While the Moon Burns

by Peter Watt

  ‘Hello, David,’ came a voice behind him. David turned to see Sarah standing with her husband, Charles Huntley.

  ‘Sarah . . . Charles,’ David replied, confused at seeing his cousin. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Charles and I are on the guest list,’ Sarah replied sweetly. ‘I convinced my brother to have this one day set aside as a truce. After all, our family has shrunk somewhat.’

  David was aware how his cousin’s beauty was enhanced by the body-hugging dress she wore to perfection.

  ‘Hello, old boy,’ Charles said, extending his hand. David had no issue with Charles, and accepted the friendly gesture. ‘I know this is a little awkward, but I think today should be a day of celebration. As a matter of fact, we are booked into the establishment for the night.’

  David turned to see Sean standing with Patrick a short distance away. He could see from the expression on Sean’s face that he did not approve of Sarah’s appearance, although appeared to warm to Charles when he walked over to him, leaving David alone with Sarah.

  ‘You didn’t tell me you were back in Australia,’ Sarah pouted. ‘You have a habit of doing that. I hope you received my condolences on Allison’s terrible passing. She was always my best friend, and I miss her so.’

  David wanted to say how much his cousin was being a hypocrite but resisted. He did not want a scene at Jessica’s wedding. Instead, he said lamely, ‘You’re looking very nice.’

  ‘I would like to have some private time to talk to you,’ Sarah said. David was aware her hand was on his arm.

  ‘I’ll be a bit busy making speeches and catching up with a few old friends tonight,’ David replied.

  ‘I’m sure we can meet to talk when your duties are over,’ Sarah said. ‘I have something very important to tell you.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ David said. ‘If you’ll excuse me. I should join the bridal party.’

  David walked up to Sean and Patrick.

  ‘I didn’t agree to that bitch being here today,’ Sean growled as the three walked down the corridor of columns to the sound of laughter. The band struck up a tune.

  ‘What’s a bitch, Uncle Sean?’ Patrick asked.

  ‘Not a nice person,’ David hurriedly explained, and both men glanced at each other. They would have to watch their language in the young boy’s presence.

  The guest list read as a political, military and social who’s who. Beer and champagne flowed, and David, at the head table beside Donald and Jessica, gave the traditional speech, interspersed with funny stories of growing up with Donald.

  The evening drew to a close and it was time for the bride and groom to leave for their honeymoon aboard a ship to New Zealand. Jessica tossed the wedding bouquet, caught by a young lady David recognised as the daughter of a prominent politician, and the couple went around the room thanking the guests for attending, with the exception of Sarah and Charles. Apparently the truce was over.

  David walked with Sean and Patrick to the entrance of the hotel and saw the couple into a taxi. Then David walked back into the hotel, found a bar and ordered a beer. He wasn’t alone for very long when Sarah took a seat next to him.

  ‘I thought we might have that talk,’ she said, ordering a gin and tonic. ‘But I would prefer somewhere less public.’

  ‘Where is Charles?’ David asked.

  ‘Charles went home,’ Sarah said. ‘He worries about young Michael, although the boy is in good hands with his nanny.’

  ‘I thought you might share the same concern about your son,’ David said.

  ‘I chose to stay behind to talk with you,’ Sarah said. ‘I feel we should go to my room, where it’s more private. It’s very important.’

  David turned and looked at Sarah. ‘What the hell,’ he shrugged and followed her to the grand staircase. Sarah led David into her room, closing the door behind her. They were hardly inside when she threw her arms around his neck, kissing him passionately on the lips.

  David pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length. ‘I thought you wanted to tell me something important,’ he said. ‘What happened years ago at Manly was a mistake.’

  Sarah stood back. ‘David, if only you knew how long I’ve waited to feel your arms around me, and for us to make love again.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ David said, turning towards the door. ‘I lost the only love of my life when Allison was killed.’

  ‘You dare to turn your back on me!’ Sarah flared. ‘You don’t know how I’ve counted the hours and minutes for your return. You and I were destined to be together.’

  David paused. ‘Destined to be together?’ He frowned. ‘We have nothing in common other than our bloodline. If this is a ruse to rekindle old passions, Sarah, it’s not going to work. I’m going downstairs to order another drink, and keep drinking until I forget a lot of things that happened in my life.’

  David walked to the door and had his hand on the doorknob when Sarah said, ‘Michael is your son.’

  Stunned, David stood stock still, trying to take in Sarah’s words.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he asked.

  Sarah stepped towards him until she was a breath away. ‘Michael is really your son,’ she said. ‘Charles is not the father, and I can prove it. Charles believes Michael is his, but Michael was born prematurely, and his conception coincides with our time at Manly.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ David swore softly. ‘Is this your cruel way of trying to make me feel guilty and come running back to you?’

  ‘No,’ Sarah replied. ‘I just wanted you to know that we do share something important. I want you to be with me.’

  ‘Son or not,’ David said, ‘that’s no reason for us to be together. From what I have heard, Charles is a good father to Michael. I may have conceived Michael, but I’m not about to take away the boy’s belief in the man who cares for him. Does Charles know?’

  ‘I haven’t told him – yet,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s you and me who are destined to be together. I knew that from that very first time I laid eyes on you in that Berlin cafe all those years ago. I’ve never begged before, but I’m begging you now. Please, consider our future together.’

  David stared at Sarah and felt pity.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sarah,’ he said, reaching again for the door. ‘I hope this will be the last time you and I ever meet. Goodbye.’

  He stepped into the corridor and walked away, his head spinning with the news about young Michael Macintosh (Sarah had always insisted that her son be known as a Macintosh). Now he really had another reason to drink himself into oblivion.

  *

  David’s leave was over. It was time to report to Victoria Barracks in Sydney for his interview about his continuing service in the army as an officer.

  Boots polished and his Sam Browne belt gleaming, he sat outside the office of the brigadier who would decide his future. David was feeling confident as he had served in all the major campaigns and been awarded a Military Cross.

  A spit-polished warrant officer marched up to David, and threw a perfect salute that David returned.

  ‘The Brigadier is ready to see you, sir,’ the warrant officer barked.

  David thanked him, and marched inside to salute the officer with the red tabs on his collar. He then stood to attention, staring directly ahead.

  ‘Take a seat, Major Macintosh,’ the brigadier said.

  David sat down in the chair opposite the senior army officer. For what seemed like forever, the former brigade commander rifled through a folder on the desk that David knew was his service record.

  He glanced up at David with a grim expression. ‘I’m not going to pussyfoot around, Major Macintosh, but I have to inform you that we do not have a position for you in the army. I’m afraid you’ll be demobbed next week.’

  ‘Sir, I have considerable experience as an officer, and I was made substant
ive in my current rank,’ David said, hardly able to believe what he was hearing.

  ‘I grant you that, Major, but we have more officers than postings. We also have graduating classes from the Royal Military College at Duntroon, and they must be given priority in the new army.’

  ‘I’m prepared to take a reduction in rank, sir,’ David almost pleaded.

  ‘I’m sorry, Major, but there is nothing I can do,’ the Brigadier said in a sympathetic tone. ‘The best I could do is reduce you to a private’s rank if you re-enlisted. The war is over, and I believe that your family has its own substantial business interests. I doubt you’ll find yourself unemployed on civvie street. If there’s nothing else, you’re dismissed.’

  The senior officer closed David’s file. There was nothing else to say. David rose, saluted the Brigadier, and marched out of the office, the word ‘dismissed’ ringing in his ears. In just a few sentences, David had lost the only real family he had ever had. Everything he had sacrificed for his country had come to nothing.

  *

  ‘As of next week, I’m out,’ David said bitterly to Sean in his legal office.

  ‘I’m sorry, David,’ Sean said. ‘I know how much you loved soldiering. God knows why.’

  ‘I feel like I was thrown on the rubbish heap,’ David said. ‘All those years in the dust of the desert and the stinking jungles came down to a couple of sentences.’

  ‘What do you plan to do now?’ Sean asked, feeling David’s pain.

  ‘There’s not a chance in hell that I would take a position in the Macintosh enterprises run by Sarah,’ David said. ‘All I really know is soldiering. The allowance I get from my position in the family trust is very generous, and I’m really in a position where I do not have to work anyway. I can afford to travel like I did before the war.’

  ‘There’s not much to see in Europe,’ Sean said. ‘The war took tourism off the map.’

  ‘You know,’ David said, ‘I’ve often thought about visiting my mother’s homeland. I’ve never really thought much about being born a Jew. Other than getting circumcised and having my grandmother organise my bar mitzvah. I haven’t stepped inside a synagogue since. Maybe I should visit Palestine.’

  ‘Have you read the papers lately?’ Sean asked. ‘The country is virtually in a state of war. The Poms are caught between Jewish nationalists and Arabs trying to get the Jews out. It’s not exactly a place for a peaceful cup of coffee in a cafe.’

  ‘Maybe I would feel right at home under such circumstances,’ David grinned. ‘I hear the Jewish nationalists need experienced fighting men. I reckon my military experience might qualify.’

  ‘You can’t be serious,’ Sean said. ‘You’re an Aussie.’

  ‘I can be both a Jew and an Aussie,’ David said. ‘But I think it’s time I go in search of my ancestral roots. I don’t expect you to understand, Uncle Sean, but I hope you’d always be here for me.’

  ‘That goes without saying,’ Sean replied, shaking his head. ‘It’s not against your Jewish beliefs to head down to the pub and join Harry for a cold beer, is it?’

  David smiled. ‘If it ever was, then I’m doomed to hell.’

  Sean heaved himself out of his chair, gripped his walking stick and made the familiar trip to their favourite bar around the corner from Sean’s office.

  As he walked beside the tall young man, Sean could feel the aches in his joints. How long did he have on this earth, he wondered? After all, he had another young man to raise: Patrick Duffy.

  *

  ‘James, I wish I didn’t have to have this talk with you,’ James Barrington Snr said as he sat in his big leather chair by the fire. Outside, snow was falling. James had appeared after his day in the bank branch office as the manager.

  ‘Is it about the loans I gave to those three veterans?’ James asked, pretty sure that was why his grandfather had such a strained expression.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Barrington replied. ‘The accountant brought the cases to me yesterday, and expressed his concerns about the viability of lending those men money. They have no collateral and little business sense. I don’t think there’s much future in selling motorbikes in this part of the world.’

  James gazed at the flickering flames in the fireplace. ‘They survived the war in Europe as combat soldiers,’ James said. ‘I think that’s the best collateral any man can have.’

  Barrington shook his head in despair. ‘The war is over, and we now face a time of greater prosperity than we have ever known. But it can only happen if we in the banking business adhere to the principles of shrewd investment and sound judgement. You are letting your heart rule your head. I want you to get a feeling for banking by managing our local branch. I know the staff like you, but you’re not thinking like a banker.’

  ‘Maybe I need some time off,’ James said. ‘I don’t expect you to understand, but I need to clear my head. Only months ago I was in the cockpit of a Corsair, and I’m having a little trouble adjusting.’

  ‘At least you’re honest,’ Barrington sighed. ‘There’s also the matter of you hanging around that undesirable Sweeney’s Bar. People talk in this county. You should be seen attending our church on Sundays and accepting invitations from the country club, not carousing with people of dubious merit.’

  ‘You mean the former soldiers, airmen and sailors returned from the war?’ James said. ‘I’m comfortable in their company. All the people I know from the country club never served Uncle Sam in the services, but made huge fortunes from the war. They are not my people, sir.’

  ‘What can I do?’ Barrington asked in despair. ‘What can I do to help you settle back into normal life?’

  James turned to his grandfather and saw his anguish. ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ he said. ‘I need to find my own path. Maybe I need time to myself, doing something . . . I don’t know what. I do have an idea, but it will have to wait until spring. I promise you, until then, I’ll try to be a conscientious banker.’

  ‘That’s all I ask,’ Barrington said. ‘Whatever you have planned after winter, I’ll support. God knows why!’

  James stared at his grandfather. He was growing old, but James could see the love in his eyes. He loved the old man, the only father he had known – until he met his real father in Iraq before the war. The two men were so very different, and both giants in their own way in his life.

  Part Two

  Echoes of War

  1946–1951

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The new year of 1946 arrived without the echoes of war in the southern hemisphere.

  On Glen View, Donald and Jessica entertained Patrick for his school holidays, and he was reunited with his Aboriginal friend Terituba. It did not take long for the two boys to go bush on adventures. Patrick was proving to be a good horseman, and a crack shot.

  Patrick was also one of the first to hear the joyous news that Jessica was pregnant with her first child. Donald fussed, like all first-time fathers, insisting that she travel to their home in Townsville to avoid the fierce summer heat of inland Queensland. She resisted his pleas, saying their child would be born on the soil of her ancestors. With the help of Terituba’s mother acting as a midwife, she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. While Donald had married Jessica in the Catholic Church and promised to raise their children as Catholics, he insisted their firstborn boy be called Bryce, an English name with French and Celtic roots which didn’t sound too Catholic.

  Across the kitchen table at the homestead, under the light of the newly installed electricity at Glen View, Donald and Jessica had their first heated argument. Jessica accepted Donald’s nomination of Bryce as their first child’s name but added Thomas as his second name in honour of her father. Donald readily agreed, then Jessica moved that Bryce be registered as Bryce Thomas Duffy-Macintosh. She said that having the two family names was a form of reconciliation between the two families. Donald argued his so
n should bear his family name alone, but realised he wasn’t going to win. And so, a new generation began as the moon rose over the semi-arid plains of brigalow scrub, and life went on.

  *

  David Macintosh knew the streets of Jerusalem. He had visited the holy city before, when on leave from his battalion while fighting the Vichy French forces in Syria. Then, he had befriended a Jewish shopkeeper in the city, Aaron Ben-David. When he stepped off the ship from France he made his way to the shop to find his friend, remembering the sights and smells of the ancient place of three great religions.

  ‘Mr Macintosh,’ the little balding man with his spectacles on the tip of his nose greeted him. ‘How is it that we see you in our city again?’

  David was dressed in a heavy jacket and slacks to ward off the cold of the Middle Eastern winter. He stood in the tiny shop surrounded by carpets hanging from every possible place along the walls.

  ‘I heard my people calling to me,’ David replied with a smile. ‘Also, I was thinking about buying a carpet.’

  ‘Ah, Mr Macintosh, I think you’re pulling my leg,’ Aaron said warmly. ‘You must take coffee with my family. I’ll close the shop.’

  David followed his friend into the back of the shop, which was as cramped as his front working area, except it opened onto a pleasant little walled garden where herbs grew in pots. Off that were the kitchen and two bedrooms. Aaron’s wife was in the kitchen cooking a chicken stew. She greeted David warmly in Hebrew, which David did not understand.

  ‘You’ll eat with us,’ Aaron said, pulling out a chair for his guest. ‘We’re expecting my son Elliot and my daughter Richelle. My son was an officer in the Jewish Brigade, and fought in Italy. My daughter lives on a kibbutz not far from here.’

  No sooner had he uttered the words, a young man and woman entered the kitchen. Both were wearing khaki trousers and matching shirts under heavy woollen pullovers. Aaron spoke in Hebrew to them and the young man held out his hand to David, who guessed he was about the same age as him. His sister was in her early twenties.