Befor-e him, -the fiat, ·black triangle broke, turned,
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writlled, .alild went up .and down. Along its centre rushed :a nev.er-<ending white line, materializing out of the .oppr.essiv.e night, ,first narrow in the distance, then .brQadening, then blurring as .it rushed beneath.
By the ·triangle:S sides, a deep, dark threatening wall lay, tow.er.ing .Gn either side .of him and diminishing down to .the .apex; .and the pastel coloured juggernaut raced ·on, trying, but not succeeding, to reach the point that lay on the horizon.
His palms were sticky on the steering wheel, his foot trembled as he increased pressure on the accel- erator, his .eyes .constantly returned to the flashing red police ·sign reflected in the rear vision mirror. He swung the vehicle .ar.ound .a corner, feeling the outside iyres shp and grip .a1,1d slip again, hearing them moan .under the sudd'en impact on their shoulders.
He prayed .as each joit travelled UP the steering column and thr.augh his trembling hands.
Fear came, then panic. No! He gripped his frayed mind and 'held it together, but it came on,
threatening, imploring him to stop or turn off the
road and crash into the mighty eucalyptus trees that flew past with the whistle of the wind. Then, at second breath, he beat it. He sighed and relaxed.
No, that's a trkk! He sat forward .and willed on the weakening engine, knowing deep down that it could not keep up the pace for long. The sleek sedan leaped forward in a sudden burst of energy and died from want of fuel.
No! Not now! His stomach sank and his throat contracted, but he .hit the brakes. The car lurched, skidded and spun. He felt the vehicle lift on one side, lift and settle, then a sudden, quivering halt.
He saw the headlights of the police car dipping as the driver pumped the foot brake, coming at him on his side. He saw it crash over with a shattering of glass and a groan of twisting metal, as the driver swung to ihiss him.
He opened the door and fled through the bush, hea·ring the banshee wail of a motorcycle siren far away.
Sounds were all around him, sounds like the call- ing of death, sounds like the hounds of hell baying in their pursuit of his blood, sounds like men with revolvers; and lights burning eerily in the hot summer's night; and a man blocking his way.
He lashed ·out in a desperate frenzy, hoping his aching arms had the strength to ward off capture.
He heard .the sound of a startled person and saw him fall. He kicked at the face with the open mouth
and the wide, surprised, frightened eyes. Then he heard the laughter, laughter like nothing .he had heard before.
He was rooted to the ground, staring at the man.
He's dead! Fear gripped ·him, fear that could only stem from the thought of having killed; not fear of men in uniforms, fear of God. He ran.
But there is no God he ,reasoned and attempted to dissolve the emotion. Yet it lingered. If there was a God, then why this! W:hy had .things not turned out right? Why couldn't the world be peace- ful and happy? Why was there heartbreak and tears and people in constant conflict with each other? Why couldn't it have been the w..ay he had ·dreamed it would be? Why was his world so different to the world of the poets, great authors, and philosophers?
They had written many beautiful things about it and he had just about r-ead them all. The 20th century: the land of ·milk and honey, a place where science and communication had reliev.ed the old world ignorance.; and he had ·dreamed .of people helping each other.
Like the time he was talking to his most trusted friend . ..
"And you'll be a big hit, mate. You'.11 knock 'em dead. All them girls."
Dick was .an aboriginal, .a good friend. There was no colour bar. Dick, one of those most .disillusioned by mere time.
"You won't have nothing to worry about. What, with all this dough around nowadays, you'll have a car in no time. Look at it this way, people like good looking, smart blokes like you. You'll get a job as easy as ·falling off .a ,log."
"Well, let's hope so, Dick, Eh?"
"Right, mate. I'm ,behind you all the way." And his eyes shone as only coloured eyes can.
Like the hours spent planning his entrance into life, the nights lost by lying on a cot, staring up at the ceiling, dreaming of the people he would meet, how he would talk to them and •how they would
talk to him. Would they tre~t him with respect or
regard him as a lower animal to be tolerated? Of course, they would respect him. ·They would under- stand his position. Science is seeing further into the mind every day. They would understand him.
Like his thoughts of his parents. How he yearned for them. Nothing sparkled more than the dream of living in a happy family again, coming home from work every night to a hot meal .and discussions with his father; playing cards and other ;games with :KELV.IN GROVE TEACHERS COLLEGE - "JUBILEE MAGAZINE" Page Fifty-Seven
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his sisters and brothers. Like his dreams of a girl- friend. Someone in whom he could confide. Some- one who would understand and love him.
Then, after a sleepless night of dreaming, going back over the past years, wondering, thinking, the great day came. It was a beautiful day, the type of day that makes a man want to work and do good for the community. He began walking home, exalting in the freshness of the air, the green of the vegetation, the daily bustle of the public going to work. It was seven a.m. The thing he noticed most was the way people looked at ·him, as if he were an intruder.
Perhaps it was the way he looked at them, or the way he walked. Perhaps it was written on his face.
Anyway, deep down inside him, he was glad and also, somehow, resentful of their, attention. He felt like shouting "Look at me, Nick Martin Johnson. The one you almost broke. Watch me because I'm going to show you how to become a success despite the setbacks you've imposed. I'm a man now. I can fight back." And he walked on feeling just that much more freedom inside.
The next couple of days were the happiest he had ever spent. He went out on the town and enjoyed himself. He met friends, some of whom he had not seen in four years. Everything went well for him, in the family and out. He even found himself a job. Then, out of this world of false securities, came the collapse of one of his dearest dreams. It happened one hot, Friday night, just seven days after his debut. Tempers were high and everyone was edgy. Perhaps, deep down he felt what was about to occur and dismissed the idea as irra- tional. However, the argument came and the result was inevitable. It was as if masks had been torn from those he loved. He, an impartial spectator, watched helplessly, the fight between his fatfier mother and sisters, become stronger and stronger'.
He saw the happy smiling faces he had come to know, drift away like clouds, dissolving in the viciousness, the hate and the contempt that now marred his inner visions of parenthood like an ugly gangrenous sore. He tried to break it up, but forces greatf':r than he were in control of the situation.
Then came the worst, the final, sealing scar tissue. The veils had been lifted and he now saw his family in, their _true colours. Suddenly he felt hollow inside and loneliness began spreading over him. He was empty, devoid of all feeling, becoming lost in the realm of his own mind. Yet, there was still one dim light shining in the distance, one pos- sible ray of hope. He wandered off and was not seen again until Sunday night.
Monday morning, he worked hard, harder than ever before. He also talked more to his workmates and this paid off. He now felt satisfaction and
wanted. The dim ray began growing into the mighty beam of a searchlight, but even this was soon to be snuffed out by fate.
Weeks went by and the problems within the family receded to the far reaches of thought. He saved hard and began paying off a car, and looking for a girlfriend. Finding a steady. date proved harder than he had thought. He met plenty of girls, but the trouble lay in the fact that he liked art and philosophy, etcetera, and all the girls he was intro- duced to consider themselves too hep to talk about such square things. He tried talking about the Beatles and their like, but it just did not work.
Sooner or later, the works of Bach or Beethoven came into his speech and the girls just sneered.
Before long, he realised he would have to wait patiently for her arrival. Then came the beginning of the end. At work, he had gained the respect of his friends for being an efficient, logical' worker. His judgment was considered practical and final. So, one day when his employer, who did not usually work, began shouting out instructions and giving orders that would eventually ruin the job, he felt compelled to right the situation. He waited until he was told what to do. Then he acted. "But sir, I couldn't doi that. Too much cement would ruin everything. Five to one is plenty on this job," he said, not at all boldly. "What did you say, Johnson? Who do you think you're talking to. Look, I'm running this show.
Two bags of cement to one of sand is just right I'm telling you. So do it and no back talk or you'll find yourself looking for a job. Say, who do you • think you are anyway. Listen, you're nothing in this world, see. You're just scum,· dirt, you hear. The world would be a better place without types like you messing it up all the time. So ,get on with it, you mug--"
He hit him and kept on hitting him. l;Ie did not know why, he did not know how. There was. only this whining, screaming excuse for a man befor.e him, cowering, pleading for mercy. His employer had overstepped himself and successfully severed the last. tie.
Now, his mind was in turmoil. He received his pay and drove off, not caring where he went or how he ended. He drove on and on and, aS' each mile clocked up on the speedometer, a great weight settled' heavier and heavier upon his shoulders. His speed i~creased until th~" prowl car ·saw ·him and gave chase.
He felt a huge wave surge and break within his chest, exploding into liis brain with a multitude of panic sharpened needles. He hit the accelel!S,tor, knowing that it was nqw or never. He turned- a corner and risked a look in the rear vision mirror.
It was still there only now there were small bright Page Fifty-Eight KELVIN GROVE TEA:CHERS COLLEGE - "JUBILEE MAGAZINE"
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lights flashing on the left hand side of the car. He was puzzled. Suddenly he heard a huge crushing and a ringing like hundreds of small bells. He felt a burning pressure in his back and a terrifying loss of feeling in his arms. Everywhere were stars and gleaming red spots. He tasted blood and felt very
sick. He heard the shattering of the rear vision
window that the bullet had broken in its path. And the word "security" lodged in his mind.
The siren wound to a stop and the two police officers slammed their car's doors. "Stupid mad kid.
Here, Bill, see if we can get this door open."
"Don't worry about it. It won't do him any good."
"Yeah, okay. Know who he was?"
"Yeah, Martin Johnson. I booked him four years
ago. He was sentenced to four years on his seven- teenth birthday. Only been out a few weeks. Too bad he couldn't go straight."
END
"Too bad he couldn't go straight . . . " This is fiction, but how much of it is really true 1 What is, our attitude towards an ex-prisoned How much can plain friendliness and pure acceptance do for a man who tries hard to start again 1 I don't mean an acceptance that holds a hint of sup~riority.
Nick and his fellows need real pure love to give them courage to start their new life. Perhaps a little more of this love would prevent their ever going off the track in the first place. Each man that God created has a little good and a little bad in his being. He puts it into our hands to decide which takes the dominant position in a life. '' The Debut'' was written by a twenty-year- old ex-prisoner. He is receiving this real pure love that holds no bars. His debut did not end as Nick's did. He can and will "go straight".
JANELLE COOPER, lC.
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