Augustine's Lunch Read online

  LAURA BLOOM

  AUGUSTINE’S LUNCH

  About Untapped

  Most Australian books ever written have fallen out of print and become unavailable for purchase or loan from libraries. This includes important local and national histories, biographies and memoirs, beloved children’s titles, and even winners of glittering literary prizes such as the Miles Franklin Literary Award.

  Supported by funding from state and territory libraries, philanthropists and the Australian Research Council, Untapped is identifying Australia’s culturally important lost books, digitising them, and promoting them to new generations of readers. As well as providing access to lost books and a new source of revenue for their writers, the Untapped collaboration is supporting new research into the economic value of authors’ reversion rights and book promotion by libraries, and the relationship between library lending and digital book sales. The results will feed into public policy discussions about how we can better support Australian authors, readers and culture.

  See untapped.org.au for more information, including a full list of project partners and rediscovered books.

  Readers are reminded that these books are products of their time. Some may contain language or reflect views that might now be found offensive or inappropriate.

  for Melita

  Contents

  1. A Hairy Chunk Of Meat

  2. Traditional Australian

  3. Life Drawing

  4. Falling In

  5. Pure Instinct

  6. Chicken

  7. A Technical Virgin

  8. The Invisible Man

  9. As If

  10. The Promise

  11. Hot Tamale!

  12. Sleeping Dogs

  13. Serve Cold

  14. Blood And Beer

  15. The Ride To Oblivion

  16. Unhygienic

  17. Blood Brothers

  18. An Oasis In The Wilderness

  19. D-Day

  18. Psychomania

  21. Shake

  22. Some Chocolate And A Fork In The Road

  23. In Deep … Bush

  24. The Hunger

  23. Augustine’s Lunch

  26. Gus’s Lunch

  Epilogue

  1. A Hairy Chunk Of Meat

  ‘Eat it!’

  It was grey, not brown the way sausage meat should be.

  ‘Go on! Eat it!’

  The flecks of orange were much brighter than any carrot Gus had seen. The pastry sat around the meat like a soggy paper bag instead of hugging it softly, like pastry is supposed to. But pastry is only butter and water and flour, and that can’t hurt you … can it? Cautiously Gus turned it over. The bottom was charred and dark with grease. He took a deep breath.

  ‘Augustine.’ Steven’s tone was foreboding.

  ‘Gus,’ corrected Gus, trying to keep his voice steady.

  Steve put a hand on his shoulder. A meaty, hairy, ugly hand. Probably better not to have said that.

  ‘Augustine! Are you with me now?’

  Gus swallowed. ‘Yes, Steve.’

  ‘Only friends call each other by their nicknames—don’t you know that?’

  Gus nodded, avoiding the curious eyes of a kid in the year below him who was standing to the side of the bench. The other guys in the quadrangle had looked away when Steve first started hassling, but now they were slowly gathering. Any moment they would reach the critical mass of people needed to make a crowd, Gus calculated. After that people would start coming over just to see what the commotion was about.

  ‘We’re not friends, are we, Augustine?’

  Steve’s tone was polite, but there was a glint in his eye Gus mistrusted. It was becoming increasingly obvious to Gus that Steve was a very strange person. Yet for some reason no one else seemed to have realised it yet. Cautiously Gus shook his head.

  ‘This is why I call you by your proper name. Your friends call you Gus, right?’

  Who knew what they’d call him now? Wussbag maybe, or Loser.

  ‘Let’s see …’ Steve was aware of the crowd too, and Gus realised with a sinking heart he was playing to it. He wanted as big an audience as he could find before dealing Gus the death blow.

  ‘Is anybody here friends with this boy?’

  Silence.

  Well, of course there was silence. Anyone could see that Steve was crazed and cruel and very big. These factors counted for a lot round here, especially the last one, especially among Gus’s friends, all of whom were a year younger than Steve and none of whom was anywhere near as big. Steve was the oldest and biggest boy in their form by far, and the only thing Gus could see to be grateful for right now was that at least they didn’t share any of the same classes.

  ‘So everybody calls him Augustine from now on, got it?’

  Gus hated his full name. It was long and pretentious and a mystery to him why his parents had named him that. No one called him Augustine, they never had.

  ‘This boy is Gus only to his friends, okay? And if he has a friend, I want to know about it!’

  Could this kind of thing happen in this day and age? wondered Gus incredulously. Post Nazism, post fascism, post cold war, post primary school—could he be bullied by an overheated fathead like Steve? Gus looked up. The faces surrounding him were blankly curious. Evidently, yes. They weren’t on Steve’s side, but they weren’t on Gus’s, either.

  You had to admit, Steve was taking an original approach to being the new boy in school. You also couldn’t argue with the fact that it was proving to be an effective way of raising his profile—look how many people were turning out for this performance. The only thing Gus couldn’t work out was why Steve had chosen him as his only victim.

  ‘Now, that’s a fine looking sausage roll you have being offered to you here, Augustine. I love ’em. Eat ’em every day, and look at me.’

  Gus didn’t need to look to know that, at fifteen years old, Steve had the muscled, hard body of a grown man. The whole school knew it because every chance he got—swimming, wrestling, water fights in the playground—Steve would strip off and show everyone. By contrast Gus thought of himself as somehow weedy and pudgy at the same time. His growth spurt hadn’t begun yet. Or perhaps it had passed and he was, in fact, a dwarf.

  ‘Let me go,’ he said quietly, but loud enough for people in the front row to hear. He wanted them to know he was being held against his will.

  ‘Not before you apologise for insulting my lunch. You really have to learn about manners, Augustine.’

  ‘I didn’t insult your lunch!’

  ‘You insulted the canteen food, am I right?’

  Obviously no one was going to help him. Gus resolved to get this over with quickly. ‘Sorry for whatever I did, okay?’

  ‘Whatever you did? Whatever you did?’ whispered Steve dramatically. ‘What you do, every day, is you get out your pansy little lunch box and eat your homemade pansy little lunch. Where I come from, in the country, we wouldn’t stand for it!’

  ‘But what’s wrong with it?’ asked Gus. Now seemed as good a time as any to get to the bottom of this.

  ‘What’s wrong is that you think you’re better than everyone else, don’t you? You think the rest of us, who eat what the canteen has to offer, are meatheads.’

  ‘I don’t think that!’ howled Gus, although he did think Steve was a meathead.

  ‘Eat it!’

  This was more than humiliating, it was anxiety producing. ‘Steve, look, I can’t.’ Gus had a delicate digestive system and could never eat when his stomach was all clenched up the way it was now.


  ‘Augustine, look, you can. Prove right now what you think of canteen food or everyone here who’s bought canteen food today or yesterday or at any time in their days at St Patrick’s is insulted.’

  Although it was all too ridiculous, Gus couldn’t help wondering what a crowd like this would do if they all felt insulted. He took a deep breath and bit into the sausage roll, trying to think of something else, anything, apart from blood and guts on the abattoir floor being swept up after each slaughter and put into the barrels marked ‘sausage rolls’.

  ‘There!’ Steve looked pleased. ‘And what do you think of it?’

  Gus chewed busily, willing himself not to notice the texture of it in his mouth. ‘Delicious.’

  He stuffed another huge mouthful in as soon as he’d swallowed the first. He wanted this sausage roll gone and all these guys interested in something else, somewhere else, as soon as possible.

  ‘I want you to say something more … interesting than that.’

  Gus rolled his eyes. He was so stuffed with sausage roll he couldn’t speak But they were waiting. ‘It’s … hearty and … honest.’

  Steve nodded. The circle of boys round Gus was so quiet he could hear the cricket score being called out from the oval on the other side of the grounds.

  ‘It’s … unpretentious food that is both traditional and …’ Swallow. Just one more bite to go. ‘Um …’ He chewed vigorously. They made the pastry for these sausage rolls out of lowest quality hydrogenated oil. It was carcinogenic. And the meat! After the abattoir the meat was put into huge vats to wait for the bacteria levels to go down. Then they put colouring through it and processed it so you couldn’t tell an eyeball from a …

  ‘Both traditional and … what, Augustine?’ Steve insisted. ‘We’re waiting.’

  … from a … brain from a foot or a nose. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘This is good, traditional, unpretentious, honest food and he’s going to be sick?’ Steve shouted to the crowd, who laughed for the first time.

  But Gus was past caring. He felt the masticated meat come crowding back up his throat. The boys parted in front of him. He reached the garbage bin just in time and threw up the sausage roll, his orange drink, his Florentine biscuit from morning tea, his homemade Bircher muesli from breakfast, and even some black shreds of squid-ink pasta from dinner the night before. He kept retching until there was nothing more left in his stomach.

  Gus stayed bent over the stinking garbage bin, gasping, figuring out his next move, unwilling to leave the revolting sight of regurgitated sausage roll for the even more revolting one of Steve. A hand touched his neck and he flinched.

  ‘Gus.’

  It was Brother Nicholas. Most of the Brothers were nice enough, but to Gus they were unapproachable, just like any other teacher. Brother Nicholas was different. He was young and good at cricket. Better than that, he was friendly and relaxed and could talk to young people without making it seem like it was some huge effort or big achievement. Now, though, leaning over a bin full of his own vomit, Gus didn’t even want to see Brother Nicholas.

  ‘Gus, are you finished? Can you stand up?’

  Gus took a deep breath. Brother Nicholas’s face appeared in front of him on the other side of the bin. He mimed revelation. ‘Oh, I get it! You’re watching the bin!’

  Gus stood up just so he wouldn’t be subjected to another joke as poor as that one. Brother Nicholas put a hand on his arm and drew him away from the bin. A crowd of kids were still staring at him, probably wondering what it was about Gus that had made Steve pick on him, so they could make sure they didn’t catch it too.

  Brother Nicholas casually guided Gus round to the back of the toilet block, to a tap that was set into the wall. Gus washed his face. Brother Nicholas handed him a tissue and Gus used it to wipe his mouth and his eyes.

  ‘Vomiting brings tears to my eyes,’ he hastened to explain.

  ‘Would you rather I didn’t ask?’

  Gus nodded. The biggest criminals at St Patrick’s were dobbers, and Gus was relieved that he wouldn’t have to lie on Steve’s behalf.

  Brother Nicholas walked them back to the main playground. Gus noticed kids noticing them together and he felt as proud now as he had felt embarrassed ten minutes ago. Everyone liked Brother Nicholas.

  ‘What’s on the menu today?’ This was a question Brother Nicholas regularly asked Gus.

  ‘Mushrooms.’

  ‘Of course.’ He was well acquainted with Gus’s passion for mushrooms, because they appeared in just about everything he made.

  ‘Ricotta, roast capsicum, olive tapenade and mixed salad greens on bread.’

  Brother Nicholas nodded seriously. ‘Corn bread or sourdough?’

  ‘Sourdough.’ Gus reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out a thick package wrapped in brown paper. ‘You better have it.’

  ‘Oh, Gus, thank you, but I couldn’t!’

  ‘You may as well. I can’t eat anything now. Anxiety makes my stomach clench.’

  ‘All the same, Gus, it would be most inappropriate to take a student’s lunch.’

  For some reason Gus felt as bad as he had ten minutes ago when Steve had been threatening to kill him with half the school looking on.

  ‘Gus? Do you want to tell me what it is?’

  ‘What’s the point of all this effort if no one can appreciate it?’

  ‘But you appreciate it, don’t you, Gus? Isn’t that enough?’

  Gus shook his head. He knew it should be, but it wasn’t.

  Brother Nicholas smiled warmly. ‘You have a gift for cooking and you want to give it. That’s wonderful.’

  Gus scowled. ‘It’s not wonderful when nobody wants it. It’s f …’ He stopped himself just in time. ‘It’s terrible. Terrible!’

  Brother Nicholas was still smiling at him.

  ‘What?’ asked Gus self-consciously.

  ‘I know it’s not easy round here, but if you keep developing and working on your gift you’ll be appreciated one day soon, I promise you.’

  ‘Not around here,’ sighed Gus.

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’

  ‘Do you know something that I don’t?’ asked Gus.

  ‘I know that every challenge contains the seed of its own solution, Gus.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Gus, disappointed.

  ‘This is an opportunity for growth.’

  ‘Half a metre and an extra twenty kilos would be good,’ muttered Gus darkly.

  ‘I mean spiritual growth. In the meantime, as a token of my recognition of your talent and hard work …’

  Gus grinned.

  ‘I’ll take the sandwich.’

  Gus handed it over, much comforted. The bell went for fifth period. Brother Nicholas patted him on the shoulder and gave him a push.

  ‘If anyone asks, will you say you confiscated it?’ Gus teased.

  Brother Nicholas raised his hand in farewell as he walked away and Gus climbed the stairs to his locker feeling a little better.

  2. Traditional Australian

  ‘The guy’s obviously a dickhead,’ said Gus’s older brother, Luke, that night at the dinner table, out of the blue. ‘Everyone knows that, Gus. Try not to worry about it. Just lie low until he gets bored.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Gus’s mother, Dior.

  ‘No one,’ said Gus quickly.

  ‘This dickhead at school who’s been giving Gus a hard time,’ replied Luke.

  ‘How would you know, anyway?’ asked Gus hotly.

  ‘We go to the same school, remember?’

  That meant even the Year Twelves had heard about his sausage-roll humiliation.

  ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘It’s just boring, seeing you so down,’ said Luke.

  ‘I’m not down!’

  They all paused in
their eating to give him a look. Gus rolled his eyes and fell to buttering his bread with great concentration.

  ‘How about if I ask Groink to have a word with him?’ asked Luke.

  ‘No!’ shouted Gus, terrified. Getting his big brother’s friends to sort out his problems for him would only make him look worse.

  ‘Okay! Okay!’ soothed Luke. ‘It was just an idea.’

  ‘Well, I can put a contract out on him any time you want,’ said his dad, Mark. ‘Whammo! And we’ll be laying pipes over him in Pittwater Road.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  Mark was a plumber and liked to joke that he had Mafia connections because their family name happened to be Italian. The D’Agostinos had arrived in Australia from Italy over eighty years ago, and Gus often wondered how so little of their Italian-ness could have percolated through to his father or any of their relatives. Gus was the first D’Agostino in living memory to have had a clue about cooking. The only vaguely Italian thing about the D’Agostinos apart from their name was that they were all Catholic—like his mother’s family, who had come to Australia from Ireland. Apart from that Gus couldn’t detect even a hint of European-ness about them: they liked football, not soccer; they’d been the last people Gus knew to switch from blankets to doonas; and they never went to films with subtitles. ‘If I wanted to read I’d stay home with the paper,’ Mark would say. The food they ate at home certainly wasn’t Italian. Mark’s appreciation of food was minimal, while Dior’s culinary skills didn’t even stretch as far as spaghetti bolognese.

  ‘Lovely dinner, Ma,’ said Mark, scrunching up his napkin and pushing his chair back from the table.

  Work in the D’Agostino household was strictly divided along traditional gender lines: Dior did everything inside, and Mark and the boys did everything outside. Unfortunately for Dior their house was large and their garden was small. Gus knew Dior and Mark had discussed his invasion of the kitchen a number of times.

  Dior smiled in response to Mark’s compliment. ‘Gus cooked it.’

  Gus also knew that Mark wasn’t happy about it.