The Skids (April24)

A dramatic day in how many acts today with the sun in and out? – mostly the latter. While the Viet lumberjack was sawing down the 7-8 trunks that needed to be left for the bigger blades, cutting across came two distinct skids, as Arthur terms those sudden showers. At the first Arth had quickly ducked indoors. While a cap was fetched from the shed the Viet had kept on, quite unaffected. On the second occasion Arthur took refuge under the low eucalypt that had sprouted beside the compost bin against his side fence.  (On the other side of the bin three of the sycamore trunks had sprouted and 5 or 6 against the back fence too.) The first shower had fairly pelted, slanting over nor’ nor’west on drifts of wind that were not noticeable on the ground. Beneath a cap and four upper layers the work had continued our side, raising the pile of handsome logs against the garden shed. From the sawing with Arthur’s antique Woodpecker of the week before a pile of slender cuttings had been raised against the iron fence opposite, thus creating a fine seating corner for the springtime ahead.

         At lunch at Huong the waiter came over to tell his tale of woe at the owner’s abrupt manner with him a couple days previous. As usual, on full moons the place had been very busy and tempers frayed. Shortly after tears had followed from the boss, good contrition and apology for her intemperate words. The dignified young fellow had made clear he would not endure the like a second time.

         Finally at Fausi’s after another skid that had not been noticed through the window of the café, there arrived a fine rainbow of four distinct colours, pointed out by the Dinka with the injured hand at the front table. Announced in the man’s quiet way, it had proved worth the inspection.

         The usual wishy-washy early September that was more exciting than usual after six years on the unrelievedly grey equator. People of those middle parts who were unable to afford air travel could never believe the blues of picture postcards.

         The Dinka man had spent twelve years in Kenya en route to Australia. We heard of the stolen election and of Kenyatta’s killings, which the Dinka said one day would rebound on him. Earlier, Kenyatta’s father had done precisely the same, the Dinka reported.

         A week before the NYRB had cautiously soft-peddled the US involvement in the matter, John Kerry featuring stoutly defending the regime.