Pirate

I was riding home from Curtin last week when my front tyre went flat. I pushed my bike for several blocks toward the South Perth foreshore. The sun was setting and there were pretty pink clouds on the horizon. I thought there might be a public bike pump near the river, but couldn’t remember whether there was one. I considered knocking on a random door but decided against that and kept pushing my bike until I came across a big, modern box-type house on the corner, with an enormous statue of Jesus at the front, facing the street.

I’d ridden down that road a thousand times but never noticed the statue. It was nice enough in the twilight, but grotesquely big and out of place against the bland suburban facade. I had decided to take a photo of it when I noticed a middle-aged couple with a little dog standing on the footpath talking to a man who also had a dog.

‘Excuse me,’ I said, approaching the couple, ‘Would you happen to have a bike pump? I have a flat tyre.’

‘Yes,’ said the man, ‘We do.’

He was tall and broad shouldered, with a weathered, kind face, and the woman was petite, with glasses and a nice smile. They both looked to be somewhere in their fifties. ‘We’re just down this side road,’ the woman said. The man they had been talking to waved a quick goodbye.

‘Not this house, then?’ I asked.

‘No,’ they both laughed, ‘Not the statue house. Down the road’.

I was relieved. I pushed my bike as we walked, with their little dog beside us. He was a sweet-looking small dog with a long, dark grey and white coat.

‘What breed is this?’ I asked.

‘He's a Lhatese,’ the woman answered. ‘Lhasa Apso and some Maltese, supposedly.’

‘What’s his name?’ I asked.

‘Pirate,’ the man answered. ‘He’s a pirate, isn’t he!’ the man teased the dog. Pirate kept smiling and bouncing along on his furry little paws.

I made small chat. ‘South Perth’s nice isn’t it.’

‘It is.’ They agreed.

The man’s walk slowed and the woman walked ahead. He told me he’d had a back operation that hadn’t gone well and that now he suffered pain.

‘That doesn’t sound good,’ I said.

‘It’s not,’ he said, ‘but it is what it is’.

We arrived at their house. It was large and modern, with a few cars parked out front. The man opened the garage door and I could see a pair of classic GT vintage cars parked inside, along with all manner of tools and boxes.

‘He’s a hoarder’ the woman said.

The man went inside and came back with a small air compressor. He pumped the tires up while I gave Pirate a pat.

‘Well. I’m Tim,’ I said, getting ready to leave. ‘Thanks so much for helping me.’

‘I’m Ron,’ said the man.

‘Leisl,’ the woman said.

I put my ear near the front tyre to check whether air was escaping and noticed that it was already going soft. ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘It must be a puncture.’

‘We’ll give you a ride’ said Leisl. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Oh no, it’s okay.’ I said. ‘You’ve done enough ... Maylands.’

‘It’s no trouble,’ said Ron.

‘Really!? Can I give you twenty bucks at least?’

‘No, it’s fine.’

Ron secured my bicycle with ocky straps onto the trailer behind his four wheel drive. I said goodbye to Leisl and thanked her again. Ron lifted himself behind the wheel of his truck as I sat next to him.

‘Thanks again,’ I said.

Ron turned on the ignition.

‘This is good actually,’ he said, ‘it’ll give the battery a charge.’ – a generous thing to say that made me relax.

We started driving away from the house.

‘So what do you do Tim?’

‘I teach film.’ I said.

‘Do you?’ he said. ‘I was on a film shoot today. My son …’

Suddenly there was a yelp and a thud. Ron stopped the truck and we both jumped out and ran to the back of the vehicle. Behind the trailer was Pirate, howling in agony, with frightened eyes. The trailer had run him over.

‘Oh my god!’ I said. ‘Can I call … an ambulance!?’ I don’t know why I said it.

‘No,’ Ron said, ‘you can’t’. He walked to his dog, stunned, lifted Pirate into his arms and carried him back to the house.

I stood on the street with my head in my hands, feeling helpless. I walked toward the house but then stopped: I’d done enough to these poor people. I decided to stay and mind the truck. I turned its lights off and closed the doors. I considered taking my bike off the trailer and leaving, but that didn’t feel right either.

There was a wet spot on the road where Pirate must have weed. I didn't see any blood, but that didn't mean much.

A voice called out from a house across the road. ‘Was that Pirate?’ A rugged bloke in his thirties emerged.

‘Yep,’ I said. ‘I feel terrible’

‘Mate, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.’ He said and walked to Ron and Leisl’s house.

I sat on the curb and checked my text messages. There was one from a friend, Steve: ‘Swim’. At first I thought he was asking if I wanted to go for a swim, but then realised I’d told him about having a flat tyre in South Perth and he was telling me to swim home.

The neighbour came back from the house.

‘Mate, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘No. I’ll just collect my bike and go thanks.’

‘Ron gave me his keys and said to give you a lift.’

I climbed back into the passenger side. The neighbour hopped up behind the wheel, started the truck and we moved off.

The neighbour looked at me. ‘I think I know you!’ he said.

I looked back at him. I didn’t think I knew him. I wasn’t sure.

‘Yes, I know you!’ he said.

‘You’re Lexi’s boyfriend!’ I exclaimed.

‘Yep, well, ex-boyfriend.’

I remembered him. We'd met at Jun, an izukaya restaurant in the city, at a dinner for my friend Nat's birthday a year ago. That night we'd both had a bit to drink and I'd found him pretty abrasive. In fact, I'd disliked him.

‘What was your name again?’ I asked.

‘Ben!’ he said, ‘You're...’

‘Tim.’

‘Right! So what happened?’

‘I was getting a ride because my bike had a flat tyre. I feel responsible.’

‘Noooo, you can't blame yourself,’ Ben stopped the car at Canning Highway. ‘which way we going?’

‘Oh, Maylands.’ I said

‘Graham Farmer Freeway to Guildford Road?’

‘ ...Yep.’ I supposed so. My head was still reeling from the accident.

‘You know Ron and ... um’

‘Leisl, yeah they've lived across the road for years.’

‘They're good people. I like them,’ I said. ‘Fuck, that was awful.’

‘Yeah,’ Ben said, ‘Ron thought Pirate was dead but his head started moving. I told them to take him straight to the vet.’

‘I hope he's okay.’

As he drove we talked about life and all the horrible things that happen unexpectedly.

Ben told me he'd been assaulted recently by someone on the street. He and his friend Johnny had investigated screams that sounded like domestic abuse and when they intervened Ben was hit in the eye with a pool cue.

I knew Johnny too. He runs poker nights at his studio in Maylands. I'd played poker there recently and learned that Ben plays there sometimes. Johnny is the partner of my old friend Ish Marrington, who it turns out Ben knows too.

‘I've been hit in the eye before, trying to break up a fight,’ I said. ‘It sucks.’ We both commented that life was violent and unpredictable.

We arrived at mine. Ben helped me get my bike from the trailer. I asked him to give my best to Ron and Leisl and to ask after Pirate. I thanked him and we gave each other a hug. He drove off and I pushed my bike down the alley to my house thinking about all the good Samaritans that make the world go round.

I left for Sydney that night for a close friend's funeral. A scaffold had failed on a worksite in the eastern suburbs. My friend had fallen and died from head injuries. I spent a week with friends and his family reminiscing. It wasn’t easy but it went as well as funerals can.

I returned home Sunday night and yesterday decided to ride my bike over to Ron and Leisl’s house to check up on Pirate. I parked my bike out front, took off my helmet and knocked on the front door. A young man with a handsome, honest face answered.

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Is Ron or Leisl home?’

‘They are,’ the young man said. ‘I’m not sure what they’re doing at the moment.’

‘Um,’ I forgot how to speak for a second. ‘Your dad was giving me a lift the other night when your dog was run over. How is Pirate?’

The young man’s eyes softened and he breathed a sigh. ‘Pirate passed away.’

‘I’m really sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m Tim.’

‘I’m John,’ he said. ‘Hang on. I’ll just get them.’

John left the doorway briefly. I heard voices. He returned.

‘Come in,’ said John, opening the door. ‘Pirate was 15 years old and his hearing wasn’t so good anymore. We think he didn’t hear the truck.’

This made me feel a bit better.

John led me into a large living area with an open glass view to a green backyard. Ron and Leisl joined us. I told them how sorry I was to learn that Pirate had died. They thanked me and explained that he’d passed away shortly after Ron carried him inside. His head had moved around, his eyes had found Ron and then he’d died.

Ron offered me a coffee and I accepted. Leisl scolded him gently for preparing instant and she took over and made me a flat white. We sat and talked. I learned that their son, John, is a talented filmmaker, currently completing a film degree at Curtin. I also learned that Ron had lectured at Curtin University in the 80s in graphic design, and had had some books published.

Leisl left to meet friends and John went back to edit his film. Ron and I finished our coffees and talked some more. I asked him about the cars in his garage. He showed me. They were classic GTs restored to mint condition. Ron told me about a collision he’d had with a drunk driver twenty years ago which had sent him to hospital with permanent spinal injuries. For three years he couldn’t walk. During this time he and Pirate had become best buddies.

I told Ron that I’d recently lost a friend and we talked about grieving. Ron told me that one of his closest friends, who had also been his tenant, had recently suicided.

An old tabby cat walked into the room and meowed.

‘He misses his friend,’ Ron commented.

I asked Ron to send me a photo of Pirate.