The Gospel According to Luke

by Emily Maguire

  The door closed again. Luke counted to one hundred. Picked up the chair, carried it back to his desk and sat on it. He stared at the door while he counted to one hundred again. Then he stood, picked up the chair and hurled it, harder than the first time. It made an ungodly racket as it impacted with the door and bounced back, knocking the edge of his desk before landing. ‘My anger is perfectly controlled,’ Luke said to the chair, as he picked it up, held it over his head for the count of fifty and then slammed it into the floor until a leg broke off. ‘Perfectly under control, thank you very much.’

  On the website for Justice for the Unborn under the heading AUSTRALIA’S HOLOCAUST VICTIMS were photos of dead babies: bloodied corpses, some with umbilical cords attached, some with half-formed limbs, some with black muck covering their misshapen bodies. Luke stopped scrolling when he got to the picture of a slimy head with black staring eyes, held aloft on a stick by a protester wearing a Justice for the Unborn T-shirt.

  He clicked on the link that read MEET THE SCUM RESPONSIBLE, and an alphabetised list of ‘offenders’ appeared. Luke recognised the third name: Malcolm Addison was described as a despicable homosexual who started a sexual health clinic in order to recruit young boys into his deviant lifestyle. There was a photo of Malcolm with his face contorted in anger.

  Luke picked up the broken chair leg from the floor and returned to his desk. He pressed the jagged edge into his left palm, holding it there until tears ran from his eyes. When he removed it, there were three long splinters lodged in his palm and blood seeped through the lines there. He slammed his hand into the desk, forcing the splinters hard into his flesh. He did not cry out.

  His left hand buried now between his thighs, the pressure working to increase the pain of the splinters but also stem the flow of blood, Luke returned to his exploration of the website. He scrolled past the photo of Malcolm, past several names he did not recognise and then found a blue bubble declaring NEW LISTING!

  Twenty-nine-year-old Luke Butler calls himself Pastor, but we refuse to bestow the honour of this title upon him. Mr Butler confronted one of our agents outside the Parramatta Sexual Health Advisory Service and accused her of being un-Christian! This from a man who spends his evenings locked inside abortion advocate Agatha Grey’s (see separate listing) office, emerging just before daybreak for a shameless display of intimacy. We have very little information about Mr. Butler as his employer, The Christian Revolution, will not co-operate in our investigation, nor will his colleagues at the Northwestern Christian Youth Centre, and we have been unable to identify any of Mr Butler’s family or friends outside of the TCR or NCYC. If you have any information about this false-Christian abortion supporter please contact Justice for the Unborn.

  The photo beneath the text showed Luke’s white Camry parked alongside Aggie’s orange Datsun, the sign above the clinic door clearly visible. In the corner of the photo the time and date were recorded as 04:11 12/08/02. And in the foreground a couple was embracing in a manner that looked passionate.

  He scrolled down until he found Agatha Grey, and below her name, a photograph of Aggie with her arm over the shoulder of a tall blonde-haired woman wearing a leopard-print leotard. The caption read: Abortion advocate Agatha Grey with her mother, lesbian activist Carrie Grey, at the 1999 Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras.

  Luke touched the picture and smiled. Carrie Grey was shorter than Aggie, with a smaller waist, bigger breasts, smoother hair and clearer skin. She looked maybe five years older than Aggie, and a thousand times more glamorous. Aggie wore baggy brown trousers, black lace-up boots, an oversized PFLAG T-shirt and a pink tiara atop her shaggy head.

  Luke read the text with disgust. Man-hating feminist Agatha Grey is the manager of the Baby Killing referral service owned by known homosexual Malcolm Addison (see separate listing). Ms Grey is the daughter of lesbian rights advocate Carrie Grey and the late Sydney financier Roland Grey who committed suicide when faced with the prospect of having to live alone with his daughter.

  Luke pressed his palm to his mouth and sucked on the tiny wounds, trying to draw the splinters out. It hurt and the taste of his own blood turned his stomach. In a minute, when he had cleaned up his hand, he would force himself to read the rest so he knew what it was Pastor Riley and the Elders would be basing their accusations on. For now, he sucked at his hand and waited for his pulse to slow.

  There was a rap on the door, simultaneous with its opening.

  ‘Why knock?’ Luke grumbled, then seeing it was Greg, he forced a smile. ‘Yes?’

  ‘On the news just now. A man –’ Greg stepped into the room. He stared at the floor. ‘What happened to the chair?’

  ‘It broke. What’s the news? What happened?’

  Greg looked from the chair to Luke and back again. ‘If it’s not a good time, I can –’

  ‘It’s a fine time. Tell me what happened.’

  ‘A man’s been shot. In Adelaide. Shot dead. Someone just shot him while he was walking to his car. Broad daylight. Just shot him dead.’

  ‘Greg, sit a minute. Calm down.’ Luke stood and went to take Greg’s arm and led him to the chair.

  ‘No, Luke, no!’ Greg shook his head, his eyes wild. ‘You don’t understand. He was a counsellor at a – a clinic – a pregnancy crisis centre. A note was sent to all the papers saying it’s justice for all the babies he’s condemned to –’

  ‘Oh.’ Luke stumbled backward until he felt the edge of his chair against the back of his legs. He sat heavily. ‘Oh, dear God. Justice. Oh, God, have mercy on us all.’

  ‘I know, man, I know. I was thinking we should do something? Send, I don’t know, condolences or something? Belinda said we should prepare a statement. She says because we’ve opposed Aggie – ah, the clinic across the street before, maybe the papers will ask us to comment?’

  Luke stared at the computer screen. Swallowing the vomit that was bubbling up in his throat, he closed down the website and opened a new document. He began to type.

  ‘Luke?’

  ‘Give me a minute.’

  Today, a man in the midst of a sinful life was shot in cold blood. Killing [victim] didn’t stop abortion. It didn’t save one single life. All this killer has done is rob a man of the chance to repent and to be reconciled with God. The person or persons responsible cannot call themselves prolife, as being pro-life means loving all life, not just the lives we personally approve of. Nor can the perpetrators of this evil call themselves Christians as they have disobeyed God’s commandment not to murder and ignored the words of our saviour Jesus Christ who implored us to love our enemies.

  The Northwestern Christian Youth Centre calls on all true Christians to speak out against this horrific murder even while they continue to peacefully protest the legalised killing of unborn children. Remember, they’ll know we are Christians by our love, not by our guns.

  Luke hit print and opened the file containing last month’s financial reports. He couldn’t touch the Caring for our Community fund, since it was earmarked for Honey, but there was just over eight thousand dollars in the public relations account. He took the cheque book from his top drawer and wrote a cheque for the full amount. Then he switched back to the word processor and started a new page.

  The staff and congregation of the Northwestern Christian Youth Centre wish to express their deepest sympathies for the family and friends of [victim]. We hope his family will accept our prayers along with this small contribution to assist them in rebuilding their lives after this tragedy.

  In His Name.

  Luke waited until the page was printed and then handed both pages to Greg, along with the signed cheque. ‘Find out the man’s name and his family’s names. This first statement is for the media; get Belinda to read it to anyone who calls. The second should be rewritten onto a card and sent with the cheque to the family. The cheque’s signed; you just need to fill in the recipient details. If it turns out he had no family then the cheque should go to the clinic where he worked.’

  ‘We ca
n’t give money to a –’

  ‘We can and we will. But I don’t think it will come to that. How many people you know have no family at all?’

  Greg’s hands were shaking. ‘Just, uh, just you.’

  Luke patted him on the back, pushing him toward the door. ‘Right. Even in an orphanage, I was the only one with no one at all. This poor man will have a family somewhere. Find them and send them the cheque. Okey-dokey?’

  ‘Luke, I really think we –’

  ‘Oh, I have to go out tonight. Not sure when I’ll be back. Help Belinda with VIBE, for me, will you? Ta.’ Luke nudged Greg over the threshold and shut the door, went to his desk and picked up the phone, dialling the number he knew by heart.

  The first thing he said when he heard her voice was, ‘Oh.’ Then he said, ‘If I come over, will you talk to me?’

  ‘Okay.’

  26.

  Aggie answered the door before he had a chance to ring the bell. She was swamped by a shapeless black dress, her hair had been pulled off her face with a blue headband and she had applied a deep plum lipstick which made her lips look thin and mean.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, her eyes roaming from his face to his chest, legs and stomach and back to his face.

  ‘Wait.’ Luke stayed in the doorway, locking his hands together. ‘Hear what I have to say first, then decide if you want to invite me in.’

  She smiled, revealing a slick of lipstick on her front teeth. ‘Sounds dire.’

  ‘Oh, no. It’s just . . .’

  ‘Come on, spit it out, the suspense is killing me.’

  Luke looked away from Aggie’s mouth, focusing instead on the curls poking out from under her headband. ‘I have concluded that friendship between us is an impossibility due to the fact that I have romantic feelings towards you, also feelings of a physical nature and, well, I’m in love with you.’

  ‘Oh, Luke –’

  ‘But as you know,’ he went on, looking away from her unruly curls and talking instead to the wall behind her, ‘I believe that physical intimacy should be reserved for people married before God, and that same belief system dictates that I cannot marry outside of my faith.’

  She sighed. ‘I understand.’

  ‘No, you don’t. I haven’t finished.’ Luke faced her. ‘I believe these things with all my heart, and still I want to be with you. It doesn’t make any sense, I know, but there you have it. So nothing is sorted out, this time apart has increased my confusion and multiplied my doubts, but I’ve come here tonight to ask if you think you can love me anyway. I mean, knowing that I am so conflicted and selfish and wrong-headed and that anytime I could –’

  ‘Get inside,’ she laughed, already sliding her hands under his shirt as she kicked the door closed behind them. ‘You don’t want the whole neighbourhood to see your fall from grace.’

  Pressed up against Aggie’s front door, her tongue in his mouth, her fingertips on his belly and his hands in her hair, Luke could not think of a single reason to not kiss her. Her hands slid lower, and he kissed her harder than ever as she unbuttoned his jeans. When she took hold of his erection he nearly exploded; she released him immediately, moving her hands to his hips and working his jeans down.

  ‘Stop, I’m going to –’

  ‘Hang on, sweetie.’ She wrenched his jeans and shorts down hard so he was naked from hip to midthigh.

  ‘Aggie, I can’t wait any –’

  ‘I know.’ She grabbed hold of his bare hips and forced him downwards until he was lying flat on the hardwood floor, the top of his head pressed into the door frame, his jeans tight around his thighs, and Aggie astride him.

  ‘I love you,’ she said, lifting her hips, taking hold of his penis and pushing it inside her body. Her eyes were wide and bright; she smiled, red-faced and wildhaired, as he came. When he opened his eyes again she was smiling still and rubbing the outside of his thighs with firm soothing strokes.

  ‘I didn’t . . .’

  ‘Didn’t what, sweetie?’

  ‘I just didn’t expect –’ He choked on the words.

  ‘I thought it better to get it over with quickly. I thought you’d be too nervous if we drew it out too long.’ She leant forward and kissed his forehead, giving his now limp penis the opportunity to slip out of her.

  ‘Are you going to leave now?’

  ‘I don’t know.

  I don’t know what to do now.’

  She climbed off him, helped him with his shorts and jeans, then sat cross-legged by his side and stroked his face.

  ‘How about getting off this floor and letting me wash all that dust out of your hair?’

  Luke caught his breath, ran his hands through his hair. ‘There’s dust in my hair?’

  ‘A little. Mostly it’s an excuse to get you in the shower with me.’

  Luke woke up in Aggie’s enormous bed. Her pale, freckled arm was flung over his chest, her knee stabbed his thigh and saliva dribbled from her open mouth onto his shoulder. ‘Aggie,’ he whispered, tickling the soft skin of her forearm, smiling as she pulled away and rolled over. He sent up a small prayer of thanks.

  Last night, under the fluorescent bathroom light, the skin she had revealed to him had been blotchy pink, red and white; then when she was laid out on the lounge room floor, illuminated by a single candle, she was pure gold; later, in her bedroom, with the moonlight streaming through the windows, she had been all shadowy shades of blue and grey; now, in the dawn’s light her skin was as translucent as the finest bone china, but speckled with pale brown and gold freckles. It reminded him of the shell from some exotic bird’s egg.

  ‘Tickles,’ she mumbled, swatting at him blindly.

  ‘Ah, you’re finally awake.’ Luke pressed himself to her.

  ‘It’s barely six. Go back to sleep.’

  ‘I can’t sleep when the sun is shining, the birds are singing and the most wonderful woman in the world is by my side.’

  ‘You’re a dag, Luke. And I am tired and sore, so shut up and go back to –’

  ‘You’re sore? I hurt you?’

  ‘No, it’s just . . .’ She took his arms and pulled them tighter around her middle. ‘You wore me out a bit. All that pent-up desire. You’re not exhausted?’

  ‘I’ve never felt better.’

  ‘Typical. It’s always the woman who suffers for illicit love.’

  ‘What about Peter Abelard.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Peter Abelard, my uncultured, uneducated heathen princess, was a brilliant French monk in the twelfth century. He’d been celibate all his life, but then, in his forties, he fell passionately in love with a young student named Heloise. She fell pregnant and her uncle had Peter castrated and exiled to a monastery. Heloise entered a convent, studied hard and ended up greatly respected throughout France, while her lover was physically, spiritually and socially ruined.’

  Aggie was quiet for several seconds and then she burst out laughing. ‘Okay,’ she said, slapping Luke’s arm, ‘so women always come off second best except that one time in medieval France.’

  ‘I suppose you have come off second best. I mean, I’m this inexperienced, clumsy, hopeless lump and you’re this sexual superstar.’

  ‘Spare me.’

  ‘No, really. I had no idea what I was doing last night. I was a fumbling fool.’

  ‘I liked being on the receiving end of your fumbling. You’re a really, really good fumbler. A natural.’

  ‘Well, I’m pleased,’ Luke said, ‘that you enjoyed my fumblings, because I feel the urge to fumble some more.’

  Aggie groaned, and rolled onto her back. ‘You’re not going to let me go back to sleep, are you?’

  Luke answered by covering her breasts with his hands. He had spent half the night squeezing, kissing, pulling, pinching, sucking and nuzzling them, and here this morning they were brand new again. The sunlight showed him pale blue veins radiating out from her nipples, and three tiny freckles on the underside of the left.

  He kissed his
way over her ribs, down to her soft pale belly, paying attention to her belly button and then each jutting hip bone. She stroked his hair and face, whispering oh Luke oh love. He pressed his face to the thing he could not bring himself to call by any of the names he had heard used, scientific or slang. With Aggie’s quickening breath as encouragement, Luke explored it fully, thinking, as he had about every other bit of her, that it looked so different in daylight. Moving to lie flat on his stomach between her legs he began to make sense of the design in a way he had surely not done in the dark of night. Luke prodded and stroked and licked and sucked until he figured out which actions on which bits caused her to pull his hair the hardest. It took a while – much longer than it had taken her to bring him to ecstasy with her mouth – but eventually she said that that that don’t dare stop doing that exactly that oh oh THAT and then he felt a million little muscles pulsing around his fingers and her pubic bone slammed into his nose.

  He moved up, resting his head on her stomach, while he caught his breath and felt her catch hers. His jaw ached and his tongue was numb. His hand and half his face were soaked with her.

  ‘Jesus,’ she said, after a little while. ‘You sure you haven’t done that before?’

  ‘Barely knew it could be done. I had no idea women were so complicated down there. All those colours and textures and that dear little –’

  ‘Okay, don’t need a description.’

  ‘It’s just so beautiful. And I never guessed. To think you have a part that is perfectly designed so as to allow me to actually enter your body and to bring us both pleasure with all those nerve endings and soft folds of skin and oh –’ Luke kissed her stomach all over, while his hands tried again to gain entrance to her body. She giggled and wriggled, kept her legs clamped shut and eventually succeeded in throwing him off her altogether.

  ‘You’re so sweet and strange,’ Aggie said, settling again on to her side and drawing his arms around her waist. ‘I still can’t believe you’re here. Don’t ever stay away for so long again, please?’