By the Currawong's Call

by Welton B. Marsland

  Matthew very nearly said an Amen at the end of his reading but, although it might feel as though he’d just delivered a highly important sermon, this was not one. He gathered the pages and let them knock briskly against the lectern through his fingers, to align them all together, then folded the paper over.

  ‘And all of that,’ Jonah said, voice quietly amazed, ‘goes through your head every time you hear my name?’

  Matthew rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Well. Perhaps not every single time …’

  Jonah sat up straight and squared his shoulders. ‘I reckon I’ve got just two words for you after that.’

  ‘And they would be?’

  Dazzling, lopsided smile in place, Jonah told him in a low voice, ‘Sacristy. Now.’

  ***

  Lachie Jackson’s going-away do was held in the church hall the second Friday evening in May. The poor lad looked green for most of the proceedings, his nerves and the enormity of leaving Dinbratten and his family and travelling alone to such a city as Melbourne, truly starting to set in. His mother openly weeping for much of the night, despite her smiles and encouragement to everyone to have a wonderful time, clearly didn’t help comfort the young man.

  The band played merry, the rest of the football team drank themselves into the floorboards in misery of losing their best player, and Matthew and Jonah danced with pretty girls. They couldn’t dare take the risk of being together later, with the rectory standing so near the hall and not knowing when the last revellers would call it a night. They had anticipated this, though, and had had one another so thoroughly the night before that Matthew was actually impressed they could both keep a straight face.

  When Lachie worked his way around the room to where they were standing, Jonah clapped him on the back.

  ‘What if none of the teams I meet with like me, Sarg? What’ll I do then?’

  ‘That’ll depend, I reckon,’ Jonah told him. ‘Look, ya might find it’s love at first sight when ya get into the big smoke, mate. Ya might not wanna come back to a little piss-water like this. Maybe ya won’t find a spot with a big club, fine. Though they’d be mad to pass ya up, Lachie. But the thing is, there’s heaps and heaps of other clubs all across Melbourne. Probably hundreds of the buggers by now. Even if this invite doesn’t pan out, don’t panic. And you know what else?’

  Lachie wiped his nose. ‘What?’

  Jonah clapped him on the back again. ‘Everyone here’s only a day’s travel away, son. It’s not the other end of the Earth yer goin’ to.’

  Lachie nodded heavily, then grabbed Jonah up into a bearish hug. Looking on, Matthew was starkly reminded that this young man was barely more than a boy still. What an adventure he was about to embark upon. No wonder he looked nauseous.

  When Lachie released Jonah, he surprised Matthew by replicating the enormous hug with him, too, practically lifting Matthew off his feet with the force of it.

  ‘Could you give me a blessing, Father?’ Lachie asked at hug’s end. He suddenly looked sheepish. ‘You know. It’d set mum’s mind to rest a bit if I go with grace or something like it.’

  Mrs Jackson was indeed looking on, weeping again, but Matthew didn’t suppose for a moment that Lachie’s need for blessing was entirely for her benefit. He made the sign of the Cross and placed his right palm upon Lachie’s brow.

  ‘Merciful Father, watch over Lachlan in his endeavours, keep him healthy in body and mind, but particularly his feet and hands, that he may glory in the gifts You bestow upon him in Your infinite love, through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.’

  ‘Amen!’ echoed Lachie, eyes shining. ‘Thank you, Father. Thank you!’ He shook Matthew’s hand vigorously and, grinning now from ear to ear, nodded at them both and moved away into the crowd.

  Jonah bumped his shoulder against Matthew’s briefly. ‘You always know just what to bloody say, don’t ya?’

  Matthew rolled his eyes but smiled. ‘I did train for this job, you know.’

  Not much later, George arrived at the party. One of the Ratty footy players immediately tried to push a drink into his hand, but he refused it with a polite smile, tapping the duty band on his sleeve for emphasis. When he caught sight of Jonah across the room, he gave a short wave and made his way over.

  ‘Late telegram, Sarg,’ he said without preamble when he reached them. As he handed the envelope to Jonah, he gave Matthew a small salute. ‘Father.’

  ‘Constable,’ Matthew returned warmly. Remembering what Jonah had told him the morning after the Miss McMillan incident, Matthew surreptitiously leaned his body a little further away from where Jonah stood.

  Jonah cast a quick eye over the telegram. ‘They must’ve been running overtime in the hearings court this arvo.’

  ‘I’m guessing it’s the trial date?’ ventured George. Jonah nodded, sliding the note back in the envelope.

  ‘A month from yesterday.’ Jonah put the telegram into a trouser pocket. ‘I guess I’ll be spending a chunk of Monday making travel arrangements. You and Katy should decide a few days for ya take off in the next weeks. Think about it over the weekend and lemme know Monday.’

  George smiled. ‘Right you are. Thanks, Sarg.’ He bid them both good night and retreated from the party again.

  ‘Is this about Lan Ling?’ Matthew asked when the constable had left.

  ‘Yup.’ Jonah finished the drink he’d been nursing. ‘Lucky me, get to watch that bastard squirm in the box.’

  ‘You might get to see a little of Melbourne, at least.’

  Jonah smiled grimly. ‘A regular holiday.’

  ***

  Matthew was spent, sprawled across his bed with a slack mouth and lazy legs, every muscle singing the joy of being well used. Jonah was smirking at him, wiping his hands with a towel and wearing an irredeemably smug expression that Matthew would very much like to kiss away, were he capable of movement.

  ‘You’re some sort of satyr of old,’ Matthew murmured. ‘Come along to tempt me from my righteous path.’

  ‘You arrived in my town, I’ll have ya remember,’ Jonah pointed out fairly. ‘It was you who did the coming along.’

  ‘How do you even know of such things?’

  ‘What things?’

  Matthew made a vague gesture. He didn’t want to have to articulate it. ‘You know.’

  Jonah grinned. ‘You mean the magic button up yer arse?’

  Matthew flapped his hands ineffectually. ‘Yes, I mean. Yes, that.’

  ‘Well now.’ Jonah used the towel to gently wipe Matthew’s stomach and chest. ‘You’d be surprised, the variety of life experience you can get, working the goldfields.’

  ‘Ah. Your Ballarat experience.’

  ‘Yeah. Saw all sorts. Met all sorts.’ Jonah tossed the towel to the floor and flopped down on his back beside Matthew. ‘Most of what I know about poofs though, I learnt off my grass, Bluey.’

  ‘Grass?’

  ‘Informant. Busted him round the back of a theatre one night, him and another bloke. It’s not like he were hurting anyone, and I gotta say, the other bloke certainly seemed to be enjoying himself! But I had to lay charges, they were too close to a public area, families about and all that. But Bluey was a canny bugger. The stuff that bastard knew! So, he became my grass in exchange for me letting the charges slip. Good bloke, Bluey. He helped catch a lot of scumbags, people who actually were hurting others.’

  He stretched his legs out, hooking one over the top of Matthew’s hip. ‘He’d talk about anything though. Didn’t seem capable of being embarrassed. You could be having a perfectly civil cup of tea, and he’d suddenly spout off about how much of a bloke’s fist he could take up his bum or whatever. He’d just, y’know. Out with things. Discreet wasn’t in Bluey’s dictionary.’

  Matthew turned his head to the side. Jonah was smiling softly at the ceiling, obviously recalling his friend with fondness. ‘What happened to him?’

  Jonah’s smile faded and he took in a deep breath, letting it out through pursed lips. ‘He got do
ne. Was being indiscreet again. Just couldn’t help himself when a pretty face smiled at him, apparently. I did me best for him, of course, pled his case as a useful informant and all, but, well. It was a sergeant what arrested him, see, and I just didn’t have the pull back then. Poor bastard was sent down. Three years hard labour! Got pneumonia one winter.’

  ‘He died in prison?’

  ‘He died in prison. After all that help he’d given the law, all the evil cunts he helped lock away, the law ended up killing him. The system’s fucked, Matthew.’

  ‘I had thought, after Ned Kelly’s gang and their outlawry, and the Royal Commission after, perhaps things might have changed …’

  ‘The Kellys prompted a clean-out alright.’ Idly, while he was talking, Jonah stroked one hand onto Matthew’s left thigh. ‘And this Force needed a bloody clean-out, I can tell ya. Because of Ned, Victoria ended up with the most transparent Force in the country, the least corrupt, and I’ve been proud to serve in it. But the police’s only one part, isn’t it? Change has to come from above as well as below.’

  ‘Do all policemen think about the law and its ramifications as deeply as you?’

  Jonah squeezed Matthew’s thigh. ‘Wish I could say yes. But … eh.’

  ‘Maybe you should think about going into law yourself?’

  ‘What, a lawyer? Nah.’

  Matthew shook his head. ‘No, that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about law-making. Policy.’

  Jonah regarded him from the corner of his eye. ‘Politics?’

  Matthew gave a small smile. ‘Aren’t all American boys told they can be President some day?’

  ‘Huh. The ones from rich families, maybe.’ He squeezed Matthew’s thigh again.

  ‘I thought your Mister Lincoln came from humble beginnings?’

  ‘Yeah, and look how well it all turned out for him.’

  ***

  Matthew was beginning to think Jonah wasn’t going to show. He’d been waiting up, sitting on his bed, reading by lamplight. He’d removed his cassock, collar and boots but was otherwise still dressed, leaning back against the headboard, a collection of short stories open on his lap. The hour was sufficiently late that he’d given himself just another fifteen minutes or so, then he planned to retire for the night and climb beneath the covers.

  He must have dozed off though, for he never even heard the rectory’s back door open and close or Jonah entering the building. Jolting awake suddenly, he was immediately aware of heavy footsteps across the floor of the other room. He was not alarmed. By now, Matthew could recognise Jonah with all his senses. He smiled in greeting as Jonah appeared in the open doorway, slumping one shoulder against the door jamb, pausing there a long moment before slowly raising his head to look at Matthew.

  ‘Sorry I’m so late.’ Jonah dislodged his chinstrap as he spoke and took his helmet off his head. Even from this distance and with only the light of one small lamp beside the bed, Matthew could see the weariness etched upon his handsome features.

  ‘What time is it?’ Matthew asked.

  A shrug. ‘After two. I suppose I can’t stay long. I shouldn’t stay long. Guess I just wanted to see ya.’

  Matthew tried another small smile, but he was already suspecting there was bad news in the air. ‘Busy night, I take it?’

  Letting his helmet swing from its chinstrap in one hand, Jonah wiped his free hand over his face. Three heavy steps brought him to the foot of the bed. He flicked the chinstrap over a brass bedpost and let his helmet swing there. ‘I’ve just had to arrest Bert Alson,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Young Kitty’s father? Whatever for?’

  Jonah gave a tight, hollow laugh. ‘Oh, assault. Grievous assault. Attempted murder. Homicide. And, um—’ he turned his face into the lamplight so Matthew could see the bruising on his cheekbone, ‘—assaulting police.’

  The book in Matthew’s lap snapped shut. ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Jonah’s voice was gruff. ‘Bastard only got one swing in.’

  Relieved, Matthew patted the bed beside him. ‘What on Earth happened?’

  Jonah put both hands on the topmost rail of the bed’s footboard, leaning his weight into it and sighing tiredly. ‘Something broke in that man, Matthew. Broke in him deep down.’ His eyes looked sore, a little watery. ‘He hurt his family.’

  ‘Come and sit,’ Matthew insisted, pleased to see Jonah move almost immediately as told. ‘Do you need a drink? Tea, maybe? Or a whisky?’

  Jonah shook his head as he sat down hard at Matthew’s side. ‘Nah. I’m fine.’ He leaned his shoulder against Matthew’s and sighed again. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘What happened?’ Matthew tried again, voice softer, more coaxing. Jonah was hurting, he could see that plainly, but he could also see how he struggled to hold himself together, too.

  ‘Their eldest. Kitty. Darling lass. She came tearing in, shouting up a storm, calling for the coppers. Well,’ Jonah snorted. ‘Calling for me. She wouldn’t tell us what was happenin’, just mad-keen that we go back with her. So we run over there …’

  Matthew laid an encouraging hand onto Jonah’s knee, squeezed lightly just once, then let it rest there. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Bert’d gone after Nelly,’ Jonah said after a moment. ‘The kids, as well. He had his hands ‘round Nell’s throat when we got there. A minute later and she’d’ve been dead. The baby she’s carrying inside her, too.’

  ‘Dear Lord,’ said Matthew. ‘Thank heavens you were there, Jonah!’

  ‘Mm,’ was all Jonah seemed prepared to say in response. His gaze was roving, moving from object to object in the room as though he couldn’t bring himself to concentrate on any one thing for too long. ‘We got him away from Nelly,’ he said eventually. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Matthew repeated. His friend’s behaviour was unsettling. Jonah seemed evasive, like there was a part of the night’s events that he resolutely did not wish to revisit in the telling. Matthew resolved to not prompt further. Instead, he sat quietly by Jonah’s side, still with one hand resting lightly on Jonah’s leg, their shoulders pressed companionably together. Matthew listened to a few minutes tick by on the small clock on his bedside table.

  ‘It was the baby!’ Jonah suddenly blurted.

  Matthew’s brow knitted a little way. ‘You said you saved Nell in time. The baby she’s carrying—’

  ‘No,’ Jonah cut him off. ‘Not that baby. The one they’ve already got. The lil’ tacker. How old must he be now? Nine months? Ten? He’s not walkin’ yet.’

  Matthew’s heart sank in sudden understanding. ‘Oh no …’

  ‘I’m alright with dead bodies,’ Jonah said, tone defiant. ‘Ya gotta be in this work. And I’ve seen all sorts. All those years on the goldfields, you wouldn’t believe stuff I’ve seen. Coped with it all.’ The wetness in his eyes welled, and two tears spilled over onto his bruised cheek. ‘But when it’s kids … little kids.’ He swiped angrily at the tears and sniffed. ‘He’d thrown him, Matthew.’ His voice squeaked slightly. ‘Pulled him outta Nelly’s arms and threw him outta the way so he could throttle her. Broke his fucking neck. Who does that to their kid? Fuck, to anyone’s kid? Who does that?’

  They lapsed into silence again, before Matthew recalled an event soon after his arrival in Dinbratten. One of his earliest official tasks in the town, in fact.

  ‘Harry,’ he murmured. ‘His name was Harry. I baptised him. Soon after I arrived.’

  Jonah’s eyes slid shut and he sighed deeply. Belatedly, he nodded. ‘Yeah. You did.’

  Now it seems I’m to bury him as well. That would be a first for Matthew. Not a first to relish in any way.

  Jonah slid down the bed a short distance and folded himself around Matthew. Instinctively, Matthew’s arms circled around him and held him close, letting Jonah’s head slump against his chest.

  ‘How do souls work, then?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  Jonah burrowed further into Matthew’s embrace. ‘Souls. How do the
y work? You think Harry was still in there when we found him?’

  ‘That’s … a difficult question.’ Matthew carefully adjusted his position, trying not to disturb Jonah too much as he got more comfortable. ‘I don’t think anyone really knows what happens to our souls when we pass. Maybe they blink out at the moment of death, maybe they linger while the body cools. Some believe they hold on until the body’s laid to rest.’ He idly stroked Jonah’s hair as he spoke. ‘I just don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘Even the greatest theologians are perplexed by this one.’

  ‘Poor lil’ bastard,’ Jonah breathed out. ‘Never even got a chance. Not even walking yet or nothin’. Didn’t get to live hardly at all. Do y’think …?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do ya think they can even know they’re alive? Kids that young, I mean? Are they aware? Do they know what life is? Can they know anything? Like joy?’

  ‘Their mother’s touch would be joyous. I should think.’

  Jonah swallowed loudly. ‘Hardly seems fair.’

  ‘It isn’t.’ Matthew craned his neck to press a kiss to Jonah’s temple. ‘Life isn’t fair.’

  ‘Suffer the little children, eh?’

  Matthew smiled sadly into Jonah’s hair. ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Is that supposed to be a bloody comfort to anyone?’

  Matthew closed his eyes, recalling the full verse of scripture. ‘Jesus called them to him and said suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of God.’ Again, he pressed his lips briefly to Jonah’s temple. ‘Yes, it’s supposed to be a comfort.’

  The smallest exhalation of a laugh puffed against his chest, and Matthew tightened his arms around Jonah’s shoulders. There was no anger behind Jonah’s questions. Only pain and horror.

  ‘I’m not much good with the supernatural,’ Jonah slurred. The very next moment, he was asleep.

  Matthew tilted his head and rested his cheek on Jonah’s crown. Not many moments passed before he slept, also.