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Authors: Rjurik Davidson
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But Faulkner steps left.
“Hey!”
Faulkner leaps the blue and white water and scrambles onto the boat. There is a pain in his chest. Christ, he thinks, I’m not getting any younger. He begins to climb up to the foredeck. Laurence stands alone; there is no rat. Perhaps Laurence has escaped Melbourne, city of monsters.
Faulkner lights a cigarette. “Heading somewhere are we?”
Laurence freezes, his eyes widen, and then Faulkner leans up against the rail beside him.
“Relax, it’s only me.”
“What are you doing here, Faulkner?”
“I thought I better send you off. Sorry about that cut you got yourself there.”
They stare out at the sea for a long while as the steamer cuts into the bay. On the far side of the bay, the megalopolis of Point Lonsdale can be seen: another great collection of buildings, rising into the sky above the shimmering water. For a moment the sun disappears behind a cloud, and then comes out again.
“Looks like a storm is coming,” says Faulkner.
“There’s been a storm coming for years,” says Laurence. “The question is, where are you going to be when it breaks?”
“I’d be with my friends if I had any. Now the only ones I have are communists and broken-down dream-dust dealers.”
In front of the steamer a few of the sharks that populate the bay warp in and out of existence beneath the water, dorsal fins circling.
“Look at those things, Laurence. They’d eat you up without noticing, wouldn’t they?”
“You know,” says Laurence, “they just keep producing new sets of teeth. So if they break some, no big deal. Another set comes right through.”
“No wonder they live around here.”
One of the sharks surges out of the water for a moment, baring its blood-red gums, its yellow teeth. It crashes back down, a spray of water flying high into the sky.
“Leviathans,” says Faulkner quietly. Then he adds: “Believe in heaven?”
“Dunno.”
“Just wondering if she’ll be waiting for me.”
“Who knows? Even if she is, she’s probably up there doing her own thing. She always had her own mind.”
They look out over the thousand small waves that emerge out of the sea for a second and then disappear again.
“So you were working for the Chinese?” says Faulkner.
“Of course not.”
“Well, the communists.”
“Look: I was working for the secret service, sure. I just thought it was the wrong thing to do, to invade China. Didn’t the communists help beat the Axis powers in World War Two? Can’t they work out whatever they want to do? It’s nothing to do with us. I mean, whatever they’re like, those Chinese communists, it’s up to the Chinese to get rid of them, if that’s what they want. And, well, I was thinking this and the next thing you know, I kind-of told the Communist Party about the plans to invade.”
“And so now you’re running.”
“It’s the secret service, Faulkner. You don’t just walk away.”
There’s silence for a minute, as Laurence and Faulkner look out over the bay.
Eventually Faulkner speaks, louder, without turning: “So, was it you? Did you kill her?”
Behind them stands the cadaverous man, Victor Jackson. He holds a gun.
Jackson laughs: “So, Laurence, what do you reckon? You want to come back in, or not?”
Laurence and Faulkner slowly turn.
“Sure,” Laurence says, “I want to come back, Victor. I want to come back and let you guys in the service work me over. I can’t wait.”
Two women, arm in arm, all floral dresses, each holding an umbrella to keep off the sun, come around the deck, take a look at the scene. “Oh, my god.” They scamper back.
“It’s war, Laurence,” says Victor Jackson. “It’s war between us and the Chinese, and you’re a traitor. Who knows what you told. We’re going to find out one way or another.”
Faulkner steps forward.
“Whoa there.” Victor points the gun at Faulkner. “And you...I know all about you, boy. Remember what I told you about life, about it being
“Hey!”
Faulkner leaps the blue and white water and scrambles onto the boat. There is a pain in his chest. Christ, he thinks, I’m not getting any younger. He begins to climb up to the foredeck. Laurence stands alone; there is no rat. Perhaps Laurence has escaped Melbourne, city of monsters.
Faulkner lights a cigarette. “Heading somewhere are we?”
Laurence freezes, his eyes widen, and then Faulkner leans up against the rail beside him.
“Relax, it’s only me.”
“What are you doing here, Faulkner?”
“I thought I better send you off. Sorry about that cut you got yourself there.”
They stare out at the sea for a long while as the steamer cuts into the bay. On the far side of the bay, the megalopolis of Point Lonsdale can be seen: another great collection of buildings, rising into the sky above the shimmering water. For a moment the sun disappears behind a cloud, and then comes out again.
“Looks like a storm is coming,” says Faulkner.
“There’s been a storm coming for years,” says Laurence. “The question is, where are you going to be when it breaks?”
“I’d be with my friends if I had any. Now the only ones I have are communists and broken-down dream-dust dealers.”
In front of the steamer a few of the sharks that populate the bay warp in and out of existence beneath the water, dorsal fins circling.
“Look at those things, Laurence. They’d eat you up without noticing, wouldn’t they?”
“You know,” says Laurence, “they just keep producing new sets of teeth. So if they break some, no big deal. Another set comes right through.”
“No wonder they live around here.”
One of the sharks surges out of the water for a moment, baring its blood-red gums, its yellow teeth. It crashes back down, a spray of water flying high into the sky.
“Leviathans,” says Faulkner quietly. Then he adds: “Believe in heaven?”
“Dunno.”
“Just wondering if she’ll be waiting for me.”
“Who knows? Even if she is, she’s probably up there doing her own thing. She always had her own mind.”
They look out over the thousand small waves that emerge out of the sea for a second and then disappear again.
“So you were working for the Chinese?” says Faulkner.
“Of course not.”
“Well, the communists.”
“Look: I was working for the secret service, sure. I just thought it was the wrong thing to do, to invade China. Didn’t the communists help beat the Axis powers in World War Two? Can’t they work out whatever they want to do? It’s nothing to do with us. I mean, whatever they’re like, those Chinese communists, it’s up to the Chinese to get rid of them, if that’s what they want. And, well, I was thinking this and the next thing you know, I kind-of told the Communist Party about the plans to invade.”
“And so now you’re running.”
“It’s the secret service, Faulkner. You don’t just walk away.”
There’s silence for a minute, as Laurence and Faulkner look out over the bay.
Eventually Faulkner speaks, louder, without turning: “So, was it you? Did you kill her?”
Behind them stands the cadaverous man, Victor Jackson. He holds a gun.
Jackson laughs: “So, Laurence, what do you reckon? You want to come back in, or not?”
Laurence and Faulkner slowly turn.
“Sure,” Laurence says, “I want to come back, Victor. I want to come back and let you guys in the service work me over. I can’t wait.”
Two women, arm in arm, all floral dresses, each holding an umbrella to keep off the sun, come around the deck, take a look at the scene. “Oh, my god.” They scamper back.
“It’s war, Laurence,” says Victor Jackson. “It’s war between us and the Chinese, and you’re a traitor. Who knows what you told. We’re going to find out one way or another.”
Faulkner steps forward.
“Whoa there.” Victor points the gun at Faulkner. “And you...I know all about you, boy. Remember what I told you about life, about it being
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