The Invisible Hero (3 page)

When I told Dad all this at the dinner table, he said that Machiavelli had it right. The world is divided into winners and losers. Most of the time, the winners have to carry the losers on their shoulders. ‘We pay our taxes to help the losers, so we deserve the good life we carve out for ourselves.' When I said that taxes pay for our health, education and other stuff too, Dad said that was true, but that ‘if it came to the crunch, we'd survive and the others would drown. Darwin was right. Life's about the survival of the fittest. Your Machiavelli had the theory of survival at his fingertips.'

Mum then said, ‘The fittest does not always mean the meanest and toughest, Craig. Survival depends a lot on group cooperation. You know, the tribe helping each other, sacrificing for each other.'

Dad put down his wine glass with a bit of a thump. ‘Fran, my dear, let me paint a picture of what tribal survival is about. Look at this family,' he said waving his arm round our massive dining room with its chandeliers. ‘I go out hunting and gathering, risking my neck every day in the courtroom, providing a lifestyle for you all that's second to none, and you assist me by bearing my children, running the house, going to tennis, having your little coffee mornings and whatever else you do in your spare time. I appreciate you, we all do, but you know nothing about survival.'

So that's got me thinking. If survival is the key to the game,
then Machiavelli is a hero. Out of our class, there'd be only a handful of true survivors. There's my buddy Sam de Grekh – small and sharp-toothed like a terrier that goes for your ankles. Ace at soccer. Always has a witty comeback that just slays the class. There's Genelle Wotton, the hottest chick in Year 9, who rules the girls. And there's Charlie Cheung, tall and cunning.

And talk about being a winner, I've just been re-elected class Captain for this term. Third time in three years. My ‘softening up' techniques to get the kids to vote for me work well. And I suspect there's a bit of string pulling from Quayle. He's told me I have ‘leadership potential'.

So now to Canmore and Quayle's next question: Define ‘villain'. If you think about Machiavelli, you can see some people think he's a hero (like Dad) and other people (like Mum) reckon that being manipulative is wrong. Maybe there's no such thing as right and wrong, just the way you look at something. I mentioned this to Dad and he said, ‘Spot on, son. It's called moral relativity. Everything's relative.'

Let's take Genelle as an example. She's gorgeous. She's a woman already – all curves and lots up top. And she's mine. Result – the group she hangs out with thinks Genelle is their role model; they do their make-up and hair like her and dress like her. Then there are the girls who don't belong to Genelle's group, (apart from anything else, she won't let them), and to listen to them talk, you'd think my woman was a she-devil. Relativity.

I'm beginning to wonder if us humans make too many excuses about our weaknesses. We try to explain and wriggle away from any guilt over the weak things we do. I'm still gobsmacked by that David Sharp story. Apparently he was dying because he ran out of his oxygen supply after he reached the summit of Everest. One of the trekkers who found Sharp did radio his expedition manager to ask what to do, but the answer came back, ‘You can't do anything. He's been there a number of hours without oxygen. He's effectively dead.' So the trekker and his party just moved on. And some other Aussie climber said, ‘...it was a hopeless situation. Some might judge it as being callous, but at another level, it was just reality.'

So is ‘reality' another word for ‘stiff luck if you want my help to survive, because I just don't have the time to help?' And would I have moved on without questioning that manager? Are some of us maybe too scared to question the people who rule over us? I'm definitely scared of Mr Quayle. He's built like a Sumo wrestler. His beer gut hangs over his belt. He has big hands with fat fingers. When he points at you, it feels like there's a gun at your head. In his class, I just mind my own business and keep my head down. I'd shrivel up if I got the sort of tongue lashing he deals out to some of the other kids in the class. Phil for instance. And that new girl Raph. I think Mr Quayle would even have a real go at Mrs Canmore if she wasn't as strong as she is. He uses a different method with her – cold and superior. But Mrs Canmore acts like she doesn't notice and just stays her polite, cheerful self.

Just came across more info on the David Sharp tragedy. Some New Zealander called Phil Ainslie who's a scientist and mountaineer has spoken out against all the excuses being made about leaving Sharp to die alone. He says it might have been possible to revive Sharp with bottled oxygen and then get him to safety.

When I told Dad tonight, he said he clearly remembered Sharp's death from a few years' back. ‘Sir Edmund Hillary, the first man ever to get to Everest's summit, was really upset by it all,' said Dad. ‘He was in his late eighties the year poor David Sharp died and he called all those others climbers
callous.
He said his own expedition back in 1953 would never have left Sharp.'

Dad then suggested we google Edmund Hillary and sure enough, there were Hillary's comments about it all: ‘We were very much aware of our responsibilities.'
Responsibilities.
There's an old-fashioned idea. And Hillary also said, ‘It was wrong if there was a man suffering altitude problems and was huddled under a rock, just to lift your hat, say ‘good morning' and pass on by.' That sums it up. No grey for that old Hillary bloke, just plain black and white
wrong.

It's kind of a relief to read what Hillary said. Now I definitely want to find myself a heroic adventurer who sees people as more important than conquering something.

I fownd the new gerl cryng in the libry today her gold here hangng down her face pertending to reed a bok I sed Raphel wots up and she sed nothing. But I new it was not nothng and I sed I no you shud not be seen talking to me or yul be pikd on more but mebe I can help and she sed I don't hav a singl frend her and I hav ben her 2 weeks and nun of the kids in the clas wil tork to me an I don't know wy I efen tryd to help with the sosag sizl but Gnel sed we don't ned you.

Raphel lookd at me so sadly that my hart twsted. I sed I think I no why. Tel me she sed. I sed Il tel you wot I no but it mite not help. Well I sed on Tusday som of Maccas mates chukd my lunch in the bin and they got cort becos sumone saw and told Mrs Canmor and they are getting an Afta Scol becos she ses shes sik of bulling and sumwun els told Macca it was you who dobbd.

I never did sobd Raphel.

I no I sed, I think it was a techer who saw.

I wontd to hold her han to cumft her but was scrad she wudnt wont that and I sed it dosnt help if peple see you and me lik this ‘cos im bottom of the pil and that's bad luk for you and theyl think your my frend and you rarly did dob so Im goin to pertend I haf no tim for you ether but I do and if you ned my help in eny way ill be ther for you. Then sum one workd down the stak we wer crowching in so I got up and lef.

And al this dos mak me think about why god peple can haf such pane and bad peple sem to win. It maks bein a hero very hard and sumtimes not seeming to be worth it. But wen I sed this
to my Nan she held her thum and indeks finga up abowt harv a centmetr apart an slow an strong she sed evn if ow efots only mak it this much beta it is stil werth it.

Wen I went to bed I thort abowt wot Nan sed and how she took me on afta my mum dumpt me as a baby and went of with anotha man an how nowon new who my dad was but evn tho Nan was 67 yrs old she neva thort twise about having anotha baby to lok afta. And now Nan is 82 with varcos e vains and a limp and fingas notted with artheritis. I usaly chek on her a cupl of tims at nit as wel as urly in the morwning.

Sumtimes wen I fers chek erlear in the nit, Il see Nan in her Dresing goun nelin by her bed. Shel be saeing her prayrs, her worn-out hans prest togetha, jus lik Cristofa Robn dus in that peom. Later wen shes aslep she lays on her bak her flowree flanlet nitee butnd to her nek an wen she breths her lips suk in and owt. On her bedsid tabel are her teth smilng in a glars of wortr.

Nans my hol famly wrapt up in a tiny litl bird body. And she stil tells me Im the best thing that hapnd in her lif. Wel that's brav of her to say that becos I came with problems lik my heering and dislexa. Wen I wos 7 they fownd owt I had bad hering wich maks the dislexa wurs.

But its not just me Nan is an angle to. Enywun wot coms thru her dore is welcome. And I meen enywun. We liv in a subub with lots of migants and refgees. In owr nayborhod ther are Seecs, Surbs, Crats, Nigerans, Selankns, Afgans and Iraks. Ther mite be efan mor then that. Nans got to no sum of them wen she warks to the shops. Shes the sort to stop and chat to peple wen there in ther frunt gardns. She ses kwit a fu of them fel los and lonely.
Sumtim she drops of a meel if summon in the famly is sic. And she helps them up at Cenlink. Evry so ofn on a Friday nite our kichn is wal to wal with pepl.

The Friday nit thing begun with Mr Rajdra Sing abowt three yers bak. Hes a Sik. He emgratd from the Punjab in Inda with his wif Sngeta and his sun Pardeep. Rajdraan an Sangta are both medcal sintists. They haf imprtant jobs werking for the govment. Rajedra wers a turbn. On the day Nan met him, hed had a scaree note in his leter box caling him ‘an efn terist'. Who ever had seen him in his turbn mus haf mudld him up with Osma ben Ladn and didn now that Siks beleef in tolrans of all faeths as well as the equlity and brutherhood of all peple. Enyway, Rajdra wos staning nex to his letrbox clutching that letter and loking very worit and sad wen Nan warkt past. Nan invited him and his famly home for a cup of te.

The Sings were stil siting ther torking wen I warkt in form skol. I member thinking that some sort of Indan royl famly must haf visitd. Mr Sing lokt hansum in his royl blu turben and Mrs Sing lokt like a prencess from a Bollywood flim – Drop-ded gorgus in fac. Pardeep wos abowt six then. His here was in a litl topknot tid up in a skarf. Rajdra was telng Nan abowt one of the Seek heros.

It is sutch an increble store Ive neva fogotn it and enyways I get Mr Sing to tel me bits of it agen and agen.

Abowt threhunred and fifty yers ago ther wos this very wis Seek man calt Guru Teg Bahadr who livd in the Punjab (witch is up the nawth part of Inda and Parkstn). Efan tho the guru was not Hindu, a hol lot of Hindus trafld along way to the guru
becaos he wos good and wis and thay sed to him,
The emperor wants to kill all Hindus if we don't convert to Islam. Ples help us.

Now Guru Teg Bahadr knew vrything abowt the empror, Aurangzeb. The empror wos a bad leDr His parens mus haf ben ashamd and terfide of him. This empror might efan hav ben naster then Hitla cos he kilt his 2 borthas and his fartha. But stil the guru went to the empror and sed sumthing lik
Evry bode on erth has to obay God. If God alowt mor then won relign in the wolt, then its not for you to chang thet. The Hindus haf the rite to haf ther relign. Do wot you wont with me.
So the braf guru was beheded.

Can you magin that? Been put to deth for sumwun els beliefs. That rely is a hero.

Enyways, a fu days afta having afternon tee with us, Mr Sing and his wif brought Nan a luvly gif of a butiful antic box inlayd with mother of purl that had ben in the Sing famly a long, long tim. Nan had a pot of soop on, so the Sings stayt for dinner. Mr Sing sed that, apart from being envitd to his Australan boss home, it was the firs tim in thre yers living in Australa that they had ben invited to share a meel with Australan neybors.

That got Nan thinking. She durcid to casonly haf a soop nite for pepl in the neyborhod lik the Sings. Thes nits are lik the Nited Nashons. Nan coocs hug pots of soop and baks her on bred. And enywun is welcum. Shes a reel god cooc and can make sumthing from nothing.

The Sings are lik famly now, so ther alays ther on soop nits and we get invitd to ther plac alot. Wev com to love a god spisee
curee. Pardeep is now nin yers old and a genus with ches and he usualy brings a litl travl ches set with him. Ova the yers he has tort me how to play. Ow utha closast frens are the Wadi famly how are refuges form Afganstan, Taka Ko from Burma (Taka and Nan don lik the nam Minma that the miltaree govment hav givn Burma), and Ago Cejvan from Bosnea.

Esan and Rosan Wadi haf two litl gerls Glsan and Lesa, six and for yers old. At the momant Esan and Rosan are studing English. Wen ther English is god enuf, Rosan wants to become a Primry techer and Esan wans to be a lawer. He is alays saying that the Britsh legl sistem is the best in the wrold, ‘Manga Carta, Habas Corps, I love it al!' he laughs.

Towka is the yungest adolt in owr groop. Hes tweny-thre yers old, small an delcit lokin, very gental and quit – a bit too quit. He was aprentisd to his uncel how wos an ardist in Rangon. He is brilant with pensel and watercula portrats. He did one of Nan and we had it framd. He dosn speek much abowt his scape from Burma, but it had to do with govment perscushon. His a sporter of Aung Sun ... the ladee how livt for yers in her hows an was not allowt owt becos the guvmnt don lik her. Tawka spent too yers in a Ti refuge camp. He is now studing grafic desin.