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Authors: Christos Tsiolkas
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along, out of tune, watching the headlights of cars, watching the suburbs drop away as we head into the city.
A junkie has fallen asleep on the Flinders Street station steps. A young boy in an old black coat and jeans. His girlfriend, maybe itâs his sister, she looks like him, has her arms around him and sheâs staring out at the traffic and the floodlit intersection. We drop Betty off at the corner and she joins a few punks and hippies hanging around, smoking, avoiding the police. I donât like her friends, Joe mutters, as we drive away.
âYouâve become pretty straight, havenât you Joe? Alex leans forward and fiddles with the dial on the radio. Joe doesnât answer her. I turn around and wink at my sister. We drive up Elizabeth Street, onto the Parade and into Parkville. The traffic is slow entering Sydney Road and I spend my time humming along to the radio and checking out the Greek and Arab boys hanging out in the cafes.
âFuck, this place is full of Turks. Joe looks disgusted. Weâve hit the North, Alex replies. We pass the town hall and turn into the street where Charlie lives. Are you coming in? Alex asks and I turn to Joe. He shakes his head but I tell him to wait a second. He turns off the engine and tells me not to be long. Alex and I get out.
In the front yard a group of dark-haired, dark-skinned boys are hanging around a car, playing at being mechanics, waving torches over the engine. They greet Alex and I shake Charlieâs hand. He introduces me around. Mum is inside, he tells Alex, go in and say hello. I donât like him ordering my sister around but sheâs made the decision to go out with him and thereâs not a lot I can do about it. My arm goes around my sisterâs shoulder. I feel protective of her with all these boys around.
His mum is sitting watching television and his little brother and sister are playing card games around her feet. Alexintroduces me. She gets up and asks if Iâm hungry. The smell of oil and spices I donât recognise is in the room. Sheâs a big woman, and a black scarf covers her hair. The room is sparse; a couple of couches, a small table, the television. A few photos on the wall. A small bureau near the doorway is cluttered with junk from Lebanon, including a hookah. Alex sits down with the kids and they include her in their game. The mother isnât warm towards my sister, but she doesnât ignore her either. She asks Alex to make her a coffee and Alex gets up and goes through a doorway into what must be the kitchen.
âYou happy your sister with Lebanezo? Iâm not ready for that question and immediately answer yes, just to be polite. But Iâm not happy about it. I donât care who Alex dates, and personally I couldnât give a shit what Charlie is, but I donât think Charlie is going to settle for a Christian girl. Not that Alex is religious, but I know that the Muslim boys treat Christian girls like shit. And the main problem is family; the divide is too big, too deep. Alex hasnât told my parents sheâs with a Muslim. Thatâs one point in Charlieâs favour. Heâs faced the family about it. Are you happy that Charlieâs with a Greek? I ask her.
âIn Beirut my neighbours were Greek, she answers, when I was a little girl. We all live together, Orthodox, Muslim. We all friends. She doesnât mention the Catholics. She doesnât say that sheâs happy about Alex being with Charlie.
âHere in this country, everyone hates everyone else.
âAlex is a good girl, I venture. I sound insipid. She agrees. I shake her hand. Iâm pleased Iâve met you, I say.
âMe too. Maybe one day I meet your mother, your father. I smile weakly. Maybe one day. Iâm not looking forward to it. I yell goodbye to Alex and go out into the yard. You coming to the Retreat? I ask Charlie. His friends cross their arms and wait for his answer. Maybe, he says,
A junkie has fallen asleep on the Flinders Street station steps. A young boy in an old black coat and jeans. His girlfriend, maybe itâs his sister, she looks like him, has her arms around him and sheâs staring out at the traffic and the floodlit intersection. We drop Betty off at the corner and she joins a few punks and hippies hanging around, smoking, avoiding the police. I donât like her friends, Joe mutters, as we drive away.
âYouâve become pretty straight, havenât you Joe? Alex leans forward and fiddles with the dial on the radio. Joe doesnât answer her. I turn around and wink at my sister. We drive up Elizabeth Street, onto the Parade and into Parkville. The traffic is slow entering Sydney Road and I spend my time humming along to the radio and checking out the Greek and Arab boys hanging out in the cafes.
âFuck, this place is full of Turks. Joe looks disgusted. Weâve hit the North, Alex replies. We pass the town hall and turn into the street where Charlie lives. Are you coming in? Alex asks and I turn to Joe. He shakes his head but I tell him to wait a second. He turns off the engine and tells me not to be long. Alex and I get out.
In the front yard a group of dark-haired, dark-skinned boys are hanging around a car, playing at being mechanics, waving torches over the engine. They greet Alex and I shake Charlieâs hand. He introduces me around. Mum is inside, he tells Alex, go in and say hello. I donât like him ordering my sister around but sheâs made the decision to go out with him and thereâs not a lot I can do about it. My arm goes around my sisterâs shoulder. I feel protective of her with all these boys around.
His mum is sitting watching television and his little brother and sister are playing card games around her feet. Alexintroduces me. She gets up and asks if Iâm hungry. The smell of oil and spices I donât recognise is in the room. Sheâs a big woman, and a black scarf covers her hair. The room is sparse; a couple of couches, a small table, the television. A few photos on the wall. A small bureau near the doorway is cluttered with junk from Lebanon, including a hookah. Alex sits down with the kids and they include her in their game. The mother isnât warm towards my sister, but she doesnât ignore her either. She asks Alex to make her a coffee and Alex gets up and goes through a doorway into what must be the kitchen.
âYou happy your sister with Lebanezo? Iâm not ready for that question and immediately answer yes, just to be polite. But Iâm not happy about it. I donât care who Alex dates, and personally I couldnât give a shit what Charlie is, but I donât think Charlie is going to settle for a Christian girl. Not that Alex is religious, but I know that the Muslim boys treat Christian girls like shit. And the main problem is family; the divide is too big, too deep. Alex hasnât told my parents sheâs with a Muslim. Thatâs one point in Charlieâs favour. Heâs faced the family about it. Are you happy that Charlieâs with a Greek? I ask her.
âIn Beirut my neighbours were Greek, she answers, when I was a little girl. We all live together, Orthodox, Muslim. We all friends. She doesnât mention the Catholics. She doesnât say that sheâs happy about Alex being with Charlie.
âHere in this country, everyone hates everyone else.
âAlex is a good girl, I venture. I sound insipid. She agrees. I shake her hand. Iâm pleased Iâve met you, I say.
âMe too. Maybe one day I meet your mother, your father. I smile weakly. Maybe one day. Iâm not looking forward to it. I yell goodbye to Alex and go out into the yard. You coming to the Retreat? I ask Charlie. His friends cross their arms and wait for his answer. Maybe, he says,
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