by Peter Watt
‘Diane! Run!’ Matthew shouted as the echo of the shot rolled around in the shallow valley. Without hesitating, Diane broke into a sprint away from Matthew’s position, while at the same time the remaining two men scrambled for cover behind a ledge halfway up a slope, leaving the wounded boy in the open.
Matthew had chambered another round but the men were now out of sight and Diane had disappeared over the slope. Matthew swung his rifle onto the beardless youth, but could see that he was not an immediate threat. The boy stood holding a pistol and staring uncomprehendingly in Matthew’s direction before eventually making his way painfully up the slope to join his comrades.
It was time to move and Matthew considered getting above the men he had pinned down, but when he exposed himself briefly a couple of shots cracked rock over his head. It was obvious that both he and the Arabs were at a stalemate.
Suddenly a figure appeared from the enemy’s concealment and dashed up the slope to disappear on the reverse side. The sprint had been so quick Matthew did not have time to bring his sights on the fleeing figure and his shot went wild.
‘Englishman, you should not resist us,’ a voice called from the enemy position. ‘On my word I will not kill you if you surrender to us.’
‘Yeah, and pigs will fly,’ Matthew muttered, and responded by yelling, ‘Go to hell, Abdul.’
‘My name is Mohammad, not Abdul. That is an Ottoman name. We have no fight with you.’
Matthew lay back and considered his position. It was near midday and all he could do was stay alert until the sun set and then make his move. He prayed that Diane had escaped towards the road where Ben had promised to be waiting and hoped she would be safe.
The day passed with the occasional demand from Mohammad for him to surrender, and just as the sun began its slow descent in the west Matthew became aware that he could hear voices, and his hopes were dashed. They were speaking Arabic and, from what he knew of the language, they were looking for him. To confirm his dashed hopes he heard Mohammad call out to the voices. It was obvious that the man who had escaped had gone for reinforcements.
‘You are a dead man, Englishman,’ Mohammad called triumphantly. ‘If you are not already dead I will be there to see you die slowly at the hands of my brothers.’
Matthew knew that if the villagers were approaching they would probably appear on his open side or behind him. The situation was looking bleaker by the second, and all he could do now was hope that he went down fighting, because he knew of Bedouin torture methods from his experiences in the war.
A rifle shot hit the ground near his knee, spraying Matthew with dirt. The reinforcements were already taking up positions to pick him off. He swung around and levelled his rifle at a head he could see on the opposite side of the low ridge line, and fired. The bullet missed but forced the man to take cover. Suddenly Matthew felt a terrible thump to his upper left arm and a searing pain as if a red-hot poker had been inserted into his flesh. He was aware that his arm was dangling like a useless lump of meat, as the bullet had obviously shattered the bone. Another bullet struck the butt of his rifle, smashing it from his hands. He was now almost completely helpless as his rifle slid down the slope. He attempted to reach for his revolver with his right hand, but a figure loomed over him and a rifle butt blow to the head was followed by darkness.
When Matthew finally came around he was aware that his hands were secured behind his back and a circle of fierce-eyed, bearded men glared down on him. The Australian was consumed by the agony of his wound and simply hoped that his death would be quick. However, he knew that a merciful death would be denied to him and tears of pain and rage at his situation welled in his eyes.
‘You will wish that the bullet had killed you,’ a man wearing western clothing said in English. ‘You killed my brother, and I am the Mohammad that you insulted as an Ottoman.’
*
Sarah could hear the door knob to her bedroom rattle and a voice she knew call softly, ‘Louise?’
She struggled to sit up and shake off sleep. The door opened, and outlined in the light from the hallway she could see her father. Her horror rose when she saw that he was naked.
‘Father,’ Sarah said in shock, ‘you must return to your room.’
But George sat on the end of her bed and reached to pull down the bed sheet Sarah had drawn up to her chin.
‘Louise,’ George muttered. ‘We need to have another son.’
Then George ripped the sheet from his daughter and rolled on top of her.
Sarah screamed, struggling with all her strength to extricate herself, but her father was strong and she could feel his hands gripping the top of her nightdress and smell his breath on her face.
Suddenly her father was ripped backwards, and in the half-light Sarah could see her brother with his arm around her father’s throat, wrestling him from the bed. Both men fell to the floor, and George curled into a foetal position when Donald released his grip.
Stunned, brother and sister stared at the naked man on the bedroom floor.
‘What in hell happened?’ Donald asked Sarah, who had retrieved the sheet to cover her flimsy nightdress.
‘I don’t know,’ Sarah gasped. ‘I think Father has gone mad. He thinks that I’m Mother.’
‘Bloody good thing that I was here tonight,’ Donald said with a shudder. “Who knows what might have happened if I’d already moved out.’
‘What do we do with Father?’ Sarah asked in a frightened voice.
‘We call a doctor to see if he should be committed to an insane asylum,’ Donald replied. ‘I don’t know what happens after that.’
The family doctor arrived an hour later and examined Sir George still curled up on the floor of Sarah’s bedroom, whimpering like a child.
‘Your father may have had a nervous breakdown,’ the doctor said to Donald, wary of revealing the true cause of George’s mental state. ‘I will have an ambulance take him to hospital, where he can be treated for his condition.’
‘Shouldn’t he be locked up in an asylum?’ Donald asked.
‘For the moment I think that a stay in hospital with suitable treatment is the best option,’ the doctor answered. ‘Your father is an important man in Sydney and has great responsibilities. I think he should be treated first before we consider any incarceration in a mental institution.’ The doctor remained until the ambulance arrived. Sarah and Donald watched as it drove away with their father.
‘I know that Father will get the best treatment possible and be home soon,’ Sarah sighed.
‘You want him back after what happened tonight?’ Donald asked incredulously. ‘He almost raped you.’
‘But he’s sick in the mind,’ Sarah defended. ‘I know that he’ll get better and be his old self soon enough.’
Donald stepped back from his sister and stared at her. How could she defend him after what he had done to her? He shook his head in disbelief. She is definitely her father’s daughter, he thought.
The following day Donald did not move into his mother’s apartment as planned but appeared in the company office where he had a memo sent out to explain that his father had been hospitalised with a minor heart condition. The same memo called for a meeting of directors to address the issues that would arise, stating that he would take charge in his father’s absence.
‘Very good, Mr Macintosh,’ the old secretary said when Donald had dictated his memo for circulation. ‘Will you be using your father’s office?’
‘I think so, Mr Berriman,’ Donald replied. ‘I will trust that you are able to guide me in any complicated matters that may arise.’
Donald’s response brought a smile to the old secretary’s face. ‘Welcome to the company, Mr Macintosh,’ he said with genuine warmth.
‘When you are preparing the agenda for the board meeting I would like you to include the sale of Glen View to Mr Tom Duffy,’ Donald said, opening the door to his father’s office.
‘Very good, Mr Macintosh,’ Berriman said. ‘That will be
done.’
Donald walked into the spacious office and sat down in his father’s chair behind the big teak desk. He would write to Jessica in Queensland and inform her of his decision. He only wished that he could be a fly on the wall when she received the news. It would certainly prove his devotion to her and maybe unleash the passion he knew she felt for him.
*
Captain Matthew Duffy gritted his teeth and forced back the scream when the men staked him out on the earth in the gully. He had been stripped naked and they had wrenched his shattered arm deliberately, but Matthew was not going to give them the pleasure of showing his pain. Sweat was like an oily sheen on his face as he continued to fight the excruciating agony. From the corner of his eye he could see some of the group gathering dry grass and twigs. He guessed that they would slowly burn him alive, as they pushed the material beneath him with wide grins on their bearded faces and muttered curses upon his life in the next world.
Matthew forced himself to imagine the faces of Diane and James to distract himself from what was coming – but that did not work. The fear of feeling his flesh sizzling cut across his thoughts, and he knew it would do no good to beg for mercy – or a quick death.
He had counted at least nine men around him, and closed his eyes when he saw the man who called himself Mohammad pass the younger, wounded boy a twist of burning grass to apply to the tinder stacked around his body. The others broke into a chorus of encouragement to the boy as he approached with the burning torch. Although Matthew did not want to scream his agony he knew that he would when the flames began searing his flesh.
A volley of shots suddenly cut short the cries of encouragement. Matthew opened his eyes and saw the boy with the flaming torch collapse, his head shot away and the flames falling harmlessly into the desert sand.
Others of the party were desperately seeking shelter, but the well-aimed rifle shots picked them off until there was silence, broken only by the groans of a wounded man. A shot quickly followed and the moaning stopped.
Matthew twisted his head around and could see Ben approaching him down the gully, accompanied by the two Georgian brothers and the younger man. Behind them was Diane, who broke into a run, collapsing on her knees beside Matthew.
‘Oh, Matthew,’ she cried. ‘What have they done to you?’
Matthew tried to smile, but the pain was too great. ‘I’ll be okay after a hot shower, a cold beer and big plate of steak and eggs,’ he gasped.
‘We found Diane not far from where we were supposed to pick you up,’ Ben said, leaning over and untying the bonds securing Matthew’s wrists, while Diane untied those around his ankles. ‘She was stumbling out of the wilderness. She told us of your situation. Sorry we were a little late.’
Very gently, Ben assisted his father’s old friend to sit up. Matthew’s arm dangled at an odd angle. Blood welled from the wound but the artery did not seem to be damaged – a stroke of luck. The movement caused a terrible spasm of pain. The last thing Matthew remembered was the sound
of his own scream before he blacked out again.
*
When Matthew finally came to again he could smell chloroform or ether. Whatever it was, it reminded him of a hospital, and as his eyes focused he could see that he was indeed in a hospital bed. The first two faces he saw were those of Diane and his son, James, staring down at him with expressions of concern and happiness.
‘You’re awake, Dad,’ James said and Matthew could have sworn that he could see a tear in his eye. Diane leaned forward and kissed him.
‘See you two have met,’ Matthew croaked, a dull pain throbbing in his left shoulder.
‘I should have been with you,’ James said. ‘You need me, Dad.’
Matthew was touched by his son’s concern and delighted that he had gone from calling him ‘Father’ to ‘Dad’.
Matthew attempted to raise his left arm to reach out for Diane’s hand, and it was then that the shock hit him. His arm was gone!
‘The doctors were forced to amputate just below the shoulder,’ Diane said gently. ‘They couldn’t save your arm, but the most important thing is that you are alive.’ She paused for a moment. ‘And that you’re able to marry me.’
‘Do you really mean that?’ Matthew asked, forgetting about his arm for a moment.
‘Well, I have seen you naked, so I suppose I’ll have to marry you now.’ Diane tried to laugh while wiping away her tears with a handkerchief. ‘Of course I mean it, you old fool.’
‘Then I accept,’ Matthew answered and this time he raised his right arm to reach out and take her hand.
*
Within a week Matthew insisted on discharging himself from the Jerusalem hospital and was driven by Diane to Saul’s cousin’s residence, where he was given a warm welcome by his old friends, Saul and Ben. James was also at the house and a small party was thrown in Matthew’s honour, with the wine flowing freely.
Matthew drank sparingly. The phantom pains of his missing arm still nagged him and he fought to keep at bay the depression that he would never fly again.
‘You know I lost my kite,’ Diane said, joining him in the small courtyard away from the merriment of the party. ‘The German government have already seized my crate. I was hoping that you might have a position for a pilot with your airline.’
‘So, you have no intention of settling down after we are married?’ Matthew teased.
‘James has asked me to help him get his pilot’s licence,’ Diane answered, taking Matthew’s hand. ‘He’s a good boy and you can be proud of him,’ she continued. ‘With your permission I will take over his flight training. After all, I was fortunate to have had the best instructor in the world when I was learning all those years ago.’
‘I know I will never be able to take the controls again,’ Matthew said glumly, staring at the potted flowers resting on a stone shelf in the courtyard. ‘But I still have the Ford, so at least you have an aircraft to fly and I can fly a desk managing the company.’
Diane leaned forward and kissed Matthew on the lips. ‘Is there anywhere we can go for some privacy?’ she asked with a sly smile.
‘It just happens my old cobber Saul told me of a good hotel not far from here,’ he replied.
No one noticed the couple disappear.
27
The sadness was apparent. Matthew Duffy stood on the wharf at the Palestinian port of Acre with his son, waiting for him to board for his voyage to France, where he would take passage on a ship back to America. James had promised his grandfather that he would return, albeit many weeks overdue, and his studies at Harvard would not wait.
‘I’m pleased that you’re returning to finish college,’ Matthew said half-heartedly. ‘Before you know it, you’ll be a wealthy and successful lawyer.’
‘Grandfather wants me to join the family business,’ James said. ‘I don’t know if that’s what I want.’
‘I hope you’re not aspiring to be a pilot – you might end up flying some out of the way airline like me.’
‘Diane kindly offered to teach me to fly,’ James replied. ‘But I’ll take lessons back in the States. One day you might need me to help out.’
‘I appreciate your offer, but your life is back in the States. That’s where you belong,’ Matthew said.
A voice called for all passengers to embark. ‘Looks like it’s time to go aboard. I’ll miss you, Dad.’
Matthew wrapped his arm around his son’s shoulders and forced back the tears. They’d had too short a time together and there was still so much to say, but they’d been through a lot in the last couple of weeks and that had brought them so much closer.
‘Give your sister my love,’ Matthew said.
‘I don’t think she will be so forgiving,’ James laughed. ‘She’s missed having a father in her life but at least now I will be able to tell her all about you.’
Matthew dropped his arm away and James picked up his carpet bag. He turned and walked quickly to the plank where others were embarking. Matthew r
emained on the wharf as the ship pulled away, James standing on the upper deck, waving. Matthew stood watching the ship disappear from the harbour, and finally turned to walk away, wiping tears from his face.
Diane was waiting for him by the car.
‘He’ll return one day,’ she said, wrapping her arms around Matthew.
Matthew hoped she was right, but the hollowness in his heart remained. James was a fine young man and he had missed out on so many years with him. He’d just started to get used to the idea of being a father and now his son was gone again.
He kissed Diane on the cheek, grateful to have her to ease his sorrow.
*
‘He’s done what!’ Sir George Macintosh exclaimed from his hospital bed. ‘I will crush him.’
Sarah wondered if she had done the right thing informing her father of Donald scheduling Glen View for sale to Tom Duffy. Her father appeared to have recovered his senses very quickly; he seemed back to his old self again.
‘I have been told by the doctors that I am well enough to be discharged today, and intend to return to work immediately to displace Donald,’ George said. ‘He needs to be taught a strong lesson about who is really running the Macintosh empire.’
That evening George was brought by taxi back to his harbour residence where he was met outside by his daughter and the household servants.
‘Welcome home, Sir George,’ they said dutifully.
George brushed past them and walked through the front door to his home.
‘I have had your favourite meal prepared, Father,’ Sarah said, following him. ‘It’s good to have you home with us.’
George mumbled his thanks and went directly to his office and locked himself away. For better or for worse, Sarah thought, he is my father. He had not been in his right mind when he’d attacked her, and now he was himself again, things could go back to normal – although as a precaution she had had a lock installed on her bedroom door.
That evening Donald returned home and was met by his father at the door.
‘You do not enter these premises ever again,’ George said, barring the entrance. ‘I will organise to have your personal effects sent to you at your mother’s apartment.’
