Open Writing

Keawe wandered the town all day. He met some of his fellow mariners, and drank with them. They hired a carriage and drove into the country, where they drank still more. Great was their merriment. http://openwriting.com/gallery/v/johnburge/ch9_He+met+some.jpg.html

Amidst his attempt to obliterate his anger, something continued to confuse and to worry Keawe: He was enjoying himself while Kokua was sadly alone, and he knew, deep within, that she was right in what she had said to him. But that knowledge only served to make him drink even more.
They reached the stage where they had no more money between them to spend on drinks. 'Hey! You!' called one of his drinking partners. 'You're rich. You've been telling us that all day. You have some sort of magic bottle?'

'It is true that I am rich,' Keawe answered, ignoring the question about the bottle. 'I'll go back into town and get some more money from my wife.'

'Your wife!' slurred the man. 'You trust her with your money?' Then he added, with a knowing smirk, 'Can you trust her at all?

Keawe, his mind muddled through drink, was confused. Can I trust her? he thought. Has she been disloyal to me? Is that why she is so out of sorts, so unhappy about my release from the fate that was in store for me? Aha! She can't fool me. I'll catch her in the act!

When the carriage had taken him back into town, Keawe crept back to the house. It was now night, and there was a light inside. Opening the back door softly, he looked in.

There was Kokua, curled on the floor in a state of exhaustion. She cradled the green bottle, with its round belly and long neck. http://openwriting.com/gallery/v/johnburge/ch9_There+was+a+Kokua.jpg.html

Keawe stood in vexed silence for a long while. He could hardly discern his own thoughts, the heavy drinking still clouding his mind. He recalled the happiness that he felt when he sold that detested bottle. He was also fully aware of his anger when Kokua would not share his joy. He had left her alone while he went drinking. And now he was watching her weeping in abject misery before that very bottle.

A dark fear rose within him that something had gone terribly wrong when he sold the bottle to the old man — it had come back to him, just as it had in San Francisco when he tried to throw it away.

His thinking gradually became clear as he worked through the many conflicting images and emotions. Although he presumed that the shock had sobered him, he considered that it was still possible that he was witnessing something unreal. Perhaps the picture before him existed only in his imagination. There remained only one way to find out, to ascertain the truth.

He quietly closed the door and went softly round the corner again. He then walked back and noisily opened the door as though he had just arrived home. The bottle was nowhere in sight. Kokua, now sitting in a chair, feigned surprise at his sudden entry.

'I have been drinking all day and making merry with good companions,' he said with forced jollity. 'I came back for some more money, so that I may carry on carousing.'

Before Kokua could reply, he went straight to the linen chest where they hid their money. It was the same chest in which they had previously kept the bottle. While helping himself to a few coins, he felt something hard and round beneath the cloths.

He broke into a sweat and felt a deathly coldness flow through his body.

He supported himself against the chest as the house seemed to spin around him. He now knew for certain that Kokua had bought the fiendish bottle for herself.

Her pleading eyes met his as she rose and attempted to embrace him. He tried to speak, but no words would come. Neither was able to express a plea for forgiveness, nor to voice their regret. He withdrew his shaking hand from the chest, pocketed his coins, and ran from the house.
Without purpose or sense of direction, he made his way through the dark streets until he came upon a tavern of low repute. http://openwriting.com/gallery/v/johnburge/ch9_He+made+his+way.jpg.html

Without thought of his earlier drinking companions, who were waiting elsewhere, he stumbled through the door. The pervading smell of cheap liquor and unwashed bodies offended his nostrils. A cacophony of bawdy song and riotous conversation assailed his ears. By the light of the smoking oil-lamps, he espied someone who kept himself apart from the revelling crowd.

In a dark corner sat an uncouth old Haole whom Keawe had encountered briefly once before. Whether he hailed from England or America, France or Australia, Keawe did not know. But he did know that this man had been a boatswain on a whaler, a digger in gold mines, a convict in prison, and a runaway. He had a foul mouth, evil eyes and an insatiable thirst.

The man beckoned Keawe to join him. 'You are running away from something, young man,' he declared. 'Come, keep me company and wash away your troubles!' The stench of his breath was stronger even than the sickening odour of the room but Keawe felt drawn towards him.

The boatswain continued. 'By the look of you, I would say that you are afflicted by a certain ...shall we say ...black malaise?'

'How did you know that?' replied the astonished Keawe. 'We are hardly acquainted with each other.'

'My friend, I know you far better than you can imagine. With your permission, I can help you. And you will help me.' The unusual turn of phrase was expressed with a sneer rather than a smile. It hinted at some kind of sinister bargain.

Nevertheless, Keawe blurted out his sorry tale. 'Now that my wife has the bottle,' he concluded, 'she is doomed.'

The boatswain seemed to taunt him. 'You're really serious about this so-called "enchanted" bottle, aren't you?'

'I tell you I am. And if you help me, I will most certainly help you.' Keawe did not know what that implied, but felt drawn to respond to the man's offer. 'Here are two centimes. Go to her and buy the bottle. She will most gladly let you buy it. Bring it to me, and I shall buy it back from you for one centime. Whatever you do, breathe not a word to her that you have come at my behest.'

'Are you a fool? Or are you making a fool of me?' mocked the boatswain.

'If you really think I am making a fool of you, then all you have to do, when you have the bottle, is to wish for a pocket full of money, or a bottle of the best rum, or whatever you desire.'

'Very well, Kanaka, I will do as you wish. We shall without doubt see if one is making a fool of the other. If you are having fun at my expense, you can be sure that I shall show you no mercy!'

They left the tavern, and Keawe led the boatswain to the street-corner near his house. The man gave Keawe an evil grin before he continued on his errand. By the dim light of the street-lamp, Keawe saw that the man's drunken eyes were more than merely blood-shot.

**

BRIAN BARRATT

Brian Barratt has had half a century of professional experience with books and Education. He’s been a bookseller, editor, publisher, author of schoolbooks, private tutor in English and thinking skills, class tutor in creative writing for adults, writing group leader in several schools, mentor to gifted students, judge of many writing competitions, and curriculum editor for Australian national Tournament of Minds... among other things.

He is a moderately/severely hearing handicapped elderly gentleman who explores the history and usage of the English language; writes whimsical articles; researches and writes about his ancestors, including many in the Book Trade during the past 300 years, and an elusive Gypsy; listens to recordings of Enrico Caruso, John McCormack, Kathleen Ferrier and other great voices from the past; relishes Messiaen's Turangalîla Symphony and the music of the erhu; loves dictionaries; digs into the palaeopsychology of religious beliefs; rummages around in people’s minds; talks to dogs and birds, and to the possums that live in his shed.

Since 1936 he’s lived and worked in four countries, in this order: England, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Australia. He's lived in a leafy eastern suburb of Melbourne since 1971, next to where the rich people live. His house is actually a library-museum-art gallery-wizard's lair. There's a sign which reads 'Persons not wishing to see worlds outside or inside themselves are gently advised to close their minds whilst in this place'.

Do visit his Web site The Brain Rummager www.alphalink.com.au/~umbidas/

**

JOHN BURGE

In 2008 John artist completed his first retrospective exhibition at the Victorian Artists Society in East Melbourne. It had been his first Melbourne show in thirty-six years and ranged from 1975 till the present. The nine panel ' Bluebeard's Castle ' - a free adaptation of Bela Bartok's 1918 opera - was seen for the first time in it's entirety.

He had previously exhibited in Melbourne in 1972 at the Warehouse Galleries in Richmond and, according to some, provided one of the most memorable and notorious openings of the time.

John then moved to Europe and lived for twelve years in the Catalan village of Ortedo, deep in the Spanish Pyrenees, exhibiting in Barcelona during the dying days of the Franco regime.

He later showed in Amsterdam and Munich, exhibiting with Dali, Vasarely, Magritte and Fontana before a critically acclaimed exhibition at the Stedelijk Museum, Alkmaar. Despite forthcoming contracted exhibitions, family circumstances meant a reluctant return to Australia.

Through the mid-eighties and nineties he moved into book illustration and became involved with art education in schools. Over the last four years John has returned to full-time art.

In May 2010, he exhibited a second, more complete showing of ' Bluebeard's Castle ' at the Kingston Arts Centre. It included previously unseen work and as a coda, 'The Don's Last Tale ', a large watercolour on the theme of ' Don Giovanni '. The exhibit was opened by Mr Rob Hudson MP, Parliamentary Secretary for the Arts and a short discourse on Bartok's opera was presented by Associate Professor Thomas Reiner, head of the Monash University Conservatorium of Music.

An exhibition of new and recent work was held from the 16th of June until the 4th of July, 2010 at the Jackman Gallery, 60 Inkerman Street, St.Kilda, VIC. 3182. The gallery continues to carry a wide and comprehensive selection of John's work.

Do visit John's Web site http://www.johnburgeart.com.au/