Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sydney Australia

Final Year at University 1903

About half way along the Corso they stopped to observe a conversation that was occurring between an old man and a young boy. The old man sat upon a small boulder and beside him stood the young boy who appeared to be his grandson. It was obvious that the old man was talking to the child about the sizable rock engraving he held in his hands. His eyes were large, dark and kind, his hair was greying and curly, and he gestured at the rock, explaining the story of the engraving to the young boy. The old man motioned for Molly and Arthur to come closer and look at the rock.

The old man was an elder of the Cannalgal Clan, which had originally inhabited the area around Manly. His heritage was far older than that of anyone who had recently arrived at the Great Southern Land. The Guringai People had lived in the area for more than six thousand years. They now found their people decimated by small pox, European influences and worst of all, discrimination.

Hesitating slightly, they moved forward enticed by the tone of his voice and the sparkle dancing in his eyes.

'Boo!' he said loudly and then broke into laughter which was as soft as the look in his eyes and Molly and Arthur looked at one another and joined in the amusement.

Although neither understood a word of what the other was saying, his story continued for several more minutes.

They were able to make out on the colourful engraving the North Head and also a gathering of men who appeared to be healing another man who was lying on the ground. The rich colour of the ochre and other paints used on the engraving was extraordinary. The little boy was proud of the words of his grandfather and Molly and Arthur remained captivated.

'Here there!' boomed the voice from behind where they stood and approaching rapidly. 'What's going on here?'

'Nothing, Officer,' advised Arthur resolutely.

Confusion settled upon the little gathering. The old man dropped his engraving which broke into two as it hit the ground, the little boy hurriedly bent to retrieve the pieces, Molly looked with horror at the hatred in the expression on the police officer's contorted face and Arthur tried to ease the situation. The uniformed officer reached for his single-shot weapon from a holster on his right hip.

'No!' demanded Arthur. 'You have the wrong idea, Officer. Everything is agreeable.'

His huffing and puffing was tantamount to the ridiculousness of what he was suggesting.

Only when Arthur stood himself directly between the Officer and the old man, was he able to break the trance in which the zealot found himself.

'No!' he said again forcefully. 'This old man was explaining the story of his engraving to us.’

'He is not an old man... he is a savage... They should not be here,' he growled with parvanimity and slowly lowered his weapon.

Molly began to cry. The little boy looked at the tears welling in her eyes.

'We will move on, Officer. They did not mean any harm,' said Arthur exasperated with what had just occurred.

'No!' he demanded loudly. 'You... can stay... they will move on!' he said waving his hands at the old man and the young boy who began to cower backwards.

Have a good week everyone...

Steven

Chapter 6

Chapter 6
University of Sydney 1902
Four Weeks in Autumn
Commencing Sunday, 2nd March at 8:30am.

Isaac Roverstein wanted to belong. Like most young people in their salad days, when life is full of hope and green with promise, he longed to feel comfortable within himself. Apart from his excessive quoting at some inappropriate moments, he was indeed more popular than he realised. The efforts he made to appear simpatico with his fellow Paulines and how he juggled his personal commitments to his parents, his faith, his college and his university studies was scinerely admired by most.
He attended obligatory chapel service where he usually sat between Arthur and Harry on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings. He knew all the stories, parables and passages from both the Old and New Testaments and, like the lines from Shakespeare, he was almost as expert with quoting times, dates, places and characters of the religious texts. However, his Jewish faith had been something, about which, he had never felt completely comfortable around others in his college. His one true friend had been Arthur McCrae who accepted him for who was, challenged him with his opinions and always let him know when enough was enough.
When Isaac returned to St Paul's College on the morning of Sunday, 2nd March, 1902, to find no one around, he realised where they would all be. He straightened his tie, donned his academic gown and made his way with haste to the Chapel. It was his first day back at the college since arriving home to Australia from an extended holiday with his parents to see relatives in the United States of America. He had made the return journey by himself as his father needed to remain on business and his mother wanted to spend time with her sister who had just delivered her ninth child.
Service had already commenced and the droning sounds from the baroque organ were accompanied by the baritone voices of the collegians singing his favourite hymn written by Neander in 1680. They were into its final verse... 'Let the Amen sound from His people again... Gladly for aye we adore Him.'

The Posters for the Writers Festival - Melbourne

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

University of Sydney 1901
Deo Patriae Tibi



'I can't believe they got away with only a reprimand,' Arthur commented as he read aloud a story from the Sydney newspaper about the prank at Fort Denison the year before.
'What do you mean you can't believe it?' questioned Harry with a mischievous grin appearing upon his face, in recollection of the event and a contemptible wish that he had been the one who had caused such a stir within the growing community of Sydney.
A cool breeze sneaked through the window of the second floor room at St Paul's College. Muffled sounds of undergraduate gentleman on their way to classes at the main university buildings could be heard; it was a little before ten o'clock in morning. In front of both young men was a hearty, half eaten breakfast of sausages covered in the most pungent smelling onion sauce, along with too many slices of fried potato, a generous helping of boiled cabbage and a double serving of toast; all being accompanied by a selection of condiments.
Arthur continued his assessment of the report while looking somewhat perplexed at Harry's ridiculous lingering grin, 'According to this article five shipmen from the visiting ship, 'Medic', led by the Fourth Office, a fellow by the name of Mr Charles Lightoller, rowed out in the early hours of the morning to the island of Fort Denison. There they hoisted the Boer flag of South Africa and set off an explosion that lit up the night sky, shaking the ground violently, smashing windows and waking almost everybody bar the dead...' he smiled before adding, 'and even some of them may have been disturbed.'
'Arh, I remember it well, my dear fellow,' said Harry joining Arthur in his amusement at the thought of a commotion at the cemetery. 'I say really, Arthur, I had spent the most boring day of my life with Isaac at some theatrical club event for the college. As if that was not enough, we had then been roaming the city in search of some fun when suddenly, Isaac decided it was time to retire for the evening... at eighty-thirty. A most disagreeable fellow and I do not understand how you put up with him constantly quoting all that Shakespeare rubbish.'
Placing the newspaper to one side and taking a sip of tea, Arthur immediately replaced the china cup onto its matching saucer, hurriedly heaped a generous teaspoon full of sugar from the sliver plated sugar bowl and then clumsily plunked it into the cup. During the effort he spilled half of it onto the white tablecloth while managing to splash warm tea over the sides. With his left hand he began to brush the wayward grains methodically toward the edge of the oval plate. His preoccupation with cleaning up his mess warranted a strange glance from his breakfast companion who had seen it all before on many occasions. However, his condescending observance did not worry Arthur, as this systematic approach to ignoring what Harry had to say about Isaac appeared to work every time.

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

New York City - Present Day
Shift Happens

There was fundamentally no reason whatsoever why Dabria Livingstone should have been flying into New York on the evening of the 16th March, during a seasonal cold snap in the early northern spring- other than, of course, to satisfy her overwhelming sense of curiosity. Dabria was financially well above comfortable but regardless, at this point, she would need to undertake some serious wheeling and dealing to be able to afford the object of her latest intrigue. Closing the glossy catalogue over which she had spent the last hour admiring various items, she replaced the lid to the black fountain pen she had used to scribble several short notes on pages: twelve, forty-one and fifty-three. Dabria thought wilfully. The satisfaction of her sense of curiosity would be manageable but the other would be more difficult.
Dabria liked her life, she was good at most things she did and had developed a habit of referring to everyone as, 'darling'.
'Ladies and Gentlemen please be aware that the seat belt sign has been illuminated, and the Captain would ask that you return to your seat and prepare for landing,' requested the voice over the planes internal intercom system.
Dabria moved instinctively in her seat and placed her left hand purposefully across her waist to make sure that the seatbelt was fastened while continuing to listen to the voice. The American Airlines flight AA40 would be touching down at seven forty-two pm into JFK Airport; a few minutes before the scheduled arrival. Following baggage claim, it would allow time enough, for the thirty-six year old, who had left Melbourne earlier that day, to be at her hotel by 9 o'clock.
Pushing the plastic window shade upward, the light from over the left wing of the plane lit up the sky far brighter than Dabria would have expected. She smiled at the comparison to a set of car headlights on high beam. On this occasion, at an altitude of nineteen thousand feet, she hoped amusingly, that the lights of the plane would not need to be deemed for oncoming traffic.
The plane unexpectedly lurched and her smirk disappeared instantly. From the corner of her eye, Dabria saw the hostess stumble. Her outstretched arms were trying to aid her in regaining her balance. Whatever had been in the hands of the hostess flew into the air and several of the passengers let out a cry in unison.

Have a nice week everyone...

Steven
ps - the pic was taken at the Waldorf=Astoria in New York - where I was staying while writing this chapter of 209 A Story - and also it is the destination of Dabria Livingstone - when she survives this flight into NYC...

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sydney Australia Summer 1897

'Roam like Kings-

Defend like Heroes!

Charm like Angels;

Live every single day...

To thine self be true.'

Unknown

‘It can never happen again,’ he whispered, as he closed the door silently behind him and left.

Arthur Gordon McCrae stood as quiet as his surroundings in the middle of the large sparsely furnished room. The silence reflected the solitude, and comparatively he was as tall and as colourless as the candle which burned slowly atop the rosewood dresser in the boarding house of the Sydney Grammar School.

Alone, he was not; there were three of them – one real and two reflections. One could be seen in the pane of glass from the window and the other, soundless and unresponsive, in the slightly speckled mirror. The real one gazed alternately, and momentarily, upon the others. With purpose, he pulled almost shut, the long, dark green velvet curtain; now there were two of them.

The real one regarded the other and even though the candle flickered briefly, Arthur could see the adventure begin to dance in his deep blue eyes. The skin was pale, the hair ruffled and in need of a cut, the lips were as red as a ripe strawberry and the face was mature for his seventeen years. It was not a match for the rest of his body. Lifting one hand toward his left cheek, Arthur then moved his fingers unhurriedly downward; commencing from just near to his ear and following the line of his rounded jaw, until his index finger came to rest upon his bottom lip. The mind dreamed of adventures and his body was warmed by the very slight stale wisp of air, which presented itself from the hot Australian summer of 1897.

Tomorrow would begin his final week before the beginning of the Christmas holiday. Even at this moment, his anticipation for the following year was real. Arthur would be in his final year of studies at the prestigious establishment of the Sydney Grammar School.

Disregarding the silver plated snuff that matched the holder, Arthur gave one swift blow; the candle extinguished – and now there was one.

Removing his attire, and not bothering to dress in the cotton night shirt which almost covered the small wooden chair, he lay naked on his oversized single bed. Placing both hands behind his head and gazing upward, the darkened corners of the room drew his attention for what seemed like a long time. And as the soporific environment claimed its prize, his final contemplation asserted the moment. ‘The far distant corners,'

209 A Story... made it into the Melbourne Writers Festival...

more to come...

Cheers Steve