The Gospel According to Luke

by Emily Maguire

  Malcolm sighed. ‘I knew you’d say that.’

  ‘You don’t agree?’

  ‘Sure, just . . . it would be a lot easier to shut up shop, go back to helping druggies or the homeless.’

  ‘It would be easier. That’s why there aren’t many of us left doing this. Everyone’s doing the easy thing. But this is worth doing, Mal. Look at that young girl yesterday, Honey. She was so lost and confused. Where would she go if not here? Who would help her?’

  Malcolm smiled. ‘You’re channelling your mother now, Ag. But I get it, you’re right, we’ll fight on. How’d it go with that poor kid, anyway?’

  ‘I got her home safely. She’s coming in this arvo to sort things out.’

  ‘I was afraid we’d never see her again after handing her to the fundies. I thought they might have stashed her away in some brainwashing chamber and refused to release her until her soul was saved.’

  ‘Ah, well, they tried to, but I fought dirty and won her back.’ Aggie felt the heat spreading through her chest, up her throat and onto her face.

  ‘Good, good.’

  ‘I said I fought dirty.’

  ‘I said good.’

  Aggie slapped Malcolm’s thigh. ‘Mal! Pay attention! I’m saying things got dirty. Me, Luke, a month’s worth of simmering passion.’

  Mal raised his eyebrows. ‘Go on.’

  Aggie told him everything that had happened yesterday. She hesitated before divulging the full details of the encounter on her desk, but decided that Malcolm could do with some smut on a day like today.

  ‘Aggie!’ Malcolm jumped to his feet. ‘Here, on this desk?’

  ‘Right about where you were sitting, actually.’

  ‘Ugh! Excuse me while I go and bathe in disinfectant.’

  ‘Mal, I’m so rapt in this guy I can’t think straight. I know it won’t be easy, but –’

  The phone rang. Her hand shook as she lifted the receiver.

  ‘It’s me,’ Luke said before she’d gotten out a word.

  ‘Hi, you.’ Her insides went squishy at the sound of his voice. ‘Busy morning, huh?’

  ‘Yes. Can I see you?’

  ‘Of course. I thought tonight we could –’

  ‘No. Now.’

  ‘I don’t really have time right now. Mal’s received death –’

  ‘It won’t take long.’

  The squishiness in her gut turned to nausea. ‘What won’t take long?’

  ‘Can you just come over here?’

  ‘No, tell me now. What?’

  Silence.

  ‘Luke? Sweetheart, please, I –’

  ‘I can’t see you anymore.’

  Aggie closed her eyes. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Luke, please –’

  ‘God bless you, Aggie.’

  God bless you, Aggie.

  ‘Aggie, damn it. Get over here.’ Aggie concentrated and managed to bring Malcolm into focus. He was very pale and breathing hard. ‘Look,’ he said.

  Aggie looked out the window she’d had replaced yesterday and cleaned today. A white van was parked in front of the clinic and on its side was a billboardsized poster of a dismembered foetus. On the footpath between the van and the clinic stood a man with a megaphone, a girl of about fifteen holding a stack of pamphlets and two women holding posters of bloodied babies’ skulls.

  Aggie looked past them to the figure watching from across the road. Orange shirt, blue jeans, brown hand massaging a smooth forehead and brushing aside dark curls. Aggie lifted a hand; he turned and went inside, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Right.’ Aggie took a deep breath. ‘Right then.’

  Mal put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

  She nodded, watching the man with the megaphone. He tucked a handkerchief into his pocket, checked some detail with one of the women, nodded and passed the information on to the young girl.

  ‘Citizens of Parramatta be warned,’ boomed the man.

  ‘Mal, call the police. Tell them there’s a fight.’

  ‘What are –?’

  ‘Call them now.’

  22.

  Luke had just got off the phone from Pastor Riley when Greg came and told him that the protest across the street had been on the six o’clock news. A man had been treated at the scene for a bloody nose and split lip. An unnamed female employee of the clinic had been arrested over the assault.

  Greg cracked his knuckles. ‘Does that mean Aggie?’

  ‘I assume so.’

  ‘Gosh. Have you talked to her?’

  ‘No.’ Luke pressed his fingernails into the tops of his thighs.

  ‘They haven’t locked her up, surely?’

  Luke had been thinking the same thing. He shrugged.

  ‘I don’t reckon they would.’ Greg cracked his knuckles again. ‘I broke a bloke’s nose in a pub brawl once, and they never put me in a cell. They just took prints and got me to sign something and told me to get lost. I expect that’s what they’ll do with Aggie.’

  Luke continued gouging holes into his legs. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘So, ah . . .’ Greg rocked back and forth on his heels. ‘Are you . . . are you going to see if she’s okay?’

  ‘I’m sure she’s fine.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Greg, sit down a minute.’

  Greg sat down across from Luke. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I just talked to Pastor Riley. He’s given us the go ahead to use the Caring for Our Community fund to support Honey through her pregnancy. Sixteen is the age of legal emancipation so we don’t need parental permission, but we do need to get some kind of contract drawn up, saying she’s under no obligation except to abide by the rules and principles of the NCYC for so long as she is staying here, and outlining what we agree to be financially responsible for. I want you to work with Kenny on this. Get it to me by twelve tomorrow so I can run it by legal and have the whole arrangement finalised by tomorrow afternoon. Okay?’

  Greg stared.

  ‘Problem, Greg?’

  ‘Nah, nah.’ He shook his head. ‘No problem. Consider it done.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Greg nodded and headed for the door. When he got there, he turned and screwed up his face. ‘Ah, Luke?’

  Luke pretended to be already absorbed by something on his desk. ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Do you think Aggie –?’

  ‘Aggie Grey is no longer welcome here. Tell the others. No phone calls, no visits.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Get to work on that contract, please.’

  When Greg had left the room, Luke went to the window and looked out at his favourite oak tree.

  Dear Lord, Thank you for giving me the strength to turn away from the one who caused me to sin against you. Thank you for sending Honey and her precious child and allowing me the honour and privilege of introducing two more souls to your glorious Kingdom. I thank you for all you have given me in my life, and because I know you are great and good and endlessly generous, I dare to ask you for more still.

  I ask that you lift the blindness which your enemy has inflicted upon Aggie. I ask that you create in her a hunger for your Word. I ask that you send your strongest labourers to her, so that she receives the Gospel from those who are not at risk of being drawn into sin, and are not at risk of contributing further to her sinfulness. And I pray, dear Lord, that you provide her with the armour to repel all attacks on her by those here on earth who would harm her. I ask you to protect her from those who would end her life before she has given it to you. I ask you to keep her safe until her eternal life is ensured. Dear Lord, I pray these things, knowing that you have a plan greater than I can conceive, and trusting that you will, in your way, in your time, ensure the salvation of Aggie Grey and therefore her place in your Kingdom. Amen.

  Luke explained to Honey that she would have to study the Bible at least two hours a day, take part in all age and gender appropriate NCYC activities and contribute to the
household chores along with the live-in staff. When she felt ready, she would dedicate her life to the Lord Jesus Christ in a private ceremony, and give her testimony in front of the Christian Revolution Church in the city.

  ‘What if I never feel ready?’

  ‘I believe you will. God has brought you here for a reason; I don’t think He’ll let you leave again without opening your heart to him fully.’

  Honey nodded.

  ‘And, Honey,’ Luke went on, ‘it is very important that you don’t have any contact with the father of your baby, at least until after the birth. I’m going to see about getting approval to home school you. How does that sound?’

  ‘Fine with me. Steve’ll probably hold me down and kick me in the stomach if he knows I’m still knocked up. I think it’s better he doesn’t know I’m here. Or my mum. I don’t want her to know either.’

  Luke smiled at that. ‘I don’t have any problem with that at all. Completely removing yourself from the people and situations which led you to where you are today is the only way you’ll be able to move forward. This is your home now, and we are your family. All of us. From now on, no one is going to beat you or assault you or seduce you. No one is going to manipulate you into doing something you don’t want to. You’re safe, and so is your little one.’

  The answering machine message light was blinking when Aggie got home just after midnight. She showered and washed her hair and dressed in clean pyjamas and made a cup of tea and two slices of vegemite toast and ate them and washed the plate and cup, all the while seeing the flashing red light in her mind. She went to the machine, staring at it as though it could possibly give her a clue. If it wasn’t him . . .

  Her hand shot out and slammed down the play button, before she could turn over the implications for the thousandth time. The crackling of a bad connection filled the silent house, she thought of Luke’s mobile phone – orange, with yellow sunbursts and a Jesus Loves Me ring tone – and imagined his face scrunching up with concern as he realised she was not at home.

  ‘Aggie, it’s Carrie. I called you at the office and Malcolm told me there’d been some dramatic scene involving dead babies and megaphones and swinging fists and ending in you being carted off in chains. Malcolm said you were fabulous and I believe him and he said I was not to worry about you and so I won’t. Rosa and I just got into the country. We’re in Alice Springs, which is why I was calling in the first place, because we’re heading into the interior and Goddess only knows when we’ll emerge. Anyway, darling, stay strong and I’ll call you when I return to civilisation.’

  The machine beeped. The light had stopped flickering. It was dark and silent and cold. ‘Love you, Mum,’ Aggie whispered. ‘Love you, Dad.’ She pressed her head to the wall. ‘Love you, Luke.’ She went to bed.

  Part Two

  23.

  Honey sat at the window of her room pretending to read her student Bible, but really watching the back entrance of the main building. The routine was the same every day. Luke was always first up, striding across the lawn whistling or singing. Then Kenny would jog out of his apartment and head off down the slope, returning to his room exactly forty-seven minutes later, then re-emerging, shaking his wet hair, nine minutes after that. Belinda usually went in to breakfast not long after Kenny left for his run, and Leticia soon after he returned. Greg was always last. His cabin was next to Honey’s and he always tapped on her glass and smiled when he passed. Most days his hair was ruffled and sleep crusted up the corners of his eyes.

  Once they were all inside, Honey put on her shoes and coat, slipped a cigarette and lighter into her pocket and crept out of her cabin. Then she ducked around the back, leant against the wall and lit up. It was blissful. She knew it wasn’t good for the kid, but it was nice to stand out in the crisp early morning air and suck that soothing smoke down into her lungs. Anyway, she hardly smoked at all. Just one before breakfast and another before bed. How much harm could two little cigarettes a day do? Honey’s mother had smoked the whole time she was pregnant and Honey had turned out okay.

  She finished her cigarette, squatted down to grind it out into the concrete at the base of the wall, and then buried the butt under the bark of the border garden. She remembered how a couple of years ago when her mother and Muzza had first got together, she’d been sent to stay at her Grandma’s in Auburn for two weeks so the happy couple could have some ‘grown-up time’. Honey used to smoke behind the house and throw the butts into her grandma’s orchid garden. One morning, her Grandma went to water her orchids, saw the butts and blamed it on the black kid next door. Honey, sick to death of her Grandma’s Hansonist rants, pointed out that the butts were stained with red lipstick. Grandma screwed up her face, marched next door and accused the poor kid of being a cigarette-flicking-orchid-killing-black-bastard-transvestite. After that, Honey made sure to bury the butts carefully.

  She stood again, ready to face her morning bowl of All-bran with calcium-enriched milk, and looked right into the sleepy eyes of Greg.

  ‘I thought you stopped smoking.’

  ‘I did.’ Honey met his raised eyebrows with a smile and a guilty show of hands. ‘Well, almost totally. Don’t tell Luke?’

  Greg bit his lip. ‘Honey, you’re asking me to lie.’

  ‘No, not a lie. Just don’t volunteer the information. For his sake.’

  ‘For Luke’s sake?’

  ‘Yeah. You know what he’s like about this baby. He worries so much.’

  Greg lowered his head and mumbled something into his turtleneck.

  ‘What?’

  He looked up and cleared his throat. ‘He’s not the only one who worries.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘I worry about you, Honey.’

  ‘Um, thanks.’

  Greg mumbled into his jumper again.

  ‘Okay, so, ah, we better go in, eh?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Greg bit his lip and rocked back on his heels.

  ‘Look, if you feel you have to tell –’

  ‘Nah, it’s not that. Just, ah, I actually came out here looking for you.’ He swallowed three times, hard. ‘I can hear you crying at night.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Not that I listen in, just that our cabins are so close, if the window’s open . . .’ He patted her shoulder. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Honey laughed. ‘Apart from being alone and pregnant at sixteen, you mean?’

  Greg frowned. ‘You’re not alone.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I have you and Luke and everyone. I just meant . . . I’m alone with the baby. At night, it’s just me and the kid.’

  ‘And Jesus.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, of course.’

  ‘Honey, if you need someone to talk to, I mean, apart from Jesus, I, ah, I’d be happy to listen.’

  ‘Thanks, really.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Let’s go eat, hey?’

  In the kitchen, Luke was telling everybody his idea to start a support group for pregnant teenagers. He’d got the idea after he went with Honey to the obstetrician the day before.

  The receptionist had been all snooty, shaking her head and muttering under her breath when she read Honey’s age off the form. Then in the waiting room, two women about Luke’s age had a really loud conversation about how disgraceful it was that teenage girls got themselves into trouble and expected taxpayers to support them. Luke told them that he, not the government, was supporting Honey, but that made it worse. ‘The Arabs like them young so they’re easier to control,’ one whispered loudly, and the other one nodded and shook her head at Luke and Honey.

  Dr Lovell didn’t believe that Luke was not the father. When Luke insisted on leaving the room during the internal examination, the doctor laughed and told him they wouldn’t be there if he’d been so shy in the first place. Luke took several deep breaths, patted Honey on the head and walked out of the room.

  The doctor told Honey to relax. She closed her eyes and remembered all the hands that had touched her where the doctor was touching her; she started with Steve and worked backwards
to her first step-father.

  Luke returned for the ultrasound. The sonographer asked him if they wanted to know the sex of the baby. Honey said ‘yes’ and at exactly the same time, Luke said ‘no’ and they all laughed. ‘Dad says no,’ Dr Lovell said, and that made Luke turn really red. ‘No, I’m sorry. It’s up to Honey. It’s her baby.’ Dr Lovell shook his head at the sonographer and frowned, like he was annoyed at Luke for saying that. ‘Tell me, please,’ Honey insisted and the doctor shrugged and said she was going to have a son.

  In the car on the way home, Luke apologised for the receptionist and the women in the waiting room and the doctor. He told her he had never considered how tough this sort of thing was for girls in Honey’s situation. He wanted to start a group for pregnant teenagers to come and discuss the problems and issues they faced, and to build strategies to deal with discrimination and prejudice. They could invite experts – doctors, midwives, financial planners – to come and speak. As babies were born, a group for new mothers would be created, while the old group would, sadly, continue to take in new girls.

  The staff were not so keen. Belinda was worried about the message they’d be sending by being seen to encourage teen pregnancy. Kenny and Leticia objected to the centre running groups without worship or Bible study aims. Greg was worried that controversy caused by the program would cause parents to withdraw their teenagers from the centre.

  ‘Come on, guys!’ Luke pushed his half-eaten cereal away, his face glowing. ‘I thought we were revolutionaries? I thought our mission was to be as radical as Jesus, to dedicate ourselves to the needy and ignorant, to the sinners? Or am I wrong? Is our mission to sit around telling good Christians what they already know?’

  For a few moments no one spoke. Honey was embarrassed at how loud her chewing sounded, so she stopped and just held the All-bran in her cheek. Belinda was the first to break the silence. ‘Have you discussed this with Pastor Riley?’

  ‘Not yet. I was hoping to have the whole team involved in the proposal.’