Tiger Men (50 page)

‘Col’s better off without her, Mick,’ Eileen now said, taking the little girl from her son, ‘and so are the children. They’ll have a far better home right here with me.’ She cradled Caitie in her arms, the child gurgling happily. As far as Eileen was concerned Fiona had ceased to exist.

Over the next several days, Col’s presence seemed to breathe new life into Mick. They all commented on it, Mara and her children who regularly visited and also Kathleen who’d made another trip down from Launceston, this time on her own.

‘It’s a miracle, Col,’ Kathleen said. ‘I’d thought I wouldn’t see him again after the last trip.’ Kathleen had brought her three children down just the previous month in order that they might say goodbye to their grandfather. ‘You’re certainly doing him the world of good.’

On the eighteenth of November, barely a week after his arrival, Col planned a special treat for his father. A big night was in store for Hobart and, determined that Mick would be a part of it, he went out to Dimbleby’s Emporium that very morning and purchased a wicker wheelchair.

It was lunchtime when he returned. Eileen was sitting at the kitchen table feeding Caitie and trying to control an unruly Oscar.

‘What are you thinking of?’ she said when he wheeled the chair in and announced his plan. ‘Are you mad? You can’t charge your father around the streets in that thing: you’ll kill him.’

‘But he has to be a part of it, Ma, he has to see it for himself. You can’t deprive him of the experience of a lifetime, that’s not fair.’

‘Experience of a lifetime,’ Eileen gave a humourless laugh, ‘the death of him more like.’

‘The man surely has the right to decide for himself,’ Col said rebelliously. ‘You might at least let me ask him.’

‘Very well, ask him,’ Eileen said, thin-lipped. ‘The decision is his, but it’s a lunatic idea and I shall tell him so. Put that down, Oscar.’ She smacked the little boy’s hand as he picked a knife up from the table, then she went back to feeding Caitie.

Col sat on the edge of the bed and held Mick’s hand, as he often did when they talked. Mick took unashamed pleasure in the touch of his son.

‘How’d you like to see the electric street lights come on, Da?’

‘Oh, that’d be something now, wouldn’t it? Yes, that’d be something indeed.’

‘It’s happening tonight, you know.’

‘What is?’

‘The electric street lights. They’re coming on tonight.’

‘Are they really?’ Mick was hazy about what was happening these days. Someone had said something, but he’d forgotten what it was and who’d said it. He racked his brains trying to remember. Then it came to him. ‘Kathleen told me we’ve had electric street lights for years,’ he said, puzzled, ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘No, no, she was talking about Launceston, they’re three years ahead of us.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Mick nodded; he was having trouble keeping up.

‘Hobart’s turning on its electric street lights tonight, Da. They’re turning them on for the very first time.’

‘Well, well, that’ll be an exciting event, won’t it?’

‘Yes, it’ll be a very exciting event, and it’s one you’re going to see . . .’ Col sprinted from the room and Mick was left gazing at the open doorway, bewildered by his son’s abrupt departure. ‘. . . And you won’t be seeing it through a window, what’s more,’ Col said as he re-appeared with the wheelchair. ‘You’re going out tonight. You and me and half of Hobart I’ll bet. We’re going out to watch the electric lights come on.’

Mick looked at the wheelchair with trepidation. He hadn’t been outside the house for the past three months. Dear God, he hadn’t even been outside the bedroom for weeks. Getting himself to the sitting room, where he’d liked to watch the world through the front window, was too painful an exercise these days.

‘Don’t be afraid, Da, I’ll look after you. This’ll be something to remember,’ Col urged; he was brimming over with enthusiasm. ‘This’ll be a once in a lifetime experience.’

How can I possibly refuse? Mick thought. He would do it for Col, he decided. He’d do it for Col even if it killed him, which it very well might.

‘In that case I shall need to be suitably dressed,’ he said.

Eileen, after voicing her strong disapproval, realised protestation was useless and decided to make it a family outing. They would all go, she said. They would take the children with them and watch the lights together.

She helped Mick to bathe, holding the bowl and wringing out the flannel for him as she always did. She was allowed to bathe his feet, but he insisted upon washing the parts of himself he could reach, which principally meant his genitals. She chided him for it often.

‘A little late in the day for modesty,’ she’d say, ‘I’ve bathed you often enough in the past. You’re becoming very prudish in your old age, Mick.’

When he was washed and in his underwear she called Col in and they sat him on the edge of the bed and dressed him. They worked as slowly and gently as they could. Any amount of movement was tiring and often painful.

Mick had insisted upon formal wear. His striped trousers, he said, a high starched collar and tie, his dovegrey waistcoat, black frock coat, spats and, of course, his top hat. It took them twenty minutes to dress him and when they’d finished, his emaciated frame swam in the fine clothes. Even the top hat seemed too big.

‘You look very grand, Da,’ Col said.

Mick had made no complaint throughout the exercise, but Eileen could tell that he was exhausted. ‘You don’t have to do this, you know,’ she said tartly.

‘Of course I do. I must.’ He tried to sound forceful. ‘I want to, Eileen.’

‘If you must you must, I suppose,’ she said with a shrug, ‘but lie down for now.’ She took off his top hat. ‘We won’t be leaving for at least half an hour. I have to get the children ready yet.’

He lay back, allowing her to lift his feet up onto the bed. Within only minutes he’d dozed off.

When they returned with the children, he appeared to be sound asleep.

Col was about to wake him.

‘Don’t, son,’ Eileen said, and she shushed Oscar, whose hand she was holding. ‘Don’t wake him, leave him be. Even being dressed tired him out, you can see that . . .’

But Mick’s sleep was no more than a light doze and the sound of her voice awakened him. He opened his eyes. ‘Are we ready now?’ He smiled at the sight of his family gathered before him. ‘Let’s be on our way then. I’m raring to go.’

They sat him up and put on his shoes and spats.

Mick doffed his top hat and held his hands out to his son for assistance, but as Col helped him stand his knees gave way and he sank back onto the bed.

‘Hold on to your topper, Da,’ Col said. Scooping his father up effortlessly in his arms he placed him with great care into the wheelchair.

Eileen winced at the sight. Col had been as gentle as possible, but the suddenness of the action would have caused Mick considerable pain. To his credit he’d bravely hidden it and she admired his stoicism. She took the bottle of laudanum from the top drawer of the dresser and slipped it into the inner pocket of his frock coat.

‘You’ll need this,’ she said.

Mick smiled gratefully. He would try and avoid the laudanum if possible, he wanted to keep his wits about him, but he was comforted by the knowledge that it was there.

The afternoon was starting to fade as they left the house. When dusk set in it would do so quickly, it always did in Hobart, but there was still nearly an hour before the street lights were scheduled to come on.

They set off along Hampden Road, Eileen carrying Caitie, and Oscar perched on Col’s shoulders in his customary manner, strong little legs wrapped around his father’s neck and fistfuls of thick black hair grasped firmly in his hands. Col always travelled hatless for the express purpose of accommodating Oscar. Ahead of them was Mick in the wheelchair all dressed up to the nines, Col doing his best to steer him clear of the bumps.

‘You’re leading the way, Da,’ Col announced as they headed for the city.

Col had mapped out the route they would take that morning. They would not cut through the back streets and the wharf area as he would normally have done. The wheelchair would travel more smoothly if they stuck to the wider main roads, he’d decided.

They were not the only ones making their way towards the central city blocks where the lighting would be at its most impressive. By the time they reached Davey Street they met up with dozens heading into the centre of town; and when they turned into Murray Street there were dozens more. Minutes later, upon reaching the corner of Macquarie Street, they looked down the broad avenue to discover the pavements on either side crowded with spectators, all waiting for the magical moment.

Holding Oscar in place on his shoulders, Col leant down to Mick. ‘Like I said, Da, you and me and half of Hobart,’ he raised his voice above the general hubbub, ‘I told you this’d be something to remember.’

‘You did indeed, and so it is.’ Mick looked about, overwhelmed by the sight of the crowd and the sense of expectation that was palpable. He’d found the journey jarringly painful despite the care Col had taken, and he’d surreptitiously downed a hefty swig of laudanum, which had now taken effect. He’d presumed no-one had noticed him attack the laudanum bottle, but of course someone had.

‘Are you all right?’ Eileen asked. Having carried Caitie all the while, she was weary herself, and it would be a harder walk back, for much of it was uphill, but her main concern was for Mick.

‘I certainly am, girl.’ The laudanum had not only dulled the pain, it had heightened in Mick a dreamlike sense of unreality. Was this really happening? Was he really out of his little bedroom and here with these hundreds of people? He found it difficult to believe. He smiled up at his wife, his eyes bright with excitement. ‘This is something to remember all right, Eileen – you can feel it in the very air.’

Col decided they might as well stay where they were. The other major streets would no doubt be just as crowded, and they’d walked far enough.

‘Make way, make way.’ Ignoring the odd disgruntled mutter, he manoeuvred the wheelchair through the onlookers to the edge of the pavement, positioning it where Mick could have a full view down Macquarie Street. He secured the chair’s brake. ‘Come on, Ma, take a seat,’ he said, patting the arm of the wheelchair, ‘make yourself comfortable.’

Eileen sat thankfully, bouncing Caitie on her knee. The little girl, far from being sleepy, was taking an avid interest in her surrounds.

Squatting beside his father, Col leant an elbow on the other arm of the wheelchair. Oscar, still perched on his shoulders, was gazing about as spellbound by the crowd as Mick was. Never in his short life had he seen so many people.

‘Not long to go now, Da,’ Col said.

The family watched and waited in silence.

As the afternoon light faded and the first shadows of dusk started to creep in, the crowd too grew silent. The babble of voices gradually faded and all the way down the street eyes looked up expectantly at the brand new lights overhead. The seconds ticked steadily by. And then . . .

‘Ten . . .’

Three men standing nearby started the countdown. They were three very smartly dressed young businessmen and their eyes were not trained on the street lights, but rather on the fob watches they held in their hands. One of them was a Lyttleton – Nigel’s son, Walter. It was a Friday and twenty-two-year-old Walter and his friends had left work early to witness this very moment.

‘Nine . . . Eight . . .’

With no idea whether or not the countdown was correct, others about them took up the chant.

‘Seven . . . Six . . .’ Col and Mick and Eileen joined in too, and then the whole crowd was chanting.

‘Five . . . Four . . .’

It seemed all of Macquarie Street was giving voice, and perhaps it was the same in Elizabeth Street and Collins Street – perhaps the whole of Hobart was counting down the seconds.

‘Three . . . Two . . .’

Then the moment they’d been waiting for. Who could possibly have doubted Walter? He was a Lyttleton after all, and meticulous to the letter. He and his friends’ fob watches were perfectly synchronised, both with each other and with Greenwich Mean Time.

‘One . . .’ the crowd chanted. And a second later the lights came on. They came on just like that, a startling sea of light. In an instant, the street was illuminated, and not by the gentle glow of gas lamps, but by lights far fiercer, far brighter, lights that cut through the gloom of approaching dusk with an edge not seen before. The crowd burst into applause.

To Mick, already in a state of drug-induced unreality, it seemed incredible. He gazed about, awestruck.

‘Dear Mother of God,’ he murmured, shaking his head in wonderment, ‘who’d have thought it possible? You wouldn’t believe it if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes now, would you?’

‘I was right, wasn’t I, Da?’ Col grinned, thrilled that his plan had proved such a success. ‘This is a once in a lifetime experience.’

‘It is indeed, son. Oh yes, indeed it is. We’re witnessing the birth of a new age, there’s no doubt about that.’ He turned to his wife. ‘And just to think, Eileen, I lived to see it.’

There was such zest for life in his eyes that the years dropped away; for a second Eileen felt she could have been looking at the young Mick O’Callaghan.

‘You did, Mick, you did at that.’ She cast a quick glance at her son and nodded. Col’s lunatic idea had proved a good one after all.

The crowd soon started to disperse, but Mick insisted the family stay until nightfall and, as dusk descended, he remained lost in the world that unfolded before him. Macquarie Street had become a fairyland.

When they finally got home they were exhausted, all of them. The children were fast asleep, Eileen felt she couldn’t walk another step and even Col, after carrying Oscar on his hip and pushing the wheelchair with one hand, and uphill for the most part, was feeling weary. As for Mick, well, Mick wasn’t feeling much of anything. During the return trip, the pain had attacked with such a vengeance that he’d dosed himself up with more laudanum, and by the time they put him to bed he was in another world altogether. But he seemed happy enough.