The Memory Tree (10 page)

Mrs McLennon looked at him doubtfully. Underneath the courteous exterior, she sensed something—energy? Fervour, maybe? She couldn’t put her finger on it, she told Alice later. But it was there.
Maybe the girl’s parents felt that too
, she thought, although she was realistic enough to acknowledge that black skin was probably more than enough to alarm them.

After lunch, Hal took his guest back into the lounge room and quizzed him some more over coffee. There was a question he couldn’t ask at the table.

‘How is it that you work in a brothel? I mean, with your religious convictions, it’s a strange choice of career.’

Godown snorted. ‘Choice of career? Choice? Don’t you see I’m black? What choice you think I got?’ He held Hal’s embarrassed gaze in his own. ‘Even at the Garden, they only want me for my muscles.’

Hal turned away and began to poke at the fire. ‘I’m sorry . . . didn’t think,’ he mumbled. What Hal meant was, he didn’t notice. He saw that Godown was black of course, but it made no difference to him at all and it pained him that it might make a difference to others. My grandfather was a straightforward man, genuinely unable to imagine why skin colour should be an issue. He listened courteously as Godown continued.

‘You know why I can’t do the Lord’s work properly? One— I’m a lone black man in a white city. And two—I work in a brothel.’

Hal was intrigued. ‘But you invite the punters in. How can you square that with God?’

‘The Lord tells me to give to Caesar that which is Caesar’s. The Garden pays me, and I owe it to them to do a good job.’ He grinned conspiratorially. ‘Don’t stop me from tryin’ to convert some of them girls, though.’

They sat in companionable silence for some moments, then Godown looked shrewdly at his host. ‘I’m sensin’ somethin’ sad in your life, friend,’ he said. ‘Offer your sorrows to the Lord. He’s a truly lovin’ Father.’

‘So they say,’ said Hal drily. ‘I can’t say I’ve noticed it myself.’

‘You can’t say that. Let me help you, friend.’

‘Hal. Please. Hal.’

‘Hal. Let me show you the ways of the Lord. Let me unlock the springs of your sorrow.’

Hal had never heard anyone speak this way in normal conversation. It was so rhythmic and soothing it sounded like poetry. Or a song. The resonance of Godown’s voice made his words a song.

From that moment, Hal placed his trust in Pastor Godown Moses. He told him how he had built this house for his bride. How they had two precious children. How they had lived happily, but not ever after.

‘I’ve tried to reach her—I’ve tried to reconcile with God. But she moves further away every day. I’ve let her down and she’s moving further away from me.’

‘She’s waitin’ for you, Hal. When your time in this vale of tears has passed, she’ll be there, waitin’ to lead you to glory.’

This notion of a kindly God. Hal knew it was all rubbish, of course. No different from Father Murphy when you thought about it. But he had seen faith and hope in this man’s eyes. What if it wasn’t rubbish? What if this stranger knew, really
knew
that the universe made sense? That the loss of a loved one was a temporary state? What if he actually
knew
the one thing that Hal wanted to believe?

Hal’s voice was low, so low that Godown had to lean forward to hear him. ‘How can I know? What can I do?’

The pastor’s eyes shone. ‘You have to know the Lord to understand his ways.’

‘Tell me about him.’

Godown could recite whole passages of the Bible by heart. ‘In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth . . . Now what does that tell you, friend?’

Hal had never thought much about the meaning of the scriptures and was largely unfamiliar with the Old Testament.

‘A bit more,’ he said. ‘I can’t get anything out of a few words.’

Leaning forward, Godown grasped his hands. ‘But you can. Just think. First there was nothin’ and no-one ’cept God. And what did he do? He created places—homes for us, Hal. For you and me. God created
heaven
and
earth
.’

‘How do we know he created them for us? Maybe he wanted them for Himself.’

‘Because He didn’t
need
no place for Himself. He was already
there
. Logic, Hal. He created them places for somethin’ outside of Himself. Us.’ He emphasised his words by tapping his own then Hal’s chest. ‘Me ’n’ you, Hal. Me ’n’ you.’

Hal was impressed by the other man’s certainty. He refused to question the spurious argument because he wanted so much to believe. If there was earth, which there obviously was, then there must be a heaven and if there was a heaven, well, Paulina still existed and one day . . . As Godown said—
logic
. Hal had moved right to the edge of his chair. ‘Yes. I see. Go on.’

‘And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

‘And God said “Let there be light”; and there was light.’

The beauty of the words. Hal had no idea that the Bible was so beautiful. He felt he could have closed his eyes and listened to Godown’s voice forever.

‘And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness . . . do you see, Hal? It don’t just mean night and day, it means light and dark in our souls— good and evil, Hal. We got to reach for the light and refrain from enterin’ the dark.’ The pastor paused and sat back. ‘You have to work at this, friend. Where is the light and dark in your life?’

Hal searched for an answer.
Light. Let’s see. Light . . .
Paulina, of course. But she wasn’t actually in his life anymore. Or was memory enough to call it light? Maybe she belonged with darkness because her death was the source of his sorrow? Paulina and darkness? His face twitched with anxiety. Perhaps he should move on and return to Paulina later. Light . . . Sealie and Zav. That went without saying. His businesses? Mundane. Yes. But true. Mrs Mac’s roast dinners. The magnolia. Mrs Mac herself, now he thought about it. Cold beer in summer, the Lions winning the premiership. He was on a roll. Slim Dusty. Elvis Presley. The beach. Ballet . . . no. Not anymore. Ballet. That had disappeared into the dark.

So Hal, for all his melancholy, found light easier than dark. When he tried to shine a light into the far corners of his mind, he discerned amorphous shadows but averted his eyes before they solidified into the real shapes. Finally, because Godown was waiting, he whispered the two words that huddled there in the dark—loss and fear.

‘Tell me about loss, Hal.’ Godown’s voice was gentle, like he was speaking to an invalid.

‘Loss. I lost Paulina. She was the brightest light of all.’ Hal stared out the window at the magnolia. ‘When she died I lost something of myself. I’m different, now. Even the children . . .’

‘The children. A great blessing, Hal. And part of her, too.’

‘I know that. But I fear losing them. I try to be a good father. I really do. But there’s always a terrible hole . . .’ Hal was struggling. ‘I’ve been reading this book—it’s science fiction, but the author’s a real scientist. He talks about the death of a sun and how matter finally falls into this black hole—I don’t really understand it, but that’s like the darkness I feel . . .’ He grappled for an explanation, his hands coming together to demonstrate the collapse of the sun. ‘This matter is so dense, so heavy . . . it was a sun—alive and warm and then . . . do you understand what I’m saying? It—
troubles
me. It drags my spirit down.’

Hal had never spoken like this before. There had been no-one to listen. Father Murphy would have admonished him for the sin of despair. The children were too young. Mrs Mac, good woman though she was, was a very literal person and Bob was more comfortable with ledgers and sales figures. His other mates were happy to discuss the football and cricket but not their feelings. Now, here he was, ranting like a madman to someone he hardly knew.

The pastor’s response was so kind that Hal wanted to cry. ‘I don’t know nothin’ about black holes, friend. But I do know that even the Lord knew despair, and somewhere in the blackest of holes, there’s a light and lovin’ arms waitin’ for us all.’ He bowed his head. ‘Let us pray that we can find that light.’

For the first time in a long while, Hal began to feel some hope.

That night, the night they spoke of light and dark, was one Hal never forgot, and when his guest stood up to go, he felt a rising panic. There was so much to know. He had to keep this man by his side. And with little reflection, he plunged headlong into a friendship that would stoke the embers of his incipient madness.

‘Tell you what,’ he said, clutching his guest’s arm excitedly. ‘Tell you what. You can live here, in one of the spare rooms. I’ll give you a job at the printing factory and then you can run your church with a free conscience.’

‘My conscience is already free,’ said Godown with dignity. ‘But I accept your kind offer on behalf of the Lord, who is indeed mysterious in His ways.’

‘You did what?’ Mrs McLennon had been part of the family long enough to question Hal when he made what she considered silly decisions, but this, as she told Alice, really took the cake.

‘He just came in, calm as you like and told me that this
complete stranger
was coming to live with us. “Please prepare the back bedroom, Mrs Mac”, he says. “I have asked Mr Washbourne to stay with us.”’

‘Just like that?’

‘Exactly like that. I told him. Mr R, I said. You hardly know this man. You can’t just ask him to stay. What about the children?’

‘You couldn’t speak plainer than that.’

‘Much good it did. He’s bringing his things tomorrow. Will I be expected to do for him too? I asked Mr R that very question.’

‘And?’

‘And he said Mr Washbourne can do his own cleaning and laundry. I have to cook for one extra, though.’

Godown Moses Washbourne proved to be an exemplary house guest. He kept his room with military neatness and washed and ironed his own clothes. He even offered to help Mrs McLennon with the family ironing, but that was her domain, thank you very much. Still, she allowed him to chop the wood for the open fire they still used and enjoyed his company in the kitchen as she prepared the meals.

She found herself waiting for him to poke his head through the doorway around five thirty.

‘What dee-licious treat do you have for us tonight, Mrs Mac-Lennon?’ He always said her name as though it were two separate words. ‘Mind if I come in and sit awhile?’ Soon he’d be peeling potatoes or shelling peas, telling her about his home or his hopes of preaching the Word in his own church.

‘My momma was a small woman but, Lord, could she sing! We used to sing together when we doin’ the chores. On my last night at home before military trainin’, the neighbours came in and we sang till I left for the train station at dawn.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Momma didn’t sing that night.’

‘You can sing now, if you like.’ Mrs McLennon loved to hear him sing. His hymns sounded a bit Protestant, she thought, but you couldn’t deny their beauty. ‘Sing the one about the troubles you’ve seen.’

Godown began with a humming deep in his chest, then began to sing.
Nobody knows the trouble I seen, Nobody knows but Jesus . . .
Honestly, it brought tears to her eyes. She found herself looking forward to his booming voice, his large presence in her kitchen.