Affection (10 page)

Turner opened it.
The esteemed Dr A. J. Turner.
It signed off,
Your humble servant in God, The Reverend Richard Kerr.

The Reverend Kerr seemed to think Turner was some sort of visiting aristocrat, and even went as far as to consider Townsville ‘unworthy’ of the presence of such an Eminent Scientist.

My invitation had been less the gush and more the trickle, but the essence was that we’d both been invited to afternoon tea at the Manse on Saturday, today, to meet the members of the local Natural History Society. I was invited by association, it seemed.

I had already planned not to go.

‘Are you interested in insects, Row?’

‘Only in ways to exterminate them.’

He pretended to look disappointed. ‘I thought you wanted to go hunting for your Blue Tiger.’

‘That was your suggestion.’

‘You need the education.’ He went to the part of his office he now called his laboratory, where a small stove boiled water.

‘What about that boy of yours. Why don’t you bring him along?’

‘Allan? To the Manse? For a lecture on insects?’

‘What does a boy do in this town?’

I frankly had no idea. I tried to picture Allan doing something and couldn’t manage it. What did the boy do? He must go to school. Did he play cricket? Did he have friends? I really didn’t know.

‘Let’s collect the boy on the way,’ said Turner. ‘He might find it fun.’ He held up a bottle of Symington’s Essence Coffee.

‘You can buy that, too, at Wiltshire’s store,’ I said, and he poured some into two cups and filled them with water.

‘Try this.’

I sniffed and sipped. It was terrible.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I suppose you know where the Manse is?’

I started to protest.

‘I won’t be able to find the place on my own,’ he said. ‘Do you have something else to do?’

‘I need a tooth pulled.’

‘I can do that.’

I said I’d rather have an expert do it and would go to the barber.

‘You’ll have more fun with me. I wonder what sort of afternoon tea the Reverend Kerr provides.’

‘Corned beef on stale bread,’ I said. ‘No coffee. You’ll be sorry.’

There is but one gospel and I preach unto you, When the plague comes like the spectre that haunts the sombre yew

And its bony feet are on the street and tread them night and day Wash and pray!

But more especially wash this earthly tenement of clay
—

Wash and pray!

The Bulletin,
14 April 1900

THE FIRST THING I NOTICED
was the picture.

Actually, there were two pictures, both in gold frames. One was a painting of Christ at Calvary, and the other a blue and gold tapestry.

‘Please,’ said the Reverend Kerr behind me, and Allan and I stepped through the doorway. Turner was inspecting the tapestry.

‘What do you think?’ said Kerr.

It was only when we joined him that I saw the details of the tapestry. Punctuated by a myriad gold beetles and blue butterflies were sewn the words,
Among whom ye
shine as lights in the world
. But when I peered closely at the endless, finely stitched insects I realised there was no stitching.

‘They’re real,’ said Allan, solving the puzzle.

The little creatures were pinned to the canvas.

I looked again at Christ crucified. It appeared to be a genuine print, free from insects, the dying Christ beseeching Heaven, looking away from the gaudy scene to His left.

‘My word,’ said Turner.

‘God’s word,’ said the Reverend Kerr. ‘Philippians 2:15. Eight hundred and thirty-five golden scarab beetles.
Anoplognathus parvulus.
’

‘Must have taken for ever to catch all of them,’ said Allan.

‘I had some of the parish children catch them for me. The butterflies were the most difficult. Caught those myself.’

Turner put his nose to the glass. ‘
Papilio ulysses
.’

Kerr nodded.

‘Beautiful.’

‘Won a prize at the Exhibition.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

The Reverend Kerr beamed.

‘Please,’ he said, and gestured towards the dining table where afternoon tea was laid out. There were scones on a tray, with a bowl of cream and another of jam, and a jug of milk. A few flies hovered around the jam and the Reverend attacked them with a tea towel.

‘So glad you could join us. Rarely do we get a visitor of your stature.’ He was talking to Turner, of course. Allan stared at the table with his mouth open.

‘Mrs Kerr’s scones,’ said the Reverend, ruffling the boy’s hair. ‘She’s at the Women’s Guild.’ He held up a finger. ‘I’ll just fetch the tea,’ and vanished through the door.

We waited. Allan fidgeted. The room was cool. A weak light came through two large sash windows that opened to a wide verandah. The windowsill was at floor level and they were open for air. Allan poked his head outside. I told him to come back and be still. I was sorry we’d brought him, for his sake.

Kerr returned carrying a large teapot. He told Turner, ‘I read your “Notes on Australian Lepidoptera”. Most concise and informative,’ and I knew that it would be a long afternoon.

Apparently Kerr had arranged for a friend of Turner’s, Fred Dodd, to come.

‘Splendid,’ said Turner.

Unfortunately, he was still up the coast, on a hunting expedition.

‘Never mind.’

‘Crocodiles?’ said Allan.

‘No,’ said Kerr, chuckling. ‘Nothing so mundane. New species.’

Turner explained that Dodd now supported his family by collecting insects.

‘He gets money for beetles?’ said Allan.

‘Yes, but mainly butterflies and moths,’ said Kerr. ‘He has orders from all over the world.’

‘How much?’ Allan sat on the edge of his seat. Was he genuinely interested or just being polite?

‘I really don’t know.’

Allan wanted to know what sort of insects people paid money for and whether he’d get any money if he found some.

‘You have to be very observant,’ said Turner. ‘And patient. And they have fragile wings. You mustn’t damage them.’

Allan strung together more words than I’d heard him speak for months. He quizzed Turner on who would buy insects.

The Reverend Kerr, sitting beside me, said, ‘Any Acts of God this week, Dr Row?’

‘None that I’m aware of.’

‘Well, that’s good news.’

Allan excused himself.

‘Full of beans,’ said Kerr.

When the boy hadn’t returned after five minutes I went looking for him, leaving Turner and Kerr in a deep discussion about the local ants.

There was a breeze in the hallway. I could see the front gate, the dusty street on my right. I turned left. The open rear door framed hot distant hills.

I passed a small room, stopped and took a few steps
back. I had the uneasy impression that things were crawling over the walls. It was dark in the room, but something was moving.

‘Ghosts.’

Kerr reached past me and pushed the door open further. There wasn’t much light, but I saw a figure.

‘Allan? What the devil?’

‘I was just looking,’ and something clattered on the floor.

Kerr pushed past me and I saw a match struck. The room filled with light from a lamp. Allan was by the bookshelf, looking as if he’d been caught with something he shouldn’t have. At his feet was a rifle.

‘I was only looking.’

‘Looking?’ I was staring at the gun. ‘What in the blazes?’

‘I saw things.’ He was on the verge of tears, watching my face.

Kerr bent and picked up the rifle. ‘It’s my fault. Shouldn’t have left it lying around.’

He put the gun back on a shelf, and then changed his mind and put it on the highest shelf he could reach. Allan looked at me fearfully and then looked up at the wall.

‘Come here now,’ I said. ‘Come out of there.’ I felt alarmed and angry in turn.

‘Ghost moths,’ said Kerr. ‘Startling, aren’t they.’

I only noticed then what it was that had made me stop. On the wall was a large case of luminous moths.

In fact, on every wall as I turned around were insects in framed arrangements. I imagined the rustling of dry wings.

Allan had moved towards me, but stopped out of reach, looking around the walls and giving me wary glances.

‘Are they all dead?’ he said.

‘Of course,’ said Kerr.

‘Allan,’ I hissed. ‘What were you doing?’

‘
Aenetus
,’ I heard Kerr say. ‘They’re called ghosts, but I think of them as angels.’

Their wings were chalky white, pastel blues, yellows, some even green.

‘Creatures of the darkness, Dr Row, and yet they almost glow, don’t they. Shine as lights.’

Despite the colours, there was still the sense that this was a room full of dead things. I took a step towards Allan, grabbed him by the arm and led him back into the front room.

‘You really shouldn’t blame the boy,’ said Kerr.

‘He was where he shouldn’t have been,’ I said. ‘And he had a rifle.’

‘I only stopped because I saw the moths,’ Allan pleaded. ‘I saw the rifle and I picked it up. I just wanted to see what it felt like.’

‘There,’ said Kerr to me, as if it was a perfectly good explanation.

‘What if it had gone off?’ I said.

‘Oh no,’ said Kerr. ‘I never keep it loaded. I don’t even have any bullets. It’s just for show. When I’m out collecting.’

He appeared to be serious.

Turner said, ‘No harm done then,’ which annoyed me even more, but it seemed I was outnumbered.

We sat. I fumed, but my anger was evaporating. Allan appeared contrite, at least.

I forced myself to construct a scone with cream and jam. Allan reached out, but drew his hand back under my glare.

‘I was just telling the Reverend Kerr about your interest in the Blue Tigers,’ said Turner. ‘The Reverend says he’s sure we’ll find some at Three Mile Creek.’

‘What a coincidence,’ I said.

‘What’s a coincidence?’ said Kerr.

Turner said, ‘We have some business there as well. It might be a good site for an isolation hospital.’

‘Ah. The plague you mean. Is it that serious?’

Kerr and Turner talked about the need to slaughter rats, and I whispered to Allan, ‘Don’t you ever pick up a gun again.’

He shook his head, eyes wide. I was rarely angry.

Kerr was saying, ‘Found a rat dead outside the church a few weeks ago.’

‘Really?’ Weally? ‘What did it look like,’ said Turner.

‘Looked as if it had been trampled by a horse. That was the day I found blood on my gown. Such a shock though. I can’t think who would do such a thing. But I
take comfort in the Bible:
And when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and the plague shall not be upon you to destroy you.

‘Exodus,’ said Allan, full of surprises today.

‘Can’t seem to get the blood out either.’

Allan scouted a tree in the front yard as we were leaving and Kerr dashed back into the Manse and emerged with a cigar box.

‘A Hercules moth,’ he said, presenting it to the boy.

‘You shouldn’t,’ I said.

‘Nonsense. The boy seems to be interested.’ And Allan did peer into the box with a sort of reverence.

‘What do you say, Allan?’ I said.

‘Thanks.’

‘Not at all.’

‘Biggest moth in the world,’ said Turner.

‘Did you shoot it?’ I heard Allan say. Turner proceeding to describe some interesting aspect of the creature.

I took the Reverend by the arm and led him further up the path.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ I said.

‘No harm done.’

‘He’s been at a loose end lately.’

‘Boys,’ Kerr said, shaking his head.

‘In church a couple of weeks ago,’ I said, ‘there was a woman and her child sitting up the back. She had a bad cough.’

‘Terrible time of the year for coughs. I could shut my
eyes and tell you what month of the year it was, just by the coughing in church.’

‘But this particular woman was right up the back. With a girl about three. I’m worried about her health.’

Kerr put a finger under his chin and stared off into the hazy distance. ‘Girl with a child? I may have seen her once or twice, but her name?’ He shook his head. ‘Flits in and flits out, barely a word.’

Perhaps she’d be in church on Sunday?

‘Perhaps,’ said the Reverend.

Turner and I dropped Allan home. He was silent on the trip. Other fathers would have whipped the boy.

When we returned to Turner’s office, there was a gift waiting.

‘My my,’ said Turner, opening the shoebox outside his door.

I looked over his shoulder. A rat was lying on its side slightly bent, so big it filled the box, its tail curling back over its body. Its fur was wet.

‘Must be a joke,’ I said.

‘A joke? I hope not. No, I think this is just what this doctor ordered.’

He opened the door and lit his stove, explaining that he’d asked a health inspector to bring him any rat he found dead of natural causes.

‘Didn’t take him long,’ said Turner.

‘I’m not surprised.’ There were plenty of rats around, if one cared to look. I preferred not to.

When the water had boiled, Turner spread out a clean cloth and began sterilising a scalpel, shears and a syringe.

He laid the rat on a metal tray under a lamp.

‘Nothing out of the ordinary, Row?’

‘I’m not familiar with what’s ordinary in rats.’

Turner flipped the thing on to its back and forced the legs apart.

‘Hold them back,’ he told me, and I grabbed the small limbs and held them as he took a scalpel and cut down from the chest to the anus.

‘Male,’ he said.

‘I can see that.’

‘Please don’t interrupt,’ he said.

Some bloody fluid oozed, but the animal had been dead for some time and was already stiff. Turner pulled the skin back from the stomach exposing a swirl of entrails.

He picked up the small shears and delicately snipped, once, at the rib cage, exposing the white ends of tiny bone.

The animal was spread apart.

With the tip of the shears Turner swiftly separated the organs, displaying them around the body so we could examine them closer.

‘See here, Row?’

I bent forward, smelling the wet fur, a distinctive rodent smell.

‘Intestine. Look at the colour.’

I shrugged. ‘Green.’

‘It’s actually milky. The green is what’s inside.’

‘Heart,’ he said. The thing was bright red.

We went through the organs one by one and then Turner made incisions along the underside of the legs.

He stood back and sighed.

‘Plague?’ I said.

‘I doubt it.’ He fished out the lungs and cut them open. They were grey and watery.

‘Well,’ he said, turning away and picking up the syringe. ‘I’d say death by drowning. What do you think, Row?’

‘Is that natural causes?’

‘Our inspector seems to think so.’

I thought about it too. Did man, nature or God kill this rat?

‘Why the sample, if it drowned?’ I said.

‘Just to make sure.’

I carried the rat in its shoebox out to the Town Hall’s back yard. Walls of rusty corrugated iron were hard up against the back fence and there was an awful smell of the creek. A fitting place for a rat crematorium. I threw the box into the council furnace, doused it with kerosene, set it alight and hurried back inside.

That evening we sat on the balcony of Turner’s office. A man with a ladder made his way down the street lighting the gas lamps one by one with a sleepy efficiency. The act softened Townsville’s hard edges.
It had always been a happy ritual for me as a boy in Brisbane to see the lamplighter come down the street, the day’s heat evaporating, being called home and dinner not far off.

The wind had died and the air was drier and cooler than it had been for months, and so it was pleasant to watch the gas lights come on. Castle Hill vanished into the purple evening.

Soon the street lamps were the only ones by which we could see each other. Insects were already forming halos.

The hotel on the corner was becoming rowdy. Townsville was a place of limited distractions and a shortage of women, and most men worked and drank the harder for it.

Turner was outlining the things we should do the next week, but my mind drifted along its own current until it caught up against the girl in church.