by Peter Watt
‘John, John!’ Michael replied with feigned hurt for the rebuke from his friend. ‘Would I visit an old mate to ask any favours except you find a bottle and we share it for old times' sake? And none of that cheap rice wine either.’
John released the grip on his friend's shoulders and turned his attention to the Chinese merchant who stared curiously at the big European with the black leather patch over one eye. John said something to the merchant who scowled and broke into a torrent of Chinese that caused John to respond with a growl, ‘And the same to your ancestors too!’
Then he turned to Michael and led him to the back of the store and into a tiny room cluttered with ledgers and odd jade curios from the exotic East. He motioned to Michael to sit down on a crate jammed against the wall and rifled through his ornately carved teak desk to find the bottle of gin he kept for emergencies such as Michael Duffy turning up in his life. He then located two small bowls into which he poured the fiery liquid. He raised his bowl. ‘Cheers and God bless Saint Patrick and my illustrious Chinese ancestors,’ he intoned with a grin spreading across his handsome face. Michael responded by throwing back a good mouthful of the clear, spiced liquid. ‘So when did you get back?’ John asked cautiously. ‘Have you been to see Kate?’
‘Yesterday,’ Michael answered. ‘I will be seeing her again later this evening.’
‘Have you seen Horace Brown yet?’
‘Yes, but he looks pretty sick.’
John nodded gravely. The little Englishman often visited him to sit and talk in Chinese. Their friendship was based on mutual professional links to the past – links that John hoped to keep well and truly in his past as he got on with the job of building up his importing business from the proceeds of a ransom for the return of the beautiful Cochinese girl to her family years earlier.
Horace had kept John informed of Michael's life in the Far East. At least he'd told him as much as he thought it was safe to tell. Lately Horace's visits had become less frequent as the cancer took a greater grip on him and the opium John supplied had less effect.
‘I don't think he will see the year out,’ John said in a sombre tone. ‘A passing of an era in our lives, old friend.’
‘The bloody Foreign Office will soon find a replacement,’ Michael said bitterly. ‘The bastards don't really care about him.’
John raised his eyebrows. He could have sworn that Michael was growing attached to the Englishman who had so often placed his life at risk. ‘So what are your plans for when he is gone?’ he asked. ‘You know that you will always have a place here with me.’
Michael smiled sadly at his friend who sat leaning forward behind his desk. ‘Thanks, old friend. But I have to see what happens in the next few weeks before I go making any plans.’
From his answer John knew Michael's life working for Horace Brown had not finished and he guessed why Michael had come to see him. ‘I have a lot of responsibility here, Michael,’ he countered before Michael could broach the subject. ‘I can't help you in whatever you've come for.’
‘Ahh. You know me too well,’ Michael replied with a sigh. ‘I did come here to ask for your help, as you obviously knew I would.’
John's expression clouded. Commonsense dictated that he avoid any professional relationship with the Irishman, but loyalty tugged at his conscience. He owed much to his friend: his present prosperity and his beautiful Cochinese wife who had borne him two healthy sons and a daughter.
‘What sort of help?’ he asked in a weak voice as he knew the eye fixed on him bored into his soul and sought the roots of true friendship.
‘Nothing especially risky’ Michael answered, bringing the bowl to his lips with both hands. ‘Just a trip south to Sydney to expand your business. That's all.’
It sounded so simple yet John knew full well everything in his friend's life had an element of risk. ‘And the bloody rest,’ he growled, annoyed at how easily he had committed himself to helping the soldier of fortune.
Or was it that John missed the wild days of living on the edge and hated admitting that to himself! He had a family and thriving business and his wife would never understand even though she would obediently accept any decision he made as she was, after all, the dutiful wife on account of her Confucian heritage. But his children were growing up with minds of their own, a problem they inherited from their European blood and contact with the unruly European children with whom they mixed. They, too, would object to him going away.
Not only was his family the centre of his universe, John was a respectable businessman who had gained a place in the social circles of Townsville. He had a membership with the local horseracing club and owned a stable of horses himself. He was also respected for his astute knowledge in picking thoroughbred winners for the track and was the link between those European businessmen trading with the Chinese community and establishing the lucrative links in the Far East. The Chinese community in Townsville respected the big man for his intimate knowledge of their ways. John now stared at Michael silently as he weighed up the involvement that could cost him his life.
‘Horace thinks the Germans are going to annex New Guinea,’ Michael said quietly ‘This is our last job. I promise.’
‘So why go to Sydney? You could get yourself hanged down there.’
‘No choice. That's where von Fellmann is.’
John had never met the Baron but he knew a lot about him from what he had been told by Michael – and what he knew chilled him. The Prussian was a ruthless man. ‘Then if the traps don't get you von Fellmann will,’ he commented sarcastically. ‘Or someone like him.’
‘That might be so,’ Michael mused. ‘But no-one lives forever. Only the memory of who we were lives on in our children and their children.’ The echo of something he had said before resounded silently in the tiny office. Michael shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Would his own son ever remember him?
‘Damn you, Duffy, you bastard!’ John swore. ‘You know I will back you. When do we leave for Sydney?’
Michael grinned at his old partner. ‘As soon as you have lied to your wife about your reasons to sail to Sydney. I've already purchased your ticket.’
When Michael arrived to visit his sister, his niece Sarah was not disappointed with the gift that he had promised. She gaped at the beautiful dress and made little noises of surprised joy. It was the finest dress she had ever seen! For Kate he had brought a volume of poetry by the Australian poet Henry Kendall entitled Songs from the Mountains.
Sarah gave her uncle a crushing hug to thank him and then skipped away to try on the dress. She would find an excuse to be wearing it next time Gordon came home on leave.
When she was gone Michael followed Kate to the front verandah. There they could relax in the cooling evening breeze and share a bottle of rum. Kate was no stranger to the drink. She had worked the tough tracks with the bullock wagons and a tot of rum at the end of the day lifted her exhausted mind and body beyond mud and dust.
She gazed lovingly at the big man lounging in a chair on the verandah and thought wistfully of all the terrible things he must have seen and done in his tormented life. His youth was gone and his dreams to pursue a life as a painter almost forgotten. Oh Michael, my poor darling brother, will you ever find the peace you so much deserve, she thought as she watched him gazing into the soft shadows of the warm night. ‘You know you still have the beguiling ways about you that broke Aunt Bridget's and my heart when we were young,’ Kate said as she took a seat beside her brother. ‘The young ladies who worked for Uncle Frank fighting over you. My lady friends begging for an introduction.’
Michael laughed softly at his sister's flattery. ‘That had to be a long time ago,’ he said with a grin. ‘Not much call with the ladies for a one-eyed battle scarred man in the autumn of his life. A man without a respectable job and not much love either,’ he continued quietly. ‘Just the occasional snatch of paid love in some Chinese brothel.’
His frankness did not shock his sister. She sensed that she was one of
the few women in his life to whom he could feel free to express his thoughts. ‘You can settle down and the leave the past behind. There is always a job here, as you know,’ Kate prompted gently. ‘Luke thinks you are one of the finest men he has ever known. God knows why when you almost got him killed twice,’ she added with a touch of exasperation.
Luke and Michael had worked together for Horace Brown to foil the Germans annexing the southern part of the New Guinea island. Then they'd mounted a rescue expedition for the Cochinese girl held by Morrison Mort.
‘Wish I could, Kate,’ Michael sighed. ‘But I have one more job to do before I could even consider your generous offer.’
‘It's that evil little Englishman again, isn't it?’ Kate spat as she realised her brother was a long way from finding peace. ‘And I hope you haven't come to recruit my husband for whatever he has planned for you.’
‘I've done with the recruiting, Kate. I only need John Wong and he has agreed to go with me to Sydney.’
‘Sydney! Are you mad?’
‘Probably’ he replied as he raised his glass and held it up against the rising moon. ‘But I have a need to confront my past as well as doing what needs to be done.’
Kate stared at her brother in the dim light of the verandah, watching the shadows of his face to see if he had changed expression. His identity as Michael Duffy was one of the worst kept secrets in the Colony of Queensland, she thought with growing alarm. Surely the rumours of his existence would have filtered to the police in Sydney by now? ‘By confronting your past, I suspect you mean seeing Missus Fiona White,’ she said with the emphasis on the married status of the woman her brother had first loved.
‘Fiona. Yes,’ he said dreamily as he continued to stare through the glass at the huge yellow moon. ‘And others.’
Kate had sworn to her brother to keep the fact of his existence a secret from all other members of the family. As far as they were concerned he had been buried and the mourning had been done with. Kate had disagreed with him but remained true to the oath she had sworn. ‘It might be better that you leave the past behind,’ she warned gently. ‘When they are disturbed, matters of the past have an ugly way of changing the present in ways we might not like.’
‘That's for me to discover, Kate,’ he answered firmly to deter any further sermonising on the subject. ‘But I won't be taking any stupid chances that might put myself or John at risk. No, I have a job to do that just happens to mean I have to confront certain aspects of my past. And yes, Fiona is one of those aspects, but not through choice.’
‘Whatever you do always remember you have a son you will most probably meet one day’ his sister reminded him. She knew what her wild brother was capable of. ‘I doubt you would want him to lead the life you have now.’
Michael threw back his head and laughed. ‘A bloody British officer! My son is a bloody British soldier. What would Da say if he were alive and knew his grandson was wearing the uniform of his old enemies? And you worry about him finding out about my life!’
‘That's not what I meant, Michael,’ Kate said quietly. ‘And it seems fate has conspired to lead him on a path not unlike your own violent destiny. Don't you think it is strange that your son should choose to be a soldier?’
‘I always wanted to be a painter, Kate,’ Michael reminded her as he swilled back the contents of his glass. ‘Not a bloody soldier of fortune.’ She could see the moon soften the shadows on his face and could also see the pain of a lost life in the glow as he added, ‘He must have got his disposition for soldiering from his mother's side of the family.’
Sarah appeared on the verandah in the new dress. It accentuated each graceful curve of her blossoming body and she pirouetted as the dress swirled around her ankles. Michael smiled. It was strange that the young lady should turn out to be such a pretty, graceful creature given that he fondly remembered his brother as a lumbering and awkward oaf. Must have got the beauty and grace from her mother, he thought as he made genuine expressions of admiration for how beautiful she looked as she stood in the moonlight. The rum was soothing his troubled thoughts of the future as he sat with the only real family he had.
When Michael bid his farewell later in the evening to go to the ship that would sail for the south, Kate could hear the curlews calling to each other in mournful waning cries and she shuddered with superstitious dread. Were not they the spirits of the dead roaming the night? Had this not been a day of ill omens?
The hammering on the Cohens' door woke all in the house. Solomon rolled on his side and groaned. Who could be calling at this unearthly hour in the morning, he thought as he groggily forced himself into a sitting position in the bed beside his wife.
‘Judith!’ Distress was evident in the sound of the woman's voice from the verandah.
‘Kate, is that you?’ Judith answered as she pulled a shawl around her shoulders. She was out of bed before her husband and almost fully awake with the awareness that something must be terribly wrong for Kate to disturb them at such an early hour. ‘Is something the matter?’ she called as she fumbled for a kerosene lamp and lit the wick. The pale light flickered into a steady, anaemic glow and Judith could hear the confused mumbled voices of the boys as they came awake in the sleep-out. She made her way to the front door to see Kate pale and trembling with a fear Judith had not seen in her friend's face for many years.
‘Oh, Judith, something terrible has happened to Luke.’ The words tumbled from Kate's lips before Judith could utter any words of her own and impulsively she placed her arm around Kate's shoulder to usher her inside to the dining room. Willie stood behind Solomon and the two men stared through bleary eyes at Kate who had apparently come straight from her bed as she still wore her nightdress.
‘A terrible dream came to me tonight,’ Kate whispered hoarsely as she stared vacantly at the yellow flame of the lamp. ‘I feel that my darling Luke is dying in some terrible and lonely place.’
Judith did not attempt to dissuade her friend with reassuring words. Kate had always had the unsettling gift to know such things. Instead she held Kate to her as if the gesture might take some of the pain from her friend onto herself. ‘The muddy water. I saw the muddy water and that crow again. I …’ Kate paused and struggled to describe the chilling dream in words. How did you find words to describe feelings that were physical and yet not real? ‘I heard Luke call me from a long way away. He said that he loved me, even beyond the death he was facing. I …’ Then she ceased speaking and began to sob.
The two men stood awkwardly on the edge of the room, helpless in the face of the unknown and unacceptable. Only Judith seemed to understand Kate's strange insights. Solomon's eyes met his wife's with a questioning look. She motioned with her eyes for the men to leave them alone.
Willie followed Solomon to the kitchen where he lit the wick of a lantern. Neither man said a word as Solomon slumped into a chair. From the dining room they could hear the murmur of the two women's voices and sobbing. So much pain and suffering in the world, Solomon pondered. It was just a matter of waiting for Judith to tell him what he should do to help when she was ready.
A tall grandfather clock chimed four times. Three-quarters of an hour before it could boom five times they heard the scrape of chairs and the front door close. Judith came to the kitchen. The two men both looked to her expectantly.
‘Kate has gone home to try and rest for a while,’ she said simply in a tired voice. ‘Willie. You will go to Kate's house at dawn and help her prepare for a journey to Burketown.’
‘To Burketown!’ Solomon exploded. ‘But she is almost at her time of confinement.’
‘I know,’ Judith replied holding up her hand to quell any further protest from her husband. ‘I have tried to talk her out of going but she insists she cannot leave Luke out there. It is something she must do.’
‘Well, she can't go alone,’ Solomon growled. ‘That would be foolish in her state.’
‘She won't be going alone,’ Willie said quietly from the end of the t
able. ‘I will go with Kate and look after her.’
Judith cast an appreciative glance at the young man. ‘I know she will be safe with you, William,’ she said softly. ‘God will protect both of you.’
Solomon stared at his wife with an expression of wonder and disbelief. Wonder for her acceptance of Kate's lunatic decision and disbelief that God alone would protect a very pregnant woman on the long and perilous track west to the Gulf. Then he glanced at Willie and saw the fire of the fanatic. Oi but God had some strange people working for Him!
FIFTEEN
Soon the sun would rise across the silent, scrub covered plains. A good time to die, Luke Tracy mused as he gazed east. Propped with his back against a tree he finished the last entry in the leatherbound journal Kate had given him. The gift was an attempt to encourage him to record the many things he knew of the Australian bush – and his colourful life as a prospector who had sought gold on two continents as well as his adventures when he fought the British at the Eureka Stockade alongside Kate's father. But the journal had remained empty, except for what he had written as the closing chapter of his life.
The words he now wrote were simple and full of love. No regrets but one: that he would never hold their child in his arms or again roam the bush of his adopted country and teach him or her its ways. But a man paralysed in the legs was of no use to a woman as active and passionate as Kate, Luke thought, with a deep and despairing sadness.
His horse lay dead only yards from where he had dragged himself to the shade of the tree the day before. Startled by a wallaby bursting from almost under its hooves the big thoroughbred had panicked and reared. Horse and rider had crashed heavily to the ground.
The horse had thrashed its legs and whinnied pitifully. As Luke had recovered his senses he realised in horror that the fall had broken his back. He was able to use his arms, but from the waist down there was no feeling.