Miracle Man (13 page)

"All this is a bit
extreme, isn't it, Marcus? You must have twenty machines here."

"Twenty one. And no,
not really. We've used these men before. The best demolition team I've worked
with. They're quick and they know their job. I could have settled for some
local help, but I know what I get with these guys. I don't mind paying a little
extra to ask them to come out here for a week."

The invisible barrier
between them was almost a tangible force. Only the bitter wind had the power to
pass through it.

"So do you think your
meeting was a success?" Marcus asked. Light rain had started to fall, and
a drop caught him on the cheek.

"Yes. Yes I do. It's
only a matter of time before something happens."

"Hmm. Time. That's your
real problem, isn't it?"

"No Marcus," Lahra
declared in sudden frustration. "You're my problem. You! Can't you see
what you're doing here? Can't you see what you're doing to this town?"

Marcus watched her blankly.
Lahra could feel her most supressed emotions revealing themselves on her face.
Standing here right in front of the Miracle Cinema with Marcus, as the rain
began to fall and the machines of destruction assumed their positions around
them, was like waking up in the middle of a dream gone wrong. All at once the
enormous burden that she had taken on was pressing down on her, squeezing her
control from her, threatening to make her vulnerable before him.

"I know what I'm doing
to the town," Marcus responded, his eyes dropping to the asphalt between
them. "That's been planned on paper for months." There was a
thoughtful silence, and then he looked up at her as if the rain had washed the
hardness from his eyes. "What I don't fully know, and what scares me the
most, is what I'm doing to you."

Tears held too long and too
deep inside Lahra found their way to the brink of the outside world. She closed
her eyes tightly in an attempt to hold them back. Why did it have to be him?
Why, of all the men in the world that she could have met, did she have to fall
in love with Marcus Dean?

An arm slipped over her
shoulders and pulled her in tight to a warm body. She didn't want to look,
because if it wasn't Marcus she didn't want to know.

"This bloke bothering
you?" Kurt Carol asked as he pulled Lahra closer. But his eyes didn't look
at her when he spoke. They were fixed like laser sights on Marcus. "I sure
hope you're not bothering the lady, mate. Your life wouldn't be worth living if
you did anything to her."

Marcus didn't look at Kurt.
He looked only at Lahra. "You may be right."

"It's okay, Kurt,"
Lahra managed to say without her voice breaking. "We were just talking."

Kurt looked at Lahra's
tormented, glistening eyes, then back at Marcus. "I suggest you go find
somebody else to talk to. If you know what's good for you."

"I believe it was
you
who interrupted
our
conversation. Why don't you go and find a
conversation that isn't already taking place?"

Kurt's eyes widened into an
incredulous stare. His arm loosened from around Lahra and he positioned her
behind him like she was some sort of valuable, fragile vase. He stepped slowly
towards Marcus, his boots crunching the road beneath, stopping no more than
three inches from a collision between their noses.

"Kurt, what are you
doing?" Lahra protested. But he didn't seem to hear her.

"Are you tellin' me
what to do in my town?" Kurt seethed through clenched teeth. "Please
tell me you are, because I'd like nothing better than to break that pretty face
of yours open all over the footpath."

"Kurt, stop it!"

Marcus stared back into
Kurt's manic eyes with trademark composure. "Tell me Kurt. Are all the
ladies as impressed with your self control as Lahra seems to be?"

Lahra knew Kurt too well.
She threw herself between them. "Stop it, both of you!"

"Hey, Marcus!" a
voice called. It was Joe, jogging up to meet him. "Could you come over
here a minute?"

"Sure," Marcus
said, his eyes finally leaving Kurt's glare. "I'm coming now."

Kurt moved to Lahra's side
and put a protective arm around her once more. The rain was now becoming quite
heavy. She looked into Marcus’s eyes as he was turning to leave. There was a
timeless moment as she watched a single drop of water gather on his eyelash,
then tumble down over his cheek to his lips. To
those
lips.
"Marcus!" she called suddenly, weakly. He turned to her fully, the
rain now dripping from the comma of dark hair that hung over his forehead.
"Please... please don't."

"C'mon, Marcus,"
Joe called. "I said I wanted a bath, not a shower!"

She felt the grip his eyes
had on her loosen, then fall away completely. He turned slowly, and walked
away. "Please," Lahra said again. But the only person who heard her
plea, was herself.

"Dad!" Lahra
called. "Daddy! I'm down here! Down here!"

She was calling at the top
of her voice, but it was as if somebody had found her hidden volume control and
turned it way down. She was sitting in the front row of the Miracle Cinema, the
only person in the entire auditorium, watching a silent, black and white movie
of her father on a ship full of strangers. He looked sad and cold.

"Daddy!"

Then a woman entered the
scene and stopped by her father's side. He turned to her and seemed to brighten
immediately. They flung their arms around one another and kissed.

"Mummy!" Lahra
called weakly. "Mum, I'm just here!"

But there was no response from
the flickering images on the screen. Her parents and the people milling about
on the deck behind them were completely oblivious to Lahra's beckoning. It had
begun to rain in the movie, but nobody seemed to care. Her father and mother
continued holding each other and talking as if they were in the middle of a
park on a sunny Spring day. Lahra seemed attached to her chair, her eyes unable
to move from the screen. Her heart beat fast and hard like she knew something
bad was going to happen, but she didn't know what.

"Mummy. Daddy. I'm
here," she said quietly, resignedly.

Suddenly, the image on the
screen lurched, as if the ship had broken in half. Her parents grabbed each
other and steadied themselves, while the people in the background broke into a
panic and started to run in every direction at once. The rain was now a
torrent, and grey waves splashed up onto the deck. "No!" Lahra
screamed, but the louder she tried to call, the softer her voice sounded.

Her mother and father held
each other close as the background seemed to sink into the cold ocean. Lahra
turned to look at the projection booth, at the strobing light that spilled from
the glass window. "Stop it!" she shrieked, but it didn't stop. The
white light merely changed to a flashing yellow, and when she turned back to
the screen the images were the same, hazardous colour. "No, please!"
she cried, but there was nobody to hear her.

The water swirled higher and
higher on the screen, and her parents just looked into each other's eyes and
kissed. It was then that Lahra saw somebody standing in the background, the
crashing water rising quickly over his chest, the yellow light flashing
rhythmically across his face. It was Marcus, and he seemed to be staring
straight at her. "Noooooo!" she screamed, but this time not a single
sound came from her mouth.

And then the screen was
filled with murky, yellow water. Her parents were gone from view, Marcus was
nowhere to be seen. The only sound in the entire cinema was the spattering of
incessant rain.

Lahra's eyes burst open,
expecting to find a wall of water crashing in on her from the cinema screen,
but all she saw was her bedroom window, and the rain that made dancing patterns
across it from the other side. The rain sounded as heavy as the grey clouds
outside looked.

The photograph of her
parents sat silently by her bed, forever frozen in the moment before they
kissed. Lahra looked at it for a long time as she adjusted from the dream world
to the waking world. She pulled the blanket tightly around her, taking comfort
in its softness and warmth.

It was nine o'clock. She
hadn't meant to sleep this long, but when she had finally got to bed last night
she had been exhausted. After finally convincing Kurt that she was alright and
that there was no need for him to drive her home, she'd found Wally and
Malcolm. They went back to the Town Hall and found Mayor Bronwyn Boyle, who
seemed quite distressed by the invasion of Riverbank by this procession of
giant machines. She was aware that some construction equipment would be active
for a time, but she'd had no idea that there'd be this many.

However, the night had
served its purpose. Mayor Boyle had conceded that there was no doubt in the
minds of the council that there was sufficient evidence to consider seeking
intervention in the Miracle Cinema redevelopment. When Lahra had pressed her on
her selection of the word 'consider', she went suddenly apologetic. The fact of
the matter, she had said, was that Stone Rowbottom & Partners were legally
entitled to start demolition in the morning. Even with the help of a couple of
lawyers who had rallied to the cause, and even allowing for some bending of the
rules of due legal process, requesting an injunction couldn't happen overnight.
Only the MP's blessing could speed things up, but she couldn't vouch for his
position on the matter. They would just have to wait and hope for the quickest
possible response. Beyond that, there was nothing they could do.

Then the camera crew finally
caught up with them. A nice but very officious reporter introduced herself and
requested short interviews with each of them. The lights came on, blinding
Lahra's already tired eyes, and she complied.

The light now was anything
but blinding. The sun was well buried beneath the thick, rain-filled clouds,
and only a dull half-light filtered through. As Mayor Boyle had explained,
there was nothing any of them could do, and right now that suited Lahra just
fine. She closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

*

At midday, the rain was
falling even harder than it had that morning.

Lahra stood at the verandah
door sipping a cup of tea, staring out at the bleakness. Marcus’s house was a
blur on the opposite hill, the river a black strip between them. The sound of
the rain on the walls and windows was all at once soothing and maddening. She
knew there was nothing she could do, but it didn't stop her from wanting to do
something. She was trapped here, waiting, with nothing but her thoughts to
occupy her time. Thoughts of Marcus siphoning petrol out of his tank. Thoughts
of Marcus swimming naked in the river. Thoughts of Marcus with a fiery
reflection in his eyes as he drew closer to kiss her. All thoughts which she'd
rather not have.

She moved into the living
room where the fire, no longer a significant memory of several nights before,
was simply a fire, doing a fine job of warming things. Her eyes went to the
couch. Not the couch on which Marcus had sat sipping his wine. But the couch on
which boxes full of books and videos had sat. Boxes that hadn't been touched
since the day she'd arrived here. In an instant, she made up her mind to set
about building a new row of shelves. There was wood in the storeroom, and all
the tools she would need. Yes, she would build shelves. Perhaps by doing that
she could keep the thoughts that were trying invade her mind at bay a little
longer. Perhaps long enough to keep them away forever.

No sooner had she gathered
the necessary equipment to do the job than did the phone ring. She dropped
everything on the spot and ran to the kitchen to answer it.

"Hello?" she said
breathlessly.

"Doc, it's me. How are
you?"

"Good, I'm good. What
is it?" Lahra had no patience for small talk this morning. She just wanted
to know if anything was happening, anything that might stop her from sitting
around waiting to hear if anything was happening.

"Good news. Somebody up
there must be on our side, because they can't start work in the rain. It's been
coming down pretty heavy since about midnight, and it doesn't look like
stopping any time in the near future. Forecast says it could last a couple more
days."

"That's great!"
Lahra said, genuinely enthused. "That means we'll have time to get a court
order."

"Yeah, maybe."
Wally sounded anything but convinced. "I spoke to Malcolm, and he's heard
that the MP's office is really sitting on the fence on this one. The council
along with Malcolm's lawyer friends are doing everything they can to provoke
some action, but without the MP, their job is three times as hard."

"But what about the
petitions... the meeting?"

"They're aware of all
that, and we've still got petitions in circulation. They're just dubious about
getting their hands dirty in court."

"Unbelievable,"
Lahra said, shaking her head.

"So is it wet enough up
there for you?" Wally asked, changing the tone of the conversation.

"It's just fine. And
from what you've told me, it can stay just as wet as it likes. I've got a
raging fireplace and a whole set of bookshelves to build, so I'll be
comfortable for as long as it takes."

"I guess if he isn't
pulling down the cinema, that Marcus Dean would be free to come over and give
you a hand if you needed it."

Lahra was shocked at the
suggestion. Her cheeks burned. "Why do I get the feeling that your
imagination has been working overtime? Maybe it's all this damp weather
affecting your old bones."

Wally laughed. "Come
now, Doc. I saw the way the two of you were looking at each other. I know you
better than you think I do."

"Well even if there is
anything in what you say, Wally, it's not something I'm wasting any time
thinking about, so I suggest you don't waste any of your time either."
Lahra's fingers had started becoming entangled with the phone cord.

"Okay, Doc. Whatever
you say. If you do need anything, though, give me a call."

"Don't worry, I will.
Same to you."

"Okay. I'll talk to you
when one of us hears something."

They traded farewells, and
then Lahra was alone with the sound of the rain once more.

Had it been so obvious the
way she had looked at Marcus? If Wally had noticed, then surely the whole town
had seen. And the TV camera. Curse Marcus for standing up there and praising
her. She only called him up onto the stage as a pre-emptive strike. She knew that
the last thing he'd have expected was an invitation to tell his side of the
story. But instead he had turned the situation around on her yet again,
commanding the attention of hundreds of witnesses while she had just stood
there staring like a stupid, lovestruck girl. Why couldn't she have just let it
go? Why didn't she just ignore his conspicuous silence, or at least be thankful
for it?

She put her hands to her
cheeks and felt their heat. She ran to the living room, flung herself on the
couch, and buried her head beneath a cushion. She hated having such little
control over herself. She hated the blushing, the trembling, the racing heart,
and now most of all she hated that somebody else had seen it written in her
eyes. Where she had planned tirelessly for several days to undo Marcus’s plans,
he had successfully robbed her of her self control with only the barest of
efforts.

Through bleary eyes Lahra
regarded the hammer and nails on the floor. The way she felt it was best if she
didn't attempt to use them for some time, until she felt in control enough to
avoid doing herself some serious damage.

*

The day passed surprisingly
quickly. Lahra had been right when she supposed that doing something
constructive, in this case literally, would free her mind of unwanted thought.
Having commandeered a section of the wall as her target, she had measured, cut
and mounted six tiers of shelving that perfectly matched the existing shelves
on the feature wall. By the time she'd begun stacking books and movies on them,
nobody would have guessed that the shelves hadn't been there since the day the
house was built.

The rain was unrelenting.
There hadn't been a break in the clouds all day, and it had started to grow
very dark by four o'clock. It was almost as if the entire house was under
water, Lahra thought whenever she looked out a window. As if any moment now the
house would float free of its foundations and be swept away.

At six she switched the
television on, aware that if the camera crew from the town hall had compiled a
story it would be on air tonight. Factions within her were debating the notion
of her appearing on TV. A good story could do untold good for the Miracle
Cinema cause. But the thought of seeing herself as everybody else had seen her
with Marcus right there beside her made her want to hide under the nearest
rock.

She half watched the
broadcast as she sorted and rearranged books, and it wasn't long before the
Miracle Cinema story indeed came on.

She barely heard the words
of the reporter as she sat on the edge of the seat directly in front of the
television to watch. All she could think about was whether there would be any
footage of her with her emotions let loose across her face.

"The main force behind
the movement to save the cinema from being turned into a state-of-the-art
entertainment complex is Lahra Brook," the reporter was saying, "a
lecturer in Film History at the city campus of Charlton University. Her message
is clear." At this point, the image on the screen cut from Lahra on the
stage to Lahra out in front of the Town Hall when she was being interviewed.
"If we let developers do this to such an historically and culturally
significant landmark as the Miracle Cinema without putting up a fight,"
her TV image said, "then we're paving the way to let them come in and do
whatever they want to Riverbank and towns just like us. Before we know it, our
home will be unrecognisable, irreversibly altered." The reporter appeared
again now, standing in front of the darkened cinema. "The man behind the
redevelopment project, Marcus Dean, has a somewhat different view." Now
the vision cut to Marcus on the stage, addressing the crowd. "I'll ask you
now not to feel animosity towards me," he was saying, "or any of the
people who have found work through the redevelopment of the Miracle Cinema.
None of us has a devious plan to destroy the past. All we're doing is getting
on with our futures." Lahra held her breath, waiting for the camera to pan
across to find her standing there with some awestruck expression on her face. But
it didn't happen. The reporter began talking about the convoy of demolition
machinery that they had filmed rolling into town. And the final word went to
Wally, whom they had asked what it was like to be suddenly out of a job after
nearly fifty years. "Who's out of a job? Apparently I get to be head
urinal cleaner at the new entertainment complex. Now there's a career
move!"