Quod erat demonstrandum, ‘that which is to be demonstrated’ had been drummed into me in Year One science. The facts must be accepted as irrefutable evidence. But these results – 99.9% likely paternity – utterly unbelievable – I always wore protection!
I reread both the pathology report, and her letter. If Mum were still here, she’d skin me alive, and then pester me for details of her new granddaughter. I realise I’m humming the 23rd Psalm’s wonderful descant – when stressed, it’s always such a comfort.
There is a small photo, a petite redhead, glasses suggesting a slightly schoolmarmish young woman. She is thirty-two years old, born in November 1993. My mind swirls back.
I’d just finished Uni, living in that grungy three-bedroom flat in North Carlton, with Roberto and Stavros. There had been outrageous parties, a lot of booze, girls, music, not much sleep. I reckon I must have just met Anna! I clearly remember her insistence on the need to get out of that flat, gain some privacy, an early precondition, she said, if we were to become ‘an item’.
I remember some indignation at her ‘Terms of Engagement’; we blokes had been together since high school. I recall stringing Anna along, assuring her that I had started looking for a new rental. The parties continue: she is getting antsy, threatening. I lie: I tell her I have found new digs, but they will not be available for another eight weeks.
Jeez, there was that fantastic weekend. Late summer, we’d hired a shack. It was somewhere on the Goulburn River. There are indelible memories of sheep, green paddocks, still waters; an outdoor table setting: we all bought swags, mobs of booze and a few snags. Anna had an exam coming up. She didn’t come.
What was her name? She had red hair, a great body, just finished her Pharmacy at Latrobe and was trotting out with Roberto: somehow, we ended up in the river together. One thing led to another, swish-oh, and there it was. Roberto stumbled upon us entwined, asleep, compromised. He was furious, and drove back to Carlton that afternoon, alone!
I tried to explain to Roberto that it’d been a ‘spiritual, preordained encounter’: the green pastures, the river, I was being led: there was nothing personal. It took years to achieve a reproachment!
I move out, and then in, with Anna. We set up house in Northcote, settle down, start a family and eventually get married. Three wonderful kids, the eldest just turning 30, is about to get married.
I never did give Anna many details of that Goulburn River weekend. My memory suggests I probably fudged most of the specifics: time erased the rest.
I scrunch the pages into my pocket as I wander purposefully outside. I climb the railway embankment behind the house, following the path to the high street and its café.
I order my usual long black, dropping the scrunched paperwork into the bin. QED be buggered. Not me: no way, Gungor Din!