8. LYNDON

WE WALKED THROUGH The Anarchist’s Tattoo Parlour and Barber Shop, and I was amazed. This had to be the coolest place in the world. The front half of the store was a barber shop and the place was filled with men being foamed and shaved and trimmed. The barbers looked like fashion models, all buff, lithe and beautiful. Of course, they were all covered in tattoos. And no one was over thirty. The décor was black, white, and silver; the floor was checkered and huge mirrors lined the walls, along with black-and-white photography of impossible male musculature. Next up was the reception area of the tattoo parlour, filled with hanging boards displaying hundreds of designs, against a backdrop of red, bordello-style wallpaper. Jason led me past three tattoo artists who were all concentrating hard. One man was having a sports club logo tattooed onto his thigh; a woman was face-down while angel wings were etched onto the span of her back; and, a woman who looked to be in her early seventies grimaced as the finishing touches to eternity were tattooed on her shoulder.

We took the stairs to an apartment above the store where Jason showed me to the kitchen, and I stared past my reflection in the window. “Pretty black out there,” I commented.

“The bay,” Jason said. “You’ll be amazed in the morning. If you look closely now, you’ll see ship lights, but that’s it. Sometimes, we get storms. I love them.”

He waved me to a chair at the round, white table. “How long have you been in Australia?” I asked.

“Twenty-four years,” he said, getting out a rose-covered china teapot with fluted edges and gold trim, which I found a bit unexpected. “Came when I was thirty-five. I had an early mid-life crisis and decided I needed to find out who I was and what I wanted to do with the rest of my existence.”

I was uncomfortable. Adam was thirty-five and he’d just had his self-realization or whatever it was, and I had let him down badly. True, his wasn’t a mid-life crisis so much as a turning point, an acceptance and acknowledgement of who he really was, but regardless, I’d let him down.

“What are you thinking about?” Jason asked me, putting the kettle on and handing me a box of custard creams.

“That I let my son down. Not that that’s anything new. But never mind that, you came to Australia when you were thirty-five?”

“Yeah. Went to Sydney first. Bunch of stupid wankers. I went to Melbourne next and liked it better. I found this place by luck. Back then, it was just a barber shop and nothing like it is now. The old geezer who owned it was dying, and he took a liking to me. So, he sold it to me for a quick thousand, which paid for a fancy coffin for him. Dark cherry wood with a red velvet interior and a comfy mattress. He said he wanted his tired old bones to have a good thick mattress upon which to rest. He had his gravestone all done up, and he’d bought his little piece of land in the cemetery. And he asked me to make sure he got to his resting place in good style.”

“You took care of his burial? Didn’t he have any family?”

Jason gave me a look. “There are lots of us wandering the earth who don’t have family,” he said. “We take care of each other. I made sure he was all taken care of and that he got buried right and I got this place which I take care of.”

“How sad,” I said. “That he didn’t have anybody.”

“He had me when he needed me,” Jason said, and he filled the teapot with boiling water and covered it with a cheerful yellow crocheted cozy.

“Here we go then,” he said, and he reached for two teacups in a cupboard. The cups matched the teapot. They were delicate, elaborate china, with scarlet, pink, and apricot-coloured roses with the same gold leafing on the scalloped edges.

He arranged the custard creams on a matching plate and sat down. “I’ll be mother,” he said, and I wanted to smile because the whole thing was so odd and yet so right.

“Can I take Queenie out of her box?” I asked,

He looked startled. “Of course, pardon me, I should have said. We’ll get her a box and some kitty litter later. In the meantime, I’ll put down some newspaper.”

After he laid down a few sheets of newspaper, I took Queenie out her box. She chirped and trilled and batted her head against my hand. I fed her and scratched her head as she ate.

“Jason,” I asked, getting up slowly, aware of my aging knees, “from what you said, do you think I’m going to stay here? I mean if you are making kitty litter plans and things.”

“Well, it’s not like you’ve got any other place to go, do you, sunshine?” he asked, and he poured the tea, adding half a cup of milk and four teaspoons of sugar to his. “I’m used to helping strays from time to time, and you definitely have the look of a pup who ran away from home. We’d need to get you some new clothes though to start.”

“Where would I stay?”

He gestured to a stairway to my right. “There’s a guest bedroom there,” he said, gulping his tea and sighing with obvious satisfaction. “You can think of me as your guardian angel for the time being. I’ve got no idea how you made it this far with that flashy stolen car, not to mention the cat.”

“How did you know about the car and cat?” I asked, and took a cautious sip of my tea. It was the colour of caramel and was tart and strong and abrasive, but I liked it.

“Police scanner. Better than a TV set for entertainment. They tied the car theft to you, by the way. Canadian tourist causes a stir, then a car is stolen in the neighbourhood where he vanished, and some ninety-year-old lady said she saw you jump into the car and speed away like Steve McQueen.”

I laughed. “Yep, Steve McQueen. That’s so me. And how is my wife?” I asked though it was hard to get the question out.

Jason laughed. “I am many things, but I am not psychic. How would I know?”

“I thought maybe it was on the police scanner?”

“Nope. Only that she thought you had fallen into the Sydney Harbour, and that she wanted them to search the water. Kicked up a big fuss. That’s when they saw you on the camera, getting off at Kirribilli and disappearing into a park. The New South Wales Government’s transport authority has to report any suspicious activity to the coppers. Terrorism and all that. So, you just left your wife?”

I put my head into my hands. “I can’t talk about it now,” I said. “I can’t think about it.”

“That’s quite all right,” Jason replied, and he leaned over and patted my shoulder. “Drink your tea. Couple of hours time, I’ll heat up a fantastic tofu curry I made yesterday, and we’ll play a game of Scrabble. But first, my friend, it’s hot shower for you and a bar of lye. You’ve had a long couple of days.”

To my astonishment, I burst out laughing. Maybe some of it was hysteria, but I really laughed, a deep belly laugh that reached right up into my lungs.

“There you go, you see,” Jason said with satisfaction and a slightly bemused expression, “life can have its better moments.”