A Handicap of the Devil? (32 page)

"Alright, I'll leave and I've failed, we've failed.” Jonathan indicated with his hands to take in all of his disciples. “We've failed, and God will forsake us all. It is not for myself that I feel pity. It is for the entire world. I am now in my sixties, and I won't be around for that much longer. It is for the young people and for the generations unborn that I feel sorrow. The questions we had to answer, the problems we had to solve were the problems of our own time, and we couldn't do that. What is wrong with what I wanted to achieve? The universal brother and sisterhood of all people. An end to bloodshed, famine, race and religious hatred. An end to extremism. An end to the fanaticism that drives one lot of people to kill, maim and torture another lot of people. An end to the poverty and want that drive these things and have since time immemorial. The world has the resources to feed clothe and house every person in it. We have the resources to allow equality of opportunity for everyone. We either don't have the will, or there are too many vested interests that feed off inequality. The super slick salesmen of our generation, what are they selling? A dreamlike state where we all consume the same things—want the same things—the same status symbols. Where advertising and media fuel envy and greed. A world where the few have mind control over the many through the media. We've failed, but I want each of you out there who has poo poohed what I wanted to achieve to ask yourself this question. What was wrong with what I wanted for the world? With what God wants for the world? Peace, love, harmony, happiness. I leave you now. Those of my followers who want to come with me, come back to the houseboat. We will cast off and see where the river takes us. Somewhere we will set up a settlement and practice the things we have tried to preach. You are all welcome to join us."

Nobody did.

He moved away from the microphone feeling defeated and very old. It was the most eloquent speech he had ever made, and the first time he had spoken publicly without fear. The freedom to speak came from his desperation that it was all now at an end, and he had not been able to achieve his objective. It also came from an almost reckless freeing of his psyche from the censoring voices in his head that had been planted there in his childhood. It came from the knowledge that his life was almost over and nothing really meant a damn anymore—except finding somewhere to live out the rest of the time allotted to him peacefully—in harmony with his surroundings and the people who lived with him.

Marcie was first to embrace him. “That was the finest speech I've ever heard."

Back at home, Bugs and Thumper watched all this on T.V.

"I never believed he could get it together,” yawned Bugs.

"Just so long as he remembers the black sunflower seeds.” Thumper dropped wearily off to sleep.

It took three weeks for everyone to finalise their affairs and get ready to push off into the unknown.

Marcie served out two week's notice at The Bugle and then left despite Big Jim's protests that she was throwing away a great career in journalism. Jonathan sold his few possessions and brought the rabbits to the houseboat. This was after a somewhat teary farewell late one evening with Mrs. O'Reilly. She surprised him by first kissing him goodbye and then planting a poteen influenced kiss on each of the rabbits as they huddled disapprovingly in their cardboard box. Mrs. O'Reilly had forgiven Jonathan for his transgression and was very worried about his future. He had an open invitation to return at any time as a boarder.

Jonathan looked around the kitchen and smelled the smells of fat and grease that had built up for so many years. He wondered how he had spent so long in that place. Bugs and Thumper thoroughly approved of his new vegetarianism, although they could no longer express their approval through speech.

Scarface Cecil and Big Bottom Bertie lay low at the houseboat for most of the time. Only venturing out early one morning to clear out their flat and bring a few things with them. They were still scared that Mr. Big might be after them for the drugs they had bought on consignment and which had been washed down the Murray. They were not to know that Mr. Big was no longer in a position to harass them in any way at all. Six years hence the skeleton of his bullet-riddled body would be found in an abandoned mine shaft not far from Coober Pedy. The city had lost one of its leading businessmen.

Everyone with the exception of Jones P. junior elected to remain with Jonathan. Jones P. junior wished them well and promised to visit wherever they fetched up.

Eastman turned away and refused to look at Jonathan when he went in to the newly renamed Jones P. junior, accountants. The company had been reorganised, and Miss Bloomingdale was no longer with the firm. The new receptionist was much slimmer than Miss Bloomingdale. No bucket loads of fruit adorned her desk. Jonathan cleaned out his desk and locker and called goodbye to everyone. Eastman was the only one who mumbled a reply. The receptionist looked coolly through him even though her boss, Jones P. junior, shook hands vigorously with Jonathan as he left.

I bet she doesn't even know how to fart,
thought Jonathan, as he went down the stairs for the last time. It was a thought he would have been incapable of having a short time ago, but this was a new Jonathan Goodfellow—born out of his recent struggles and experience.

It had been difficult to get into the building when he arrived, and it was even more difficult to get out. The lobby was crowded with lawyers all carrying golf bags with the latest titanium tipped golf clubs, waiting their turn to be one of the maximum lift load of thirteen to descend to that hell of a golf course in Hades.

Later that day they slipped the mooring lines of the houseboat and began to drift downstream. Jonathan stood at the wheel steering the houseboat as well as he was able. From time to time the others used boathooks to push the houseboat away from the shore and keep them in midstream.

Jonathan was daydreaming at the wheel.
I wonder where we'll finish up? ‘I suppose we'll know the right place when we find it. How long have we got before it all winds down anyway?

Marcie stood beside him at the wheel and took turns steering. There was a comfortable feeling between them, almost as if they had known each other all their lives. From time to time they each glanced sideways at one another when they thought the other person was not looking and wondered if it were possible that ... and in good time they found out that all things are indeed possible.

The bunnies were loose in the cabin of the houseboat and sat, dozing, as they dreamed of their new burrows. Jonathan had put the
Great Arias
CD on the portable player, and
The Pearl Fishers’ Duet
was appropriately playing as the houseboat slid softly down the river. Bugs and Thumper looked forward to meeting Sylvester as soon as they arrived, and getting on with the task of having little bunnies.

Detective Sergeant James was released from hospital after treatment and two day's convalescence. The day he returned to work, he visited Jones P.'s establishment, pretending to look for Jonathan. While he was there, he engaged Miss Bloomingdale in conversation and found that she was a woman after his own heart.

He finished his visit with an invitation to dinner that night, which Miss Bloomingdale eagerly accepted. Indeed, the way to that lady's heart was to feed her and feed her well, which is exactly what Detective Sergeant James did that evening. He chose Giuseppi's Italian restaurant where the proprietor, Giuseppi, and the chef, Maria, were at one in their philosophy about food and service. That philosophy was that no customer should ever go away from the restaurant hungry. Customers were exhorted to “eat up, eat up. Who wantsa more of the crusty bread?” shouted by Giuseppi himself as he waited on tables or moved around the restaurant checking that everyone was eating and eating well.

Detective Sergeant James took Miss Bloomingdale into the kitchen to meet the chef after the meal. The chef was an experienced woman-of-the-world. She winked slyly and said under her breath, but loud enough for Miss Bloomingdale to hear, “You don't a let this one a get away, you hear? You marry this a one. She a just a right for you."

Miss Bloomingdale blushed, as did the detective sergeant.

They hit it off beautifully over dinner as they devoured giant serves of pasta with the chef's special sauce. This contained much garlic and black pepper. They also consumed mounds of crusty bread dripping with butter. The ingestion of so much food, combined with copious draughts of the house red, moved air along their digestive tracts at a remarkable rate. Their combined smells mingled with the smell of pasta and fresh coffee. Giuseppi knew his customers well, and James and his new sweetheart were sitting at the usual table reserved for him when he dined there alone. It was well away from the other guests.

By the time they finished dinner, Detective Sergeant James knew in his heart that this was the woman for him. Twelve days later he popped the question over dinner, once again at Giuseppi's, and was accepted with alacrity.

Giuseppi, who missed little that went on in his restaurant, cried out “Bravo” on hearing Miss Bloomingdale say
"yes".
He immediately cracked a bottle of his best spumante in honour of the occasion, and he and the chef drank the health of the newly engaged couple who were both surprisingly shy. They sipped their drinks in embarrassed silence, as Giuseppi and Maria waxed eloquent about the joys of marriage and bambinas.

Both Maria and her boss wondered how these two people would fare under the one roof given their joint propensity to explosions and whether any future progeny would also be afflicted.

Miss Bloomingdale resigned from her position with Jones P. to prepare for her coming wedding. She also delicately broached the subject of her weight and swore she would lose kilograms before the marriage.

"Well, okay, if you really want to.” Her future husband ogled her ample figure. “But not too much.” Detective Sergeant James would have made an excellent gladiator if he had been born a few centuries earlier.

The police commissioner retired eight weeks later and went on his retirement trip on the
Maid of the River
. The big, luxury paddle wheeler moved slowly down the turgid and poisoned river in which few fish now swam apart from the dreaded European carp.

The Maid of the River
passed the spot where the derelict houseboat had been moored on the way up the river and again on the way back seven days later. On both occasions the former commissioner stood greyly observing the scene of the riot and thought deeply about Jonathan, his disciples, and the weird and wonderful events that took place on that fateful afternoon. The Earth bore the terrible scars where lightning flashes had hit the ground. The scene of the fight between the lawyers and pensioners was churned into a muddy mess. The scars on the hillside and the turmoil that had been created sat oddly with the rest of the peaceful, green-grassed riverbank with its low foliage and mighty, grey barked river gums.

His wife joined him on deck both times. With the sixth sense that people who have been married for several decades develop about one another, she held his hand and said nothing.

I wonder what that was really all about?
The commissioner was never reconciled to the apparent fact that everything was a coincidence. To his devout wife's surprise and delight, he went back to the church he had deserted in all but lip service thirty years before.

"I always knew you'd be back someday.” The commissioner smiled at his local priest and nodded. As he had done for most of his police service, he kept his own counsel and continued to wonder what was true and what was not about Jonathan's failed quest.

I. Faarkham was the only lawyer to survive the terrible events of that afternoon of slaughter. He was safely ensconced in the back of a police paddy wagon and was unconscious throughout the ordeal suffered by his fellow ambulance chasers.

He was released from hospital six weeks later. One of the last acts of the police commissioner before retirement was to plead for an act of clemency from the premier for him. This was granted on the grounds that the state was so short of lawyers at that time that even a shyster like I. Faarkham was welcome. I. Faarkham became very wealthy from the amazing amount of briefs that flowed his way in the days immediately following his release from hospital. He also bought all of the former clients of Jones P. senior and son when that business changed to accountancy.

The state of South Australia was not devoid of lawyers for long. Lawyers saw the opportunity to make an even bigger killing in the void that existed after the slaughter. The more enterprising, and those who couldn't get a job anywhere else because of their incompetence, poured into the state to fill the hole. Things returned to normal surprisingly quickly on the law front. There was little disruption to the smooth running of the criminal justice system or to the various strands of litigation, contracts and general jurisprudence.

I. Faarkham led the lawyers on several forays to that great golf course in Hades, but that soon petered out when a number of lawyers failed to return after daring to break one hundred and twenty.

Thank you for reading
A Handicap of the Devil?
by Allen Lyne. We at
Books Unbound E-Publishing Co.
(www.booksunbound.com) hope you enjoyed it thoroughly!