I sit in the public bar of the Story Bridge and I look into my glass canoe, and this is what I see. It's a Coopers Pale Ale, draught frThe Glass Canoe
I sit in the public bar of the Story Bridge and I look into my glass canoe, and this is what I see. It's a Coopers Pale Ale, draught from the tap, cold, and it's cloudy, but fine. I lift my glass and bring it back down on the bar, and I watch the sediment spread up the middle of the glass and start to fall again. It's a Sunday, and the old timers' jazz band stops, thank heavens, and I see two women leave the bar and walk into the carpark. One of them is wearing a fur coat, blonde hair, bob, she looks too good for the Bridge. Richie keeps an eye on my pot, while I head out into the carpark. "You don't come here often," I say. She laughs. "That's the first time I've heard that line...how could you tell?" "I come here often and I've never seen you before...not that I wasn't looking." Later that night in bed, Wen tells me she's a futures dealer. "How are you going to deal with my future then?" She looks me up and down professionally. "Sorry, I can't give you financial advice, until I determine your risk profile." "That's easy," I say, "It's high." "Good," she replies, "So is mine." I think for the briefest of introspective moments. "So what have I got to do to establish a relationship?" She laughs. "Well, for a start, you could make a deposit into my trust account." I slide back between her arms in a bid to comply.
(view spoiler)[Post-Modern Spoiler (Utilising Second Person Narrative Mode)
I wake at 6:00am and it's still dark. Damn, it's a public holiday and I don't need to go to work. I could have got a bit more shut-eye. I reach over to your side of the bed. You're not there, but there's a handwritten note on your pillow. "Gone to gym, back at 7:30, if you'd fancy breakfast afterwards." I doze on until 7:00, when I feel the bed sheets being pressed tightly against my chest and throat. It's still dark. I suspect you're being playful, but it's starting to hurt. My grin dissipates as my eyes finally flicker open, and I see someone who is not you. I exclaim, "Judge!" He holds the sheets tighter. Then he shouts, "What the fuck are you doing in my wife's bed?" Um, um, words fail me. I'm sure he won't believe me if I say I was cleaning the windows and I suddenly got really tired. He knows I'm a defence counsel. "Get out, Graye." "I'm sorry, Judge. I didn't know..." "On your bike." "Um, I didn't ride here." He doesn't find this amusing. I can't see my clothes. They're gone. "Well, you're going to have to run home then, aren't you? Butt naked." I look at my watch. Half an hour of darkness left. I could get home, before anybody else is on the road, it being a public holiday. I catch the lift down to ground floor, fortunately nobody sees me. Then in the lobby, I notice a gold Mercedes Convertible sitting in the driveway with the passenger's seat open, facing the entry. How am I going to get past without noticing? I decide the only answer is, quickly. And I start to run, genitalia swinging like dried chillis in the wind. You attract my attention from the driver's seat. You're laughing. My clothes are sitting neatly folded in the passenger's seat. "Get in and get decent. I've got a table booked at Piaf." Confused, I ask, "What about the Judge...I mean your husband?" "Haha, is that what he said? Steve's not my husband, he's my neighbour. But he can be helpful when I need him. He has such an authoritative air, don't you think?" I look at you again. You still look amused. Your hair is beautiful. I feel like Eggs Benedict. I might even have a Bloody Mary. It's too early to go back to the Story Bridge for a beer. (hide spoiler)]
Part of the mural at Piaf Restaurant, South Bank, Brisbane
David Ireland's "The Glass Canoe" [Unburied]
"And now and then, as they drank deeply, they saw in the bottom of the glass, not the face of the man they knew, but the monster within that was waiting and all too willing to be released."
"I went to the bar to get us a small fleet of glass canoes to take us where we wanted to go. I thought of the tribes across Australia, each with its own waterhole, its patch of bar, its standing space, its beloved territory. It was a great life."
Nathan brought it to my attention and effectively challenged me to write a suitable response.
In the meantime, Praj and Lit Bug had already done wonderful responses (which I managed to read only after I had written my own).
I encourage you to read Coover's story and respond in your own idiosyncratic way.
And when you've done that, don't forget that the man who was capable of such a wonderful story already has a substantial legacy of intelligent, imaginative, playful and humorous works available for our delectation.["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>...more