It's Clifford and other stories

By Paul Harman

These fourteen short stories explore different facets of life in suburban and country Australia. They variously traverse the innocence of boyhood, the pangs of youth, and the petty disappointments and triumphs of adulthood and middle age.

 

There is subtle humour throughout the collection, from the whimsy of dogs giving cricketi

• Language: English
• Publisher: paul harman
• Release date: Jul 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9780645190717

Paul Harman

Paul Harman is a writer and formal postal worker. He currently lives in regional New South Wales.

Book preview

It’s Clifford

and other stories

Paul Harman

logo in design of cowboy hat

2021

The stories in It’s Clifford and other stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, institutions, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Published in 2021 by Paul Harman Leura, New South Wales, Australia.

© Copyright Paul Harman 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrievals system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise, except under the terms of the Australian Copyright Act 1968, without the permission of the publisher.

Cover image from an original artwork © Dom Harman

Hat image used under licence from Shutterstock ID 383438464

Cover design, text design and production by Golden Orb Creative: www.goldenorbcreative.com

A National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry has been created for this title:

ISBN 9780645190700 (pbk)

ISBN 9780645190717 (ebook)

For John and Robert you travel with me still

For Angelique

Contents

Title page

Imprint and copyright

Dedication

Going for gold

It’s Clifford

Skin job

Kirra

Last of the Royboys

The luck of the Irish

Four down, seven across

The spider in the letterbox

Shelton

Choke

Room 11

The Colonel

Footprints

Junk mail

Acknowledgements

Going for gold

‘Hurry up, already,’ she shouted down to him, again.

Christos stood at the base of the tree looking up. Cassandra was way ahead of him and had already climbed halfway up the tree. She was standing on one of the thick branches, balancing herself by holding onto the huge trunk of the tree with one hand and was beckoning him to join her with the other.

‘What’s taking you so long? Geez, hurry up will ya.’

Loose coins jiggled in one of the boy’s pockets and bags of lollies bulged in his other, booty from their earlier raid.

The local primary school never locked the gates so a week back, when he’d had nothing to do, Christos had gone for a wander through the school grounds. He had snuck up the driveway past the chapel and beyond the basketball courts and the soccer fields that were sandwiched between the main road and the back entrance. He had walked to the tuck shop and as a lark had tried to lift the front window. To his surprise the window wasn’t latched shut and he was able to easily push it up. He jumped the counter, landed on his feet on the floor of the tuck shop and froze. There were coins and notes in the money drawer under the counter and there were lollies, and packets of chips and Twisties, and chocolate bars, on the shelves behind him. All these goodies and bags of money were in front of him, ripe for the taking, yet in the end Christos had taken nothing. He’d closed the window behind him and gone back home.

The only person who he told was Cassandra, his friend who lived up the road. She didn’t go to the Catholic high school he went to; she went to the state school at Parramatta. They would sometimes catch up after school at the local park.

Christos had had a crush on Cassandra since they first met; he’d been playing footy in the park when she had wandered past with her friends and sat on the swings, chatting. He had been coming up with excuses to hang out with her ever since. All the other boys around the neighbourhood had a crush on Cassandra as well. Most were too scared to ask her out, so would just follow her around like stray dogs, trying to impress her, hanging onto every word she said.

A few days after his discovery, when he and Cassandra were on their own one afternoon, killing time throwing a football to one another, he’d blurted out his secret to her.

‘Christos!’ Cassandra had admonished him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’

So they had arranged to meet up early on Saturday morning for a mid-morning raid. They would have to wait until after Christos’s piano lesson, given by his grandmother. He’d banged the keys impatiently as he counted the minutes till the lesson was over. Then he raced out the door and up the street to Cassandra’s house. She was already looking out the lounge-room window waiting for him as he turned the corner. She met him at the front door and they walked to the school grounds. Cassandra had never been to a Catholic school so even though he went to a different one he was still able to show her the brick one-storey house behind the chapel where the priest lived and the convent at the top of the hill where the nuns stayed.

They stopped and looked through the windows of the main hall where the students would meet to sing hymns with the nuns. Christos and Cassandra shielded their eyes with their arms and elbows, blocking the sun as they squinted to get a better look inside. There were rows of chairs, and many framed pictures of Jesus, Mary and the Twelve Apostles hung on the grey walls. At the front was the podium with a microphone attached to the stand.

‘Gosh,’ Cassandra said, ‘you Catholics sure like your religion.’

Cassandra followed Christos to the tuck shop. He was hoping that they’d left the windows unlocked like they were the week before. He’d feel a bit of a dill if they were locked this time.

He looked around to see if any of the nuns were walking around the grounds or if the priest was on a morning stroll. When he knew he was in the clear, he held his breath as he stepped to the front of the tuck shop, placed his hands on the pane of glass and lifted the window. He breathed a sigh of relief. The window lifted easily. He lifted the blind for Cassandra and she climbed in.

After Christos had followed Cassandra inside he shut the window and pulled the blinds down. They both looked around in the semi darkness, not exactly knowing what to do, as if they were both waiting for the other to be the first to grab something. Christos was the first to give. He grabbed a bag of mixed lollies that sat next to the chips. He grabbed a bag of twenty-cent pieces from the money drawers as well. Cassandra took his lead and reached for whatever she could get her hands on. Their frenzied, brazen thieving took less than a minute. Then they were sneaking out of the school tuckshop and racing through the back entrance, back to their neighbourhood.

They reached the tree at the back of the park behind the swings and stopped to catch their breath. Then Cassandra started climbing the tree.

Wow, Christos thought, I didn’t know that was coming.

Cassandra was wearing a white mesh top with cut-off denim jeans. Her sneakers were grubby and fraying at the soles. She was much more athletic and way taller than Christos. He knew she played netball; all he did was play a bit of league after school with the neighbourhood kids even though he didn’t understand the rules much. His parents didn’t like him playing sport; they preferred to encourage his musical talents. He was good at piano, and took singing lessons after school twice a week. His father was so impressed with Christos’s voice he had entered him in singing contests when he was younger. Cassandra was sporty and confident, the complete opposite of what he was, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was really the only Aussie girl he had ever liked. She had blue eyes, brown hair and freckles across her nose and cheeks. She spoke like a real Aussie spoke, swore all the time and even knew the rules of rugby league even though she didn’t play it. Christos wanted to go to the state school she went to, just so he could hang out with her more, even though he knew it was a pipe dream. His parents would never move him from the Marist Brothers.

The tree looked gigantic to him. It was an oak tree, the bark thick and rough, and its trunk was too wide for Christos to wrap his arms around. Even the dark green leaves seemed to have an air of menace about them. But the branches looked more than strong enough to stand on. And Cassandra was already halfway up, calling for him to follow her.

‘Hurry up, will ya? What’s taking you so long?’ she called down to him.

Christos had thought they could swap their goodies while they sat at the swings, laughing and talking with their mouths full. But he took a deep breath, held onto the base of the tree for balance and, weighed down with lollies and bags of coins, hoiked his leg over the first branch and heaved himself up. He grunted and puffed as he made his way towards Cassandra. He became a bit frustrated because when he got close to her she turned away from him and climbed further up the tree, disappearing from view amongst the leaves.

She stopped just near the top and after a few minutes Christos caught up with her, out of breath and sacred shitless. They were so high up. The ground below looked so far away. He steadied himself, standing on a branch next to Cassandra while still holding onto the main trunk of the tree. Cassandra was balancing herself by holding onto a smaller branch with one hand above her. The branch they were standing on swayed with their weight but was strong and thick enough to hold them both. The leaves of other branches brushed across his face. He looked ahead and could see the street layout of his neighbourhood, the roads and roofs of houses. He could see his weatherboard house in the street that ran off the park. He noticed that its tin roof had faded after being exposed to the sun for decades. He turned and saw the high-rise buildings of Parramatta and he could hear the cars and trucks in the distance zipping past on the highway.

He saw the park below him reveal itself as the leaves and branches swayed in the gentle breeze. It was a rectangular park situated on the corner of two streets. Halfway down the park was a water fountain that sat in front of the wire fence of the kindergarten next door. The fountain’s aluminium body doubled as cricket stumps in the summer months. The grass in front of the fountain was worn away from years of boys pounding their bats on the ground as they waited for the approaching bowler and the front of the fountain itself had been caved in by balls smashing into it. The footpath by the road doubled up as a bowling crease; the see-saw was nearby, opposite the fountain; and at the bottom of the park were two wattle trees bunched together that acted as goal posts for when scratch rugby league matches were played. There were always kids of all ages wandering in and out of the park. Parents brought their toddlers for a ride on the see-saw or a go on the swings. Teenagers would sit on the bench seat behind the swings with their friends or just by themselves if they wanted to get out of the house for a little bit.

‘Hey,’ Cassandra said to him. ‘Show us what you got.’

‘Oh, well, these.’ With his spare hand Christos reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his lolly bags and looked inside. He had banana lollies, milk bottles, Red Skins, a packet of Smarties, false-teeth lollies, chocolate freckles, musk sticks. Cassandra held her hand out and he tipped the bag’s contents into the palm of her hand. She had a look at the assortment of lollies in her hand.

‘Hmmm, nice. I don’t like nuts so good choice, Christos.’

Christos smiled at the compliment. She chewed loudly as she gobbled down the treats.

‘Duoo ouy lkei living ni Myas Hohh?’

‘What did you say? Stop talking with your mouth full.’

‘Sorry,’ Cassandra said as she finished chewing on her lollies. ‘Do you like living in Mays Hill?’

‘I guess so,’ Christos replied as he reached for his next bag. Cassandra put her hand out again and he tipped another handful of lollies into her palm before shoving what was left into his mouth. Cassandra was confident enough to let go of the branch she was holding to use both hands to unwrap a Mintie.

‘Tehres mmmp smpmame.’

‘What? Now it’s your turn to stop talking with your mouth full.’

‘There’s more space. That’s what I was trying to say,’ Christos replied once his mouth was clear.

They laughed. It was true. Christos’s family had lived in a flat above his parent’s jewellery shop at Haberfield until they moved to Mays Hill a year ago. The backyard of their new house had a pool and a vegetable garden. There was a small sleep-out by the back fence that was Christos’s bedroom and the garage at the end of the driveway had a work bench so Christos could sit there when he had some spare time and do his soldering and electrical experiments. It was much bigger than their flat ever was.

‘I love coming up here,’ Cassandra said, peering to the top of the tree and the blue sky above. ‘The first time I climbed this tree was when I was ten years old. I actually ran away, Christos. Can you believe that?’ She looked back down and smiled at him.

‘I had a fight with my parents so jumped out of my bedroom window. They were looking everywhere for me. I climbed this tree and watched them go up and down the streets, calling my name, wondering where I was. I waited until nightfall before I walked in the door. Boy, I got yelled at.’ Cassandra looked at Christos and smiled. She was blushing. ‘But this is the first time I’ve been up here with anyone else. It’s nice.’

Christos pulled out a Wagon Wheel, snapped it in half and gave her the larger piece.

‘You hmamv niic currrrly hauuur,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘You have nice curly hair, dummy.’

Christos reached into his pocket for another bag of lollies and crammed some licorice twists down his throat.

‘Yeeew arrrrree seeeeww parretty,’ he said. All of a sudden he wasn’t too worried about being so high up in a tree. He found it hard to look away from her. In the end he didn’t even bother. His stomach was in knots at what he’d just said to her and he was excited and nervous at the same time.

Cassandra’s smile broadened. She didn’t need for him to translate to understand what he meant. She threaded her fringe behind her ears, then reached over and kissed him on the lips.

Christos was high up in a tree, his pockets were lined with stolen coins and confectionary, he could plummet to his death, yet he knew he was experiencing the best minute of his life. He was fourteen years old; it was the first time he’d kissed a girl. Then as soon as he realised what was happening it was all over. It only lasted a second then Cassandra pulled away. Her face was flushed and she was biting her bottom lip.

‘Come to the movies with me?’ she said.

‘Sorry, I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

‘I said, come to the movies with me … Oh, I get it, funny guy.’

She reached into her pockets, pulled out some caramel fudge and shoved it in her mouth.

‘Ccccumm to theee vmovees wiiith mee?’

This time Christos reached across and kissed Cassandra. She tasted much sweeter than the lollies they’d been eating. Christos could feel his heart beating, his blood racing and he felt his brain was about to explode.

‘Okkkaaiii,’ he said when he pulled away. If she asked him to jump out of the tree he would already be on the ground, lying in a heap, writhing in pain.

‘Blade Runner is on at the Roxy this afternoon. I love Harrison Ford.’

‘I would like to come.’ He reached across and kissed her again. Just a quick kiss this time. When he pulled away her eyes were still closed, her lips glistening and her face full of anticipation. He went to kiss her again, when there was a commotion at the intersection below them. Brakes were screeching, horns were blaring and doors were slamming.

‘Hey, you stupid dago,’ one of the drivers said in a raised voice, ‘why don’t ya learn how to drive. Dumb, Greek dago.’

‘You idiot. You pulled out in front of me. You need glasses.’

Christos and Cassandra were drawn to the drama below them. They were thirty metres away but the voices carried in the breeze. Christos separated some leaves of a nearby branch. They peered down and saw his father and Mr Giles standing by the doors of their cars, pointing fingers and arguing with each other. Mr Giles was a thin-lipped sullen-faced man in his sixties who lived near the intersection in a rundown house with his two sons. He was always gruff and rude to Christos. He didn’t like new Australians moving into his neighbourhood and went out of his way to let everyone know about it. Christos and Cassandra watched silently at the scene that was unfolding. The fronts of the two cars were nearly touching each other. Someone had taken the corner too tightly and a standoff ensued.

‘Dumb skip.’

‘Greasy wog.’

Neither seemed to want to budge. His father was in his familiar white singlet, navy shorts and sandals. He was returning from visiting his mother in Dulwich Hill. Christos could see the look of anger in Mr Giles’s face as the two men argued. Christos had seen that look many times before. More so in the outer suburbs of Sydney than when they had lived in Haberfield. After a few moments of finger pointing and name calling the impasse resolved itself. Both men got back in their cars, muttering to themselves. Christos saw his father reverse to give himself some leeway, then curse in Greek at Mr Giles as he drove past him. Christos laughed in spite of himself. His father had never sworn in his life and could only bring himself to call Mr Giles a ‘troublesome inconvenience’. Christos didn’t think an oaf like Mr Giles would be bothered too much if he knew he was called a troublesome inconvenience. Christos’s house was only three houses away from the corner and he watched as his father parked in the driveway, hopped out of the car, walked up to the letterbox and whistled for his son, a sharp high-pitched whistle that could be heard all over the neighbourhood. Christos hated that sound. He sighed. That was his day done for. His father would be angry at the confrontation with Mr Giles and would take his frustration out on Christos. He knew the rest of the day would be filled with doing chores for his father. There would be no going to the movies with Cassandra. His father whistled again. His old man mightn’t swear but he didn’t mind slinging the belt around when things didn’t go his way. He turned to Cassandra.

‘I gotta go,’ he said.

‘I know.’

They held hands at the top of the tree with the leaves brushing their faces, looking at each other. Neither of them wanted to leave.

‘Can we do this again?’ Christos asked.

‘Just try and stop me,’ Cassandra replied, smiling as she squeezed Christos’s hand.

Then she let go of his hand and, with Cassandra leading the way, they began slowly descending the tree.

It’s Clifford

The boy led as normal a childhood as any other boy around him in the suburb where he grew up. At night as a toddler sometimes he would wiggle into his parents’ bed. Sometimes he would lie awake until he heard the milkman come just before dawn. While his parents were snoring he would get up and look out the window and would see the shadows of the milk cart riding up the middle of the street and the outline of the milkman sitting in his seat as he did his rounds. The clip clop of the horse’s hooves would echo on the bitumen. Then he would go back to his parents’ bed where he would sleep until morning. Sometimes he would hear the bread lady’s car coming to a halt outside their house, the car door open and footsteps come down the driveway as she dropped off a loaf of bread or some bread rolls in the meter box by the front door. One morning, when he was a bit older, he told his father he’d spotted the milkman and his horse riding up the street. They were in the kitchen and the boy was eating his cereal as his father read the newspaper.

‘That’s Ronny Jenkins,’ his father explained, folding his newspaper as he rose from the table. ‘He comes into the TAB a couple of times a week to place his bets. I’ll tell him you’re watching some nights.’

The following week the boy was in his parents’ bed when he heard the familiar slow steps of the horse approaching. He rushed out of bed to the window and parted the curtains. The milkman saw the curtains being drawn, turned and waved to the boy as he went past.

One time he was helping his mother cut the hedge near the driveway by the fence. They disturbed a big brown frog who jumped away from the ruckus. His mother put down her clippers and they watched the frog hop across the road to the