Sebastian Carmichael

by Gary Seeary

  I gave Mum a hug and then shook Dad’s hand. They said they were doing well, and had news for Lettie and me, but didn’t describe it like Tiny did, more like they were holding something back in reserve.

  We all piled into Tiny’s old Chevrolet Superior that had been converted into something resembling a rough take on a farm carry-all. The makeshift seats were hard on the bum and a terrible smell was seeping out of the boot, but there was nothing better than seeing Lettie with her arms around Robbie, who had started to sing an old sea shanty, which he must have picked up in the asylum; so grateful things were different to what I had expected.

  *

  It was late when we arrived back home at the farm, Robbie heading immediately into his room, which left the rest of us the opportunity to talk about his ordeal. Dad did the perfect thing and brought out a cold bottle of his favourite Abbots Lager. We each found our place around the lace covered dining room table, Dad pouring a glass of beer for all except Mum, who said she would make herself a pot of tea in the kitchen.

  “I can’t tell ya how good it is to be home,” I said leaning back in my chair, finally able to relax. “Things have been like a roller-coaster in Melbourne lately, not all of it has been bad, though. What do you reckon about it, Lett?”

  “I don’t know how much Aunty May has told you,” Lettie said to Dad. “But, Seb helped me get a job at Melbourne Uni, in the kitchen of the King’s College with a lovely lady called Madeline. She’s helped me settle in along with some other college students, Seb and I have met. My first pay packet helped too.”

  Lettie had a sip of her beer and then hopped up to see if Mum wanted help in the kitchen.

  “May writes quite often, Seb and tells us things. Most of which, we don’t want to know,” Dad murmured, making me wonder exactly what Aunty May had put in these letters. “She reckons that you and Lettie are moving in different circles down there. I just hope you know what you’re doin’. It can be a trap for the unwary.”

  “Dad, there’s no way we could forget who we are,” I replied, slightly annoyed. “Aunty May would make sure of that, she’d soon tell us if our heads got too big … and you told me, never owe people money.”

  “I don’t like to say too much in front of your mum,” Dad whispered. “But, Vern and I have had to call in every favour we were ever owed to get us through the last few months, including to ask John Minacke, our local insurance assessor, who thankfully I used to play footy with, to give us something for the truck. He stuck his neck out a long, long way to get us enough folding stuff to put us near the black.”

  It appeared that things had turned around enough for Lettie and me to be able to return to the city on Monday, without having to worry about the folks for one, but I’d been around for long enough to know that things were never that simple.

  “What’s the good news, Tiny?” I asked. “I’m in suspenders.”

  Lettie and Mum returned to the dining room as Dad began to explain the complex turn of events.

  “After we were forced to place Robbie in the asylum, we didn’t know what to do. All we could do was hope that vindictive bloody preacher woman dropped her complaint to the police, but there was little chance of that. Fortunately, Robbie was settled into a dormitory with boys his own age at Annadale, and he says he was quite happy in there, completely unaffected by the screaming and yelling of patients from buildings nearby.

  “When we visited Robbie last Sunday, there was a group of doctors or the like, being shown around Robbie’s ward, talking to most of the boys, appearing likely they were being organised for something. Vern got a bit annoyed that they were ignoring Robbie, so he went up to the doctor who seemed to be in charge, asking him why he didn’t involve Robbie in all the fuss.”

  Then, Tiny jumped in, talking loudly over Dad.

  “I fronted him about Robbie, but this bloke wouldn’t take a backward step. He said he had to get a new special school up and running at Peaceful Creek within a week, and wouldn’t be put off by anyone or anything. He introduced himself as Dr Lesser, a child psychiatrist, and went about explaining the school’s aims and how he and a small group of colleagues had developed a new strategy for getting the best out of students with difficulties. He won me over completely when he said he would be living in a dormitory next to the new children’s ward at the hospital, and wouldn’t leave the kids unless he absolutely had to.”

  “He does seem like a solid man, Vern,” Dad said, taking charge of his story again.

  “The psychiatrist told Vern there were several reasons why he wasn’t taking Robbie with him, not the least being that the police didn’t want him to leave, but the main reason was that he wanted time to assess Robbie’s condition at length, saying he wasn’t sure if the asylum should have accepted him at all.”

  Dad took a solid swig of his Abbots before continuing.

  “The doctor said he had attended a seminar in Germany early last year, where there was an overall fear of being able to speak freely about psychiatric patients, which the ruling Nationalist-Socialists considered sub-human, but he said a young Austrian psychiatrist wasn’t afraid to speak to anyone after the seminar about a possible error being made in assessing learning difficulties, which I have written down, somewhere here.” Dad pulled a card out of his wallet.

  “I have it now, it’s called ‘Savant Psychopathy’, which was being misdiagnosed as a major condition he called ‘Autism’. The doctor said he thought Robbie may only have a learning difficulty that can be addressed with patience and a special education program, and later in life, may even develop skills beyond the average.”

  “That sounds great, Dad. So Robbie will be able to go to the school and still live here,” Lettie declared, encouraged like me about Robbie’s future.

  “It’s not that far to Peaceful Creek.”

  “There’s two problems, Lettie. One is that the police have to allow Robbie to leave the asylum, and that depends on the director of the asylum agreeing with the assessment of Dr Lesser, the second is, for Robbie to improve quickly he needs to live at the Special School until he is at least twenty.”

  “So, how come Robbie’s home now, if he’s not allowed to leave the asylum. Doesn’t make sense to me?” I asked, confused by the inconsistency of the people in charge of Robbie.

  “Apparently, it’s something they always do at Easter and Christmas. Robbie has to be back at Annadale before five on Monday afternoon. So, all we can do is wait for Dr Lesser,” Dad explained, with a fair degree of resignation in his voice.

  “Well, he’s here now. So, I’m gonna make the most of it. If he wants to read, I’ll read with him, if he wants to go for a walk, I’ll go with him. And I haven’t heard him sing before, that’s something new,” I stated, trying to inject some enthusiasm into the discussion.

  Soon conversation turned away from Robbie to events around the farm, the local comings and goings, and even Aunty May’s possible romance with the foreman. The catch-up continued until the wee hours of the morning but eventually the yawns told us we were done for the night and it was time to pull up stumps.

  *

  Saturday turned out to be somewhat of a wasted day with rain coming in sideways from the west, pushed by a gale force wind, ruining Mum’s plan for a leisurely picnic by the river. Everyone, except Robbie, ending up around the kitchen table playing cards, spinning yarns, and telling some of the funniest jokes I’d ever heard.

  Lettie and I took it in turns to tell watered down versions of some of the weird incidents that led to Lettie getting the job in Madeline’s kitchen, while polishing off cuppa after cuppa, as well as the cakes and sandwiches that Mum and Lettie had got up early to prepare. This was as hard as the day was going to get.

  Sunday morning, I helped Tiny move some of the sheep he and Dad had been bringing up to condition into another paddock, and some other odd jobs around the farm, while Dad took Mum into town to go to church. Dad still refused to go inside with her, blaming what happened to his brother in the Great War on
all the Christian faiths, who he said did nothing to stop the catastrophe.

  Mum and Lettie prepared a beautiful roast chicken lunch, so we used it as another fair excuse to loll away the afternoon by eating and drinking too much, while telling the same yarns that had already been trotted out the day before.

  After we had our fill of lunch, Dad told Robbie he could leave the room to study if he wanted. Robbie didn’t need to be told twice, and was off like a shot. When Robbie was safely in his room, Dad said he wanted to say something to the family before we cleared the table, and then waited patiently for our full attention.

  “It’s been a tough couple of months for all of us, that’s one thing we can agree on, so I think it would be clearly remiss of me, if I didn’t say something in the way of an apology for making things harder on everybody, than they needed to be,” Dad said faltering for a moment before continuing.

  “Setting fire to my truck was the stupidest, stupidest thing I have ever done,” his bottom lip started to quiver as he looked away from us.

  “Dad, you don’t have to. Everything’s all right now, isn’t it?” Lettie asked and then looked at me to see if I knew more.

  “No, nothing else can go wrong, Lettie,” Dad replied, barely holding himself together. “Just let me finish. I want to say sorry to you all.”

  “Edwin, Leticia’s right. You don’t have to apologise,” Mum jumped in. She was not known to say a lot, so when she speaks, everyone listens. “We know you only did it for Robert. He will get into Peaceful Creek, I firmly believe that. And, I also believe Dr Lesser has Robert’s best interests at heart. I’ve held my tongue for long enough, but now I have something to say.” Mum looked at Tiny, Lettie and then me, in order.

  “Leticia, you’ve been given a wonderful opportunity at the King’s College — so, stay there. Vernon and Sebastian, you both have jobs, many don’t. Look after what you’ve got. Also, Robert is your dad’s and my responsibility. So, let us put our house in order, our way.”

  Everyone was stunned into silence to hear Mum speak this way.

  “Righto, I’ve told everyone off now, so you kids can get up and do the dishes if that isn’t too much to ask. Dad and I have things we need to discuss.”

  All three of us not-quite-so-grown-up kids got up and quietly cleared the table and then toddled off to the kitchen. We had been told, without any doubt, that the folks would ask for our help, if, and when they needed it, and not before.

  Later on Sunday night at supper, everyone had a good laugh about how serious Mum had been in the afternoon. Lettie and I joked about how she had made us feel like we were ten again. But, Mum had made her expectations clear, she wanted us to act like the adults we had become.

  Robbie came out of his room after supper wanting Lettie and I to sing the sea shanty ‘Botany Bay’ with him before we went back to the city tomorrow. We were a hilarious musical act singing all the wrong words completely out of tune around the piano; the perfect note to end our last night at home.

  *

  The next morning, we reluctantly left the farm to catch the train back to the city. Lettie and I said our goodbyes to Mum, Dad and Robbie at home, telling them that everything would turn out fine with Dr Lesser’s help, and that we would write more often, instead of leaving it up to Aunty May to relay our news.

  Tiny took us to the train station, carrying Lettie’s canvas bag onto the platform, before saying: “I’ve been thinking about coming down to the city myself, if ya don’t mind a visitor. After all, Aunty May keeps asking me to come and stay, in every one of her letters,” Tiny said.

  Lettie and I winked at each other and said that we’d come across some places in town during the last four weeks that would scare the pants off him.

  Tiny replied that nothing in the city could ever scare him, but I guaranteed him he wouldn’t say that, if he had seen the display a set of twins put on at the ‘Red Square’.

  “Or some students at a university debate,” Lettie added.

  Lettie and I talked our heads off, all the way back to the city, excited and positive about Robbie and the brighter prospects back home.

  As we stepped from our carriage on the ‘Spirit’ onto the packed platform of Spencer Street Station, washed-out from our trip, the first person we noticed, stood head and shoulders above the rest.

  It was Charlie, looking down in the mouth.

  This wasn’t a complete surprise, although Lettie and I expected Charlie or Elaine would come around a little bit later after we returned to let us know that William had gone, and maybe ask us the awkward question; if we knew he was leaving, or where he was going.

  Lettie and I hated lying to anyone, especially people we really cared about, like Elaine and Charlie, but we couldn’t see any way around this without telling a white lie; if only for the sake of not making William’s leaving any harder than it was.

  “Charlie, how ya doing? You didn’t have to come and meet me at the station,” Lettie shouted as Charlie approached, slightly overdoing it.

  “I’ll be seein’ ya tomorra’ at the uni.”

  “I’ve got some news for ya both,” Charlie murmured, preparing us for what we knew was coming. “I think it’s bad news, but anyway. William has left for Spain. He says he’s not going there to fight, though he would not ease our minds beyond that. He says he will return to Elaine, and us, of course.”

  “This is terrible, Charlie. How is Elaine? She must be beside herself with worry,” said Lettie quietly.

  “She found out Friday morning, in a letter William left under her door. She cried for the next two days but she was better yesterday, and today. Now she seems resigned to it, even angry at him. I think it would be for the best, Lettie, if you could wait for a day or so, before going to see Elaine. She’s not returning to lectures until Wednesday.”

  Charlie stopped, and then shook his head. “I just don’t know what’s got into him. Maybe, he wants to see things firsthand, that’s all I can think of … sorry for hitting you with news like this as soon as you step off the train, but I felt you should hear it from a friend.”

  “Thanks, Charlie,” I replied. “It’s hard to understand why he would want to go to Spain when he has so much to stay here for. I just hope he does what he has to do and then comes back quickly, in one piece.”

  “We all do, Charlie,” Lettie added. “I’ll go and see Elaine later in the week, she may feel better by then. I just wish William could have thought about …” Lettie’s voice faded as she looked down at the ground.

  “I’ll leave you to get back to your aunt’s,” Charlie mumbled to himself, appearing done in. “Sorry again for ruining your return.”

  “No, you haven’t Charlie, not at all,” I insisted before shaking his hand.

  “Thanks for coming down to let us know,” Lettie said and then gave him a peck on the cheek, before saying we would stay in touch.

  Charlie headed quickly toward the front of the station, Lettie and I followed slowly behind.

  12

  * * *

  ‘Coming of Age’

  There were three loud knocks on my flyscreen door, and then, “Grub, are ya there?”

  It was Lettie calling out to me from just outside my digs, late Saturday afternoon.

  “Yeah, Lett,” I replied casually. “What d’ya want?”

  “Can ya come downstairs, straight away? I have someone I’d like ya to meet.” And then after a second, “And be on ya best behaviour,” she said giving the screen door a small whack as she left.

  I jumped off my bed, the only thing I could think of was that Lettie’s new beau must have dropped in to meet Aunty May and me.

  Bugger! I’m probably too late to see the look on Aunty May’s face when she first notices the age of this fella.

  I was glad for this diversion though, little had happened in almost a month since our return to the city after Easter, little except the news of Madeline’s husband, Leo clearing out.

  Two weeks after Easter, Madeline found a not
e after work on her kitchen table, hastily written by her husband, stating that he was going back to Queensland for work, but no mention of when, or if, he might be returning.

  I told Lettie it was no surprise to me that he would do something like that to Madeline. Lettie said Bernadette was heartbroken that he had gone.

  *

  “Look, Sebastian! Leticia has brought a man around for us to meet,” Aunty May announced, stating the obvious as I walked in through the screen door of her kitchen, to see Lettie standing next to the communal table, holding tightly onto the right arm of the older man she had danced with at the Parmenter’s soirée.

  I looked him up and down as he stood tall and confident next to Lettie and realised his older-than-thirty-years appearance had more to do with his receding hairline than to any other obvious signs of aging. I was relieved that he wasn’t overly dandy, looking relaxed in a light grey suit, and a green Windsor knot tie hanging long over a brand new white shirt.

  “Pleased to meet you …” I began, before the man jumped in.

  “Call me, Walter … Walter O’Neill,” he said and then leant forward to shake my hand. I half expected to hear an Irish accent with a name like O’Neill, but to the contrary he had a faint hint of an English one.

  “Are you originally from Melbourne, Walter?” I asked, trying to pin down his accent.

  “No, I grew up in Newcastle, my parents are still there. I’ve been down in Melbourne for over ten years though, so only ten years to go before I become a local.”

  Against my will, I was already taking a liking to this fellow, and as I watched Lettie whisper something in his ear, I knew it was only a matter of time before Walter became everything in her life.

  “Walter is taking Leticia out for a walk around Carlton Gardens this afternoon, Sebastian, but I insisted they have a cup of tea first, so we can get to know Walter better,” Aunty May declared, while turning to look directly at me, as if she wanted me to keep asking questions.

  “Well, sit down then.”