Story for performance #134
webcast from Sydney at 07:23PM, 01 Nov 05

in the centre of the village
Source: AFP, AP, ‘Iraq Shia leader’s brother shot dead’, The Australian online, 01/11/05.
Writer/s: Helen Townsend

I’m Tracey. The mother. The wife.

And the rest.

They say it takes a village to raise a child. Ken and me, we have a two-adult, two-child village: a kid of mine, Rob, and one joint child, Kass. I’m the village, the centre of the village.

Ken comes home, flops in front of the TV, and says, ‘Isn’t this the perfect family?’ Then he doesn’t talk the rest of the night. And I’m worried about Rob, because he’s lost the power of speech too, now he’s sixteen. Kass is twelve and she never shuts up.

And Rob says Ken can’t tell him what to do, because he isn’t his Dad. I back Ken, but then Ken lays down the law. Like he decides Rob’s got to clean up the kitchen every night. Which undercuts me, because I said he had to do every second night with Kass doing the other nights. But Ken let Kass off because she got into Sydney High, as well as a half scholarship to a private school. Which we’re not taking, because half is only half.

I was proud of Kass, but it’s not like her getting her marks up is hard for her. But when I say to Ken that Rob has other qualities, Ken says, ‘Yeah, almost nobody else on the planet can sleep 24/7.’ Which is nonsense. They sleep a lot at that age. You talk to other parents and you know, but men don’t talk to other parents. They talk about their jobs or sport. Maybe they compare dick size, I don’t know.

I feel like I’m living my life for other people, that I’m the centre of the village. Ken says he’s living his life for other people too. He hates his job, but he says he took on me and Rob and got Kass into the bargain so he has to work and he’s not going to complain about it. I reckon it was a bargain and I tell him so. He says he’s not complaining, although the number of times he’s told me how he’s not complaining makes me feel he is complaining.

When Ken finishes work, he doesn’t click over to Dad mode. He doesn’t think Kass’s got that project and she needs that fake grass from the hobby shop at the Junction, which closes at five. And Rob’s going to footy training and we need to cook the spag bol. And then it’s the night the vet’s open late, so I can take the cat up for its flu injection and pick Rob up from training on the way back.

Nup. Ken thinks, I’ll have a beer on the way home. Isn’t that a beautiful, simple thought? I never think that.

And then, ‘What’s for tea love?’ Another beautiful, simple thought.

Just beautiful, simple thoughts.

I had Rob when I was twenty six, backpacking through Europe. His father is German. Sends Rob Christmas presents, but gets his birthday wrong. That’s it as far as he gets into being part of the village.

I came back to Australia after I had Rob. I’d been living overseas a long time. My Dad died when I was away and my mother never forgave me for not coming back then. Maybe I should have, but I knew I’d never get away again. My mother has tentacles reaching out from her village, otherwise known as Wagga Wagga. Her tentacles reach out and try to pull me back to Wagga. Dad was different. He always told me to do the things he’d never done, like leave Wagga.

After I came back, I was living here in Sydney with Rob, just a baby, and trying to get myself a university qualification. Accountancy was four years, so I switched to book keeping, which is good steady work. But it was hard on my own, so when I met Ken, I fell into his arms.

He’s older than me, by thirteen years, and sort of retarded. Shy with women. In his forties, but he’d never married. Nice looking. Old fashioned. He wanted to look after me. Which in a way, is why I married him. I wasn’t in love, but I could love him. Which is hardly a crime, is it?

It’s not like that now. I don’t want looking after, which was, when it came down to it a regular income and some nice gestures with flowers and perfume. I want participation. But I’m married to a mute, or a mutant, who doesn’t want to rock the boat or discuss the issues in this little village of ours.

He sits in front of the TV and says, ‘Isn’t it great being a family? God I’m glad I married you Trace?’ See that! Too emotionally lazy to say the last syllable of my name.

So I’m going to Africa. Not for a holiday. I sponsor a kid there. She’s called Sekei and she’s ten years old. She lives in some bloody awful village in some incredibly poor country. But I want to see how that village works. I want to see her and understand her life and understand why I’m so lucky and mine still feels so hard. I want it to change my life, our lives, our village. I don’t know how, but maybe Africa will make the difference. Think about it.

Adapted for performance by Barbara Campbell from a story by Helen Townsend.