By the Currawong's Call

by Welton B. Marsland

  It was exquisite, Matthew decided. It was poetry without words or form. It was raw and overwhelming. It was just so bloody lovely.

  The noises Jonah made were so quiet they barely left his throat, but Matthew received them all, feeling the vibrations of them against his face as he nuzzled into Jonah’s neck, feeling his excitement mount higher and higher. He squeezed his hand tighter around Jonah’s prick and the pressure around his own intensified as Jonah clenched and spilled into Matthew’s hand.

  ‘Fuckfuckfuck,’ Jonah whispered like a litany, interspersed here and there with Matthew’s name.

  When Jonah finally slumped in his arms, Matthew eased his hips back. ‘I’ve an idea,’ he murmured at Jonah’s ear. ‘Lie on your back for me.’

  Disengaging was momentarily heartbreaking, but the sight, in the now grey-dawning room, of Jonah turning over and spreading his legs as he gazed up at Matthew in a pleasure daze, strongly made up for it. He watched Matthew working his handful of ejaculate over his cock and grinned up at him.

  ‘Good idea, Father.’

  ‘Shh,’ Matthew chided shyly. When he braced himself over Jonah, Jonah grabbed his own legs at the backs of his knees and held them in the air, giving Matthew ample room to reposition his now slick cock and shove back inside him.

  Matthew had to bite his own lip to stop the blasphemy that almost tumbled out.

  ‘Holy fucking hell,’ Jonah hissed out on a long exhale. ‘Holy shit. Shit!’

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Yes. Bloody hell.’ He let go of his legs and wrapped them high around Matthew’s ribcage. ‘You’ve no idea, Matthew. God, it feels … fuck.’ He snaked his arms around Matthew’s shoulders, his entire body committed to holding Matthew as close as humanly possible. ‘Fuck me.’ The words were whispered right into Matthew’s ear. ‘Fuck me good and proper now.’

  Matthew did as he was told, his whole consciousness narrowing to the smack of his hips and the slide of his cock, the tightness and the closeness blanking his mind to everything that wasn’t Jonah.

  To be so surrounded by one’s lover, so immersed in them, their embrace … He may have had no frame of reference, but a dim and distant thought occurred to him that, for the first time in his life, he might finally, fully understand why people called such acts making love.

  He moved his left leg, bent it and brought it up hard against the underside of Jonah’s thigh, the action changing the angle of his hips. Just a tiny change, yet it transformed the soft grunts Jonah made each time Matthew thrust at him into rising moans. Matthew planted his hands firmly on the mattress at the sides of Jonah’s head, stretched his arms out fully and stilled all other movement.

  ‘Shhh.’

  Jonah’s hands slid over Matthew’s hips and onto his arse. ‘I can’t help it,’ he whispered, voice urgent. ‘Yer getting me right in the spot.’ He tilted his pelvis up, digging fingernails into the meat of Matthew’s arse. ‘Yer right there. Just keep going!’

  Matthew let his arms bend and lowered himself again, this time sliding one arm under Jonah’s shoulders. When he resumed moving, he was now able to haul Jonah bodily into each thrust. He wondered briefly if this might not wind Jonah a little, having Matthew’s weight upon him so, but Jonah was smearing open-mouthed kisses over Matthew’s jaw and throat and seemed not to care for such worries.

  Matthew had never felt such strength, such power, strong not only in his physical prowess but in his will as well, his apparent ability to reduce another man to this moaning, wanton thing.

  ‘God!’ Jonah hissed at his ear. ‘Matthew—oh fucking God!’

  Even his blasphemy was beautiful.

  ‘Fuck,’ Matthew gasped out loud, in awe, his ecstasy tumbling out of him and into Jonah.

  ***

  Matthew had barely finished cleaning them both up when Jonah fell into a heavy sleep, the exertion clearly having taken some toll. Contrarily, those same exertions had rendered Matthew wide awake, very alert. Downright lively. He couldn’t even lie there and watch Jonah in repose for too many minutes.

  Carefully, he removed himself from Jonah’s limbs and from their bed. He dressed as quietly and as swift as he could, eager to be out in the world, walking in the watery glare of a new dawn. He checked the alarm on the clock before he left, ensuring that Jonah wouldn’t be late for his court appointment. Then he slipped from the room and trotted downstairs. He exchanged good mornings with one of the maids in the lower hallway, then he was pushing through the hotel’s front doors and out into a crisp Melbourne winter’s morning.

  He ambled towards Exhibition Street, enjoying the bustle of the city getting stuck into its end-of-week. The skies were grey and overcast, stone buildings still darkened by the previous night’s rainfall. The hulking facade of the Eastern Market loomed ahead and Matthew gravitated to it, drawn by aromas and noise.

  For one reason and another, Matthew hadn’t set foot inside the Eastern Market for many years. The market gardeners could still not be tempted from the Queen Victoria market, apparently, but stall places were nonetheless filled, though at this hour, businesses such as the shooting gallery and milliners were not yet open. Matthew wandered at leisure, up and down the avenues of fare, taking his time to look at everything on offer. He purchased a warm pastry for breakfast as he walked.

  When he’d completed a loop, he decided on a whim to visit the family pharmacy near Duke’s. He wasn’t sure, upon entering, what item he had in mind, but he knew when he spied it. Some moments later, he exited again, clutching a small brown paper bag and coughing in an attempt to hide a blush.

  He re-approached the hotel just as the front doors opened, and Jonah stomped out onto the entry steps, part way through putting on his helmet. At sight of Matthew, he opened his mouth but promptly closed it again, just looking his fill at Matthew for a moment.

  ‘You were gone,’ he finally said, a little clipped. ‘When I woke up. You weren’t in the room.’

  Jonah couldn’t possibly think Matthew would run out on him. Could he? Matthew felt terrible for not leaving an explanatory note, at least.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he said sheepishly. ‘Went for a walk. Sorry.’

  The tiniest of smiles tugged at Jonah’s mouth. ‘I gotta go,’ he said, and Matthew heard the apology in it. Jonah stepped down onto the footpath. ‘Should get a conviction today.’

  ‘Yes. Best of luck with that.’ Matthew felt his speech to be awfully stilted all of a sudden, as memories of what he and Jonah had done just a couple of hours ago washed over him. They’d done that, and now they had to stand in the street and talk to one another as though nothing untoward had happened, as though they were nothing more to each other than mere friends.

  Jonah’s full, dazzling smile flashed into being and Matthew was powerless to not return it. ‘See ya after, then,’ Jonah told him, taking a step away. ‘In the big bit, like we said?’

  ‘Of course,’ assured Matthew. ‘I’ll be there.’

  Jonah tapped his helmet in his customary casual salute and, still smiling, turned and strode smartly away. Matthew absolutely did not let himself stand at their hotel door, watching him.

  ***

  The call to missions, unsurprisingly, did not much move Matthew. And the highlight of his meeting with Bishop Free turned out to be a mutual appreciation of cricket and single-malt scotch. Formal appointments done with, Matthew spent at least half an hour in prayer in one of the front pews. With still no sign of Jonah’s arrival, he whiled away the time by slowly pacing the body of St Paul’s, reading a memorial plaque here and exchanging some small talk with a gracious official there.

  Matthew periodically cast a look towards the main doors of the cathedral. He hadn’t noticed himself doing it at first, but a verger with whom he’d shared a few words inquired if he was expecting anyone.

  I’ve become anticipatory, he’d thought. I’ve become giddy. He tried, then, purposely setting his back to the main doors, sitting in a pew halfway down the centre aisle, engagin
g in another prayer, this one long and wordy, on the subject of patience. He only found himself listening more intently for the door and for footsteps, so switched to a prayer for forgiveness instead.

  When Jonah did eventually arrive, Matthew was on the steps of the cathedral’s chancel, having just finished a conversation with the choir master who was preparing the choir for a lengthy rehearsal. Of course, Matthew looked up when the main door opened at the other end of the building. Instantly, he was transported back to Dinbratten, to All Souls, remembering standing in the single aisle there and looking up to see a trooper silhouetted in the doorway. For there he was, Jonah Parks, helmet tucked under one arm, service revolver on his hip, silhouetted in the grand Gothic doorway of St Paul’s Cathedral.

  What was he supposed to feel now, Matthew wondered? He’d come to an acceptance, over recent months, of how his pulse raced when setting eyes upon this man. He could even accept feeling such a carnal thrill while in the setting of his own church in Dinbratten (its sacristy, after all, having witnessed their first kiss). But this was St Paul’s Cathedral. This holy site was the centre of the Diocese, the seat of the Archbishop! And within this holiness, Matthew, an ordained priest, could think only of how tightly he’d been embraced the night before by the strong arms and legs of the man striding towards him. Matthew filled his lungs with the scented, rarefied air about him and exhaled again, calm.

  Matthew hadn’t noticed he’d starting walking himself, but they were soon meeting, Jonah and he, in the middle of the centre aisle. It was all he could do to keep his arms flat to his sides and offer only a verbal greeting in response to Jonah’s smile.

  ‘Will ya cop a load of this place!’ Jonah enthused. ‘I’ve never been in anything so big, ever!’ He wasn’t speaking inappropriately loud, but he clearly felt his voice bouncing back at him off the stone and swiftly dropped his volume to a whisper. ‘You been in here before?’

  Matthew smiled at his obvious awe and astonishment. ‘Several times.’

  ‘Cripes, yer not even whispering and ya sound more proper in here than I do. Do they teach ya that at priest school?’

  Laughing, Matthew waved the question away. ‘Do you like it? The cathedral?’

  Jonah craned his neck and gazed into the carved heights. ‘She’s a beauty, alright. You can well imagine God living in a place like this.’

  ‘God’s just as present in our little wooden hut in Dinbratten as He is here, Jonah.’ Matthew bit back a small grin, trying not to spoil his playful chastisement.

  ‘I never meant it like that.’ Jonah turned slowly on the spot, neck still craned, taking it all in. Matthew’s gaze could barely leave that lovely throat. ‘So,’ Jonah said, ‘you’d be unimpressed with all this by now, eh?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Matthew finally looked away from Jonah and, hands clasped loosely behind him, began a slow walk to the northern aisle. ‘I’m impressed with its beauty, and the workmanship that created it, every time I visit.’ They passed a bank of candles and he just had to look and see how their reflections glittered in Jonah’s eyes. The choir suddenly filled the nave with glorious song. ‘Familiarity does nothing to diminish beauty, I’ve found.’

  Jonah nodded at that, mouth slightly agape at the rich sound of the choristers. ‘He’s gonna hang,’ he said suddenly, brutal in his simplicity. ‘The bastard that did for Lan.’

  Matthew crossed himself. He had no more enthusiasm for capital punishment than Jonah did. ‘The justice of the land is done.’

  ‘Will be,’ agreed Jonah, balancing his helmet casually against his hip as they strolled.

  ‘Have you …?’ Matthew started to ask, then stopped, suddenly unsure how to actually ask what he wanted to ask.

  Jonah raised an eyebrow, silently asking him What?

  ‘Have you been comfortable today?’ Matthew forced out, voice very quiet.

  ‘In what sense?’

  ‘In, in the sitting sense.’ Matthew swallowed in agitation.

  Jonah’s gaze darkened briefly. ‘It’s fine,’ he growled in a whisper. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Is it ridiculous to be concerned about harming you?’

  ‘You did not—’ Jonah cut himself off, perhaps fearing he’d raised his voice too loud. ‘Shit, Matthew, ya think I wouldn’t have stopped you if ya had? You think I’m not capable of makin’ ya stop?’ He rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘I’m fine.’

  Matthew took a deep breath, letting that sink in. ‘You enjoyed … that?’

  ‘Tryna tell me you didn’t? Because I’ll have to say, sure seemed like ya did.’ Jonah glared a little at Matthew, but then his bluster left him all at once and he exhaled heavily. ‘Of course I enjoyed it.’

  Presently, they approached the chapel of the Ascension. It was empty, so they entered. Matthew slid into a pew immediately, but Jonah hovered a moment, staring at the decorations. When he sat in the same pew, it was at a distance that would not arouse suspicion, but would still allow a conversation of whispers to take place amidst the sublime clamour of the practising choir.

  Matthew mentally prepared himself. ‘So. What do we do now?’

  Jonah looked sideways at him, then to the chapel’s small altar. ‘Well. I did have one idea.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We could, perhaps, not go back.’

  ‘Not go—?’ Matthew stared at the tops of Jonah’s boots. ‘What on Earth are you saying?’

  Jonah clasped his hands and leaned his forearms on top of the pew in front. ‘I dunno if I can now. Go back, I mean.’

  ‘You mean to Dinbratten?’ Matthew asked slowly.

  ‘Yeah,’ came the answer. ‘But more than that too. I mean, I dunno if I can go back to how things were. Sneaking around, stealing a fuck here and there when we could, scared all the time that someone’s gonna find us out. Not now I’ve had this.’

  Matthew swallowed. Cast his gaze about the chapel and its entranceway to ensure their continued aloneness. ‘What, exactly, are you proposing?’

  Like Matthew, Jonah looked about them, too, then focused all his attention on Matthew. ‘We get away.’

  ‘Away. You mean …?’

  ‘I mean we go,’ Jonah whispered. ‘Leave. We don’t hafta go back.’

  ‘You mean run away?’

  ‘If you wanna put it like that.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Deadly.’ Jonah removed his hands from the pew in front and swivelled more towards Matthew. ‘Fiona and Anne managed it. I’m sure we can, too.’

  The sudden mention of the Campbells from the Dinbratten general store was confusing. ‘What did the Campbell sisters manage?’ Matthew asked, frowning.

  ‘They’re not sisters,’ Jonah said simply.

  ‘I mean, I—what?’

  Jonah smiled his crooked smile. ‘They’re not sisters. They met in Echuca six years ago. Ratty’s where they ended up when they stopped running. Where nobody knew ‘em. And we could do something similar. Couldn’t we?’

  It was an incredible suggestion to take in. Matthew gave himself a moment. Gallantly, Jonah also allowed him a moment.

  ‘But …’ Matthew said eventually, ‘my church! My vocation. Damn it, your vocation! You’re telling me you could just walk away? Turn your back? You’re forgetting, Jonah, I’ve seen you at work. I’ve seen how you care for that town and those people. Seen how seriously you take your calling.’

  ‘Likewise.’ Jonah looked him straight in the eye. ‘But is that all there is? Is this our lives now? Hiding us? Hiding whatever the fuck we are?’ He didn’t seem to care that he was using such language in a chapel in a cathedral. At least he still kept his voice to a whisper. ‘And for what?’ he barrelled on. ‘Is that really the thanks I get for taking care of that community? Does taking care of them mean never having what I want for myself? That I’m not allowed the same happiness I protect for others year in and year out?’

  Matthew was taken aback with what he was hearing. ‘Are you truly saying that, that I’m what you want for
yourself? That I could be your … happiness?’

  Jonah looked down at his hands in his lap. Everything about him seemed suddenly heavy.

  ‘Here.’ Jonah reached into the interior of his tunic and pulled out a small notebook, handing it to Matthew. ‘Just, here. Read this.’

  Matthew recognised the book straight away. ‘But this is your policeman’s notebook!’

  ‘Yeah, well. I don’t mean to read me police notes. I mean—’ Jonah flipped over several pages while Matthew held it. ‘Here. From this bit on. Wrote it while I was waiting around in court. I think it explains everything. Hope it does, anyway.’ Jonah then pushed himself along the pew, just a foot or so, making a gesture of giving Matthew a little privacy for reading.

  Matthew furtively cast his gaze about, then began reading from the instructed place.

  Waiting for my turn in the box. A thousand things going on in me head. It’s so busy up there these days. So I’m going to try writing a few of them down here, and maybe I’ll let you have a read of it one day. One day not far away, I’d hope.

  That first occurrence of the word “you” screwed Matthew to the spot. These pages had been written with him in mind, he realised. Waiting in court, Jonah had taken to his notebook to address Matthew directly, not merely pen some bored journal entry to while away the time.

  I think of being with you. More than I probably should. Never would’ve thought things would or could go how they have, but I thank whatever it is looking out for me that it HAS all gone like this.

  I don’t just think of being with you tonight or tomorrow or next week or whatever either. I think about a year from now. Five years. Ten. More, if I’ve got them. (And if you’d have me.)

  I’ve even sort’ve started planning out the how. Just daydreams at first. Flights of fancy whilst I was in the saddle or chopping wood or whathaveyou. But the daydreams got bigger. Complicated. (well, it was always gonna be THAT I guess, things being as they are)