The screech of the
electronic doors closing sounds and the train pulls out of the station. Like
everybody else in this carriage my brain is locked in a void and my nose is
streaming. I sat back and absorbed the smells and unhappiness. Charles Dickens
would have recognised this odour of the streets. I felt quite at home myself. As it happens, I
have been reading 'The Lost Books Of The Odyssey' a remarkable take on the
Greek saga. I also memorized every station between Flinders Street and
Frankston.
Eva wasn’t
impressed by my recall. “When did you become such an arsehole?”
I gave a little laugh. Eva is
26 years old. She was eight years into an Arts degree at Melbourne University and got knocked up. She is a
regular customer. Who could make sense of that? I joked that I had Stockholm
syndrome; I had come to love my clients regardless of non-payment. I gave Eva details on why she’s an
angry person who has to accept this and be patient and let her feeling
of anger pass. To illustrate my counsel I tell her the story of Odysseus. How
Odysseus understood how weak human will-power actually was when he asked his
crew to bind him to the mast while navigating beside the sirens.
Willpower was something you can
never have enough of?
Eva sat scowling and jabbing her
arm repeatedly with a fountain pen till she drew blood. I grabbed the pen from
her. I draw the line at self-harm.
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