Redemption Theme Analysis

His grey beard was stained with smoke,
his hair long and swept back,
his face lined but
when you looked closer
he wasn’t that old,
forty-five, maybe fifty.
He got up to go to bed
to sleep off his sorrow
or so he said.
As he left he turned
and said,
‘Welcome to the Bendarat Hilton,
I’ve been here since March 2nd, 1994.
May your stay be as long,
if you wish it.’
Then he stumbled off,
an old man
before his time,
sleeping in a carriage,
and I shivered
as the sun came up.

I slept badly.
I dreamt of myself
as an old man
in a pub, at the bar,
watching the races on TV
with my smokes and my plans
for winning $5 on the grey horse
running second last.
All night
I could hear Old Bill
snoring, coughing,
swearing in his sleep.
He made more noise
than the wind
whistling through the freight yard.
I lay in bed
listening
afraid to fall asleep
and dream again
of myself
getting old
long before my time.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised
by anything anymore.
The kid must be fifteen,
or sixteen at the most,
and here he is,
living in the Bendarat Hilton
with a bag of clothes
and some smokes
to give away
to a bum like me.
And when he gave me
those smokes
I almost cried,
a kid like that
with nothing
giving stuff away.
But I took them
and I sat in my carriage
smoking
and trying to place
the past five years
and my memory
flickered and grew dim
like the cigarette
and I stopped remembering […]

Because when I was
twelve years old
and my dad chased me
out of the house
with a strap,
I’d hidden in the neighbor’s
chook shed, waiting for night
when I could climb
through my bedroom window
and sleep,
hoping Dad wouldn’t wake angry.
After an hour,
our neighbor came out
and placed a bowl of soup
and some bread
on a tin
outside the chook shed door.
She left me dinner
and walked away.
I ate my fill
and waited till late.
A few weeks later
that neighbor moved away
and I never thanked her,
and that’s why I help Old Bill,
for no reason
other than he needs it.

But look at me.
Kids fall out of trees
all the time.
They sprain their ankle,
or get the wind knocked out of them,
but my Jessie,
my sweet lovely Jessie,
fell
and I fell with her
and I’ve been falling
ever since.

And this pub,
this beer, these clothes,
this is where I landed.

He gives me advice
on how to live cheap,
and how to jump trains
late at night,
and how to find out
which trains are going where,
and which trains have friendly guards.
He encourages me to travel,
to leave here
and ride the freights.
He makes it seem so special,
so romantic,
and I ask him
why he doesn’t do it,
you know,
if it’s so special,
and he tells me
about his Jessie
and his wife
and the house he visits
when too much drink
has made him forget
because without his ghosts
he’s afraid he’ll have nothing to live for.
And at that moment I know
I am listening to
the saddest man in the world.

I’ve got the weekend off.
No McDonald’s,
no schoolwork,
and thankfully no parents—
Mum has a conference interstate,
with Dad going along
‘for the golf’.
It only took three days
of arguing to convince
Mum and Dad that, at seventeen,
I can be trusted on my own,
even though I can’t.
And what is trust, anyway?
No, I won’t burn the house down.
No, I won’t drink all the wine.
No, I won’t have a huge drug party.
But
yes, I will invite Billy over
and yes, I will enjoy myself
in this house,
this big, ugly, five-bedroom
million dollar brick box
that we live in.

I almost laughed
when they arrived.
The two neatest hobos
I’d ever seen,
with their hair combed,
slicked back,
and their faces rubbed shiny clean.
Old Bill called me ‘Miss’
and offered me a box of chocolates
he’d brought
and he looked around the house
as though he were visiting the moon.
Billy saw the wine,
already open,
and he poured three glasses
passed them around
and as we raised our glasses
Billy said,
‘To the richest house in Bendarat’
and we laughed.
My cooking even smelt good […]

Billy returned an hour later
and came to my carriage.
We sat opposite, talking.
I heard the bottles clink
in his bag
and said,
‘Come on, then,
let’s have them.’
But when he brought out
the ginger beer
I swore
and laughed
and swore some more,
but really
you’ve got to admire the kid.
So I drank the stuff
and we sat up late
talking
and I slept
better than I had in a long time
so maybe
just maybe
I’ll work on less beer
for a while.
For the kid’s sake.

I go to the river with Billy
and we swim and wash,
or sometimes
I walk the streets
looking at the houses
and the corner shops
and the parks with trees
and fountains,
and young couples kissing,
and old men reading newspapers,
and ladies walking dogs,
and sometimes
these people nod and say hello
as though I’m one of them
and not an old drunk.
I nod back,
even talk about the weather on occasions,
and I walk back to my carriage
planning
where I’ll go tomorrow,
where I’ll walk in my town
where I’ll go to stop
thinking about the drink.

Jessie and I stood on the verandah,
Jessie holding the bird gently.
She opened her hands
and it sat on her palms
looking at her
then it turned and flew
high into the wattle
where it perched.
Jessie waved
and the bird flew away.

I thought of Jessie
helping that bird
and how, after it left,
Jessie turned to me
and said that
when she grew up
she wanted to be a vet,
she wanted to heal animals
and to help people.

I wasn’t always a hobo.
I worked in town.
I dressed neatly in suit and tie.
I understood the law.
I earned a lot of money
knowing stupid rules and regulations
and I’d studied for years
to make sure those rules
were enforced
when someone came to me for help.
But all that knowledge
and all that training
couldn’t stop a young
beautiful child from
falling out of a tree,
or a wife from driving
a car too drunk to care.
All that knowledge
couldn’t stop a man
from drinking to forget
to forget the life
with the suit and tie
in his office in town.
But today
the knowledge
that hasn’t been used
in five years
could come up
with a solution
to where a sixteen-year-old boy
could live,
and what his legal rights were,
so all that knowledge
is finally worth something,
finally.

I arrive at Billy’s
and he’s in the kitchen
scrubbing the floor.
He’s already done the bathroom.
I vacuum the lounge
and the main bedroom—
it’s only dust
that’s gathered lonely in the corners
and on the curtains.
Billy and I work all morning.
We eat lunch under the fir trees
and look at the house.
We don’t say much.
We lie on the blanket
and hold each other.
Billy has his arms around me
and his eyes turned
towards the white timber house.

Today he ate three helpings
and drank the thermos
and on his last cup
he told me of his plan
to head north, taking his time.
And he said,
‘Don’t worry about the house
and its ghosts,
I’m taking them with me,
they need a holiday,
and so do I.’
I didn’t know what to say,
so I sat there
looking at the freight train
shunting carriages in the distance
across the tracks
where
months ago
an old man
dropped his beer
and sat down to cry.
I said to Old Bill,
‘I love the house,’
and I left it at that.