The Book of Levi (12 page)

Leslie was in no mood to talk. He stood quietly beside the window as Stefan and Mark sat beside each other on the far side of his desk.

Mark clicked on his Dictaphone but Stefan placed his hand upon Mark’s. ‘Do you might not taping?’ he asked.

Mark nodded chivalrously and turned off the recording device.

‘I hope I’m doing the right thing coming to you,’ he said, biting his lip and raising his eyes. ‘You see, my loyalty is with the state before it is with any representative of the state. I’ve seen several administrations and . . .’

Leslie held up his hand to assure Stefan that he understood, but he did not turn his eyes away from the window.

Mark patted Stefan’s hand for reassurance.

Stefan smiled weakly, ‘When I saw the president today with Mr Levi and especially when I heard him include himself in a position of authority, which I’m sorry, is untenable . . .’, he faltered, ‘it made sense of a few things I’ve noticed over the past couple of weeks - something that’s now worrying me.’

Leslie’s ears pricked up. He dropped his chin down and to the left as he listened.

‘In particular, it was something that I overheard a few nights ago. I was over at your radio room, Consul Woodford. I’d taken the president over there, as requested. It was a matter of state security, she had said, and so I stayed in the car and she went in alone. But shortly after she left the car I noticed that she’d left a folder on the back seat . . .’

FLASHBACK

EXT.STAFF CAR.NIGHT

Stefan sits alone in the car.

INT.STAFF CAR.NIGHT

He notices the folder lying on the back seat. He grabs it and exits the car.

EXT.LESLIE’S WORKPLACE.NIGHT

Stefan slips through the gate and up into an external stairwell.

INT.LESLIE’S CORRIDOR.NIGHT

Stefan enters the corridor. He sees a light at the far end.

He approaches the light. As he does, he hears voices and a burst of radio static coming from the room.

He is about to enter but he hears a male voice and stops just outside.

DISSOLVE

‘I stopped because I knew from some other things I’d overheard that whatever the president was doing in your radio room, consul, was top secret. So I, of course assumed that the president would be alone, or perhaps that you, or even Mr Hill might be present, but the voice I heard was neither of you. So I listened by the door . . .’

FLASHBACK

INT.LESLIE’S CORRIDOR.NIGHT

Stefan listens as a male voice speaks on the far side of the door.

SEBASTIAN (OFF)

We can work together on this, gentlemen. This is the biggest prime mover for social change since the Communist Manifesto.

Stefan presses his ear to the door but the reply on the radio set is muffled and indistinguishable.

SEBASTIAN (OFF)

If you doubt the veracity of my statements, prime minister, I suggest you challenge me to a test. I’m telling you it works! And make no mistake, all of you city representatives tuning in tonight, if you pay for the rights you’ll not only dominate your cities but you’ll also find ample trade in other cities who adopt this system. I will see to that.

Stefan decides against knocking on the door and quietly withdraws back down the corridor.

INT.STAFF CAR.NIGHT

Stefan looks back up at the building to make sure no one is coming. He opens the folder Elizabeth has left behind.

Inside the folder is a green book. Stefan flashes through it. He looks up from the pages in realisation.

DISSOLVE

‘I realised that this was the green book we’d only recently recovered from the library, but I couldn’t make sense of the radio conversation. I didn’t recognise the male voice at the time, but I now realise of course that it was Mister Levi. I was confused. Of course, I said nothing to President Dawson when she re-entered the car. I looked in the rear view vision mirror at her a few times during the journey and I’m sure that she’d been crying.’

Leslie nodded as pieces of puzzle dropped into place. But Stefan and Mark, who knew nothing of transference chambers and radio contact with far away cities, could only guess at the meaning.

‘So she has the entire book now, does she?’ he muttered to himself. Then back to Stefan he asked, ‘Anything else?’ He was still facing the window so as not to show his growing anger.

‘Just one more thing,’ Stefan replied. ‘Last night I came back late to pick up some things and I heard an argument in the president’s office.

FLASHBACK

INT.OUTSIDE THE PRESIDENT’S OFFICE.LATE

Stefan is gathering some papers from his desk when he hears raised voices coming from the president’s office.

He moves towards the door.

ELIZABETH (OFF)

And I want you to stop! Please stop! Oh, I don’t know what to think any more. Why isn’t it helping?

SEBASTIAN (OFF)

Give it time. Give it time. Don’t you see? They will come to us.

ELIZABETH (OFF)

That’s not what I mean. It’s not as clear . . . Oh, I don’t know what I mean.

SEBASTIAN (OFF)

It will all make sense in the end, Elizabeth. Trust me.

Stefan grits his teeth, knocks loudly and pushes through the door.

INT.THE PRESIDENT’S OFFICE.NIGHT

Elizabeth composes herself. She turns to face Stefan as he forces his way through the door.

In the background, Sebastian has his face away from Stefan, towards the window.

ELIZABETH

Stefan? What can I do for you?

STEFAN

I heard voices, Miss Dawson, and I was making sure that you were alright.

Stefan casts a glance towards Sebastian’s back.

ELIZABETH

Yes. I’m fine, Stefan. Mind you take your brolly now. It’s still raining.

SEBASTIAN

Yes, President Dawson.

Stefan bows politely and withdraws from the room.

On its far side he looks concerned, before leaving the darkened room.

DISSOLVE

‘Which brings us to tonight,’ Stefan concluded with a large sigh. He looked up to Leslie for advice.

‘Gentlemen,’ Leslie said, after a long silence. ‘There is an old Chinese curse which says, ‘May you live in interesting times.’ Well, I’m afraid we’re about to.’

It was as Leslie had feared. Elizabeth refused to take any of his calls or requests for a meeting. She also refused to remove the guards posted outside both the library and his radio room, or to give him a pass to enter either. He was unable to resume experiments on the transference machine, or contact with the far away cities with which he, he kept reminding himself, had made contact possible in the first place. She had cut him completely out of the picture. It seemed that his sole contribution to the advancement of Corporate City was to be the motorised scooter.

‘And I’m telling you,’ Damien replied to Leslie’s suggestion that they break into his radio room, ‘if you do that, you’re on your own, mate. I may be your friend but I also value my life.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means, old chum, that at the moment you and me are on the right side of the law. And we’re doing alright. Pretty soon those scooters will roll on out and we’ll be famous. Okay, so the president’s cut you out. So what? She’s the president, for God’s sake. The president always has the final word. But let me remind you of those rioters from a couple of months ago. They were all executed as criminals of the state. So keep your head down, or you might get it chopped off.’

‘Elizabeth wouldn’t do that to me.’ Leslie was staggered at the thought.

‘Maybe, maybe not, but she didn’t hesitate to use your services and then piss you off, did she?’

‘I’m certain that she wouldn’t have me killed. If I’m any judge of character . . .’

‘Well obviously you’re not,’ Damien interrupted, ‘because until a couple of days ago you thought that the sun shone out of her arse and that she was in love with you.’

‘I’m sure there was something there. I’m sure there was.’

‘Les, I love ya, mate, but I’ve gotta be honest, you’re like the bloke who goes to a strip joint and thinks the stripper’s coming on to ‘im. Once you’ve paid your money, she’s on to the next guy.’

‘That’s an ugly analogy.’

‘True,’ admitted Damien, ‘but it fits, doesn’t it? Look, she flirted with you, she flirted with me, now she’s flirting with what’s ‘is face, the librarian. I’ve known her family for a long time, mate, and I’m telling you – this may be a democracy in name, but the executive power is usually in the hands of about six families in this city. They’re a law unto themselves. Elizabeth’ll play one off against the other until she gets what she wants. She’s a politician, mate, and a successful one at that. Don’t cross her, or you’ll regret it.’

This made Leslie reflective. ‘That’s what Nick said too.’

‘Oh yeah? How is he by the way?’ asked Damien, glad to be off such a thorny subject.

‘Still sick,’ replied Leslie. ‘I’m going to see him after this.’

‘Give him my regards.’

An hour later Leslie did so, but Nicholas was in no fit state to reply. His meal sat, untouched, on a tray in front of him. He lay back with his eyes shut.

Leslie sat at the end of Nicholas’ bed staring at him, squinting with thought. He moved beside him and closely examined his fingernails. Then he felt the skin around his jowls. A puzzled expression crossed his face. He plucked a hair from his head but the sick man was so out to it that he didn’t even flinch. Leslie found a plastic glove by the bed-side and gently placed the hair sample into it.

He stared intently at Nicholas from close up for some time but the patient did not stir. Then Leslie looked at the dinner plate. It was a seafood dish of some kind and it was prepared elegantly.

‘Edgar!’ Leslie shouted and soon Edgar’s face appeared at the door. ‘Did you make this food for your father?’

‘No,’ replied Edgar, ‘that came from Macquarie Street, courtesy of the government.’

‘Are you eating this stuff?’

‘No. Remember? I told you. I’m on my own diet.’

‘That’s right,’ replied Leslie, pensively. Then, moved by a sudden impulse, he took a chunk of crab meat from the plate and pocketed a small, sealed bottle of drinking water. ‘I don’t think your father will miss this,’ he said. And he left.

Three hours later, he returned. He appeared to be angry. He stormed past Edgar, who had opened the door for him, and he blustered his way quickly towards Nicholas’ room.

Edgar followed. ‘Is everything alright?’ he asked as he entered the room, where he was amazed to find Leslie‘s bottom in the air and his head searching under his father’s sick bed. He soon emerged with a test tube filled with urine.

‘Can you cook?’ he asked Edgar.

‘Not really,’ stammered the boy, ‘Dad usually . . .’

‘It’s time to start. Your father is not to eat any more of this prepared food. Throw it away, but, if anyone asks, tell them he’s eating it. Do you understand?’

Edgar nodded. ‘Yes, but . . .’

‘No questions. Not yet. Just do it.’ He foraged in his pockets with his free hand. ‘Here. Give these to your father whenever he’ll take them.’

‘What are they?’

‘Charcoal tablets. If you can get him to eat some burned toast that will help too.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Leslie took the young man by both shoulders. ‘Edgar you must trust me. Do you?’

Edgar nodded.

‘Good, then pack two suitcases: one for yourself and one for your father.’

‘We don’t have any suitcases,’ replied Edgar, somewhat bewildered. ‘Les, there’s nowhere to go. Is there?’

‘Son,’ said Leslie sadly, ‘just do it.’ He left hurriedly.

Edgar stood, staring at the door for some time after Leslie had passed through it. The whole encounter had been so rapid and strange that he gave his head a quick short, sharp shake to convince himself that he hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

*

Back at home in his apartment, Leslie had assembled a small makeshift lab and was examining Nicholas’ urine sample, when he heard the same voice he had heard a thousand times before, but had never actually listened to. It was that of a wretched man with a red beard who made a nuisance of himself by standing on soap boxes all around the city. He was a well known stirrer. He must have been thrown into gaol at regular intervals because every so often he would disappear for a period of time and then reappear, bellowing out as vociferously as ever. Leslie tossed him a few coins occasionally. The man appeared to have a wife and young child. Whenever Leslie threw money into the hat the woman would quickly scramble to protect the charity. But although Leslie had always professed to be a man of the people, he had to confess he had never really felt any compassion for the man and his family and he had certainly never really listened to the message he was espousing – until now.

On this particular evening the man had chosen below Leslie’s window to trumpet his anti-government message. Leslie stood quietly above, on his balcony, listening.

‘Class struggle is the basis of all human relations!’ the large bedraggled man was hollering. ‘We have nothing but our labour to sell! We have no means of production and we are kept from the reigns of government by the ruling class who perpetuate our poverty as a means of controlling us!’ On he rattled, to a largely empty street, for it had started to rain again and most of the city street-dwellers were seeking whatever protection they could from the harsh late July night, huddled around bins alight with whatever scraper-dweller flammable throw-a-ways they could find. Flat against the wall behind the shouting man, bravely protecting a child from the ever-increasing rain was a woman, bundled up in filthy grey rags.

Leslie bit his lip with indecision, but eventually nodded like a samurai to some invisible shogun and minutes later the filthy man, woman and child were in his lounge room shivering beside the small heater.

The man, whose hair was shoulder-length and matted beyond redemption, eyed his host with great suspicion. Leslie handed him a bowl of meat and motioned that they should eat.

‘There’s no need for sign language,’ stated the man, gruffly, as he handed the bowl to his wife. ‘I can understand English.’