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 ~: FICTION / DRAMA :~  Kangaroo Point by Trost Passers-by sometimes sat on the low stone wall that separated the cliff of Kangaroo Point from the path and picnic tables where families strolled and ate on warm Sunday mornings. These passers-by would usually come during the week, in the early evening, to watch the final minutes of the sun's descent behind the silhouettes of Brisbane's skyscrapers. They would admire the orange rays of light reflect on the calm winding river that flowed between the cliff and the city centre. Ferries crossed the river slowly but constantly, bringing people back home from the offices and shops where they worked and the Kookaburra Queen proudly made its way along the river, propelled by giant paddles. Eric Sanderson walked along the path beside the stone wall every evening as he headed home. He had come to notice that the same people seemed to be sitting on the wall every day. Their backs always faced him, because they were looking across at the setting sun and the cityscape to the west, but he was able to recognize them all the same. Even from behind a familiar face can often be distinguished from an unknown one. There were two young women who sat there together every day and read from textbooks, looking up from time to time to glance at the setting sun or discuss a difficult concept together. Eric supposed that they were university students from the campus across the river, a small village of learning that was nestled between the mangroves that grew along the riverbank, the botanical garden and the colonial-era state parliament building. Whenever Eric had a lot of work and came home later in the evening the two women were no longer there. They must have left each day as soon as the sun had slipped away behind the city. Further along the wall Eric saw a painter from behind, he didn't come as often as the young women but often enough that Eric recognized him. He passed close behind him sometimes so that he could catch a glimpse of the painter's artwork, but did so subtly so as not to startle him. The painting was always of high quality, perfect realism, a miniature cityscape of silhouettes and glimmering water trapped on a small canvas. Eric wondered what the man did when he wasn't painting, surely he didn't make a living by selling his works, even if they were exceptionally good. He also thought about where the man painted when he wasn't there. He must have had other scenic spots that attracted his artistic attention. Not far from the painter was an elderly couple who sat arm in arm and observed a city that had changed a great deal since they were born into it, that is, if they had been born there at all. The city was growing with every passing week. Once the clock tower of the city hall had been the city's tallest building, now it was hidden in a forest of office buildings. Eric continued along the familiar path. Every day he passed a man who sat on the wall and stared out towards the sunset. He never did anything other than simply look across at the shadowy city, seemingly lost in the depths of contemplation. * * * * * Thursday evening Eric left work a little later than usual. The orange sun had already sunk behind Brisbane's glassy towers and its rays no longer touched the surface of the river. Only a faint glow of pink played on the few clouds that hung overhead. Eric was tired, hungry and eager to get home. The wall along the cliff was unoccupied, the usual visitors had all gone home, except for one, the man who would sit like a weary statue and stare. He was still there, looking at the skyscrapers with their rows of illuminated windows and neon signs. The pink clouds were changing to grey with every passing minute and soon the huge skyward facing lights at the base of the cliff would switch on. Eric recognized the man from afar, he knew who it was by the way the figure was sitting, motionless and oblivious to the world like an unsettling rendering of Rodin's famous sculpture. This time, however, something different happened. As Eric drew slowly closer, step by step, the man slid down from the wall and walked forward. He stepped over to the cliff-edge, perhaps to look down at the riverbank. It seemed strange to see someone walk towards the edge like that. Eric hoped that the man would be careful. The sight made him feel instinctively uncomfortable. Sometimes people would crawl along the ground and sit at the edge of the cliff but he had never seen anybody actually standing so close to it before. Another step forward and the man would be falling through thin air. Eric continued to walk along the path. There was nobody else ahead of him and, although his gaze and attention were too firmly fixed upon the man standing at the edge to turn around, he knew that there was nobody behind him either. The man hadn't noticed Eric, he just stood there and, judging by the angle of his head, stared at the city nightscape across the river. He wasn't looking down at all, just across, it seemed as though he wanted to get closer to the mangrove covered far-bank of the river. As Eric drew ever closer, he wondered when the man would notice him. He would catch a movement in the corner of his left eye and turn to look at the approaching pedestrian. When this happened, when he turned his head towards Eric, he would have some kind of expression on his face. That was certain. When Eric saw that expression, despite the thickening darkness that obscured his view of the man, he would have some idea what was happening inside his mind. His expression would bear witness to his thoughts. The man's face, half hidden in darkness and half exposed by the miriad lights of the skyscrapers across the river, would tell Eric whether this man was just admiring the view or was, as he feared might be the case, on the brink of ending his days. Fewer than fifteen metres now separated the two men and Eric's presence had still not been noticed. All Eric could see of the man's face was its left side. Within a matter of seconds he would pass behind the man unnoticed or, perhaps, intentionally ignored. Eric thought about arriving home, giving his wife a kiss, having a shower, eating his dinner. Whatever this man was doing was none of his business anyway. Eric told himself this, but as he passed behind the man, looking at his familiar back, he realised that he couldn't just pretend that eveything was fine, that this man was simply enjoying the cityview and evening air. He stopped walking. Would the man hear that he had stopped, that the footsteps behind him had disappeared? Apparently he hadn't. There was only the low stone wall and a short stretch of earth between the men but to Eric it seemed as though they were worlds apart. The man still hadn't turned, he just kept looking ahead, at something in particular or nothing at all. He didn't move, neither his head, nor his arms, nor his legs. Eric knew that he would have to speak to this man, there was a problem, he was now sure of it. He drew a breath but didn't know what he would say. A sound reached Eric's ear before he saw the movement. It was the sound of crunching dirt and gravel. The man had taken a step closer to the place where the security of solid ground gave way to the gaping mouth of death. 'No! Stop!' The man didn't turn, he didn't seem startled by the voice that had boomed loudly behind him. It was as though he had known that somebody was there but hadn't wanted to acknowledge the fact. 'Who are you? Please just leave me alone,' the man continued facing the towering buildings across the river, his feet almost standing on the very verge of the cliff. 'What are you doing? You could fall,' Eric's voice was timid, almost a whisper, and he felt a little stupid, the man was obviously aware that he could fall. The dark silhouette was a statue, dressed simply like anyone else, a pair of beige trousers and a neat blue business shirt. There was nothing remarkable about the man, he didn't seem to be insane, he certainly wasn't drunk because Eric had never seen a person under the influence seem so calm and in control of his body. There was nothing remarkable about him except for where he was. 'Why don't you mind your own business,' his voice was irritated. 'Just go away!' Eric's intention wasn't to agitate the man, if he agitated him he might take his final step forward. His family, friends and colleagues often reminded Eric of his strengths, they told him that he was a very rational man, that he was good at solving problems and thinking objectively, that he was an honest man who treated others correctly. These same people also showed Eric the other side of the coin, his weak points. One of them, he remembered at that moment more than ever, was that he had never been very good at consoling people, at being empathetic. Even if he understood somebody's pain and wanted to help that person to feel better he found it difficult. He was not one of those who found it natural to be a shoulder to cry on, to be able to sway people with his words. Eric was afraid that if he said the wrong thing to this human statue before him he would push it over the edge. He didn't want to have that on his conscience. 'Are you still there?' Eric couldn't utter a single word in reply. 'I can't do this with you watching.' The statement sent a shiver through Eric. It was delivered in a cold, emotionless tone that told him that this man was well and truly prepared to step forward. He didn't want to exist any longer. Eric now understood why the man refused to turn around, it was because he knew that if he looked this well-intentioned stranger in the eye he risked being convinced to return to the safe side of the wall, and that idea was more dreadful to him than the act of leaping from the cliff. Eric sat on the stone wall, he could almost reach the man's back but, of course, it would be unwise to touch him, to risk agitating him. 'Tell me why?' He said, without really thinking. 'Why?' 'Yes, why you want to do this,' Eric's hands were shaking as he spoke and he suspected that his voice sounded just as nervous. 'No, I mean why. My life has nothing to do with you. Why should I tell you anything?' 'So I'll know what to say to the police and the Courier Mail journalists when they ask me difficult questions about you.' There was no reply. High-heel footsteps grew louder as a woman walked along the path towards the men. Eric saw her reach into her leather handbag and pull out a mobile phone. They looked at each other without saying a word. Eric nodded at her, indicating that he agreed with her idea. She would call for help, an expert in talking people out of delicate situations, he would just have to distract the man until the relevant authorities arrived. The woman hesitated for a moment, not sure whether to stay there or to keep walking, but the decision was made on her behalf. 'Tell her to keep walking.' The high-heel footsteps hurried away. Eric didn't fail to notice that the man had addressed him instead of speaking directly to the woman. Did that mean that some kind of connection had formed between them. His wife would have been so proud, he wished that she could see him now. 'And me?' 'You too, just fuck off!' That was a mistake, maybe the connection hadn't been so firmly established after all. The hammering of the woman's high-heels faded away. 'What's your name?' 'Shut the hell up! Corpses don't need names!' 'Of course they do, how will people refer to you if they don't know your name?' 'Those who know me know my name and those who don't will have no need to refer to me.' 'Do you have a wallet on you?' 'You want to steal money from a corpse? That's pretty low.' 'I don't want your money, I just want to know whether you have identification on you. That way we'll be able to contact your loved ones to let them know what happened. They will need to be notified, unless you've already left a note for them. I think that if I was going to... do what you want to do, I would leave my family a long, detailed letter, at least to make sure that they knew it wasn't their fault. I say that but I don't really know what I would do. I can't imagine wanting to leave my wife alone in the world without me. I suppose it will happen one day but I don't want it to...' A loud, annoyed sigh interrupted Eric. 'So, that's why I asked if you had a wallet on you. I am not a thief.' 'I have a wallet on me,' the man reached into his pocket. 'I'll just give it to you now, it's easier that way.' He tossed it back without looking and Eric caught it just as it left the man's grasp. Their hands brushed. 'You're right behind me.' 'Yes.' 'That makes me kind of nervous.' Eric laughed, it felt weird to laugh in such a situation but the man's remark was so ironic he couldn't help himself. 'Don't worry, I won't push you.' Eric fumbled with the wallet. 'Why are you standing at the edge of a cliff, Greg?' 'Because there is nothing and no-one left in this city, in this entire world, for me.' 'You've just lost a loved one?' Eric whispered. 'Worse than that.' 'What could possibly be worse than that? The only misfortune that would make me even consider jumping off a cliff would be the loss of my wife.' 'I'm not you, we haven't lived the same lives, you can't compare like that, you make it sound so simple.' Both men looked across at the city before them. One saw a city full of hopes and meaning, the other saw an empty forest of brightly decorated concrete shells. 'Tell me, Greg. What do you mean by worse than that?' 'I've never lost anybody I loved because I've never loved anybody.' 'Never?' 'No.' 'You've never had a girlfriend?' 'Many. Too many. They would have been better off if they had never crossed my path.' 'Why is that?' 'Because I'm not the sort of man who knows how to give a woman what she needs.' 'Do you mean financially, sexually...?' 'I mean stability, family. I don't know what a family is so I'm incapable of founding one. When I was younger it didn't matter so much but now... I can't grow old like this.' 'You have a job that you like?' 'Listen, I appreciate your concern, honestly, you're a decent man with a decent life. I don't want you to see this, just go home to your wife and give her a kiss. You'll hear about me on the news later and you'll remind yourself how lucky you are to be content in your existence. I don't want to give you nightmares.' 'I'm not leaving here without you.' The dark form seemed to move a little and for a moment Eric thought that he was going to step forward, or perhaps turn around for the first time, but he didn't. He just kept standing there, a human shaped hole imprinted into the bright cityscape. 'I am going to jump. I would much prefer to do it alone but if you don't give me a choice that's your problem. It's strange how nobody gives a rat's arse about you until you put yourself on top of a cliff. It's a little too late now.' Eric felt like telling him that he wasn't going to jump at all, that it was just a bluff. If he really wanted to jump he would have done so already. He didn't say this though, the risk was too great. A moment of silence fell. Eric didn't know what else to say. Greg had told him that he couldn't comprehend why he was drawn to say farewell to the world, this was certainly true. They had obviously led very different lives, they observed reality from two very distinct vantage points. Even now, together at Kangaroo Point, they saw the panoramic view around them differently. The ground that gave way suddenly before them inspired fear in both but Eric was wary of it whereas Greg was attracted towards it like a moth to the flame, only he didn't have wings. 'I don't know what else to say,' Eric admitted, ashamed of himself. It was a confession and an apology. He had thought that he could succeed in bringing Greg away from the edge despite his usual inability in the field of consoling and convincing others. 'There is nothing else to say. A few minutes of words can't change years of absurdity.' Eric looked at the street behind him. There was still no sign of anybody who might be experienced in this type of situation, he hoped that they would arrive soon, he couldn't stay there forever. When Eric turned back he found that Greg's arms were now held up, perpendicular to his body. The black human form had become a cross. 'What are you doing, Greg?' Silence. That wasn't a good sign. 'Just wait a minute, please. Don't go yet.' The image of Greg taking the leap was visible in Eric's mind already. He found himself imagining two versions. One in which he plunged like a champion diver, arms stretched out above his head, and the other, more realistic perhaps, in which he let himself topple over like a newly cut tree. Eric had to force both scenes out of his head. 'I will have to leave soon, Greg. I can't stay here all night.' 'Leave then, I'm not making you stay. Go on! Get lost!' 'I need you to come with me.' 'Go away! Go back to your wife, she must be waiting for you. If I had a nice little life like yours I wouldn't be here at the top of a cliff wasting my time with some useless moron.' He paused. 'Listen, whatever your name is...' 'Eric.' 'Eric. It's been nice talking to you but, well, I'm going now.' 'Wait a...' Greg took a step forward and for a fleeting moment his right foot hung high above the riverbank. Eric sprang forward with a speed he didn't know he was capable of attaining and his hands grabbed at Greg with the strength granted by desperation. He pulled at Greg with all his force and tore him back from the brink of death. At the same time Greg was spun around and in the light from the skyscrapers in the city centre Eric saw the face of the form named Greg. It was a cold, detached face but it was the face of a real man. It was a face that suddenly changed, its complete lack of expression transformed in an instant into a portrait of pure shock. Greg's arms reached out but it was too late. Eric's feet had slipped on the gravel and smooth stone. His feet had slid over the edge and his body followed. His hands gripped at the edge for a brief instant before he fell. There was no helping him. Greg watched him fall. There was no sound now except for the background noise of the city. Eric didn't cry out, he had simply slipped from existence into death. Greg saw him fall towards the lights at the bottom of the cliff. He struck the protruding parts of the cliff-face as he tumbled. His head had been shattered before he struck the ground far below. It was horrible. Greg saw it all, he had never seen anything like it before in his wretched life. It should have been him down there. Eric was supposed to have gone home, it had been just another day for him. He had been walking home from work and then, there he was, a distorted lump of battered flesh and fractured bones at the base of a cliff. He continued looking down for a moment, almost expecting to see Eric move, but the unfortunate man would move no more. It was a awful. Greg didn't want to die like that, maybe some other way, maybe another day. In a stunned daze, he climbed over the stone wall and stumbled back towards his earthly home. He had suffered a disturbing shock. Tonight he would curl up in bed early, perhaps after drinking a cup of tea. Jumping off a cliff didn't seem so tempting after all. |
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