The Infernal Optimist Read Online Free PDF Page A

bullshit, but it was serious bullshit. Me lawyer, Mr Gubba, explained all this to me the next morning. We was sitting in a small room in a demountable what was next to the Visiting Yard. He wore a posh suit. He had dyed blond hair what was blow-dried and a tan what had to be from one a them solipsariums. He charged by the minute and spoke slower than anyone I ever met.
    Gubba told me that he was gonna appeal me deportation orders to the AAT, what stood for Administrative Appeals Tribunal. The AAT had the power to overturn the decision by the Department of Immigration and Multicultural Affairs, what was called DIMA. He told me the AAT was like the RRT for asylums and the MRT for visa overstayers what stood for Migration Review Tribunal.
    Them alphabets was just one part a the Villawood language, what be English made up a all the accents anddialogues what people speak in them own countries plus what the officials be on about. I was getting pretty fluid at it.
    Gubba told me that they used to apply five-oh-one only to people what committed fully serious crimes. They started using it for small fries like me in the mid-nineties. He said that he was gonna raise this in the appeal. He was also gonna argue that if they was that worried about me, they shouldn’t a let me outta prison. But I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea to say that.
    ‘So when’s this appeal gonna happen, mate?’ I asked Gubba.
    His shoulders went up and down. ‘Maybe a month.’
    ‘A month! Every day in this place is like a year, I swear. Look at me—it’s only been two weeks and I’m dying in here, mate! Look at me!’
    He looked at me. ‘Nice watch,’ he said after a minute. ‘I used to have one just like it.’
    I didn’t wanna ask what happened to it. ‘Here, take it,’ I said, unfastening the band. ‘Just get me outta here.’
    He gave me a smile what was on his mouth but not in his eyes. ‘Keep it. I don’t have any magic formula for getting you out, watch or no watch. However, there is something called a Bridging Visa.’ He explained that that’s a visa what they can give you so you can get outta detention while they process your case. A Bridging Visa required a bond, but the amount was different from case to case. Gubba said it might be a couple a thou, but he couldn’t say for sure.
    We filled out the forms for the appeal and the Bridging Visa.
    ‘As for my fee…’
    ‘Speak to me missus,’ I said. ‘She’ll fix you up.’ She’d be fixing me up too when she realised how much he cost, and that she was gonna have to raise a couple a thou for the bond too, but I didn’t wanna think about that. ‘And what she can’t do, just put on me tab.’
    After me meeting with Gubba, me head was full a numbers like five-oh-one and alphabets like AAT and visas what was also bridges, what was also toll roads, and they was all fighting for space in there. I went back to the room. Ali took one look at me, closed the door and pulled a joint outta the pocket of his jeans. ‘Oh, mate,’ I said.
    I remembered this thing that happened when I was in Silverwater. ‘I was sitting with Mum in Visits, feeling sorry for meself while she rattled on about how I oughta get on the straight and narrow. Why couldn’t I be like me brother Attila, what got his own shop, beautiful wife, great kids, the whole package, yadayadayada. I was feeling so accused and prosecuted.’
    Ali nodded and passed the spliff.
    ‘Suddenly, this tiny black parcel came flying over the fence. Me mum didn’t notice nuffin. She was pouring out some tea and gathering strength for a second charge. Me, I was keeping an eagle on it. It had to belong to someone, but it looked like I was in Lady Luck, cuz no one came to collect it. I couldn’t go and get it in front a me mum, and I hadda keep an eye out for the blues, but eventually I stood and stretched and bent over,pretending to tie me shoes while I scooped it up and stuffed it down me sock. Then, when Mum wasn’t looking, I