The Gospel According to Luke (6 page)

Luke became fixated on discovering his ancestry, and wondered if, like Sally Morgan, he was part Aboriginal, or if he was, as Hakim insisted, an Arab. He locked himself in the bathroom for hours at a time, comparing every aspect of his appearance to those of men of every possible ethnic background whose pictures he obsessively clipped from magazines and newspapers. His friends joked about his gallery of men, and liked to say that while Luke was busy searching for his roots, they were out in the world getting some.

Of all the boys at his school, Luke was the one most girls would have been happy to give themselves to. He knew this, but did not know why. When Luke looked in the mirror he saw hair like a Sicilian, skin like an Arab, slim hips and long muscles like an Indian, black eyes like an Aborigine. He didn't know what could possibly be attractive about all that. When girls stared at him in class or on the bus, he assumed they were trying to work out what he was. When they sent their friends to tell him they wanted to get with him, or when he found their love notes in his locker, he assumed they were chasing him because he was a novelty, the way all his friends wanted to get with the Austrian exchange student even though she was chubby.

A week before his fifteenth birthday, he was lying on the grass out the front of the library, reading about the racial breakdown and settlement patterns of the post-war migrant influx, when an Asian girl of around his own age sat beside him and introduced herself as Mai.

Luke said hello, just to be polite, and returned to his book, lifting it up so it hid his face from the girl. ‘What's your name?' she asked.

‘Luke,' he said from behind his book.

‘You don't look like a Luke.'

He put down his book. ‘What do I look like?'

‘I don't know. But you definitely don't look like a Luke.' She smiled and crinkled up her nose. Luke noticed the sprinkle of freckles across the bridge. He had never seen an Asian with freckles; he thought they were reserved for whites.

‘What does a Luke look like?' he asked her.

‘Luke is a saint's name. You look too dark and dangerous to be a saint. You should be called Holden or J.D. or something like that.'

Luke laughed. ‘What does Mai mean? Nutcase?'

‘Flower.'

‘It suits you,' he said, and felt his face grow hot. ‘I mean, you know, because it's an Asian name and you're Asian.'

‘That matters, you think? So what will we call you then? Is it Abu or maybe Muhammad? What shall we label you? I am Asian and you are what?'

‘I'm not anything. Forget it.' Luke picked up his book, burning with shame and wondering for the thousandth time that year why girls were always bothering him.

‘I know what you are, Luke. You're the same as me.'

‘What the hell are you talking about? You're a chong. I'm a wog or possibly a boonga or curry muncher. We're not the same.'

Mai smiled and leant forward as though about to tell him a great secret. ‘We have the same Father. Maybe you don't know it yet, but you are part of an enormous, inter-racial, multicultural family. And this family is the best one there is, Luke, because it isn't based on where you came from, but on where you're going.'

By the time the sun went down that day, Luke knew that where he was going was heaven, and the family he belonged to was God's forever family. From then on whenever anyone asked him what he was, he answered with confidence and pride, ‘I am a Christian.'

‘So that's it then. My entire life story. I bet you wish you'd never asked.'

‘No, I . . . Fuck, Luke, no wonder you're alone. Do you still wonder about your parents?'

‘Never. Since I found my Heavenly Father, I've stopped worrying about the earthly one.'

Aggie sighed, then lifted his arm, shuffled across so her body was pressed into his side, and put her head on his shoulder. He reached up and her curls swallowed
his fingertips. He wondered how he would ever get free of them.

Aggie began to gently stroke his leg, just above the kneecap. Luke held his breath, closed his eyes and told himself not to panic.

‘You've gone all quiet on me. I hope I haven't depressed you.'

Luke cleared his throat. ‘No. I was just thinking that the kids will be here soon.'

‘I better go then.' Aggie lifted her head, giggling as he untangled his hand from her hair. ‘It's awful, sorry.'

‘No, it's lovely.'

‘I'm leaving before you tell me any more lies.' She smiled. ‘I'm surprised to hear myself say this but I had a nice time.'

‘Why surprised?'

‘Because I thought you would just lecture me about God the whole time. Okay, so I'll see you later?'

‘Wait. Do you know why you're here?'

‘Because you asked me over?'

‘No, I mean . . . why did I do that?'

She rolled her eyes. ‘I don't know. Because you wanted to convert me with your family values propaganda? Because you wanted someone to drink coffee with? Because you cut open an orange and saw a vision of the Holy Virgin pleading with you to save my soul?'

‘You think I'm a joke.'

‘I think you're too bloody serious.'

He nodded. ‘Would you like to stay for the meeting?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘I'd love it if you would.'

Aggie looked over his shoulder, staring at nothing. Luke placed a hand on her shoulder and her eyes returned to his face. ‘Please, Aggie, I'd like you to see what I do here. It would really be great if you could stay.'

‘Okay.'

Thursday nights were VIBE night, which meant thirty kids between the ages of thirteen and fifteen listening to a presentation and then putting together skits about the topic. Tonight's presentation was about alcohol, and the kids enacted scenes of drunk husbands beating wives, drunk boyfriends being sick on their girlfriends' shoes and drunk drivers rolling their cars.

Luke felt sad at how little needed to be explained. In fact, when it came to drink, drugs or sex, the kids often taught Luke a thing or two rather than the other way around. Tonight, for instance, he learnt that there were tablets one could take which delayed the symptoms of over-indulgence. As the thirteen-year-old telling him about it said, you could impress your mates by drinking hard all night, then just secretly throw up when you got home. Another girl told how her friend just sticks her fingers down her throat every two hours so she can keep drinking.

‘Getting sick is far from the worst thing that can happen if you drink too much,' Aggie said. ‘The first time I ever drank alcohol – and I was eighteen at the time – I went way overboard and ended up marrying the taxi driver who took me home. I don't know of any tablet that could've prevented
that
disaster.'

The kids laughed but Belinda shot Luke a look that indicated she thought him insane for inviting this woman to participate. ‘You're exaggerating,' he whispered to Aggie.

‘I wish,' she whispered back.

The next night Aggie came and helped with the preparations for the sausage sizzle. Every Friday night during football season the game was projected on the big screen and an indoor barbecue cooked up. It was the only officially organised activity without explicit personal development or Bible study aims, but Luke considered it one of the most important parts of the program. The casual atmosphere bonded the group as friends, and some of the deepest, most satisfying connections he had made with his kids had been in impromptu chats after the game.

‘I don't mind helping out,' Aggie said, scrunching her nose at the trays of raw sausages and steak, ‘just don't ask me to touch the dead cows.'

‘The onions are all yours then.' Luke picked up a steak and tossed it from hand to hand. ‘Personally, I love the feel of raw meat.'

Aggie made a gagging noise. ‘That's the flesh of an animal you're tugging on. One of
God's
creatures.'

‘Mmm. Yet another reason to praise Him. Such delicious creatures He has given us.'

‘There's like a hundred cows there.' Aggie waved her knife at the piles of raw meat, blinking her eyes fast to expel the onion tears. ‘Surely you don't expect too many kids. Friday night is party night in teen land. It's getting wasted night.'

‘Not for these teens.' Luke took the knife from Aggie, pointing her to the non-tear-inducing task of bread-buttering. ‘They all either grew up as Christians and would never consider getting
wasted
or they grew up with New Age atheist liberal types and are now craving some wholesomeness and stability.'

She laughed. ‘They're rebelling against their parents by being good?'

‘Why not? Teenagers are natural seekers. They want truth and meaning, not relativism and ideology.'

‘They'll find truth and meaning in football?'

‘Some would say yes.' Luke laughed. ‘But that isn't really the point of Friday night. Friday night is just for fun.'

Parramatta beat the Broncos twelve–ten, their first victory for the season and Aggie Grey charmed fifty-seven teenagers, four youth pastors and one senior pastor so thoroughly that when she tried to leave at ten o'clock she had fifty of God's children begging
her to stay. So she stayed and played charades with the younger kids, drank hot chocolate with the adults, talked to a gaggle of girls about their shoes and a gaggle of boys about their X-Boxes, promised Leticia that they would have lunch together one day next week, begged Kenny to use his boasted-about mechanical skills to fix the clanking in her engine, checked to make sure every single kid had a lift home, stacked chairs, swept the floor, dried dishes, declined coffee, exclaimed her exhaustion, and then stood with Luke in the open doorway.

‘I don't know if I can cope with this,' Aggie said.

‘With what?'

‘This . . . this getting to know you. Watching the way you are with those kids . . . You're so good. You're generous and compassionate and smart and kind and –'

‘I can be meaner and stupider if it would help.'

‘See!' She jabbed a finger at his chest. ‘You're being cute. You're joking. But the sick thing – the thing I find it hard to cope with – is that you
are
meaner and stupider. You are!'

Luke laughed. ‘I don't under–'

‘You judge and moralise and – My dad killed himself, Luke, because he was heartbroken and weak and sad. You believe he's burning in hell being punished over and over for that. My mum is gay; so is my best friend. You think these wonderful, loving,
good
people, should be condemned. You – Oh, fuck
it.' She ran her hands through her hair and looked out into the night.

‘I'm sorry, Aggie. Truly sorry for you. But I don't believe these things because I'm mean and stupid. I believe them because the Bible says they're true. The same Bible that guides me in everything I do and believe. Your praise and your criticism are levelled at the same belief system.'

‘That's crap. You are not your belief system.' Aggie grabbed both his hands and held them tight in her own. ‘I knew what you believed before I met you. Knowing what you believed, I hated you. Yet, here I am, still hating what you believe, but unable to deny that I am dangerously far from hating you.'

Luke stared.

‘Sorry, that was . . .' Aggie released his hands and covered her face.

He stood silent and still, watching her.

She peeked through her fingers at him. ‘I've really embarrassed myself, haven't I?'

‘No.'

‘No?'

Luke shook his head.

‘Why are you staring at me?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Oh. Do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow night?'

‘Yes.'

Aggie smiled.

‘Oh, no! I have a conference in Newcastle; I won't be back till late.'

‘Sunday night?'

‘I'm preaching at the seven o'clock city service.'

‘Come over after. I'll cook you dinner.' Aggie picked up her handbag, rifled around inside and pulled out a pen and scrap of paper. ‘My address,' she said, scribbling on the paper.

‘You could come to the service.'

‘No, I really couldn't.' She kissed his forehead. ‘See you Sunday.'

Although she was almost thirty, Aggie had only ever slept with three men. The first was Kip McLean, the driver of the cab she caught home from her father's funeral. He talked non-stop the entire trip from the funeral home to her house, and she was thankful because she really didn't want to have to think about anything anymore. Kip was thirty-five, twice divorced and only driving cabs while he saved for a fishing boat.

A week earlier Aggie would have been terrified of this big, weather-beaten man with a booming voice and green vines tattooed up his arms, but ever since she'd been kicked in the head by her father's dangling slippers, she had been fearless. She invited Kip in and
he smiled slowly, picked up his radio and told base he was signing off. He roamed around Aggie's newly-inherited house, drank gin from her newly-inherited liquor cabinet and smoked a cigar he took from the drawer of her newly-inherited antique writing desk. He asked her to go to bed with him, and she said yes because nobody had ever asked her before, and because she was lonely and angry and ugly, and because she had no one to be good for anymore.

Within a week, Kip McLean had moved in. Within six weeks, Aggie had married him. She loved him in that intense, needy, awestruck way that she had since discovered is characteristic of first love. But Aggie was not Kip's first love, and he was neither needy nor awestruck. He was affectionate, protective, charming and fun. He was also opportunistic, greedy and deceitful. When she felt him slipping away from her, she used a large proportion of her inheritance setting him up as a commercial fisherman, madly hoping his gratitude would reignite his love. He was indeed grateful, and for a few weeks he was as passionate as he had been in the first mad month. Then he shrugged helplessly, took his boat and a random pretty girl and sailed to Byron Bay.