While I Have Pedro. John Chesterman
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really funny, and I still laugh now sometimes when he does it to new people. But that day, just after St Mark’s day, I must have done something. I remember Johnny coming up while I was trying to show Alfie that I knew what caused the fires. He did his humming to Alfie, then he did it to me. I remember screaming and punching someone, or something, and the next thing I knew I was in my room, bashing my head against the wall. The BIST people came later on, but I had calmed down a lot by then. They did their usual routine. ‘We know you like Johnny. You didn’t mean to hit him, did you Redmond? You didn’t mean to bite Alfie. Alfie takes good care of you, doesn’t he?’ If they knew all that, why did they need to come over? I hate it that they get credit for calming people down. I calmed myself down, although it did take a while.
And they’re right. I do like Alfie. He’s not like Pedro, who in fact is my best friend. But I knew I had to give up on Alfie when it came to the fires. I knew I had to do something with my knowledge, and I couldn’t wait for Pedro’s next shift at the house to begin. So I decided to go straight to the police the next day.
Three
Going to the police is not as easy as it sounds. It may be for you, but it’s definitely not for me. I decided I had to make an early break for it. I thought, I’ll go down to get my newspaper and just keep going. That wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all I had.
I quickly fed Mandy in the dark - she’s normally asleep then but she was happy to eat her food even at that early time. I took my coins to the newsagent. I didn’t want anyone to know what was happening. Mr Chong always says, ‘Hello, Red, how are you today?’ I never answer him, of course, I just hand over the coins and he gives me the paper. I walked out of the shop and pretended to be going back to my home, but I turned down one street that takes you to a tram stop if you walk for ages and ages, which I did. I didn’t know where the police station was, but I knew that the tram would take me near a police station. It had to, eventually.
I’ve caught the tram before, so it was not a totally new experience. But it was my first time alone. Pedro always buys our tickets for us, and I hadn’t really thought about getting a ticket. That’s a bit unlike me, because I’m normally very cautious. But on this day I had pressing things on my mind, and I was prepared to take some risks. So I travelled without a ticket. What were they going to do anyway, throw me off ? Sometimes you have to take risks when you try new things. That’s what Pedro often says. He says it about new foods and about new clothes. He said it one time when we took the house car out to the zoo. I was scared of the lizards, but Pedro helped me pat one and I’m not at all scared of them now.
I waited for a tram. It was very early, but I knew it would come. I was very cold, too. Normally I’m only outside for nine minutes. That’s how long it takes me to shuffle to and from the milk bar. This day was going to take a lot longer than nine minutes. Again, I was probably under prepared. But I was taking risks, so I hoped Pedro might be proud, at least in the long run.
When the tram pulled up I began to get on. Began is the right word, because they’ve made the steps so high that even fit young kids sometimes have difficulty getting on. I grabbed the side rail with both hands and yanked my useless right leg and my even uselesser left leg up the three steps and hobbled to find a seat. A woman yelled across the aisle to a young kid who was sitting on one of the seats reserved for disabled people.
‘Get up, mate, give the bloke a seat.’
I tried to say it’s OK, but it just sounded like ‘oooooday’. Pedro would have understood what I was saying. The young guy just pointed down the aisle and said, ‘He can sit down there, keep your hair on, grandma.’ I shuffled down and sat where he was pointing. I didn’t care. The woman next to me got up and sat somewhere else. I was probably dribbling a little bit, which doesn’t look very nice if you’re not used to it. A lot of people think I’m drunk when they hear me or look at me. But I’m not. I only ever once tried alcohol. I had a sip of some beer fifteen years ago, when I was twenty. I hated it, it was too bitter.
I sat on the tram until we started passing some big shops. I reckoned we had to be in the city, so I stood up to get off. I couldn’t grab the chord to pull it, but the driver saw me and knew I wanted to get off. So he stopped even though I hadn’t done everything in the right order. He wasn’t worried about it, and neither was I. I was more worried about getting off.
I had to push past people to get to the door. Someone told me to watch the hell where I was going. Someone called me a retard, which I don’t particularly like. Stretch called me that twice. The first time was when I was ten and he must have been five or six. He was complaining that I always had to be there when he was playing with his friends. The other time was when we were much older and he wanted to go to the footy with some friends. He said he was sick of hanging around with a retard of a brother and he wanted me to stay at home. Which I did. But that day I stopped barracking for Stretch’s team, North Melbourne. I decided I needed my own team, so now I barrack for the mighty saints, St Kilda. I guess Stretch was just embarrassed, I don’t think he was cross with me. I forgave him, even though he didn’t say sorry. I didn’t ask to be a retard, and I haven’t apologised to myself about that, but I’ve forgiven myself. And Mum.
One of the people waiting to get on the tram must have been an AFL footballer or something. All I know is he was a great catch. Because as I started to go down the stairs I grabbed the handrails, but I couldn’t hold my weight. It’s very different going up to going down. You have far more weight to control going down the stairs. If that footballer hadn’t been there it would have been broken arm number eight. No, I’m not an octopus, I mean it would have been the eighth time I’d broken an arm. That occasion will have to wait.
I swear to god that footballer, in catching me, gave me one of the nicest hugs anyone’s ever given me. Even though it was just an instinct for him, I didn’t want to let him go. He was so safe. But he set me straight on the pavement and in a flash was gone. I still think about that moment now. It was one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done for me. Not counting all the stuff that Pedro’s done, I mean.
I looked around but couldn’t see a police station anywhere. So I just stood there for a while. I did see a homeless man with a long beard who looked as though his clothes had just been oiled. He was searching in a rubbish bin for food. He’d find a bit of hamburger and eat it. He looked inside cups and bottles. If they had something in them, he’d drink it.
He must pick up a lot of germs. I felt very sorry for him. He needed a Pedro in his life. Maybe I could bring him home with me. Pedro wouldn’t mind. I started to go over to him, but he just sort of ran away. He was very quick on his feet.
So I went back to the job I’d come to do. There was no police station in sight, but I was sure I’d see a policeman or woman if I looked hard enough. For quite a while, though, I didn’t see any police. I just watched all the people going past. Someone put a dollar in my pocket, even though I didn’t need any money.
Then something good happened. I saw a police car coming. As it came up the road I started to yell, but that just scared the people around me so I stopped. I knew that this was my only chance, and I remembered reading somewhere about the advanced driving courses that police drivers need to undertake.
I thought I might put their advanced driving skills to the test, to see if they were getting value for their training dollar. Bang for their buck. I stepped out onto the road right in front of the police car, which screeched to a halt. As Pedro says, a little faith can take you a long way. My faith had been rewarded. There was one policeman in the car, and he was very angry. He got out and walked straight up to me.
‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’
I grunted and showed him the Diary of Important Dates, which had the newspaper clippings inside the pages where St Andrew’s day and St Mark’s day were listed. I tried to point to what I knew.
‘Sorry, mate, can’t understand you.’
I was getting frustrated. I kept grunting and jabbing at the clippings in my Diary of Important Dates.
Then he did the worst thing he could have done, and slipped the clippings