Story for performance #532
webcast from Canberra at 08:06PM, 04 Dec 06
She’s got 1000 acres of land that’s been in the family since the 1850s.
She’s been surviving a drought that’s lasted ten years now.
The bankers are circling.
She’s in her sixties. Husband’s been dead a long time. Been a single mother most of her life.
She’s got a friend. They take drives together.
One day they pass the cemetery. She thinks cemeteries are interesting. Lots of short stories carved into minimalist sculptures.
The friend stops the car. He says he’s got family buried there. Wants to visit.
They stop at a grave.
He spits on it.
He says he makes a point every time he passes the cemetery to come in and spit on the grave.
‘Who is it?’ she asks.
‘It’s my grandfather. He made my grandmother run around in black stockings.’
‘Yeah? Why?’
‘It was the only way he could get it up.’
‘Really?’ she says, thinking, hoping, that’s the end of it, but he offers more.
‘Yeah. He used to fuck the aboriginal girls that worked for them.’