On Saturday, I went to Belmont Forum with Rosie after taking her to her swimming lesson. (Which was great, by the way; the girl is a natural.) I normally quite like Belmont Forum, as it's easy to navigate and has most of what I usually require. Sadly, though, on this occasion, it also had three rather pathetic looking men handing out leaflets. Their shirts asked the rather obtuse question "Do you pay your taxes" on the front, and sported an utterly unrelated 'No Halal' logo on the back. I couldn't help but notice how enfeebled these men looked, despite not being particularly advanced in age. They looked like victims. If they were novel characters made flesh, they were, each of them, an Andy Mackillop, torn straight from the pages of Remembering Babylon, David Malouf's masterful exploration of the Australian psyche.
I shook my head as I walked past, unable to offer much of a retort. I wanted to stare them down, or shout them out of the joint, but I didn't. I just walked past. Fortunately, I saw a pair of security guards, on route to their location, with one one of them holding a copy of one of their leaflets. It did not escape my attention that one of the guards looked Middle-Eastern in appearance. I asked if they were going to move those idiots on. Yes, they replied, if they were still there. I was informed that blokes like these never stuck around for long. It saddened me that they'd seen 'blokes like these' enough times to know that. And he was right. By the time I'd returned, the men were gone. It was like they were never there.
Later that day, I needed to get a haircut. I'd planned to go to my regular barber, but they'd shut an hour sooner than I'd anticipated. So I chanced a newish one that was a bit closer to home, run by a Middle-Eastern couple. I walked in and was warmly welcomed by a middle-aged woman, who showed me to a nearby chair. The husband waved, said hello, turned down the music (which was overtly middle-eastern in nature), and resumed cutting the hair of the bloke in the chair in front of him. I gestured and said that he didn't needed to turn the music down on my account. He smiled, and said, pointing to the bloke whose hair he was cutting, that he only turned it on so 'tourists' like this would think his shop 'authentic'. I was beginning to like this place. A big screen tv was showing the cricket.
As the woman cut my hair, with considerable attention to detail, she asked where I was from. When the conversation turned to her, Iran was the answer. She'd been in Perth four years. She liked Perth, she liked Vic Park, and she liked Australia, but being away from family was hard, and that learning the language had been very hard. She cut my hair with great care, continually asking if I was happy with what she was doing. I was. Other customers came in. Some looked more like her; some looked more like me.
When I went to pay, she shyly asked if $30 was ok. For a great haircut and beard trim, it most certainly was. I also got a lolly, and a stamped card that will ensure my tenth haircut is free. And it will be. I will be back.
I couldn't help but think of the connection between this kind, proud woman and the sad, weakened men at Belmont Forum. If only those men had this woman's drive, and her gratitude. If only.
And some education certainly wouldn't go astray, either. On the back of their shirts, those men had a symbol under their 'no halal' decree. I guess they'd thought it Middle Eastern in nature when they ripped it off the internet.
If only they'd known what I do; it was the Sanskrit symbol for Om.
Comment
Share