While the Moon Burns

by Peter Watt

  Johnson did not hear the crack of the rifle but felt the sting of earth erupting between his legs. He leaped sideways in terror and screamed, ‘He tried to kill me. Open fire! Open fire!’

  ‘If Tom had wanted to kill you,’ the police sergeant said calmly, bringing his skittering horse under control, ‘you’d be on the ground with a bullet between your eyes.’

  Johnson retreated behind the party of mounted police, most of whom were looking very nervous. They reached for rifles in their saddlebags, and awaited their commander’s orders. Smith glanced at his men.

  ‘No need to draw our weapons, lads,’ he said calmly. ‘I suggest we pull back into the trees over there and discuss our next move.’

  The police followed, dismounting amongst a small copse of spindly trees, out of sight of the hill.

  ‘Well, Mr Johnson, I think you have your answer as to whether Mr Duffy is going to comply with this bit of paper I have in my possession. Do you have any suggestions?’

  Johnson did not answer immediately, still visibly shaken by his very close call. ‘We need to call in reinforcements to assault the hill.’

  ‘With all due respect, Mr Johnson,’ Smith said, ‘we don’t have the manpower, and as a former soldier who served on the Western Front I can tell you now that one man in such a superior tactical position can hold off a small army before he is captured or killed. Is it worth the price for nothing more than an eviction order?’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, you’re the legal representative of the King, and it’s your duty to carry out the wishes of the court,’ Johnson answered, brushing down his trouser legs to remove the dirt thrown up by the bullet. ‘He’s defying you, and laughing at us from his hill.’

  ‘I might be able to talk some sense into Tom,’ Smith said. ‘We’ve been cobbers for a while. As a matter of fact, we served on the same fronts during the war.’

  ‘It seems to me, Sergeant, that you’re too close to the man to be able to carry out your sworn duty,’ Johnson said. ‘I think it’s time someone more capable be employed to do what you appear to be incapable of doing. Rest assured your woeful conduct here today will be reported to the appropriate authorities.’

  ‘Suit yourself, Mr Johnson,’ the police sergeant said. ‘But I do not intend to endanger the lives of my men over such a piddling civil matter.’

  ‘What about the shot Duffy fired at me?’ Johnson asked.

  ‘The rifle might have gone off accidentally,’ Smith replied with a shrug. ‘After all, Tom only has one arm, and that makes it difficult to handle a Lee Enfield.’

  ‘As you can only find excuses for the man I doubt remaining here will be of any use. We may as well return to Glen View,’ Johnson said with resignation.

  Even as he spoke he was already formulating a plan to remove Tom – and it would be done outside the law. With her wealth and power, Sarah had been able to influence the courts to appoint the former British policeman to his current role as the caretaker manager of Glen View. But the court officials did not know he was well paid to obey her orders. This was a big country, Johnson smiled to himself, where people disappeared very easily.

  *

  After being transferred from the hospital ship off the coast of Tarakan and flown south in a specially equipped Dakota transport aircraft Lieutenant Donald Macintosh found his final medical facility to be in his home city of Sydney, near the Parramatta River. It was the 113th Australian General Hospital, newly built in the suburb of Concord to accommodate wounded servicemen. Donald lay in a bed, having nearly forgotten the feel of clean sheets and the taste of good food. But at night he would hear men crying and yelling in their sleep, dreaming of a war that seemed to never end. He wondered if he made the same noises when he slept and re-lived that split second the mortar bomb exploded.

  By morning, the chatter and clatter of the ward made him feel lonely. He could not forget his men, north in the rotting jungles, in that place of sudden death and mutilation. His face was swathed in thick bandages and his left hand was still painful after surgery to remove the shrapnel.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Macintosh,’ a cheery voice said from the end of his bed. Donald focussed on an army nursing matron who was holding his medical treatment record that had been attached to the end of his bed. ‘I see we’ll be removing the bandages today to ensure your wound has not become infected. Ah, Doctor Capstan is here now.’

  Donald turned his head to see a white-coated man in his middle-age approach, a nurse trailing behind.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Macintosh,’ he said. ‘We’ll remove the bandages, nurse,’ he said, and the young woman stepped forward with a metal kidney bowl and scissors. Very gently she cut away at the swathe of cotton until the two halves fell away.

  The doctor leaned forward to peer at the tissue of Donald’s face. ‘Hmm, the wound appears to be healing well. No sign of infection at all. Bloody marvellous drug, penicillin. I think there is no reason to replace the bandages. We’ll continue to monitor the healing. With any luck, we’ll have you on your feet in a couple of weeks.’

  Donald could not help but notice the change in the young nurse’s expression when she stripped away the bandages. It was something akin to horror or shock.

  ‘May I see the result, Doctor?’ he asked.

  ‘Before you do, Mr Macintosh, you may be a bit upset at what you see, but we have plastic surgeons who do wonders these days. We learned a lot from the last war,’ the doctor said. ‘Nurse, please fetch a mirror.’

  She hurried away to return within moments with a small, hand mirror that she passed to the doctor. Donald was aware the nursing matron had taken hold of his hand as the army doctor held up the mirror.

  Donald squeezed the matron’s hand when he saw his reflection, and knew there were some things worse than dying.

  ‘At least you still have your vision,’ the doctor said, attempting to console Donald, who hardly heard him.

  There was a hideous monster staring back at him. He would never be the same again.

  ELEVEN

  Shrapnel had done serious damage to Donald’s hand, and a pretty Red Cross nurse was assigned as his occupational therapist. Donald stood in a large, airy hospital room in his pyjamas, staring out the window at the sun shining in a perfectly blue sky.

  ‘Lieutenant Macintosh, I need to see how much flexibility you have in your left hand,’ the nurse said.

  Donald held out his hand and attempted to make a fist, but was unsuccessful. The nurse took his hand and examined the healed but badly scarred flesh. She pressed open his fingers and Donald forced himself to restrain from expressing the pain she had inadvertently caused.

  ‘It’s all right to feel some pain, Mr Macintosh,’ she said sympathetically. ‘May I call you Donald? We are both the same rank.’

  Donald nodded.

  ‘My name is Rosemarie,’ she continued, as she kneaded the palm of his injured hand.

  ‘So, is basket-weaving next?’ Donald said.

  Rosemarie looked sharply at him. ‘Only if you wish,’ she said, and Donald regretted his facetious statement when he heard the anger in her voice.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘There’s no need for an apology,’ Rosemarie replied. ‘You’ll have to get used to dealing with your wounds.’

  ‘And this,’ Donald said, half turning his disfigured face to her.

  Rosemarie shook her head. ‘You’re alive and still have a face our plastic surgeons can work on. Some of my patients have no faces at all. Some have no legs or arms, so you have got off pretty lightly, considering all things.’

  Donald looked more closely at the Red Cross nurse. She had short blonde hair and very blue eyes. He wondered if any woman as pretty as her could ever again look at him with the same expression of acceptance.

  ‘So, where do we go from here?’ Donald asked.

  ‘I can work on a program to
assist you get your hand working again,’ Rosemarie said. ‘But I think you should also speak with our resident psychiatrist.’

  ‘What’s a trick cyclist going to do for me?’ Donald said. ‘Tell me my bad attitude was caused because my mother didn’t love me? My view of the world right now is coloured by the fact that I’m a physical curiosity who will frighten women and children with this face.’

  ‘Maybe our good doctor will attempt to convince you to come to grips with your injury,’ Rosemarie answered calmly. ‘You still have many years of life ahead of you.’

  A second Red Cross nurse entered the room. She was a captain and looked directly at Donald. ‘Mr Macintosh, you have a visitor in the anteroom,’ she said.

  Donald looked at Rosemarie and shrugged. He was not expecting visitors because his real family was back in the hellhole called Tarakan. The only visitor he had had since his transfer to Concord hospital was Sean Duffy. His visit had lifted Donald’s spirits as they could talk together about the horrors of war.

  Donald excused himself and went to the anteroom where he saw his sister Sarah, standing with her hand on her hip and smoking a cigarette in a slender holder. She turned when he entered the room. Donald could see the shock on her face.

  ‘My God! Donald,’ she exclaimed. ‘You look horrible. I hope my friends don’t get to see you.’

  Donald was not surprised at her response; he had long learned his sister had no empathy for others. ‘You could have spared yourself the horror by not visiting me. I doubt you have any real friends, and I don’t think you’re here out of sisterly concern.’

  Sarah walked over to a leather couch and sat down under a portrait of the King. Donald walked over to a window to once again gaze at the gardens outside. Life looked so normal back in Sydney, as if there were no war going on anywhere. His sister was wearing a very chic dress and high heels, her lips a glossy bright red. Clearly the privations of war did not apply to her.

  Sarah tapped her cigarette on an ashtray and took a long puff before answering. ‘That’s not completely true,’ she said. ‘As soon as I heard from a friend in the government that you were wounded and being evacuated back to Sydney, I made enquiries as to where you would be rehabilitated.’

  ‘That was weeks ago,’ Donald snorted.

  ‘I was waiting until you were in better health before I came,’ Sarah said, but Donald did not believe her. ‘I have a reliable source who informed me you’ll be medically discharged in the next few months. He even told me on the quiet that you’ve been approved for the Military Cross for whatever you did wherever you were.’

  ‘The army’s way of compensation, I suppose,’ Donald said, surprised by his sister’s news. ‘The place was an island called Tarakan, and all I did was my job. There were many others who deserved the award more than me.’

  ‘But you’re a Macintosh and they know that in Canberra,’ Sarah said. ‘Which brings me to the subject of what you’ll do when you’re demobilised.’

  ‘I haven’t thought that far,’ Donald replied. ‘I suppose I should return to my old job in the family companies.’

  Sarah stood up and paced across the room in her high heels as she puffed on her cigarette. ‘That might not be wise,’ she said without looking at her brother. ‘With your scarred face, that may prove counterproductive to the wholesome image we wish to project.’

  ‘Image?’ Donald snarled. ‘Beautiful people doing a beautiful job of making money on the backs of men giving up their lives for the country?’

  ‘Calm down, Donald,’ Sarah said, turning to him. ‘You have to understand the war will end soon, and people will want to forget the last few years. I’m sorry, but your face is a reminder of those times people want to forget.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Donald exploded, walking towards Sarah, and thrusting his face towards her. ‘Do you think I asked for this? It might have suited everyone if I was killed, and not just wounded.’

  Sarah backed away nervously. ‘I can understand that you’re upset at your unfortunate situation, but I have to think of keeping the Macintosh name at the forefront of business. I’m sure you can understand how important the family legacy is.’

  ‘The bloody family! The family has robbed and murdered its way to the top,’ Donald said angrily. ‘You only have to look back at the founding of Glen View to see how our illustrious ancestors slaughtered a bunch of harmless people living on their own land to see that. At least the land has now gone back to a man rightfully placed to own it.’

  ‘I can see you’re not aware that we’ve placed an order against Mr Duffy for his illegal purchase of Glen View with stolen money,’ Sarah said. ‘The courts have declared that until the matter is settled, he is to vacate Glen View. We have installed a temporary manager until the matter is settled.’

  ‘You’ve what?’ Donald couldn’t believe it. ‘David and I voted that we accept Tom Duffy’s offer to purchase before I went away. Has Tom complied with your unscrupulous court order?’

  ‘Er, no,’ Sarah replied. ‘My last telegram from Queensland informed me that he’s armed and holding out on a hill on the station.’

  Donald broke into a wide grin. ‘Good on Tom,’ he said. ‘Tom’s a warrior, he won’t go down without a fight.’

  ‘Your attitude about the matter only reinforces my belief that you do not have what it takes to be a good member of the Macintosh board,’ Sarah said. ‘You’re obviously not aware that there are rumours Mr Duffy may have made his fortune after the last war using stolen diamonds. My investigators are currently trying to find a man close to him, Jack Kelly, and when they do we’ll have him put before a court to testify how Tom Duffy made his illegal fortune. I’m sure the truth will come out and Mr Duffy be treated as the criminal he really is.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with how Tom Duffy made his fortune,’ Donald said, walking to the leather couch Sarah had vacated. ‘It’s all about revenge for losing to David and me. It’s as if you and father are still together, and cannot admit to defeat against a perceived weak brother and detested cousin.’

  ‘I do not detest David,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s a matter that must be rectified. Glen View has – and always will be – Macintosh land. Our family fought for years to keep the property in our name, and not see it go to some thieving Aboriginal!’

  Donald just shook his head. He could see in her eyes that she was grimly determined to regain the property. It was not as if Glen View was unique – the Macintosh companies owned many properties stretched across Queensland and New South Wales. Their agricultural return was not as great as their return from property development and banking.

  ‘I think it’s time I return to my basket-weaving,’ Donald said, rising from the couch. ‘I might return to my old office when I’m demobbed from the army.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea,’ Sarah said as he walked towards the door. ‘You will not be welcome.’

  Donald raised his injured hand above his head in a parting salute.

  Donald returned to the dayroom where Rosemarie was working with a soldier in a wheelchair who had lost both legs and an arm.

  ‘I think, after all, I have a use for our resident trick cyclist,’ he said with a grim smile as she kneeled in front of the wheelchair.

  Rosemarie glanced up at him.

  ‘Not me – my sister,’ Donald said. ‘She’s badly in need of psychiatric help.’

  *

  The constellations wheeled slowly over the sacred hill. Tom sipped his mug of hot tea, gazing up at them. Beside him, Billy sharpened his knife on a whetstone.

  ‘You think you should go to the whitefella court, boss?’ he asked, testing the edge of the blade by the flickering campfire.

  ‘I would lose,’ Tom said. ‘After all, the Macintosh lawyers will point out I’m really a blackfella, and thus not really entitled to any legal rights.’

  ‘But you have fought in two whit
efella wars an’ the government people give you medals,’ Billy persisted.

  ‘They will turn a blind eye to all that,’ Tom said, taking another sip of his tea. ‘They might even try and use the fact that in the last war I enlisted under false pretences as an Indian.’

  ‘I know blackfellas who went away to war,’ Billy said. ‘The government looked the other way.’

  ‘Yeah, and where are they now?’ Tom countered. ‘I knew one cobber who was forced to go back to the mission station after he was demobbed and not allowed to drink with his whitefella cobbers on Anzac Day.’

  Billy slid the sharpened knife into a leather sheath on his belt and looked up at the magnificent display of stars. ‘Ol’ Wallarie up there,’ he said confidently, ‘he look after us. Wallarie stand by us when the whitefellas come again.’

  Tom finished his tea and rolled out his swag. Billy would stand guard for a few hours, and then Tom would relieve him, until the sun once again rose over the brigalow plains.

  Tom lay back against the earth, thinking it strange that he should survive two world wars, only to face the possibility of death while fighting a private war no one really knew about.

  *

  Edgar Johnson badly wanted to lie down and sleep. The railway trip from Queensland had been aboard a troop train, and the men returning from the jungles of the Pacific to their loved ones had been in a festive mood all night. Sleep had been out of the question and upon arriving at Sydney Central Station he would rather have gone to a hotel for a hot bath and a soft bed but he had a mid-morning appointment with his employer, Sarah Macintosh.

  Johnson gripped his carpetbag and hailed a taxi that delivered him to the Macintosh offices. He sat in the foyer until he was announced and called upstairs to face the very young, beautiful and formidable woman to whom he had to explain his lack of success in evicting Tom Duffy from Glen View.