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option, but she
had never had any real money of her own and a growing mound of debt
in her name simply filled her with intense anxiety. In the
meantime, Beatrice sang with David at the various pubs around
Newcastle and she had, much to her amazement, begun to gather a
battalion of fans. Luckily, the paths of Beatrice and her
tormentors had not crossed for some time.
     

     
    It was repeated
around the traps for many years, that Mark Twain, that acerbic
American writer otherwise known as Samuel L. Clemens, visited
Newcastle in 1895 and supposedly said of our dear old town,
‘Newcastle consists of a long street with a graveyard at one end
with no bodies in it, and a gentleman’s club at the other with no
gentlemen in it’.
     
    Whether this
anecdote is true or not remains a matter of conjecture. But, what
is on the public record is Twain describing Newcastle as a ‘rushing
town’. This is still true. And, yet, there are many almost secret
and slow places within Newcastle, where you can step away from the
fray. You can find your own secret alcove on some quiet beach and
spend the day lost in dreams; you can journey deep into husky
bushland to look at the birds: those modern day dinosaurs. And,
sometimes, you can sit still in the midst of crowds, in the very
nucleus of the town and be alone: still and quiet.
     
    The crowds are
not there anymore.
     
    When Beatrice
began to sing, she found that she had access to a great soup of
feelings from deep within, of: sadness, pain, longing and
melancholy. She found that she could draw upon this brew and infuse
her singing with emotion. And, she could make others feel too.
Suddenly, she could connect with ideas and thoughts greater than
her paltry self.
     
    One Saturday
evening, David and Beatrice were walking through the darkened, damp
smelling town mall, when they suddenly came face to face with Lisa
and a bunch of her friends who were staggering on breakneck heels
over to Fanny’s night club. Beatrice felt her insides plummet and
her heart begin to thrash about like a dying fish. Lisa, though,
simply hardened her face and with eyes of zirconia stalked away.
When Lisa had passed the couple and was about to be swallowed by
the night, she half turned, lit by a slash of moonlight and yelled
‘bitch’. The lone word seemed to reverberate and take flight
through the town and the night, echoing like a malevolent bird
call.
     
    Misery engulfed
Beatrice. She felt like she was looking down upon herself; seeing a
thing which was hated and despised. David won’t want to be with me
she thought.
    ‘What was that
about then?’ David asked softly, voice drenched with concern.
    Beatrice had
underestimated him.
     
    Haltingly,
Beatrice revealed to David the whole sorry saga; David was very
quiet for a long while. Then, he said slowly and with great
emphasis ‘To live is to suffer; to survive is to find some meaning
in the suffering’.
    ‘Let me guess -
Friedrich Nietzsche?’ said Beatrice quizzically.
    In mock
surprise, David replied ‘You’re catching on lass. You are indeed
catching on’
    And the
incident passed away.
     
     

Chapter
7.
     
     
    O, I am
fortune's fool! -Romeo and Juliet
     
    There are some,
like Lisa, who will say that ‘everything happens for a reason’: a
New Age interpretation of, ‘It’s God’s will’. Of course, Lisa
hasn’t thought much about her beliefs; she merely cites such
phrases glibly. After all, she is comfortable and she is privileged
and what does she know about the lives of others?
     
    But humour me
for a minute and think for a moment about that scene which just
passed between David and Beatrice. And of course Lisa. What if
David had responded by rejecting Beatrice? Or, by telling her, that
she better stay with him because no one else would want her? Such
scenes as this play out every day, all around the globe.
     
    Then, there are
those relationships where insidious violence and subtle strategies
of warfare are engaged. It is easy for some