by Ron Thomas
‘The Member for Warralong,’ the speaker announced. The member rose to a babble of conversation, and shuffled papers, waiting for the noise to subside. It didn’t subside until Levy rapped his gavel again and gave a couple of miscreants his famous icy stare that threatened expulsion, or worse.
Many of the members also anticipated a lively session. It was always interesting when Sandy McLean spoke. It wasn’t that he was the most highly respected member of the house, nor the brightest, not by a long shot. It wasn’t that Sandy’s words might lead to great improvement in the welfare of the population either. It was purely that Sandy McLean, whose profligate habits were the subject of considerable jocular amusement on both sides of the house, always had entertainment value, whatever the subject of his current crusade. Loquacious though MLA McLean was, he was prone to mangling his words, and that at least, was bound to bring some humour to proceedings.
‘Thank you, Mr Speaker. I wish to draw the attention of the house,’ McLean began. ‘To a veritable wave of crime, corruption and lewd exploitation of the weaker sex. It has been drawn to my attention that the rate of assaults and robberies of individuals in the King’s Cross area has escalated to the point where it is not safe for an honest citizen to walk the streets.’
‘You’d be an expert in the matter, Sandy,’ a cynical voice called from the backbenches.
‘The house will come to order,’ the Speaker reacted, staring around, attempting to identify the source of the interjection. He failed to spot the miscreant.
‘The Member for Warralong,’ he announced again.
‘It should be evident to all members here gathered,’ McLean went on. ‘That the laws of this fine state must be upheld. Furthermore, there must be a sufficient levity of the police presence, so that citizens can seek gratification without risking life and limb.’
A ripple of laughter swept across the house.
‘Funny thing, that,’ a voice from the backbench shouted. Speaker Levy, fighting the urge to laugh and so contribute to the lowering of house standards, could only rap his gavel.
Sandy McLean, failing to comprehend that he’d made a faux pas, continued unabashed.
‘Likewise, citizens should be able to prosecute the manifold pleasures of our renowned metropolis without risk or travail.’
‘Point of order, Mr Speaker.’ The interjection came from Premier Bavin, and despite ominous signs of trouble brewing, Levy was bound to allow the Premier’s point of order.
‘The Minister for Gordon,’ Levy announced. Premier Bavin acknowledged the speaker with a smirk and a nod, and the speaker responded with a nod, a resigned look, followed by an almost imperceptible shaking of his head. The premier had a faint smile on his face as he began to speak.
‘Mr Speaker, it appears that the Member for Warralong may have swallowed a dictionary. The levity of the member’s extravagant elocution …’ He paused as another titter swept across the house, ‘… almost certainly ensures that many of the honourable members opposite will indubitably have difficulty apprehending the nuances of the honourable member’s oratory. In short, Mr Speaker, the opposition members are in danger of, er, being left behind. And consider the plight of those occupying the crossbenches! They are in danger of being McLeaned right out, one might say. The honourable member’s confabulation is unfathomable.’ Having insulted almost everyone except those in his own party, the Premier resumed his seat and sat waiting for the maelstrom he knew must surely follow.
The house exploded. On the opposite side, members rose as one. A torrent of abuse surged across the house, as angry, red-faced opposition members shook their fists, performed war dances on their benches and screamed their fury. Waves of hysterical laughter and amusing showers of riposte surged back across the chamber from the government side.
‘Come outside ye bastard,’ a distinctly Scottish brogue bellowed over the chaos from the crossbenches. ‘And oi’l beat the living tripe out of ye!’
‘Order!’ Speaker Levy screamed. He screamed it half a dozen times, and almost smashed the head off his gavel before order was restored. In relative quiet, Levy stared icily around the chamber, pausing at those most rowdy, almost daring them to utter one more syllable. He stared for a full ten seconds at a Scottish backbencher in the last row of the crossbenches.
‘The Member for Warralong will resume. Others will sit down and shut up or be summarily ejected from this chamber,’ the speaker said, enunciating clearly, but forgetting protocol completely, not to mention the Premier’s point of order which had been lost somewhere in the chaos.’
Through it all, Sandy McLean, MLA had stood serenely, an island of calm in an ocean of anarchy. When the house settled, he continued.
‘The malefactors behind this crime wave must be brought to heel, and malfeasance must incur a very substantial penalty. I have it on unchallengeable authority that the proliferation of houses of dubious repute in the King’s Cross municipality has almost doubled in the last twelve months, and I can prove it!’
‘Give us their names and phone numbers, Sandy!’ a voice from the opposition side shouted. This time, the speaker pointed an accusing finger at the man he thought responsible.
‘Sergeant at arms, escort the honourable Member for Hawkesbury from chamber.’ The speaker’s commanding voice rang through the chamber. Another uproar immediately ensued, but the offending member, protesting his innocence at every step, was ushered firmly from the chamber.
Having been interrupted again, Sandy McLean appeared to have worked himself into a rage.
‘Debauchery! Chicanery! Sophistry!’ he bellowed. ‘Barbiturate abuse! Prostitution! Illegal shibeens! Violence!’ Every vile, loathsome, depraved activity imaginable proliferates unchecked in the garbage-strewn lanes and alleys of Darlinghurst and Woolloomooloo.’ He raised his arm in a sort of stiff-arm salute with a single rigid digit pointing skyward. ‘Law enforcement is quite unable to cope! I learned of one unfortunate fellow who had his wallet stolen while his trousers were hanging on the corner of the bed he was occupying at the time. Nobody is safe, even in their bed! Nobody! I move that the police presence be greatly increased, and that increased powers of entry, search and incarceration be legislated.’ With that, the member for Warralong, red-faced and with necktie askew, resumed his seat. Speaker Levy breathed a sigh of relief as he generally did when Sandy McLean’s time was up. As usual, McLean’s speech had been long on rhetoric and short on detail. It seemed for a moment that it would all come to nothing.
However, the leader of the opposition had seen an opportunity and now he seized it with both hands. Before the government could steal his thunder, he proposed that a committee be formed to investigate the problem with a view to formation of a new flying squad within the police force to combat the growing menace within their midst. The crossbenchers, to a man, had also seen an opportunity too good to miss. If the Premier was prepared to insult them, perhaps it was time to administer a lesson in manners. Like a runaway train, Sandy McLean’s tirade had grown and matured into an unstoppable ground swell of outrage and support. Many of the government’s ministers, realising that the tables were turned and, not wanting to be on the losing side, dumped their pride and spoke in support of the idea, to the growing dismay of Premier Bavin. Before the house adjourned for the usual long lunch, not only had the government been routed in the house, but the idea had long passed the tipping point. It was well on its way to becoming law. Worse than that, the opposition was in the perfect position to take full credit. It had been a very bad morning for Premier John Bavin.
Chapter 32
Old Thorny
Excitement ensured that Meggsie and Federico departed for the hospital earlier than they’d intended, but the closer the MG got to the hospital, the more nervous they became.
‘I think we might talk to Doctor Jarvis before we go and see Papa,’ Federico suggested. ‘He deserves to know what we think.’
Despite Meggsie’s eagerness to encourage Benito to respond, part of him was fearful th
at he’d be proven wrong. He was beginning to think everything fitted too neatly.
‘Doctor Jarvis is in,’ his secretary said. ‘I’m sure he’ll want to see you. I believe he has some news. I’ll just check first.’
Meggsie and Federico exchanged glances. They only waited for a few minutes, but in that short time, excitement built.
‘You can go straight in,’ the secretary said, holding the door open.
‘Morning. You’re in quite early.’
‘Yes. We think we know what my father said.’
‘Do you now? I have some news of my own. We’ve removed most of his dressings, and I’m pleased to report that his burns have healed very well. He’s a pretty tough man, your father. His skin is all pink and new, but exposure will soon help that.’ Meggsie had been hoping Benito would have spoken again, and while the news was good, he felt a little deflated.
‘Doctor Jarvis, do you think it would be possible that my dad could somehow hear what we were saying yesterday afternoon. Would it be possible that when he spoke he was replying to something we said?’
‘Hmmm … That’s a tough one. It’s not really my specialty either, so perhaps I’m not the right person to answer the question. My own view, however, is that it’s possible, but perhaps not very likely.’
‘We were talking about the possibility of reopening my dad’s shop again, and we think he was trying to join in the conversation.’
‘Perhaps he was, perhaps not. You see, your father is still heavily medicated. With the improvement in his burns, our intent is to gradually reduce his pain medication. It is my hope that over the next few days, perhaps a week, we’ll see important change. You shouldn’t expect too much though. If we get slow, steady progress, I’ll be well satisfied. It won’t hurt at all to see if you can get him to join in your conversation though. But as I say, avoid unrealistic expectations. Off you go, now, and by all means, give it a try.’
***
Meggsie and Benito talked of their plans for the shop for more than two hours. At one point, they thought they saw Benito’s lips moving, but he didn’t speak. Despite the doctor’s words of caution, they went home disappointed.
Each day, Doctor Jarvis reduced Benito’s painkilling medication. For two hours each day, Federico Battaglia and Gilbert Maggs talked across Benito’s bed. They talked, they planned, they disagreed, they laughed, but Benito didn’t speak a single word. Now they were relying on Doctor Jarvis to keep their spirits up. Many times, he told them not to expect immediate results, but optimism was fading. When they could talk no more, Federico insisted that they use the time for study. He drove Meggsie hard, and despite himself, Meggsie’s confidence was rising.
‘I’ll just have to sell the MG,’ Federico said sadly. ‘We’ll need every penny we can get for stock. I’ve done some sums while you’ve been doing yours, and we just have to scrape up every last penny. We can’t say to people that we’ve got potatoes but no onions, or apples but no oranges, otherwise people have to walk up to Liverpool Street anyway. The G has got to go.’
Meggsie, who was sitting at the opposite side of Benito’s bed, felt the slightest of movements of the patient’s leg. He glanced up at Benito’s face and saw that Benito’s eyes were open. Before he could speak, Benito’s lips began to move and he appeared to make an attempt to speak. He licked his lips then tried again.
‘Yosef,’ Benito said, his voice soft and harsh, but clear as crystal. ‘Ask Yosef.’ Meggsie and Federico leapt to their feet in their excitement, and they watched as Benito’s eyes swung from one to the other.
‘Papa!’ Federico exclaimed joyfully. ‘How do you feel?’ he added foolishly.
‘How do you think I feel? I feel like shit.’ It brought smiles to their faces, for they knew Benito was back. ‘Now, I’m tired. All this talking is making me tired. I think I’ll have a sleep now. Ask Yosef.’
***
Over the days that followed, Benito’s burns improved. As his medication was reduced and he spent less of his time asleep, he spoke more, but often in a rambling, dis-jointed way. Therese spent much of her time with him and worried that he was slurring his words and not making much sense. All Doctor Jarvis was saying was that Benito needed more time. While he could remember that the shop had been burnt down, thankfully the details seemed vague.
With exams hanging like a cloud over Meggsie, he had little time for anything else. Federico was intent on making certain that Meggsie passed the intermediate certificate and spent hours helping, guiding and prodding. By the time Meggsie was sitting his first exam, he knew he was ready.
Two weeks later, Benito’s burns had improved and he had spoken almost daily, mainly to Therese, but she reported that he still hadn’t made a lot of sense. With exams out of the way, Federico and Meggsie could only turn their attention back to their plans for Benny’s Fruit Market.
‘I’d better think about putting the MG on the market,’ Federico said. ‘It can’t be put off any longer, because we can’t start until I do that.’ Federico’s face was a picture of misery, and Meggsie didn’t feel any better about it.
‘Remember that day Benito said that we should talk to Yosef? He said that straight after you said you’d sell the car. We haven’t talked to Yosef, yet.’
‘Who the hell is Yosef? I don’t know any Yosef.’
‘I only know one. He’s a tailor.’
‘What can a tailor do for us? There must be another Yosef.’
‘Well if there is I don’t know him. I think I’ll go up and talk to him, just in case. Yosef told me that he and your dad have been friends for thirty years. I’m sure he’ll want to know what’s happening, anyway. I’ll go and see him in the morning.’ Unlikely as it seemed, Meggsie had a feeling Yosef might help them.
***
Yosef Abrahams was precisely where Meggsie expected to find him. He was hunched over his sewing machine. When he glanced up and saw Meggsie at the door, he seemed pleasantly surprised and stopped the machine immediately.
‘Mister Meggs. How pleasant to see you! I hear my friend is improving. I’ve been promising I would go and see him every day, but you know how it is. I didn’t feel like coming when we couldn’t talk. We both love to talk. We fix the world’s problems, but they never seem to be fixed.’
‘He’s talking a little bit now, Mr Abrahams,’ Meggsie replied, not quite comfortable calling the tailor Yosef. ‘He talks about his childhood, but it doesn’t always make a lot of sense. The doctor says he just needs more time. I’m sure he’d enjoy seeing you, though.’
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been there, Gilbert, but never mind. I’ll come at the weekend.’
‘Benito told me to talk to you. At least he told me to talk to Yosef, and you are the only Yosef I know.’
Yosef Abrahams grinned. ‘Yosef’s not like Meggsie, eh? There’s a Meggsie on every street corner. I’m flattered to think he might have been talking about me. What do you want to talk to me about?’
Meggsie scratched his head. ‘Actually, Mister Abrahams I’m not sure. We were talking about starting up the fruit business again, Federico and I.’
‘You mean Federico, Benny’s son? That Federico? I thought he was in Melbourne.’
‘I forgot to mention that he’s back in Sydney. We’ve got a plan to get the fruit shop going again. We think that’s what Benito would want.’
‘That sounds like a good idea. Is that what you wanted to tell me about?’
‘Well, yes, in a way. We haven’t got much money. Federico has a sports car but he says he’ll sell that.’
‘And Benito said to come and talk to me? Is that right?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘I’d say that he wants me to help show you how to finance the business. I have to get this suit ready by this afternoon, but if you come back later, say about four o’clock, I’d be delighted to help. If Federico is thinking of selling his car, he should come too.’
‘Gee, thanks Mister Abrahams. I’d be so grateful for that. I don�
��t know much about finance.’
‘Four o’clock, then. When you see my friend, tell him I said shalom.’ Yosef Abrahams noticed Meggsie’s knitted brow. ‘Tell him peace,’ he added. ‘He’ll know what I mean.’
***
‘I haven’t seen you since you were a … kinde. Just a little boy. You’ve grown big and strong,’ Yosef said when he saw Federico. ‘Your father is so proud of you. You are much taller than him.’
‘Yes. About three inches.’
‘And you know this young boy,’ he waved vaguely in Meggsie’s direction, ‘saved your father’s life?’
Federico glanced at Meggsie. ‘Yes,’ he answered.
‘So now we have to find a way for Benny’s Fruit Market to rise again. To … rise from the ashes!’
‘Like the Phoenix,’ Federico replied.
‘Exactly. Now. Did Benito have insurance?’ Federico and Meggsie looked at each other in surprise. Neither had considered that Benito might have insured his business.
‘I don’t know,’ Federico said, after a long pause.
‘Well you had better soon find out,’ Yosef replied. ‘My guess is he would probably have the building covered. When he first bought the business, he borrowed the money from me, and I insisted he take out insurance. I’m sure Benny would have kept it up. It might even cover the stock. You need to check everything. Every single word.’ Yosef turned to Federico. ‘You’re the lawyer. That’s your job. Bring the policy next time you come, with a summary of what it covers.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Federico replied. They had only been there a matter of minutes, and, clearly, Yosef Abrahams was already driving the plan.
‘Now you’ll need money. Gilbert says you think you will need to sell your car. That won’t be necessary. We have to work out what we’re going to do, make a business plan, and calculate how much finance you need. I’ll help you do all that. Now, tell me exactly what you have in mind.’
