Fast-forward Carlo now in anticipation beginning to lose shape and form. Behind the glasses the wavering, watery eyes. Slight back-tilting of head whenever the conversation turned earnest. The screening of hair blowing about like women found useful under observation. Daughter Soleil would carry his imprint the rest of her life. (Recall that voice of her father from Sydney down the line in Bab's back garden on the day of her funeral, before he had been met. We had all listened to the animal screeching wondering to ourselves.) Soleil the child of a one night stand in Sydney, as her mother regularly reminded, embarrassed by the connection. At some point in his youth Carlo's own mother had suddenly adopted four or five African orphans. (Never mention of his own father.) Streaks of cigarette & later even larger vape clouds engulfing the figure. One memorable winter afternoon Carlo and Robbie had marched together up the street in their coats, wielding their vapes like bushrangers their shooters. Experimental film-making followed art school (unseen to date); the conventional had never been any possibility.
updated Mar26
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Absent yesterday Mr Phat, as he had attended the temple around on the river, the Heavenly Queen, on her particular day. It was $25 entry for lunch, four or more hundred present at the tables. (The charge was per person, not family.)
With elderly parents, Phat had attended alone. A bunch of incense cost $5, the sticks placed around the grounds.
$10 was a respectable donation for the wishing tree. You wrote your wish on the slip of paper provided and hung it on the tree.
As an old bachelor, Phat might have wished for a good, pretty young wife, perhaps, or some other kind of fortune.
Not the case. Phat had wished for peace. The man gave a circular motion from his corner seat beside the entry to the market—peace allround.
At the proper introduction some weeks before, Phat had said the pronunciation of his name was like Fuck you, here.
During the course of the addas around at Faisal’s shortly afterward an enquiry after his brother Fausi in Vietnam brought no news. Faisal had nothing to report. In fact Fausi had not even told Faisal of his intended departure.
The pair had been together on the Sunday. Without a word about it, Fausi flew out on the Monday.
Disappointing. And more so taking a jaunt like that during Ramadan. During Ramadan one might go to Makkah, or visit family, perhaps, Faisal explained. Not flit away for a pleasure trip.
Faisal had a fair idea of the kinda fun Fausi sought in Vietnam; no one needed inform him. There were mosques in Vietnam, where Fausi could pray, yes, Faisal knew that. But it was far from proper a trip like that.
Fausi had been over to Vietnam a dozen times now; you couldn’t keep him away from the place. It did no good talking to him. At their age the relationship between the brothers was conducted as between friends; there was no question of precedence. (Faisal was the elder.)
Even a father and mature age son spoke to each other as friends at that stage of life, Faisal explained. That was what was proposed in the Quran.
Originally, the brothers had operated Café d’Afrique jointly. After the renovations of the premises following a car ramming the front window, Fausi preferred to keep to the other place in Barkly Street, which had been intended as only a temporary locale. Mornings there a range of Viets drank coffee and Fausi had developed a warm little circle. During the course a trip had been ventured and now there was no holding back the man.
