Vignette 12
Lessons I Learn from Murphy
Yesterday morning I heard a knock on the front door. “Hi. Are you going in to town today?” asked Murphy before I could say hello. “Yeah, I have to return a book to the library,” I replied.
There is no need for small talk right now because I can tell he has something on his mind.
“Would you mind picking me up a few things at Woolworths?” he asks.
“As long as you make me a list, since my memory pretty much sucks.” I said.
It is a challenge to make Eeyore smile, but I detect a small one trying to find its way out and into the world.
Murphy’s least favorite thing to do is acknowledge the fact that he is dependent upon people for getting his groceries. He doesn’t like go to town with me if I have a long list of errands, but he is less inclined to want to walk all the way there and possibly end up stuck carrying the groceries back. It is 13 mile half marathon one way to Woolies, up and down steep hills, and if you want to catch a lift you must time it for the top of the hour when bottom end folk might be driving across the island to catch a ferry. This morning he has missed his chance catching a ride with one of the commuters.
“Ricardo was supposed to bring me some milk yesterday. I wanted to go fishing but I waited all day for him. When I went down to the lodge to get a ride in, I missed them by ten minutes. People like me were born in a year that had a negative time bubble, where nothing goes right for very long,” he explains.
He is in full Eeyore mode. I know that I need to say something to break the spell.
“Just make me a list Murphy and I will pick up your groceries,” I tell him trying to sound up. Truthfully, today I want to ride alone into town because I into a good audio book and I won’t be able to listen if I have a passenger.
As usual Murphy’s list consists of milk, sugar, canned apricots and cigarette papers. Not exactly a fair representation of the four food groups but who am I to judge. I did as I was told and delivered the goods upon my return. I knocked on his door and worried that I should have contributed some healthy foods in addition to the ones on his list as I sometimes do. My mother antennae is up and going into overdrive. I tell myself to remember that although Murphy is very thin, he is as strong as two men. For the most part he gets along fine, thank you very much. I can hear him inside his little house killing aliens on his computer. Tanks and machine guns going off in surround sound. “Murphy,” I shout. “I have your groceries.”
Big heavy footsteps approached and then the door opened only a few inches. He told me before that he does this because he never knows if it might be the police and he doesn’t want to let them see inside until it is absolutely necessary. I stood there at his battered front door holding his groceries feeling a little like the anti-Santa Claus, all the while hoping that Scott’s precious ice cream is not melting up in the car.
I should have done a drop and run but Murphy says, “I have something to show you.”
“If I come in will you help me bring down the rest of my groceries?” I ask, trying to get something out of this deal.
“Yah, yah, yah,” he says. Murphy can carry all my groceries down the stairs in one trip compared to five trips that I would have to make so I am happy.
I tentatively sit down in the guest chair, a rattan looking thing that he found on the side of the road during the biannual inorganic rubbish collection. His mood has lifted since our first conversation and he asks, “Hey do you want those empty plant containers that are sitting outside your house?”
“No, you take them Murph, Scott emptied out the glasshouse over the weekend and would be glad to see them disappear,”
Murphy explains to me that this is the time of year that his cash crop needs to get underway. I don’t want to know about this in case I am asked about it at some stage by someone who I wouldn’t want to lie to. A few years ago the police arrived by boat, complete with drug dog to snag Murphy’s small cash crop. He was hauled off to jail for a few hours and ended up with community service that included having to deliver new phone books to the households in rural parts of the island. He complained for days about how hard it was.
He leads me out onto his rickety balcony. I step lightly on one foot at a time until I make it out to where he is pointing. He sees me holding my breath and says, “No worries, it’s strong as.”
I quickly have a look down at his plants one story below and say, “I bet you’d like to be able to grow those babies in Scott’s greenhouse.”
“Nah,” he says, “there’s too many people around during the summer.”
That reminds me of what it is like dealing with Murphy when he is guarding his crop at the end of the season. He thinks everyone is out to get it. One year he surrounded his patch with cactus and mean looking booby traps. A week or two before harvest, he began all night vigils that left him knackered all day. This is why I originally started secretly calling him Eeyore. He moped around feeling sorry for himself and saying, “I am sooo stressed out. I can’t wait for this to be over man, so that I can like leave my house and go fishing.” As I look down on the plants I mentally calculate when harvest time will occur so that I can book a vacation to Australia. I am thinking maybe three months from today.
Before I leap back into the house I stop and admire the huge tree that is packing on new spring leaves.
“That’s a New Zealand Oak tree,” says Murphy.
“Its leaves sure have a unique shape,” I remark.
“I took one of the acorns and started a bonsai tree,” Murphy says.
Then he shows me his awesome little version of a miniature Asian styled garden, complete with small black pebbles and little tiny water feature. The four inch high seedling is nestled into the far corner of the composition.
“I will clip the leaves and create a bonsai out of it is,” Murphy beams.
This is when I should have said, “That’s great Murphy,” and hurried out the door and back to rescue Scott’s ice cream. But nooooooo, not me. I point out to Murphy that I didn’t think that you could create a bonsai out of a huge Oak Tree.
“True?” he asks. “I wondered why it kept getting bigger.
I excused myself shortly after that and as I walked up to the car felt mad at myself for being such a know it all.
It is not my job to change Murphy. He is a unique character, kind of like a last unicorn in a way. Sometimes I think he should be living in New Foundland with the characters from The Shipping News. Murphy has taught me that I need to appreciate how funny and special he is, and understand that he may be one of a vanishing breed of people who live on the fringe of society. He is always kind to animals and generous with whatever he has. So what if he marches to the beat of a very different drummer. I can see that he does live by a code of ethics in a weird sort of way. He doesn’t steal or get violent. I know that he would protect our home if we were away. Scott and I both feel proud to call him our friend.
Later on in the day I see Murphy jumping off his balcony and running into the bush.
“What are you up to Murph?” I ask.
“I am trying to see how long it would take to gather up my crop and make a getaway if the cops show up,” he says.
This time thankfully, I just nod my head and walk away.
