Praise by Andrew McGahan Page A

concussed. They were just keeping him around for a while to make sure. They didn’t realise anyone was waiting.’
    Her father came out a few minutes later. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I thought they were keeping me in there for a reason. I told you it was nothing.’
    We drove home. Cynthia was in the back seat. The major was up front with me. He was the highest ranking officer of the Australian Army I’d ever had in the front seat of my car.
    â€˜So what do you do with yourself, Gordon?’ he asked.
    â€˜Nothing at the moment. Normally, though, I work in pubs. That’s how I know Cynthia.’
    â€˜He writes poetry,’ added Cynthia, for which I wasn’t grateful.
    â€˜Poetry? What sort of poetry?’
    â€˜Not very poetic poetry. It’s very bland poetry. It doesn’t rhyme.’
    â€˜Any of it published?’
    â€˜No.’
    He laughed. That was good. ‘Ever thought of joining the Army?’
    â€˜I don’t think I’m the type.’
    â€˜Why not? When I was young everyone thought they were the right type for the Army.’
    â€˜I don’t think young people think that way any more.’
    â€˜No, they don’t. You’re right about that.’
    He seemed all right. He knew I’d been fucking his daughter and that I was nowhere near the first. He’d fought in Borneo and Vietnam and he’d survived, somewhere near sane. Then he’d stuck it out with life in an army that no one gave a damn about any more, drank too much maybe, and got himself stalled for years at the rank of major. Who knew why. Maybe he could do better, maybe he didn’t care.
    He had as much right as anyone to laugh at poetry.
    We got back to the hotel. One the way upstairs the major told us that the doctor had told him how to diagnose true concussion. You looked at the patient’s eyes and if the pupils were dilated and didn’t contract in bright light then it meant there was trouble.
    I wondered about my pupils, about Cynthia’s. How constricted were they now, nine to ten hours after shooting up? And was there a connection? Between injecting heroin and slamming your head against a bathtub? No doubt they both brought peace of mind ...
    We handed him over to Mrs Lamonde. Cynthia told me to go and wait in her room. She came in herself about twenty minutes later. ‘I told them,’ she said.
    â€˜How’d they take it?’
    â€˜Not so well. They’ll get over it, I suppose.’
    â€˜Did you tell them about me?’
    â€˜I said you had something to do with it.’
    â€˜Do they like me?’
    â€˜They didn’t say. They asked me where I was going to live.’
    â€˜Where are you going to live? With me? Or somewhere else?’
    â€˜I’ll stay with you.’
    â€˜Good.’
    â€˜I could just see it on their faces, though. Cynthia’s got another man. Cynthia’s fucked it up just like the last time, just like the time before that.’
    â€˜How many times has it been? How many men have there been?’
    She thought about that. She started counting them up on her fingers. One hand, the other hand, back to the first hand. She gave up. ‘I can’t really remember. Lots. Too many.’
    I shook my head.
    If I ever was going to fall for someone again, it was going to be her.

T WELVE
    Cynthia’s parents flew out mid-morning. Cynthia took the car to see them off. She dropped me at the flat. I had to prepare for my next rendezvous with Social Security. Money was becoming a serious concern. I’d been spending up big. A hundred and fifty in the last three days.
    And there wouldn’t be much coming in for a while. According to the forms, once my application for benefits was finally accepted there would be a period of one week before my first payment. That would be one hundred and thirty-six dollars. Every two weeks after that I would receive payments of two hundred and seventy-two. In