the bottom of my stomach which is loud and infectious. Chill out dumbfuck wog, I manage to gasp through my laughter. Betty starts laughing as well and hugs me, we have tears in our eyes. Poofter, poofter, she giggles, choking on the words. She takes a drag from the cigarette, stops laughing at me, then looks serious. Iâm glad you donât act like a faggot, Ari. The words ring in my ears. I flex my muscles. Iâm a man, I say, in a deep drawl. And I take it up the arse. Of course you do, she answers, youâre Greek. We all take it up the arse.
She finishes her whisky and then starts banging her hand against the bed. Like a metronome. One constant beat, singing softly to herself: I hate this fucking life, I hate this fucking life, I hate this life. Someone knocks on the door.
âFuck off, she screams. A loud, piercing scream. Fuck off and leave us alone. Joe comes into the room, ignoring his sister. He talks directly to me. You shouldnât give her drugs, she gets out of control. Sheâs just like Mum, he adds bitterly. Betty gets up and pushes against him. Get out, get out you prick. He slaps her around a bit and I stay sitting, holding the glass of whisky, waiting for the drama to finish. She calms down and takes hold of my hand. Come dance, she asks me.
âThe others are here, Joe says, just get ready. We have to go. She ignores him. I follow her into the lounge. Dina,Alex and two men and a woman I donât know are in a circle around the bong. I nod to them. Betty says nothing to them, doesnât acknowledge them. She goes over to the CDs and records and grabs a piece of vinyl and puts it on the turntable. A tsiftiteli comes on and she begins a slow belly dance. She motions to me to come and join her. I get up, but my steps are half-hearted, Iâm a little embarrassed in front of the crowd of strangers. One of the men I donât know comes up and offers Betty the bong. She smokes it in the middle of the dance, and hands it to me to finish the smoke. I do.
The song ends, Joe takes the record off and introduces me to the others. A tall, stocky Italian boy called Arno, the woman, a Dina clone in a tight short skirt with teased hair, called Mary, and her boyfriend Stav, overweight, stinking of cheap aftershave. The introductions done Joe starts shutting up the house, emptying the ashtrays, putting the bong and the dope away, locking them in a box under his bed. He takes a can of air freshener from the toilet and begins to spray around the lounge, the kitchen, the hall, the couches. A nuclear blast of chemical perfume. Betty, Alex and I go out onto the porch, waiting for the others to join us. Youâre in for a real wog night, Betty says to me. I nod in agreement. Sheâs right.
Alex skips down the stairs to the front yard and sways in the moonlight. She sings a Greek song and Betty joins her, they link arms on the lawn and dance around each other. Wogs, I yell at them. From across the road a neighbour yells out for us to shut up. Shut up yourself you cunt, Betty screams out into the night. Dogs start barking. Alex and Betty keep dancing, singing loudly, the moonlight shining on their exposed arms and legs, on their faces. The rest of their bodies shrouded in their dark clothes.
âWeâll meet you in Brunswick, Joe calls to Stav. Iâve got to drop off my sister and Ariâs sister. Stav nods and he and his friends set off in a big blue Commodore. Dina goes withthem. The rest of us pile in Joeâs car and I take the front seat and start playing with the radio. A station is playing T-Rex. Louder yells Betty in my ear. Yeah, louder, screams Alex. Louder? Okay. Howâs this, and I turn up the volume till it tears at our eardrums. Joe turns it down a little and shakes his head but he joins in with us at the chorus.
We weave through dark suburban streets, get onto the freeway and Iâm grinning from ear to ear, listening to the radio, listening to my friends sing
She finishes her whisky and then starts banging her hand against the bed. Like a metronome. One constant beat, singing softly to herself: I hate this fucking life, I hate this fucking life, I hate this life. Someone knocks on the door.
âFuck off, she screams. A loud, piercing scream. Fuck off and leave us alone. Joe comes into the room, ignoring his sister. He talks directly to me. You shouldnât give her drugs, she gets out of control. Sheâs just like Mum, he adds bitterly. Betty gets up and pushes against him. Get out, get out you prick. He slaps her around a bit and I stay sitting, holding the glass of whisky, waiting for the drama to finish. She calms down and takes hold of my hand. Come dance, she asks me.
âThe others are here, Joe says, just get ready. We have to go. She ignores him. I follow her into the lounge. Dina,Alex and two men and a woman I donât know are in a circle around the bong. I nod to them. Betty says nothing to them, doesnât acknowledge them. She goes over to the CDs and records and grabs a piece of vinyl and puts it on the turntable. A tsiftiteli comes on and she begins a slow belly dance. She motions to me to come and join her. I get up, but my steps are half-hearted, Iâm a little embarrassed in front of the crowd of strangers. One of the men I donât know comes up and offers Betty the bong. She smokes it in the middle of the dance, and hands it to me to finish the smoke. I do.
The song ends, Joe takes the record off and introduces me to the others. A tall, stocky Italian boy called Arno, the woman, a Dina clone in a tight short skirt with teased hair, called Mary, and her boyfriend Stav, overweight, stinking of cheap aftershave. The introductions done Joe starts shutting up the house, emptying the ashtrays, putting the bong and the dope away, locking them in a box under his bed. He takes a can of air freshener from the toilet and begins to spray around the lounge, the kitchen, the hall, the couches. A nuclear blast of chemical perfume. Betty, Alex and I go out onto the porch, waiting for the others to join us. Youâre in for a real wog night, Betty says to me. I nod in agreement. Sheâs right.
Alex skips down the stairs to the front yard and sways in the moonlight. She sings a Greek song and Betty joins her, they link arms on the lawn and dance around each other. Wogs, I yell at them. From across the road a neighbour yells out for us to shut up. Shut up yourself you cunt, Betty screams out into the night. Dogs start barking. Alex and Betty keep dancing, singing loudly, the moonlight shining on their exposed arms and legs, on their faces. The rest of their bodies shrouded in their dark clothes.
âWeâll meet you in Brunswick, Joe calls to Stav. Iâve got to drop off my sister and Ariâs sister. Stav nods and he and his friends set off in a big blue Commodore. Dina goes withthem. The rest of us pile in Joeâs car and I take the front seat and start playing with the radio. A station is playing T-Rex. Louder yells Betty in my ear. Yeah, louder, screams Alex. Louder? Okay. Howâs this, and I turn up the volume till it tears at our eardrums. Joe turns it down a little and shakes his head but he joins in with us at the chorus.
We weave through dark suburban streets, get onto the freeway and Iâm grinning from ear to ear, listening to the radio, listening to my friends sing
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