A short story with Western Sydney, Australia as the backdrop.

1. A Walk to Japan — a short story by David Ghazawy
This Saturday morning started out like many others before it. The
chuckling laugh of a distant kookaburra made its way through the
fibro and gyprock thick walls of our house. Morning dew formed on
the lawn outside as the sun rose. It would now be almost silent if it
wasn’t for the metronomic snoring emanating from a bedroom at
the end of the hallway by my father. To say I loved these early
mornings would be a misnomer, in fact I had a lot of reasons to
dislike them, the bitter cold being the most fervent one. Tiptoeing to
the lounge room and onto the carpeted floor I sat in front of our
large Panasonic television. Strewn from the nights previous
activities lay a series of video game manuals. ‘Nintendo, the control
deck that puts you in control of incredible fun’ I whispered, eagerly
anticipating this morning electronic ritual. I simultaneously pressed
the power buttons of both the television and the control deck. The
video game, Super Mario Brothers, already inserted, powers up to
the title screen. I start playing Level one and Koji Kondo’s
Overworld Theme blares out a little too loudly over the speakers,
performing finger gymnastics I locate and dial down the volume
decrease knob. It’s hard to say when it happened, somewhere
between the countless level restarts after dying ten, twenty, forty
times, just when you think you’ve got that puzzle all figured out, a
blank screen.
The steady tick of an almost ornate clock has kept the time from
since before I was born. It is almost ornate in the sense that it is
composed of plastic instead of wood and harbours a fissure or two.

2. Eyeing the room in a clockwise fashion one gains a sense of a new
working-class charm. The three fish piece clay statues on the
windowsill, that was a two-dollar purchase from Go-Lo. The white
five hundred litre Westinghouse Refrigerator, a one-thousand-dollar
purchase from Grace Bros. As I make the final gestures to gulp down
my Coco Pops cereal I stop, think, and wonder if I had made the
right choice, it was after all binary, a zero or a one, Nintendo or
Sega. Had I chose the latter would I be in the predicament that I find
myself in now having to venture outside.
Chester Hill’s suburbanites are composed of two complementary yet
diametrically opposed groups of people. There are those like the
elderly couple next door, Jack and Mary, who have been here since
the turn of the twentieth century. I’m waving to them now as I stroll
down the footpath to our local park. Mary politely waves back, Jack
mutters something under his breath, most likely some spiel about
my pet rabbit Peter being in his garden again. The other group of
people are like Brad, housing commission residents. Brad is a
proverbial man-child with a penchant for Siamese fighting fish.
‘Morning David’ Brad yells from across the street.
‘Hi Brad’ I yell back.
‘Where are you off to this morning?’
‘Just to the park, are you fighting the fish again?’
‘Yeah, a kid two blocks away is challenging me.’

3. What Everley park lacks in a smorgasbord of amenities it more than
makes up for in sheer size, housing four fully fledged soccer fields.
In the on season there would have been the usual sideline
barracking from mum and dad fans as their sons and daughters
squared off against each other but not today, not in Summer. This
fine sunny Saturday morning is completely void of anyone. As I sit
here on the swing kicking away wood chips I catalogue what
facilities are on offer. ‘BBQ, check’ I state out aloud in a matter-of-
fact way.
‘Three picnic tables, check’ I go on.
‘Toilets, check’ I pause momentary.
‘Play equipment, inclusive of swings, monkey bars, slide and
sandpit. Check, check, check and check.’
‘Walking track… walking track? Haven’t noticed that before.’
Leaving the relative comfort and safety of the swing I move forward
to a partial opening among some trees a distance away. There are no
obligatory signs beckoning would be adventurers just a well-worn
footpath through the clearing.
The leafy green bushland lays interspersed with reflective puddles of
water as far as the eye can see. An array of stern gum trees lines
either side of the dirt pathway; from up above a canopy, half strewn
but doing enough to shelter those below from the harsh Australian

4. sun. It is not the distant chirping of unseen crickets that attracts my
attention. In front of me is a gathering of three hundred or so Skink
lizards basking dormant in the midday sun. Ordinarily I would stay
away from such potential hazards but discovering this local bush
trail near home and given this morning’s unexpected incident has
ignited in me a thirst for the unexpected, the unexplored. That these
Skink lizards are out in the open, seemingly without a care in the
world, perplexes me. Tensing, I am at the ready, rushing at the
lounging lizards I manage to reach them before they all disperse. I
am standing still now, panting loud. In the palm of my hand a warm
coil of bumpy flesh.
The fear in the Skink lizard’s eyes are palpable and it manages to
pivot its head around and bite down on my finger. I barely feel
anything except a tinge of regret. Kneeling down I lower then open
the palm of my hand letting the Skink lizard go. It scurries back into
the bush. Looking up I decide to track further in and fifteen minutes
later I come across a fallen tree with an overgrowth of orange fungi.
I recall from my science classes at school that Fungi occupy a place
separate from plants and animals, what is most telling is that even
though they are stationary like plants they digest their food using
enzymes and don’t photosynthesize. I break off a branch with a
crescent shaped like fungus attached to it. ‘This should look good by
the bookshelf’ I state, talking to myself out loud.
Walking further in, the distant background of humming cars in
traffic becomes apparent but never visible. One could be mistaken
that I had happened this trail by chance but the concrete steps, a

5. prelude to a rudimentary bridge, extinguishes that idea. As I climb
up onto the overpass and look back the thought crosses my mind
that I might have a hard time finding my way back. This thought
would have been all that was necessary for me to decide to turn back
home if it wasn’t for what I had spotted behind me in the long grass,
a red-bellied black snake. Although venomous, red-bellied black
snakes are known by reputation to be fairly docile by nature or so
states the park ranger that visited our school some months ago. I
decided not to put this fact to the test and continued further.
The passage of time is a strange thing. When you’re having fun
hours fly by like mere minutes, sadly the opposite is also true as it
was for me now with all this walking. The thirst had crept up on me
like a lioness stalking her prey in the long grass of the Serengeti. My
throat hoarse got no relief despite all the swallowing I was doing.
‘Note to self, never leave home for long bush walks without a water
bottle’ I said. The relief I felt several minutes later then wasn’t
sudden but ebbed and began to flow as my surroundings became
more and more familiar to me. I had been at the very spot I found
myself enough times throughout my life to recognise the outskirts of
Auburn’s Botanical Gardens, specifically the picnic area. With a
newfound sense of purpose, I began making my way to water.
An array of very large, red and black garden pagodas lay
interspersed in the centre of the Botanical Garden compound, in
keeping with the overall Japanese theme. I made my way past them
to the bubblers. Although lukewarm to the touch the water
emanating from the bubbler was refreshing. Like a camel preparing

6. to hoard a load for a long journey ahead I repeatedly drank and
drank, until eventually I could drink no more. Now seated and
looking down I raised my leg to tie my shoelace. My sneakers had
performed the task of getting me this far, but a pair of hiking boots
would have been more suited to the role. I was thankful at least that
I didn’t have any bumps that felt like emerging blisters. Sitting for
what may have been half an hour had a two-pronged effect, the first
was to return my body to a resting state which I recommend after
any vigorous form of activity. The second allowed me the chance to
quietly meditate on my own without the distraction of some home
comforts within arm’s reach. I would like to say what eventually got
me up was some energy I had yet to expend but in truth it was a cool
breeze that wafered in with the scent of cherry blossoms.
I made my way to the Botanical Garden’s aviary, a particular
favourite of mine as it housed birds of all sorts. The custodians had
made their species selection with very great care, looking closely one
can identify birds from the Asia Pacific Region, Australian
Rainforests and even the Outback. My favourites included the Red-
browed finch and the Pale-headed Rosella. An old man with a
walking stick limps along in the opposite direction to me and nods
as I pass by, I nod in return. After some time watching the birds
frolic and whistle about I decide to move on, I had after all had my
heart set upon visiting the lake upon getting here.
The rippling of water by tadpoles interspersed nearby hand sized
stones belies the difficulty they will have getting to adulthood.
Lurking beneath the deep water are Koi, noticeable by their white,

7. orange, and black markings as they swim to the surface from time to
time, that is if you are patient enough to sit there waiting as I am.
‘Hey! Mum’s waiting at home for you’ my sister yells. I turn my
head. ‘Did you know the bush trail leads here’ I say. My sister nods,
‘Joshua, Daniel and me have come here a few times.’ My sister sits
next to me. ‘What time did you get up this morning?
‘I don’t know, about four o’clock.’
‘Why did you get up so early?
‘Why do you care?
‘Just asking.’
My sister points to something in the distance, I look up. A
procession of men and women in suits and bridal gowns are making
their way forward across a bridge. Stepping out of the homogeneous
entourage is a woman with an oversized camera in hand, an all to
apparent photographer. She separates herself from the herd by
several meters and multiple light flashes later another moment in
time is captured. Over the next few moments the usual dance of
thematic wedding poses takes place, the bride and groom side be
side, the bride and groom embracing, then kissing, all the while
followed by more camera flashes. My sister and I eventually tire of
watching and leave the confines of the lake before it is all over.
‘What time is it’ my sister asks.

8. ‘Almost lunch time, lets go home’ I reply.
‘Ok, did you want to go to aunty Samia’s place and ring mum to pick
us up.’
‘Yeah, that will be a lot quicker and easier.’
My sister and I make our way to Auburn Botanical Garden’s parking
area, an influx of cars steadily makes their way through the
illustrious entrance as we are exiting.