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Southern Right .2
"Good morning, sir… Mr. Jack. My name is Stephen Willingham… I wonder if… "
"Old Jack, that's me," the old man grinned. "Real name is Duncan Kinniburough, but everyone calls me Jack for some reason, don't know why."
"I hope I'm not disturbing… May I ask you…"
"Ask anything you like. As long as it ain't money. On account of I ain't got any." The man's grin became wider.
"No, nothing like that. I wonder if you happen to know anything about a whale, a Southern Right whale, being seen somewhere around here some eight years ago."
"Sure thing, mate. A Southern Rightie. Right over there it was they first spotted her. Big fellah, oh, ten meters, easily, maybe twelve. They don't swim into the bay usually. Except this un." He pointed to a place beyond the jetty. "I remember rowing a newspaper cameraman right up to her, as close as close can be. Got well paid for that, too."
"What I really wanted to know," said Stephen, pointing in the opposite direction, "is whether you know anything about two women living in one of those houses, or perhaps just staying there, with a little girl…"
Jack scratched the top of his ear. "Two women… ah, those good-time women…. mother and daughter, though they looked more like sisters, to me. And the little kid. Mrs. What's-her-name, Mary something, and her daughter Titty-Titty-Bang-Bang. Used to live over there." He pointed to a modest grey weatherboard house. "Surely you don't mean them, do ya? On account of, well, it was a house of ill repute, at least that's what some of the locals said. But why do you want to know anyway?"
"I'm a sort of distant relative. Can you remember their names? The older woman was called Mary?"
"If you're a relation, surely you must know their names."
"That's the trouble. I don't. That's what I'm hoping to find out. My mother knew their names but she wouldn't tell me. And now she's dead, she died last year, I can't ask her any more ."
"Sorry to hear that, son. Distant relatives, eh? And no one ever spoke of them on account of them being in everyone's bad books. That happens in a lot of families. How distant a relative to Mrs. What's-her-name are you, anyway? All the way from England, from what I can hear. Ever been to Scotland? That's where my own forefathers came from. Kinlochleven. If I ever have enough money I'll take a trip, climb the Ben Nevis, pluck a sprig of heather…"
He looked out over the bay and it seemed to Stephen that the old man was looking at Scottish mountains that had suddenly risen up out of the glittering water.
"Now about that whale," Jack said, turning his attention to Stephen.
"The two women," Stephen pleaded. "Mother and daughter - and a little girl, can you help me in any way? I'd like to know their present whereabouts. Would the people in that house know, do you think?"
"I doubt if anybody here knows. And that house is empty, anyway."
"Could you tell me some more about those two women then? Two good-time women, I think you called them."
"That's right. They were a bit free-and-easy. No disrespect intended, of course, but they had a bit of a reputation around here. The daughter, now she was known as the neighbourhood bike, especially amoung the young lads. But the mother, Mary What's-her-name, now she wasn't a bad sort really. She had so much life in her, you wouldn't believe… I once did a painting job for her in her new home, I remember now. Paid me well for it, gave me dinner, and then drove me all the way back to my place over here."
"Do you know her new address, then?"
"No mate, I'm sorry. I never knew the exact address. On account of her picking me up with all my paints and paintbrushes, taking me to her place by car, and then taking me home again at the end of the day. So I ain't got an address. But it's a city house… let me see… a white terrace house in the middle of a whole row of double-story terrace houses with cast-iron balconies, overlooking a huge park that sort of sloped down towards the railwayline not far from the City centre."
"Can you remember the name of the park? I've got a map, could you perhaps show me?" Stephen got his map out of his rucksack and folded it open.
Jack took the map from him and flattened it against the top of the boat where the paint was dry. Stephen gave him his pen and Jack, after peering at the map for a while and running his knobbly finger this way and that way, said: "That's right, here it is, near this football stadium. I remember the roar of the crowd, like hundreds of hungry lions it was. Nearly made me drop me paintbrush while I hung over the balcony every time there was a goal." He marked the middle of a row of houses at the top end of the park with a cross. "That's where Mary What's-her-name lives, at least she did then, some three or four years ago it must have been."
"Can you say anything about the younger woman, her daughter?" Stephen asked.
"The daughter, now, she became quite a respectable lady, someone told me recently. She has something to do with some church where they do healing and laying on of hands and that sort of thing."
"Do you know which parish?"
"I can probably show you the suburb." Jack's finger slid down the map. "Somewhere along this tramline. The bloke who told me about it said you could see from the tram a large wooden board standing next to the building advertising healing services every Thursday night. He went there for his crook leg one of them evenings, and there he saw Helen… that's her name!… now I remember. She was helping run the service, where a whole bunch of people, mainly women, come to pray for you. She and that little kid of hers, can't remember her name. Sweet little kid of about five or six when they lived here. Called me Mr. Kookaburra, on account of that she couldn't say my name Kinniborough. I used to make a laughing sound like a kookaburra to make her laugh." Jack put some crosses along the thin black line on the map that indicated a tram line. "This fellah with the crook leg wanted me to go with him to one of them services, but I said nah, I don't believe in that stuff, so he went by himself quite a few times. I don't know if it did him any good, though; he still walks with a limp. But the pain might have gone."
"That little girl of six you mentioned, she would be about fourteen by now?"
"Yeah, I reckon she would be."
Jack folded up the map and handed it back to Stephen. Putting his hand on the young man's shoulder, he said, "Well, with the few clues I've given you it should be possible to track down either of them relatives of yours. Should be plain sailing from here on, I reckon. Good luck son."
feedback van andere lezers- Hoeselaar
Ik ben het Engels niet echt machtig ook al heb ik het ooit eens op school geleerd. toen wij naar Australie reisden had ik een cursus van m'n schoonbroer gekregen en heb daar het hoognodige uitgehaald.
Dit is een andere zaak maar ik heb het echt helemaal gelezen met het prisma eEngels Nederlands aan mijn zijde.
Bedankt dat je me de mogelijkheid bood om heerlijk rond te neuzen in deze wonderlijke taal
Willy - Anjer
weer knap en ik was fout, a tat of scottish, domme mij! grt Anjer - Dora
Fijn om de Engelse manier van praten te volgen en spelenderwijs de uitdrukkingen te herkennen die zo bekend voorkomen van tv series. Wij in Nederland krijgen het Engels nogal afgekookt bijgebracht. Dit is ook zo geschreven dat ik hen zie staan, het nodigt uit om door te gaan.
RudolfPaul: Jammergenoeg heb ik de rest nog niet geshreven, Dora.
By the way, gisteren probeerde ik te reageren op je ommentaar, ik shreef er iets onder en verstuurde het - en toen gebeurde er niets. Ik begrijp nog niet goed hoe alles werkt op deze site. Heel frustrerend.
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