The Gospel According to Luke (3 page)

Mal put a finger to his lips. ‘You don't tell him about the ciggies and I won't tell him about the smoked salmon at the Red Cross fundraiser.'

‘I was drunk and it was dark.' Aggie had known after the first bite that the tiny cross-shaped sandwiches contained salmon, and she had not only swallowed the morsel already in her mouth but had proceeded to eat five more. Mal, who was vegetarian only when Will was looking, had been delighted to smell salmon on the breath of Aggie, the only person he knew who was more sanctimonious about her intake of animal products than Will.

‘No excuse for slaughtering innocent salmon, Ag. None at all.' Mal took a Mars Bar from his desk and unwrapped it slowly, lovingly. He grunted and half of it disappeared in one bite. He chewed with his mouth open and moaned with delight. If it wasn't for the receding hairline and waistline blubber anyone would think he was fourteen years old.

She took a soy protein bar from her desk drawer and bit into it with theatrical relish. She chewed and swallowed, pretending it did not taste like cardboard soaked in vinegar and nutrasweet.

‘Do you want to know about my meeting with the Bible Basher or what?'

Mal mumbled something through a mouthful of chocolate and caramel.

Aggie put the protein bar back in her drawer. She wasn't hungry enough for the taste not to bother her.

‘The head bloke is, like, ten years old, dressed like something out of
Young Talent Time
. He talked tough, but he's just enthusiastic about his shiny new
grown-up job, I think. If he doesn't settle down in a week or so, we'll go over his head. Send a letter to the head office threatening legal action.'

‘Why wait?'

‘Goodwill. We have to live with them right across the street. No point getting into a legal stoush if it's not absolutely necessary.'

‘Aggie Grey talking about goodwill toward fundies and eating smoked salmon at balls,' Mal said. ‘Your mother would disown you.'

Joe lived in the covered doorway of a long-abandoned drycleaners in the same street as Aggie's office. Over the years Aggie had known him he'd been placed in homes and hostels a dozen times by various religious and government social workers, but he was never gone from his doorway for more than a week or two. He drank, which was no surprise, but unlike many of the street alcoholics who drank for warmth and rest, he was a mean, filthy drunk. He drank and cursed, drank and threw bins through windows, drank and defecated on picnic tables. Joe was the first person Aggie introduced work experience kids to; meeting him killed any romantic notions about the nobility of
homelessness or the warm-fuzziness of working with the destitute.

Aggie checked on Joe every night. If he was conscious she would ask him how he was and if he needed anything. Invariably, he would tell her to go fuck herself. If he was unconscious she would hold her breath and bend in close to check if he was breathing. She always hoped for an unconscious but breathing Joe; even the foulest of human beings were loveable when asleep.

Tonight he was on his side, his legs curled up toward his stomach, one arm stretched out in front. Aggie steeled herself for the stench of vinegar wine and unwashed flesh and crouched down. The stink was fouler and stronger than normal and his outstretched arm was convulsing.

‘Joe?' Aggie picked up his arm and felt something warm and sticky. ‘Shit! Joe, can you hear me?'

She reached for her mobile, but then remembered the battery was dead. She yelled out for help, but had no expectation of being heard. All the shops and offices had closed hours ago.

Bile spilled from Joe's mouth and onto Aggie's leg. His arm continued to spasm between her hands; if she put it down he would injure himself further on the concrete. She glanced up and down the street, but it was late and no one walked through here after dark. Joe's convulsions were intensifying and she was afraid he'd fracture his skull. Aggie kept hold of his arm and
lifted his head onto her leg. He was a dead weight but her office was close. She thought she could make it there and call an ambulance.

‘Joe? I'm going to lift you up, okay? It might hurt for a second, but I promise it will be better soon.' Aggie slid out from underneath him. Immediately, Joe's head thumped into the concrete. He reared up and fell down again, falling heavily to the ground.

‘Have you called an ambulance?'

Aggie spun around. The boy pastor stood, phone in hand. She shook her head and he began punching the keys. While he talked to the emergency operator Aggie set to work making Joe more comfortable. He was small and withered but heavy with unconsciousness, and his convulsions made him difficult to move.

‘Slide over.' Luke Butler lifted Joe's legs and placed them on his own lap. The man lay like a plank across Aggie and Luke's laps, their four hands holding him still. ‘Ambulance is on its way.'

‘Thanks.' Aggie pulled a tissue from her pocket and tried to staunch the bleeding from Joe's elbow. The tissue was quickly soaked, but Luke pressed a handkerchief into her hands, and while she held that to the wound, he worked his right shoe off with his left foot, raised his shoeless foot up over Joe's legs and removed his sock.

‘Hold the hankie there – it's much cleaner than this.' Aggie did as he asked, and Luke worked around her hand, binding the elbow with his thick black sock.
‘Pathetic!' he said, chuckling. ‘But it's better than nothing, I suppose.'

Sirens filled the air and they shared a brief, grateful smile. Then the paramedics were upon them lifting their burden, firing off questions to which Aggie had few answers. One of the men noted her name and work address in a book while the other strapped Joe in.

‘Thanks,' Aggie said again when the ambulance had gone. ‘You saved me having to lug the old bastard down the street.'

Luke smiled. ‘You should carry a phone. It's dangerous around here at night.'

Aggie laughed, walking the few steps to stand under a street light. Blood on her hands, shirt, knee. Unidentified wetness on her lap, shirt, thighs. ‘I know this area. I know the dangerous people. They don't hurt me. But yes,' she said, ‘a working phone would have been helpful tonight.'

He grabbed her hand. ‘You're all bloody.'

‘Yeah. I got the messy end.'

He released her hand and stepped into the light. ‘You sure?' Aggie saw the large brown stain on his white pants. She laughed and so did he.

‘You don't seem bothered?'

‘Nah. I'm used to it. I worked outreach for years. In the Cross mostly. Of course, I never wore white then. I thought my days of grime-proof dressing were done with.'

Aggie looked into his face. He didn't look old enough to have done anything for ‘years'. But he had handled himself well with old Joe – that much was true.

She began walking and he kept step beside her. ‘The Cross, huh? I bet you heard some sad stories working there.'

‘Some, sure. But I got to hear the joyful ones, too. Sometimes I got to talk to people who were heading down the path of promiscuity and drugs, and I was by their side as they committed to Jesus Christ and handed their lives over to Him to be healed. I can't tell you how exciting it is to witness that. How much better to point a person toward the light than to hand out protection against the dark.'

They had reached Aggie's office. ‘Right, I bet. So thanks for helping. Go on home and get cleaned up.'

He squinted in concentration as though he were adding up a series of numbers in his head. After a few seconds he rubbed his forehead and smiled. ‘What an amazing night.'

‘Dramatic, anyway.'

‘It never fails to astound me, the way God appears in the oddest – the most unexpected – places.'

‘Joe's bowels are certainly an odd place for God to emerge from, I'll give you that.'

‘Joe's – Oh! I see!' He smiled. ‘Very funny. But no, I meant you, Aggie Grey. God's light is so strong in you right now. You glow with it.'

‘Goodnight.' Aggie began to unlock her door.

He touched her shoulder and turned her around. ‘I think you were sent to me, Aggie. By God. He sees what you're doing here; He sees that you have good intentions and a generous spirit. He sees your compassion and courage, and He wants you on his team. He sent you to me so I could show you the way.'

‘I don't think so. I need to wash this blood off, and you really, really stink. Goodnight.'

‘Oh, no, that's what's happened all right. I haven't been so sure of anything since I got my calling to the ministry. I'm all lit up by you.'

Aggie leant against the door, watching him watch her. He seemed to genuinely believe what he was saying. She wondered whether he got these messages a lot.

His eyebrows started to move toward each other. His mouth straightened and two small lines appeared in the centre of his forehead. His eyebrows met over his nose, kissed and then parted again. Twice he opened his mouth as if to speak, closed it, pressed his lips together and sighed through his nose. He could have been just another terrified teenage boy, working up the courage to admit he kinda liked boys, or to ask her if it was true you could get AIDS from blowjobs.

‘Look, I have to –'

His hand darted out, grabbed one of hers and held it tight. ‘We're in the grip of something very powerful here, Aggie.'

‘The only thing gripping me is your hand. Please, let –'

‘I'm going to stop those leaflets. I was being stubborn. I was forging ahead with what I thought was right, and I wasn't paying attention to what God wants.'

Aggie swallowed. ‘And God wants you to stop harassing us?'

‘I believe He wants me to help you find the way, and I can't do that if we're enemies.'

‘No.'

‘But you have to let me talk to you about Jesus. You have to give me the opportunity to show you the way.'

Aggie considered. How long had it been since a good-looking man – any man, in fact – had looked at her like she had something he needed?

‘Okay.'

Luke licked his lips. ‘Okay?'

‘Yes.' She squeezed his hand and he jumped. His head snapped down and he inhaled sharply. He stared at their entwined hands with a look of wonder. He pressed her palm with his thumb as if checking to see if it was real. His eyes met hers and he blinked several times.

‘You're covered in poor old Joe,' he said.

‘You too,' Aggie said, and she went inside.

By the time Honey had thrown up her coffee, washed her face, reapplied her make-up and changed her shirt, she was running very late. The bus was long gone, so the only way she would get to school on time was if she ran flat out the whole way. Since she was often running late for school, she knew all the fences to jump and backyards to cut through to get her there by first bell, but this stomach bug caused her to spew her guts up whenever she moved at a pace above a snail's so running, jumping and dodging were out.

She'd barely got to the end of her street before the nausea hit again. She looked around for a bush or tree, but there weren't any. The best she could do was dive
into the long grass of a vacant lot. She vomited painfully – there was nothing really to throw up, so it burnt – and then remained on her knees for a moment to recover her breath. She could see used condoms, broken glass and McDonald's cups strewn amongst the overgrown weeds; her hand was resting on an old Crunchie wrapper. She remembered she hadn't eaten anything since the Kit-Kat on the way home from school yesterday.

Honey stood and wiped her face with a baby wipe from the box she'd bought two days ago for this very reason. She took a deep breath, inhaled rotten vegetables and quickly lit a cigarette to block the stench.

As she reached the footpath, a white Monaro pulled up beside her. Honey knew the car pretty well because she'd spent half of last year spreadeagled on its back seat. Ricky Bashir stuck his head out the window and smiled in that creepy
I-know-what-your-tits-look-like
way that he had.

‘Yo, Honey, wanna lift?'

Honey definitely wanted a lift. The drive to school was a short one, so she only had to listen to a couple of minutes of Ricky's
I'm-so-fucking-hot-I-can't-even-believe-it-myself
bullshit, but it was more than enough. By the time she got out, promising she would definitely call him, she was thinking that she would rather walk for a day in the blazing sun, vomiting the whole time, than be stuck in a car with Ricky ever again.

Last year she had wanted to be stuck in that car with him more than anything, and now he made her sick,
and nothing had changed about him at all. He wasn't a bad bloke, really; it was just that she stopped liking him when she met Steve and now when she thought about the way Ricky's sweat would drip onto her face during sex she felt grossed out. Honey wondered if one day she would look back at Steve and feel sick. She liked him so much, but she had to admit that it was a real possibility that certain things – his habit of spitting on the footpath, or the yellow-headed pimples on his back, for example – would one day make her shudder.

But for now, he was still her man. She saw him waiting for her at the gate and felt a little shiver of fear. Not that he was scary or anything, just that he was always touching her, and this morning she didn't feel like being touched. She hadn't felt like being touched last night, either, but she'd let him, because it had seemed easier than to tell him about the exhaustion and soreness. He was already all tense about the throwing up.

‘Hey, Stevo,' Honey said.

Steve was looking past her shoulder at the road, his face completely blank. Blank pale eyes, blank pale skin, blank chapped lips. Honey tried to kiss his cheek but he moved at the last second, still not looking at her or changing his expression.

‘Did I just see you get out of Ricky Bashir's car?'

‘I missed the bus.' Honey slapped her forehead. ‘Ricky was passing.'