Tiếng chim hót trong bụi mận gai (4.2) - Colleen McCullough

2025-01-04

Tiếng chim hót trong bụi mận gai (4.2)

Colleen McCullough

 

Dịch giả: Trung Dũng

từ bản chuyển ngữ tiếng Pháp “Les oiseaux se cachent pour mourir” (Những con chim ẩn mình chờ chết)

Tiếng Anh:

The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough

~

 

1933 - 1939

LUKE

4.2

Sau khi chuẩn bị xong xuôi cho lễ thành hôn, Luke nói với vợ sắp cưới:

- Em yêu, anh nghĩ ra sẽ đưa em hưởng tuần trăng mật ở đâu rồi.

- Ở đâu anh?

- Ở miền bắc Queensland. Trong khi em ở tiệm may, anh có nói chuyện với vài tay trong quán rượu Imperial. Họ có nói cho anh biết ở cái xứ trồng mía ấy rất dễ kiếm tiền đối với một người khỏe mạnh không sợ lao động như anh.

- Nhưng anh đã có một việc làm tốt ở đây rồi!

- Một người đàn ông biết tự trọng không thể sống bám vào gia đình vợ. Anh muốn chúng ta kiếm thật nhiều tiền để mua một miếng đất ở Queensland. Anh muốn việc đó thực hiện trước khi anh đã quá già không còn khả năng nghĩ đến nữa. Khi không có trình độ văn hóa thì khó mà tìm một vị trí trong xã hội tốt, nhất là trong cuộc khủng hoảng hiện naỵ Nhưng ở Queensland đang thiếu lao động, anh sẽ làm ra tiền gấp mười lần hơn ở Drogheda này.

- Bằng cách nào?

- Chặt mía.

- Chặt mía à? Đó là công việc của một người cu ly mà!

- Không đâu, em lầm rồi. Những người cu ly quá nhỏ con để đạt năng suất của những công nhân da trắng và em cũng dư biết luật lệ ở Úc không cho nhập cư những người da đen và da vàng đến đây tìm việc làm dù với một đồng lương thấp hơn chúng ta. Người ta sợ rằng họ sẽ lấy mất bánh mì của người Úc. Hiện nay công nhân chặt mía đang thiếu, do đó làm công việc này có rất nhiều tiền. Rất ít người to lớn và khỏe mạnh có đủ sức làm. Anh thì đủ sức.

- Có phải ý anh muốn nói chúng ta sẽ sống luôn ở bắc Queensland?

Meggie nhìn Drogheda qua cửa kính. Những cây khuynh diệp cao lớn, xa xa là bãi chăn cừu và rừng cây. Thế là ta sẽ không còn sống ở Drogheda nữa, có nghĩa là sẽ ở một nơi nào đó mà Đức cha Ralph sẽ không bao giờ tìm gặp được. Thế là ta vĩnh viễn không gặp lại Ralph mà gắn chặt cuộc đời mình với một người xa lạ đang ngồi trước mặt. Không còn khả năng trở lại với quá khứ chăng?

Đôi mắt của Meggie biểu lộ một nỗi buồn không cần che giấu, nhưng Luke không thèm chú ý đến. Bất cứ người phụ nữ nào dù có dịu dàng và đẹp như Meggie Cleary cũng không đủ sức lèo lái anh ta.

Đầy tự tin, Luke đi thẳng vào vấn đề. Có những lúc cần sự khéo léo, mưu mẹo nhưng trong trường hợp này, theo anh ta thấy sự thô bạo có ích hơn.

- Meghann, anh hơi cổ lỗ.

- Thật à?

Meggie nhìn Luke tò mò. Câu hỏi ngược lại của Meggie hàm ý nhưng có sao đâu?

- Đúng thế, Luke nói tiếp. Theo anh sau khi cưới nhau, tất cả tài sản của người vợ thuộc về người chồng, cũng như của hồi môn xưa kia. Anh biết em có chút đỉnh tiền, do đó anh thấy cần phải làm đám cưới ngay từ bây giờ. Sau khi chúng ta chính thức sống với nhau, em sẽ ký các giấy tờ cần thiết, số tiền của em thuộc về anh. Anh nghĩ rằng nói trước các ý định của anh với em như vậy là thẳng thắn hơn; em còn thời giờ để tự do chấp nhận hay từ chối.

Trong suy nghĩ Meggie không hề tính chuyện giữ riêng số tiền ấy mà vẫn nghĩ một khi trở thành vợ Luke nàng sẽ giao tất cả cho chồng. Phần đông các cô gái Úc đều như thế, ngoại trừ vài trường hợp chịu ảnh hưởng nền giáo dục tinh tế hơn thì lại khác. Đa số tự coi mình là nô lệ của chồng như nô lệ với lãnh chúa hay một ông chủ nào đó. Fiona và các con luôn luôn lệ thuộc Paddy và từ khi chồng chết, Fiona chuyển giao quyền cho Bob, người kế vị. Người đàn ông làm chủ tiền, nhà, vợ và các con. Meggie không bao giờ có ý định đặt lại vấn đề.

- Ồ! Em đâu có biết rằng việc ký các giấy tờ là cần thiết, Luke. Em chỉ nghĩ tất cả những gì của em đương nhiên trở thành của anh sau ngày cưới.

- Xưa kia đúng là như thế nhưng những thằng chính khách ngu đần ở Canberra đã thay đổi mọi thứ khi chúng nhìn nhận quyền bầu cử của phụ nữ. Anh muốn rằng mọi chuyện đều rõ ràng và đâu ra đó giữa chúng ta, Meghann. Chính vì thế mà anh muốn em biết rõ ngay từ bây giờ mọi chuyện sẽ như thế nào.

- Nhưng em chẳng thấy có gì bất tiện cả Luke à, Meggie cười nói.

- Em có bao nhiêu tiền tất cả?

- Hiện giờ, mười bốn ngàn bảng. Ngoài ra em nhận thêm hằng năm hai ngàn bảng nữa.

Luke reo lên như thán phục:

- Mười bốn ngàn bảng! Thế là nhiều tiền quá, Meghann. Đúng là anh nên trông coi số tiền này. Tuần tới chúng ta sẽ đi gặp ông giám đốc ngân hàng và em nhớ nhắc anh báo với ông ta rằng từ nay tất cả tiền chuyển vào trương mục của em đều phải chuyển thẳng vào tên anh. Em biết không, anh sẽ không đụng một đồng xu, số tiền dành dụm ấy sẽ giúp chúng ta sau này mua một trang trại. Những năm tới, cả hai chúng ta sẽ làm việc cật lực và tiết kiệm từng đồng xu chúng ta làm ra. Đồng ý chứ?

- Vâng, Luke - Meggie tán đồng.

° ° °

Sau lễ cưới, Meggie trở thành bà Luke Ó Neill, rồi cả hai lên đường đi bắc Queensland. Cuộc hành trình rất mệt nhọc. Chặng đầu đi Goondiwindi, tàu hỏa đầy ắp người, không có toa nằm. Chặng tiếp đi Cairns, dù có toa nằm, Luke vẫn mua lại vé ngồi hạng nhì khiến cho Meggie phải kêu lên:

- Anh Luke, chúng mình có tiền mà. Nếu anh đã quên ghé qua ngân hàng lấy tiền thì em cũng có sẵn trong xắc tay một trăm bảng, tiền của Bob cho em. Sao anh không giữ chỗ hạng nhất ở toa có giường nằm?

Luke trố mắt nhìn Meggie, sự kinh ngạc hiện rõ từng nét trên gương mặt của anh ta.

- Nhưng cuộc hành trình đến Dungloe chỉ có ba ngày, tại sao lại phí tiền mua vé toa nằm trong khi cả hai chúng ta đều còn trẻ và khỏe mạnh? Ngồi trên tàu hỏa vài ngày cũng không chết đâu Meghann! Dù sao đã đến lúc em phải hiểu rằng em đã kết hôn với một anh công nhân bình thường, chứ không phải với một tên thực dân giàu có và đáng ghét.

Ngồi sụp xuống ghế bên cửa sổ, người mệt rã rời, tay chống cằm, Meggie nhìn ra cửa kính tránh không cho Luke phát hiện nước mắt đang dâng lên và sắp sửa trào ra. Lòng Meggie như muốn nổi loạn hay nói đúng hơn, là một ý nghĩ vùng dậy. Tuy nhiên tự ái và sự lì lợm ngăn không cho Meggie lao vào một cuộc cãi vã không xứng đáng.

Suốt cuộc hành trình Meggie nhức đầu kinh khủng và không ăn được một thứ gì. Trời nóng khủng khiếp, chưa bao giờ ở Gilly trải qua một cái nóng như thế này. Chiếc áo cưới xinh xắn bằng vải xoa màu hồng bây giờ lem luốc bởi khói và bụi than đen sì từ cửa sổ bay vào.

Đến ga Cardwell, hai người xuống tàu. Luke mau chân đến một tiệm bán cá và khoai tây chiên đối diện với nhà ga. Anh mang về hai khứa cá chiên đầy mỡ, gói trong giấy báo.

- Nếu ai chưa thưởng thức món cá ở Cardwell thì không thể nào hình dung được cái ngon của nó, Meghann yêu quí. Cá ở đây ngon nhất thế giới! Này, em dùng đi, rồi em cho anh biết ý kiến.

Meggie liếc nhìn khứa cá đầy mỡ, liền đó lấy khăn tay che miệng, chạy vội đến phòng vệ sinh. Luke chạy theo đứng ngoài hành lang chờ; một lúc sau Meggie trở ra mặt tái nhợt, người run rẩy.

- Chuyện gì vậy? Em không được khỏe?

- Em cảm thấy không được khỏe từ khi chúng mình rời ga Goondiwindi.

Chiều tối, tàu hỏa đến Dungloe, Meggie không còn sức để bước đi bình thường nhưng vì tự ái nàng vẫn giấu Luke. Meggie theo sau Luke như người say rượu. Anh ta nhờ người trưởng ga chỉ giùm một khách sạn dành cho công nhân.

Phòng khách sạn hẹp, đồ đạc bày biện kệch cỡm nhưng đối với Meghann lúc này còn hơn cả thiên đàng. Không kịp thay đồ Meggie buông người xuống giường.

- Em hãy nằm nghỉ một chút trước khi ăn tối. Anh ra ngoài một vòng xem ở đây thế nào.

Meggie thiếp đi trong giấc ngủ mỏi mệt, bên tai vẫn nghe tiếng bánh xe sắt lăn trên đường rày và cái giường lắc lư theo nhịp con tàu.

° ° °

Có ai đó đã cởi giày và vớ, trước khi đắp lên mình Meggie tấm vải giường. Nàng vươn vai mở mắt ra và nhìn chung quanh. Luke ngồi bên cửa sổ, một chân rút lên, đang hút thuốc. Nghe vợ trở mình, Luke quay lại mỉm cười.

- Này cô ơi! Cô đóng vai một người vợ mới cưới thật dễ thương! Trong khi anh sốt ruột chờ đợi để bắt đầu tuần trăng mật thì vợ anh ngủ vùi luôn hai ngày! Lúc đầu anh hơi lo vì không làm sao gọi em thức dậy được nhưng ông chủ khách sạn đã giải thích với anh rằng có nhiều phụ nữ cũng ngủ vùi như thế sau một cuộc hành trình bằng tàu hỏa với khí hậu ẩm thấp trong vùng. Bây giờ em thấy thế nào?

- Em cảm thấy dễ chịu hơn, cảm ơn anh. Đành rằng em trẻ và khỏe mạnh nhưng dù sao em vẫn là một phụ nữ. Sức chịu đựng của em vẫn kém hơn anh chứ.

Luke đến ngồi bên mép giường, nắm tay Meggie vuốt ve tỏ ý hối hận.

- Anh xin lỗi em, Meghann. Anh quên đi em là một phụ nữ. Em thấy không, anh chưa quen với vai trò làm chồng của mình. Có thế thôi. Em có đói không?

- Em chết đến nơi vì đói. Gần một tuần qua em có ăn gì đâu”?

Luke đưa Meggie vào tiệm ăn Trung Hoa sát bên khách sạn. Bây giờ ăn gì cũng thấy ngon. Ăn xong Luke nắm tay dẫn Meggie đi dạo khắp Dungloe cứ như thành phố này thuộc về anh ta. Cung cách đó cũng hợp lý vì Queensland là nguyên quán của Luke. Trên đường phố Dungloe có rất nhiều người Trung Hoa, đàn ông và phụ nữ ăn mặc gần giống nhau khiến Meggie rất khó phân biệt. Gần hết hoạt động thương mại đều nằm trong tay người Trung Hoa. Cửa hàng đầy đủ và lớn nhất mang tên Ah Wong's; phần đông các cửa hiệu cũng đều của người Trung Hoa. Ở đâu cũng thấy xe đạp, hàng trăm chiếc; rất ít xe ôtô, tuyệt nhiên không có ngựa như ở Gilly. Dungloe hoàn toàn khác các thành phố miền tây. Ở đây rất nóng, nóng dữ dội, mặc dù chỉ khoảng 32 độ. Ở Gilly có lúc nhiệt độ lên đến 46 nhưng không khí thấy dễ chịu hơn.

- Luke ơi, em mệt quá không chịu nổi nữa! Chúng ta hãy trở về khách sạn - Meggie vừa nói vừa thở hổn hển dù mới đi bộ không hơn một cây số.

- Tùy ý em. Chính cái không khí ẩm làm cho em mệt. Ở đây mưa quanh năm, khó phân biệt mùa nào với mùa nào. Nhiệt độ ở khoảng giữa 29 đến 35.

Về đến khách sạn, Luke mở cửa phòng rồi nép qua một bên để Meggie bước vào một mình.

- Anh xuống quầy rượu uống một ly bia. Anh sẽ trở lại trong nửa giờ, như thế có đủ thời giờ cho em sửa soạn.

- Vâng, Luke - nàng vừa nói vừa nhìn Luke với vẻ hốt hoảng.

Khi Luke trở về phòng thì Meggie đã tắt đèn, phủ tấm chăn lên đến cằm. Luke không thể nín cười, kéo giật tấm vải ra khỏi người Meggie và vứt xuống đất.

- Trời nóng như thế này quá đủ rồi em ạ. Chúng ta không cần tấm vải này đâu.

Meggie nghe tiếng chân Luke bước trong phòng, nhìn thấy bóng của Luke trong khi anh cởi quần áo.

- Em để bộ đồ ngủ của anh trên bàn phấn - Meggie nói thì thầm.

- Quần áo ngủ? Trời nóng thế này mà mặc quần áo ngủ? Anh vẫn biết ở Gilly người ta đánh giá đủ điều một người đàn ông không mặc quần áo khi lên giường, nhưng chúng ta đang ở Dungloe em à! Em đang mặc áo ngủ à?

- Vâng.

- Thế thì vứt nó ra đi. Nó chỉ làm cản trở chúng ta.

Mò mẫm trong bóng tối, cuối cùng Meggie đã cởi bỏ được chiếc áo ngủ bằng vải phin mỏng mà bà quản gia Smith với lòng thương yêu Meggie đã bỏ công thêu với chủ đích để nàng mặc trong đêm tân hôn. Meggie cầu trời trong bóng tối Luke sẽ không thấy rõ nàng.

Luke đoán không sai. Meggie cảm thấy thoải mái và tươi mát hơn khi nằm dài trên giường không bị mảnh vải nào vướng vào thân thể, để cho cơn gió nhẹ từ những cửa sổ nhỏ mở rộng mơn trớn làn da láng mịn.

Nhưng khi Meggie tưởng tượng có một thân thể khác nóng ran nằm kế bên thì nàng lại thấy chán nản.

Lò xo giường kêu lên; Meggie nghe một thứ da thịt ướt đẫm mồ hôi chạm vào tay, khiến nàng không khỏi giật mình. Luke nằm nghiêng qua, choàng tay ôm lấy Meggie. Lúc đầu, nàng không đồng tình, nhưng vẫn nằm yên. Vậy mà khi nghĩ đến cái miệng của Luke, cái hôn bằng lưỡi sỗ sàng của anh ta, Meggie vùng vẫy cố thoát ra khỏi vòng tay của Luke. Nàng không muốn có sự tiếp xúc trong cái nóng nực này, nàng không muốn được ôm ấp và nàng cũng không muốn có Luke. Diễn tiến đêm nay không giống chút nào cái đêm trên chiếc xe ôtô Rolls khi cả hai từ Rudna Hunish trở về nhà. Meggie không cảm nhận được ở Luke điều gì gọi là âu yếm, một phần thân thể mạnh bạo của Luke đang cố sức đẩy vẹt hai đùi Meggie ra, trong khi đó một bàn tay với những móng tay không được cắt sát bấm sâu vào mông nàng. Sự e dè lúc đầu biến thành sợ hãi. Luke không cần biết nàng nghĩ gì, cảm giác ra sao trong lúc này. Rồi bỗng nhiên, anh ta buông Meggie ra, ngồi dậy, sờ soạng, rồi tìm gặp một cái gì nắm kéo ra, gây nên một tiếng động rất lạ.

- Tốt hơn là nên đề phòng trước - anh ta nói hổn hển. Em nằm ngửa đi - Không phải như thế! Sao em lại dốt đến thế.

- Không, không, Luke, em không muốn đâu! - Nàng muốn hét lên. Thật kinh khủng, tục tĩu. Đến một lúc, dù vừa mệt vừa sợ hãi đến mờ cả lý trí, Meggie vẫn phải thét lên nghe xé tai.

- Im đi! Luke ra lệnh. Cái gì kỳ cục vậy! Có phải em muốn làm náo động cả khách sạn này để cho mọi người hiểu lầm là anh định giết em? Nằm im đi. Chuyện này với em cũng không đau đớn gì hơn những người khác đâu! Nằm im đi. Anh bảo nằm im đi.

Meggie vùng vẫy như một người bị quỷ ám, cố hất văng cái vật khủng khiếp đã gây cho nàng sự đau đớn nhưng với tất cả sức nặng của thân xác, Luke đè bẹp nàng không thể cục cựa và dùng tay ngăn không cho Meggie hét.

Một lúc rất lâu Luke mới chịu buông tha, lăn qua một bên nằm yên, thở dồn dập.

- Lần sau em sẽ thích thú hơn, Luke nói giữa những cơn thở hổn hển. Lần đầu bao giờ cũng thế - rất đau đối với người phụ nữ.

Nhưng rồi lần thứ hai, thứ ba cũng thế. Luke tỏ ra kinh ngạc, không hiểu tại sao nàng vẫn vùng vẫy la hét, tưởng rằng sau lần đầu thì sự đau đớn sẽ tự nhiên tan biến đi. Cuối cùng Luke nổi giận, quay lưng lại, nhắm mắt ngủ. Meggie cảm thấy nước mắt nhỏ xuống hai bên má rồi lẫn vào trong tóc. Nằm ngửa nhìn lên trần nhà, Meggie ước ao được chết đi hay ít ra được trở lại cuộc sống xưa kia ở Drogheda.

° ° °

- Anh đã tìm được việc làm cho em, Luke nói với Meggie lúc hai người ăn sáng.

- Sao? Tìm việc làm cho em trước khi chúng ta tìm được một căn nhà?

- Meggie! Mướn nhà làm gì, thật là vô ích. Anh đi chặt mía, mọi chuyện sẽ ổn thôi. Nhóm thợ chặt mía giỏi nhất Queensland gồm những người Thụy Điển, Ba Lan, Ái Nhĩ Lan do một tay tên là Arne Swenson điều khiển. Trong khi em ngủ anh đã gặp hắn. Hiện nhóm của hắn thiếu một người và hắn bằng lòng nhận anh hai mươi bảng một tuần, số tiền ấy đâu phải nhỏ.

- Có phải anh định nói là chúng ta không sống chung cùng một nơi?

- Không thể được Meggie! Phụ nữ không được phép ở lán trại của bọn đàn ông. Vả lại ở nhà một mình em sẽ làm gì? Tốt hơn hết là em cũng nên làm việc; tất cả đồng tiền mà chúng ta làm ra sẽ dùng vào việc mua trang trại.

- Nhưng em sẽ ở đâu? Em sẽ làm loại công việc gì? Ở đây đâu có gia súc như ở Drogheda?

- Không đâu. Chính vì thế mà anh đã tìm ra một nơi em có thể ăn ở luôn mà anh khỏi phải tốn kém. Em sẽ làm việc tại Himmelhoch như người giúp việc cho gia đình Ludwig Mueller. Đây là một tay trồng mía lớn nhất trong vùng, còn vợ hắn thì bị tàn tật. Bà ta không thể dọn dẹp nhà cửa. Anh sẽ đưa em đến đó sáng mai.

- Nếu đó là sự chọn lựa của anh... (Meggie nhìn xuống chiếc xắc tay). Luke, có phải anh đã lấy một trăm đồng bảng của em?

- Anh đã gởi tất cả vào ngân hàng. Không lẽ em đi dạo lại mang theo số tiền lớn như thế sao Meggie?

- Nhưng như thế là anh đã lấy của em đến đồng xu cuối cùng. Dù sao em cũng cần chút đỉnh tiền xài vặt chứ?

- Trời ơi em cần tiền để làm gì? Bắt đầu sáng mai em ở Himmelhoch và em không có dịp nào để xài tiền. Còn tiền trả khách sạn bây giờ anh sẽ lo. Đã đến lúc em phải hiểu rằng em đã lấy một người chồng lao động thực sự chứ không phải là một cô gái được một tên thực dân giàu có dư tiền liệng qua cửa sổ.

Tất cả tiền hàng tháng em làm ra, Mueller sẽ không trả thẳng cho em mà sẽ chuyển vào trương mục tên anh ở ngân hàng. Anh cũng sẽ gởi vào ngân hàng tất cả tiền làm ra. Anh không xài đồng nào cho riêng anh, em cũng biết điều đó. Cả hai chúng ta, không đụng vào, vì số tiền đó là tương lai của chúng ta, nó là cái trang trại của chúng ta.

- Vâng, em đã hiểu, Meggie tán đồng. Anh tỏ ra rất biết điều, Luke. Nhưng nếu em có một đứa con thì sao?

Thoạt đầu, Luke định nói cho Meggie biết thật sự sẽ không có con trước khi mua được trang trại nhưng Meggie đang nhìn lên Luke khiến anh ta tránh sang phía khác:

- Chúng ta sẽ giải quyết vấn đề đó khi nào xảy ra. Anh muốn chúng ta khoan có con đã trước khi mua được trang trại.

Không mái gia đình, không tiền, không con. Coi như cũng không chồng. Meggie bỗng cười to lên. Luke cũng cười theo, nâng tách trà lên chúc mừng:

- Hoan hô capốt Ănglê [bao cao su].

° ° °

Bốn tuần lễ trôi qua trước khi Meggie gặp lại Luke. Cứ mỗi sáng chủ nhật, Meggie trang điểm đàng hoàng, mặc chiếc áo dài vải xoa xinh xắn chờ đợi anh chồng không bao giờ tới. Ông chủ Mueller và Anne - vợ ông, im lặng không một lời bàn tán.

Tất nhiên Meggie kinh tởm khi nhớ lại hai đêm ngủ ở khách sạn Dunny nhưng ít ra lúc đó nàng có Luke bên cạnh. Nàng hối tiếc tại sao mình lại la hét như thế, đúng ra phải cắn lưỡi làm thinh. Nhưng không thể trở lui lại được nữa rồi. Sự đau đớn và rên la của Meggie gây mất hứng cho Luke và đã khiến cho Luke tìm cách xa lánh. Thái độ thản nhiên của Luke trước sự đau đớn của Meggie lúc ấy làm nàng hết sức bực bội, nhưng bây giờ nhớ lại thái độ của mình, nàng không khỏi hối hận và cuối cùng tự cho mình có lỗi.

Ngày chủ nhật thứ tư, Meggie không sửa soạn, làm việc trong bếp, đi chân không, mắc quần ngắn và áo ngắn, trong lúc chuẩn bị buổi ăn sáng nóng cho Ludwig và Anne; hai ông bà chấp nhận cho Meggie ăn mặc như thế một lần trong tuần.

Nghe có tiếng chân bước lên cầu thang sát nhà bếp, Meggie bỏ mặc những quả trứng đang chiên trên chảo, nàng sửng sốt một lúc nhìn con người cao to lông lá đứng ở ngưỡng cửa. Luke? Có phải Luke không? Tưởng như đó là bức tượng tạc từ trong đá cẩm thạch, không phải là con người. Nhưng Luke đi ngang qua nhà bếp, đặt lên má Meggie một cái hôn kêu thành tiếng rồi kéo ghế ngồi xuống cạnh bàn. Meggie trở lại chiên những quả trứng khác, thêm vào trong chảo vài lát mỡ.

Anne Mueller bước vào, cười hiền hòa nhưng trong lòng giận dữ - tên chó chết này đến đây làm gì sau bao nhiêu ngày bỏ bê vợ hắn.

- Tôi rất vui mừng thấy ông không quên rằng mình có một người vợ. Mời ông ra hành lang ăn sáng với chúng tôi.

Ludwig Mueller sinh ở Úc nhưng gốc gác người Đức. Hai vợ chồng đều có cảm tình với Meggie và tự cho mình rất may mắn được Meggie giúp việc. Ông chồng rất biết ơn Meggie vì nhận ra rằng vợ ông vui hẳn lên từ khi có mái tóc vàng óng ả lấp lánh trong căn nhà này.

- Công việc chặt mía thế nào hở Luke? Ông vừa chia trứng vừa hỏi Luke.

- Nếu tôi nói rằng tôi rất thích công việc ấy ông có tin không?

Cái nhìn rất sắc của Ludwig hướng thẳng vào gương mặt đẹp trai của Luke:

- Vâng. Anh thuộc loại người có thể lực và tâm tính phù hợp công việc ấy. Loại lao động này mang lại cho anh một nhận thức mình hơn những người khác.

Anne nói:

- Anh biết không, tôi đã bắt đầu nghĩ rằng là anh sẽ không bao giờ đến gặp Meggie nữa.

- Thưa thật với ông bà, trong lúc này, Arne và tôi đã quyết định làm luôn ngày chủ nhật. Ngày mai chúng tôi đi Ingham.

- Như thế, Meggie sẽ rất ít được gặp anh.

- Meggie hiểu mọi chuyện. Tình trạng này chỉ kéo dài trong vài năm. Vả lại, chúng tôi có thời gian nghỉ vào mùa hè. Arne nói với tôi vào lúc đó anh có thể giới thiệu tôi đi làm ở nhà máy đường tại Sydney, và có thể đưa Meggie đến đó được.

- Cái gì buộc anh phải làm việc cực khổ như thế, Luke? Anne hỏi.

- Tôi cần gom đủ tiền để mua một trang trại ở miền tây, trong vùng Kynuna. Meggie không nói cho ông bà biết ý định của chúng tôi sao?

Sau buổi ăn sáng, Luke giúp Meggie rửa tách đĩa rồi đưa vợ đi dạo ở vườn trồng mía gần nhất; anh không ngớt đề cập đến đường, mía, về công việc đốn mía tuyệt vời của anh, về cuộc sống ngoài trời thú vị, về những đồng đội hết ý trong nhóm thợ của Arne. Công việc này khác hẳn so với công việc cắt lông cừu.

Khi trở lại nhà, Meggie hỏi Luke.

- Anh có thấy căn nhà này đẹp không? Theo anh liệu hai năm sống ở đây, chúng ta có thể mướn riêng một căn nhà không? Em thèm muốn được chăm sóc như em đã chăm sóc căn nhà này.

- Tại sao em lại có suy nghĩ điên rồ sống một mình trong căn nhà. Chúng ta đâu phải ở Gillanbone. Nơi đây không phải chỗ mà một phụ nữ có thể ở nhà một mình an toàn. Em ở đây không vui sao? Này Meggie, em nên tạm bằng lòng với những gì em đang có cho đến khi nào mình có thể đi miền tây. Dứt khoát không thể phí tiền để mướn nhà, anh không thể để cho em có một cuộc sống ăn không ngồi rồi trong khi chúng ta cần tiết kiệm. Em nghe anh nói chứ?

- Vâng, Luke.

Luke vội vã đến đỗi quên mất rằng ý định ban đầu của anh là đưa vợ xuống phía dưới căn nhà sàn để ôm hôn nàng, cuối cùng Luke chào từ biệt Meggie bằng cách vỗ vào mông vợ khá mạnh khiến nàng cũng thấy đau, rồi lần theo con đường mòn, đi xuống nơi anh để chiếc xe đạp dựa vào một gốc cây. Thà đạp xe ba mươi cây số để đến đây chứ nhất quyết không chịu tốn tiền mua vé xe buýt.

- Thật tội nghiệp con bé! Anne nói với chồng. Em rất muốn giết anh chồng quái đản ấy.

° ° °

... Ngày tháng trôi qua, một năm rồi hai năm. Chỉ có lòng tốt không đổi thay của gia đình Mueller đã giữ Meggie ở lại Himmelhoch giữa lúc nàng chưa biết phải giải quyết thế nào tình cảnh tiến thoái lưỡng nan. Chỉ cần viết thư cho Bob là Meggie có ngay tiền để trở về nhà. Nhưng Meggie đáng thương không thể giải quyết bằng cách thú nhận với gia đình là Luke đã không để lại cho nàng một xu. Nếu một ngày nào đó nàng quyết định đó là lúc Meggie bỏ Luke vĩnh viễn, còn bây giờ thì chưa chín mùi để chọn giải pháp ấy. Giáo dục gia đình cho Meggie thấy lấy chồng là một việc thiêng liêng và nàng hy vọng một ngày nào đó nhu cầu làm mẹ được thỏa mãn, vị trí làm chồng đúng nghĩa của Luke sẽ buộc Meggie ở lại.

Nàng gặp được Luke tất cả sáu lần trong mười tám tháng xa nhà; nhiều lúc Meggie nghĩ rằng Luke sống đồng tình luyến ái với Arne như vợ chồng.

Mỗi tháng một lần, làm đúng bổn phận của mình, Meggie viết thư cho mẹ và các anh, kể lể vài dòng về bắc Queensland. Các câu chuyện được ghi chép lại không thiếu nét hài hước, nhưng dứt khoát không hề đề cập các mâu thuẫn giữa mình và Luke. Ông bà Mueller được nói tới như những người bạn của Luke; Meggie ăn ở nhà ông bà Mueller vì Luke thường đi làm ăn xa.

Thỉnh thoảng Meggie lấy can đảm để đặt một câu hỏi vẩn vơ về Đức cha Ralph nhưng thường thì Bob lại quên viết lại cho em gái một ít tin tức mà bà Fiona biết được về ngài giám mục. Đột nhiên một hôm Meggie nhận được lá thư của Bob trong đó đề cập rất dài về Ralph:

Một hôm, ông ấy đến như từ trên trời rơi xuống. Ông ta hơi bối rối, có vẻ buồn bã và hết sức kinh ngạc vì không tìm thấy em. Ông ta điên tiết lên về việc cả nhà không ai cho ông hay chuyện Luke và em. Nhưng khi mẹ giải thích cho ông ta biết rằng tất cả do cái tính ngang bướng của em và chính em đã từ chối cho ông ta hay tin đám cưới, thì ông ta dịu ngay và không nói lời nào nữa. Nhưng anh có cảm tưởng là sự vắng mặt của em trong nhà làm cho ông ta thấy trống trải hơn sự vắng mặt của bất cứ ai khác. Cho rằng điều đó cũng bình thường thôi vì em gần gũi với ông ta nhiều nhất và lúc nào ông ta cũng coi em như em gái của ông ta. Ông đi lang thang khắp nơi như một linh hồn đau khổ đi vất vưởng, hình như ông ta chờ đợi em xuất hiện đột ngột ở mỗi khúc quanh trên con đường ông đi tới. Tội nghiệp ông ta quá! Ở nhà không có một bức ảnh nào của em để đưa cho ông ta xem, đến khi ông ta hỏi những ảnh chụp đám cưới thì anh mới sực nhớ rằng mình không chụp một ảnh nào hết. Ông ta có hỏi em có con chưa, anh trả lời rằng hình như chưa. Em chưa có con phải không Meggie? Em đã lấy chồng bao lâu rồi? Anh rất mong sắp tới em có con vì anh nghĩ rằng giám mục sẽ rất bằng lòng nếu được tin này. Anh có tỏ ý ghi địa chỉ của em cho ông ta nhưng ông ta không muốn. Ông trả lời rằng cũng vô ích vì ông sẽ đi Athenes bên Hy Lạp; ông sẽ ở đó một thời gian với vị Tổng giám mục mà ông đang ở dưới quyền. Tên vị Tổng giám mục này dài thườn thượt như một cánh tay, anh không làm sao nhớ nổi. Em có biết không, họ sẽ đi Hy Lạp bằng máy bay. Nói tóm lại khi giám mục biết rằng em không còn ở Drogheda để cùng ông phi ngựa dạo chơi thì ông không chịu ở lại lâu. Ông chỉ cỡi ngựa đi dạo một hai lần, làm lễ cho cả nhà mỗi ngày và một tuần sau thì từ giã Drogheda.

Meggie đặt lá thư xuống bàn. Thế là anh ấy biết rồi. Anh ấy đã biết rồi. Ralph sẽ suy nghĩ thế nào? Anh ấy có đau buồn không? Và đến mức nào? Tại sao Ralph lại đẩy nàng phải hành động như thế này? Đâu có giải quyết được gì. Meggie không yêu Luke. Chẳng qua anh ta chỉ đóng vai người trám vào chỗ thiếu vắng, một người có thể mang lại cho Meggie những đứa con giống như những đứa con mà đáng lý Meggie có thể có với Ralph. Trời ơi! Tất cả đều rối lên!

° ° °

Tổng giám mục Di Contini Verchese thích ở khách sạn bình thường hơn là căn phòng mà người ta đã dành cho ông ở Athens. Ông có một sứ mạng tế nhị khá quan trọng, phải bàn với các nhà lãnh đạo Nhà thờ chính giáo Hy Lạp nhiều vấn đề.

Tổng giám mục hiểu rằng chuyến công tác là một thử thách ngoại giao, bàn đạp để ông nhận lãnh những công việc quan trọng hơn ở La Mã.

Và không thể nào tưởng tượng rằng Ngài đến đây mà không có giám mục Ralph cùng đi. Năm tháng trôi qua, Tổng giám mục ngày càng tin cậy vào con người tuyệt vời này. Một Mazarin [^{Hồng y và chính khách nổi tiếng của Pháp dưới thời vua Louis 13 và Louis 14}], một Mazarin đích thực. Đức cha Di Contini ngưỡng mộ Mazarin hơn là Richelieu [^{Hồng y và Bộ trưởng dưới thời vua Louis 13}]. Một sự so sánh đầy vinh dự cho Ralph. Đúng vào lúc đó, cách xa gần hai mươi ngàn cây số, Ralph mới có thể nhớ đến Meggie mà không bị giày vò bở sự thèm muốn được khóc. Làm sao Ralph có thể oán giận về việc Meggie lấy chồng mà chính ông đã từng thúc đẩy? Ông hiểu ngay lý do tại sao Meggie nhất quyết giữ kín ý định của mình, tại sao Meggie không muốn cho ông gặp người chồng trẻ và cũng không cho tham dự vào cuộc đời mới của nàng? Lúc đầu, Ralph tưởng rằng dù thế nào, vợ chồng Meggie cũng sẽ ở Gillanbone, nếu không ở Drogheda, có nghĩa tiếp tục ở nơi nào Ralph biết chắc nàng sẽ được yên ổn, tránh mọi âu lo và nguy hiểm. Nhưng sau suy nghĩ lại, Ralph hiểu ra rằng Meggie muốn bằng mọi giá không cho Ralph được ngủ trong sự yên lòng ấy. Meggie buộc lòng phải ra đi và ngày nào nàng và Luke còn sống chung thì Meggie sẽ không bao giờ trở lại Drogheda. Bob xác nhận là cặp vợ chồng này dành dụm tiền để mua một trang trại ở Tây Queensland, tin này coi như kết thúc mọi chuyện. Meggie có ý định sẽ vĩnh viễn không gặp lại Ralph.

Nhưng em có hạnh phúc không Meggie? Chồng em đối xử với em tốt không? Em có yêu hắn không, cái anh chàng Luke ấy hẳn chỉ là một công nhân nông nghiệp bình thường có gì hơn để cho em chọn hắn thay vì chọn Enoch Davies, Liam Ó Rouke hoặc Alastair Mac Queen? Có phải chăng em cố tình chọn một người mà anh chưa từng quen biết để không thể so sánh? Có phải chăng em hành động như thế để hành hạ anh, trả thù anh? Nhưng tại sao em lại không có con? Cái anh chàng ấy mắc cái chứng gì mà lang thang như tên bụi đời, buộc em phải ở nhờ với những người bạn? Em không có con, điều đó không có gì phải ngạc nhiên; hắn ở gần em có được bao lâu đâu.

Meggie ơi, tại sao lại như thế? Tại sao em lấy Luke làm chồng?

Khách sạn rất sang trọng và đắt tiền ở gần công viên Omonia. Tổng giám mục Di Contini Verchese ngồi trên ghế bành đặt ở gần cửa sổ nhìn ra ban công; ông đang suy tư thì Ralph bước vào. Ông quay lại mỉm cười.

- Ralph đến đúng lúc ta đang muốn cầu nguyện.

- Con tưởng mọi chuyện đã dàn xếp xong. Hay là có những rắc rối vào giờ chót thưa Đức cha?

- Không phải chuyện đó. Ta vừa nhận một lá thư của Hồng Y Monteverdi truyền lại ý của Đức Thánh Cha.

Giám mục Ralph bỗng thấy hai vai cứng lại, hai tai nóng bừng khó chịu.

- Thưa Đức cha, có chuyện gì?

- Thật ra mọi việc coi như đã xong ngay sau khi kết thúc các cuộc thảo luận mà ta tiến hành ở đây. Ta phải quay về La Mã để được phong Hồng Y. Ta phải tiếp tục sự nghiệp tại Vatican theo lệnh trực tiếp của Đức Thánh cha.

- Còn con thì sao... ?

- Con sẽ trở thành Tổng giám mục Ralph và con sẽ trở lại Úc thay chỗ của ta làm Khâm mạng Tòa thánh.

Đầu óc của giám mục Ralph choáng váng, ông suýt ngã. Dù không phải là một người Ý, thế mà Ralph vẫn được vinh dự phong làm Khâm mạng Tòa thánh! Một quyết định chưa từng có trước đây! Ồ, có sao đâu. Vatican hoàn toàn có thể tin nơi ông; ông sẽ bước lên địa vị Hồng Y giáo chủ!

- Thưa Đức cha, không làm sao ghi hết ơn huệ mà Đức cha đã ban cho con! Nhờ Đức cha mà con có được sự ưu đãi đặc biệt này.

- Chúa đã ban cho ta sự thông minh khá đầy đủ để có thể nhận ra khả năng của một con người không đáng phải ở trong bóng tối, Ralph. Thôi bây giờ chúng ta hãy quỳ gối và cầu nguyện.

Xâu chuỗi và sách kinh của Ralph nằm trên chiếc bàn kế bên; tay run run, Ralph với lấy tay chạm phải sách kinh lăn rơi xuống đất ngay cạnh chân của Tổng giám mục Di Contini. Tổng giám mục cúi xuống nhặt lên, bỗng chú ý đến hình dáng một chiếc bông hồng ép trên trang sách, bông hồng thật nóng bỏng và mịn như giấy lụa, đã ngả sang màu nâu.

- Ồ, lạ thật! Tại sao con lại giữ cái này trong sách kinh? Có phải là một kỷ niệm gia đình?... Rất có thể là của mẹ con?

Đôi mắt của Tổng giám mục, có khả năng nhìn xuyên suốt sự giả dối và che đậy, đang chiếu thẳng vào Ralph, khiến cho Ralph không có thời giờ giấu đi sự bối rối và xúc động của mình.

- Thưa không, Ralph nhíu mày trả lời. Con không muốn giữ một kỷ niệm nào của mẹ con.

- Nhưng chắc chắn bông hoa này rất có giá trị nên con mới giữ nó lại với tất cả tình cảm giữa các trang sách mà con quí nhất. Những cánh hồng này gợi cho con nhớ lại điều gì?

- Một tình yêu trong sáng mà con đã hiến dâng cho Chúa, thưa Đức cha.

- Ta hiểu ngay vì ta biết rất rõ con. Nhưng tình yêu này có mang đến một đe dọa đối với tình yêu dành cho Giáo hội không?

- Thưa không. Chính vì sự nghiệp của Giáo hội mà con đã chấm dứt tình yêu ấy, chấm dứt vĩnh viễn. Con đã vượt qua khỏi người phụ nữ ấy rất xa khiến mọi khả năng trở lại đều không thể xảy ra được.

- Thế là ta đã hiểu được nỗi buồn của con! Ralph thân mến, không gì ghê gớm như con tưởng, đúng là không có gì đáng ghê gớm! Con tồn tại để phục vụ cho nhiều người và con được nhiều người thương mến. Còn người phụ nữ, với tình yêu gởi gắm trong kỷ niệm rất xa xưa nhưng còn ngát hương ấy, sẽ không bao giờ bị thiệt thòi. Vì rằng con đã giữ vẹn mối tình như đã giữ chiếc hoa hồng ấy.

- Con không nghĩ rằng cô ta hiểu được một chút nào như thế.

- Ồ, hiểu chứ! Nếu con yêu thương cô ta như thế, thì với bản chất rất phụ nữ của mình cô ta thừa sức hiểu. Nếu không, con đã quên người phụ nữ ấy và con đã vứt bỏ đi vật kia từ lâu.

- Có những lúc, chỉ có sự khấn nguyện thật kiên trì mới ngăn cản được con bỏ rơi trách nhiệm của mình để tìm đến với nàng.

Tổng giám mục rời khỏi chiếc ghế bành, đến quỳ gối bên cạnh người bạn của ông, một con người thanh lịch mà ông đã yêu thương trong rất ít người ngoài Chúa và Giáo hội của Người.

- Con sẽ không bao giờ được rời bỏ trách nhiệm của mình, con biết rất rõ điều đó phải không Ralph? Con đã thuộc về Giáo hội và mãi mãi thuộc về Giáo hội. Ở con, thiên chức rất thật và sâu sắc. Bây giờ chúng ta hãy cầu nguyện và ta sẽ cầu nguyện thêm cho Hoa Hồng trong những lần đọc kinh sau này. Chúa ban cho ta rất nhiều những đau buồn và lắm thử thách trên con đường của chúng ta đi đến chốn vĩnh cửu. Chúng ta phải tập chịu đựng, ta cũng phải học như con thôi.

° ° °

Vào cuối tháng tám, Meggie nhận được thư của Luke cho biết anh ta nằm bệnh viện ở Townsville vì mắc bệnh Weil nhưng không có gì nguy hiểm và không lâu sẽ bình phục. Lợi dụng lúc này, Luke sẽ nghỉ hè và về rước Meggie cùng đi hồ Eacham trên cao nguyên Atherton một thời gian, cho đến khi nào Luke có thể trở lại với công việc của anh.

Luke đã mượn một chiếc xe hơi cũ kỹ của ai đó và đến rước Meggie một buổi sáng rất sớm. Luke gầy, da nhăn và vàng giống như bị ngâm dấm. Hốt hoảng, Meggie trao vội vali cho chồng rồi bước lên xe ngồi bên cạnh.

- Bệnh Weil là gì Luke? Anh viết thư nói rằng không nguy hiểm gì nhưng nhìn anh, em thấy rõ anh đã bị bệnh rất nặng.

- Ồ! Đó chỉ là một thứ bệnh vàng da thường đe dọa tất cả các công nhân chặt mía. Hình như chính loài chuột lúc nhúc trong các đám mía đã mang lại mầm gây bệnh. Anh có sức khỏe nhiều nên không bị bệnh nặng như phần đông các đồng nghiệp khác. Các bác sĩ đều bảo đảm là anh sẽ hồi phục phong độ trong một thời gian rất ngắn.

Hồ Eacham ở trên đỉnh một vùng cao, rất tình tứ giữa một cảnh hoang dã. Hai người ở một nhà trọ gia đình, đêm xuống, ra ngoài hiên nhìn mặt nước yên lặng, Meggie muốn quan sát những con dơi khổng lồ loài ăn quả, mà người ta gọi là những con chồn bay. Chúng có tới hàng ngàn; trông gớm ghiếc và quái dị nhưng thật ra lại rất nhút nhát và hoàn toàn vô hại. Nhìn chúng bay lên trời giữa những bóng đêm, đúng là một cảm giác gì đó khủng khiếp.

Meggie sung sướng khi ngả mình trên chiếc giường êm ái và mát mẻ. Luke soạn trong vali của anh ta một hộp dẹp màu nâu, rồi từ trong hộp này, anh lấy ra những vật nhỏ tròn được anh xếp hàng dài trên bàn ngủ.

Meggie với tay lấy một cái nhìn xem.

- Cái này là gì vậy Luke? Nàng hỏi tò mò.

- Một capot Anh tức bao cao su, anh giải thích mà quên đi là cách đây hai năm anh tự nhủ sẽ không nói thật cho Meggie biết anh áp dụng phương pháp ngừa thai. Anh sử dụng một cái trước khi gần em. Nếu không chúng ta có thể có con, lúc đó đổ vỡ cả kế hoạch mua trang trại - Luke nói.

Ngồi bên mép giường trần truồng, Luke trông rất gầy, thấy rõ xương sườn. Nhưng hai con mắt xanh của anh vẫn sinh động. Anh đưa tay ra để lấy lại bao cao su mà Meggie vẫn còn cầm.

- Chúng ta đã gần đạt mục đích Meggie, rất gần rồi! Theo anh tính chỉ cần có thêm năm ngàn bảng là chúng ta có thể mua một trang trại đẹp nhất ở miền tây Charters Towers.

Meggie nói với chồng:

- Trong trường hợp này, ngay từ bây giờ anh có thể coi như trang trại ấy đã thuộc về anh. Em có thể viết thư cho Đức cha De Bricassart để yêu cầu ngài cho chúng ta mượn số tiền ấy. Đức cha sẽ không đòi chúng ta trả tiền lời đâu.

- Em không nên làm gì hết! Luke hét lên. Trời ơi, em không có chút tự ái nào sao Meggie? Chúng ta làm lụng để có được những gì thuộc về chúng ta. Không có vấn đề vay mượn! Anh chưa bao giờ mượn của ai một đồng xu và anh nhất quyết không làm điều đó.

Meggie chỉ nghe được tiếng còn tiếng mất và nhìn Luke qua một màn sương mù màu đỏ chói mắt. Từ xưa đến nay, Meggie chưa bao giờ cảm thấy giận dữ như lần này. Đồ đểu giả, ích kỷ, láo khoét! Tại sao hắn lại dám cư xử như thế với nàng, tước đoạt cái quyền có con của nàng, cố tình làm cho nàng tin rằng hắn muốn trở thành một nhà chăn nuôi nhưng thật ra hắn đã chọn con đường riêng sống với Arne Swenson và những vườn mía.

Nhưng Meggie đã khéo léo đè nén sự cáu kỉnh và chú ý vào cái vật cao su tròn nàng cầm trong tay.

- Anh hãy nói cho em nghe về... những cái bao cao su này. Vì sao chúng ngăn chặn có con?

Luke đến đứng sát phía sau lưng Meggie. Sự đụng chạm của hai thân thể trần truồng khiến cho nàng rùng mình vì bị kích thích - Luke nghĩ như vậy, nhưng thực tế thì ngược lại vì Meggie kinh tởm anh ta.

- Chẳng lẽ em lại dốt đến thế?

- Vâng, Meggie nói dối.

Những lời giải thích của Luke khiến cho Meggie nổi giận dữ dội. Thế đấy, hắn đã ngăn chặn cái điều mà lâu nay Meggie chờ đợi. Đồ lưu manh!

Luke không hiểu chút nào tâm trạng của Meggie. Hắn tắt đèn, ôm nàng kéo lên giường và liền đó mò mẫm tìm cái bao cao su; Meggie nghe rõ tiếng sột soạt mà nàng đã từng nghe một lần ở khách sạn Dunny trong đêm tân hôn; bây giờ nàng đã hiểu rõ Luke đang làm gì. Thằng lưu manh! Phải dùng kế nào đây để phá vỡ âm mưu của Luke?

- Tại sao em không tỏ ra nhiệt tình hơn với anh hả?

- Tại sao à?

Hai năm rồi, Luke không có thời giờ và cả sức lực cống hiến cho trò chơi ái tình.

Bây giờ nằm bên Meggie, vứt bỏ bao cao su trước đây thường dùng đến Luke thích thú đón nhận những cảm giác tiếp xúc của da thịt. Càng lúc Luke càng bị kích thích. Ngay lúc đó một ý nghĩ vụt đến trong đầu Meggie. Nàng quyết định chủ động. Luke sực tỉnh mở mắt. Anh ta tìm cách đẩy Meggie ra nhưng cảm giác đến với anh không còn gì ngăn chặn đã trở nên vô cùng kỳ diệu bởi anh chưa bao giờ gần một người phụ nữ mà không dùng phương tiện phòng ngừa. Sự kích thích lên đến mức anh không còn tự chủ được nữa, thay vì đẩy Meggie ra, anh chàng ghì chặt nàng vào.

Trong bóng đêm, Meggie mỉm cười, hài lòng.

° ° °

Trở về Himmelhoch, Meggie chờ đợi và hy vọng. Cầu xin Chúa ban cho một đứa con! Một đứa con là giải quyết tất cả. Lời cầu nguyện có kết quả. Khi Meggie báo cho Anne và Ludwig tin này, cả hai rất vui mừng, nhất là Ludwig. Chính ông đã lo liệu đầy đủ quần áo tã lót, còn Anne thì sửa soạn căn phòng riêng cho đứa bé sẽ chào đời.

Nhưng thật xui xẻo, trong khi mang thai sức khỏe của Meggie không được tốt, có thể do thời tiết nóng bức, cũng có thể do buồn lo, Meggie không hiểu được tại sao như vậy. Tình trạng khó chịu ấy kéo dài cả ngày. Không những thế, Meggie còn có dấu hiệu tăng huyết áp. Theo bác sĩ Smith, tình trạng của Meggie nguy hiểm. Lúc đầu ông gợi ý nên đưa nàng vào nằm trong bệnh viện cho đến khi sinh nhưng sau đó nghĩ đến hoàn cảnh sống một mình của Meggie xa chồng và không có bạn bè, nên bác sĩ quyết định để nàng ở lại vì như thế thì Ludwig và Anne có thể chăm sóc cho nàng tốt hơn.

- Nhưng phải ráng gọi ông chồng về thăm cô ấy! Bác sĩ cằn nhằn nói với Ludwig.

Meggie viết ngay bức thư gửi Luke báo tin nàng đã có thai, và như mọi người phụ nữ nàng tin tưởng rằng dù không muốn nhưng khi có một đứa con thì Luke cũng sẽ hết sức vui. Nhưng bức thư trả lời của Luke chấm dứt mọi ảo tưởng. Anh ta giận dữ. Đối với cá nhân anh ta khi làm cha, nghĩa đơn giản là phải nuôi thêm một miệng ăn. Thái độ của Luke là viên thuốc đắng mà Meggie vẫn nuốt vì không có sự chọn lựa khác hơn.

Meggie cảm thấy mình bệnh hoạn, bất lực và không được thương yêu. Kể cả đứa con đang trong bụng mẹ cũng không thường nàng và nó không hề mong muốn được sinh ra. Meggie nghe bên trong những phản kháng yếu ớt của một con người nhỏ bé từ chối có mặt. Nếu còn sức để chịu đựng một chuyến đi bằng tàu hỏa dài ba ngàn cây số thì Meggie sẽ không do dự trở về với gia đình. Cuối tháng tám, bốn tuần trước khi Meggie trút gánh nặng, nàng bắt đầu thù ghét đứa con mà thoạt đầu nàng đã hết sức mong muốn và chời đợi.

Có lúc, Meggie nhận ra tất cả chỉ là thảm họa; cố gắng gạt đi lòng tự ái dị hợm của mình và tìm cách cứu vãn những gì con lại của những tan vỡ. Cả hai đã lấy nhau vì những suy nghĩ không đúng: Luke nhắm túi tiền của Meggie, còn nàng vì hờn dỗi, vừa muốn thoát khỏi Ralph nhưng đồng thời tìm cách giữ lại hình ảnh của Ralph.

Nhưng thật ra, trong khi không cảm thấy oán giận Luke thì càng lúc Meggie càng cảm thấy căm ghét Ralph. Mặc dù Ralph đã tỏ ra thông cảm và cư xử với nàng đúng hơn Luke nhiều. Chưa bao giờ Ralph có ý nghĩ làm cho nàng phải nhớ nhung đến ông; Ralph chỉ muốn mình được nhìn dưới một góc độ tu sĩ và một người bạn. Ngay cả trong hai lần Ralph ôm hôn nàng, trách nhiệm về những cái hôn ấy vẫn thuộc về Meggie.

Thế thì tại sao lại hờn dỗi Ralph làm gì? Tại sao nàng lại căm ghét Ralph chứ không phải Luke? Tại sao lại trách cứ Ralph về sự thôi thúc điên rồ đã đẩy nàng đi đến quyết định lấy Luke? Meggie có cảm tưởng nàng đã phản bội chính mình và phản bội với cả Ralph. Không thể lấy Ralph làm chồng, để được sống chung và có con với ông ấy thì có sao đâu? Ralph trước sau vẫn là con người nàng yêu thương, đáng lý ra nàng không nên đi tìm một ai khác thay thế.

Dù hiểu ra những sai lầm của mình, Meggie vẫn không xoa dịu được những thương đau. Cuối cùng thì chính Luke. Làm sao nàng có thể vui sướng trong ý nghĩ đứa con ấy không hề mong muốn được chào đời? Thật tội nghiệp cho đứa bé. Có thể, khi ra đời, đứa bé sẽ được thương yêu chỉ vì đó là một con người. Nhưng nếu là con của Ralph thì sẽ thế nào? Chuyện không thể có. Ralph đã phục vụ cho một thiết chế nhất định biến con người ông ấy hoàn toàn thuộc về họ, kể cả cái phần họ không cần đến.

Đức Mẹ, đòi hỏi ở Ralph một hy sinh cho quyền lực, phủ định và hủy hoại con người của Ralph. Nhưng thôi một ngày nào đó, Giáo hội sẽ trả giá cho tham vọng của mình, một ngày nào đó sẽ không còn có những linh mục như Ralph, vì rằng những người này sẽ đánh giá đúng mức tính nam giới của họ để hiểu rằng điều mà Giáo hội đòi hỏi là một sự hy sinh vô ích, không có một chút ý nghĩa nào cả.

Đột nhiên, Meggie đứng lên, đi tới đi lui trong phòng nghỉ, tại đó Anne đang đọc một quyển sách cấm của Norman Lindsay.

- Anne, hãy gọi ngay bác sĩ Smith. Em sắp sinh.

- Chúa ơi! Em hãy lên nằm ngay ở phòng hai vợ chồng chị.

° ° °

Bác sĩ Smith đến trên chiếc xe cũ kỹ, có người nữ hộ sinh đi theo.

- Chị có báo cho ông chồng hay chưa? Vừa bước lên bậc thềm, bác sĩ Smith vừa hỏi Anne.

- Tôi đã đánh điện cho anh ấy. Meggie đang nằm trong phòng của tôi, ở đó rộng rãi hơn.

Anne khập khiễng theo sau bác sĩ vào phòng. Meggie nằm trên giường, mắt mở to và không thấy có dấu hiệu đau đớn nào ngoại trừ hai bàn tay bị giật và thân người co rút lại. Nàng ráng ngước nhìn Anne mỉm cười. Anne nhận thấy trong đôi mắt nhìn chứa đựng sự sợ hãi.

- Em rất vui mừng được ở lại nhà, Meggie nói. Mẹ em chưa bao giờ đến bệnh viện để sinh. Em có nghe ba em kể, mẹ em đã quá đau đớn khi sinh Hal nhưng rồi cũng vẫn vượt qua cái chết. Nhất định em cũng thế. Phụ nữ dòng họ Cleary chịu đau rất giỏi.

Vài giờsau, bác sĩ trở ra gặp Anne ngoài hiên.

- Cơn đau bụng của cô ấy kéo dài rất lâu và có khó khăn đấy. Thường sinh con đầu lòng đều gặp rắc rối đôi chút, nhưng trong trường hợp này thì nguy hiểm. Cô ấy rất cố gắng nhưng vẫn chưa sinh được. Ở bệnh viện Cairns có thể người ta đã áp dụng thủ thuật mổ để đưa đứa bé ra nhưng tại đây thì không thể làm được. Chính cô ấy phải đưa đứa bé ra một mình.

- Meggie vẫn tỉnh đấy chứ?

- Vâng! Một cô gái rất dũng cảm. Không một tiếng rên. Theo kinh nghiệm của tôi, những người phụ nữ dũng cảm nhất thường lại sinh nở khó khăn nhất. Cô ấy luôn miệng hỏi tôi Ralph đã tới chưa. Tôi phải nói dối với cô ta rằng nước sông Johnstone dâng lên rất cao chưa qua được. Nhưng hình như chồng của cô ấy tên Luke cơ mà.

- Vâng, đúng thế.

- Thế thì... có lẽ vì thế mà cô ấy luôn hỏi đến Ralph. Luke không mang lại cho cô ấy sự an ủi phải không?

- Đó là một thằng không ra gì!

Anne đứng nghiêng người, hai tay nắm chặt lan can. Một chiếc xe tắc xi vừa tách khỏi con lộ Dunny rẽ vào con đường đến Himmelhoch. Con mắt rất tỏ của Anne giúp chị nhận ra ở băng sau xe là một người đàn ông tóc đen. Chị kêu lên mừng rỡ.

- Tôi không tin vào mắt mình nhưng hình như Luke đã nhớ sự rằng hắn có một người vợ.

Bác sĩ Smith nói:

- Tốt hơn hết là tôi nên trở lên phòng với Meggie để cho chị đối đầu với hắn, Anne. Tôi sẽ không nói gì hết với Meggie đề phòng trường hợp không phải chồng cô ấy. Còn nếu đúng thật là Luke chị rót cho hắn một tách trà, còn rượu thì dành lại sau; rồi hắn sẽ cần đến.

Chiếc tắc xi dừng lại. Trước sự kinh ngạc của Anne, anh tài xế mở cửa và vội vàng vòng mở cửa xe phía sau để người khách bước xuống. Joe Castiglione, chủ nhân chiếc xe tắc xi duy nhất ở Dunny, ít khi tỏ ra lịch sự như thế.

- Thưa Đức cha, đã đến Himmelhoch. Anh ta vừa nói vừa rạp người xuống.

Một người đàn ông mặc áo thụng dài đen với thắt lưng màu đỏ thắm bước ra. Đúng lúc người này quay mặt lại, Anne hoa mắt lên, trong một giây phút tưởng rằng cái anh chàng Luke đang bày một trò gì đó đùa với mình. Nhưng chị nhận ra ngay con người này hoàn toàn khác Luke, lớn hơn Luke ít nhất mười tuổi.

- Xin lỗi có phải bà Mueller? Người khách hỏi với nụ cười trên môi, cái nhìn thật sáng và xa xôi.

- Vâng, tôi là Anne Mueller.

- Tôi xin được tự giới thiệu, Tổng giám mục Ralph, Khâm mạng Tòa thánh tại Úc. Tôi được biết có một phụ nữ, bà Luke Ó Neill hiện ở nhà bà.

- Vâng, thưa ông.

Ralph? Ralph? Có phải chính Ralph mà Meggie đã gọi tên?

- Tôi là một trong những người bạn thân nhất của bà Luke Ó Neill. Tôi có thể gặp mặt bà Ó Neill được không thưa bà?

- Thưa... tôi tin rằng chị Luke sẽ rất vui mừng, Tổng giám mục. Trong hoàn cảnh bình thường hơn thì... nhưng lúc này, Meggie đang sắp sửa sinh và chị ấy đang trải qua một cơn đau dữ dội.

- Tôi biết trước có chuyện gì đó không lành! Ông kêu lên. Tôi linh cảm điều đó từ lâu và gần đây sự lo âu của tôi trở thành một thứ ám ảnh. Tôi phải đến tận nơi và nhìn tận mắt. Tôi xin bà cho tôi được đến bên chị ấy. Nếu chị cần nại một lý do, bà cứ nói tôi là tu sĩ.

Anne không hề có ý định cấm đoán vị Tổng giám mục vào phòng của Meggie.

- Thưa Đức cha đi theo tôi.

Ralph đi ngang qua vị bác sĩ và người nữ hộ sinh như không hề nhìn thấy họ, đến quỳ gối bên giường, đưa tay về hướng Meggie.

- Meggie?

Meggie vượt thoát ra khỏi cơn ác mộng mà nàng đang vật lộn và nhận ra gương mặt thương yêu, đang cúi sát xuống mặt mình, tóc đen và dày với hai chùm màu trắng hai bên thái dương nổi bật lên trong ánh sáng lờ mờ. Những nét thanh tú và quý phái, hơi khắc khổ, biểu hiện rõ hơn tính kiên nhẫn và đôi mắt xanh đắm chìm trong mắt nàng tràn đầy tình yêu nóng bỏng và chờ đợi. Làm sao Meggie lại có thể lầm lẫn Luke với Ralph? Không một ai hoàn toàn giống như chàng, không ai khác có thể thuộc về nàng; Meggie đã phản bội lại điều mà nàng đã cảm nhận ở Ralph. Luke là cái bề đục của tấm gương, còn Ralph rực sáng như mặt trời và đồng thời lại rất xa xôi. Trời ơi, sung sướng làm so khi được nhìn thấy Ralph.

- Đức cha ơi, hãy giúp con - nàng nói.

Ralph cầm tay Meggie hôn say đắm, rồi áp bàn tay ấy vào má mình.

- Bao giờ cha cũng sẵn sàng, con biết điều đó, Meggie của cha.

- Hãy cầu nguyện cho con và đứa bé. Nếu có một ai đó có thể cứu con và con của con thì người đó chính là Đức cha. Đức cha gần Chúa hơn chúng con rất nhiều. Không ai ghét chúng con, chưa bao giờ có ai ghét chúng con, kể cả Đức cha cũng thế.

- Luke đâu rồi?

- Con không biết và cũng chẳng cần đến anh ta. Meggie nhắm mắt lại, những ngón tay vẫn bám chặt vào tay của Ralph nhất định không buông ra. Nhưng bác sĩ đã đến vỗ nhẹ lên vai của Ralph.

- Đức cha, tôi nghĩ đã đến lúc Đức cha phải rời phòng này.

- Nhưng nếu sự sống còn của người này bị đe dọa, bác sĩ sẽ gọi tôi chứ?

- Tôi sẽ gọi ngay.

Ralph cùng Anne đi ra khỏi phòng. Ludwig từ vườn mía về. Anh tỏ ra hiểu biết hơn vợ, quỳ một gối xuống đất và hôn chiếc nhẫn của Đức Khâm mạng.

- Như thế Ngài là Ralph? - Anne chống nạnh dựa vào một cái bàn làm bằng tre, hỏi.

- Vâng, tôi là Ralph.

- Từ khi Meggie rơi vào những cơn đau, cô ấy cứ gọi một người nào đó tên Ralph không dứt. Thú thật lúc ấy tôi rất tò mò. Tôi nhớ rất rõ trước đây cô ấy chưa bao giờ đề cập đến cái tên Ralph lần nào. Trong trường hợp nào Đức cha đã quen biết Meggie? Và bao lâu rồi?

- Tôi biết Meggie khi cô ấy mới mười tuổi, chỉ ít ngày sau khi cô ấy đáp tàu từ Tân Tây Lan đến Úc. Nói cho đúng, tôi có thể khẳng định tôi đã biết Meggie qua những cơn bão lụt, hỏa hoạn, những lúc xúc cảm tột đỉnh, đi qua cái sống và cái chết. Tóm lại, tất cả những gì mà chúng tôi đều phải chịu đựng. Meggie là tấm gương mà tôi bắt buộc phải nhìn vào đó để thấy thân phận của con người tôi.

- Ngài yêu Meggie? Anne buông câu ấy với giọng ngạc nhiên.

- Mãi mãi vẫn thế.

- Một bi kịch cho cả hai.

- Tôi mong rằng chỉ là bi kịch cho tôi. Chị hãy kể cho tôi nghe về cô ấy. Chuyện gì đã xảy ra từ khi cô ấy lấy chồng? Nhiều năm rồi tôi đã không gặp lại cô ấy, nhưng tôi luôn có những lo âu về Meggie.

Nghe xong câu chuyện, Ralph thở dài nhìn cây cọ đong đưa theo gió rồi nói:

- Thế thì chúng ta phải giúp Meggie vì Luke đã chối từ. Nếu thật sự Luke bỏ rơi Meggie thì cô ấy sẽ được yên thân hơn khi về ở Drogheda. Tôi biết hai anh chị không muốn mất Meggie nhưng hãy vì Meggie mà thuyết phục cô ấy về với gia đình. Ngay khi trở về Sydney, tôi sẽ gửi một ngân phiếu cho hai anh chị nhờ trao lại cho Meggie, như thế tránh cho cô ấy bị khó chịu vì tiếc tiền của anh mình. Một khi trở về nhà, cô ấy muốn giải thích với gia đình thế nào tùy ý. Cầu Chúa, đứa bé được sinh ra nhanh chóng.

Thế nhưng đứa bé chỉ ra đời hai mươi bốn giờ sau, lúc Meggie đã hoàn toàn kiệt sức và đã chịu đựng tận cùng đau đớn.

Đứa bé - con gái - thật nhỏ bé và yếu đuối làm cho Tổng giám mục cảm thấy đau nhói trong lòng. Meggie! Meggie của ta. Meggie đau khổ, bị giày vò. Ta mãi mãi yêu em, nhưng ta không thể cho em điều mà Luke đã cho em, kể cả cái thân xác bị cấm đoán này.

Khi chỉ còn lại hai người, Ralph hỏi Meggie:

- Em đặt cho con tên gì?

- Justine.

- Một cái tên rất đẹp. Nhưng tại sao em chọn tên đó?

- Em đã đọc thấy đâu đó mà em rất thích.

- Em có vui sướng khi có con không, Meggie?

Trên gương mặt mệt mỏi của Meggie chỉ còn đôi mắt là sống động, dịu dàng, chứa đựng một thứ ánh sáng phớt đục, không hận thù nhưng cũng không có tình yêu.

- Có chứ, em rất sung sướng có đứa con này. Vâng em rất vui sướng vì em đã làm tất cả để có nó... Nhưng trong khi em mang nó trong bụng, em không cảm thấy chút gì là vì nó và nó cũng không cần em. Em không tin rằng Justine thật sự thuộc về em, cũng không thuộc về Luke hay bất cứ ai.

Một hồi lâu Ralph nói:

- Anh phải đi, Meggie ạ. Ralph nói nhỏ.

Đôi mắt màu nâu đanh lại, sáng lên. Nàng bĩu môi chua chát.

- Em đã chờ đợi trước điều đó! Thật kỳ lạ, hình như những người đàn ông dính dấp đến cuộc đời em đều luôn luôn như thế.

Ralph nghe đau trong lòng.

- Đừng chua cay, Meggie. Anh không ra đi để lại em trong một tình trạng như thế này. Dù đã xảy ra chuyện gì cho em trong quá khứ, em luôn giữ sự dịu dàng, đó là điều quí nhất em đối với anh. Đừng thay đổi, không nên trở thành sắt đá vì tất cả những gì em đã phải chịu đựng. Anh thật đau xót khi nghĩ đến chuyện Luke không màng đến đây, nhưng em cũng đừng đánh mất đi sự dịu dàng đó. Nếu không em không còn là Meggie của anh.

Nàng tiếp tục nhìn Ralph thiết tha lẫn cả sự oán giận.

- Không đâu Ralph, em van anh! Em không phải là Meggie của anh đâu, em chưa bao giờ như thế cả! Anh không cần em và anh đã đẩy em vào tay của Luke. Anh coi em là gì? Một thứ nữ thánh hay một thứ nữ tu? Này anh nhé, không phải như vậy đâu. Em là một con người như mọi người và anh đã làm hỏng đời em. Trong suốt bao năm qua, em đã yêu anh và không chấp nhận ai khác ngoài anh, em đã chờ đợi... Em đã làm mọi cách để quên anh đi. Cuối cùng em đã lấy một người chồng mà em tưởng rằng có phần nào đó giống anh. Nhưng rồi anh ta cũng chẳng màng, chẳng cần đến em. Em có đòi hỏi quá đáng chăng với một người đàn ông mà mình muốn được yêu thương?

- Luke không xấu xa đâu, cũng không đáng ghét. Thật ra anh ta chỉ là một người đàn ông. Các anh đều như thế, những con bướm to đầy lông lá, đang bị ngọn lửa quái lạ khuất sau một tấm kiếng trong suốt thu hút mà các anh không hề thấy. Nếu cuối cùng các anh tìm được con đường vào tận nơi, các anh sẽ đâm đầu vào ngọn lửa, té xuống, chết thiêu. Trong khi đó thì ngoài kia trong cái mát dịu dàng của màn đêm, có đủ tất cả các thứ để nuôi sống các anh, có tình yêu và những con bướm nhỏ. Nhưng đàn ông các anh có thấy cái đó không, có muốn điều đó không? Không! Các anh quay trở lại với ngọn lửa, các anh cứ đâm đầu vào đó cho đến khi bị cháy và chết đi.

Ralph không biết trả lời thế nào với Meggie bởi rằng Ralph đã khám phá ra một khía cạnh khác thuộc về bản chất của Meggie mà trước đây ông hoàn toàn không biết. Cái đó có từ bao giờ? Phải chăng nó đã hình thành tiếp theo những thất vọng mà nàng đã trải qua sau khi Ralph bỏ rơi nàng? Meggie lại có thể thốt ra những điều đó ư? Ralph không đủ can đảm để nghe rõ từng lời, lòng Ralph hoang mang, mặc cảm phạm tội xâm chiếm tâm hồn.

- Em có nhớ hoa hồng mà em đã tặng cho anh vào buổi chiều anh rời khỏi Droghedả Ralph âu yếm hỏi Meggie.

- Vâng, em còn nhớ.

Tiếng nói của nàng mất hẳn sức sống, ánh mắt mờ đi vì đau buồn, ánh mắt đó chiếu thẳng vào Ralph nhưng tâm hồn thì trống rỗng, vô vọng. Mắt Meggie lờ đờ như đôi mắt của Fiona mẹ nàng.

- Anh vẫn giữ hoa hồng trong sách kinh của anh. Cứ mỗi lần nhìn thấy hoa hồng ấy là anh nhớ đến em. Meggie ơi! Anh yêu em! Em là đóa hồng của anh, hình ảnh đẹp nhất của con người và là tâm tưởng của đời anh.

Đôi môi của Meggie trề ra một lần nữa, mắt long lên giận dữ, có cả sự căm tức.

- Một hình ảnh, một tâm tưởng! Một hình ảnh con người và một tâm tưởng - Giọng nàng trêu chọc - Vâng đúng vậy. Đó là tất cả những gì mà em có trong mắt anh. Anh đúng là một thằng ngốc lãng mạn và mơ mộng, Ralph! Anh không có một ý niệm nào hơn về cuộc sống so với con bướm lao vào ngọn lửa! Không có gì ngạc nhiên khi anh đã chọn làm linh mục! Anh hoàn toàn không có khả năng sống một cuộc sống bình thường nếu anh là một người như mọi người, một người như Luke! Anh nói anh yêu em, nhưng không có một ý niệm nào về tình yêu. Anh chỉ nói ra những lời lẽ nghe thật kêu mà anh học được! Em không hiểu nổi tại sao đàn ông lại không gạt hẳn đàn bà ra khỏi cuộc đời mình đi khi mà điều đó chính là sự mong muốn của họ. Đàn ông các anh nên tìm ra một cách cưới gã với nhau đi, các anh sẽ sống hạnh phúc tuyệt diệu với nhau đấy.

- Meggie, anh van em, đừng nói nữa!

- Ôi! Anh hãy đi đi! Em không muốn gặp mặt anh nữa. Nhưng anh quên điều này: khi nhắc đến những hoa hồng yêu quí của anh, Ralph... Những hoa hồng ấy đều có những gai rất dữ, những gai rất nhọn sẽ đâm vào tim anh.

Ralph rời khỏi phòng mà không quay nhìn lại.

° ° °

➖➖➖

Phần tiếng Anh

The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough

---

FOUR

1933-1938 LUKE

4.2

Luke bought Meggie a diamond engagement ring, modest but quite pretty, its twin quarter-carat stones set in a pair of platinum hearts. The banns were called for noon on Saturday, August 25th, in the Holy Cross Church. This would be followed by a family dinner at the Hotel Imperial, to which Mrs. Smith, Minnie and Cat were naturally invited, though Jims and Patsy had been left in Sydney after Meggie said firmly that she couldn't see the point in bringing them six hundred miles to witness a ceremony they didn't really understand. She had received their letters of congratulations; Jims's long, rambling and childlike, Patsy's consisting of three words, “Lots of luck.” They knew Luke, of course, having ridden the Drogheda paddocks with him during their vacations.

Mrs. Smith was grieved at Meggie's insistence on as small an affair as possible; she had hoped to see the only girl married on Drogheda with flags flying and cymbals clashing, days of celebration. But Meggie was so against a fuss she even refused to wear bridal regalia; she would be married in a day dress and an ordinary hat, which could double afterwards as her traveling outfit.

“Darling, I've decided where to take you for our honeymoon,” Luke said, slipping into a chair opposite hers the Sunday after they had made their wedding plans.

“Where?”

“North Queensland. While you were at the dressmaker I got talking to some chaps in the Imperial bar, and they were telling me there's money to be made up in cane country, if a man's strong and not afraid of hard work.” “But Luke, you already have a good job here!” “A man doesn't feel right, battening on his in-laws. I want to get us the money to buy a place out in Western Queensland, and I want it before I'm too old to work it. A man with no education finds it hard to get high-paying work in this Depression, but there's a shortage of men in North Queensland, and the money's at least ten times what I earn as a stockman on Drogheda.” “Doing what?”

“Cutting sugar cane.”

“Cutting sugar cane? That's coolie labor”

“No, you're wrong. Coolies aren't big enough to do it as well as the white cutters, and besides, you know as well as I do that Australian law forbids the importation of black or yellow men to do slave labor or work for wages lower than a white man's, take the bread out of a white Australian's mouth. There's a shortage of cutters and the money's terrific. Not too many blokes are big enough or strong enough to cut cane. But I am. It won't beat me!” “Does this mean you're thinking of making our home in North Queensland, Luke?”

“Yes.”

She stared past his shoulder through the great bank of windows at Drogheda: the ghost gums, the Home Paddock, the stretch of trees beyond. Not to live on Drogheda! To be somewhere Bishop Ralph could never find her, to live without ever seeing him again, to cleave to this stranger sitting facing her so irrevocably there could be no going back .... The grey eyes rested on Luke's vivid, impatient face and grew more beautiful, but unmistakably sadder. He sensed it only; she had no tears there, her lids didn't droop, or the corners of her mouth. But he wasn't concerned with whatever sorrows Meggie owned, for he had no intention of letting her become so important to him she caused him worry on her behalf. Admittedly she was something of a bonus to a man who had tried to marry Dot MacPherson of Bingelly, but her physical desirability and tractable nature only increased Luke's guard over his own heart. No woman, even one as sweet and beautiful as Meggie Cleary, was ever going to gain sufficient power over him to tell him what to do.

So, remaining true to himself, he plunged straight into the main thing on his mind. There were times when guile was necessary, but in this matter it wouldn't serve him as well as bluntness. “Meghann, I'm an old-fashioned man,” he said. She stared at him, puzzled. “Are you?” she asked, her tone implying: Does it matter?

“Yes,” he said. “I believe that when a man and woman marry, all the woman's property should become the man's. The way a dowry did in the old days. I know you've got a bit of money, and I'm telling you now that when we marry you're to sign it over to me. It's only fair you know what's in my mind while you're still single, and able to decide whether you want to do it.”

It had never occurred to Meggie that she would retain her money; she had simply assumed when she married it would become Luke's, not hers. All save the most educated and sophisticated Australian women were reared to think themselves more or less the chattels of their men, and this was especially true of Meggie. Daddy had always ruled Fee and his children, and since his death Fee had deferred to Bob as his successor. The man owned the money, the house, his wife and his children. Meggie had never questioned his right to do so.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I didn't know signing anything was necessary, Luke. I thought that what was mine automatically became yours when we married.”

“It used to be like that, but those stupid drongos in Canberra stopped it when they gave women the vote. I want everything to be fair and square between us, Meghann, so I'm telling you now how things are going to be.” She laughed, “It's all right, Luke, I don't mind.”

She took it like a good old-fashioned wife; Dot wouldn't have given in so readily. “How much have you got?” he asked. “At the moment, fourteen thousand pounds. Every year I get two thousand more.”

He whistled. “Fourteen thousand pounds! Phew! That's a lot of money, Meghann. Better to have me look after it for you. We can see the bank manager next week, and remind me to make sure everything coming in in the future gets put in my name, too. I'm not going to touch a penny of it, you know that. It's to buy our station later on. For the next few years we're both going to work hard, and save every penny we earn. All right?” She nodded. “Yes, Fuke.”

A simple oversight on Fuke's part nearly scotched the wedding in midplan. He was not a Catholic. When Father Watty found out he threw up his hands in horror.

“Dear Lord, Luke, why didn't you tell me earlier? Indeed and to goodness, it will take all of our energies to have you converted and baptized before the wedding!”

Luke stared at Father Watty, astonished. “Who said anything about converting, Father? I'm quite happy as I am being nothing, but if it worries you, write me down as a Calathumpian or a Holy Roller or whatever you like. But write me down a Catholic you will not.”

In vain they pleaded; Luke refused to entertain idea of conversion for a moment. “I've got nothing against Catholicism or Eire, and I think the Catholics in Ulster are hard done by. But I'm Orange, and I'm not a turncoat. If I was a Catholic and you wanted me to convert to Methodism, I'd react the same. It's being a turncoat I object to, not being a Catholic. So you'll have to do without me in the flock, Father, and that's that.”

“Then you can't get married!”

“Why on earth not? If you don't want to marry us, I can't see why the Reverend up at the Church of England will object, or Harry Gough the J.P.” Fee smiled sourly, remembering her contretemps with Paddy and a priest; she had won that encounter.

“But, Luke, I have to be married in church!” Meggie protested fearfully. “If I'm not, I'll be living in sin!”

“Well, as far as I'm concerned, living in sin is a lot better than turning my coat inside out,” said Luke, who was sometimes a curious contradiction; much as he wanted Meggie's money, a blind streak of stubbornness in him wouldn't let him back down.

“Oh, stop all this silliness!” said Fee, not to Luke but to the priest. “Do what Paddy and I did and have an end to argument! Father Thomas can marry you in the presbytery if he doesn't want to soil his church!” Everyone stared at her, amazed, but it did the trick; Father Watkin gave in and agreed to marry them in the presbytery, though he refused to bless the ring.

Partial Church sanction left Meggie feeling she was sinning, but not badly enough to go to Hell, and ancient Annie the presbytery housekeeper did her best to make Father Watty's study as churchlike as possible, with great vases of flowers and many brass candlesticks. But it was an uncomfortable ceremony, the very displeased priest making everyone feel he only went through with it to save himself the embarrassment of a secular wedding elsewhere. No Nuptial Mass, no blessings.

° ° °

However, it was done. Meggie was Mrs. Luke O'neill, on her way to North Queensland and a honeymoon somewhat delayed by the time it would take getting there. Luke refused to spend that Saturday night at the Imperial, for the branch-line train to Goondiwindi left only once a week, on Saturday night, to connect with the Goondiwindi-Brisbane mail train on Sunday. This would bring them to Bris on Monday in time to catch the Cairns express.

The Goondiwindi train was crowded. They had no privacy and sat up all night because it carried no sleeping cars. Hour after hour it trundled its erratic, grumpy way northeast, stopping interminably every time the engine driver felt like brewing a billy of tea for himself, or to let a mob of sheep wander along the rails, or to have a yarn with a drover. “I wonder why they pronounce Goondiwindi Gundiwindi if they don't want to spell it that way?” Meggie asked idly as they waited in the only place open in Goondiwindi on a Sunday, the awful institutional-green station waiting room with its hard black wooden benches. Poor Meggie, she was nervous and ill at ease.

“How do I know?” sighed Luke, who didn't feel like talking and was starving into the bargain. Since it was Sunday they couldn't even get a cup of tea; not until the Monday-morning breakfast stop on the Brisbane mail did they get an opportunity to fill their empty stomachs and slake their thirst. Then Brisbane, into South Bris station, the trek across the city to Roma Street Station and the Cairns train. Here Meggie discovered Luke had booked them two second-class upright seats. “Luke, we're not short of money!” she said, tired and exasperated. “If you forgot to go to the bank, I've got a hundred pounds Bob gave me here in my purse. Why didn't you get us a first-class sleeping compartment?” He stared down at her, astounded. “But it's only three nights and three days to Dungloe! Why spend money on a sleeper when we're both young, healthy and strong? Sitting up on a train for a while won't kill you, Meghann!

It's about time you realized you've married a plain old workingman, not a bloody squatter!

So Meggie slumped in the window seat Luke seized for her and rested her trembling chin on her hand to look out the window so Luke wouldn't notice her tears. He had spoken to her as one speaks to an irresponsible child, and she was beginning to wonder if indeed this was how he regarded her. Rebellion began to stir, but it was very small and her fierce pride forbade the indignity of quarreling. Instead she told herself she was this mart's wife, but it was such a new thing he wasn't used to it. Give him time. They would live together, she would cook his meals, mend his clothes, look after him, have his babies, be a good wife to him. Look how much Daddy had appreciated Mum, how much he had adored her. Give Luke time.

They were going to a town called Dungloe, only fifty miles short of Cairns, which was the far northern terminus of the line which ran all the way along the Queensland coast. Over a thousand miles of narrow three-foot-six-gauge rail, rocking and pitching back and forth, every seat in the compartment occupied, no chance to lie down or stretch out. Though it was far more densely settled countryside than Gilly, and far more colorful, she couldn't summon up interest in it.

Her head ached, she could keep no food down and the heat was much, much worse than anything Gilly had ever cooked up. The lovely pink silk wedding dress was filthy from soot blowing in the windows, her skin was clammy with a sweat which wouldn't evaporate, and what was more galling than any of her physical discomforts, she was close to hating Luke. Apparently not in the least tired or out of sorts because of the journey, he sat at his ease yarning with two men going to Cardwell. The only times he glanced in her direction he also got up, leaned across her so carelessly she shrank, and flung a rolled-up newspaper out the window to some event-hungry gang of tattered men beside the line with steel hammers in their hands, calling: “Paip! Paip!”

“Fettlers looking after the rails,” he explained as he sat down again the first time it happened.

And he seemed to assume she was quite as happy and comfortable as he was, that the coastal plain flying by was fascinating her. While she sat staring at it and not seeing it, hating it before she had so much as set foot on it. At Cardwell the two men got off, and Luke went to the fish-and-chip shop across the road from the station to bring back a newspaper-wrapped bundle. “They say Cardwell fish has to be tasted to be believed, Meghann love. The best fish in the world. Here, try some. It's your first bit of genuine Bananaland food. I tell you, there's no place like Queensland.” Meggie glanced at the greasy pieces of batter-dipped fish, put her handkerchief to her mouth and bolted for the toilet. He was waiting in the corridor when she came out some time later, white and shaking. “What's the matter? Aren't you feeling well?” “I haven't felt well since we left Goondiwindi.”

“Good Lord! Why didn't you tell me?”

“Why didn't you notice?”

“You looked all right to me.”

“How far is it now?” she asked, giving up.

“Three to six hours, give or take a bit. They don't run to timetable up here too much. There's plenty of room now those blokes are gone; lie down and put your tootsies in my lap.”

“Oh, don't baby-talk me!” she snapped tartly. “It would have been a lot better if they'd got off two days ago in Bundaberg!” “Come on now, Meghann, be a good sport! Nearly there. Only Tully and Innisfail, then Dungloe.”

It was late afternoon when they stepped off the train, Meggie clinging desperately to Luke's arm, too proud to admit she wasn't able to walk properly. He asked the stationmaster for the name of a workingmen's hotel, picked up their cases and walked out onto the street, Meggie behind him weaving drunkenly.

“Only to the end of the block on the other side of the street,” he comforted. “The white two-storied joint.”

Though their room was small and filled to overflowing with great pieces of Victorian furniture, it looked like heaven to Meggie, collapsing on the edge of the double bed.

“Lie down for a while before dinner, love. I'm going out to find my landmarks,” he said, sauntering from the room looking as fresh and rested as he had on their wedding morning. That had been Saturday, and this was late Thursday afternoon; five days sitting up in crowded trains, choked by cigarette smoke and soot.

The bed was rocking monotonously in time to the clickety-click of steel wheels passing over rail joins, but Meggie turned her head into the pillow gratefully, and slept, and slept.

° ° °

Someone had taken off her shoes and stockings, and covered her with a sheet; Meggie stirred, opened her eyes and looked around. Luke was sitting on the window ledge with one knee drawn up, smoking. Her movement made him turn to look at her, and he smiled.

“A nice bride you are! Here I am looking forward to my honeymoon and my wife conks out for nearly two days! I was a bit worried when I couldn't wake you up, but the publican says it hits women like that, the trip up in the train and the humidity. He said just let you sleep it off. How do you feel now?”

She sat up stiffly, stretched her arms and yawned, “I feel much better, thank you. Oh, Luke! I know I'm young and strong, but I'm a woman! I can't take the sort of physical punishment you can.”

He came to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing her arm in a rather charming gesture of contrition. “I'm sorry, Meghann, I really am. I didn't think of your being a woman. Not used to having a wife with me, that's all. Are you hungry, darling?”

“Starved. Do you realize it's almost a week since I've eaten?” “Then why don't you have a bath, put on a clean dress and come outside to look at Dungloe?”

There was a Chinese cafe next door to the hotel, where Luke led Meggie for her first-ever taste of Oriental food. She was so hungry anything would have tasted good, but this was superb. Nor did she care if it was made of rats” tails and sharks' fins and fowls' bowels, as rumor had it in Gillanbone, which only possessed a cafe run by Greeks who served steak and chips. Luke had brown-bagged two quart bottles of beer from the hotel and insisted she drink a glass in spite of her dislike for beer. “Go easy on the water at first,” he advised. “Beer won't give you the trots.”

Then he took her arm and walked her around Dungloe proudly, as if he owned it. But then, Luke was born a Queenslander. What a place Dungloe was! It had a look and a character far removed from western towns. In size it was probably the same as Gilly, but instead of rambling forever down one main street. Dungloe was built in ordered square blocks, and all its shops and houses were painted white, not brown. Windows were vertical wooden transoms, presumably to catch the breeze, and wherever possible roofs had been dispensed with, like the movie theater, which had a screen, transomed walls and rows of ship's canvas desk chairs, but no roof at all. All around the edge of the town encroached a genuine jungle. Vines and creepers sprawled everywhere up posts, across roofs, along walls. Trees sprouted casually in the middle of the road, or had houses built around them, or perhaps had grown up through the houses. It was impossible to tell which had come first, trees or human habitations, for the overwhelming impression was one of uncontrolled, hectic growth of vegetation. Coconut palms taller and straighter than the Drogheda ghost gums waved fronds against a deep, swimming blue sky; everywhere Meggie looked was a blaze of color. No brown-and-grey land, this. Every kind of tree seemed to be in flower-purple, orange, scarlet, pink, blue, white. There were many Chinese in black silk trousers, tiny black-and-white shoes with white socks, white Mandarin-collared shirts, pigtails down their backs. Males and females looked so alike Meggie found it difficult to tell which were which. Almost the entire commerce of the town seemed to be in the hands of Chinese; a large department store, far more opulent than anything Gilly possessed, bore a Chinese name: AH WONG’S, said the sign. All the houses were built on top of very high piles, like the old head stockman's residence on Drogheda. This was to achieve maximum air circulation, Luke explained, and keep the termites from causing them to fall down a year after they were built. At the top of each pile was a tin plate with turned-down edges; termites couldn't bend their bodies in the middle and thus couldn't crawl over the tin parapet into the wood of the house itself. Of course they feasted on the piles, but when a pile rotted it was removed and replaced by a new one. Much easier and less expensive than putting up a new house. Most of the gardens seemed to be jungle, bamboo and palms, as if the inhabitants had given up trying to keep floral order. The men and women shocked her. To go for dinner and a walk with Luke she had dressed as custom demanded in heeled shoes, silk stockings, satin slip, floating silk frock with belt and elbow sleeves. On her head was a big straw hat, on her hands were gloves. And what irritated her the most was an uncomfortable feeling from the way people stared that she was the one improperly dressed! The men were bare-footed, bare-legged and mostly bare-chested, wearing nothing but drab khaki shorts; the few who covered their chests did so with athletic singlets, not shirts. The women were worse. A few wore skimpy cotton dresses clearly minus anything in the way of underwear, no stockings, sloppy sandals. But the majority wore short shorts, went bare-footed and shielded their breasts with indecent little sleeveless vests. Dungloe was a civilized town, not a beach. But here were its native white inhabitants strolling around in brazen undress; the Chinese were better clad. There were bicycles everywhere, hundreds of them; a few cars, no horses at all. Yes, very different from Gilly. And it was hot, hot, hot. They passed a thermometer which incredibly said a mere ninety degrees; in Gilly at 115 degrees it seemed cooler than this. Meggie felt as if she moved through solid air which her body had to cut like wet, steamy butter, as if when she breathed her lungs filled with water.

“Luke, I can't bear it! Please, can we go back?” she gasped after less than a mile.

“If you want. You're feeling the humidity. It rarely gets below ninety percent, winter or summer, and the temperature rarely gets below eighty-five or above ninety-five. There's not much of a seasonal variation, but in summer the monsoons send the humidity up to a hundred percent all the flaming time.” “Summer rain, not winter?”

“All year round. The monsoons always come, and when they're not blowing, the southeast trades are. They carry a lot of rain, too. Dungloe has an annual rainfall of between one and three hundred inches.”

Three hundred inches of rain a year! Poor Gilly ecstatic if it got a princely fifteen, while here as much as three hundred fell, two thousand miles from Gilly.

“Doesn't it cool off at night?” Meggie asked as they reached the hotel; hot nights in Gilly were bearable compared to this steam bath.

“Not very much. You'll get used to it.” He opened the door to their room and stood back for her to enter. “I'm going down to the bar for a beer, but I'll be back in half an hour. That ought to give you enough time.” Her eyes flew to his face, startled. “Yes, Luke.”

Dungloe was seventeen degrees south of the equator, so night fell like a thunderclap; one minute it seemed the sun was scarcely setting, and the next minute pitch-black darkness spread itself thick and warm like treacle. When Luke came back Meggie had switched off the light and was lying in the bed with the sheet pulled up to her chin. Laughing, he reached out and tugged it off her, threw it on the floor.

“It's hot enough, love! We won't need a sheet.”

She could hear him walking about, see his faint shadow shedding its clothes. “I put your pajamas on the dressing table,” she whispered. “Pajamas? In weather like this? I know in Gilly they'd have a stroke at the thought of a man not wearing pajamas, but this is Dungloe! Are you really wearing a nightie?”

“Yes.”

“Then take it off. The bloody thing will only be a nuisance anyway.” Fumbling, Meggie managed to wriggle out of the lawn nightgown Mrs. Smith had embroidered so lovingly for her wedding night, thankful that it was too dark for him to see her. He was right; it was much cooler lying bare and letting the breeze from the wide-open transoms play over her thinly. But the thought of another hot body in the bed with her was depressing. The springs creaked; Meggie felt damp skin touch her arm and jumped. He turned on his side, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. At first she lay passively, trying not to think of that wide-open mouth and its probing, indecent tongue, but then she began to struggle to be free, not wanting to be close in the heat, not wanting to be kissed, not wanting Luke. It wasn't a bit like that night in the Rolls coming back from Rudna Hunish. She couldn't seem to feel anything in him which thought of her, and some part of him was pushing insistently at her thighs while one hand, its nails squarely sharp, dug into her buttocks. Her fear blossomed into terror, she was overwhelmed in more than a physical way by his strength and determination, his lack of awareness of her. Suddenly he let her go, sat up and seemed to fumble with himself, snapping and pulling at something. “Better be safe,” he gasped. “Lie on your back, it's time. No, not like that! Open-your legs, for God's sake! Don't you know anything?” No, no, Luke, I don't! She wanted to cry. This is horrible, obscene; whatever it is you're doing to me can't possibly be permitted by the laws of Church or men! He actually lay down on top of her, lifted his hips and poked at her with one hand, the other so firmly in her hair she didn't dare move. Twitching and jumping at the alien thing between her legs, she tried to do as he wanted, spread her legs wider, but he was much broader than she was, and her groin muscles went into crampy spasm from the weight of him and the unaccustomed posture. Even through the darkening mists of fright and exhaustion she could sense the gathering of some mighty power; as he entered her a long high scream left her lips.

“Shut up!” he groaned, took his hand out of her hair and clamped it defensively over her mouth. “What do you want to do, make everyone in this bloody pub think I'm murdering you? Lie still and it won't hurt any more than it has to! Lie still, lie still!”

She fought like one possessed to be rid of that ghastly, painful thing, but his weight pinned her down and his hand deadened her cries, the agony went on and on. Utterly dry because he hadn't roused her, the even drier condom scraped and rasped her tissues as he worked himself in and out, faster and faster, the breath beginning to hiss between his teeth; then some change stilled him, made him shudder, swallow hard. The pain dulled to raw soreness and he mercifully rolled off her to lie on his back, gasping. “It'll be better for you the next time,” he managed to say. “The first time always hurts the woman.”

Then why didn't you have the decency to tell me that beforehand? She wanted to snarl, but she hadn't the energy to utter the words, she was too busy wanting to die. Not only because of the pain, but also from the discovery that she had possessed no identity for him, only been an instrument. The second time hurt just as much, and the third; exasperated, expecting her discomfort (for so he deemed it) to disappear magically after the first time and thus not understanding why she continued to fight and cry out, Luke grew angry, turned his back on her and went to sleep. The tears slipped sideways from Meggie's eyes into her hair; she lay on her back wishing for death, or else for her old life on Drogheda.

Was that what Father Ralph had meant years ago, when he had told her of the hidden passageway to do with having children? A nice way to find out what he meant. No wonder he had preferred not to explain it more clearly himself. Yet Luke had liked the activity well enough to do it three times in quick succession. Obviously it didn't hurt him. And for that she found herself hating him, hating it.

Exhausted, so sore moving was agony, Meggie inched herself over onto her side with her back to Luke, and wept into the pillow. Sleep eluded her, though Luke slept so soundly her small timid movements never caused so much as a change in the pattern of his breathing. He was an economical sleeper and a quiet one, he neither snored nor flopped about, and she thought while waiting for the late dawn that if it had just been a matter of lying down together, she might have found him nice to be with. And the dawn came, as quickly and joylessly as darkness had; it seemed strange not to hear roosters crowing, the other sounds of a rousing Drogheda with its sheep and horses and pigs and dogs.

Luke woke, and rolled over, she felt him kiss her on the shoulder and was so tired, so homesick that she forgot modesty, didn't care about covering herself.

“Come on, Meghann, let's have a look at you,” he commanded, his hand on her hip. “Turn over, like a good little girl.”

Nothing mattered this morning; Meggie turned over, wincing, and lay looking up at him dully. “I don't like Meghann,” she said, the only form of protest she could manage. “I do wish you'd call me Meggie.”

“I don't like Meggie. But if you really dislike Meghann so much, I'll call you Meg.” His gaze roved her body dreamily. “What a nice shape you've got.” He touched one breast, pink nipple flat and unaroused. “Especially these.” Bunching the pillows into a heap, he lay back on them and smiled. “Come on, Meg, kiss me. It's your turn to make love to me, and maybe you'll like that better, eh?”

I never want to kiss you again as long as I live, she thought, looking at the long, heavily muscled body, the mat of dark hair on the chest diving down the belly in a thin line and then flaring into a bush, out of which grew the deceptively small and innocent shoot which could cause so much pain. How hairy his legs were! Meggie had grown up with men who never removed a layer of their clothes in the presence of women, but open-necked shirts showed hairy chests in hot weather. They were all fair men, and not offensive to her; this dark man was alien, repulsive. Ralph had a head of hair just as dark, but well she remembered that smooth, hairless brown chest. “Do as you're told, Meg! Kiss me.”

Leaning over, she kissed him; he cupped her breasts in his palms and made her go on kissing him, took one of her hands and pushed it down to his groin. Startled, she took her unwilling mouth away from his to look at what lay under her hand, changing and growing. “Oh, please, Luke, not again!” she cried. “Please, not again! Please, please!”

The blue eyes scanned her speculatively. “Hurts that much? All right, we'll do something different, but for God's sake try to be enthusiastic!” Pulling her on top of him, he pushed her legs apart, lifted her shoulders and attached himself to her breast, as he had done in the car the night she committed herself to marrying him. There only in body, Meggie endured it; at least he didn't put himself inside her, so it didn't hurt any more than simply moving did. What strange creatures men were, to go at this as if it was the most pleasurable thing in the world. It was disgusting, a mockery of love. Had it not been for her hope that it would culminate in a baby, Meggie would have refused flatly to have anything more to do with it.

° ° °

“I've got you a job,” Luke said over breakfast in the hotel dining room. “What? Before I've had a chance to make our home nice, Luke? Before we've even got a home?”

“There's no point in our renting a house, Meg. I'm going to cut cane; it's all arranged. The best gang of cutters in Queensland is a gang of Swedes, Poles and Irish led by a bloke called Arne Swenson, and while you were sleeping off the journey I went to see him. He's a man short and he's willing to give me a trial. That means I'll be living in barracks with them. We cut six days a week, sunrise to sunset. Not only that, but we move around up and down the coast, wherever the next job takes us. How much I earn depends on how much sugar I cut, and if I'm good enough to cut with Arne's gang I'll be pulling in more than twenty quid a week. Twenty quid a week! Can you imagine that?”

“Are you trying to tell me we won't be living together, Luke?” “We can't, Meg! The men won't have a woman in the barracks, and what's the use of your living alone in a house? You may as well work, too; it's all money toward our station.”

“But where will I live? What sort of work can I do? There's no stock to drove up here.”

“No, more's the pity. That's why I've got you a live-in job, Meg. You'll get free board, I won't have the expense of keeping you. You're going to work as a housemaid on Himmelhoch, Ludwig Mueller's place. He's the biggest cane cocky in the district and his wife's an invalid, can't manage the house on her own. I'll take you there tomorrow morning.”

“But when will I see you, Luke?”

“On Sundays. Luddie understands you're married; he doesn't mind if you disappear on Sundays”

“Well! You've certainly arranged things to your satisfaction, haven't you?” “I reckon. Oh, Meg, we're going to be rich! We'll work hard and save every penny, and it won't be long before we can buy ourselves the best station in Western Queensland. There's the fourteen thousand I've got in the Gilly bank, the two thousand a year more coming in there, and the thirteen hundred or more a year we can earn between us. It won't be long, love, I promise. Grin and bear it for me, eh? Why be content with a rented house when the harder we work now means the sooner you'll be looking around your own kitchen?” “If it's what you want.” She looked down at her purse. “Luke, did you take my hundred pounds?”

“I put it in the bank. You can't carry money like that around, Meg.

“But you took every bit of it! I don't have a penny! What about spending money?”

“Why on earth do you want spending money? You'll be out at Himmelhoch in the morning, and you can't spend anything there. I'll take care of the hotel bill. It's time you realized you've married a workingman, Meg, that you're not the pampered squatter's daughter with money to burn. Mueller will pay your wages straight into my bank account, where they'll stay along with mine. I'm not spending the money on myself, Meg, you know that. Neither of us is going to touch it, because it's for our future, our station.”

“Yes, I understand. You're very sensible, Luke. But what if I should have a baby?”

For a moment he was tempted to tell her the truth, that there would be no baby until the station was a reality, but something in her face made him decide not to.

“Well, let's cross that bridge when we come to it, eh? I'd rather we didn't have one until we've got our station, so let's just hope we don't.” No home, no money, no babies. No husband, for that matter. Meggie started to laugh. Luke joined her, his teacup lifted in a toast. “Here's to French letters,” he said.

In the morning they went out to Himmelhoch on the local bus, an old Ford with no glass in its windows and room for twelve people. Meggie was feeling better, for Luke had left her alone when she offered him a breast, and seemed to like it quite as well as that other awful thing. Much and all as she wanted babies, her courage had failed her. The first Sunday that she wasn't sore at all, she told herself, she would be willing to try again. Perhaps there was a baby already on the way, and she needn't bother with it ever again unless she wanted more. Eyes brighter, she looked around her with interest as the bus chugged out along the red dirt road. It was breath-taking country, so different from Gilly; she had to admit there was a grandeur and beauty here Gilly quite lacked. Easy to see there was never a shortage of water. The soil was the color of freshly spilled blood, brilliant scarlet, and the cane in the fields not fallow was a perfect contrast to the soil: long bright green blades waving fifteen or twenty feet above claret-colored stalks as thick as Luke's arm. Nowhere in the world, raved Luke, did cane grow as tall or as rich in sugar; its yield was the highest known. That bright-red soil was over a hundred feet deep, and so stuffed with exactly the right nutrients the cane couldn't help but be perfect, especially considering the rainfall. And nowhere else in the world was it cut by white men, at the white man's driving, money-hungry pace. “You look good on a soapbox, Luke,” said Meggie ironically. He glanced sideways at her, suspiciously, but refrained from comment because the bus had stopped on the side of the road to let them off. Himmelhoch was a large white house on top of a hill, surrounded by coconut palms, banana palms and beautiful smaller palms whose leaves splayed outward in great fans like the tails of peacocks. A grove of bamboo forty feet high cut the house off from the worst of the northwest monsoonal winds; even with its hill elevation it was still mounted on top of fifteen-foot piles. Luke carried her case; Meggie toiled up the red road beside him, gasping, still in correct shoes and stockings, her hat wilting around her face. The cane baron himself wasn't in, but his wife came onto the veranda as they mounted the steps, balancing herself between two sticks. She was smiling; looking at her dear kind face, Meggie felt better at once. “Come in, come in!” she said in a strong Australian accent. Expecting a German voice, Meggie was immeasurably cheered. Luke put her case down, shook hands when the lady took her right one off its stick, then pounded away down the steps in a hurry to catch the bus on its return journey. Arne Swenson was picking him up outside the pub at ten o'clock. “What's your first name, Mrs. O'neill?”

“Meggie.”

“Oh, that's nice. Mine is Anne, and I'd rather you called me Anne. It's been so lonely up here since my girl left me a month ago, but it's not easy to get good house help, so I've been battling on my own. There's only Luddie and me to look after; we have no children. I hope you're going to like living with us, Meggie.”

“I'm sure I will, Mrs. Mueller-Anne.”

“Let me show you to your room. Can you manage the case? I'm not much good at carrying things, I'm afraid.”

The room was austerely furnished, like the rest of the house, but it looked out on the only side of the house where the view was unimpeded by some sort of windbreak, and shared the same stretch of veranda as the living room, which seemed very bare to Meggie with its cane furniture and lack of fabric. “It's just too hot up here for velvet or chintz,” Anne explained. “We live with wicker, and as little on ourselves as decency allows. I'll have to educate you, or you'll die. You're hopelessly overclothed.”

She herself was in a sleeveless, low-necked vest and a pair of short shorts, out of which her poor twisted legs poked doddering. In no time at all Meggie found herself similarly clad, loaned from Anne until Luke could be persuaded to buy her new clothes. It was humiliating to have to explain that she was allowed no money, but at least having to endure this attenuated her embarrassment over wearing so little.

“Well, you certainly decorate my shorts better than I do,” said Anne. She went on with her breezy lecture. “Luddie will bring you firewood; you're not to cut your own or drag it up the steps. I wish we had electricity like the places closer in to Dunny, but the government is slower than a wet week. Maybe next year the line will reach as far as Himmelhoch, but until then it's the awful old fuel stove, I'm afraid. But you wait, Meggie!

The minute they give us power we'll have an electric stove, electric lights and a refrigerator.”

“I'm used to doing without them.”

“Yes, but where you come from the heat is dry. This is far, far worse. I'm just frightened that your health will suffer. It often does in women who weren't born and brought up here; something to do with the blood. We're on the same latitude south as Bombay and Rangoon are north, you know; not fit country for man or beast unless born to it.” She smiled. “Oh, it's nice having you already! You and I are going to have a wonderful time! Do you like reading? Luddie and I have a passion for it.”

Meggie's face lit up. “Oh, yes!”

“Splendid! You'll be too content to miss that big handsome husband of yours.”

Meggie didn't answer. Miss Luke? Was he handsome? She thought that if she never saw him again she would be perfectly happy. Except that he was her husband, that the law said she had to make her life with him. She had gone into it with her eyes open; she had no one to blame save herself. And perhaps as the money came in and the station in Western Queensland became a reality, there would be time for Luke and her to live together, settle down, know each other, get along.

He wasn't a bad man, or unlikable; it was just that he had been alone so long he didn't know how to share himself with someone else.

And he was a simple man, ruthlessly single of purpose, untormented. What he desired was a concrete thing, even if a dream; it was a positive reward which would surely come as the result of unremitting work, grinding sacrifice. For that one had to respect him. Not for a moment did she think he would use the money to give himself luxuries; he had meant what he said; It would stay in the bank. The trouble was he didn't have the time or the inclination to understand a woman, he didn't seem to know a woman was different, needed things he didn't need, as he needed things she didn't. Well, it could be worse. He might have put her to work for someone far colder and less considerate than Anne Mueller. On top of this hill she wouldn't come to any harm. But oh, it was so far from Drogheda!

That last thought came again after they finished touring the house, and stood together on the living room veranda looking out across Himmelhoch. The great fields of cane (one couldn't call them paddocks, since they were small enough to encompass with the eyes) plumed lushly in the wind, a restlessly sparkling and polished- by-rain green, falling away in a long slope to the jungle-clad banks of a great river, wider by far than the Barwon. Beyond the river the cane lands rose again, squares of poisonous green interspersed with bloody fallow fields, until at the foot of a vast mountain the cultivation stopped, and the jungle took over. Behind the cone of mountain, farther away, other peaks reared and died purple into the distance. The sky was a richer, denser blue than Gilly skies, puffed with white billows of thick cloud, and the color of the whole was vivid, intense.

“That's Mount Bartle Frere,” said Anne, pointing to the isolated peak. “Six thousand feet straight up out of a sea-level plain. They say it's solid tin, but there's no hope of mining it for the jungle.”

On the heavy, idle wind came a strong, sickening stench Meggie hadn't stopped trying to get out of her nostrils since stepping off the train. Like decay, only not like decay; unbearably sweet, all- pervasive, a tangible presence which never seemed to diminish no matter how hard the breeze blew. “What you can smell is molasses,” said Anne as she noticed Meggie's flaring nose; she lit a tailor-made Ardath cigarette.

“It's disgusting.”

“I know. That's why I smoke. But to a certain extent you get used to it, though unlike most smells it never quite disappears. Day in and day out, the molasses is always there.” “What are the buildings on the river with the black chimney?” “That's the mill. It processes the cane into raw sugar. What's left over, the dry remnants of the cane minus its sugar content, is called bagasse. Both raw sugar and bagasse are sent south to Sydney for further refining. Out of raw sugar they get molasses, treacle, golden syrup, brown sugar, white sugar and liquid glucose. The bagasse is made into fibrous building board like Masonite. Nothing is wasted, absolutely nothing. That's why even in this Depression growing cane is still a very profitable business.”

Arne Swenson was six feet two inches tall, exactly Luke's height, and just as handsome. His bare body was coated a dark golden brown by perpetual exposure to the sun, his thatch of bright yellow hair curled all over his head; the fine Swedish features were so like Luke's in type that it was easy to see how much Norse blood had percolated into the veins of the Scots and Irish.

Luke had abandoned his moleskins and white shirt in favor of shorts. With Arne he climbed into an ancient, wheezing model-T utility truck and headed for where the gang was cutting out by Goondi. The secondhand bicycle he had bought lay in the utility's tray along with his case, and he was dying to begin work.

The other men had been cutting since dawn and didn't lift their heads when Arne appeared from the direction of the barracks, Luke in tow. The cutting uniform consisted of shorts, boots with thick woolen socks, and canvas hats. Eyes narrowing, Luke stared at the toiling men, who were a peculiar sight. Coal-black dirt covered them from head to foot, with sweat making bright pink streaks down chests, arms, backs.

“Soot and muck from the cane,” Arne explained. “We have to burn it before we can cut it.”

He bent down to pick up two instruments, gave one to Luke and kept one. “This is a cane knife,” he said, hefting his. “With this you cut the cane. Very easy if you know how.” He grinned, proceeding to demonstrate and making it look far easier than it probably was.

Luke looked at the deadly thing he gripped, which was not at all like a West Indian machete. It widened into a large triangle instead of tapering to a point, and had a wicked hook like a rooster's spur at one of the two blade ends.

“A machete is too small for North Queensland cane,” Arne said, finished his demonstration. “This is the right toy, you'll find. Keep it sharp, and good luck.”

Off he went to his own section, leaving Luke standing undecided for a moment. Then, shrugging, he started work. Within minutes he understood why they left it to slaves and to races not sophisticated enough to know there were easier ways to make a living; like shearing, he thought with wry humor. Bend, hack, straighten, clutch the unwieldy top-heavy bunch securely, slide its length through the hands, whack off the leaves, drop it in a tidy heap, go to the next cluster of-stems, bend, hack, straighten, hack, add it to the heap ....

The cane was alive with vermin: rats, bandicoots, cockroaches, toads, spiders, snakes, wasps, flies and bees. Everything that could bite viciously or sting unbearably was well represented. For that reason the cutters burned the cane first, preferring the filth of working charred crops to the depredations of green, living cane. Even so they were stung, bitten and cut. If it hadn't been for the boots Luke's feet would have been worse off than his hands, but no cutter ever wore gloves. They slowed a man down, and time was money in this game. Besides, gloves were sissy. At sundown Arne called a halt, and came to see how Luke had fared.

“Hey, mate not bad!” he shouted, thumping Luke on the back. “Five tons; not bad for a first day!”

It was not a long walk back to the barracks, but tropical night fell so suddenly it was dark as they arrived. Before going inside they collected naked in a communal shower, then, towels around their waists, they trooped into the barracks, where whichever cutter on cook duty that week had mountains of whatever was his specialty ready on the table. Today it was steak and potatoes, damper bread and jam roly-poly; the men fell on it and wolfed every last particle down, ravenous.

Two rows of iron pallets faced each other down either side of a long room made of corrugated iron; sighing and cursing the cane with an originality a bullocky might have envied, the men flopped naked on top of unbleached sheets, drew their mosquito nets down from the rings and within moments were asleep, vague shapes under gauzy tents.

Arne detained Luke. “Let me see your hands.” He inspected the bleeding cuts, the blisters, the stings. “Bluebag them first, then use this ointment. And if you take my advice you'll rub coconut oil into them every night of your life. You've got big hands, so if your back can take it you'll make a good cutter. In a week you'll harden, you won't be so sore.”

Every muscle in Luke's splendid body had its own separate ache; he was conscious, of nothing but a vast, crucifying pain. Hands wrapped and anointed, he stretched himself on his allotted bed, pulled down his mosquito net and closed his eyes on a world of little suffocating holes. Had he dreamed what he was in for he would never have wasted his essence on Meggie; she had become a withered, unwanted and unwelcome idea in the back of his mind, shelved. He knew he would never have anything for her while he cut the cane. It took him the predicted week to harden, and attain the eight-ton-a-day minimum Arne demanded of his gang members. Then he settled down to becoming better than Arne. He wanted the biggest share of the money, maybe a partnership. But most of all he wanted to see that same look that came into every face for Arne directed at himself; Arne was something of a god, for he was the best cutter in Queensland, and that probably meant he was the best meat cutter in the world. When they went into a town on Saturday night the local men couldn't buy Arne enough rums and beers, and the local women whirred about him like hummingbirds. There were many similarities between Arne and Luke. They were both vain and enjoyed evoking intense female admiration, but admiration was as far as it went. They had nothing to give to women; they gave it all to the cane.

For Luke the work had a beauty and a pain he seemed to have been waiting all his life to feel. To bend and straighten and bend in that ritual rhythm was to participate in some mystery beyond the scope of ordinary men. For, as watching Arne taught him, to do this superbly was to be a top member of the most elite band of workingmen in the world; he could bear himself with pride no matter where he was, knowing that almost every man he met would never last a day in a cane field. The King of England was no better than he, and the King of England would admire him if he knew him. He could look with pity and contempt on doctors, lawyers, pen- pushers, cockies. To cut sugar the money-hungry white man's way- that was the greatest achievement. He would sit on the edge of his cot feeling the ribbed, corded muscles of his arm swell, look at the horny, scarred palms of his hands, the tanned length of his beautifully structured legs, and smile. A man who could do this and not only survive but like it was a man. He wondered if the King of England could say as much.

° ° °

It was four weeks before Meggie saw Luke. Each Sunday she powdered her sticky nose, put on a pretty silk dress-though she gave up the purgatory of slips and stockings-and waited for her husband, who never came. Anne and Luddie Mueller said nothing, just watched her animation fade as each Sunday darkened dramatically, like a curtain falling on a brilliantly lit, empty stage. It wasn't that she wanted him, precisely; it was just that he was hers, or she was his, or however best it might be described. To imagine that he didn't even think of her while she passed her days and weeks waiting with him in her thoughts all the time, to imagine that was to be filled with rage, frustration, bitterness, humiliation, sorrow. Much as she had loathed those two nights at the Dunny pub, at least then she had come first with him; now she found herself actually wishing she had bitten off her tongue sooner than cried out in pain. That was it, of course. Her suffering had made him tire of her, ruined his own pleasure. From anger at him, at his indifference to her pain, she passed to remorse, and ended in blaming it all on herself. The fourth Sunday she didn't bother dressing up, just padded around the kitchen bare-footed in shorts and vest, getting a hot breakfast for Luddie and Anne, who enjoyed this incongruity once a week. At the sound of footsteps on the back stairs she turned from bacon sizzling in the pan; for a moment she simply stared at the big, hairy fellow in the doorway. Luke? Was this Luke? He seemed made of rock, inhuman. But the effigy crossed the kitchen, gave her a smacking kiss and sat down at the table. She broke eggs into the pan and put on more bacon.

Anne Mueller came in, smiled civilly and inwardly fumed at him. Wretched man, what was he about, to leave his new wife neglected for so long? “I'm glad to see you've remembered you have a wife,” she said. “Come out onto the veranda, sit with Luddie and me and we'll all have breakfast. Luke, help Meggie carry the bacon and eggs. I can manage the toast rack in my teeth.”

Ludwig Mueller was Australian-born, but his German heritage was clearly on him: the beefy red complexion not able to cope with beer and sun combined, the square grey head, the pale-blue Baltic eyes. He and his wife liked Meggie very much, and counted themselves fortunate to have acquired her services. Especially was Luddie grateful, seeing how much happier Anne was since that goldy head had been glowing around the house.

“How's the cutting, Luke?” he asked, shoveling eggs and bacon onto his plate.

“If I said I liked it, would you believe me?” Luke laughed, heaping his own plate.

Luddie's shrewd eyes rested on the handsome face, and he nodded. “Oh, yes. You've got the right sort of temperament and the right sort of body, I think. It makes you feel better than other men, superior to them.” Caught in his heritage of cane fields, far from academia and with no chance of exchanging one for the other, Luddie was an ardent student of human nature; he read great fat tomes bound in Morocco leather with names on their spines like Freud and Jung, Huxley and Russell. “I was beginning to think you were never going to come and see Meggie,” Anne said, spreading ghee on her toast with a brush; it was the only way they could have butter up here, but it was better than none. “Well, Arne and I decided to work on Sundays for a while. Tomorrow we're off to Ingham.”

“Which means poor Meggie won't see you too often.”

“Meg understands. It won't be for more than a couple of years, and we do have the summer layoff. Arne says he can get me work at the CSR in Sydney then, and I might take Meg with me.”

“Why do you have to work so hard, Luke?” asked Anne. “Got to get the money together for my property out west, around Kynuna. Didn't Meg mention it?”

“I'm afraid our Meggie's not much good at personal talk. You tell us, Luke.”

The three listeners sat watching the play of expression on the tanned, strong face, the glitter of those very blue eyes; since he had come before breakfast Meggie hadn't uttered a word to anyone. On and on he talked about the marvelous country Back of Beyond; the grass, the big grey brolga birds mincing delicately in the dust of Kynuna's only road, the thousands upon thousands of flying kangaroos, the hot dry sun. “And one day soon a big chunk of all that is going to be mine. Meg's put a bit of money toward it, and at the pace we're working it won't take more than four or five years. Sooner, if I was content to have a poorer place, but knowing what I can earn cutting sugar, I'm tempted to cut a bit longer and get a really decent bit of land.” He leaned forward, big scarred hands around his teacup. “Do you know I nearly passed Arne's tally the other day? Eleven tons I cut in one day!”

Luddie's whistle was genuinely admiring, and they embarked upon a discussion of tallies. Meggie sipped her strong dark milkless tea. Oh, Luke! First it had been a couple of years, now it was four or five, and who knew how long it would be the next time he mentioned a period of years? Luke loved it, no one could mistake that. So would he give it up when the time came? Would he? For that matter, did she want to wait around to find out? The Muellers were very kind and she was far from overworked, but if she had to live without a husband, Drogheda was the best place. In the month of her stay at Himmelhoch she hadn't felt really well for one single day; she didn't want to eat, she suffered bouts of painful diarrhea, she seemed dogged by lethargy and couldn't shake it off. Not used to feeling anything but tiptop well, the vague malaise frightened her.

After breakfast Luke helped her wash the dishes, then took her for a walk down to the nearest cane field, talking all the time about the sugar and what it was like to cut it, what a beaut life it was out in the open air, what a beaut lot of blokes they were in Arne's gang, how different it was from shearing, and how much better.

They turned and walked up the hill again; Luke led her into the exquisitely cool cavern under the house, between the piles. Anne had made a conservatory out of it, stood pieces of terra-cotta pipe of differing lengths and girths upright, then filled them with soil and planted trailing, dangling things in them; orchids of every kind and color, ferns, exotic creepers and bushes. The ground was soft and redolent of wood chips; great wire baskets hung from the joists overhead, full of ferns or orchids or tuberoses; staghorns in bark nests grew on the piles; magnificent begonias in dozens of brilliant colors had been planted around the bases of the pipes. It was Meggie's favorite retreat, the one thing of Himmelhoch's she preferred to anything of Drogheda's. For Drogheda could never hope to grow so much on one small spot; there just wasn't enough moisture in the air.

“Isn't this lovely, Luke? Do you think perhaps after a couple of years up here we might be able to rent a house for me to live in? I'm dying to try something like this for myself.”

“What on earth do you want to live alone in a house for? This isn't Gilly, Meg; it's the sort of place where a woman on her own isn't safe. You're much better off here, believe me. Aren't you happy here?” “I'm as happy as one can be in someone else's home.”

“Look, Meg, you've just got to be content with what you have now until we move out west. We can't spend money renting houses and having you live a life of leisure and still save. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Luke.”

He was so upset he didn't do what he had intended to do when he led her under the house, namely kiss her. Instead he gave her a casual smack on the bottom which hurt a little too much to be casual, and set off down the road to the spot where he had left his bike propped against a tree. He had pedaled twenty miles to see her rather than spend money on a rail motor and a bus, which meant he had to pedal twenty miles back.

“The poor little soul!” said Anne to Luddie. “I could kill him!”

° ° °

January came and went, the slackest month of the year for cane cutters, but there was no sign of Luke. He had murmured about taking Meggie to Sydney, but instead he went to Sydney with Arne and without her. Arne was a bachelor and had an aunt with a house in Rozelle, within walking distance (no tram fares; save money) of the CSR, the Colonial Sugar Refineries. Within those gargantuan concrete walls like a fortress on a hill, a cutter with connections could get work. Luke and Arne kept in trim stacking sugar bags, and swimming or surfing in their spare time.

Left in Dungloe with the Muellers, Meggie sweated her way through The Wet, as the monsoon season was called. The Dry lasted from March to November and in this part of the continent wasn't exactly dry, but compared to The Wet it was heavenly. During The Wet the skies just opened and vomited water, not all day but in fits and starts; in between deluges the land steamed, great clouds of white vapor rising from the cane, the soil, the jungle, the mountains.

And as time went on Meggie longed for home more and more.

North Queensland, she knew now, could never become home to her. For one thing, the climate didn't suit her, perhaps because she had spent most of her life in dryness. And, she hated the loneliness, the unfriendliness, the feeling of remorseless lethargy. She hated the prolific insect and reptile life which made each night an ordeal of giant toads, tarantulas, cockroaches, rats; nothing seemed to keep them out of the house, and she was terrified of them. They were so huge, so aggressive, so hungry. Most of all she hated the dunny, which was not only the local patois for toilet but the diminutive for Dungloe, much to the delight of the local populace, who punned on it perpetually. But a Dunny dunny left one's stomach churning in revolt, for in this seething climate holes in the ground were out of the question because of typhoid and other enteric fevers. Instead of being a hole in the ground, a Dunny dunny was a tarred tin can which stank, and as it filled came alive with noisome maggots and worms. Once a week the can was removed and replaced with an empty one, but once a week wasn't soon enough.

Meggie's whole spirit rebelled against the casual local acceptance of such things as normal; a lifetime in North Queensland couldn't reconcile her to them. Yet dismally she reflected that it probably would be a whole lifetime, or at least until Luke was too old to cut the sugar. Much as she longed for and dreamed of Drogheda, she was far too proud to admit to her family that her husband neglected her; sooner than admit that, she'd take the lifetime sentence, she told herself fiercely.

Months went by, then a year, and time crept toward the second year's end. Only the constant kindness of the Muellers kept Meggie in residence at Himmelhoch, trying to resolve her dilemma. Had she written to ask Bob for the fare home he would have sent it by return telegram, but poor Meggie couldn't face telling her family that Luke kept her without a penny in her purse. The day she did tell them was the day she would leave Luke, never to go back to him, and she hadn't made up her mind yet to take such a step. Everything in her upbringing conspired to prevent her leaving Luke: the sacredness of her marriage vows, the hope she might have a baby one day, the position Luke occupied as husband and master of her destiny. Then there were the things which sprang from her own nature: that stubborn, stiff-necked pride, and the niggling conviction that the situation was as much her fault as Luke's. If there wasn't something wrong with her, Luke might have behaved far differently. She had seen him six times in the eighteen months of her exile, and often thought, quite unaware such a thing as homosexuality existed, that by rights Luke should have married Arne, because he certainly lived with Arne and much preferred his company. They had gone into full partnership and drifted up and down the thousand-mile coast following the sugar harvest, living, it seemed, only to work. When Luke did come to see her he didn't attempt any kind of intimacy, just sat around for an hour or two yarning to Luddie and Anne, took his wife for a walk, gave her a friendly kiss, and was off again. The three of them, Luddie, Anne and Meggie, spent all their spare time reading. Himmelhoch had a library far larger than Drogheda's few shelves, more erudite and more salacious by far, and Meggie learned a great deal while she read.

One Sunday in June of 1936 Luke and Arne turned up together, very pleased with themselves. They had come, they said, to give Meggie a real treat, for they were taking her to a ceilidh.

Unlike the general tendency of ethnic groups in Australia to scatter and become purely Australian, the various nationalities in the North Queensland peninsula tended to preserve their traditions fiercely: the Chinese, the Italians, the Germans and the Scots-Irish, these four groups making up the bulk of the population. And when the Scots threw a ceilidh every Scot for miles attended.

To Meggie's astonishment, Luke and Arne were wearing kilts, looking, she thought when she got her breath back, absolutely magnificent. Nothing is more masculine on a masculine man than a kilt, for it swings with a long clean stride in a flurry of pleats behind and stays perfectly still in front, the sporran like a loin guard, and below the mid-knee hem strong fine legs in diamond checkered hose, buckled shoes. It was far too hot to wear the plaid and the jacket; they had contented themselves with white shirts open halfway down their chests, sleeves rolled up above their elbows.

“What's a ceilidh anyway?” she asked as they set off. “It's Gaelic for a gathering, a shindig.”

“Why on earth are you wearing kilts?”

“We won't be let in unless we are, and we're well known at all the ceilidhs between Bris and Cairns.”

“Are you now? I imagine you must indeed go to quite a few, otherwise I can't see Luke outlaying money for a kilt. Isn't that so, Arne?” “A man's got to have some relaxation,” said Luke, a little defensively. The ceilidh was being held in a barnlike shack falling to rack and ruin down in the midst of the mangrove swamps festering about the mouth of the Dungloe River. Oh, what a country this was for smells! Meggie thought in despair, her nose twitching to yet another indescribably disgusting aroma. Molasses, mildew, Bunnies, and now mangroves. All the rotting effluvia of the seashore rolled into one smell.

Sure enough, every man arriving at the shed wore a kilt; as they went in and she looked around, Meggie understood how drab a peahen must feel when dazzled by the vivid gorgeousness of her mate. The women were overshadowed into near nonexistence, an impression which the later stages of the evening only sharpened.

Two pipers in the complex, light-blue-based Anderson tartan were standing on a rickety dais at one end of the hall, piping a cheerful reel in perfect synchrony, sandy hair on end, sweat running down ruddy faces. A few couples were dancing, but most of the noisy activity seemed to be centered around a group of men who were passing out glasses of what was surely Scotch whiskey. Meggie found herself thrust into a corner with several other women, and was content to stay there watching, fascinated. Not one woman wore a clan tartan, for indeed no Scotswoman wears the kilt, only the plaid, and it was too hot to drape a great heavy piece of material around the shoulders. So the women wore their dowdy North Queensland cotton dresses, which stuttered into limp silence beside the men's kilts. There was the blazing red and white of Clan Menzies, the cheery black and yellow of Clan MacLeod of Lewis, the windowpane blue and red checks of Clan Skene, the vivid complexity of Clan Ogilvy, the lovely red, grey and black of Clan MacPherson. Luke in Clan Macationeil, Arne in the Sassenach's Jacobean tartan. Beautiful!

Luke and Arne were obviously well known and well liked. How often did they come without her, then? And what had possessed them to bring her tonight? She sighed, leaned against the wall. The other women were eyeing her curiously, especially the rings on her wedding finger; Luke and Arne were the objects of much feminine admiration, herself the object of much feminine envy. I wonder what they'd say if I told them the big dark one, who is my husband, has seen me precisely twice in the last eight months, and never sees me with the idea of getting into a bed? Look at the pair of them, the conceited Highland fops! And neither of them Scottish at all, just playacting because they know they look sensational in kilts and they like to be the center of attention. You magnificent pair of frauds! You're too much in love with yourselves to want or need love from anyone else.

At midnight the women were relegated to standing around the walls; the pipers skirled into “Caber Feidh” and the serious dancing began. For the rest of her life, whenever she heard the sound of a piper Meggie was back in that shed. Even the swirl of a kilt could do it; there was that dreamlike merging of sound and sight, of life and brilliant vitality, which means a memory so piercing, so spellbinding, that it will never be lost. Down went the crossed swords on the floor; two men in Clan MacDonald of Sleat kilts raised their arms above their heads, hands flicked over like ballet dancers, and very gravely, as if at the end the swords would be plunged into their breasts, began to pick their delicate way through, between, among the blades.

A high shrill scream ripped above the airy wavering of the pipes, the tune became “All the Blue Bonnets over the Border,” the sabers were scooped up, and every man in the room swung into the dance, arms linking and dissolving, kilts flaring. Reels, strathspeys, flings; they danced them all, feet on the board floor sending echoes among the rafters, buckles on shoes flashing, and every time the pattern changed someone would throw back his head, emit that shrill, ululating whoop, set off trains of cries from other exuberant throats. While the women watched, forgotten.

It was close to four in the morning when the ceilidh broke up; outside was not the astringent crispness of Blair Atholl or Skye but the torpor of a tropical night, a great heavy moon dragging itself along the spangled wastes of the heavens, and over it all the stinking miasma of mangroves. Yet as Arne drove them off in the wheezing old Ford, the last thing Meggie heard was the drifting dwindling lament “Flowers o” the Forest,” bidding the revelers home. Home. Where was home?

“Well, did you enjoy that?” asked Luke.

“I would have enjoyed it more had I danced more,” she answered. “What, at a ceilidh? Break it down, Meg! Only the men are supposed to dance, so we're actually pretty good to you women, letting you dance at all.” “It seems to me only men do a lot of things, and especially if they're good things, enjoyable things.”

“Well, excuse me!” said Luke stiffly. “Here was I thinking you might like a bit of a change, which was why I brought you. I didn't have to, you know! And if you're not grateful I won't bring you again.”

“You probably don't have any intention of doing so, anyway,” said Meggie. “It isn't good to admit me into your life. I learned a lot these past few hours, but I don't think it's what you intended to teach me. It's getting harder to fool me, Luke. In fact, I'm fed up with you, with the life I'm leading, with everything!”

“Ssssh!” he hissed, scandalized. “We're not alone!” “Then come alone!” she snapped. “When do I ever get the chance to see you alone for more than a few minutes?”

Arne pulled up at the bottom of the Himmelhoch hill, grinning at Luke sympathetically. “Go on, mate,” he said. “Walk her up; I'll wait here for you. No hurry.”

“I mean it, Luke!” Meggie said as soon as they were out of Arne's hearing. “The worm's turning, do you hear me? I know I promised to obey you, but you promised to love and cherish me, so we're both liars! I want to go home to Drogheda!”

He thought of her two thousand pounds a year and of its ceasing to be put in his name.

“Oh, Meg!” he said helplessly. “Look, sweetheart, it won't be forever, I promise! And this summer I'm going to take you to Sydney with me, word of an O'neill! Arne's aunt has a flat coming vacant in her house, and we can live there for three months, have a wonderful time! Bear with me another year or so in the cane, then we'll buy our property and settle down, eh?” The moon lit up his face; he looked sincere, upset, anxious, contrite. And very like Ralph de Bricassart.

Meggie relented, because she still wanted his babies. “All right,” she said. “Another year. But I'm holding you to that promise of Sydney, Luke, so remember!”

Once a month Meggie wrote a dutiful letter to Fee, Bob and the boys, full of descriptions of North Queensland, carefully humorous, never hinting of any differences between her and Luke. That pride again. As far as Drogheda knew, the Muellers were friends of Luke's with whom she boarded because Luke traveled so much. Her genuine affection for the couple came through in every word she wrote about them, so no one on Drogheda worried. Except that it grieved them she never came home. Yet how could she tell them that she didn't have the money to visit without also telling them how miserable her marriage to Luke O'neill had become?

Occasionally she would nerve herself to insert a casual question about Bishop Ralph, and even less often Bob would remember to pass on the little he learned from Fee about the Bishop. Then came a letter full of him. “He arrived out of the blue one day, Meggie,” Bob's letter said, “looking a bit upset and down in the mouth. I must say he was floored not to find you here. He was spitting mad because we hadn't told him about you and Luke, but when Mum said you'd got a bee in your bonnet about it and didn't want us to tell him, he shut up and never said another word. But I thought he missed you more than he would any of the rest of us, and I suppose that's quite natural because you spent more time with him than the rest of us, and I think he always thought of you as his little sister.

He wandered around as if he couldn't believe you wouldn't pop up all of a sudden, poor chap. We didn't have any pictures to show him either, and I never thought until he asked to see them that it was funny you never had any wedding pictures taken. He asked if you had any kids, and I said I didn't think so. You don't, do you,

Meggie? How long is it now since you were married? Getting on for two years? Must be, because this is July. Time flies, eh? I hope you have some kids soon, because I think the Bishop would be pleased to hear of it. I offered to give him your address, but he said no. Said it wouldn't be any use because he was going to Athens, Greece, for a while with the archbishop he works for. Some Dago name four yards long, I never can remember it. Can you imagine, Meggie, they're flying? “Strath! Anyway, once he found out you weren't on Drogheda to go round with him he didn't stay long, just took a ride or two, said Mass for us every day, and went six days after he got here.”

Meggie laid the letter down. He knew, he knew! At last he knew. What had he thought, how much had it grieved him? And why had he pushed her to do this? It hadn't made things any better. She didn't love Luke, she never would love Luke. He was nothing more than a substitute, a man who would give her children similar in type to those she might have had with Ralph de Bricassart. Oh, God, what a mess!

° ° °

Archbishop di Contini-Verchese preferred to stay in a secular hotel than avail himself of the offered quarters in an Athens Orthodox palace. His mission was a very delicate one, of some moment; there were matters long overdue for discussion with the chief prelates of the Greek Orthodox Church, the Vatican having a fondness for Greek and Russian Orthodoxy that it couldn't have for Protestantism. After all, the Orthodoxies were schisms, not heresies; their bishops, like Rome's, extended back to Saint Peter in an unbroken line.

The Archbishop knew his appointment for this mission was a diplomatic testing, a stepping stone to greater things in Rome.

Again his gift for languages had been a boon, for it was his fluent Greek which had tipped the balance in his favor. They had sent for him all the way to Australia, flown him out.

And it was unthinkable that he go without Bishop de Bricassart, for he had grown to rely upon that amazing man more and more with the passing of the years. A Mazarin, truly a Mazarin; His Grace admired Cardinal Mazarin far more than he did Cardinal Richelieu, so the comparison was high praise. Ralph was everything the Church liked in her high officials. His theology was conservative, so were his ethics; his brain was quick and subtle, his face gave away nothing of what went on behind it; and he had an exquisite knack of knowing just how to please those he was with, whether he liked them or loathed them, agreed with them or differed from them. A sycophant he was not, a diplomat he was. If he was repeatedly brought to the attention of those in the Vatican hierarchy, his rise to prominence would be certain. And that would please His Grace di Contini-Verchese, for he didn't want to lose contact with His Lordship de Bricassart.

It was very hot, but Bishop Ralph didn't mind the dry Athens air after Sydney's humidity. Walking rapidly, as usual in boots, breeches and soutane, he strode up the rocky ramp to the Acropolis, through the frowning Propylon, past the Erechtheum, on up the incline with its slippery rough stones to the Parthenon, and down to the wall beyond.

There, with the wind ruffling his dark curls, a little grey about the ears now, he stood and looked across the white city to the bright hills and the clear, astonishing aquamarine of the Aegean Sea. Right below him was the Plaka with its rooftop cafes, its colonies of Bohemians, and to one side a great theater lapped up the rock. In the distance were Roman columns, Crusader forts and Venetian castles, but never a sign of the Turks. What amazing people, these Greeks. To hate the race who had ruled them for seven hundred years so much that once freed they hadn't left a mosque or a minaret standing. And so ancient, so full of rich heritage. His Normans had been fur-clad barbarians when Pericles clothed the top of the rock in marble, and Rome had been a rude village. Only now, eleven thousand miles away, was he able to think of Meggie without wanting to weep. Even so, the distant hills blurred for a moment before he brought his emotions under control. How could he possibly blame her, when he had told her to do it? He understood at once why she had been determined not to tell him; she didn't want him to meet her new husband, or be a part of her new life. Of course in his mind he had assumed she would bring whomever she married to Gillanbone if not to Drogheda itself, that she would continue to live where he knew her to be safe, free from care and danger. But once he thought about it, he could see this was the last thing she would want. No, she had been bound to go away, and so long as she and this Luke O'neill were together, she wouldn't come back. Bob said they were saving to buy a property in Western Queensland, and that news had been the death knell. Meggie meant never to come back. As far as he was concerned, she intended to be dead.

But are you happy, Meggie? Is he good to you? Do you love him, this Luke O'neill? What kind of man is he, that you turned from me to him? What was it about him, an ordinary stockman, that you liked better than Enoch Davies or Liam O'Rourke or Alastair MacQueen? Was it that I didn't know him, that I could make no comparisons? Did you do it to torture me, Meggie, to pay me back? But why are there no children? What's the matter with the man, that he roams up and down the state like a vagabond and puts you to live with friends? No wonder you have no child; he's not with you long enough. Meggie, why? Why did you marry this Luke O'neill?

Turning, he made his way down from the Acropolis, and walked the busy streets of Athens. In the open-air markets around Evripidou Street he lingered, fascinated by the people, the huge baskets of kalamari and fish reeking in the sun, the vegetables and tinsel slippers hung side by side; the women amused him, their unashamed and open cooing over him, a legacy of a culture basically very different from his puritanical own. Had their unabashed admiration been lustful (he could not think of a better word) it would have embarrassed him acutely, but he accepted it in the spirit intended, as an accolade for extraordinary physical beauty. The hotel was on Omonia Square, very luxurious and expensive. Archbishop di Contini-Verchese was, sitting in a chair by his balcony windows, quietly thinking; as Bishop Ralph came in he turned his head, smiling. “In good time, Ralph. I would like to pray.”

“I thought everything was settled? Are there sudden complications, Your Grace?”

“Not of that kind. I had a letter from Cardinal Monteverdi today, expressing the wishes of the Holy Father.”

Bishop Ralph felt his shoulders tighten, a curious prickling of the skin around his ears. “Tell me.”

“As soon as the talks are over-and they are over-I am to proceed to Rome. There I am to be blessed with the biretta of a cardinal, and continue my work in Rome under the direct supervision of His Holiness.”

“Whereas I?”

“You will become Archbishop de Bricassart, and go back to Australia to fill my shoes as Papal Legate.”

The prickling skin around his ears flushed red hot; his head whirled, rocked. He, a non-Italian, to be honored with the Papal Legation! It was unheard of! Oh, depend on it, he would be Cardinal de Bricassart yet! “Of course you will receive training and instruction in Rome first. That will take about six months, during which I will be with you to introduce you to those who are my friends. I want them to know you, because the time will come when I shall send for you, Ralph, to help me with my work in the Vatican.”

“Your Grace, I can't thank you enough! It's due to you, this great chance.” “God grant I am sufficiently intelligent to see when a man is too able to leave in obscurity, Ralph! Now let us kneel and pray. God is very good.” His rosary beads and missal were sitting on a table nearby; hand trembling, Bishop Ralph reached for the beads and knocked the missal to the floor. It fell open at the middle. The Archbishop; who was closer to it, picked it up and looked curiously at the brown, tissue thin shape which had once been a rose.

“How extraordinary! Why do you keep this? Is it a memory of your home, or perhaps of your mother?” The eyes which saw through guile and dissimulation were looking straight at him, and there was no time to disguise his emotion, or his apprehension.

“No.” He grimaced. “I want no memories of my mother.”

“But it must have great meaning for you, that you store it so lovingly within the pages of the book most dear to you. Of what does it speak?” “Of a love as pure as that I bear my God, Vittorio. It does the book nothing but honor.”

“That I deduced, because I know you. But the-love, does it endanger your love for the Church?”

“No. It was for the Church I forsook her, that I always will forsake her. I've gone so far beyond her, and I can never go back again.”

“So at last I understand the sadness! Dear Ralph, it is not as bad as you think, truly it is not. You will live to do great good for many people, you will be loved by many people. And she, having the love which is contained in such an old, fragrant memory as this, will never want. Because you kept the love alongside the rose.”

“I don't think she understands at all.”

“Oh, yes. If you have loved her thus, then she is woman enough to understand. Otherwise you would have forgotten her, and abandoned this relic long since.”

“There have been times when only hours on my knees have stopped me from leaving my post, going to her.”

The Archbishop eased himself out of his chair and came to kneel beside his friend, this beautiful man whom he loved as he had loved few things other than his God and his Church, which to him were indivisible. “You will not leave, Ralph, and you know it well. You belong to the Church, you always have and you always will. The vocation for you is a true one. We shall pray now, and I shall add the Rose to my prayers for the rest of my life. Our Dear Lord sends us many griefs and much pain during our progress to eternal life.

We must learn to bear it, I as much as you.”

° ° °

At the end of August Meggie got a letter from Luke to say he was in Townsville Hospital with Weil's disease, but that he was in no danger and would be out soon.

“So it looks like we don't have to wait until the end of the year for our holiday, Meg. I can't go back to the cane until I'm one hundred percent fit, and the best way to make sure I am is to have a decent holiday. So I'll be along in a week or so to pick you up. We're going to Lake Eacham on the Atherton Tableland for a couple of weeks, until I'm well enough to go back to work.”

Meggie could hardly believe it, and didn't know if she wanted to be with him or not, now that the opportunity presented itself. Though the pain of her mind had taken a lot longer to heal than the pain of her body, the memory of her honeymoon ordeal in the Dunny pub had been pushed from thought so long it had lost the power to terrify her, and from her reading she understood better now that much of it had been due to ignorance, her own and Luke's. Oh, dear Lord, pray this holiday would mean a child! If she could only have a baby to love it would be so much easier. Anne wouldn't mind a baby around, she'd love it. So would Luddie. They had told her so a hundred times, hoping Luke would come once for long enough to rectify his wife's barren loveless existence.

When she told them what the letter said they were delighted, but privately skeptical.

“Sure as eggs is eggs that wretch will find some excuse to be off without her,” said Anne to Luddie.

Luke had borrowed a car from somewhere, and picked Meggie up early in the morning. He looked thin, wrinkled and yellow, as if he had been pickled. Shocked, Meggie gave him her case and climbed in beside him. “What is Weil's disease, Luke? You said you weren't in any danger, but it looks to me as if you've been very sick indeed.”

“Oh, it's just some sort of jaundice most cutters get sooner or later. The cane rats carry it, we pick it up through a cut or sore. I'm in good health, so I wasn't too sick compared to some who get it. The quacks say I'll be fit as a fiddle in no time.”

Climbing up through a great gorge filled with jungle, the road led inland, a river in full spate roaring and tumbling below, and at one spot a magnificent waterfall spilling to join it from somewhere up above, right athwart the road. They drove between the cliff and the angling water in a wet, glittering archway of fantastic light and shadow. And as they climbed the air grew cool, exquisitely fresh; Meggie had forgotten how good cool air made her feel. The jungle leaned across them, so impenetrable no one ever dared to enter it. The bulk of it was quite invisible under the weight of leafy vines lying sagging from treetop to treetop, continuous and endless, like a vast sheet of green velvet flung across the forest. Under the eaves Meggie caught glimpses of wonderful flowers and butterflies, cartwheeling webs with great elegant speckled spiders motionless at their hubs, fabulous fungi chewing at mossy trunks, birds with long trailing red or blond tails. Lake Eacham lay on top of the tableland, idyllic in its unspoiled setting. Before night fell they strolled out onto the veranda of their boardinghouse to look across the still water. Meggie wanted to watch the enormous fruit bats called flying foxes wheel like precursors of doom in thousands down toward the places where they found their food. They were monstrous and repulsive, but singularly timid, entirely benign. To see them come across a molten sky in dark, pulsating sheets was awesome; Meggie never missed watching for them from the Himmelhoch veranda.

And it was heaven to sink into a soft cool bed, not have to lie still until one spot was sweat-saturated and then move carefully to a new spot, knowing the old one wouldn't dry out anyway. Luke took a flat brown packet out of his case, picked a handful of small round objects out of it and laid them in a row on the bedside table.

Meggie reached out to take one, inspect it. “What on earth is it?” she asked curiously.

“A French letter.” He had forgotten his decision of two years ago, not to tell her he practiced contraception. “I put it on myself before I go inside you. Otherwise I might start a baby, and we can't afford to do that until we get our place.” He was sitting naked on the side of the bed, and he was thin, ribs and hips protruding. But his blue eyes shone, he reached out to clasp her hand as it held the French letter. “Nearly there, Meg, nearly there! I reckon another five thousand pounds will buy us the best property to be had west of Charters Towers.”

“Then you've got it,” she said, her voice quite calm. “I can write to Bishop de Bricassart and ask him for a loan of the money. He won't charge us interest.”

“You most certainly won't!” he snapped. “Damn it, Meg, where's your pride? We'll work for what we have, not borrow! I've never owed anyone a penny in all my life, and I'm not going to start now.”

She scarcely heard him, glaring at him through a haze of brilliant red. In all her life she had never been so angry! Cheat, liar, egotist! How dared he do it to her, trick her out of a baby, try to make her believe he ever had any intention of becoming a grazier! He'd found his niche, with Arne Swenson and the sugar.

Concealing her rage so well it surprised her, she turned her attention back to the little rubber wheel in her hand. “Tell me about these French letter things. How do they stop me having a baby?”

He came to stand behind her, and contact of their bodies made her shiver; from excitement he thought, from disgust she knew. “Don't you know anything, Meg?”

“No,” she lied. Which was true about French letters, at any rate; she could not remember ever seeing a mention of them.

His hands played with her breasts, tickling. “Look, when I come I make this-I don't know-stuff, and if I'm up inside you with nothing on, it stays there. When it stays there long enough or often enough, it makes a baby.” So that was it! He wore the thing, like a skin on a sausage! Cheat! Turning off the light, he drew her down onto the bed, and it wasn't long before he was groping for his antibaby device; she heard him making the same sounds he had made in the Dunny pub bedroom, knowing now they meant he was pulling on the French letter. The cheat! But how to get around it?

Trying not to let him see how much he hurt her, she endured him. Why did it have to hurt so, if this was a natural thing?

“It's no good, is it, Meg?” he asked afterward. “You must be awfully small for it to keep on hurting so much after the first time. Well, I won't do it again. You don't mind if I do it on your breast, do you?” “Oh, what does it matter?” she asked wearily. “If you mean you're not going to hurt me, all right!”

“You might be a bit more enthusiastic, Meg!”

“What for?”

But he was rising again; it was two years since he had had time or energy for this. Oh, it was nice to be with a woman, exciting and forbidden. He didn't feel at all married to Meg; it wasn't any different from getting a bit in the paddock behind the Kynuna pub, or having high-and-mighty Miss Carmichael against the shearing shed wall. Meggie had nice breasts, firm from all that riding, just the way he liked them, and he honestly preferred to get his pleasure at her breast, liking the sensation of unsheathed penis sandwiched between their bellies. French letters cut a man's sensitivity a lot, but not to don one when he put himself inside her was asking for trouble.

Groping, he pulled at her buttocks and made her lie on top of him, then seized one nipple between his teeth, feeling the hidden point swell and harden on his tongue. A great contempt for him had taken, possession of Meggie; what ridiculous creatures men were, grunting and sucking and straining for what they got out of it. He was becoming more excited, kneading her back and bottom, gulping away for all the world like a great overgrown kitten sneaked back to its mother. His hips began to move in a rhythmic, jerky fashion, and sprawled across him awkwardly because she was hating it too much to try helping him, she felt the tip of his unprotected penis slide between her legs.

Since she was not a participant in the act, her thoughts were her own. And it was then the idea came. As slowly and unobtrusively as she could, she maneuvered him until he was right at the most painful part of her; with a great indrawn breath to keep her courage up, she forced the penis in, teeth clenched. But though it did hurt, it didn't hurt nearly as much. Minus its rubber sheath, his member was more slippery, easier to introduce and far easier to tolerate.

Luke's eyes opened. He tried to push her away, but oh, God! It was unbelievable without the French letter; he had never been inside a woman bare, had never realized what a difference it made. He was so close, so excited he couldn't bring himself to push her away hard enough, and in the end he put his arms round her, unable to keep up his breast activity. Though it wasn't manly to cry out, he couldn't prevent the noise leaving him, and afterward kissed her softly.

“Luke?”

“What?”

“Why can't we do that every time? Then you wouldn't have to put on a French letter.”

“We shouldn't have done it that time, Meg, let alone again. I was right in you when I came.”

She leaned over him, stroking his chest. “But don't you see? I'm sitting up! It doesn't stay there at all, it runs right out again! Oh, Luke, please! It's so much nicer, it doesn't hurt nearly as much. I'm sure it's all right, because I can feel it running out. Please!”

What human being ever lived who could resist the repetition of perfect pleasure when offered so plausibly? Adam-like, Luke nodded, for at this stage he was far less informed than Meggie.

“I suppose there's truth in what you say, and it's much nicer for me when you're not fighting it. All right, Meg, we'll do it that way from now on.”

And in the darkness she smiled, content. For it had not all run out. The moment she felt him shrink out of her she had drawn up all the internal muscles into a knot, slid off him onto her back, stuck her crossed knees in the air casually and hung on to what she had with every ounce of determination in her. Oho, my fine gentleman, I'll fix you yet! You wait and see, Luke O'neill! I'll get my baby if it kills me! Away from the heat and humidity of the coastal plain Luke mended rapidly. Eating well, he began to put the weight he needed back again, and his skin faded from the sickly yellow to its usual brown. With the lure of an eager, responsive Meggie in his bed it wasn't too difficult to persuade him to prolong the original two weeks into three, and then into four. But at the end of a month he rebelled.

“There's no excuse, Meg. I'm as well as I've ever been. We're sitting up here on top of the world like a king and queen, spending money. Arne needs me.”

“Won't you reconsider, Luke? If you really wanted to, you could buy your station now.”

“Let's hang on a bit longer the way we are, Meg.”

° ° °

He wouldn't admit it, of course, but the lure of the sugar was in his bones, the strange fascination some men have for utterly demanding labor. As long as his young man's strength held up, Luke would remain faithful to the sugar. The only thing Meggie could hope for was to force him into changing his mind by giving him a child, an heir to the property out around Kynuna. So she went back to Himmelhoch to wait and hope. Please, please, let there be a baby! A baby would solve everything, so please let there be a baby. And there was. When she told Anne and Luddie, they were overjoyed. Luddie especially turned out to be a treasure. He did the most exquisite smocking and embroidery, two crafts Meggie had never had time to master, so while he pushed a tiny needle through delicate fabric with his horny, magical hands, Meggie helped Anne get the nursery together. The only trouble was the baby wasn't sitting well, whether because of the heat or her unhappiness Meggie didn't know. The morning sickness was all day, and persisted long after it should have stopped; in spite of her very slight weight gain she began to suffer badly from too much fluid in the tissues of her body, and her blood pressure went up to a point at which Doc Smith became apprehensive. At first he talked of hospital in Cairns for the remainder of her pregnancy, but after a long think about her husbandless, friendless situation he decided she would be better off with Luddie and Anne, who did care for her. For the last three weeks of her term, however, she must definitely go to Cairns.

“And try to get her husband to come and see her!” he roared to Luddie. Meggie had written right away to tell Luke she was pregnant, full of the usual feminine conviction that once the not- wanted was an irrefutable fact, Luke would become wildly enthusiastic. His answering letter scotched any such delusions. He was furious. As far as he was concerned, becoming a father simply meant he would have two nonworking mouths to feed, instead of none. It was a bitter pill for Meggie to swallow, but swallow it she did; she had no choice. Now the coming child bound her to him as tightly as her pride. But she felt ill, helpless, utterly unloved; even the baby didn't love her, didn't want to be conceived or born. She could feel it inside her, the weakly tiny creature's feeble protests against growing into being. Had she been able to tolerate the two- thousand-mile rail journey home, she would have gone, but Doc Smith shook his lead firmly. Get on a train for a week or more, even in broken stages, and that would be the end of the baby. Disappointed and unhappy though she was, Meggie wouldn't consciously do anything to harm the baby. Yet as time went on her enthusiasm and her longing to have someone of her own to love withered in her; the incubus child hung heavier, more resentful.

Doc Smith talked of an earlier transfer to Cairns; he wasn't sure Meggie could survive a birth in Dungloe, which had only a cottage infirmary. Her blood pressure was recalcitrant, the fluid kept mounting; he talked of toxemia and eclampsia, other long medical words which frightened Anne and Luddie into agreeing, much as they longed to see the baby born at Himmelhoch. By the end of May there were only four weeks left to go, four weeks until Meggie could rid herself of this intolerable burden, this ungrateful child.

She was learning to hate it, the very being she had wanted so much before discovering what trouble it would cause. Why had she assumed Luke would look forward to the baby once its existence was a reality? Nothing in his attitude or conduct since their marriage indicated he would. Time she admitted it was a disaster, abandoned her silly pride and tried to salvage what she could from the ruins. They had married for all the wrong reasons: he for her money, she as an escape from Ralph de Bricassart while trying to retain Ralph de Bricassart. There had never been any pretense at love, and only love might have helped her and Luke to overcome the enormous difficulties their differing aims and desires created. Oddly enough, she never seemed able to hate Luke, where she found herself hating Ralph de Bricassart more and more frequently. Yet when all was said and done, Ralph had been far kinder and fairer to her than Luke. Not once had he encouraged her to dream of him in any roles save priest and friend, for even on the two occasions when he had kissed her, she had begun the move herself.

Why be so angry with him, then? Why hate Ralph and not Luke? Blame her own fears and inadequacies, the huge, outraged resentment she felt because he had consistently rejected her when she loved and wanted him so much. And blame that stupid impulse which had led her to marry Luke O'neill. A betrayal of her own self and Ralph. No matter if she could never have married him, slept with him, had his child. No matter if he didn't want her, and he didn't want her. The fact remained that he was who she wanted, and she ought never to have settled for less.

But knowing the wrongs couldn't alter them. It was still Luke O'neill she had married, Luke O'neill's child she was carrying. How could she be happy at the thought of Luke O'neill's child, when even he didn't want it? Poor little thing. At least when it was born it would be its own piece of humanity, and could be loved as that.

Only . . . What wouldn't she give, for Ralph de Bricassart's child? The impossible, the never-to-be. He served an institution which insisted on having all of him, even that part of him she had no use for, his manhood. That Mother Church required from him as a sacrifice to her power as an institution, and thus wasted him, stamped his being out of being, made sure that when he stopped he would be stopped forever. Only one day she would have to pay for her greed. One day there wouldn't be any more Ralph de Bricassarts, because they'd value their manhood enough to see that her demanding it of them was a useless sacrifice, having no meaning whatsoever .... Suddenly she stood up and waddled through to the living room, where Anne was sitting reading an underground copy of Norman Lindsay's banned novel, Redheap, very obviously enjoying every forbidden word. “Anne, I think you're going to get your wish.”

Anne looked up absently. “What, dear?”

“Phone Doc Smith. I'm going to have this wretched baby here and now.” “Oh, my God! Get into the bedroom and lie down—not your bedroom, ours!”

° ° °

Cursing the whims of fate and the determination of babies, Doc Smith hurried out from Dungloe in his battered car with the local midwife in the back and as much equipment as he could carry from his little cottage hospital. No use taking her there; he could do as much for her at Himmelhoch. But Cairns was where she ought to be. “Have you let the husband know?” he asked as he pounded up the front steps, his midwife behind him.

“I sent a telegram. She's in my room; I thought it would give you more space.”

Hobbling in their wake, Anne went into her bedroom. Meggie was lying on the bed, wide-eyed and giving no indication of pain except for an occasional spasm of her hands, a drawing-in of her body. She turned her head to smile at Anne, and Anne saw that the eyes were very frightened. “I'm glad I never got to Cairns” she said. “My mother never went to hospital to have hers, and Daddy said once she had a terrible time with Hal. But she survived, and so will I. We're hard to kill, we Cleary women.” It was hours later when the doctor joined Anne on the veranda. “It's a long, hard business for the little woman. First babies are rarely easy, but this one's not lying well and she just drags on without getting anywhere. If she was in Cairns she could have a Caesarean, but that's out of the question here. She'll just have to push it out all by herself.” “Is she conscious?”

“Oh, yes. Gallant little soul, doesn't scream or complain. The best ones usually have the worst time of it in my opinion. Keeps asking me if Ralph's here yet, and I have to tell her some lie about the Johnstone in flood. I thought her husband's name was Luke?”

“It is.”

“Hmmm! Well, maybe that's why she's asking for this Ralph, whoever he is. Luke's no comfort, is he?”

“Luke's a bastard.”

Anne leaned forward, hands on the veranda railing. A taxi was coming from the Dunny road, and had turned off up the incline to Himmelhoch. Her excellent eyesight just discerned a black-haired man in the back, and she crowed with relief and joy.

“I don't believe what I see, but I think Luke's finally remembered he's got a wife!”

“I'd best go back to her and leave you to cope with him, Anne. I won't mention it to her, in case it isn't him. If it is him, give him a cup of tea and save the hard stuff for later. He's going to need it.”

The taxi drew up; to Anne's surprise the driver got out and went to the back door to open it for his passenger. Joe Castiglione, who ran Dunny's sole taxi, wasn't usually given to such courtesies.

“Himmelhoch, Your Grace,” he said, bowing deeply. A man in a long, flowing black soutane got out, a purple grosgrain sash about his waist. As he turned, Anne thought for a dazed moment that Luke O'neill was playing some elaborate trick on her. Then she saw that this was a far different man, a good ten years older than Luke. My God! she thought as the graceful figure mounted her steps two at a time. He's the handsomest chap I've ever seen! An archbishop, no less! What does a Catholic archbishop want with a pair of old Lutherans like Luddie and me? “Mrs. Mueller?” he asked, smiling down at her with kind, aloof blue eyes. As if he had seen much he would give anything not to have seen, and had managed to stop feeling long ago.

“Yes, I'm Anne Mueller.”

“I'm Archbishop Ralph de Bricassart, His Holiness's Legate in Australia. I understand you have a Mrs. Luke O'neill staying with you?” “Yes, sir.” Ralph? Ralph? Was this Ralph?

“I'm a very old friend of hers. I wonder if I might see her, please?” “Well, I'm sure she'd be delighted, Archbishop”!— no, that wasn't right, one didn't say Archbishop, one said Your Grace, like Joe Castiglione-”under more normal circumstances, but at the moment Meggie's in labor, and having a very hard time.” Then she saw that he hadn't succeeded in stopping feeling at all, only disciplined it to a doglike abjection at the back of his thinking mind. His eyes were so blue she felt she drowned in them, and what she saw in them now made her wonder what Meggie was to him, and what he was to Meggie. “I knew something was wrong! I've felt that something was wrong for a long time, but of late my worry's become an obsession. I had to come and see for myself. Please, let me see her! If you wish for a reason, I am a priest.” Anne had never intended to deny him. “Come along, Your Grace, through here, please.” And as she shuffled slowly between her two sticks she kept thinking: Is the house clean and tidy? Have I dusted? Did we remember to throw out that smelly old leg of lamb, or is it all through the place? What a time for a man as important as this one to come calling! Luddie, will you never get your fat arse off that tractor and come in? The boy should have found you hours ago! He went past Doc Smith and the midwife as if they didn't exist to drop on his knees beside the bed, his hand reaching for hers. “Meggie!”

She dragged herself out of the ghastly dream into which she had sunk, past caring, and saw the beloved face close to hers, the strong black hair with two white wings in its darkness now, the fine aristocratic features a little more lined, more patient if possible, and the blue eyes looking into hers with love and longing. How had she ever confused Luke with him? There was no one like him, there never would be for her, and she had betrayed what she felt for him. Luke was the dark side of the mirror; Ralph was as splendid as the sun, and as remote. Oh, how beautiful to see him!

“Ralph, help me,” she said.

He kissed her hand passionately, then held it to his cheek. “Always, my Meggie, you know that.”

“Pray for me, and the baby. If anyone can save us, you can. You're much closer to God than we are. No one wants us, no one has ever wanted us, even you.”

“Where's Luke?”

“I don't know, and I don't care.” She closed her eyes and rolled her head upon the pillow, but the fingers in his gripped strongly, wouldn't let him go.

Then Doc Smith touched him on the shoulder. “Your Grace, I think you ought to step outside now.”

“If her life is in danger, you'll call me?”

“In a second.”

Luddie had finally come in from the cane, frantic because there was no one to be seen and he didn't dare enter the bedroom. “Anne, is she all right?” he asked as his wife came out with the Archbishop.

“So far. Doc won't commit himself, but I think he's got hope.

Luddie, we have a visitor. This is Archbishop Ralph de Bricassart, an old friend of Meggie's.”

Better versed than his wife, Luddie dropped on one knee and kissed the ring on the hand held out to him. “Sit down, Your Grace, talk to Anne. I'll go and put a kettle on for some tea.”

“So you're Ralph,” Anne said, propping her sticks against a bamboo table while the priest sat opposite her with the folds of his soutane falling about him, his glossy black riding boots clearly visible, for he had crossed his knees. It was an effeminate thing for a man to do, but he was a priest so it didn't matter; yet there was something intensely masculine about him, crossed legs or no. He was probably not as old as she had first thought; in his very early forties, perhaps. What a waste of a magnificent man!

“Yes, I'm Ralph.”

“Ever since Meggie's labor started she's been asking for someone called Ralph. I must admit I was puzzled. I don't ever remember her mentioning a Ralph before.”

“She wouldn't.”

“How do you know Meggie, Your Grace? For how long?” The priest smiled wryly and clasped his thin, very beautiful hands together so they made a pointed church roof. “I've known Meggie since she was ten years old, only days off the boat from New Zealand. You might in all truth say that I've known Meggie through flood and fire and emotional famine, and through death, and life.

All that we have to bear. Meggie is the mirror in which I'm forced to view my mortality.”

“You love her!” Anne's tone was surprised.

“Always.”

“It's a tragedy for both of you.”

“I had hoped only for me. Tell me about her, what's happened to her since she married. It's many years since I've seen her, but I haven't been happy about her.”

“I'll tell you, but only after you've told me about Meggie. Oh, I don't mean personal things, only about what sort of life she led before she came to Dunny. We know absolutely nothing of her, Luddie and I, except that she used to live somewhere near Gillanbone. We'd like to know more, because we're very fond of her. But she would never tell us a thing-pride, I think.” Luddie carried in a tray loaded with tea and food, and sat down while the priest gave them an outline of Meggie's life before she married Luke. “I would never have guessed it in a million years! To think Luke O'neill had the temerity to take her from all that and put her to work as a housemaid! And had the hide to stipulate that her wages be put in his bank-book! Do you know the poor little thing has never had a penny in her purse to spend on herself since she's been here? I had Luddie give her a cash bonus last Christmas, but by then she needed so many things it was all spent in a day, and she'd never take more from us.”

“Don't feel sorry for Meggie,” said Archbishop Ralph a little harshly. “I don't think she feels sorry for herself, certainly not over lack of money. It's brought little joy to her after all, has it? She knows where to go if she can't do without it. I'd say Luke's apparent indifference has hurt her far more than the lack of money. My poor Meggie!” Between them Anne and Luddie filled in the outline of Meggie's life, while Archbishop de Bricassart sat, his hands still steepled, his gaze on the lovely sweeping fan of a traveler's palm outside. Not once did a muscle in his face move, or a change come into those detachedly beautiful eyes. He had learned much since being in the service of Vittorio Scarbanza, Cardinal di Contini Verchese.

When the tale was done he sighed, and shifted his gaze to their anxious faces. “Well, it seems we must help her, since Luke will not. If Luke truly doesn't want her, she'd be better off back on Drogheda. I know you don't want to lose her, but for her sake try to persuade her to go home. I shall send you a check from Sydney for her, so she won't have the embarrassment of asking her brother for money. Then when she gets home she can tell them what she likes.” He glanced toward the bedroom door and moved restlessly. “Dear God, let the child be born!”

But the child wasn't born until nearly twenty-four hours later, and Meggie almost dead from exhaustion and pain. Doc Smith had given her copious doses of laudanum, that still being the best thing, in his old-fashioned opinion; she seemed to drift whirling through spiraling nightmares in which things from without and within ripped and tore, clawed and spat, howled and whined and roared. Sometimes Ralph's face would come into focus for a small moment, then go again on a heaving tide of pain; but the memory of him persisted, and while he kept watch she knew neither she nor the baby would die. Pausing, while the midwife coped alone, to snatch food and a stiff tot of rum and check that none of his other patients were inconsiderate enough to think of dying, Doc Smith listened to as much of the story as Anne and Luddie thought wise to tell him.

“You're right, Anne,” he said. “All that riding is probably one of the reasons for her trouble now. When the sidesaddle went out it was a bad thing for women who must ride a lot. Astride develops the wrong muscles.” “I'd heard that was an old wives' tale,” said the Archbishop mildly. Doc Smith looked at him maliciously. He wasn't fond of Catholic priests, deemed them a sanctimonious lot of driveling fools. “Think what you like,” he said. “But tell me, Your Grace, if it came down to a choice between Meggie's life and the baby's, what would your conscience advise?”

“The Church is adamant on that point, Doctor. No choice must ever be made. The child cannot be done to death to save the mother, nor the mother done to death to save the child.” He smiled back at Doc Smith just as maliciously. “But if it should come to that, Doctor, I won't hesitate to tell you to save Meggie, and the hell with the baby.”

Doc Smith gasped, laughed, and clapped him on the back. “Good for you! Rest easy, I won't broadcast what you said. But so far the child's alive, and I can't see what good killing it is going to do.”

But Anne was thinking to herself: I wonder what your answer would have been if the child was yours, Archbishop?

About three hours later, as the afternoon sun was sliding sadly down the sky toward Mount Bartle Frere's misty bulk, Doc Smith came out of the bedroom.

“Well, it's over,” he said with some satisfaction. “Meggie's got a long road ahead of her, but she'll be all right, God willing. And the baby is a skinny, cranky, five-pound girl with a whopping great head and a temper to match the most poisonous red hair I've ever seen on a newborn baby. You couldn't kill that little mite with an axe, and I know, because I nearly tried.”

Jubilant, Luddie broke out the bottle of champagne he had been saving, and the five of them stood with their glasses brimming; priest, doctor, midwife, farmer and cripple toasted the health and well-being of the mother and her screaming, crotchety baby. It was the first of June, the first day of the Australian winter.

A nurse had arrived to take over from the midwife, and would stay until Meggie was pronounced out of all danger. The doctor and the midwife left, while Anne, Luddie and the Archbishop went to see Meggie. She looked so tiny and wasted in the double bed that Archbishop Ralph was obliged to store away another, separate pain in the back of his mind, to be taken out later, inspected and endured. Meggie, my torn and beaten Meggie ... I shall love you always, but I cannot give you what Luke O'neill did, however grudgingly.

The grizzling scrap of humanity responsible for all this lay in a wicker bassinet by the far wall, not a bit appreciative of their attention as they stood around her and peered down. She yelled her resentment, and kept on yelling. In the end the nurse lifted her, bassinet and all; and put her in the room designated as her nursery.

“There's certainly nothing wrong with her lungs.” Archbishop Ralph smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking Meggie's pale hand. “I don't think she likes life much,” Meggie said with an answering smile. How much older he looked! As fit and supple as ever, but immeasurably older. She turned her head to Anne and Luddie, and held out her other hand. “My dear good friends! Whatever would I have done without you? Have we heard from Luke?”

“I got a telegram saying he was too busy to come, but wishing you good luck.”

“Big of him,” said Meggie.

Anne bent quickly to kiss her check. “We'll leave you to talk with the Archbishop, dear. I'm sure you've got a lot of catching up to do.” Leaning on Luddie, she crooked her finger at the nurse, who was gaping at the priest as if she couldn't believe her eyes. “Come on, Nettie, have a cup of tea with us. His Grace will let you know if Meggie needs you.”

“What are you going to call your noisy daughter?” he asked as the door closed and they were alone.

“Justine.”

“It's a very good name, but why did you choose it?” “I read it somewhere, and I liked it.”

“Don't you want her, Meggie?”

Her face had shrunk, and seemed all eyes; they were soft and filled with a misty light, no hate but no love either. “I suppose I want her. Yes, I do want her. I schemed enough to get her. But while I was carrying her I couldn't feel anything for her, except that she didn't want me. I don't think Justine will ever be mine, or Luke's, or anyone's. I think she's always going to belong to herself.”

“I must go, Meggie,” he said gently.

Now the eyes grew harder, brighter: her mouth twisted into an unpleasant shape. “I expected that! Funny how the men in my life all scuttle off into the woodwork, isn't it?”

He winced. “Don't be bitter, Meggie. I can't bear to leave thinking of you like this. No matter what's happened to you in the past, you've always retained your sweetness and it's the thing about you I find most endearing. Don't change, don't become hard because of this. I know it must be terrible to think that Luke didn't care enough to come, but don't change. You wouldn't be my Meggie anymore.” But still she looked at him half as if she hated him. “Oh, come off it, Ralph! I'm not your Meggie, I never was! You didn't want me, you sent me to him, to Luke. What do you think I am, some sort of saint, or a nun? Well, I'm not! I'm an ordinary human being, and you've spoiled my life! All the years I've loved you, and wanted to forget you, but then I married a man I thought looked a little bit like you, and he doesn't want me or need me either. Is it so much to ask of a man, to be needed and wanted by him?” She began to sob, mastered it; there were fine lines of pain on her face that he had never seen before, and he knew they weren't the kind that rest and returning health would smooth away.

“Luke's not a bad man, or even an unlikable one,” she went on. “Just a man. You're all the same, great big hairy moths bashing yourselves to pieces after a silly flame behind a glass so clear your eyes don't see it. And if you do manage to blunder your way inside the glass to fly into the flame, you fall down burned and dead.

While all the time out there in the cool night there's food, and love, and baby moths to get. But do you see it, do you want it? No! It's back after the flame again, beating yourselves senseless until you burn yourselves dead!”

He didn't know what to say to her, for this was a side of her he had never seen. Had it always been there, or had she grown it out of her terrible trouble and abandonment? Meggie, saying things like this? He hardly heard what she said, he was so upset that she should say it, and so didn't understand that it came from her loneliness, and her guilt. “Do you remember the rose you gave me the night I left Drogheda?” he asked tenderly.

“Yes, I remember.” The life had gone out of her voice, the hard light out of her eyes. They stared at him now like a soul without hope, as expressionless and glassy as her mother's.

“I have it still, in my missal. And every time I see a rose that color, I think of you. Meggie, I love you. You're my rose, the most beautiful human image and thought in my life.”

Down went the corners of her mouth again, up shone that tense, glittering fierceness with the tang of hate in it. “An image, a thought! A human image and thought! Yes, that's right, that's all I am to you! You're nothing but a romantic, dreaming fool, Ralph de Bricassart! You have no more idea of what life is all about than the moth I called you! No wonder you became a priest! You couldn't live with the ordinariness of life if you were an ordinary man any more than ordinary man Luke does!

“You say you love me, but you have no idea what love is; you're just mouthing words you've memorized because you think they sound good! What floors me is why you men haven't managed to dispense with us women altogether, which is what you'd like to do, isn't it? You should work out a way of marrying each other; you'd be divinely happy!” “Meggie, don't! Please don't!”

“Oh, go away! I don't want to look at you! And you've forgotten one thing about your precious roses, Ralph-they've got nasty, hooky thorns!” He left the room without looking back.

° ° °

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