Worth Fighting For

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  ‘Do you think they followed?’ Philippe panted as they tried to get their breath.

  ‘No, I think they ran off,’ Marlon replied. ‘Might track us, though. Speaking of which, why did you choose this way?’ he asked Joseph.

  ‘Big footprints,’ Joseph explained, wide eyed as he saw the source. ‘I was following him,’ he said, pointing.

  ‘Who?’ Junie asked, lifting her aching head off the tree she was leaning on, but Tooh answered for him.

  ‘Kuji.’

  She blinked through the shadows towards a rock not twenty feet away and there, in what remained of his Australian corporal’s uniform, sat the ghost at last. His hair was matted in a long tangle, his beard obscured most of his face, and his arms and legs appeared so tanned he was more brown than white. But his eyes held a familiar man’s soul and it was very real, indeed.

  ‘Michael,’ she breathed.

  Then for the second time that day, Junie’s world turned black.

  Forty-nine

  ‘Still nothing?’ Joseph asked, returning from filling the canteens. ‘Not one word,’ Marlon told him, trying again. ‘I said the uniform is familiar. Remember? Up in Wau?’

  Michael was hungrily eating the biscuits they’d given him but was seemingly disinterested in anything else and Junie was watching everything he did in stunned shock, reaching out every now and then to touch him, but dropping her hand when he flinched. There was a nasty scar running from his temple to his neck and Marlon wondered when it had occurred. He was wondering a lot of things, as were they all, but one thing was for certain: something was deeply, terribly wrong.

  ‘Did you walk in here or is this where you landed?’ Philippe asked.

  Marlon pressed too. ‘Michael, where’s the wreck? Did anyone else survive?’

  But there was no response. Marlon asked Felix his opinion.

  ‘He seems to have some kind of head injuries from the fall, presuming that’s how he got here. Maybe combined with shell shock,’ he guessed, watching Michael intently as he rummaged for more food. ‘It’s hard to say. I’ve seen plenty of similar patients at the veteran’s hospital in Hong Kong. They just can’t cope, so they retreat into silence. He’s probably worse because he’s had no-one to talk to for so long.’

  ‘Can…can he be treated?’ Junie asked, fear evident as she stared at this faded version of the man they once knew.

  Felix hesitated. ‘Possibly.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he doesn’t seem to recognise either of you, for a start… and, he doesn’t respond to basic questions – hell, he probably doesn’t even realise the war is over,’ he said, handing Michael the canteen, which he looked at blankly. ‘John has some experience in the field so he might know more, and we’ll run some tests, but I can tell you right now, this is…well, it’s going to be a very long road.’

  ‘He hasn’t spoken yet,’ Marlon reminded her.

  ‘He…he said my name when I fell in the river. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Well, that’s a start,’ Marlon said softly and she looked at him with tears in her eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it is.’

  They walked into the night, making as rapid progress as they could, fearing more attacks, but none came, and Marlon finally called for them to stop.

  ‘We’ll have to rest,’ he said, and despite the dangers, no-one argued, falling to the ground and most asleep within minutes.

  Michael had followed them willingly enough and now he curled into a ball in the dirt and went instantly to sleep too as Junie watched him through drugged eyes. Her head and shoulder were throbbing and she wanted to sleep so badly that her body already felt like it was, but still her mind resisted. The shock washed over her in waves of residual adrenalin. Michael is alive. Michael is alive.

  ‘Come here,’ Marlon whispered as he lay nearby, reaching out his arm in understanding, and she fell against his chest, clinging to the man who would let her touch him.

  ‘Not dead,’ was all she could manage to say.

  ‘No,’ Marlon said, smoothing her hair. ‘Kuji is real all right.’

  She fell asleep as well then, feeling Marlon cover her tenderly with his jacket as she did so and move a respectable distance away.

  The moon rose over Shangri-La and the magic of the place filled her dreams. Michael floating here with the gods to live by a river of gold, where the forest fed him and the people revered him and no white man’s war could touch him. Shangri-La saving his life, after all.

  When morning came she felt stronger as the shock slowly began to fade. Yes, Michael was alive. The miracle she’d longed for all these years had come to pass.

  He lived right here, in paradise.

  Now all he had to do was leave.

  All the following day they walked until again they paused for sleep at night and throughout the journey, Junie fought for a sign of the man she knew. Marlon helped when he could. They used every trigger they could think of to pull something out from beyond whatever walls now surrounded Michael – photos, stories, even songs – but nothing registered, nothing except Digger. The dog wouldn’t leave Michael’s side and it was the only thing that made him smile; a small, vague little smile, but a smile just the same. And, as Marlon mumbled just before they fell into an exhausted sleep once more, that was a start…and it was better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick. That gave Junie a small, vague smile too.

  Next morning was thick with fog and Junie watched Michael as he flicked a brilliant feather around with his fingers. It was the only object he seemed to carry with him, apart from a crude sort of knife that he used at meal times, and she felt emptied of ideas as she observed him.

  ‘Wonder why he does that?’ Marlon said, watching him too.

  ‘Repetition can be very soothing to a disturbed mind,’ Felix told them. ‘They’re starting to use it as a kind of therapy. Meditation especially.’

  A disturbed mind, Junie repeated to herself. Is that what the doctors would term it? They were higher up now, nearly back to Wamena, and she watched the fog swirl its way across the valley, obscuring what lay there, blinding the viewer from any answers as to the mysteries of this place. Michael’s mind was likewise filled, she reflected, a thick fog lay across it she couldn’t dispel. Maybe no-one could, came the realisation and it frightened her.

  The confronting thought remained that afternoon as they finally arrived at Wamena and walked into the relieved arms of John, whose reaction soon turned to incredulity when he saw Michael.

  ‘The man you knew?’

  ‘The man we know,’ Junie corrected him.

  ‘Yes, of course, of course,’ John said, still staring. ‘Come, son, how about we get you some fresh clothes, eh? These look…worn.’

  He led Michael gently to the clinic, speaking to him in soft, calming tones as his patient looked about him in confusion. By Shangri-La standards, Wamena truly was civilisation. Junie took advantage of the simple indulgence of warm water, soap and clean towels as she washed up out the back. Then she ate a hot, welcome dinner at Marlon’s insistence, giving John time to examine Michael.

  ‘And how does he respond to photographs? Is there any sign he – oh, there she is.’ John paused, interrupting his discussion with Felix. ‘Your, uh, husband wants you to call him on the radio,’ he told her, pointing at it.

  ‘All right,’ she said, dreading the idea. Sooner or later she would have to face Ernest and Eliza and that whole farcical world, but right now the only thing that mattered was the injured man in front of her. And the man he used to be.

  ‘Can I have a word first, Junie?’

  She moved outside with John as the jungle prepared for night, the now familiar sounds of the nocturnal forest rising.

  ‘When did you say the plane went missing?’ he began, lighting his pipe.

  ‘Six years ago – 1943.’

  ‘Six years, eh?’ He puffed, nodding. ‘That’s a long time to be lost.’

  ‘Long time to grieve too,’
she told him.

  ‘I well believe it. Close friend, is he?’

  ‘Yes.’ She had forgotten momentarily that the doctor had no idea of her history with Michael. ‘His family will be completely beside themselves when they hear the news. When do you think he will be able to travel?’

  The doctor cleared his throat and resumed his pipe. ‘I think we should hold off on anything like that just yet – let him acclimatise himself first. Felix has agreed to stay on.’

  ‘I – I was hoping to take him home…’

  John looked at her with soft concern. ‘It’s probably better for you to go and break it to his family rather than stay here for now. It’s going to be bittersweet for them and it’s better coming from you.’

  ‘Of course. I can go to Port Moresby and be back in a few days.’

  ‘Make it a few weeks – in fact, why don’t you go home and tell them in person? Get that shoulder healed. See that daughter you’re missing so much.’

  ‘But what if…what if he needs me?’

  He sighed before answering. ‘Junie, this could take years…if, well, if we can help him at all. You do understand that, don’t you?’

  She didn’t, but she was trying to.

  ‘The best we can do for him is take things slowly here for a while. After that…’ He paused and she felt dread begin to build. ‘…I’m sorry but the only option is a hospital of some kind.’

  ‘No, I’ll take him to his home,’ she said, shaking her head firmly. ‘His family will want to look after him.’ As will I.

  ‘His family won’t be able to treat him. He’s nothing more than –’ he cleared his throat, ‘– he’s nothing more than a shell of a man, Junie. This is going to be painful for all of you.’

  ‘He can’t just be locked away like an animal.’ The image of a mighty elephant near a concrete pool passed through her mind.

  ‘I’ll make sure he is cared for kindly. I promise you.’

  ‘I know you will,’ Junie said. They all would. But nothing would change the fact that Michael would still be imprisoned in a room as well as his mind. Staring out at the jungle, she wondered if taking him from the valley was a mistake. At least there he had been free, in his own way.

  ‘Why don’t you say goodnight to him now?’ John said, patting her arm and packing his tobacco and pipe away. ‘He seems exhausted and so do you.’

  She nodded and waited until he left to compose herself for what she had to say. How much to reveal. If he would take anything in anyway. Probably not.

  ‘Hello, Michael,’ she said, walking into the clinic and sitting next to him as he stared out the window. She tried to take his hands but he pulled away. The same hands that once couldn’t wait for her touch, she reflected brokenly.

  ‘I…I thought it might be time to talk about your lighter.’

  There was no moment of recognition. He didn’t even look at it as she placed it between them on the bed, but she felt he was listening. Well, hoped.

  ‘The inscription was there to remind you…of me.’ She touched it, an old, wrenching pain twisting at her heart. ‘Do you recall that night on the beach at Burning Palms? When we went down to the shore, just the two of us? I still had a silly crown on, I think.’ She smiled a little. ‘And you and I…we made love for the first time.’

  He didn’t move; no expression, no flicker of memory. Just stillness.

  Junie felt her strength begin to fail her as the pain fell to despair and the wretchedness of the lonely years she’d spent longing to share these words with him was unleashed.

  ‘Michael, I loved you so much,’ she said, her voice breaking, ‘please…just show me some sign that you are still in there somewhere. Just something, anything…’ The tears flowed now, choking her. ‘You used to love me too once, but I – I had to marry Ernest instead. There was no choice because my parents were in so much debt. You must remember?’

  His once kind eyes were blank and that emptiness tore at her. That and the tragic truth that came with it. He didn’t remember. Burning Palms, the sacred night they shared, the stolen moments that followed that summer before life drove them apart. Those precious memories now belonged only to her, and that terrible knowledge twisted into the loneliest corners of her heart.

  Her voice was barely a whisper now against it.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry you’ve been through so much but please come back to me. Please. I need you.’

  But he remained silent, so she grasped his hands, desperate now.

  ‘Our daughter needs you. Michael, you’re a father – that night we made a baby. We have a child.’ The tears ran unchecked, the truth freed at last. ‘A beautiful little girl. I named her Francesca, but she prefers Frankie.’ Junie struggled to finish as their daughter’s face filled her mind. ‘She has your smile.’

  He pulled against her hands but she held on this time.

  ‘Ernest doesn’t know but I wanted you to…I tried to tell you before you went to war and I sent you a letter but I was too late. I’m sorry…I’m so, so sorry. Please tell me you can hear me now. Please!’

  She searched for any glimpse of the man she knew but there was only the mask-like visage of a broken soul, a deceptive facade that cruelly looked like the man she had loved but was strangely vacant inside. Michael back from the dead but not with the living.

  He pulled his hands harder now and they slipped from her grasp. And she had no choice but to let them go.

  ‘All right,’ she said, her mouth trembling. ‘It’s all right.’ She struggled to stand, fatigue overtaking her. ‘You just…you just have a nice sleep. I’ll be back in the morning and we’ll talk some more, okay?’

  He said nothing as she straightened her clothes, her body unsteady as she made one final plea. ‘If you are in there somewhere, I hope you can hear this at least: Michael, you don’t have to stay lost. Someone taught me that recently. You just have to know what you want.’

  But as she left she knew whatever that was, it was something Michael couldn’t share. And it wouldn’t be what she wanted to hear, even if he could.

  Outside the clinic, Marlon leant his head against the wall, his chest aching as he understood at last what drove Junie Farthington; what life had done to make her fight so hard for others. Why she loved her child so desperately – it wasn’t Ernest’s child at all, it was Michael’s, and she’d had to live with the lie, all these years. Forced to marry the wrong man for her family’s sake and watch the other march off to war, never to return.

  But mostly his chest ached because she loved that soldier still, a man who no longer existed in his own white skin. The Kuji. Not really of this world. Unable to love her back.

  No wonder Junie couldn’t find happiness – what she wanted was impossible.

  And happiness was denied him now too because he loved that lost girl. Which meant he had nowhere to start.

  Fifty

  Kuji watched the woman leave, the one they called Junie. A name he knew somehow. She had a dog, a big soft one that he thought he might have seen once as a pup. They knew him, the woman and the dog. And the big man with the sad eyes.

  He knew them too. They were part of the bad dreams. They lived under a bridge in the forest with the others. Where people screamed that name: Michael.

  He reached into his pocket and took out the crimson feather, its colour as brilliant as the day he’d found it on the forest floor.

  The woman should have it, he decided, placing it on his pillow before leaving.

  For some reason he thought she might like it.

  Fifty-one

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘We have to go after him. We have to find him!’

  ‘We’ll never find him, Junie.’

  ‘We found him before!’

  Marlon caught her trembling hand in his. ‘He found us, remember? We can’t hope to go back in there and hunt him down. You’ve seen how thick the jungle is, and how dangerous. It’s impossible.’

  ‘The only way we will ever see him again is if he wants it,’ Fel
ix told her. ‘If he walks out of that forest one day, remembering who he is and looking for help.’

  ‘It could happen,’ Joseph said, but they all knew it never would.

  ‘I drove him away,’ she sobbed. ‘I said too much.’

  ‘No, Junie. He wasn’t hearing anything you said; there was no comprehension.’

  Junie looked at John, her face stricken. ‘But now I…I’ve lost him twice.’

  The doctor shook his head sadly. ‘Michael was lost a long time ago. Let him live out his days in the way he can deal with them – simply, with the Kurelu. Not in some asylum or veteran’s home. You know that’s no kind of life for him, Junie.’

  ‘Life,’ she repeated, her eyes drawn to the forest once more. ‘Is that what he’s doing? Living down there?’

  ‘It would be no life at all in our world,’ Marlon said gently.

  ‘But his family – his mum and his dad and Dorn and Beryl. You don’t understand. They thought they lost both their boys in the war. They…they should get to see him again.’

  ‘You can go to them and tell them what you saw. You can give them that much,’ John reminded her.

  ‘Maybe they’ll come looking for him, maybe they’ll see there’s no point – either way, you’ll be giving them more than most ever get. You’ll be giving them an answer,’ Joseph said.

  ‘And a son, somewhere on this earth still,’ Marlon told her, opening her hand and placing the feather inside it. ‘Let him live there on his own terms, Junie. I think he was trying to tell us that in his own way. Let him go.’

  ‘Some people want to stay lost,’ Joseph reminded her and she knew now that it was true.

  Fifty-two

  The plane engine droned as they flew towards Port Moresby and Junie looked out as the wilderness gave way to civilisation, thinking Michael had fulfilled one dream for her at least: he had stayed in the pages of her favourite book; he had remained in Shangri-La.

  ‘What are you pondering over there?’ Marlon asked, and she turned to find him observing her.