Affection (5 page)

‘…leading the way in fumigation. Now Brisbane wants to adopt our tight restrictions and what earthly good will that do them now, for Heaven’s sake? They’ve already got the damned disease…’

I heard someone coughing. A cough in itself could mean anything. How many ailments were a product of phlegm or the lack of it? Asthma, consumption, any number of relapsing fevers. I started ticking them off.

‘…you follow me?’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘I knew we were of one mind on this, Dr Row.’

I wondered what I’d agreed to.

‘A necessary evil, if you like. We have our differences Mr Dawson and I, but on this we agree. White workers need as many jobs as we can find for them these days. Kanakas are suited to the plantations, I agree with Mr Philp on that one. Australia for Australians, but who’ll cut the cane, eh? Mr Dawson, of course, wants them packed off or bleached or something, well, I ask you where would we be? White men can’t work in the sugarcane fields, but by Jove the railways need as many white workers as they can get. Can’t just knock a spike in anywhere, you follow me? And you have to build train lines; the modern businessman can’t run a show without them. The North especially needs the railways
now. One day soon, Row, you and I could catch a train from the station in town here and travel all the way to Brisbane. What do you think of that?’

I supposed, unlike a steamer, I could just pull a cord and get off.

I said it would be pleasant.

‘Pleasant? It’d be a bloody triumph of the modern age. Now Dawson, I grant you, is as red as he is white, if you follow me, but you’ve got to respect the man, a former Premier, even though that was a debacle. Anyway, he’s due to appear at the railway hearings here later in the week. What are the chances of him being released in time for that?’

Released in time for…? I nearly choked. ‘You want me to release Mr Dawson from quarantine?’

‘That’s what I said.’ McCreedy was watching me closely now, having apparently come to the point.

‘I can’t do that.’

‘What, even for a few hours? Why on earth not? We both know he’s not infected. No germ would dare. Ha.’ McCreedy put a heavy hand on my shoulder. ‘Mr Philp will win this one, Row, if Mr Dawson doesn’t show, and if that happens it’ll be a blow to the North and to progress, let alone good sense.’

It occurred to me that Dawson and McCreedy had reached some agreement about some railway line. The only railway project I could think of was the proposal by Charters Towers businessmen to build a spur line to link up with Bowen, so they could bypass Townsville.
But he was the Townsville Mayor and this couldn’t be what he meant.

‘I can’t cut quarantine short for anyone,’ I said. ‘I’m not even sure it’s Dr Humphry’s decision now.’

‘Well, put it to Humphry, will you? Mr Dawson must front this hearing,’ said McCreedy, ‘or the project’s scuttled. You follow me?’

I said I’d see what was possible.

‘Good, good. You know Mr Dawson and Dr Routh are saying the man has typhoid?’

I nodded.

‘And he’s recovering.’

‘Yes.’

‘If there’s some disagreement about Dr Humphry’s diagnosis, could not the Epidemic Board reconsider the quarantine period? I believe the passengers have another, what, week to serve?’

‘Fifteen days,’ I said.

‘Well, there you are, in those harsh conditions. Away from their families. It may be we are putting them at risk of infection from some other diseases, you follow me? A quarantine station by definition is not a healthy place. You’d have to agree.’

I supposed I had to.

‘Good, good. And what about this other Government doctor they’re sending up. He’s an expert in the damned disease, isn’t he? Maybe he could do something. In the interests of Queensland’s development.’

‘Maybe,’ I said.

‘Don’t know how many Government doctors we need, maybe one for each rat, eh? You know this fellow?’

‘Dr Turner? I’ve met him.’

‘Right. Well, whatever he needs, keep him sweet, but I won’t stand for any meddling, you follow me? Neither will the rest of the town. See if he can get Mr Dawson off the island.’ He slapped my shoulder and leaned forward. ‘If you can do this for me, Row, you won’t be sorry.’

The Mayor looked around at his wife, who was fidgeting with her parasol. ‘“The wrath of the Lord” indeed,’ he said, nodding towards the Reverend Kerr who was mingling with the last of the congregation. Buggies were raising dust along the road.

‘Anyway,’ McCreedy was saying, ‘one case does not an epidemic make. Would you be able to tell, Row, the difference between plague and any number of tropical fevers that touch this city in any given year?’

‘I hope so.’

‘Right. Northern stock are tough and it’s the Chinaman and kanaka who’ll cop it. They’re the ones we need to damn well quarantine.’

Most of the buggies had gone. I saw the back of Reverend Kerr.

‘…Brisbane medico,’ McCreedy went on, ‘an expert in these matters I read about, whatshisname? Lukin or something. Lucas. You follow me?’

The Mayor took his watch out again. ‘Blast.’ He tapped his head, ‘One mind, doctor,’ and crushed my hand.

The stragglers of the congregation were climbing into their carriages and I saw that the Reverend and Mrs Kerr had found an invitation to lunch and were already on their way to German Gardens.

And then I was alone. Behind St Andrew’s, dry scrub and boulders climbed the side of Castle Hill. The only sounds came from crows and insects, the wind in the trees, and the fading rattle of McCreedy’s buggy.

The church door was open. I looked around and stepped out of the shade and over the gravel.

The church was an oven when I poked my head inside. Perhaps the young mother had fainted.

The pew where she had been sitting was empty, but I leaned over it to make sure she wasn’t lying full stretch. Coughing politely I walked slowly down the aisle, looking up and down the pews.

‘Anyone here?’ Apart from the Almighty.

The church grew darker and the iron roof creaked as a cloud passed over. Ahead was the communion table, pulpit, and the dark opening of the doorway leading to the vestry.

An empty church is an eerie place. You can never shake the feeling you’re being watched, which is, I suppose, the point. If you’re alone, though, you’re the centre of attention.

Even my socks were damp with perspiration.

Something moved near the vestry.

‘Who’s there?’ My voice was pitched a little high.

I walked slowly over, tilting my head, trying to get a clear vision of what lay in the gloom. A figure in black stood by the wall.

‘I’m a doctor.’

Not necessarily the most reassuring thing to say in these parts. I stepped closer.

He didn’t move. I stood at the vestry entrance. A sudden shaft of sun lit a column of rising dust and I was looking at the Reverend Kerr’s black robe hanging from a hook.

I straightened, ridiculous and apparently alone. And yet I had heard something. To my left was the door, behind which a homeless thin woman and a child could hide. I stepped into the vestry and touched the knob. A dark shape rushed me.

‘Christ!’

I leapt back. The rat darted between my legs and went for the far wall, hitting the skirting board and running along until it reach the hem of the robe. It stopped there, thinking it was hidden, but I could still see its greasy tail and I took two strides towards it, lifted my foot and brought it down.

The robe slid from the hook to spill over my boot, under which the rat squirmed. I leaned my weight to it until it stopped moving.

I took a deep breath and pulled my leg away. It had all happened so fast. I pushed the cloth aside with the
toe of a boot. The rat kicked feebly in death, blood blossoming from its nose onto the floor. A great deal of blood. I saw black blood on the cloth.

I stood there feeling shaky, expecting footsteps, someone fleeing, or someone arriving to investigate the desecration. But it was quiet.

I gathered up the black robe and then used it to pick up the body. I started to wipe the bloody floor.

Damnation.

I carried the corpse in its bloody shroud to the front door and, holding it out at arm’s length, let the dead rat fall to the dirt. Blood, dust and rat hair were smeared over the cloth. I gave it a shake, and then debated whether to take it with me and burn it.

But I simply went back to the vestry and hung the thing up again, walking out of the church as quickly and casually as I could manage.

I reached the fig tree before turning around. If the young woman and her child were still in the church they could stew. I cursed myself for trying to help. I could see the small broken body of the rat in the dust near the steps. A crow swooped down and jumped towards it. I turned.

I felt a little ill as I walked away, my boots raising puffs of dust that the wind blew ahead, down a road empty at noon on a Sunday.

The flaunting flag of progress Is in the West unfurled, The mighty bush with iron rails Is tethered to the world.

‘The Roaring Days’, Henry Lawson

THE WHEELS OF HEAVY
wagons had maimed the road to the wharves, but the Carbine negotiated the lesions with a certain panache, I felt. I passed two men walking their bicycles and I even managed to raise my hat.

The thing about the Carbine bicycle, the thing that made it suitable for the North, was that it was built completely of English parts, as I said, but had been assembled in South Australia to be raced between towns. It was painted red and had pneumatic tyres, the pillion modified to take my medical bag, but I couldn’t say the streets of Townsville were ideal for the sport. It was mostly flat going, but rough, and everyone had a dog.

I picked a path between the grooves, flicking the bicycle deftly around muddy holes and hard clay spines, but eventually the road was in such bad shape I had to get off and walk it the last hundred yards.

The passenger wharf was closer to the mouth of Ross Creek than the Government wharf, but even here against the sea breeze were the oily odours of industry. A steam shovel was working out into the bay to extend the harbour so that bigger coastal traders could actually tie up. At the moment lighters were used to take cattle, gold, and sugar out to the ships, and it wasn’t unusual to see steer swimming in the bay.

The water was now flecked with whitecaps and I could see a few ships at anchor.

The plague news up and down the coast hadn’t done much to slow the steamer traffic and the port was busy despite the burden on ships to be fumigated. I doubted many captains actually took the trouble. The regulations probably meant more backhanders for port officers.

That was the talk, anyway.

The northern railway lines terminated here, all the cattle, gold and men channelled through this point. A spur line ran on to the wharf, and there was a train parked beside the steamship.

The gunwale of the SS
Leura
was still slick with sea spray. Despite McCreedy’s vision of long-distance train travel, the steamship was the only civilised way to get to Brisbane.

I searched the crowd for Humphry.

Passengers lined the deck ready to disembark and there was a fair number of people to welcome them.
Women in white skirts and muslins paraded beneath red sunshades and men in flannel suits stood around in small groups.

I saw the back of Humphry’s black boxer several yards in front of me. I knew it was Humphry because it was at an unlikely angle, pushed far back on his head in the manner of a bushranger I’d seen in a photograph, who wore it that way only because he was propped up against a wall, dead. I think Humphry enjoyed looking mad and dangerous.

He was standing with the dignitaries who’d come to the wharf to welcome the Government’s new health officer. As I was unsure of my own status in that crowd, I stood behind them while the ship tied up.

I knew their figures well enough now to recognise them from behind under their charcoal suits, hats and billows of smoke. Counting myself, there were five here to welcome Dr Alfred Jefferis Turner.

His Worship the Mayor stood beside Thankful Willmett. Alderman Willmett was the chairman of the Townsville Joint Epidemic Board and appeared to be a level head in a town largely run by lunatics.

Beside Willmett, taller and thinner, was Dr William Bacot, the chief surgeon of the Townsville General Hospital. Bacot was older than I, but not by much, and he was perpetually angry.

Beside Bacot was Humphry.

Three doctors and two aldermen.

I guessed that the aldermen outweighed us, even though we outnumbered them.

McCreedy was facing the ship and he said loudly that it was a shame there were no Members of Parliament to receive the Government’s agent today, Townsville’s own Mr Philp being caught up with matters of state in Brisbane and the MPs for Charters Towers incarcerated at West Point on Magnetic Island.

McCreedy leaned forward and turned to Humphry at the end of the line. ‘But I suppose that’s not your fault.’

‘Clearly not,’ said Humphry.

‘I’ve heard you’ve been going about startling people with unsubstantiated claims, Dr Humphry. Some people have come to me asking if the town is overrun with the Black Death.’

‘Black Death?’ Humphry snorted. ‘I wouldn’t say anything of the sort.’

McCreedy was about to say something more, but Willmett whispered in his ear and he turned his attention back to the ship.

There was some excited shouting as people on the wharf recognised passengers, but our group in black, like pallbearers waiting for the coffin, remained in dignified silence as the gangway rolled out before us.

The Wesley Military Band struck up the Doxology. Humphry’s elbow rose as he took a nip from his hipflask.

The first passenger appeared at the top of the
Leura
’s gangway. He looked around and seemed to take a deep breath before starting down. As he came closer I saw spectacles, a white linen tropical suit and a white pith
helmet. There was no movement from the party as he came towards us, but then Dr Bacot took a coughing fit and Humphry pounded him once, hard, on the back.

The man was carrying a medical bag and tottered down the gangway towards us.

I’d been nervous about the reception the doctor would get in Townsville and seeing Jefferis Turner again, his stature, I was certain now that he would be quickly crushed.

Except for the white suit he was exactly as I remembered: small and dapper. His slight build hardly tipped the scales in the doctors’ favour.

As Mayor McCreedy had said, they were a tough breed in the North. They were quick to note any weakness in Southerners. The man seemed unsteady as he negotiated the moving gangway and McCreedy appeared to swell as the Government doctor approached.

He was the centre of everyone’s attention now; even the other passengers watched as he stepped off the gangway as if off a Brisbane tram.

Humphry in front of me went to step forward, but the Mayor in one long stride beat him, reaching out a practised hand.

‘Doctor Turner? A. E. McCreedy. I’m the Mayor. Good of you to come.’

I caught the ‘fank you’. I saw McCreedy’s face now and it was beaming, and Bacot was staring with his mouth open. My God, I thought, Turner was light-weight,
English middle class, bookish, with a speech impediment; the antithesis of the northern male.

The Mayor eclipsed the doctor as he stepped forward, causing the rest of the party to move forward and surround him. For a moment I fancied they’d eaten him.

I heard McCreedy introduce the others. I could just see the top of Turner’s oddly large head.

‘And where is Dr Row?’ I heard him say.

‘Who?’ said McCreedy.

Humphry looked around, saw me, and stepped aside.

‘Here I am,’ I said.

I took the hand that Turner extended between Bacot and Humphry. ‘I never expected such a crowd.’
Cwowd
.

Bacot, I swear, sniggered.

Turner smiled at me as if we were old friends. In his eyes I saw a confidence no doubt naïve and dangerously misplaced.

I said I was glad to see him again. I wished I’d meant it.

Alderman Willmett, as chairman of the Epidemic Board and a gentleman, asked Turner if his trip was comfortable and Turner told him it was, but for the last leg from Rockhampton, which was ‘wuff, vewy wuff, but jolly good fun’.

I stood back and Turner vanished again among the black suits. The other passengers were now coming down the gangway and the Mayor was gesturing at the locomotive, one of the train’s carriages having been
especially organised for the dignitaries. I heard Turner from within the scrum assure him he shouldn’t have
bovvered
, but the Mayor wouldn’t hear of anything but the best for a respected medico and escorted the doctor to the carriage.

Humphry fell back beside me as we moved off.

‘We’ve been sold a pup.’

‘Why do you say that?’ I said.

‘
Weally
?’ mocked Humphry. ‘Come on. You didn’t tell me he was a jockey.’

I saw Turner walking between McCreedy and Bacot. ‘He’s no jockey.’ I supposed he didn’t look like the man who could fight our battles. ‘He’s the Brisbane featherweight boxing champion. Took my title.’

‘Ha!’ said Humphry. The train whistle blew. ‘Wonder if they have beer and sandwiches.’

We stopped by the carriage.

‘I brought my Carbine.’

‘You know, Lin, when you say that, I look around for your gun or your horse.’

‘It’s only a mile back to town. Seems silly to take a train.’

‘Nothing’s too silly for the Government’s bacteriologist, apparently.’

I left them and walked back to my bicycle with mixed feelings about Turner’s arrival.

I’d just put my foot on the pedal when I heard a shout. Our chairman Willmett was waving me over. I wheeled my bicycle back to the train.

‘Dr Turner was wondering where you’d got to,’ he said as I came nearer. Turner’s head without the helmet appeared from a window.

‘I have my bicycle,’ I said.

‘Bwing it on board and wide back with us,’ said Turner.

I could see Humphry through a window waving a sandwich. I reluctantly wheeled the bicycle over to the wooden foot step. There was no platform at the wharf, so with the help of a fellow who was apparently the conductor I lifted the bicycle aboard, Willmett climbed behind me, and the train moved off.

The solid figure of the Mayor sat opposite Turner, making the little doctor appear even smaller on his seat. Willmett squeezed next to the Mayor. McCreedy began asking Turner if he’d been north before. Turner said he was sorry to say he hadn’t but he’d been jolly well looking forward to it. He was watching the townscape unfold through the carriage window.

It seemed extravagant to have the short trip catered, but the council had put silver platters of beef sandwiches on board and Humphry passed one to me. Turner had two, and the conductor came with tea.

‘Do you have coffee?’ said Turner. The man went away.

McCreedy and Willmett kept exchanging glances, having difficulty comparing the man they had in front of them with the one they’d been told to expect.

Willmett had a go at the weather. ‘Heat’s gone now, so that’s a good thing.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t help you at all,’ said Turner. He was looking out the window at the tents and iron shanties beside the spur that linked the wharves to the town.

‘Won’t it?’

‘The plague bacillus isn’t bothered one way or the other about the weather,’ said Turner. Some grubby-faced children appeared and ran beside the train. I saw undergarments hanging on a wire strung over a dusty yard, a drunk leaning against the rusty side of a tin shack.

‘Of course, you know,’ said Turner, not taking his eyes off the scene now, ‘it’s the rats we have to watch. They’ll start wandering around in search of food in cooler weather.’

There were piles of rubbish beside the track, and some of them were smouldering. I caught a glimpse of children playing cricket in a dusty lane with kerosene-tin wickets.

‘I wouldn’t take too much comfort in the weather,’ said Turner again. All the carriage windows were closed, and Turner stood to open his. He had trouble getting it to budge.

‘Don’t do that,’ said McCreedy, putting out his hand, but the window suddenly shot up with a bang and Turner put his head outside. A fetid smoke from burning rubbish and cooking fires filled the carriage. I saw a dog carcass in a drain.

McCreedy leaned forward and put a hand on the window. ‘With the drought and everything, men have been arriving in town in droves. You know the type.’

Turner shut the window and sat down again. ‘Disease loves poverty.’

‘Eh?’ said the Mayor. ‘Is that so? Well, what we need are projects, you follow me? Get these coves working. Railway lines, that sort of thing. It’s the patriotic thing to do. And, as you say, disease prevention.’

Willmett was frowning and I suspected the Mayor didn’t have complete support for all of his private projects.

‘This is fun,’ said Humphry in the uncomfortable silence. ‘We should do this more often.’

The train rumbled over the Ross Creek railway bridge and as we were approaching the station Turner leaned into the aisle and asked Humphry and me about the
Cintra
passengers.

‘Still quarantined,’ said Humphry.

‘And the man who is sick?’ said Turner.

‘Oh, he’s recovered,’ McCreedy cut in, ‘fully recovered.’

‘Splendid.’

‘Yes, we think it may not have been plague after all,’ said the Mayor, shooting a savage glance at Humphry.

‘Really?’ said Turner. Weally? ‘Why do you think that?’

‘Well, because the man’s recovered. Dr Routh’s our man on the island and he thinks it was just a bout of typhoid.’

‘Rot,’ said Humphry.

McCreedy glared. ‘Well, it
was
Dr Humphry who diagnosed plague in the first place so I suppose he has every right to defend his position.’

‘I’m not taking a
position
,’ said Humphry. ‘The man has plague. It’s a fact, not a matter of opinion.’

Turner looked to McCreedy, who rolled his eyes.

Turner said, ‘I can only go on the advice of the district medical officer over this, but I’ll keep an open mind. Until I see all the facts for myself.’

‘Of course,’ said McCreedy. ‘Only right, I’m not saying otherwise. Just saying what the West Point medical superintendent reports.’

‘West Point?’

‘That’s the quarantine station they’re at. Magnetic Island.’

‘An island? And how far is that?’

‘About six miles,’ said Humphry. ‘Across the bay.’

‘And is this the preferred place for a plague hospital?’ said Turner.

Dr Bacot leaned forward from his seat behind McCreedy and Willmett. ‘It hasn’t come to that yet. We won’t be needing a plague hospital.’ He nodded to himself and sat back, folding his arms.

‘Well,’ said Turner, ‘I can’t imagine an island’s the best place to put people who are sick.’

The Mayor grinned and leaned forward. ‘My thoughts exactly. Exactly.’ He slapped Turner on the knee and sat back, nodding. ‘Completely inappropriate.
That’s what I told the Premier. You just can’t incarcerate people on an island willy-nilly. Thank you, Dr Turner.’