The Tragic Tale of Postman Hans

During his lifetime, Hans had suffered the usual misfortunes of man, (or should one say misfortunes of persons for it could be dangerous these days not to be politically correct) both great and small, perhaps more than most. Once he had misplaced his mailbag, his letters and his bicycle, and was severely disciplined by losing five of his fifteen official State holidays that year. Since meeting Beatrice he had lost his parents and a Labrador dog as well as the Post Office equipment, so he was used to trouble, and he suffered the latest iniquity of losing his job with stoicism. We must add, however, that his parents hadn’t actually died, but had returned to Holland after forty years of happiness in Australia shortly after meeting Beatrice, his intended wife, and had forgotten to tell him until they were safely away. But not before Hans had used up a considerable amount of unnecessary pity and sorrow.

Hans was at one time beginning to wonder when his misfortune was going to end. And this is really the crux of our tale. Hans’ life reinforced the old Hindi adage ‘all is misery and despair, and then we die’. Since meeting Beatrice he had had many more crosses to bear than was normal, even for him, including lack of the usual comforts of a married man, and enforced vegetarianism. He was a man who enjoyed his marital comforts (if only there had been any) and his food, particularly meat. So he experienced some consternation when on the same day that Beatrice embraced vegetarianism, she also became an Eighth Day Adventist, and insisted that he ‘join her in joy’ as she was wont to say. She insisted that a strict interpretation of their new religion meant that they were not allowed to drink alcohol, eat meat, or listen to music; there was some doubt as to whether they were allowed to dance on special occasions. Hans was one of those rare Dutchmen who are not assertive in any way, and without saying anything, agreed with his wife’s new spiritual direction. Unfortunately his body was tending to waste away, but due to his enormous bulk no one had yet had noticed. He was also tending to get dizzy and fall over a lot, especially when bending over. His doctor advised him to keep up his vitamin intake, but couldn’t say which ones, and was too busy to look them up.

Before marrying her second husband Hans, Beatrice had been a Catholic nun in an enclosed order. But she couldn’t stand the quiet and getting up so early in the morning. On several occasions she had broken the rule of silence, shouting that her sister nuns were bitches and they could all go to hell. So at five o’clock one frosty morning an eager Mother Superior, with a rather interesting Germanic edge to her vowels, especially when screaming, insisted that Beatrice leave the order. After a meagre breakfast, she was pushed firmly through a side gate of the convent, specially constructed for recalcitrant nuns, with the curses of the ‘Little Sisters of No Mercy’ ringing in her ears as they lined up and spat at her in a symbolic religious farewell. In her worn, red hands she clutched a borrowed and battered cardboard suitcase, on which she had to leave a substantial deposit, which held all her worldly goods. It is of interest to note that the reason for her poor red worn hands was that the ‘Little Sisters of No Mercy’ were really into scrubbing. They would scrub anything and anybody for that matter, at the drop of a hat. They certainly were an order of fanatic scrubbers.

Some time later that morning, Beatrice was having a further breakfast in a long distance truck driver’s cafe, where she chatted with a truck driver who offered her a lift and so much more. That afternoon Beatrice said that God had spoken to her, and intended her to marry. It may have been the burly tattooed truck driver who set her on this new path in her life, we can never be quite sure. Beatrice never told us what went on in the cab that rainy morning with the burly truck driver from Millers Bend.

In any event it was not he who was later to legitimately enjoy what Beatrice had to offer, but an ex Catholic priest who was bursting for carnal knowledge of just about anybody after ten years of almost complete celibacy. We say almost complete because we do have to count the brief fling that he had had with the Assistant Mistress Second class of the convent of the ‘Blessed Virgin Mary of the Holy Rose of Goolawonk’ every morning after confession. And sometimes during confession, if business was slow. But the marriage of Beatrice and the priest broke down very quickly because Beatrice refused all her husband's carnal pursuits, which were, she said, acts of the devil, and didn’t he know the she had once been a nun. She added with some passion that if that sort of filth was what he expected she wouldn’t have married him and why didn’t he mention that he was a sexual pervert, she would have understood.

In great confusion, the ex priest sought help from the Catholic Church’s ‘Priestly Counselling Service’ which specialises in distressed ex priests having trouble with loss of belief in God, drinking, gambling, and women, but not necessarily in that order. But the PCS had troubles of their own regarding carnality. They were being investigated by the chapter of priests that specialises in unpriestly behaviour. The Archbishop, who was their chairperson and spiritual adviser, and the diocese secretary, a rather dishy blonde, were also being investigated about a rather messy menage a trois which involved the cathedral Dean. On top of all these goings on, the church in general was being examined, including brothers, sisters, and monks. The reason for this focus of attention was a concern about what the brothers and sisters got up to at spiritual seminars. This task was so daunting that the Federal Police had set up a special task force.

But to get back to the unlucky ex priest. The church’s counselling service suggested that as he was a male it was probably not his fault, and why not blame his lustful intentions on testosterone, as the counsellors always do. And they did wonder why he had to leave the church just for a bit of carnal knowledge. He left with the blessing of the PCS counsellor, who by the way was being investigated for confession box abuse while working. The counsellor also suggested that the randy ex priest look up a precedent in the case concerning the Archbishop of Burrabulla, who had had two sons and a vigorous sex life, kept his well paid job and his costly residence, and still wore his silly pointed hat on religious feast days. And not to worry.

During the time when Beatrice was between husbands she had flirted with that well-known philanthropic social organisation ‘The Christian Friends of the People’, known in the profession of fund raising as the scourge of the suckers. They swiftly relieved her of her life’s savings plus the divorce settlement from the randy priest, that she might get in touch with her higher feelings. They gave her a job for life; the job was touting on the streets for vast amounts of money for vague courses that would help one to lead a better life, particularly after death. But after being mistakenly arrested for prostitution she had given up ‘Christian Friendism’ and demanded her money back from the philanthropic organisation. They threw her out the door with a cardboard suitcase similar to the one rented to her by the ‘Little Sisters of No Mercy’. This suitcase, however, was of a much better quality, as the ‘Christian Friends’ were quite financial, having procured lots of donations to their cause. The Friends, in retaliation for her cheek for wanting her money back, took her, with 50 other ex friends (known in the trade as the suckers) to the local Small Claims court for money they said she still owed them

Whilst on a trip to get over her first marriage and the loss of her divorce payout to the ‘Christian Friends’ in damages and court costs, Beatrice had become fascinated by the Holly Rollers of Arkansas in the United States. But the practice of this religion unfortunately made her giddy, so she sat down, thought about it for a while, and gave it up, but not without some sadness. Moving on to Chicago, Beatrice toyed with Islam for awhile, even taking the name of Fatima el Sharut, but she decided that she didn’t like being clothed in a black sack with slits in the hood, as this was a similar garb to her nun days. And, she complained, the Muslim men sat down and ignored her while praying to Allah. She also had great difficulty in finding east once, never mind five times a day. So she turned in her prayer mat, and returned to Australia. All had not been lost however, for while she was a Muslim she learned to curse in Arabic and to spit with great accuracy.

All this gossip may seem unnecessary, but we must set the scene for the dilemma of Hans the romantic postman. It was not his fault that he had been born in Holland and therefore did not have the benefit of learning tact and good manners, which is a prerequisite for female conquest. But it does explain the small population in the Netherlands. Some might say that the arrogance of the Dutch is inherited in the genes. We think not. We are convinced it is because they are continually eating fat rich dairy products, red meat, and spit a lot, that is what makes them so unapproachable. But back to the tale. Hans had had no success with women until he met Beatrice, and little or no success even then. Of course it all depends on the criteria of success, for in moments of extreme passion it had been known for Beatrice to allow her husband a very swift caress of the right breast. But to Hans, like the unfrocked priest, success meant carnal knowledge. Beatrice, being Dutch and female, was more than a match for poor Hans, who after all was only Dutch and male, so he remained bereft.

Hans had met Beatrice at a ‘Post Office Tasty Meaty BBQ Staff Picnic’. She had thought that the picnic was a Jewish revival meeting, her latest fascinating interest being in the area of spiritual renaissance. She completely failed to notice the smell of the poor murdered pigs burning on the fire, and was practicing a Hebrew mantra that she had learned from ‘The Interdenominational Readers Manual for Beginners’. But on finding that it was the ‘Post Office Tasty Meaty BBQ Picnic’ and being very hungry, she stayed anyway and had some salad and a small coke. She was fascinated by the men, who stood with one leg on a chair, drinking beer out of plastic cups, being deliberately hearty and loud, and hitting each other hard on the upper arm. Beatrice had been in the country long enough to know that this was a way of expressing extreme affection. She was also interested in the way the men’s bellies lolled over their shorts. Hans noticed her staring at his out of control stomach and wandered over for a chat. Hans and Beatrice got on famously, and he showed her how to avoid paying for a postage stamp when posting a letter and how to tap the cradle of a public telephone with the index finger for a free call. So they got married. .

The interest in Eighth Day Adventistism and vegetarianism was a natural progression for Beatrice in her search for a life of joy and the secure knowledge of a tasteful afterlife. The secure knowledge etc must of course involve her husband, so he suffered an enforced entry into the Eighth Day Adventist Church, which is a story in itself. Hans, being loyal to his wife, accepted the rules of the church and tried to get his vitamins and satisfaction from a tasty nut cutlet. But he confessed to himself that it was never quite the same as getting your teeth stuck into a steak with maybe some mushrooms on the side.

At work Hans would frequently break his vow of vegetarianism, not to mention his religious vows, by sloping of to the staff canteen for a double bacon and egg sandwich with tomato sauce. Hans did not confess this breach of their church and Beatrice’s rules to anyone, for fear of the consequences. And by consequences we do not mean in any way conjugal ones, because Hans had never enjoyed those rights. Beatrice’s attitude towards things sexual had been reinforced by her period as a lay novice female monk of the order of ‘St Kylie of the Sacred Thing’. This was a separate episode from her time as an enclosed nun. (You will remember that she was drummed out by the Little Sisters, her habit was savagely ripped, her hair pulled, and her feet were severely trod on. This practice dates back, we believe, to the Middle Ages, and has been continued with great gusto by novice nuns ever since.) No, this was a lay order that marked the feminist religious equality epoch of Beatrice's multifaceted spiritual life.

The Order of St Kylie, as you probably know, was set up for aspiring clerics to practice their religion at home, with computers, not in a convent. The order practices equal opportunity, hence the title ‘monk’ which embraces both males and females. This is in some way similar to the modern practice of calling heroines heroes, actresses actors, and bus conductresses bus conductors. However, it is somewhat confusing when female ministers of the various religious bodies bravely break out from the traditional bonds of male constraints, and get a job as a vicar, then ruin it all by wearing the male white clerical collar, instead of a nice silk scarf, with perhaps an amusing piece of jewellery. As an aside, the Christian clerical collar can cause some confusion in the realms of equal opportunity. In the long run, however, we are told it is all for the best and who are we to differ.

We are at this juncture tempted to discuss the custom of feminists cutting off all their hair and then dying it strange colours and setting it in a kind of concrete, which may be of any colour, but many prefer blue, and strangely enough, pink. Some even put rivets in their nose and rings through their eyebrows, which is also an interesting, and one would think painful phenomenon, but not one to be discussed here. Anyway, the preference for no sexual contact at all with a fellow human being by monks of ‘The Saintly Thing’ as it was called for brevity, be it male or female, was not explained to Hans at any time, prior to or during their marriage. So Hans, since marrying Beatrice, had an uneasy feeling that he had done something wrong, but could never quite put his finger on it, and we don’t mean to be sleazy by that comment.

But, to get back to Hans’ bacon and egg sandwich. We do not refer to the nullification of conjugal rights, (which did not exist, due to Beatrice’s previous religious convictions) but rather to the dreadful punishment that would befall him in the afterlife for consuming bits of animals, with maybe a side order of really greasy chips. Beatrice had mentioned the passage in the bible that dealt with this aspect of the afterlife, which was spectacularly horrid if one broke the rules, and Hans was not impressed. Nevertheless, the urge for a double bacon sandwich, sometimes with fried tomatoes and HP sauce, could not be resisted, despite the possible dire consequences.

Hans, as we know, worked for the Post Office before it got privatised. This meant that he delivered the mail more than once a week, but not if it rained. He enjoyed pounding the pavements delivering the mail and chatting to his customers. Hans had been on the same route for many years, and chewed the fat (only the proverbial kind, more's the pity) with many of his clientele. Sometimes he talked to so many people that he was late going home to Beatrice, but it was a cross that he was willing to bear. One of his customers was Helga, a migrant from Germany. Each day at midmorning he would deliver Helga’s mail and sometimes have a cup of coffee and a slice of apple strudel. They got to know each other very well, so well in fact, that after their baby was born, Helga suddenly insisted that they must get married for the baby’s sake. Hans could not think of one good argument against this idea, not caring to mention that he was already married to Beatrice the Eighth Day Adventist, who had never believed in polygamy, even in her dalliance with Islam. And it was difficult to think at all that day, in the presence of Helga's intimidating brother Wolfgang.

He remembered the morning very well; he had popped in to deliver the mail, chuck the baby under the chin and have a cup of coffee. But Helga introduced him to her brother Wolfgang, who was sitting in the black leather lounge chair, drinking black coffee and enjoying a tasty slice of strudel. Wolfgang was very tall, with blonde hair and vivid blue eyes. He had been a member of Hitler’s SS, and was humming a tune that Hans remembered from the Second World War as an SS marching song. He could barely remember the melody, but it had a catchy, if monotonous rhythm, and was concerned with bombing the shit out of England. When Hans entered the room, Wolfgang immediately stood up and raised his arm automatically. He gave Hans a mighty hug and congratulated him on making him an uncle and indeed on Hans being a father and a husband-to-be. He also muttered something concerning the purity of race and the fatherland, but Hans didn’t quite catch what he said. He did notice that Wolfgang's eyes had become glazed and there were big Prussian tears in them, as indeed there were tears in Hans’ eyes, but probably for a different reason. It was of course necessary to arrange the wedding as quickly as possible, and Wolfgang insisted on making all the arrangements himself. Hans was very grateful to have that burden taken off his mind, and quickly expressed his gratitude to the tall German, who had started singing again, his eyes glistening and his highly polished black knee boots stamping vigorously.

Hans obviously had no choice but to marry Helga, and funnily enough, he was for a time, quite content with his new double life. Being a postman, he always had lots of overtime and was on call at the drop of a hat for any postal emergency, which meant that he was a comparatively free man, and could easily bounce back and forth between wives. Beatrice was proud of Hans working all hours, as was Helga, although Beatrice did wonder why Hans was always so short of money, considering all the overtime he was doing. She thought Hans was probably giving his overtime money to the church, in excess of the compulsory ten percent tithing, and she often swept a happy tear from her eye with her little finger, thinking of the sweetness of her husband.

The trouble started a few years later when Hans was offered early retirement. In fact the Post Office insisted on it after the government had sold it to pay off some bad debts that they had arranged for the good of the people. The government had already used up the old folks' superannuation funds for costly computer equipment from the United States that was already out of date when it eventually arrived. But they were still in debt and were forced to arrange a deal with a European consortium to hire out the Australian Water Board for mutual profits that went to France. Even this hardly covered the debt, so the government had no choice but to sell the Post Office. There were also plans to sell the Electricity Trust to Korea in the near future. There was to no explanation to the public about any of these deals, because it was all far too complicated for the public to understand.

Anyway, with the advent of private enterprise, delivering the mail was no longer a priority to the Post Office, so overtime immediately ceased. Then, when compulsory retirement came to Hans and he was not allowed to go to work at all, he was faced with a great problem. Not being a Muslim, and being pinched both financially and freedomwise, he had to decide which wife to cohabit with. After a great deal of reflection he chose Beatrice, not for any romantic reasons, for as you will remember, the reason he got into this mess in the first place was the complete lack of conjugality with Beatrice. No, it was because he feared Wolfgang would kill him if he found out that his sister was married to a man who was already married. And who wouldn’t fear Wolfgang, the tall blond fascist pig, bigamist or not. Wolfgang seemed to have taken up permanent residence with his sister. He demanded to know, in German, where Hans was all the time, which was very frightening, for we must remember that Wolfgang was an expert in interrogation. Hans was particularly intimidated when Wolfgang bounced his nephew on his knee and discussed with Helga such things as when they should enrol little Wolfie in the Australian National Front Movement. And he said it was best to keep Wolfie's little head shaven as a token of the future. And should they all not return to the Fatherland. So Hans, mainly because of his intense fear of Wolfgang, did find it easier being with Beatrice, even though she gave him no peace and made his ears hurt, and terrified him with her knowledge of the afterlife and how he was going to suffer.

So Hans decided to run away with Beatrice, where Wolfgang would never find him. He and Beatrice left the city and retired to Cowpat Road in Gumtree Gully, which is in the country, except for the payment of car registration, then it is classified as a more expensive metropolitan area. Of course the local council, contrary to the State capital, classifies the area as country so that they don’t have to provide such luxuries as roads, street lighting, clean water, and garbage collection. Such are the complexities of life in the country, but we digress.

Of course, Helga remained in her house in the suburbs with little Wolfgang and big Wolfgang. It did not cross her mind to enquire about the extremely long absence of her husband Hans, for she knew that as a postman he did have a heavy workload, and there were constant emergencies at the Post Office. And Hans hadn’t told her that he had been allowed to contribute to the welfare of the Chinese and Australian shareholders by being retrenched. Big Wolfgang, meanwhile, stamped his boots more and more enthusiastically.

Living in the country, Hans and Beatrice’s lifestyle changed, and there was much more time to study Eighth Day Adventistism, practice vegetarianism, and consider the terrors of prophesy, the afterlife, and the fiery furnaces of hell, and all that kind of useful information. After a time, Beatrice became a full-blown religious fanatic, and Hans became a boring old fart.

*****

Hans feels very confined in the country. He cannot leave his house without Beatrice getting fretful. When he does go to the capital he is worried in case he bumps into Wolfgang the fascist, especially if he is with Beatrice. When he does risk all, and goes to town on his own for the chance of seeing his son while hiding behind a telegraph pole, he has to come home full of excuses like the running out of petrol trick, or the old flat tyre ruse. The penalty from Beatrice is severe, and he is bound to be informed in great detail about his punishment in the afterlife, directly from the good book, if he doesn’t spend more time at home and attend to her. And she knows just where to look in the good book. Hans is not a happy man and often pines for the war years when he was quite young, with the Russians invading Berlin, and the burning, rape and pillage and all that.

Last week a big black car crunched up the drive and a tall blonde man with blue eyes and wearing riding breeches got out, very similar in a general way to Wolfgang. Beatrice went outside to greet the stranger and directed him to the house he was looking for, for people often get lost in Cowpat Road. Hans was hiding under the house, where they keep all manner of things that they presently have no use for, among the rampant spiders and the odd venomous brown snake. When he got out from under the house he vomited into the rose bushes for a long time; he does that at lot now. Contrary to his previous behaviour he rarely wants to go out of the house at all. He has grown a long beard and stopped having his hair cut. He has also had the windows of the car tinted black. He has changed his spectacles twice this year, been very involved in religious prophecy from an Eighth Day Adventist point of view, and has started to become pillar of the church. This is all very unfortunate, as Beatrice is studying Buddhism and has started to burn sweet smelling incense in the house, keeps hitting a large brass gong, and avoids stepping on insects.