MIS’RY IS MY MIDDLE NAME by WARREN ELLIS and JOHN ELLIS. Story by Louise Maskell

 

St Kilda, December 2, 2022.
Windsor, January 3, 2023.

Were you there, at the Palais or under the stars at Hanging Rock, when the disciples gathered to pray at the altar of Nick Cave?

Were you, with outstretched palms, reaching up to touch the greatness?

I was there, at the Palais, but in the Lounge seats. In the comfort zone.

Social media was full of images of the Great One reaching out, touching humanity.

But more mesmerising on that night at the Palais was the human contortion of Warren Ellis, doing Pilates, in a chair and playing the violin at the same time.

I reserve his book Nina Simone’s Gum at the local library.

Fast forward a month.

I finish the book – largely about the spirituality of collecting seemingly ordinary objects –  at the beach in that weird time between Xmas and New Year, when the crowds leave the city for prettier places.

A man peruses the ties at the far end of the shop.

I adjust some shirts nearby.

We chat. I offer to help.

Now this is not some hipster boutique on the streets of Collingwood.

Nor is it a stuffy menswear atelier on Little Collins St.

No, down the cheaper end of Chapel St, in Windsor, a man in shorts and baseball cap chooses a green patterned tie.

“$3.”

“Great.”

He passes me a $20 note and I give him the right change.

Then he leans over the glass-topped display cabinet to check the contents lurking below.

“Is that a nurse’s watch?”

“Yes.”

“Does it work?”

I remove the watch and its case from the cabinet. Discover the warranty still attached. And a battery.

“You might need to see a watchmaker but it does take a battery.”

“I’ll take it.”

“$12”

“Thanks.”

He passes me back some of the change I gave him moments earlier.

A few seconds pass. His gaze goes behind the counter.

To a small ornate wooden frame. And an image inside.

“Is that Mary?”

“No. It’s Jesus. It’s a da Vinci. From a museum in Amsterdam.”

“I think it’s a sign.”

He explains how he has just taken his dad for treatment at the main cancer hospital in our city. How he is in Melbourne for longer than expected, not at home in Paris.

“I’ll take it.”

“That will be $10.”

He throws in a $5 donation.

As the bearded man with the Carnage carry bag leaves the shop I think not so much of his performance at the Palais, or of his book, but of his duet with his dad, John, on a much-loved compilation CD at home.

That’s how I came to sell Jesus to Warren Ellis.

 

Stereo Story #694