Indelible Ink (58 page)

Father Dwyer honked with laughter. He had teeth like Brian’s — black, missing — and for a second Marie felt Brian’s absence so keenly that she wanted to mention him.

‘Jesus is no pushover, that’s for sure. He’s on a mission. He knows what he has to do and nobody’s going to stop him.’ Father Dwyer picked up the little book and
flicked through it. ‘You’d enjoy Peter Levi’s translations. They’re very conversational. You really feel that you’re
there.
’

‘I doubt I’ll have the time, Father.’

‘No. You probably don’t need me saying things like that.’

‘My son brought me in a James Ellroy. I’m sticking with that.’

Marie’s mouth felt dry. She hadn’t spoken this much since Brian. With her children, so much was relayed without words. She asked the priest for a glass of water and he complied. Then
he unzipped the black leather square he was holding and brought out a Bible, a piece of Irish lace and some rosary beads. ‘Would you like to pray now?’

‘You’ve been sent to give me my Last Rites, haven’t you.’

‘I can certainly do that.’

‘No.’

Father Dwyer’s hands became still. He looked at Marie with polite concern.

‘No, Father. I haven’t done my confession, or communion —’

‘I can give you those as well, if you like. But they’re not strictly necessary.’

‘
No
.’ Marie’s tumours began to pulse. ‘I’m lapsed, Father. For very good reasons. I don’t believe in the Sacraments.’

‘Marie,’ he said softly. ‘That doesn’t matter. The mistakes you’ve made don’t matter now. Your heart is open to the Lord, and I can give you His
blessing.’

‘My heart isn’t open to the Lord, Father. It’s open to the Bible. It’s not the same thing.’ She sat back against the pillows, churning. ‘I don’t believe
in God,’ she said again. ‘I don’t believe in heaven or hell. I only believe in the Sacraments as sentimental ritual. And I don’t think my disbelief is a mistake. So if I
took the Sacraments from you now it would just be hypocrisy. Deathbed comforts.’ She rested her gaze on him. ‘
Bullshit
.’

Father Dwyer was silent. Marie stared at the ceiling, trying to calm down. When her heart rate rose, the pain increased, emotions lighting the tumours like neon. She looked on the bedside table
for morphine tablets, but there were none. She remembered that she didn’t know what day it was and whether or not she was being picked up.

‘My children might walk in any minute now.’
My children.
She liked saying that; she loved her children.

‘I can leave if you want.’

‘I was enjoying your company, Father.’

‘So was I.’

‘I didn’t bring my children up Catholic, you know. My husband was an atheist. But I made the choice myself. I didn’t want my children being told that they were born bad, that
sex was bad, that their thoughts were being policed. They aren’t perfect, but I don’t think they’d be better people if they’d been brought up Catholic. I didn’t like
what the Church was doing and I still don’t.’

‘The Church has made a lot of mistakes.’ Father Dwyer nodded.

‘It doesn’t say so, though, does it? Listen to the Pope now, traipsing through Africa telling them from the safety of his cortège not to wear condoms. Just like the one before
him. Stupid old men telling women about child-bearing!’ she spat. ‘Yes, the Bible’s beautiful, but it’s all men in there. What does that say to me?’

‘But Mary Magdalene is at Jesus’ right hand. And Jesus’ mother, Mary, is one of the most important people in the Bible!’

‘For getting pregnant without having sex, for being a chaste mother!’

‘That’s just allegory.’

‘Of what? Women going without?’

‘The Bible is the tip of the iceberg, Marie.’ Father Dwyer leant forward eagerly. ‘There are so many fascinating things still coming to light, especially about Mary
Magdalene.’

‘This Church taught me to be ashamed of my gay son, and I passed that on to him,’ she said despairingly. ‘It never stops.’

Father Dwyer wrapped the rosary around his fingers until they disappeared beneath the beads. ‘Marie, we have to remember that we’re all human and all make mistakes. I’m not
making light of this. Some of those mistakes are catastrophic, with lifelong consequences. In the end, we have to form our own relationship with the Lord.’

‘Well, what’s the point of the Church, then? Why do you wear the collar?’

‘Because I believe this is the best way I can live my life. I’m committed to the Lord, and for all its faults I’m committed to this Church.’ Father Dwyer changed his
tone. He said brightly, ‘How many children do you have, Marie?’

‘Three.’ Marie shut her eyes but it did not stop the tears from trickling out across her cheeks. ‘This bloody religion has cast a shadow over my entire life.’

Father Dwyer began to pray.

The next knock on the door came from Rhys, who let herself in as the priest was leaving. Carla arrived as well and there was a moment of chaos. After the greetings and the
priest’s departure, Carla checked Marie’s blood pressure and pulse. ‘You’ve picked up nicely. I think we can let you go home now.’

So, Marie thought, it
was
the next day. ‘What’s the time?’

‘Almost three-thirty. I’m going to give you an Endone as well. It’s a suppository. As long as you don’t mind, it’s a better way to medicate you because it
doesn’t pass through your stomach.’

Marie rolled over. Carla drew the curtain to insert the small white egg. ‘It comes on pretty quickly.’

When the curtain was opened, Rhys offered to help pack her things. Her eyes were shining. ‘We just had a hailstorm. Was it hailing over here?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Hat looks great, Marie. Matches your eyes.’

‘Susan made it.’ Marie’s memory perked at the mention of her. She wondered if she was due to visit today as well.

‘Is your son coming to pick you up?’ said Carla.

‘I don’t know.’ Marie couldn’t find her phone. She didn’t seem to have brought her address book either.

‘And, um, how did you like Father Dwyer?’

‘He was nice.’ So it was Carla who had arranged that. She was forgiven.

Up out of bed, pulling things from drawers, Marie felt weaker. Rhys was packing her toiletries. ‘I can take you home if you like, Marie.’

‘Are you sure? What about Travis?’

‘He’s with his father.’

‘I’m going to give you some fentanyl patches and morphine to take with you,’ said Carla. ‘And I’ll be over in a couple of days.’

They took the lift to the ground floor and walked along the corridor towards daylight. Marie could see a woman illuminated in the doorway, huddled, expectant. Then she was coming towards her,
calling her name. It was Susan.

Marie introduced her to Rhys. Susan looked Rhys up and down, then extended her hand. Rhys put down Marie’s bag and extended hers. ‘I really like the cap you knitted.’

Susan started in surprise. ‘Thank you. You’re going home,’ she said to Marie.

‘Yes. Time’s up.’

‘Can I give you a lift?’

‘We’re fine. Oh Susan, I’m sorry you drove all this way.’

‘It’s alright. I went to lunch at Rose Bay with Gina. She wants to come and visit you.’

‘Any time.’ A wave of exhaustion came over Marie. She would have happily sat on the ground right here. She mustered the last of her energy. ‘Come back to Sirius now, if you
want.’

A man walked past with a face like crumpled, pale blue tissue paper, a cigarette between his lips. He lit it just before exiting, the smoke drifting back behind him.

By the time Marie got in the car, she was trembling. It took a lot of effort to clip the seatbelt in and put on her sunglasses. The arms dug into the side of her head and she wondered if it was
possible to lose weight from one’s scalp, or if it was just that the pain had spread there as well. Rhys’s car smelt new. A water bottle and a toy clattered around her feet. Marie
remarked on the car.

‘Yeah, it’s a hire car.’

‘Why are you driving a hire car?’

Rhys seemed to be driving east rather than north. ‘Bikies smashed my windscreen. Same ones that petrol-bombed the shop.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not supposed to be talking about this.’

‘I’m hardly in a position to be passing things on.’

Rhys looked over. ‘Marie, the bikies run just about every tattoo outlet in this town. They avoided Darlinghurst and Surro a long time cos of the poofter factor, but now they want in.
Tattooing is so popular now you can imagine how much the cunts’re rolling in it. Rob won’t pay them and I don’t blame him. But I think he doesn’t want to pay them for the
same reason he doesn’t want to pay tax. So we’re getting full-on attacked cos Rob’s tight.’

‘So that’s what the scorch mark on the footpath was. It’s criminal.’

‘I don’t care about the law, I’m outside it too. I care about violence and standover. They think they’re such outlaws but they’re just fascists. Suits in leather
clothing. They threatened Travis. I hate them. They
touch
my son —’

‘You don’t want to go to the police?’

‘I don’t run the business. I’m just the artist. God, listen to me. I’m sorry. Like you don’t have other more important things on your mind.’

‘Don’t apologise. I asked. I’m actually glad for the distraction. How’s Natasha?’

‘She’s going to live in London.’

‘Really?’

‘Her father bought her a house and she’s taken off on the First Home Owner’s Grant. I knew she wanted to leave Sydney, there was even talk of me going too, but I didn’t
know she had a house coming to her. She was looking at real estate the whole time we were together but always said it was just a fantasy.’ Rhys slouched over the wheel, glum, angry.
‘Nowhere but Sydney, eh.’ She changed the subject. ‘I’m taking the scenic route. I want to show you something.’

As Rhys turned onto South Dowling Street, it began to hail lightly. All along the edge of the park, Gymea lilies like giant matchsticks poked from their beds of long green blades. The lawns were
white with hail, like a fairytale winter. Marie wound down the window a crack. There was a cool nip in the air, her fentanyl patch was wearing off, and she felt a bittersweet awareness. She was
back in the real world of working lives and argument and weather on your skin. She watched the city pass by, and every car, every building, every crane and cloud seemed to hold a perfect symmetry,
as though they had all come together in this one choreographed moment. When they reached William Street, Rhys slowed alongside a dilapidated shopfront. The flash above the windows was still there,
the interior empty except for some refuse across the floor.

‘The tattoo parlour,’ said Marie. ‘It’s gone.’

‘It was there for nearly thirty years, y’know. There was probably a tattooist working this street continuously throughout the whole twentieth century. And now there’s none. I
think of the old places every time I drive down here. All those spirits of the skin, floating above the traffic.’

‘So I’m carrying a bit of history on my body.’

‘You could say that.’

‘I was drunk when I got those first tattoos.’

‘Really?’

‘As a skunk.’

Rhys laughed. ‘How old-fashioned of you.’

‘Did you know Neil?’

‘Vaguely. He’s a good tattooist in an old-school kinda way. I like old school.’

‘He’s a bikie, isn’t he?’

Rhys smirked. ‘Neil is a
motorcycle enthusiast
.’

At the lights she pointed down to Woolloomooloo. ‘And that’s where I was living when I first started tattooing. In a squat. Great place. We were there for years. It’s a freeway
now. You’ll have to direct me, Marie. We’re
just
gonna beat peak hour.’

‘The bridge, so I can see.’

The car crawled up the hill towards the sunset. A bleating began at Marie’s feet.

‘Is that my phone?’ said Rhys. ‘No, mine’s here.’ She patted her pocket.

It was bleating in Marie’s bag, but the effort of bending down to get it was too much. She let it ring out. ‘I’m down to four months,’ she announced.

‘What do you want to do?’

‘Go for a bushwalk. See Nell. You know I wanted to get gauntlets, and we never finished the angophora. I feel incomplete.’

‘Maybe I can paint the gauntlets on.’

‘You never would have tattooed them, would you.’

‘Actually, yes. I just felt you needed to wait a bit longer. More people are getting their hands done now; it’s not such a big deal.’

‘I think I just want to make the most of this last fortnight in my house and garden.’

‘That sounds good. Then you move?’

‘Yes.’ Marie groaned. ‘I’m dreading it.’

Rhys turned onto the Cahill Expressway. The sun was low and she pushed down the visors.

‘I was cruel to Blanche.’

‘You’re very different from each other,’ Rhys said diplomatically.

‘Are you going to have another child, Rhys?’

‘Probably not. Why?’

‘You can’t love all your children equally, you know. They tell you that you can, that you
have
to, but you can’t. And you end up feeling guilty about it for the rest of
your life.’

Marie’s little speech exhausted her. Her mouth was completely dry. The water bottle at her feet was empty. She could sense the familiar marching band of pain start up in the pit of her
stomach. She looked at the girders of the bridge flicking by, the ribbed sky stretching either side. She found herself smiling a greeting or a farewell to the impervious, beautiful scenery.
‘Oh, Rhys. We had so much fun, didn’t we?’

‘We sure did.’

Clark spent the morning catching up on chores. He cooked the chick peas he had soaked the night before, did some washing then from eight-thirty onwards made a list of overdue
phone calls, including one to Nell’s child care to check on her progress. Rachel, the manager, thought Nell was
so precocious and one of the most on-to-it kids I
’
ve ever had
here.
Clark hung up feeling proud and satisfied. He wrote up his Progress Report for first semester, transferred Nell’s child allowance, read the backlog of emails from his department and
paid all his bills. He wrote an email to Janice about Nell, so as to avoid talking to her directly. The chores he enjoyed the most were the administrative ones, the completion of each giving him a
satisfaction he hadn’t felt since he’d stopped working in an office. The crispness of the morning had lasted into the heart of the day; he was tingling with energy when he finished. He
thought that he might go back to an administrative job when he finished his thesis; it seemed to make him happier than writing. He would never be a writer, he realised that now, but it came to him
more with relief than disappointment.