was when Stevie came to; perhaps about eleven o’clock, or midnight. We had been there for several hours. I was dozing in my chair, and woke to see Sister Finlay get up and go to the bedside. I got up also, and went over to the bed. She was feeling the pulse, and Stevie was now restless. Once or twice the eyes opened and shut. He had drawn his knees up tight against his stomach, evidently in pain.
“He’s coming round,” she said quietly. “This is where our job begins, Mr. Hargreaves. We could have done with that case, after all.”
I crossed to the table and turned up the lamp, and then went back to the bed. Liang came out of the next room, roused, perhaps, by our movements; he stood with us in silence for a time watching the gradual return to consciousness and pain. Then he went softly to the verandah and stood looking out.
There was nothing I could do, and so I went out with him, and stood there while my eyes became accustomed. It was intermittent moonlight and darkness as the thick clouds parted and drifted across the moon, and in the passing, silvery light I saw that the animals were still there watching us, much as I had seen them before. I said to Liang again, “Do the animals usually come around like this, in the wet?”
He said, “Stevie die tonight.”
“I hope not,” I replied. “Well get him to the hospital tomorrow.”
He shook his head. “Animals, they come. I think he die.”
I stared at him. “You think the animals know?”
He nodded. “Animals, they know.”
I didn’t see why the death of one drunken, dissolute old man should excite the animal kingdom very much, but there was no good arguing it with Liang, if indeed the language difficulties had permitted argument. I stayed with him in silence for a minute or two, and then went back into the room, to Sister Finlay and her patient.
Stevie was fully conscious now, and evidently in considerable pain. He was moaning a little; from time to time his face became distorted as the spasm racked him, and this was more eloquent to me than the noise that he was making.
When he saw me he said to Sister Finlay, “What’s that Pommie parson doing here?” I think it was parson that he said, but Sister Finlay is sure that it was bastard, and says that she didn’t know which way to look when he called the vicar a Pommie bastard. Whichever way it was, it doesn’t matter. I went over to the bed and said, “I came out with Sister Finlay when we heard you were sick. Sergeant Donovan would have brought her out here, but he was away at Millangarra, so I came instead. How are you feeling, cobber?”
“I’m bad,” he muttered. “I been bad three days. Got a bottle of whiskey, Roger?”
“I haven’t,” I said. “I didn’t bring any, and anyway it wouldn’t be good for you.”
He stared at me for a minute. “Your name’s Roger?”
“That’s right,” I said. “I’m Roger and you’re Stevie.”
“I know,” he said. “Harps and angels’ wings. Pack of bloody lies, that’s what
I
think.”
I felt Sister Finlay beside me quiver with indignation, and I must say it didn’t look as though Stevie was likely to accept the sort of spiritual consolation that I could offer him.
“That’s all right,” I said. “We’ll argue that one out when you’re well. We’ll get you into Landsborough tomorrow,and then the ambulance will come and fly you to Cloncurry.”
“I flown further than that,” he muttered. “Up ’n down, up ’n down, all across the world, carrying the Queen. Ottawa, Keeling Cocos, Nanyuki, Ratmalana—I know all them places. I got the Seventh Vote—did you know that, cobber? Did you know I got the Seventh Vote?”
I glanced at the sister, and she raised her eyebrows. He was wandering in his mind, of course, but anything that would take his thoughts off his pain was probably useful, since we had no morphia to ease it. “I never heard that,” I replied. “How did you come to get the Seventh Vote?”
The pain hit
“He’s coming round,” she said quietly. “This is where our job begins, Mr. Hargreaves. We could have done with that case, after all.”
I crossed to the table and turned up the lamp, and then went back to the bed. Liang came out of the next room, roused, perhaps, by our movements; he stood with us in silence for a time watching the gradual return to consciousness and pain. Then he went softly to the verandah and stood looking out.
There was nothing I could do, and so I went out with him, and stood there while my eyes became accustomed. It was intermittent moonlight and darkness as the thick clouds parted and drifted across the moon, and in the passing, silvery light I saw that the animals were still there watching us, much as I had seen them before. I said to Liang again, “Do the animals usually come around like this, in the wet?”
He said, “Stevie die tonight.”
“I hope not,” I replied. “Well get him to the hospital tomorrow.”
He shook his head. “Animals, they come. I think he die.”
I stared at him. “You think the animals know?”
He nodded. “Animals, they know.”
I didn’t see why the death of one drunken, dissolute old man should excite the animal kingdom very much, but there was no good arguing it with Liang, if indeed the language difficulties had permitted argument. I stayed with him in silence for a minute or two, and then went back into the room, to Sister Finlay and her patient.
Stevie was fully conscious now, and evidently in considerable pain. He was moaning a little; from time to time his face became distorted as the spasm racked him, and this was more eloquent to me than the noise that he was making.
When he saw me he said to Sister Finlay, “What’s that Pommie parson doing here?” I think it was parson that he said, but Sister Finlay is sure that it was bastard, and says that she didn’t know which way to look when he called the vicar a Pommie bastard. Whichever way it was, it doesn’t matter. I went over to the bed and said, “I came out with Sister Finlay when we heard you were sick. Sergeant Donovan would have brought her out here, but he was away at Millangarra, so I came instead. How are you feeling, cobber?”
“I’m bad,” he muttered. “I been bad three days. Got a bottle of whiskey, Roger?”
“I haven’t,” I said. “I didn’t bring any, and anyway it wouldn’t be good for you.”
He stared at me for a minute. “Your name’s Roger?”
“That’s right,” I said. “I’m Roger and you’re Stevie.”
“I know,” he said. “Harps and angels’ wings. Pack of bloody lies, that’s what
I
think.”
I felt Sister Finlay beside me quiver with indignation, and I must say it didn’t look as though Stevie was likely to accept the sort of spiritual consolation that I could offer him.
“That’s all right,” I said. “We’ll argue that one out when you’re well. We’ll get you into Landsborough tomorrow,and then the ambulance will come and fly you to Cloncurry.”
“I flown further than that,” he muttered. “Up ’n down, up ’n down, all across the world, carrying the Queen. Ottawa, Keeling Cocos, Nanyuki, Ratmalana—I know all them places. I got the Seventh Vote—did you know that, cobber? Did you know I got the Seventh Vote?”
I glanced at the sister, and she raised her eyebrows. He was wandering in his mind, of course, but anything that would take his thoughts off his pain was probably useful, since we had no morphia to ease it. “I never heard that,” I replied. “How did you come to get the Seventh Vote?”
The pain hit
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