I told him he could stay and that I was
sorry about what happened to his bird; he thanked me. He told me that Dada had
liked his bird a lot. When he mentioned him, he called him “your poor father”.
He hinted that I must be very unhappy since Dada died, but I didn`t reply or
even bother to tell him that Dada was my Grandfather, and more to me rather
than any of those who disowned him, including my mother and father.
He said “you’re a good kid, but you’re
strange and you mix with strange people. Let me give you some advice, stay away
from that Iskra character, we don’t need any more disturbances here. He’ll get
you into trouble.’
He
raised a make believe pipe into the air and swivelled his eyes. It made me
laugh to see the old man like that; it must have been a trick from his
entertaining days. We finished on a good note and he said goodnight. I leaned
back and felt the whole of Borneo bulge out its breath from its hinterland of
river and jungle beneath me like a hoary old wolf or wharf rat, a pair of
yellow beaked hornbills cawing out over the sea that that brought together all
of our unhappy histories.
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