A Prayer for Blue Delaney (20 page)

Brother Jack sorted the boys into groups of six and Colm lined up with the others, waiting for their race to start.

‘On your marks, get set . . . ’ shouted Brother Jack and then he blew a piercing blast on his whistle.

Colm took off, glad to have nothing to think of but running. It was good to feel the biting cold air against his cheeks, his arms pumping, the pounding of his heart as he gained speed. When he reached the finish line he found he’d beaten the other boys easily. Every boy in Form One was staring at him.

‘Who the hell is he?’ whispered one boy. Colm walked past the opened-mouth crowd to where Brother Jack stood smiling.

‘Well done, McCabe,’ said Brother Jack. ‘You’d give John Landy a run for his money!’

Colm had never realised that winning a race could make anyone so famous so fast. When he came out into the schoolyard at lunchtime, a crowd of Form One boys gathered around him, all asking questions at once.

‘I saw you sitting with your mum outside the principal’s office this morning,’ said a tall, dark-haired boy, trying to pretend he knew more about Colm than the others.

‘She’s not my mum,’ said Colm.

‘Why didn’t your mum bring you? Where do you live, then? Where were you at school before St Finian’s?’

There was a silence as all the boys waited for Colm to answer.

‘I live with my auntie. My mum and dad died in the war.’

Colm could feel the lie swell like a wave inside him and then it swept him away. ‘My dad was a war hero. I have a box full of his medals. My mum, she died of a broken heart.’

The other boys looked more uncomfortable than impressed, and suddenly Colm felt appalled at the story he’d made up. Talking to other kids was too hard. He wanted to be back in the desert with Bill, sitting by a campfire as the evening dark came down around them. He pushed his way through the crowd of boys and ran to the school gate where an empty bench overlooked the street. Sitting alone, he munched on the sandwich Blue had made for his lunch but not even the sharp saltiness of the Vegemite could take away the bad taste that the lie had left in his mouth.

‘Oi, McCabe,’ came a voice from behind him.

Colm turned around to see a gang of Form One boys watching him. ‘You want to play kick-to-kick with us?’

Colm threw the crusts of his sandwich to the sparrows and ran to join them.

At the ringing of the last bell the other students poured out of school in a noisy, exuberant mass. As he joined the throng surging through the gate, Colm laughed to himself. He couldn’t wait to tell Bill about the race and the game of footy and the crazy ordinariness of being with other boys.

It took Colm nearly an hour to decode the squiggly map that Blue had drawn for him. Outside 92 Flinders Lane there was a small paper sign with an arrow on it pointing to a narrow entrance and the words ‘New Theatre’. It didn’t look particularly ‘new’ and the old staircase was worn from the passage of time.

From above came the sound of music and singing and when he entered the hall he discovered a crowd of people dancing around on a stage, the girls’ skirts flying and the men clapping and stamping time with their feet. In the middle of the stage danced Blue, her skirt whirling around her and her long red hair like a flame.

When the music stopped, Blue spotted Colm and jumped down off the stage.

‘So how’d it go?’ she asked.

‘It was all right,’ said Colm. ‘But can we go and see Grandad?’

Blue looked exasperated. ‘It’s too late now. By the time we get up there, they’ll be turning down the lights.’

Colm groaned.

‘Look, I telephoned this morning and he was doing fine. I talked to the doctor too and he says Dad’s improving fast. Don’t you worry about him.’ She pointed to a chair. ‘Have a seat. We’ve still got a while to go here.’

The play was called
Under the Coolibah
and was a musical set on the banks of a billabong. Colm had some trouble trying to figure out which of the shearers was which, but he liked the songs that they sang. There was one called ‘The Two-Up Song’ that made him think of Nugget. There was also an Aboriginal family in the play, although the performers didn’t look anything like Doreen or Rosie. Where were Doreen and Rosie now? Had Doreen been able to keep Jimmy and had Nugget been able to get Rosie back? Colm hated the way everyone from his past disappeared. As he watched Blue dancing, he felt a clutch of fear. What if she and Bill disappeared, just like everyone else in his life? The ties that bound him to them seemed so thin, so fragile.

Every day that week and into the next, Colm met Blue after school at the New Theatre. Every day he asked when they were going to see Bill, and every day Blue would fob him off.

‘Did Grandad ask after me? Didn’t he ask to see me?’ said Colm.

‘I told him how you were and he said to say hello to you.’

‘Hello? Is that all he said?’ asked Colm disbelievingly.

Blue looked exasperated. ‘For chrissake, I’ll take you to see him on the weekend.’

Wretchedly, Colm went to sit at the back of the hall, waiting. It was as if all he could do now was wait. Wait until he could see Bill, wait until he grew up, wait until he was old enough to strike out on his own.

At first Colm thought that he was simply marking time at school as well, but then he met Brother Julian. On Tuesdays and Thursdays all of Form One had music class with Brother Julian. He was a small, spry man and wore thick horn-rimmed glasses. His white hair was always tousled and unruly and his black robes crumpled. From a distance, he looked like a wizened old monk, but when he stepped into the classroom every boy sat up and paid attention.

Brother Julian loved music and every lesson he taught was loud and lively. It wasn’t just the music. It was Brother Julian himself. Everything he did was charged with energy. Whether he was conducting the whole school choir or a small group of boys, he poured himself into the task. Flinging his arms wide, he would slash the air with his hands as if he was doing battle with the music.

On a cool spring afternoon, not long after he had started at St Finian’s, Colm crept into the music room during the lunch break. Outside in the schoolyard boys were shouting and playing football, but the music room was quiet and empty. Colm settled himself down in front of the piano. He had been longing to play it. Brother Julian made sure that the instrument was always perfectly tuned and its walnut case brightly polished. When Colm’s fingers played the first chord he felt his heart echo the sound. He played every tune he could remember and when he had exhausted everything he knew, he began improvising, mixing up fragments of tunes and letting his hands fly over the keys. He didn’t realise Brother Julian had come into the room until the music teacher’s cane rapped across the back of his knuckles. Colm snatched his hands away.

‘Did I give you permission to bash away at my piano like that?’ said Brother Julian.

‘No, sir. Sorry, Brother Julian,’ said Colm.

Brother Julian tapped Colm with his cane. Colm started to get up from the piano seat but Brother Julian pushed him back down. ‘Move over, boy, and pay attention.’

Brother Julian sat beside him and began to play. He played softly to start with, the notes slipping out of the piano as if they were delicate breaths of sound, and then slowly he built the piece to a crescendo of discordant, spine-tingling chords before taking it gently back to its opening refrain.

‘What was that?’ asked Colm.

Brother Julian laughed. ‘That was by an extraordinary Frenchman called Eric Satie. Now tell me, who taught you to play the piano?’

‘No one has taught me anything for a long time,’ said Colm.

‘That is very obvious. What’s your name, child? I don’t know why you haven’t been enrolled in the instrument program.’

Colm started piano lessons with Brother Julian that afternoon. The old man was a fierce teacher and didn’t mind using the cane to make a point, but Colm didn’t care. The sore knuckles were worth it. Colm could feel the music flowing through him, through his hands, through his entire body. Brother Julian made him understand that if you let the music take hold, neither the past nor the present nor the future mattered. The music held the perfect moment.

In a matter of weeks, Colm’s playing had improved so much that when the accompanist failed to turn up at one of the rehearsals of
Under the Coolibah,
Colm took her place. Blue came over and stood near the piano, watching him play. When he got to the end of a song called ‘Living on the Blue’, he turned to her and grinned.

‘I like that one,’ he said.

‘You would, you cheeky bugger,’ she said, tousling his hair.

‘No, I meant the tune,’ he said, worried she thought he was making fun of her.

‘That’s all right. I know what you meant. I can see why Dad took a shine to you. You’re easy to have around and good at rolling with the punches. Not like me. Dad couldn’t stand the way I had to kick against the pricks.’

‘But that’s just what he does too,’ said Colm.

Blue’s expression grew stern and Colm knew he’d said the wrong thing. Why was it so hard to talk to Blue about Bill? He had been staying with her for weeks now and she still hadn’t taken him to the hospital. No matter how well everything else went for him, being apart from Bill left Colm with a knot of anxiety that he couldn’t shake.

30
Sweet and sour

On a wintery spring evening, Colm and Blue arrived back at Williamstown so late that there was no time to stop at the shops and buy something to cook for dinner. It was a Friday night and Blue banged around in the kitchen, looking inside the cupboards and the icebox.

‘Oh bugger it,’ she said, turning away from the empty cupboard. ‘I don’t have time for this. Joe will be here soon to pick me up for that dance in North Melbourne. Let’s get Chinese. We both need a treat. Here, you take the saucepan down to Chow’s and get us some sweet-and-sour pork and I’ll boil some rice and set the table.’

She gave Colm a crisp pound note and a small aluminium saucepan and he ran along Nelson Place to the tiny Chinese restaurant. Inside, a boy was sitting behind the counter reading a book. His black hair was glossy in the dim light of the restaurant. When he saw Colm, his eyes lit up.

Colm stood beside the counter with the saucepan in his hands, feeling self-conscious. He placed the order and the boy put his head in through the kitchen door, handed over the saucepan and called out something in Chinese. Then he turned back to Colm to take his money.

‘I know you,’ he said confidently as he counted out the change.

Colm looked at him again. The boy reminded him of Lily, though maybe that was only because he hadn’t seen anyone Chinese since leaving the Territory.

‘You go to St Finian’s too,’ said the boy. ‘I’ve seen you on the train with that red-haired lady from round the corner. You’re the new boy in IB. Always hanging around outside the music room, aren’t you?’

‘That’s right,’ said Colm. ‘But I haven’t seen you at school.’

‘Boy, you really aren’t paying attention if you haven’t seen me. I stick out like a sore thumb. I’m the only Chink in Form One.’

Colm laughed. ‘I guess I’ve had a lot on my mind.’

‘You and me must be the only boys from Williamstown in the whole school. All my mates went up to Willie High but my mum and dad made me sit for a scholarship for St Finian’s. What about you?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Colm replied. He hated having to explain his situation. Every boy he’d met since starting at St Finian’s came from ordinary families with proper mums and dads. Trying to explain why he was living with Blue was too hard.

‘How about you start by telling me your name?’ said the boy. ‘I’m Keith. Keith Kwong.’

Someone called out from the back and Keith disappeared into the steamy kitchen. When he returned, he was carrying the saucepan of sweet-and-sour pork.

‘Tell you what,’ said Keith. ‘I reckon you and me should do something together this weekend. There’s a new film by Alfred Hitchcock on at the Forum. It sounds like a ripper.’

‘That would be good,’ said Colm.

‘There’s a matinee we could go to tomorrow. Do you reckon you could meet me under the clocks at Flinders Street at midday? I have to do some errands for my parents in the morning but I could meet you after.’

‘Will I need much money?’ asked Colm, suddenly worried.

‘Two bob would cover the show and your fare. But you’ll want an extra sixpence for a bottle of Coke. If you bring an extra shilling we could share some Jaffas or Trumps. Have you got the dosh?’

Colm nodded. He still hadn’t spent the emergency money that Mrs Mahoney had given him before leaving Darwin. A pound note was hidden in the bottom of Bill’s old cigar box.

‘Bonzer!’ said Keith.

Colm took the steaming pot of sweet-and-sour and walked out into the cold night. He hurried along Nelson Place, whistling happily. As he climbed the stairs to Blue’s flat he could hear her singing, her voice like warm honey. For a moment he stood outside the door with his eyes shut, listening to her song. If only Bill and Rusty could be with them, everything would be perfect.

Keith and Colm walked down Flinders Street to the Forum. There were dragons on the facade of the picture palace and inside a sweeping staircase with brass rails. In the darkness, the elegant white sculptures in the alcoves looked ghostly. Before the credits had even begun to roll, Colm felt uneasy.

The film was called
The Man Who Knew Too Much
and was about a family travelling in Morocco caught up in a ring of spies. The son was kidnapped by evil Communist agents. The boy’s parents were frantic and travelled the world searching for him, risking their own lives to get their boy back.

One scene in particular made Colm sit up. The boy was imprisoned in an upstairs room and downstairs his mother was singing, singing her heart out in the hope that he could hear her voice and would know she was close. It was the song that the boy and the mother loved, the song she sang when the boy couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t put the scene out of his head. Keith chatted to him happily as they walked back to the station, but Colm’s thoughts were far away. In his imagination he could hear Blue’s voice singing the same words as Doris Day had in the film.