Zakynthos Blue

*****

Zakynthos Blue

D.C. Baker

*****

Zakynthos Blue

Copyright 2010 © D.C. Baker

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

The information, views, opinions and visuals expressed in this publication are solely those of the author(s) and do not reflect those of the publisher. The publisher disclaims any liabilities or responsibilities whatsoever for any damages, libel or liabilities arising directly or indirectly from the contents of this publication.

A copy of this publication can be found in the National Library of Australia.

Smashwords Edition

This book is available in print at: www.dcbakerbooks.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

*****

Dedicated to

Saint Dionysios,

Patron Saint of Zakynthos

1547 – 1622

Still an influence today

*****

Contents

1 - What’s wrong with me?

2 - What’s stopping you?

3 - Athens

4 - Ian and Rosemary

5 - Paxos

6 - Anti Paxos

7 - Corfu – Cissi

8 - Spiros

9 - Corfu – Leaving

10 - Christoforos

11 - Zakynthos

12 - Dionysios

13 - A Festival

14 - He Agrees

15 - Theo’s Café

16 - Fly a Little

17 - Lauren

18 - Keri

19 - Morning

20 - I’m a Saint

21 - Stavroula

22 - Adonis

23 - Stay

24 - Breakfasts

25 - The Interview

26 - Polixeni

27 - Second Interview

28 - What Sort of Man Do You Want to Be

29 - Festival Week

30 - A Strong Argument

31 - The Surge

32 - Above Kalamaki

33 - Dionysios – Toula

34 - Through the Olive Grove

35 - Lonely Night

36 - Blue

37 - Waiting

38 - Epilogue

*****

It was scorching hot for November on Zakynthos; they probably thought he had something to do with that as well! Zantes; the harbour town on the Greek island of Zakynthos, was sweltering under a cloudless blue sky and the sun’s harsh midday heat. A sea of people crammed in their thousands spread back along the esplanade. They packed the street and at every vantage point on the buildings of the town and on the boats in the small harbour. The harbour was almost enclosed by the town, the wharf, and the encircling seawall. In the hot dry breeze, hundreds of blue and white Hellenic flags fluttered on ropes strung between lamp posts and on the rigging and masts of boats jammed against the esplanade seawall.

An imposing bearded religious figure sat on a high backed dark wood throne mounted on a burgundy platform in Solomos Square. He sat tall and erect. Under his sky blue and white vestments, beads of sweat formed and trickled down his body. A black cylindrical hat and cape provided a backdrop to a strikingly featured old and wise face; the beard and hair, white and powder grey. The team of twenty-one men dressed in white who had carried him and the platform to where it now rested sat behind him. On his right, a temporary steel grandstand loomed high. It was packed with hundreds of dignitaries that lived on this stunning Ionian Island. The crowd waited in hushed expectation. On his left, a stage set with an ancient street scene jutted out into the harbour. Under the heavy makeup the figure’s face did not reveal any emotion, but inside his head a thought raced across his mind,

Bloody hell mate! How did you get yourself into this?

*****

1

What’s wrong with me?

He stood at the rear of the classroom leaning backwards against the wall, a tall long-limbed bearded figure in casual work clothes; safety boots, blue jeans and a blue shirt. His hair was thick, silver and grey, his beard dark and untrimmed, he had not shaved for months. The short sleeved shirt exposed arms and hands almost black from prolonged outdoor work in the harsh Western Australian summers. The arms were taut, strong and wiry from years of physical work. The physique was a lie that almost hid the tiredness that currently inhabited it. Those who could put together a sentence of body language would sense the sadness in the stoop of the body and the slack hanging of the face. If they got close enough they would see it in his brown deep set eyes. His mind was dull as he gazed around at the sixteen apprentices, seventeen to eighteen year olds, scattered amongst the twenty desks of the sparsely decorated classroom. Their heads lifted up and down as they copied down the notes and diagram on the whiteboard shown by the overhead projector. They were fine young men and reminded him of his son Josh. They were at the start of their second year of training, another couple of years and they would all be good tradesmen. At the moment they made their mistakes while training, at work, with girls and in their cars. But that was what an apprenticeship was about, learning from experience. Two hours they had been in the room and he had hardly talked to them. He felt too tired to raise any enthusiasm and involve them in the lesson like he used to do. They deserved better. He remembered better days before the beard. Why was it not like that anymore?

‘Okay that’s enough of this…..’ No, he wouldn’t say crap, ‘…this theory. It’s ten o’clock; let’s break for smoko and I’ll see you down the workshop in twenty minutes.’

In seconds they had gathered up their gear and were ambling out the door. While he gathered his notes at the front he became aware one of them was still there. He looked up, it was Andrew Johnston. He remembered the first time he had him in class; he had identified him on the attendance roll in pencil as ‘skinny, blue eyes, ginger hair’ but it hadn’t been necessary as he was a young guy that made an immediate impression and remembering his name was not a problem. He had been bright and likeable, always involving himself in class discussions and seeking advice on the best techniques to complete machining projects.

‘Mr Segar, can I talk to you for a second?’ Andrew asked softly.

‘Sure, Andrew... Hey, you’re a second year now, how about calling me Dennis.’

‘Yeah… sure Mr Segar… thanks,’ he paused as if choosing his words carefully then said, ‘I just want to let you know I won’t be here next week… I’ll be in court.’

Dennis scrutinised the young man in front of him. Andrew wouldn’t look at him and avoided eye contact by looking out the window. He wasn’t walking away. He wanted to talk.

‘Nothing too serious I hope Andrew?’ Dennis asked.

Andrew turned his head to face him. ‘Breaking and entering… burglary, Mr Segar….’ He paused and looked for a reaction. Dennis’s only reaction was to raise his eyebrows in silence. Then the words came tumbling out.

‘I’m a drug addict, Mr Segar. I did the jobs to pay for drugs and my last lot of fines. I want them to put me away this time so I can go on a program inside and get over this. If they fine me again I’ll have to do more jobs to get the money to pay for it…’

‘Whoa! Hang on there, Andrew!’ Dennis interrupted, ‘You’ve shocked me a bit. Let me think for a sec.’ He scratched at his chin through the beard. ‘Going to prison is a serious thing! You may get on a program but you don’t have to go to prison to do it Why hasn’t your lawyer already got you on one to show the court you are trying to reform?’

Andrew shrugged and answered, ‘Yeah I’m on my second one now… they’re useless. We worked that one last time. I got fined and had to do more jobs to pay the fine. I really did try on the programs but there are too many temptations outside. My dealer is always on to me… my girlfriend’s on it as well. It will be best if I just get locked away for a couple of years.’

Dennis’s mind was racing, the tiredness was gone; he could help this young guy.

‘No! ... No Andrew! You have no idea what it would be like inside. You follow the advice of your lawyer. I’ll talk to your employer about suspending the apprenticeship for three months. I’ve got a friend who runs these programs down south. He will take you away from all this and bring you back for your day in court.’ Dennis stepped forward and gripped Andrew’s arm, ‘If you really want to beat this we can all help you do it…. Do you really want to beat it?’

Andrew’s eyes were brimming with tears about to overflow, ‘Yeah… I really want to, Mr Segar, but my Dad is in New Zealand and my Mum is in Queensland with some arsehole... I’m all on my own!’

Dennis grabbed both arms and guided Andrew over to a desk to sit on. ‘Okay son, now listen… does your employer know about your problem, is he helpful?’ Andrew nodded. Dennis carried on. ‘Okay then, I’ll make a few phone calls. You carry on as usual for now. By lunch time I’ll have something sorted out, even if you have to end up staying at my place.’

By three o’clock that afternoon he had one of his friend’s volunteers driving Andrew south to join the program. Andrew’s employer had made a call to initiate suspension of the apprenticeship and the overworked apprenticeship support officer was grateful that someone was giving the support he should be providing. Andrew had the toughest time, calling his girlfriend to let her know what he was doing. There were some times when Dennis felt the job could still provide him with a great deal of satisfaction, but just not often enough these days.

Dennis realised he had been staring blankly at the lesson plan he had been working on for some time. Glancing to his right at the time on his computer he saw he had not achieved anything in the last hour, had not written a word or had a thought in the last fifteen minutes. It had been over a week since he had got young Andrew on the rehab program. He wondered how he was going. The decision of the court to suspend its hearing until the completion of the program and a report had seen common sense prevail for once. Straight ahead he saw his reflection in the window that looked out onto the college courtyard. He was gaunt, had not shaved for over a year. His stubble had become a moustache and beard. It was a good excuse for his morning laziness. The beard growth across and under his strong cheekbones made his face a triangle bisected by a straight thin nose. His eyes were deep set as they always had been but more accentuated now. His eye lids were dark from lack of sleep; they looked tired like his body felt. He was tired… all the time.

‘Christ! What’s wrong with me?’ he thought. ‘Alright, I have a right to be upset about Josh dying in a car crash. Just when he was starting to become a man and we had become close, as friends, as mates, he was gone. That was over a year ago now. C’mon! Think positive! Get real!’ The urging didn’t help. Outside in bright sunshine students sat at tables under roof cover or on the lawn under shady trees, most of them close to the age of Josh. Like Josh had been, they were full of youthful enthusiasm, learning vocational skills for their future careers. He swung his thoughts back to listing the positives. He could not think of any. ‘Why are you so pissed off all the time Dennis?’ he mumbled quietly.

He looked to his right; four metres away to see if Joe had heard him. Joe sat at his computer still engrossed in getting the best deal purchasing golf clubs on e-bay. To the left Cecil’s chair was empty. He was at an Organisational Management meeting representing lecturing staff. For two years the three of them shared this office in the Administration Block away from all other lecturing staff. It was the size of a shipping container with its own tea making facilities and fridge. They didn’t have to troop off to the staffroom for lunch or the morning and afternoon breaks. They were close to the same age from three different trade areas. They got on well but didn’t bother to pursue friendships outside of work hours: Joe, was a carpenter and golf fanatic, Cecil, a motor mechanic and fitness fanatic who tried everything involving fitness or a sport for about six months and then dropped it when he lost interest. Cecil was good for a tirade every morning to warm them up, get their minds thinking. Joe encouraged it by half listening while continuing his work and feeding titbits to keep him going. Dennis was the patient listener out of politeness until Cecil tired. Lately Cecil was taking longer to tire, he seemed to be more highly strung, more wound up.

The door at Cecil’s end burst open; they both looked up to see Cecil standing there.

‘Well, it’s now official! We are well and truly fucked!’ he shouted with both arms raised.

He turned, closed the door, raising his right hand to his head in a scouts salute; in a stage whisper he asked, ‘Scout’s honour?’

They both nodded their consent as usual that it would not go beyond these four walls. Waving a blue brochure from his meeting he stood at the end of the office addressing them in his stage whisper, ‘I have just returned from a meeting with our so called fucking Management!’ He paused for the effect to set in.

‘Well done, Stanley,’ Joe muttered. Cecil ignored him and continued on.

‘Keeping in mind that we are under-equipped, under-resourced, understaffed, overworked and being screwed regarding the changes to our conditions of work, I went along to this meeting expecting the new Managing Director to have a plan that was going to implement change for the better. A change that would enable us to deliver the level of training we used to deliver; and what do I find?’ Waving the brochure he went on, ‘This shit! We now have a Vision! We now have a Mission! We now have …’ he opened the brochure to refer to it. ‘We now have a Strategic Plan and a Commitment to Customers! ... Not students! … Not apprentices… but fucking customers!’

Joe threw in a morsel, ‘Sounds pretty good to me so far Cecil!’

Dennis used his feet to roll the chair away from the desk until he was back against the bookshelf and could look from Cecil to Joe on either side of him. He leaned back in the chair; this could take a while. Cecil searched the brochure some more.

‘Here it is!’ he exclaimed, ‘We now have a Structure! A Structure of Organisational Services and Planning and Resources that has eighteen fucking Managers! Three times as many organisational managers as we have managers in education and fucking training! We! ...We bring the dollars in for every hour delivered to each student and it’s us! You and me! You, and me and all the other lecturing staff are keeping all these pricks in jobs!’ Cecil felt he had hit them with his best point so far. He looked squarely at Joe and said to him. ‘We might as well all bend over… drop our pants, put our heads between our knees and slap a post-it on our arses with an arrow saying screw here!’ Triumphant and grinning he gave Joe two fingers.

‘Well what did you expect from that lot; they’re all protecting their jobs and isolating themselves from any direct responsibility that will identify their failures?’ Joe replied.

Where the hell did that one come from? Dennis thought as he slid his chair and himself forward to his desk. With a finger raised, Cecil moved towards Joe to continue the discussion. Let them go on, he thought, he had enough problems of his own. He had a meeting upstairs now with Jim, his Program Manager. Jim didn’t normally request meetings; his way of managing, was usually offhand and unofficial with a quick walk down to the office and a quiet word.

‘See you guys later,’ Dennis said, walking out the door, ‘If anyone wants me I’ve got a meeting upstairs with Jim, shouldn’t be long.’

Dennis knocked on the open door. Jim was seated behind his desk in the pokey little office, piles of papers and files stacked everywhere. Looking up wearily from his work he invited Dennis in. ‘Come in mate, close the door behind you, grab yourself a chair, sit down.’ There was only one chair available. The others were piled high with documents. He sat down opposite while Jim fiddled with his pen looking as if he was finding the words to start. It dawned on Dennis that this was no normal meeting about classes or staff; he sensed he was in a bit of trouble.

‘Mate …..You know how much I respect you as a person and a teacher …..’

‘Shit, this sounds serious!’ Dennis said wryly.

Jim went on, ‘… but we have all been worried about you the last few months, not just me but a lot of other staff as well. You still seem to be going out of your way to upset people lately even though we talked about it a month ago. Last week an apprentice complained about you throwing his gear and spline shaft project into the scrap metal bin and yesterday an employer rang to say you got stroppy with him when you rang him about his apprentice not attending! What’s going on?’ Dennis felt his face colour with embarrassment. ‘Jim, the apprentice is a little smart arse! He always does really good work. He’s a good machinist. He’s always bringing his work up to me to show it off and says, it’s a heap of crap, whenever I ask him how it went… Now Jim …’ Dennis thought the personal touch might help him here. ‘…you know we want them to be constantly assessing their own work so when his assessment was that it was crap I threw it in the bin. Okay! Okay! knew it wasn’t but I thought it might make him give me a realistic assessment of his work in the future. It might also stop him being such a smart arse!’ Now the clincher, he thought: ‘This week when I asked him how he was going there was no bullshit. He gave me a realistic assessment of his work! I think the strategy has worked!’ he said triumphantly. Jim considered for a few seconds then replied. ‘Well the strategy was a bit extreme mate when you throw his finished project five metres into the bin and nearly hit two other apprentices and a lecturer on the way.’

‘Shit! Did Ken complain to you? You know Ken’s got it in for me since I had him on about disappearing when I had to break up that fight between the two apprentices last year.’

‘Mate!’ Jim replied, ‘This is about you, not Ken or anyone else. ...What about you telling the apprentices that a lover’s tools of the trade are his hands? What the hell is that all about?’

"Ah, Jesus, Jim; that was just to get them washing and creaming their hands every time there was a break after being in the workshop. It’s to stop them having their hands become hard, cracked and ingrained with dirt and crap over the years. What sort of hands do you think women would like to have caressing them? Touching them intimately?’

‘Alright, okay, that subject is closed! Jim said, feeling uncomfortable as he slid his hands from the desk down onto his thighs. ‘Look mate, some of the student class surveys have come up with adverse comments. You always used to get excellent comments. The other lecturers aren’t complaining, they’re voicing their concerns about you! They’re worried about you mate! I’m worried about you! This behaviour isn’t like you; you’re usually so enthusiastic about your work and calm about everything. You have a calming influence over your whole area, almost like a monk!’ He paused, leaned forward and with a look of concern asked softly, ‘Is it about Josh?’

‘No! It’s not about Josh! I’m over that Jim, really. ...I am,’ Dennis replied testily.

‘Did you go through all the counselling the college made available?’ Jim asked.

‘Yeah, I went to every session, did everything right. The only thing I couldn’t do was face Alex, Josh’s mate who was driving the car. They were mates since primary school; he was around our place so much he was like another son. I just can’t face him! I’m afraid of what I’ll do or say to him, but I’m not worried about it. He probably doesn’t want to face me either!’

‘What about Suzy?’ Jim asked.

‘Christ! She left me four years ago for that art teacher. Look Jim, it’s not about Josh, it’s not about Alex, and it’s not about Suzy. I’m over all that… I just get a bit pissed off at times - that’s all. It’s a mid-life crisis that all guys my age go through, like you had when I first started here.’

‘I was going through a divorce! Don’t make this about me!’ Jim retorted angrily. ‘Look here, you’ve been shitty with everyone around here at times. You haven’t been taking the term holidays and you’ve been working a lot of overtime. You’ve got eight weeks annual leave from last year you should have taken and you’ve got Long Service Leave which you should have taken sometime during the last three years! That’s another three months! Your next lot of Long Service stops accumulating at the end of this year if you don’t take the last lot!’

Dennis looked at the moving mouth. Jim was a good guy and he should be taking notice of what he said but he wasn’t. Jim saw he was distracted and raised his voice to get his attention. ‘Listen! HR is on my back about all the accumulated leave in my area, it’s a debt that they want me to get rid of. I want you to reduce this accumulated leave mate. You’ve got some issues to deal with. Take a break. Sort a few things out, have a holiday.’ Dennis felt his stomach start to flip, to churn. He pleaded, ‘Hang on, Jim! ...not just yet please mate! It’s hard enough going home each day after work… just give me a bit more time, I need to work ....please!’ Jim was rapidly losing his resolve for pushing the leave issue. ‘Well, what’s with the bloody beard?’ he asked.

‘What?’ Dennis asked wondering where this suddenly came from.

‘Have you become religious or something?’

Dennis laughed; the tension that had been building was easing, ‘No mate, just lazy, that’s all.’ Jim sighed, took a breath and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped fingers entwined in front of him. He looked at his fingers then placed them on his thighs below the desk again. ‘Okay mate, here’s what you do… Within two weeks I want a leave plan from you that will clear all your accumulated leave over the next two years and I don’t want any more complaints, understand?’

‘Sure Jim, no worries!’ the stomach churn was easing,

‘Do you have a template or form for a Leave Plan?’

‘Don’t be a smart arse! Get out of here before I change my mind!’

Dennis stopped at the door before opening it. ‘Jim, you’re a good mate, thanks!’

Jim watched Dennis leave. ‘I don’t know’ he thought uneasily, ‘maybe a good mate would have made you take a break to sort things out.’

Two days later Dennis stood at the large granite marking out table in the middle of the workshop. It was a cold morning; he stamped his feet a couple of times to warm them. There was a constant roar from the twenty five lathes at one end, assorted milling and grinding machines at the other. Machining and cutting metal created noise. He loved it; the noise meant men were at work creating. Here apprentices were learning to create, learning to machine parts to size, sometimes to within a hundredth of a millimetre, less than the thickness of a human hair. Every manufactured thing in our modern lives originated from a machine created and made by a machinist. He was proud of his skills. During his trade experience he had come to a conclusion about men without a trade background. Those in management enjoyed their authority but were envious of the skills of tradesmen. It was a macho envy thing. They thought women would prefer a man who was good with his hands. He loved the tradition that went with a trade and an apprenticeship; the tradesman unselfishly passing on his skills to the new apprentice, guiding him in the craft, teaching him how to think and plan, setting an example to be a thoughtful man, considering all the options and selecting the most appropriate one. After fifteen years as a lecturer when people asked what he did for a job, fitter turner and machinist was still the first answer that came into his mind.

There were four classes of apprentices in the workshop, nearly sixty students and four lecturers. Dennis checked for his sixteen. It was hard to keep track of them when it was this busy; he had never had an accident - another thing to be proud of he thought. His stomach was giving him hell again. It was like he constantly had butterflies in it. Graham, one of the other lecturers, approached Dennis, ‘Busy isn’t it!’ he said brightly.

Graham’s eternal enthusiasm for righteousness and religion had annoyed Dennis for over ten years.

‘Too bloody busy,’ Dennis replied curtly, ignoring Graham’s cheerfulness. ‘There are too many here to supervise properly today. I keep telling Jim three classes at a time are enough in here. These machines can rip your bloody arms off!’ He was constantly nervous in the workshop these days; he quickly glanced around counting heads. His were all accounted for but he noticed two others standing next to a lathe arguing.

‘Look at those two arguing,’ Dennis said, pointing them out to Graham, ‘one is working the lathe while the other is distracting him. It’s an accident waiting to happen!’ He strode down the aisle of lathes arriving just in time to hear one apprentice swear loudly at the other who was walking away. Graham realised that the two apprentices pointed out were his students and arrived beside Dennis in time to hear him loudly shout, ‘Turn the lathe off!’ The startled apprentice leaned to his left and pushed down the lever, stopping the metal in the jaws of the lathe from spinning. He was seventeen years old, pimply and skinny. His overalls made him look as if he were the framework for a scarecrow. Several apprentices on adjoining machines had heard the shout and turned off their lathes. They looked up from their work to listen.

‘Don’t let me hear you talk like that again in my workshop!’ Dennis continued to shout,

‘What you just called him ....have you ever seen one?’ Red faced, the pimply young man shook his head.

‘It’s like a beautiful flower son! Ever felt one?’ he asked. The young man looked up at him surprised then eyes down he shook his head again. ‘Smooth as silk and made in heaven! ....You were praising him not insulting him you bloody idiot!’ Dennis shouted.

Graham saw that Dennis was working himself out of control. He reached out and placed his hand on Dennis’s forearm. Dennis felt the hand and pushed it away but it had an effect. His anger subsided and he felt for the boy near to tears in front of him. He placed his hand gently on his shoulder startling him and spoke. ‘Son ...if you ever want to be a lover and you will want to be a lover more than anything else you will ever want; you better start by respecting women.’ He sensed Graham beside him and to shock him finished emphatically, ‘....and respect the vagina!’ The apprentices jaw dropped slackly. Graham took a step back, stunned, and gasped, ‘Oh sweet Jesus!’ He looked around to see several apprentices had heard and were looking like stunned mullets as well.

‘Okay! Understand?’ Dennis asked.

‘Yeah…but look Mr Segar I didn’t really mean what I called hi…’ Dennis stopped him before he could finish. ‘Son, you are working with men now, you need to realise that what you say means something. Think before you do and think before you say. You’re working in an environment now that can rip your bloody arms off or kill you! We make excuses for what women and children say and do, but what you say now you’re a man can result in a fist in the mouth. Start thinking before you speak from now on, alright?’

‘Ah…yeah, okay, Mr Segar…thanks!’

Dennis leaned forward to quietly say more. The apprentice took a step and inclined his head forward; Graham stepped forward to be at Dennis’s shoulder. ‘Love the cunt son; it is one of life’s greatest pleasures, for the woman and the man!’

‘Jesus!’ Graham exclaimed, shaking his head, and followed Dennis back to the marking out table. They stood there together, Dennis began checking and marking the roll documenting the students’ attendance. Graham leaned forward, ‘Dennis, what the hell’s wrong with you? You can’t go talking to these students saying things like that! If Jim hears about this you’ll be in deep shit!’ Dennis looked up and gazed across the workshop, looking, not seeing anything. In a flat emotionless voice he said, ‘That’s just the problem, Graham .....I don’t give a shit anymore.’

‘Yeah!’ thought Graham, ‘and that makes you bloody dangerous to be around.’

The workshop was quiet and hot after the day’s high temperatures and the electrical motors driving each machine tool all day. Graham and Dennis were the only two still there.

‘Going back to the office now?’ Graham asked.

‘No, I’m going to finish welding up the quenching tank in the heat treatment room. Just the bottom to be welded in then the drain fitted and it’s finished. Oh! Leave the roller door up when you go out. The sea breeze coming in is cooling the workshop down.’

‘I’ll give you a hand!’ Graham offered,

‘Nah! Bugger off,’ Dennis replied flatly, ‘it will only take an hour. I want to do it on my own.’

‘Suit yourself!’ Graham shrugged and left.

It was taking longer than he thought. The heat treatment room was small and hot and he was soaked with perspiration. He had stripped off his dustcoat and clothes to his underpants and put on overalls for the first time in years. Within thirty minutes he had rolled the top half of his overalls down and knotted them around his waist. He enjoyed the chance to do physical work and using his hand skills was giving him a small amount of satisfaction. He enjoyed the sweat beading, holding on until it lost hold and went running down his body. The tank, made of two millimetre thick steel plate was the size of a single bed and with its short welded legs came up to his waist. A chain hoist was needed to lift and roll it into position for welding. He regretted not accepting Graham’s offer of help; it was taking longer than he thought. The bottom was welded in and he was marking the position to gas cut a hole for the drain then weld in the gate valve fitting. It’s going to be eight o’clock by the time I get home, he thought. He raised his heavy ball peen hammer to hit the centre punch which would provide an indent in the steel that would be guide for the small drill. The drill hole would enable him to start a clean cut with the gas cutting equipment.

‘Hey you!’ a voice called behind him. Startled, he turned to see a solidly built man with a brief case standing in the doorway. He was smooth faced, tanned, his oily black hair brushed back. He was dressed in black trousers, a black silk collared shirt with a silver coloured tie and a grey suit jacket. He looked smart, expensively overdressed, almost thirty years old, Dennis guessed.

‘Hi! What can I do for you?’ Dennis greeted amiably, lowering his arm and hammer.

‘Are you Segar? ...Dennis Segar?’ The man asked in a terse businesslike manner.

‘Yeah! Whose asking?’ he had a sudden dislike for this man.

The man stepped into the room and from the other side of the tank he looked Dennis straight in the eye. His face suddenly contorted as he leaned forward and hissed each word.

‘Never mind who the fuck I am! I know who the fuck you are and I want you to mind your own fucking business!’

Dennis immediately felt flat; he was not shocked by the outburst. He felt flat with no emotion at all. He simply stared back waiting for an explanation. It occurred to him that he should be shocked but his mind had processed a sense of disappointment that this man was not here to make his day any better as soon as he stepped inside the door. The man continued on, ‘You stay away from Andy Johnstone… You don’t play the good fucking Samaritan with any of my clients… Understand? ...I’ll have him back here on the gear within the week and you will have wasted your time and too much of my time! If you interfere with my business again I’ll have your fucking legs broken … in several places!’

Dennis continued to stare at him without showing any discernable reaction. In a flat voice he asked, ‘So how will I know who your clients are and who aren’t?’ The man became angry. He was not getting any sign of the expected fear he wanted in response to his threats.

‘Listen you old prick!’ he hissed, ‘They’ll all be my clients eventually. This place is perfect! They’re all right here! They all come here to the one place. It saves me travelling, it’s a fucking goldmine! …I’m not going to have you fuck it up!’ he paused a second for it to sink in then continued threateningly. ‘So you keep your mouth shut and mind your own fucking business or I’ll have you taken out! Do you understand?’ He thrust his face closer, the tank still between them. Dennis couldn’t help but admire the man’s smooth tanned complexion; smooth guy, he decided, a smooth bad guy. He smiled. At this moment the threats didn’t mean a thing to him, he was flat and he was calm. He spoke slowly, softly, ‘You know shit head, there comes a time when even an old…,’ he paused and sighed, ‘… even an old prick like me decides he’s had enough and he thinks… fuck the consequences! I’m not going to take this shit anymore! Now I think you should …’ he lent forward whispered each word with slow emphasis in a whisper, ‘Fuck… off!’

The man straightened, staring hard and chewed at his lip. He swung his brief case up onto the tank and clicked it open. Dennis stood still. He expected a knife or gun but instead the man took out a sheet of white paper and placed it on the bottom of the upturned tank in front of him. Dennis glanced down and was perplexed as he read the names and information. When he looked up the man was smiling and then said triumphantly.

‘Huh! See that, you old prick! Your wife, your son, your address, bank accounts, car registration… I know everything! Now behave yourself you silly old bastard!’ He copied Dennis now by finishing with a whisper, ‘Because….because I’ve got you by the fucking balls!’ Even as he was finishing his sentence the satisfaction in his expression was fading. He saw his words, the paper and the threats were not having the effect he imagined. Dennis continued to stare expressionless and said. "You’re a bit out of date mate!’ The man leaned back pulling his briefcase towards him and off the tank.

‘So ....So just watch it! Mind your own..... Aw fuck!’ he groaned as the contents of his briefcase spilled on to the concrete floor and he disappeared behind the tank. Dennis stepped around the end of the tank the hammer still in his hand and looked down at the squatting figure. He saw the back of his head of glistening black hair trimmed neatly around the neck exposed above the black collar and silver grey jacket. He watched the figure throwing the notebook, papers, money and little plastic grip sealed bags into the briefcase. He felt the weight of the hammer in his hand. ‘What’s the world coming to?’ he thought.

Walking back from the workshop to his office for lunch the next day Dennis thought about the incidents from the day before, the bloody drug dealer, his outburst with the apprentice; he hoped that the outburst wouldn’t get back to Jim. He was trying to rationalise his reaction to the drug dealer and what he had said to Graham. Did he really feel that way? Did he really not give a shit about anything anymore? He was going to have to block the whole nightmare of that day and night out of his head. He opened the door to the Administration Block’s long passage. He needed a pee and decided he would go before entering his office. Walking towards him was Sharon from the front reception. Young and lovely, she had all the apprentices happy to hand over their enrolment and book fees for the pleasure of getting close to her. She was the highlight of their visits to the college. He smiled at her, ‘Gidday, Sharon! How are you going!’ he asked. She smiled as she got within a couple of metres of him and then suddenly backed against the side wall, the smile turning to disgust. Staring at his midriff she pleaded, ‘Don’t please!’

He stopped, looked down. He had unzipped his fly and was reaching inside! Shocked, he jumped back a step. Immediately zipping the fly back up, he said, ‘Shit! Sorry! Sorry! It’s a habit from home getting it ready on the way……it saves time!’ He reached out to stop her passing. She shrunk back from that hand! She sidled backwards doing side steps along the wall then turned and hurriedly headed back up the passage way to the reception area. ‘I’m really sorry!’ he plaintively called after her.

He entered the toilet and saw his figure in the mirror over the wash basins. He looked away, not wanting to see himself. He didn’t want to see the idiot there. Standing at the full length stainless steel urinal he watched a full strong yellow stream. It provided him with a relief of sorts in his confused mind and he relaxed. Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door and a female voice called out, ‘Cleaner!’

‘No... Engaged!’ He shouted back spraying from side to side. His period of relaxation was short-lived. The cleaners’ loaded trolley came through the door and around the side wall of the stall.

‘Hey! I’m pissing here!’ he called angrily. As she followed the trolley around the side wall he saw a cleaner he didn’t recognise. She was the old Croatian woman he had heard Cecil talking about. He swung back facing and leaning into the corner of the urinal his stream still strong but spurting irregularly.

‘Bloody hell!’ he whined in exasperation. He kept his back between her and his embarrassment, now hidden behind two hands.

‘Don’t worry!’ he heard her say in a heavy accent while she sprayed detergent on the basins behind him, ‘I’ve seen it all before!’ He stared down willing the stream to stop so he could leave.

‘Oh!’ he heard her sigh behind him. ‘Looks like you need to drink more water!’ she said.

‘Yeah! Alright! Alright!’ Dennis said crossly, tucking it away and zipping before he should have. A few drops were now dripping inside his pants, warming his leg. He bustled past without facing her and was limping out the door rubbing his trousers against the wet drops sliding down his leg when to his further humiliation he heard her mumble, ‘…and he didn’t even wash his hands!’

Later at his desk, his lunch untouched, he was considering whether to go and apologise to Sharon, or would it make things worse. Jim was right; he wasn’t the same guy any more - he never used to swear! Lecturers, male and female, used to come to him for advice. He had always been a reluctant leader, but he had stepped up and provided leadership when it was required. Staff often used to come into the office to tell him their problems, he was a good listener and mentor but he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had come in to share their time with him. He had become impatient with people; he didn’t want to connect with them anymore! Joe wasn’t around. He looked over at Cecil seated at his desk deep in conversation with someone on the telephone. Probably an employer, he assumed, by the respectful tone in Cecil’s voice.

‘Yes, that’s correct. You do get incentive payments for taking on an apprentice, four thousand four hundred dollars…..yes that includes GST.’ Cecil paused and listened at the phone. ‘Okay I’ll go through it one more time for you.’ He turned towards Dennis, raised an eyebrow to him and took a deep breath. ‘If you take on an apprentice you need to call a NAC, a New Apprenticeship Centre. They put together the Training Agreement between you and the apprentice. This will get sent to DEST. They are a Federal government department who will pay you the incentives. The NAC will also help you select the RTO. That’s the Registered Training Organisation who provides the training. That should be us if you want the best training!’ Cecil smiled at Dennis. ‘The NAC informs DET, the Department of Education and Training, who will register it and notify the RTO to come and visit you to draw up a TPO. That’s a Training Program Outline negotiated between your good self, the apprentice, and us. Then….’ Cecil stopped, listened, then said, ‘Yes, it is complicated……Yes there are a lot of people involved but they and I are all here to help you. I haven’t got onto the role of the ATSN yet!’ Cecil said and then suddenly sat upright. ‘Pardon?’ he asked, he listened. ‘And just what is it that you think I should stick up my arse?’ Cecil listened to the reply, slowly put the phone down on its cradle and said to Dennis in mock graveness, ‘And so another moaning whinging customer has passed through this passing parade that is the life of a dedicated lecturer!’

‘What did he suggest you stick up your arse?’ Dennis asked with a wry grin.

‘She..!’ Cecil replied. ‘She suggested my head would be a good fit up my arse!’ Cecil laughed. Dennis stared blankly at Cecil chortling away and then scoffing into his sandwich.

‘I would have thought that funny once.’ Dennis said thoughtfully. He threw his lunch into the waste paper basket under his desk and grabbed his briefcase.

‘Fuck it, Cecil! That’s it! I’ve had enough! Tell Jim I’m taking my leave! All of it!’ he paused at the closed door, ‘...and if he doesn’t like the short notice tell him he can stick his head up his arse!’ He walked out the door to the staff car park and drove home.

*****

2

What’s stopping you?

Dennis sat at the kitchen bench sipping his coffee; he had finished the last ten pages of his book; Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis de Berniéres. After nearly a lifetime Captain Corelli had returned at last to the Greek island of Cephalonia and Palagia his war time love! He glanced down at the book; he had enjoyed the last two days at home reading it. Corelli had been an Italian Captain who fell in love with Palagia, a Greek girl, on her occupied island during World War II. It had been an excellent read. It had given him plenty to think about but mainly he had come to realise he was like Corelli. He was too soft and too considerate and would have held back the same as Corelli did when he returned for the first time to Cephalonia after the war and saw Palagia with a child. He had left before the end of the war and had promised to return. When he had returned a few years later and