The Healing Party (14 page)

I thought of the long-haired, dark-eyed man on the stairs. ‘But I never gave him my number.'

‘Remember when Dad was on stage and announced his phone number and address to everyone?' said Anita.

‘Why would he ring Natasha?' Patsy demanded.

‘We met when he carried Mum's wheelchair up the stairs and again when the preacher was casting out the devil from that woman and I went outside.'

‘What were you talking about?' Patsy said.

‘Nothing,' I said.

Anita looked amused. ‘Maybe he wants to ask Natasha out.'

Patsy gasped. ‘That man is not allowed to use the number to ask us out – Dad gave out the number for the healing party.'

Dad laughed. ‘You should all thank me, girls, if you single ones get boyfriends out of this!'

‘Natasha's not single,' said Maria.

I steeled myself to tell them. Now was as a good a time as any, in fact it was better – with Dad there, and the family together, the discussion would stay on the surface. ‘I am, actually,' I said.

Maria's eyes became sympathetic. ‘Did you break up with Jason?'

‘It was time,' I said, starting to clear dishes from the table.

Anita gave me an appraising look. ‘No job and no boyfriend. You can come back to Melbourne now.'

Mum lifted her shoulders and smiled at me. ‘Maybe it is God's will.'

‘Go and call Ed back now, Natasha,' said Dad.

‘When did he ring?' I asked.

‘It could have been a week ago,' Dad said.

‘And you didn't pass on the message?' I said.

‘It was lost among my papers, but today Jesus led me to see it,' Dad said. ‘The Lord put it on my heart that this man is the one who is going to clear the back garden for us. You must ring him now!'

‘Dad, Natasha can't just say hi, Ed, by the way, come and do our gardening,' said Anita.

‘He can only say no,' said Dad. ‘But something tells me he won't. He seemed a nice man on the phone and he said he was inspired by Mum and me on stage. Ring him. See if he can come right now. Ask if he has something to cut long tough grass, like a scythe, a powered scythe.'

‘You mean a brush cutter? I know where to get one,' said Charles.

‘No, you are needed to set up the freezer. Let this young man get it,' said Dad. ‘Now go and ring him, Natasha. Do it for the Lord. So I can put out the ramp and Mum can run through the garden and fulfil the miracle! You've finished your lunch. Go on, ring now. Have faith!'

*

‘Is Ed there?' I asked, though I already knew it was him from his hello.

‘Natasha, how are you?' he said. His voice sounded slow and nonchalant over the phone, uncannily like Jason's. ‘Easygoing' was how people who didn't know Jason well described him, but they had no idea of the energy it took to maintain that drawl over his nervousness.

‘Sorry I didn't ring back earlier. I only just got your message,' I said.

‘I thought I might have offended you.'

‘Why?'

‘You know, using the number your father gave out for the healing party to ring you instead.'

‘No, I would have rung you back. My father's rotten at passing on messages.'

‘There's a Life in the Spirit seminar on at the Christian Ministry Centre. I thought you might be interested in going, or we could have coffee?'

‘Coffee would be good.'

‘Cool, when?'

‘Actually, were you thinking about coming to the healing party?'

‘Yes, I was, but I didn't want it to be, like … I'll explain later.'

‘Would you be interested in helping us prepare the backyard for the party – do some gardening? Some pretty heavy gardening, actually. It's a jungle. My father suggested it. You can say no. He just wanted me to ask …'

‘Sure. When?'

‘Are you free this afternoon? You've probably got something else on —'

‘I can leave in about an hour.'

‘Also …' Now to ask for the brush cutter.

‘Yep?'

‘Do you need our address?' I couldn't. I would get the brush cutter from Charles's friend instead.

*

It didn't take me long to pick up the cutter. I carried it to the backyard and laid it on top of the ramp. CTJ, singing ministry members and others were starting to arrive for practice. I made tea and coffee for the visitors and looked out for Ed. When he arrived at the front door, Dad, who was in the lounge room with his drama group, got there first. He was shaking Ed's hand and patting him on the shoulder when I reached them.

‘Hi,' I said, giving him a small wave. Urbane and good-looking, he smiled at me, and I suddenly felt nervous.

Dad led Ed into the lounge room, where Maria introduced herself with a big, welcoming smile and a hug. Watching her clenched hands, I thought how open she would appear to be to anyone who didn't know that she couldn't tolerate touch unless it was her hugging you or giving you a massage. She could give, but not receive.

‘Say hello to Ed, our wonderful new volunteer,' said Dad, presenting him to the members of the drama group. Dad directed the actors to do scene two again, starting with Maria's part. ‘Just watch for a few minutes,' he said to Ed. ‘I am very proud of this group. They are performing a play I wrote specially for the healing party.'

The lounge furniture had been moved aside to create a stage area by the front window. The actors took their places. On Dad's instruction, the actors in the background started shaking their heads and wagging their fingers at each other. Maria stepped forward with a cushion under her shirt. She fell on her knees and spoke to her padded tummy. ‘I can feel you; you are real, you are alive! But if I keep you, I will lose my husband … What can I do?'

Now the attractive young actor, Dad's favourite, came out. She spread out her hands to the audience. ‘They tell me I have cancer, that I will never dance again … What can I do?'

The other actors filled the stage, all singing, ‘Choose life, give it a go, choose life …'

Ed watched with a polite half-smile on his face. Dad clapped his hands and shouted, ‘Marvellous! Carry on!' to the cast, then opened the glass doors that led into the family room, guiding Ed through. I followed. Patsy on keyboard, a teenage boy on drums and two middle-aged women on guitar sang in rock-opera style. ‘Dare to believe. Dare to be filled. Dare to rise up …' Patsy's voice soared above the others. Her face, usually introverted and stiff, became flushed and even pretty when she sang.

When they finished, Dad applauded, and Ed and I joined in. ‘Splendid,' Dad said, turning to Ed. ‘Like it? Lyrics by me. The song will make its debut at the healing party! Tune by Patsy, my youngest daughter. She has real talent. Patsy, this is Ed.' Patsy gave a shy smile and shook Ed's hand. ‘Carry on singing,' he said, and led us towards the kitchen.

Dad walked slowly, looking with intent at his pictures lining the walls. He stopped in front of a recent favourite: a face of Jesus about three metres high in thick black outline. Inside the giant face of Jesus, myriad small faces were depicted, some prayerful, others evil and lascivious. Blood, represented by a writhing mass of red paint, spouted from Jesus's head where a crown of thorns pierced it.

‘Is this too much, I asked, when I finished it – is this too … too … phenomenal for the Australian public to take? Tell me honestly, Ed, what do you think?'

‘I don't know much about art, but this picture and the others – are they all yours? – seem very powerful to me,' said Ed.

‘Yes, powerful. All my art is made to serve the Lord. Even the ones I do on commission, I will place the cross of Jesus in it somewhere so whether or not the buyer realises, it will witness to them!'

We entered the kitchen. The wives of the Missionaries for Christ community were here to help. Their busy hands chopped, washed up, stirred steaming pots. One husband crouched on the floor with Charles, setting up the wiring for the extra freezers and ovens. Anita walked around, directing operations. Her voice was clear and confident: ‘Chop up twelve more onions, please … put the oven there to make more room … time to turn off the pan …'

‘We shall feed the masses at the healing party,' Dad called out. ‘Not just food of the spirit, but also food for the stomach!' He guffawed at his joke and ushered Ed over to Anita. ‘Meet our outstanding chef and master of ceremonies, my firstborn, Anita. She was recently made a manager, you know, at an international property development company!' He started to introduce Charles, but was called to the other room by a drama group member.

Anita managed to make conversation with Ed while keeping an eye on everything in the kitchen and instructing the volunteers. In just a few minutes, she found out that he worked as an attendant in an old folks home, lived by himself in a rented flat in Collingwood and had finished a psychology degree about five years ago.

With the living areas overrun, Mum was confined to her room. I brought Ed in to say hello. Mum was propped up against pillows, talking and praying with Maureen and Liz from her cell group. She wore her day clothes and dainty slippers, with the bible open on her lap. Maureen and Liz sat on chairs pulled up to the bed. Maureen read from her bible: ‘“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.”'

‘That's a great passage,' Ed offered. He walked over, manly and well mannered, took each of their hands in turn and introduced himself. He asked after Mum's health with warmth and concern, and reminded her that they had met at the faith rally.

‘You carried my wheelchair up the stairs, didn't you? That was so nice of you,' she said. She lifted her shoulders and smiled in that girly way she had. I felt proud that I had brought him home to the family.

In the backyard next to the Hills Hoist, Dad spoke to Ed like a prophet running out of time. He bounced on his feet, his eyes flashing, and spittle flying from his mobile mouth. He told the story of the dream, pointing to the ramp, the earth and the sky, and exhorted Ed to civilise the garden. Not only would the weeds need to be cleared, he said, the cactus would also need to be cut back to make way for the ramp. ‘Watch out for snakes and use the corridor I created through the grass.' He grasped Ed's shoulder. ‘We thank the Lord for sending you to us so we can bear witness to the world of His power and mercy.' Dad rushed back inside, leaving us in silence.

‘Well, there you have it,' I said. I searched Ed's face for a reaction.

Turning away from me, Ed pulled off his leather jacket. He had a faded black T-shirt on underneath, and his long, thin, muscled back showed through. I had sensed a connection between us. Maybe I was wrong.

‘Ready to get started,' he said, swinging his jacket over the Hills Hoist. Then he turned around and winked. It was one of those casual Aussie winks that involved cocking the face to one side. I didn't know what it meant, but it felt conspiratorial and I liked it.

For the next three hours, we cleared away wood and debris, cut down the grass and weeds, and raked. I appreciated the way he made sure we took turns pulling on the cord of the brush cutter to get it started, although it was obvious that he had the longer arm and the stronger pull. When it blared into action in his hands, he invited me to go first. Initially I held it almost horizontal, scared of the rapacious blade. After a few minutes I found the right angle to carry and control it without it being too high or too close, and how to adjust the strap so that most of the weight was taken across the shoulders, not in the arms. At the blade's touch, foliage flew in all directions. I held the cutter until my arms trembled, then Ed took over. He worked fast and fervently.

When the last bushy corner was mown, we turned off the cutter. The racket stopped and the white spinning slowed until the blades could be seen. We surveyed our work. The back garden looked flat and open and somehow smaller, emptied of its dangers and mysteries, like a pool with the water drained. All that remained were the ten cacti lining the back fence. Dad had planted them about thirteen years ago, at two-metre intervals. They were potplant size back then. Now they were taller than the three-metre-high fence and so wide that their stems tangled with each other.

‘We should finish up now,' I said, but Ed was determined to keep going. Covered in sweat and smeared with dirt and grass, he picked up the saw and strode towards the first of the four cacti that Dad had marked for removal. I left him there while I went to have a shower and take the brush cutter back to its owner. We planned to go out for dinner after I got back.

*

When I returned to the backyard an hour later, only a few cactus stems were shorn off and tossed on the ground, and Maria stood next to Ed at the back fence. She was doing all the talking. She spoke with half-closed, dreamy eyes. A smile played gently upon her lips. I caught a few words before they noticed me coming: ‘… the unconditional love and truth of Jesus … break the chains of anger … spiritual healing …' Her voice was rich and self-possessed.

Maria saw me, and the dreamy look left her. ‘Oh, I'd better let you get on with it,' she said. ‘Thanks for talking.' She gave Ed a radiant smile and walked inside.

Time had flown while they were talking, Ed said. He wanted to finish removing the stems from one cactus before it got dark. I left him to it and walked back inside to look for Maria. She, Mum and Patsy were at Mum's window, watching Ed work.

I went straight over to Maria. ‘What were you talking about with Ed?'

‘He was interested in joining my Agape group. He's searching for spiritual healing of his past.'

‘You mean you were poking and prying. Trying to find out people's problems as usual. So you can preach,' I said.

‘Tsk-tsk-tsk, don't be like that, Natasha,' said Mum.