Read Online Matthew Flinders' Cat by Bryce Courtenay - Free Book Online
Authors: Bryce Courtenay
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the homeless it was a catch-22, the Department of Social Security insisted that all dole and disability pensions be paid into a personal bank account while the intended recipient often had no chance of qualifying for one. Billy would be called in to straighten things out with a bit of what he referred to as ‘creative paperwork’.
Occasionally it was a more complex issue, with a wife or kids involved, where a letter was needed to one of the many authorities that control the lives of the poor. Often a legal document would be sent to a man who, at best, was semi-literate. It would need to be translated and replied to in kind. There was scarcely a drunk in the inner-city area who hadn’t at one time or another enjoyed Billy’s services.
Billy now assumed that Casper’s new mate would have some sort of problem along the usual lines. But today, with his routine disrupted by the kid and the cop, he didn’t feel up to the hassle of dealing with someone else’s problems. However, Sam Snatch had forced his hand and he knew he lacked the internal fortitude to stand up to the aggressive publican.
Billy took the first fragrant sip of neat scotch. Every morning he faced the same battle, forcing himself to drink his gratuitous first nip slowly. Billy told himself that while he maintained this go-slow ritual, he remained in some sort of control, a problem drinker rather than a confirmed alcoholic. Drinking branded scotch was an example of maintaining one’s standards.
He knew he must avoid, at all costs, the way many alcoholics approached the first glass of the day. That is to say, holding the glass in both hands, its base resting firmly on the counter, then bringing the mouth down to the lip of the glass, tipping it very slightly and feeding the precious liquid down the gullet so as not to spill a drop. Billy would always drink his like a gentleman, lifting it to his mouth in one hand while seated on a bar stool, his back straight. Drinking his first of the day in this way was one of the many benchmarks he set for his self-image. It was undoubtedly one of the hardest for him to observe as, once the scotch was placed in front of him, every nerve in his body screamed out to him to swallow the lot in one gulp.
Lifting the scotch glass carefully, he took a tiny sip and brought it back down to the counter. With his briefcase resting on his lap and his left hand still shackled to it, he was forced to keep his right hand steady. There had been times in the past when his hand had trembled so badly that he couldn’t lift the scotch glass for the first twenty minutes. But today, thank God, his hand was behaving itself and he reached over to the small glass jug Marion had placed on the counter beside him and added to the scotch an amount of water roughly equivalent to the sip he’d taken from the glass. The end of the first drink would eventually arrive when his final sip contained only a vague tincture of the beautiful malted whisky.
He would never be seen drinking anything but scotch in public, and Sam Snatch’s free tipple meant that Billy could maintain his affectation no matter what the state of his finances. After this, Billy would make his way to the bottle shop and purchase whatever type of booze his current finances would allow before leaving the pub and returning to the Botanic Gardens. It was only when there was business to attend to, such as today, that Billy remained at the Flag. Business meant two further glasses of scotch, the price for his services.
Billy had done business with Casper Friendly before, but always with reluctance. The quarter-caste Aborigine was a notorious wheeler-dealer invariably operating some sort of scam involving the ignorant and the desperate. Even though Billy was always willing to help for a very modest cost in kind, many of the men were too ashamed to approach him directly. They may have been drunks but they still had their pride and they’d been concealing their inability to read and write
Occasionally it was a more complex issue, with a wife or kids involved, where a letter was needed to one of the many authorities that control the lives of the poor. Often a legal document would be sent to a man who, at best, was semi-literate. It would need to be translated and replied to in kind. There was scarcely a drunk in the inner-city area who hadn’t at one time or another enjoyed Billy’s services.
Billy now assumed that Casper’s new mate would have some sort of problem along the usual lines. But today, with his routine disrupted by the kid and the cop, he didn’t feel up to the hassle of dealing with someone else’s problems. However, Sam Snatch had forced his hand and he knew he lacked the internal fortitude to stand up to the aggressive publican.
Billy took the first fragrant sip of neat scotch. Every morning he faced the same battle, forcing himself to drink his gratuitous first nip slowly. Billy told himself that while he maintained this go-slow ritual, he remained in some sort of control, a problem drinker rather than a confirmed alcoholic. Drinking branded scotch was an example of maintaining one’s standards.
He knew he must avoid, at all costs, the way many alcoholics approached the first glass of the day. That is to say, holding the glass in both hands, its base resting firmly on the counter, then bringing the mouth down to the lip of the glass, tipping it very slightly and feeding the precious liquid down the gullet so as not to spill a drop. Billy would always drink his like a gentleman, lifting it to his mouth in one hand while seated on a bar stool, his back straight. Drinking his first of the day in this way was one of the many benchmarks he set for his self-image. It was undoubtedly one of the hardest for him to observe as, once the scotch was placed in front of him, every nerve in his body screamed out to him to swallow the lot in one gulp.
Lifting the scotch glass carefully, he took a tiny sip and brought it back down to the counter. With his briefcase resting on his lap and his left hand still shackled to it, he was forced to keep his right hand steady. There had been times in the past when his hand had trembled so badly that he couldn’t lift the scotch glass for the first twenty minutes. But today, thank God, his hand was behaving itself and he reached over to the small glass jug Marion had placed on the counter beside him and added to the scotch an amount of water roughly equivalent to the sip he’d taken from the glass. The end of the first drink would eventually arrive when his final sip contained only a vague tincture of the beautiful malted whisky.
He would never be seen drinking anything but scotch in public, and Sam Snatch’s free tipple meant that Billy could maintain his affectation no matter what the state of his finances. After this, Billy would make his way to the bottle shop and purchase whatever type of booze his current finances would allow before leaving the pub and returning to the Botanic Gardens. It was only when there was business to attend to, such as today, that Billy remained at the Flag. Business meant two further glasses of scotch, the price for his services.
Billy had done business with Casper Friendly before, but always with reluctance. The quarter-caste Aborigine was a notorious wheeler-dealer invariably operating some sort of scam involving the ignorant and the desperate. Even though Billy was always willing to help for a very modest cost in kind, many of the men were too ashamed to approach him directly. They may have been drunks but they still had their pride and they’d been concealing their inability to read and write
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