. They wanted to go home. The whole situation of the perfect man lying before them, exposed on the beach, presided over by hovering, plump Libby Valance in sweating black, was just too perplexing a matter for anyone’s mind to chew over. They told Libby to get on with it because they wanted a good answer there and then.
Since Libby was useless, all eyes began casting around, looking for someone else to speak to the stranger when a voice said, ‘Get the bloody law and order man.’ All eyes fell onto Constable E’Strange, same name, Truthful: someone whom they had previously written off as more than useless. The Constable stood back, observing everything and everybody in his own tranquil way, loving the fact he was living in Desperance, and being totally ignorant of his reputation. Tut-tut! Poor bugger, a black hand signalled from the long grass: Come quick and have a look at this . The kids ran their index fingers in a circle around their ears.
Radar! Radar! All disgrace for poor Truthful. A policeman without a good pair of local ears? Perhaps it was best to be incapable of picking up all the whispering tongues hissing behind your back. More than a few years ago, the Constable had arrived in Desperance but the truth be known, nobody had use for a policeman anymore, so E’Strange had became very comfortable sitting down there at the police station doing nothing thank you very much. In his abundant spare time, the mild-natured law enforcer had created around the grey besser brick building beautiful rose gardens that Uptown women now liked to walk in and admire. He spent hours honing up his hoon town bribery skills with withered plant cuttings, to crash the treasured plant collections of all those slack-cheeked Uptown matrons. They had even strolled down to the police station in broad daylight to help him transform the barred cells into a hothouse for Ficus elastica and Monstera . The plants grew into jungle proportions of twisted vines. It had not occurred to Truthful that if the need arose one day, there was hardly any room left in the building for locking someone up.
Even now, Truthful did not recognise the vibes of the town against him. He just saw himself as part of the crowd. He had forgotten he once had a passion for crime. ‘Oh! Leave him,’ some woman said in a dry, acid voice, typical of the North. The word around town was not nice. Whisperings in the ear claimed he had been left to his own devices too long. It was plain to everyone that Truthful was not really interested in Elias lying face up on the beach, a complete stranger who had not said, nor satisfied anyone, if he were friend or foe to the town.
Truthful kept checking his broken gold Rolex watch, guessing the time. He longed to go back to his office, where he spent his working hours undertaking a personal rehabilitation course with a tax-deductable, mail-order counselling service which promised a one hundred per cent success rate at the end of thirty-six months at very little cost to his pay packet. At times, whenever he appeared out of nowhere, down among the edge mob in the prickly bush, trying to make friends, he would purge his conscience to the old people . ‘I am trying to make a new man of myself,’ he explained. He talked about spiritual journeys, including self-hypnosis, exorcism, self-analysis. I’ll kill the bastard if he tries any of that shit on me , echoed the old people after he left. Above all, the Pricklebush people were scared about what would happen to them after being apprehended by Truthful. But listen! This man built for dealing with trouble said he had moved a long way from being a thug copper from The Valley in Brisbane. He said people from the prickly bush should think of him as a friend, like a true, rural gentleman cop. He said he was even thinking of changing his surname to Smith like everybody else in
Yes, who are you? irritated Uptown mimicked, losing patience. They wanted to go home. The whole situation of the perfect man lying before them, exposed on the beach, presided over by hovering, plump Libby Valance in sweating black, was just too perplexing a matter for anyone’s mind to chew over. They told Libby to get on with it because they wanted a good answer there and then.
Since Libby was useless, all eyes began casting around, looking for someone else to speak to the stranger when a voice said, ‘Get the bloody law and order man.’ All eyes fell onto Constable E’Strange, same name, Truthful: someone whom they had previously written off as more than useless. The Constable stood back, observing everything and everybody in his own tranquil way, loving the fact he was living in Desperance, and being totally ignorant of his reputation. Tut-tut! Poor bugger, a black hand signalled from the long grass: Come quick and have a look at this . The kids ran their index fingers in a circle around their ears.
Radar! Radar! All disgrace for poor Truthful. A policeman without a good pair of local ears? Perhaps it was best to be incapable of picking up all the whispering tongues hissing behind your back. More than a few years ago, the Constable had arrived in Desperance but the truth be known, nobody had use for a policeman anymore, so E’Strange had became very comfortable sitting down there at the police station doing nothing thank you very much. In his abundant spare time, the mild-natured law enforcer had created around the grey besser brick building beautiful rose gardens that Uptown women now liked to walk in and admire. He spent hours honing up his hoon town bribery skills with withered plant cuttings, to crash the treasured plant collections of all those slack-cheeked Uptown matrons. They had even strolled down to the police station in broad daylight to help him transform the barred cells into a hothouse for Ficus elastica and Monstera . The plants grew into jungle proportions of twisted vines. It had not occurred to Truthful that if the need arose one day, there was hardly any room left in the building for locking someone up.
Even now, Truthful did not recognise the vibes of the town against him. He just saw himself as part of the crowd. He had forgotten he once had a passion for crime. ‘Oh! Leave him,’ some woman said in a dry, acid voice, typical of the North. The word around town was not nice. Whisperings in the ear claimed he had been left to his own devices too long. It was plain to everyone that Truthful was not really interested in Elias lying face up on the beach, a complete stranger who had not said, nor satisfied anyone, if he were friend or foe to the town.
Truthful kept checking his broken gold Rolex watch, guessing the time. He longed to go back to his office, where he spent his working hours undertaking a personal rehabilitation course with a tax-deductable, mail-order counselling service which promised a one hundred per cent success rate at the end of thirty-six months at very little cost to his pay packet. At times, whenever he appeared out of nowhere, down among the edge mob in the prickly bush, trying to make friends, he would purge his conscience to the old people . ‘I am trying to make a new man of myself,’ he explained. He talked about spiritual journeys, including self-hypnosis, exorcism, self-analysis. I’ll kill the bastard if he tries any of that shit on me , echoed the old people after he left. Above all, the Pricklebush people were scared about what would happen to them after being apprehended by Truthful. But listen! This man built for dealing with trouble said he had moved a long way from being a thug copper from The Valley in Brisbane. He said people from the prickly bush should think of him as a friend, like a true, rural gentleman cop. He said he was even thinking of changing his surname to Smith like everybody else in
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