Xmas day is every day
A work of fiction by Tobias Nixon
A work of fiction by Tobias Nixon
Rating: MA 15+
Profanity (swearing) warning
Reading pretty much most books (other than Mein Kampf say) is an opportunity to open your heart. When (if) you finish this novella go donate some money (but only in lieu of your time if you’re too busy) or your time to someone that needs it. Then do something even more amazing and don’t tell anyone about it. You will feel at least 2000 years old! This is what Buddha and Jesus were banging on about; that moment. Trust me. It’s priceless... unlike Xmas which can be expensive, except that luckily shopping is fun.
Friday the 28th
of January, 2011
William Davies was a smart, articulate and well heeled young
man. A grommet that loved to surf his local, all he did these days was surf the
web looking for new ways to make his employers the Royal bank of Scotland,
obscenely rich. Part of the banks private wealth equity division, Will was that
peculiar kind of genius known as dealer. It was just in Will’s case no one, not
even his boss, could quite define his role.
To guys like Will everything just came naturally, automatically;
It was an un-written rule of wealth creation, as long as they kept things in
the black most of the time, you didn’t put too many things in their way of a
guy like Will. That was pre-GFC land anyway. This year things had started to
heat up, the bean counters in financial accounting wanted more details, more
data, and more analysis. To Will what they wanted amounted to one thing, they
wanted him to give them a guarantee against risk, whilst locking in ever
tighter margins at the line. It was ridiculous, but hey boss dogs got what boss
dogs wanted.
William had flown through high school and university
finishing his masters in economics and applied mathematics before the age of
twenty four. He lived in an apartment on
York Street, no more than six or so blocks from work. It was one of the things
he enjoyed the most. Every morning leaving his neat one bedroom apartment with
the pre-Bangaroo water views and heading down past the Wynyard bus exchange to
the bottom of martin place, walking up martin place and heading left along
Elizabeth towards RBS.
Walking purposefully, his large six foot two frame strode
forward in the blue striped Versace tailored suit he always wore on Fridays.
The morning shot of doppio was held between left thumb and naked ring finger,
ready for consumption during the 8 am market briefing. It always helped to stay
awake when Dr. “boring” Etswitzch was banging on about an equity market’s
volatility or the euro-zone’s risk premiums, something that seemed to come up
alot of late. What a joke thought Will, if you were green enough to have missed
the latest overnight market data and couldn’t analyse it for yourself on the
spot, then you were probably the poor bastard helping Dr Boring with his daily
slide deck.
For guys like William this was a summary of info he’d been
consuming since he awoke three hours earlier. Power to the people, the smart
got rich, worked harder and smarter. Then you had a fucken chance. Otherwise
you were just fish food for some equity dealer to short the shit out of. There
was no such thing as being on your game and unlucky. Will didn’t believe in it.
He believed in what he could fold and count. Power was a gift to spend and in
the scheme of things buy even more. Lend it out and gather more in, borrow, buy,
borrow, buy, borrow, sell, payback, and bank that fat roll every time.
Breaking through the George St throng, he headed up in the
early dawn sun past the Anzac memorial. His head tilted curiously on a sharp
angle to the right as the sunshine glinted from the top of the tomb. It caught
in his eyes and made him blink. He thought he saw an old soldier with a ramrod
straight back and the most powerful look he had ever seen staring back at him.
When he blinked the image of the man standing next to the tomb was gone.
Halfway up the left side of martin place the human traffic
thinned around an old man sitting close to the wall of the ANZ bank’s ATM. His
form was obscured by a blanket and the worst smelliest clothes that William had
ever seen. People made a visible effort to maintain a metre’s separation as
they skirted his crappy cardboard plea-sign and soft upended hat of silver
coins.
Was he a druggie? A doped out Cabra junkie, out of cash and chasing the dragon. Half the hopeless seemed to be smackie’s. Their lost vacant stares absolved in the escapism they craved. Dissolution of pain, into the warmth of the dragons caress. The sweet feeling you never, ever wanted to let go of.
Was he a druggie? A doped out Cabra junkie, out of cash and chasing the dragon. Half the hopeless seemed to be smackie’s. Their lost vacant stares absolved in the escapism they craved. Dissolution of pain, into the warmth of the dragons caress. The sweet feeling you never, ever wanted to let go of.
William Davies didn’t quite know, now he thought to himself.
Was it the smell or his nasty appearance that meant those of a less charitable
nature (everyone) blocked him out as they walked quickly by. His pathetic hat
had by William’s eagle eye all of seventy cents, not a coin more.
For some strange reason he felt his hand reaching inside for loose change. He never did that, not ever. These guys were all government employed beggars that supplemented their income with cash from the misguided. It was society’s guilt trip, everyone knew that. Still he bowled the gold and silver in his hand ($5.85, by his touch), underarm, roughly at the cap, and walked on.
For some strange reason he felt his hand reaching inside for loose change. He never did that, not ever. These guys were all government employed beggars that supplemented their income with cash from the misguided. It was society’s guilt trip, everyone knew that. Still he bowled the gold and silver in his hand ($5.85, by his touch), underarm, roughly at the cap, and walked on.
For a moment he thought the old man stared at him. The stare wasn’t a drunken haze gaze. It wasn’t the self-hatred of life time of misery. The man looked back at him with pity. The warmth of that gaze was truly a wonder to behold; William felt a strong rush of heat up his spine and shivered.
Both at the warmth he felt and the lasting effect that look of pity had had upon him. A second later he pushed the experience back down into the mind-depths and walked on. All that was left was confusion and anger towards the beggar that had looked down at him.
He had a feeling today was going to be a day to remember. A day to be a rock star, make big fat rolls of fold. A giant shark swimming in a tiny fucken fishbowl.
Friday the 25th of February, 2011
William slid out of bed, past the magnificent Chinese beauty that lay rugged up beneath the light summer sheets. Cute, the way she had kept him at bay. Last night had been months in the planning. Now though her sweetheart was just another entry in his book of girlfriends. His room looked brand new he reflected, because it was.
Post morning routine, adrenaline still pumping as he passed
through Wynyard park. A couple of old
drunks lay happily in a semi-stupor amongst the grass edge and the plants. All
liquored up with nowhere to sleep. Not that they could feel the difference
between a soft bed of duck down and a concrete slab. Loser-scum. They had life
fail tattooed in invisible ink on their foreheads. He felt hatred towards them,
for the abject rejection of everything he held dear. End stage retro grade failure.
As he wheeled around the corner from George st onto martin
place, the early sun blasted his vision. As he passed the Anzac memorial it
shot down. The sun seemed to hit his eye; just like it had... he walked on.
Three city pigeons were sitting on the ground, they took to flight in front of
him rising quickly straight up.
Marching still filled with an anger that burnt. Holding his
doppio regally, back straight, the morning hardened his thoughts. It felt right
to be powerful, to be entering the inner circle. The dealing was getting
intense. The vast flows of capital from china seemed to want coverage of an
ever increasing range of investment options opening up all over the North West
corridor of Australia. There was an energy crisis coming and the smart banks
were preparing for the inevitable crunch.
Halfway up the left side of martin place the human traffic
thinned around an old man who was begging near to the ANZ hole in the wall. More
scum. As he came closer, he noticed it was the same beggar from a month ago. Same
dirty hair. Same dirty fucken stare. He turned to look as he was all the way past
the seated man. The beggar smiled sadly. Pity leaked from his eyes.
The feeling Will got was nothing like last time, when he’d
felt a mild rush of heat up his spine. This time was like a furnace. After the
fire rose, his head lacked the rationalisation of fear. He was one hundred
percent open. Suddenly the other man’s pity felt very real. His own honesty was
laid bare, exposed to a mind suddenly hungry for truth. Then the beggar laughed
at him, laughed crudely, roughly but not cruelly. The laughter echoed in Will’s
ears. Time seemed to stop and his eyes were able to concentrate on the entire
field of vision. He felt low. He knew that he was small, tiny. Golden shadows
walked back and forth, but nobody even knew he was there.
A black pit of emptiness opened up around his feet. He felt
his body sinking. As he sunk shadows of everyone, everything, every object of
his hatred floated past. The more he watched the procession the faster he sunk.
He looked down, there was nothing.
An age past, eventually only a tinge of sadness remained. He
opened his eyes and stared back at the beggar. He looked at his watch, he’d
only been stopped for a minute. Wtf? He’d been pulling back to back 14 hour
weeks. Hallucinations were a job hazard.
As he continued on across the road to the Channel 7 building
in Martin place, he though he heard the beggar whisper, “... how quickly we
rationalise that awkward truth we chose to forget.”
Friday the 25th
of March, 2011
William swung out of bed, careful not to alarm the gentle Namibian hottie. Gentle that was unless you made the mistake of waking her up. Only assholes made the same mistake twice. Last night had been a top ten moment. Sad because the last two weeks were holding down spots 1 through 5. He almost felt bad about the break up email he had scheduled Outlook to send later today.
Post morning routine, adrenaline still pumping as he passed
through Wynyard park. Rushing. Walking
at full stride through the under throng past Bar 333, and wading into the west
side traffic waiting to cross George St.
As he wheeled around the corner from George onto martin
place, the early sun met his vision. He passed the Anzac memorial, and... Almost
crashed straight into an old lady.
“Look where you’re going.” She cried.
“Look where you’re going.” She cried.
He stared not sure what had happened. Cross traffic? No she
had acted as though he had stumbled towards her. He smiled quickly at her,
apologetically. It felt unnatural, but, whatever. Smiles were free.
“You a lawyer sonny?” she questioned him as he stepped around her and continued on. “Forgotten how to say sorry?” her mild tone and scolding manner grated on him, reminding him off his mum.
“You a lawyer sonny?” she questioned him as he stepped around her and continued on. “Forgotten how to say sorry?” her mild tone and scolding manner grated on him, reminding him off his mum.
He was marching on now filled completely with a red hot anger that burnt. Holding his doppio regally, back straight, the morning hardened his thoughts. Some people composed symphonies in the shower; he built strategic models investment risk as he walked. The nameless faces were his “notes” each new face caused his mind to instantly reconnect the thousands of data points. Then he’d let things settle down. Usually before lunch he would fly into the head dealer (Jack Stevens) office and put forward a proposal that made shareholders happy.
Four weeks ago the things had gone to whole new level. Audit had found liquidity short fall of over four billion dollars. Dealing room was on a mad scramble to make it back pronto. High risk trading ensued. Forex and low cap mining stocks were plundered. People’s bonuses were on the line. Sleep was an option for the lazy.
Halfway up the left side of martin place the human traffic
thinned around the beggar he had seen last month, in the same place, near to
the ANZ hole in the wall. The beggar smiled at him with an intense pity that
burnt. Pity that leaked from his eyes. Why? Why do you pity me old man? He
asked silently. He felt the warm eyes trailing him as he walked straight past.
Friday the 29th
of April, 2011
William rose from his slumber, the gorgeous finish blonde murmured. As he tried to swing from the bed she laid soft hands across his belly.
“Don’t” it was a command with a promise attached. And who exactly was he to argue with that?
Several extremely pleasurable minutes later and he was working up a different kind of sweat. The morning routine never quite felt so good when it came second. Not that there was a single ounce of sympathy anywhere on the planet. Adrenaline eventually overrode testosterone. It had to it was the alpha hormone.
As he wheeled around the corner from George onto martin place, the early sun met his vision. He passed the Anzac memorial. In the distance the sound of music filtered softly past his ears. A kid on a skateboard zoomed by. Leering at him.
A beggar sat near the steps of the Armani Exchange shopfront. The man was drunk and high. His slurring speech barely audible as he asked for cash. His pocket had loose change from last night’s boozy birthday party for the hot Exec P.A. at Eden. He pulled it from his pocket in disgust. Held it out palm up stretched, as he walked straight past. He could feel the man’s eyes. Trying to decide whether to rob him right there and then. Only for half a second, before those red eyes sunk back into their hollow skull.
He walked on driven by his fury at those that refused to help themselves. He wondered idly if the drunk had made him angry because he reminded him of that bloody... beggar! There he was sitting straight backed on his smelly rag. Dirty felt hat upturned to collect the meagre droppings of a society that had both failed and scorned him.
In a dash he broke a half step, to bend and drop the shower
of metal currency into the cap. It was like a ritual. It made him feel better,
and not because he was “giving to the poor”. He was sick of feeling that pity.
The beggar should pity him. The man barely collected enough coin to buy a big
mac. He smiled condescendingly down at the old man.
As he regathered his stride on the full step, the man’s voice cut a line of ice along his side, “I thank you good Sir. You are a generous man. Are you sure however you would not like keep this?”
Will didn’t look back as he crossed the road with the Channel 7 sunrise lights burning in his eyes. He just knew the old man was holding his felt hat up towards his back.
As he regathered his stride on the full step, the man’s voice cut a line of ice along his side, “I thank you good Sir. You are a generous man. Are you sure however you would not like keep this?”
Will didn’t look back as he crossed the road with the Channel 7 sunrise lights burning in his eyes. He just knew the old man was holding his felt hat up towards his back.
Friday the of 27th
May, 2011
William was lying wide awake as sunrays cut across his open
bedroom window. The flaming redheaded beauty that lay beside him slept,
nuzzling in the foetal position up against his side.
He flew through his morning routine. Arms bulged, feeling tight from the build-up of lactic acid.
He flew through his morning routine. Arms bulged, feeling tight from the build-up of lactic acid.
Ground hog day once again he thought as he passed the Anzac memorial. The sun seemed to hit his eye; just like it had... he walked on with his eyes closed for several seconds.
Walking purposefully, in his nice blue striped Versace suit.
The morning shot of doppio held between his left thumb and ring finger. Truly
life was grand when you were making close to twenty grand a week in commission.
He kept getting emails from private equity affiliates telling him he could earn
twice as much if jumped ship. Hell he could make twenty times as much if he bet
against his own position, then routed the market, by shorting the hell out of
whatever garbage was on the hit list for today. Probably why it was illegal, as
well as an incredibly dumb way to get caught on the take.
Halfway up the left side of martin place the human traffic
thinned around that old man who was begging near to the ANZ hole in the wall. The
man smiled at him as he approached. He didn’t even look at him. He knew the
look of pity that went with those eyes. So caring and so full of inner wisdom.
He had a takeover to complete before lunch. Feeling bad today just wasn’t on
the agenda.
As he passed the beggar he threw a thin rollette of fifty
dollar bills down. “Enjoy old man”.
The beggar didn’t even seem to notice him.
Friday the 24th
of June, 2011
William bounced out bed, making up for lost time he skipped his usual routine and only did 500 sit-ups, 100 push-ups, skipping the twenty military pull-ups all together. His rock hard abdominals were usually the last thing his current brown haired honey needed to feel. Shear unfaked ecstasy quickly followed. Shower-breakfast-shave was a new record time and he was back on track.
William bounced out bed, making up for lost time he skipped his usual routine and only did 500 sit-ups, 100 push-ups, skipping the twenty military pull-ups all together. His rock hard abdominals were usually the last thing his current brown haired honey needed to feel. Shear unfaked ecstasy quickly followed. Shower-breakfast-shave was a new record time and he was back on track.
Ground hog day he thought as he passed the Anzac memorial.
The sun seemed to hit his eye; just like it had... he walked on.
Walking purposefully, his large frame filled out the blue
striped Versace suit nicely. The morning shot of doppio held between left thumb
and ring finger.
Halfway up the left side of martin place the human traffic
thinned around an old man who was begging near to the ANZ hole in the wall. As
he came closer, he noticed the smell it was so nasty. He turned to look as he
was halfway past the seated man, the man smiled the sweetest, most pure smile
he had ever seen. Not at him, but around him. He felt, better, without really
knowing why. He knew it was the smile.
Walking on past the dirty beggar, he turned and looked back
at the man staring at him. Both men looked at each other deeply for several
seconds, and then William broke the gaze, looking down. He got the impression
that the beggar could have kept that trick up all day.
Instinctively William walked back to the man, asking him,
“How do you do that?”
The man just smiled back for long seconds, and then he said,
“How do I do what? This universe, it trembles every time you take a step young
man, the real question is, will you ever figure out how in time to do something
with your immeasurable power?”
Who was this beggar to be lecturing him? William started to
feel indignant. He’d just wanted to say hi, and thanks, but somehow the whole
thing had been taken to another level. I mean come on, he had already achieved
more in his twenty five odd years of life than this bum was ever going to
experience. Still it was hard for him to feel pity.
“Listen douche bag, I’d like to stay and chat, explain to scum
like you, exactly how fucken worthless you are, why cockroaches like you are
nothing but a burden on society... but I have an 8 am. Enjoy the dirt,
traveller.”
“I apologise if I have offended you, it was no more and no
less than you needed to hear. If the words fall on deaf ears, the listener must
learn a new way to hear the words. I am Master Batia-chan; it was my master’s
name before he passed it on to me. If you would like, what is your name?”
William stared at the man. He really stared and felt like he
was on the cusp of a decision. He kept coming back to that smile; it had
eclipsed all the random shit of work and life in one fell swoop. He really
wanted to know. “I’m... William Davies.”
He paused, normally at this point if it was an acquaintance,
he would have mentioned “senior equities dealer, for the Royal bank of
Scotland” or more simply, just “Banker, RBS” if it was a platinum piece of
booty, that he was trying to drop a value proposition on.
“It is a pleasure to meet you Mr Davies, I have a feeling you are going to open those ears of yours very soon. Now however, I guess I should point out its well 7:57 am, and... Uh, didn’t you say you had an 8 o’clock?”
“Shit! Last man in buys the first round after work... I’ve
never been last.”
Something made him want to stay even as he looked down at his watch. Impossible. He’d been here for barely a minute, but the watch said twenty.
Something made him want to stay even as he looked down at his watch. Impossible. He’d been here for barely a minute, but the watch said twenty.
Pushing impossibilities to the bottom, he let the latest
Euro bond cross rates percolate up, dominant headlines speaking of unspeakable
economic destruction. He sprinted now, not caring about damaging the four
thousand dollar suit. It felt good to run. Like not everything was yet under
his control. Oh, but soon. He had a feeling this was the year of the dealer’s paradise.
A year to make a fortune, on ultra volatile world markets. He fucken lived for
this shit.
Friday the 29th
of July, 2011
William moved his legs in precision like a gymnast to slide from bed to ground. His morning routine was the start to success. So said his dad, a man Will could quote at will. 1000 sit-ups, push-ups till failure, twenty military pull-ups. The brunette lying naked amongst the silk sheets. Her soft heaving chest uncovered. Long slender arms held back against the bed head. Dammit if he didn’t stop looking soon, they’d both be sweating it out for another quarter of an hour. He was curious though, he thought maybe the old guy would be there today. No idea why but somehow curiosity won out over a nine from ten stunner, that would do... anything. An RBS PR chick. Go figure. Shower-breakfast-shave.
Sure enough he noticed the start of another ground hog day
as he passed the Anzac memorial. The sun seemed to hit his eyes, the morning’s
luminosity jumped slightly, things felt lighter... he walked on.
Blue striped Versace suit wearer. One percenter. Living the
dream. The morning shot of doppio was held between left thumb and ring finger.
His arm was raised and he carried the small cup like an attendant walking in
front of his king.
Halfway up the left side of martin place the human traffic
thinned around an old man who was begging near to the ANZ hole in the wall. As
he came closer, he seemed not to notice the smell. The man’s appearance was
less noteworthy. Will knew he was being superficial when he judged someone like
that but somehow he’d always justified it as a necessary cost of doing
business. A cost that always seemed so necessary and yet also mildly unpleasant.
He looked closer at the beggar, the eyes were sharp. There
was no mistaking it, it was... Master Batia-chan, gazing straight out at him
through the crowd. The soft felt cap was even emptier there was barely ten
cents inside. Batia-chan looked down at the cap despondently, then brightly
back up at Will. He smiled, and William’s world started to dissolve. The
accumulated stress of a week of back-to-back planning meetings for the firm’s
latest acquisition was starting to add up. Suddenly it was all gone. Just a
black void and two men. One sitting peacefully, the other starting to talk, his
head wrapped in the demons that consumed him.
“William Davies?”
“Hi... Batia-chan??”
“That is I, young Will. May I call you that?” smiling he
continued on, not waiting for a response.
“There are eight noble truths in this world. However only
the first is really important, all the rest come from that one. Your path, my
path, we are all guided by compassion. Compassion for our fellow human beings,
for the creatures, for the earth and its fauna. Most of your fellow human
beings get to the finish line without a seconds thought for the journey. Young
Will, I wonder if you can let go of your greed and embrace those who are less
fortunate?”
“I’m listening.”
“That is a start as they say, young Will. But I wonder if
you understand my words...”
Just then someone bumped roughly into Will. The force of the
blow knocked him sideways away from the seated man. He looked to his left where
the other person had come from. The sight that greeted him made him angry at
once. A young junkie, track marks fresh on pale white arms stared back at him
with a half vacant, half uncaring visage.
“Fuck you asshole! Watch where your fucken well going.” He cursed. He made to push the junkie but the guy was too quick, small, hungry, but nimble and quick.
“Fuck you asshole! Watch where your fucken well going.” He cursed. He made to push the junkie but the guy was too quick, small, hungry, but nimble and quick.
The next second his right arm was reaching low, scooping the meagre contents of Master Batia-chan’s hat and running across the Elizabeth Street intersection.
Suddenly the old man began to laugh. Someone had just taken
his last ten cents, and he had the good humour to laugh like a world class
comedian was giving him a private show.
Will couldn’t help it, the laughter was completely infectious. It rolled
out deep from the man’s belly, a rumbling for which each wave of bass hit him
like something physical. After a couple of seconds he began to laugh too. At
first he had no idea why he felt this way, but then he realised, he was letting
go of the moment before, letting go of the things which in his mind he used to
judge that poor miscreant.
“Good. You have much to learn. However that’s a start Will.
The most important part about compassion is letting go of those that hurt you.
There will always be situations that cannot be resolved but through force. At
which point you have a choice most of the time, to run or to confront that
force and cause more violence. The hardest thing is to show a kindness to
someone straight after they have slapped you in the face. That takes ten times
more courage than to raise your fists in anger.”
“Sounds like the Buddhist philosophy of non-aggression.
Fundamentally I don’t disagree with it, but let’s face it, in this dog eat dog
world of ours, you would get trampled back into the dirt if you lived by that
kind of credos. It’s just the reality; we can’t really be compassionate, until
we are loaded like Bill Gates.”
“He is a good man, who does great good in this world. But no
matter how powerful, he is one man.”
“One man, with an army of help.”
“Yes you are right. You speak of the reality of that
situation, but here is reality and it is filled with beings that are all
capable of the same degree of compassion. It is only our imagination that
limits us. The power to change the world is inside each one of us. You are a
man of great good, young Will. I see this inside you. I also see seeds of anger
and the onset of greed. You have a choice young man, one you will be asked to
make before this year is out; you can either embrace the true path, or be
crippled by the forces that have already begun to consume your mind.”
He left the old man then walking briskly towards work,
feeling somewhat hollow not knowing quite what to think. Harsh words, made
harsher by the recent events. The adrenaline from the shove had elevated his
blood pressure, giving him the jitters. It seemed to trigger goose bumps and
warm rush of heat up the back of his spine.
He thought of his mother, the final time he’d seen her, her blackened body burnt beyond recognition, trapped within a twisted metal cage. He’d refused to even climb into a car for two years afterwards, and he still preferred to walk. Silent tears trickled down the outside of his eyes onto and along the strong male jaw line, two rivulets arcing towards his chin.
Still it was hard to think of the junkie as a fellow human being, much less someone to have compassion for. The man was just scum wasn’t he? His watch said 7:58 AM. Shit, time to run, after last month he really didn’t want to buy another $1000 round. The time dilation effect. Again. #Time-fail. What was with that? Why did he keep running into this old man that made him laugh and cry.
Friday the 26th
of August, 2011
William moved his legs in precision like a gymnast to slide
from bed to ground. The bed was filled with a petite young thing with long
unfurled locks of honey brown hair. His quest for female perfection seemed
matched to his age. A quest unfulfilled, because the conquest always came
first, conversation second, the “getting to know you”... hmm well not yet
anyway.
The pretty uni student (he think he remember her saying) pushed one of her pins out slowly alongside his outer thigh, rubbing it. She curled around on top, and then started to give him a gentle back rub.
He brushed her off gently in return. No time for games, today. He had a market to beat, he had to stay focused, on... his morning routine.
The pretty uni student (he think he remember her saying) pushed one of her pins out slowly alongside his outer thigh, rubbing it. She curled around on top, and then started to give him a gentle back rub.
He brushed her off gently in return. No time for games, today. He had a market to beat, he had to stay focused, on... his morning routine.
1000 sit-ups, push-ups till failure, twenty military
pull-ups.
Undeterred by a governor-general’s daughter, undeterred by
what was left of her lingerie. She started to massage his back. She was moving
in to press her chest against his; warmth quickly spread sucking him backwards
towards the bed. Undeterred by fate, he made opportunities, he didn’t succumb
to them.
Morning playthings be damned. Morning routines were made to be adhered to. If she was there when he got home tonight, he’d make it up to her. Shower-breakfast-shave.
Morning playthings be damned. Morning routines were made to be adhered to. If she was there when he got home tonight, he’d make it up to her. Shower-breakfast-shave.
He marched gamely down through the Wynyard bus interchange,
Gucci loafers clicking crisply against the hard concrete skin of the city. The
early morning light was invigorating. The passing traffic cast hollow stares
vacantly at him, past him, through him at destination dullness. Such was the
lot of the city worker.
Three white doves dove low as he passed the Anzac memorial.
As the doves wheeled, rising, two children screamed into view around the far
side of the cenotaph. Smiling happy little kids, Australia’s future. The sun
seemed to find his eyes, hitting them hard. The morning’s luminosity jumped up
noticeably, things felt light... he walked on.
A Versace suit that drew and held the eye. A morning shot of
doppio that was held between left thumb and ring finger. The ten thousand
dollar Cartier watch around his left wrist.
Halfway up the left side of martin place the human traffic
thinned around Master Batia-chan, who was begging near to the ANZ bank. As he
came closer he realised there was no smell, the smell was visual, quite simply
Batia-chan looked so terrible he had to smell. But he didn’t.
“Hello young Will!” Batia-chan beamed enthusiastically. He
smiled in that infectious way he could.
“Hi.” Said Will, more noncommittally. Last month felt like
yesterday. He was prepared today he left half an hour earlier, and he was
keeping a close eye on his watch.
“It will do you no good young man. You think that you can
control the flow of time? How bold, how arrogant.” His smile beamed out looking
over William curiously.
“Why are you filled with so much happiness? Life can’t be
that good.” Despite the man’s sometimes
harsh character assessment to date, Will who was never one to shy away from
feedback, had started to warm to Batia-chan despite himself.
“Au contraire young Will, life has never been better. As I
sit here I know that my life is fulfilled, while when I look over at you, sadly
I only see a discontent individual whose life is slipping past him. Mental
happiness starts up here Will.” Batia-chan pointed to his head, and continued.
“Are you happy Will?”
“I’m driven, successful, life just comes easy, it’s my
playground and I’m its rock star. So yeah Batia-chan I’m happy. If I do it
right I’ll be retired by next year. Not bad huh?” He didn’t know why he’d added
the last, he never shared that. The rest was a throwaway line; he’d said it so
many times it felt real.
Batia-chan just looked at him mournfully. Just then across
the intersection somebody screamed. The sound of heavy braking briefly preceded
audio visual carnage. A truck had come roaring up behind a car which had
suddenly stopped for a pedestrian mistiming the crossing.
The much larger truck punched the car from behind,
jack-knifing it forward, and narrowly missing the harried jay walker, who
scuttled for the safety of the gutter. The car was another matter, it was a
wreck, the truck had now stopped and the driver was gamely trying to get out.
Nearby people were stopping, some running including from nearby buildings to
help with the emergency.
Without even realising it, tears started to stream down
William’s eyes. He watched as the police and ambulance arrived. It seemed the
lady in the car was stable enough to take to hospital. The impromptu crowd
roused a cheer. She in turn smiled weakly from the ambulance trolley half
raising a hand in response to the them.
“Are you ok Will?” asked Batia-chan, the concern was etched
into his eyes. The concern was deep it felt like someone was tugging on his
soul. Words came then, stream of consciousness styles.
“No. Your right though, I’m not happy. What kind of a man,
just freezes and cries at tragedy like that? Don’t worry I know the answer to
that. Real men don’t cry. Aww shit, I don’t know Batia-chan, I got so angry
after my mum died you know? I was angry at the world, and my selfishness had no
one to reign it in any longer. She died in a car crash. I rebuilt the only way
I knew how, with shear bloody minded determination. I kept succeeding, because
I would never, ever let up. Her body was broken mate. Have you ever seen
someone so mangled you can’t even tell if they are human? She died in agony
Batia-chan. I wasn’t even there for her.”
“I am so sorry to hear of your loss William. Truly I am.”
The rivers of tears continued to stream down William’s face. He couldn’t focus,
in his mind he was ten standing on the side of the road, as the fireman tried
in vain to cut the wreckage for a better look inside. And then the explosion of
pain, the visual waves of nausea. Her body ungazing back at his. Chaos ripped
through his mind as he shuffled along the footpaths that led to the RBS
building.
Friday the 30th
of September, 2011
“Hi Will”
“I’m sorry to have left you like that last month Batia-chan.
The moment stirred a kind of madness inside of me that turned to something I
still don’t quite understand.”
“It’s ok. Your mind was torn by an event which in your mind
is as raw as the day it happened. You still have great anger towards yourself,
anger that you left to burn for far too long. At first it helped you, motivated
you. Now like all things it comes calling for payment. The price as you are
beginning to realise is too high. It will either kill you or drive you insane.
“
“How do I let go of that though Batia-chan?”
“Simply Will? You don’t.
Why should you? It is as much a part of you as that beautiful watch or
your powerful right arm. You must forgive yourself, and then you must try and
do good in this world. Showing real kindness to others is one way you can begin
to heal your broken heart.”
At that time a poor old lady, in an even more dishevelled
state than Batia-chan limped by. In her eyes were tangible lines of pain that
cut through the two of them. Torture-pain-abuse. This woman had not a single
drop of hope. The sparkle in her eyes was not there at all.
Without hesitation Batia-chan sprang up from his small dirty
mat, and stepped into the path of the woman. He bowed to her, then spoke in
another language (it sounded Cyrillic) smiling all the while at her. She
stepped back from him but he stepped neatly into the gap using his left arm to
protectively hug her shoulder in a comforting gesture. As he did this he placed
the money from his begging cap into her tight gnarled paw.
He pressed it there when she resisted, her once proud features suddenly jumping to the forefront. He smiled at her and spoke again in her native language. The woman hesitated. It was as if, at that moment an epic battle raged within her. Her hardened features searched Batia-chan’s face suspiciously.
He pressed it there when she resisted, her once proud features suddenly jumping to the forefront. He smiled at her and spoke again in her native language. The woman hesitated. It was as if, at that moment an epic battle raged within her. Her hardened features searched Batia-chan’s face suspiciously.
Then the most amazing thing happened, she cracked a strong
vibrant smile and hugged Batia-chan. This old twisted mean looking lady suddenly
looked as sprightly as when she was twenty years old. They were still chatting
happily as Will quietly sauntered off towards work. In his mind a world for
which he had invested so much, was slowly crumbing into a sea of sorrow he had
never even known existed. In his eyes the pain of a cold uncaring world could
for this moment at least no longer be fully rationalised. The pain-tears welled
and poured, but he didn’t care. Something brewed inside, something he no longer
cared to hide.
Friday the 28th
of October, 2011
Breaking through the George St throng, he headed up in the early dawn sun past the Anzac memorial. His head tilted curiously on a sharp angle to the right as the sunshine glinted from the top of the tomb. It caught in his eyes and made him blink. He thought he saw a Buddhist monk, the prayer beads handing from his right hand, his left arm folded in supplication. When he blinked the image of the monk standing next to the tomb was gone.
“My friend!” shouted Batia-chan across the concourse.
Will had not seen his friend at the normal place outside the
bank, knowledge that had unexpectantly hit him like a rocket. That the beggar
genuinely meant something to him. Just another of life’s harsh lessons. Now
though he was happy, and charged across the concourse to his friends spot
outside the MLC complex.
“How are you Batia-chan?” Will smiled back
“I see you have remembered to smile.”
As they began to chat, Will pulled out a roll of cash that he had withdrawn earlier. It was in the thousands. As he slowly lowered it to Batia-chan’s hat, a shocking thing happened.
Contrary to the beggars weedy appearance, with his frail
stooping bent and gnarled looking face and hands, an arm as strong as a heavy
weight boxer shot out encircling Will’s wrist in an iron lock. Despite the
shock Will instinctively struggled to break the grip. To not do so would be a
sign of weakness. Batia-chan’s hand didn’t even tremble. It just stayed in
exactly the same position.
“Do not give this to me William. You insult me, as a
friend.” Batia-chan turned precisely ninety degrees to the right facing away to
the subway entrance. His hand disappeared back into his robes.
“I fear that you still have not understood what I have been trying to show you all along. It is right before your eyes. The anger you have towards yourself, you must find some way of atonement that lets you release it.” He paused then turned to look directly at William. He wasn’t smiling. The pity was gone, only sadness remained.
“I fear that you still have not understood what I have been trying to show you all along. It is right before your eyes. The anger you have towards yourself, you must find some way of atonement that lets you release it.” He paused then turned to look directly at William. He wasn’t smiling. The pity was gone, only sadness remained.
“If I see you again, it will be because you have started to walk the path of the Tao.”
Will looked at his friend again but the other man wouldn’t look back at him. In the end feeling uncomfortable and more than a little lost he turned towards work. Batia-chan didn’t want his money, but clearly wanted him to be a better person. It seemed that to Batia-chan, money had no true value; it was the value of the individual’s contribution, the helping of other human beings.
Friday the 25th
of November, 2011
William Davies sat alone, cross legged in his bed. The morning light shone through the window. He barely felt the warm rays on his back. In his thoughts a rebellion was mounting. The forces of good could be held back no longer. The priorities he had held so dear: To have a star studded career with an important equities dealer, to meet every last hottie in Sydney, to retire by the age of 35.
William Davies sat alone, cross legged in his bed. The morning light shone through the window. He barely felt the warm rays on his back. In his thoughts a rebellion was mounting. The forces of good could be held back no longer. The priorities he had held so dear: To have a star studded career with an important equities dealer, to meet every last hottie in Sydney, to retire by the age of 35.
Such things seemed now to him so incredibly hollow. The
fantasies of another man, from a time when he had stopped calculating the truth
worth of others. Too busy calculating how he could use every last thing around
him to his advantage. His edge in business had been his personal downfall in
life.
Now though the mind seemed gradually each day to be clearer.
The thoughts that came to him now were infinitely more rewarding. All of them
stemmed from a single source, a man that had been willing to open his eyes and
his heart to the fact that life had so much more to offer. A friend that he
believed was now lost to him forever. Betrayed by his own greed.
Atonement: that’s what Batia-chan had said he needed to
find. The day after he had last seen Batia, the last Saturday in October,
William had hired a small ute, spend the entire bank roll of notes on supplies,
loaded them up into the pickup and missioned out west to distribute them.
That money had felt like poison after Batia rejected it. He
hadn’t been able to concentrate at all until the food and clothes had all been
given out.
Now sitting here in bed, his thoughts were caught up in
memories of the smiling faces of those he had helped. The golden look of a
child, receiving a much needed sweater. The gruff yet thankful look of
appreciation from a parent too poor to properly cloth their family. To Will it
hadn’t been until he’d got out there and begun to see the silent pain of
Sydney’s underbelly that he had begun to understand how deeply he might have
hurt Batia.
He raised himself; the period of reflection had been
sobering. Swinging wide from the bed, he stripped down and began a new kind of
morning ritual. A cold shower followed by a vigorous scrub down. The first
couple of times it had been shear torture to his soft shell. Now weeks later
the ritual of purification raised his awareness to new levels, both physical
and mental skins felt clean.
He yoga-stretched, then forced his legs into a half lotus
and began to meditate. Amazing how since he had started with a five minute
routine four weeks ago, he had no more headaches, no more stress. The mind
wanted to respond, but he realised you had to feed it. It wanted to think
thoughts that made the individual happy, it was just that if you filled a cup
full of acid; it was kinda hard to swallow. The mind was like that, it could
take just about anything, but if you put enough shit in there sooner or later
the chaos would erupt in very human emotions; anger, hate, self-loathing and
fear.
His walk to work was just the same, only just that it was
completely different. Instead of seeing “scum” he saw people in need. Instead
of seeing “losers” he marked the location of the needy letting ideas that had
at their root a philosophy of doing good, incubate. He knew deep down that the
change was on him now, that what Batia had done was push him down his own path,
his Tao.
He had half expected his career to slide of the face of the
earth, but confusingly to him, if anything the opposite had happened. Everyone
seemed to like the new Will. It seemed no one shared his concern that you could
be both a nice guy and successful. The pre-conditions to success in William’s
mind had taken a 180 degree shift.
When he saw a different beggar sitting at the spot Batia had
used to occupy outside the ANZ building, he knew it was time to start the next
part of his journey. Approaching the man he poured some coins into the hat,
then squatting bent down and began to chat pleasantly to the troubled street
warrior. He gave himself an extra half an hour these days. Just to listen. It
was almost more than he could take. The first time. Now several weeks later, as
he listened intently to this man’s tale of pain and woe, his eyes shone with
care and understanding. The same set of sales skills that made his company
millions of dollars from wining, dining and schmoozing clients were now put to
better use.
Friday the 23rd of December, 2011
William woke up this morning, it was still dark. His eyes
shone with inner light. He had been up all night making preparations. Now
though all he wanted to do was cleanse himself and prepare for the day. Work
had finished on Wednesday. Since sleeping in wasn’t in his DNA, his morning
routine remained unchanged.
The meditation now lasted close to an hour. He was making
progress, able to keep his mind empty for minutes now. The thoughts that had
controlled and consumed his mind were distant now. The rage and anger were gone
starved of fuel.
He went downstairs, carrying two boxes in each large hand.
Checking the ute, he made several more trips loading it up each time with more
boxes. Finally he made one more trip, putting the suit on and scrambling out
the door.
First stop was a hospital out at Liverpool. The children
screamed in excitement as Santa Claus came through the ward doors. When they
ripped open the presents the screams of excitement were so loud several nurses
came rushing in checking to see if their patients were ok. He tried to listen
to each set of parents, but it was hard. Some of the kids were as young as one;
almost all of them would save but for the grace god, be dead within twelve
months. Tough little troopers he thought. A single thought filled his mind; I
would give everything I had, just to save one of you. To take away the pain.
As he left, his Santa beard moist with tears, he made a few
calls. Next stop a YMCA near Cabramatta. Then housing commission block of units
out at Penrith. Each time he made sure that he spent time listening to the
problems and the tales of life that the needy told him. Each time he smiled
gently, wished them all the best and promised that he would return to visit.
By the end of the day he was beat. Not so much physically,
but the emotional strain had long since reached its climax. All he wanted to do
was sleep. Instead he parked the ute and walked back towards Martin place.
Maybe just maybe he would catch up with Batia one more time. Then man had
become like a guru to him, and he desperately wanted to tell him that he had
changed.
But even though he searched all over the cbd for three
hours, the old beggar was nowhere to be seen. He spent time with the homeless
he could find, but no one had even ever heard of Batia-chan.
Finally, smiling in final realisation, he knew that this was
what Batia-chan had really meant about finding the way for himself. The way
without Batia-chan to hold his hand, the way unclouded by his own emotional
baggage. Feeling free at last he walked back down Martin place.
As he past the Anzac memorial, his eyes lit up. For a moment
he thought he saw the image of Batia-chan, in golden bursts of sunrays, smiling
down at him from atop the cenotaph. Then he blinked and the image was gone. He
would remember it always. It was the face of Batia-chan, but he was dressed in
the most elegant suit Will had ever seen. The stance, the bearing, and in his
hand he carried the ceremonial sword of office given to the chief of Army. For
Will this was the final lesson; that appearances did not matter, that every
human being mattered, that to heal others or yourself you first had to be
prepared to listen, and not to judge. Giving was/is just an expression of
caring. Material things have no value to the soul unless they are given with a
smile and a purpose.
: End
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