The Inner Journey (Continued)

Nearby to the North along Russel St. was a Scientology Centre, a familiar name even back home in Beijing, as my mother used to read a book named Dianetics. Out of curiosity, between work shifts, I braced up and stepped into the mystic building. First, I was received like an honoured guest, but soon disappointed with the therapy. Led by a clerk upstairs, I sat before my counsellor, who was a young chap in tie and suit. I was asked to relax and confess any trouble deep in my mind. Being conscious and honest, I told him about my guilty experiences of masturbation, after exhaustive memory search. Later, a third young lady attached an electronic device to my hands, trying to do the magic. However, I did not feel anything there in my hands, not to mention anything of mental relief. Having noticed that I was actually riveted by the lady, the man came forward holding her hands, as if saying we were lovers. In the end, they charged me some AUD100, all the money that was left with me, before letting me leave.

It was time to find a home for myself, rather than a costly bunk bed in the crowded youth hostel. After painstaking hunt in the newspaper and numerous phone calls, I, a kitchen hand, was lucky enough to get a positive reply from a Kiwi Mr. Barry Hutchinson, who happened to be a carpet cleaner himself. It was a shared apartment on Queens Rd., in South Melbourne, next to Albert Park. Unmarried like me, Barry was fussy, whenever I used his kitchenware or 12 in. TV, particularly unhappy when I made stains on the carpet; he was also a true person like other Kiwis. Once, he showed me to his room, where a big nudity poster was most eye-catching. On another occasion, jokingly he interpreted the word “screw” to me, in its vulgar sense.

To the east, across St. Kilda Rd. lies an area called Prahran, a trendy strip of boutiques, bars, furniture shops, as well as supermarkets, newsagent, florist, chemist (British for pharmacist), and milk bar. According to one local known much later in the courier company, Prahran was also an ideal place for meeting chicks that frequent there. To me, shopping in the 2 Dollar shops, supermarkets had been my primary objectives. I got my very first mountain bike in a bike store for about AUD 200, and a helmet for AUD 30, which was a must by law. Ever since then, I was able to travel quite a bit on bike in and around the city, for work, food and leisure.

Melbourne roads and streets were mapped out not only for motorists, but pedestrians and cyclists alike. The Swanston St. and section of Bourke St. that crisscrossed the CBD were reserved for pedestrians; numerous bicycle lanes edged the streets or cut across the scenic suburbs. Aided with a Melbourne bicycle route map, I set out on the Yarra Trail one boring day. Zigzagging along the Yarra River, the refreshing air and changing landscape made me forget about the distance and the rain that had slowly picked up. Hours later, I arrived at Westerfolds Park at the end of the trail, when it stopped raining. A warning sign by the track got my attention: “Beware of snakes!” Instead of spotting a snake, a gigantic rainbow spanning across the sullen sky came into my view, as if a finale staged solely for me by nature. On the way back somewhere near Heidelberg, a penitentiary made its appearance amid woods. What a lovely site for a prison!

Besides Prahran, I also went shopping in Northcote and Preston on bicycle about 10 km away. Punt Rd. and Hoddle St. were very busy with traffic, it was not fun riding along with fumy cars and trucks. However, for the fact that there were too few cyclists on road and sometimes I could move even faster than the piled up traffic, I still had a sense of pride.

Albert Park was said to be a lagoon originally, later turned into a lakeside park. The “Y” shaped lake itself represented the largest inland water area within 10 km radius of the city; the expansive green area of lawn, golf course, playing fields, sailing club, and cricket ground around the lake not only served the purpose of recreation and sports, but “city lung” and birds’ habitat as well. Often, during the day, I sat on a bench facing the lake reading or watching mallards and feeding black swans; in the evening, I had a walk or jog along the shaded circular path. Then the news broke that it was to be turned into the Grand Prix Race Course, a change so controversial that led to many subsequent protests and violent obstruction. Soon, I witnessed the first massive protest one evening at the lake that involved thousands of people and mounted police. This was a peaceful event, but on successive occasions, arrests were made. For the first time, I had a taste of Western democracy.

Nothing is perfect. Before long, my treasured bicycle was lost at the St. Paul Cathedral, a conceivably safe haven. I had locked it onto the iron fence at the church, before going to work at the Japanese restaurant. My heart sank when I found it short after work and the clergy inside had no idea about it on inquiry. Really tough luck!

In face of the bossy Japanese chefs, I had tried to establish myself by working much harder. At last I got my walking papers, as Kinjo had hinted me earlier that I would be unwelcome if I kept behaving that way. In the following months, despite the search, jobs were hard to come by. I tried a position as gift peddler only for one day, before giving it up. My workmate, being dauntless and service-minded, drove me around in town, showing me how to approach people and demonstrate such articles as massager, wristwatch, and ball pen. People’s reaction differed, many were impatient, distrustful, some were polite, still unconvinced, and only a few would buy his words. At one point in a car parts factory in North Melbourne, he gave his male customer a rough massage on the head and neck with the device, before making the deal. Most disturbing was the scene at a tiny cheese workshop just outside that factory, where cheese cakes were stacked shelf after shelf, too many to sell, giving off the sick odour. The senior shopkeeper with ulcerous skin looked sallow and mad about our presence. I simply lost confidence in me for this kind of pushing job, so at the end of the day, I said to my partner I was not coming the next.

Just a short distance west of Melbourne, lies a district by the name Footscray, as if set apart exclusively for its own sake. I have had no idea at all about this place before I set foot there by train to check out a possible job offer in a small local bean shoots works. This bustling place looked rather homely and untidy in contrast to CBD, Melbourne, but a unique Asian community of its own. Like many family business I came across in Australia, the works was owned by private proprietor of Cantonese immigrant descent, who barely spoke a word of English except poorly on the phone. At the package line, shoots were shovelled from conveying belt into plastic bags, under very limited hygiene conditions. We said good-bye to each other, probable never expecting to meet each other again. Like Harlem or Bronx in New York for the black Americans, Footscray bears the witness of nowaday racial segregation between white Australians and Asians, a gap not established by law but the will. People of different races are far from united to this day.

To find a way out, I rang Bob, the wharfie, and explained my situation. Enthusiastically as before, he took the trouble to refer me to his boss, knowing that I was a graduate in Shipping Business.  Without success, he showed up another day with Amway proposal and drove me to a seminar (admission AUD 20 paid for me), whereby members took turns on stage to articulate about their business success and heath improvement using certain herbal tablets, while the audience excitedly hailed the speakers. According to Bob, his wife Pam had dedicated herself to this business for long and reached “Diamond” status. For me, being shy, I found this scheme unsuitable and even unviable, in that, with reference to conventional marketing, (1) a great deal of interpersonal persuasion, hence multiplies total ads cost, (2) in the case of decentralized distribution, the onerous and circuitous person to person delivery of goods increases the freight cost, (3) bonus incentives in favour of upline adversely add up the product cost. I arrived at my own decision after a night’s reflection and told Bob the same on the phone the following morning.

Workers were pampered in the society, as Melbourne Port Union frequently called strikes that resulted in disrupted business but increased pay checks. Bob used to explain the word “scab” to me, meaning those who remain out of the union or break the strike.

The warmth and helpful attitude of Bob had to do with his own ordeal of spine injury in a car accident, seemingly so common in Australia that several accounts had been heard on different occasions. Cars—“the mixed blessing” of our time—give us the ease and freedom of travel, but take our health and even lives away.

Typically, in the surrounding towns and cities of Melbourne and Australia as a whole, one can find similar public buildings and facilities such as town hall, mall, church, library, supermarket, bank or ATM, post office, train station, school, sports ground or golf course, clinic, and park or gardens. Thanks to the thoughtful planning, living in the suburbs has all the convenience of the city proper, with added comfort. Bob was a living example, who drove some 40 km one way to and from work in Port Melbourne and retreated in his wooded house at Mt. Evelyn near Lilydale. According to Bob, he has a total of three estates in Victoria, as tax on bank deposit was higher than on property. I recalled the lyrics in the anthem, “Australians all, let us rejoice, for we are young and free; we’ve golden soil and wealth for toil …”

Barry finally lost patience and asked me to move, allegedly for his father’s upcoming visit from Christchurch, New Zealand. At least I had my time by the Albert Park, while Kinjo settled in his hovel in Brunswick, North Melbourne. On a visit, riding with him along Cemetery Gr., the playing field of University of Melbourne lies to the south and Melbourne Necropolis to the north. It was such a contrasting sight, where life and death is only one street apart.

 

Barry's Home

Possum at Florida Lodge, St. Kilda

Victorian Style House in the Neighbourhood, Hawthorn E.

My Room at 34, Lingwell Rd, Hawthorn E.

Bills Due!

Rent Enclosed in Envelopes Paid by Each of Us

Ballots for Different Australian Parties

Celebrating my 30th Birthday, at 6, Clayton Rd, North Balwyn, Melbourne

Birthday Fireworks in the Backyard

Niche in Nearby Beckett Park

Banksia Bloom in Beckett Park

Port Phillip Bay View at Rosebud, on the Way to Portsea, Mornington Peninsula

Sunny Morning following Bivouac

Tip of Mornington Peninsula

Symphony at Myer's Bowl, Center Stage Violinist Sally Cooper

At Chapman's Orchard in Wandin E., Melbourne

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