The following is the prologue of a novel I’m begining to write. I will appreciate your comments
Cyril on the rocks!
… turn the other cheek!
Rarely seen in public, a past that had remained a mystery, his personal relation that was a well-kept secret Jeremy Wallis was nicknamed ‘the taciturn’ by the press. His philanthropic work however, had been much advertised, which had made him a legend, a sort of mystical benefactor. According to the myth he wasn’t always rich and ready to throw money at the destitute; the popular belief favoured the idea that during the Great Depression he was just a bare footed young boy with running nose, looking for food among the rubbish in the back lanes of Victoria Market. It was common knowledge however that he made his fortune after negotiating a contract with the Defence Department to supply wheel chairs and other disabled aids to ‘Repat’ during the Second World War; after the war his company was exporting its products internationally.
He left his mansion that morning like a thief, making sure none of his domestic staff saw him. Outside it was cold and still dark like midnight, thick clouds over the Dandenong Ranges stopping the awakening rays of the sun to break through. It didn’t matter, everything was well planned and he believed that God was on his side. He stood outside the wrought iron gates that showed his coat of arms and waited for a taxi.
“If Edgar had heard the slightest noise,” he thought, “that would have been the end of my plans.”
He would have found it hard to explain, even to his own butler, the reasons he was sneaking out his own home so early in the morning without telling anyone. He was obviously embarrassed of what he was on his way to do. The press would surely crucify him if they had knowledge of his intention, people would be shocked and his reputation would be shattered. That worried him.
Jeremy thought of his bank manager, the only weak part of his plan. The manager was indirectly involved but had no idea why Jeremy offered to pay off the Island Guano Co-op’s bad debts.
“He’s still convinced that it’s an act of charity,” Jeremy reassured himself.
In fact he had revenge on his mind when he noticed the unpaid mortgage statement on the bank manager’s desk. Perhaps it was just luck; yet he believed that it was a helping hand from the Almighty.
“People would be on my side too if they knew the whole story,” he told himself. “But the truth was too shameful to tell.”
He sighted.
He waited for a while and was relieved when he hailed a passing cab and it stopped. He sat comfortably in the back seat and watched through the closed window, on which twinkled drops of rain, the moving sceneries to clear his thoughts. The wet road reflected the streetlights like mirrors.
He stepped out of the taxi at North Port. The sun had started to peep through the clouds. He pulled down the rim of his felt hat, up his black scarf and surveyed the surrounding. He was satisfied that the chance of finding an acquittance or reporters in this crowd of busy stevedores and sailors, was very remote. Yet despite his effort to hide his identity, he looked like a new shilling in a bucket of old washers.
The ferry he was about to take was already berthed at the far end of the wharf. Jeremy took his briefcase and an engraved silver handle walking stick from the back seat of the taxi, paid the driver and with a haughty gesture refused the change.
“Thank you, sir,” said the grateful driver before driving away.
He waited for the taxi to disappear beyond the gates before starting to walk. As he came closer to the ferry terminal and seeing trucks loaded with guano, he had a strange feeling, as if he was walking right back into the past. Wasn’t it his intention, to go back into the past and settle the scores? He was however a bit apprehensive; if Mary Jones weren’t living there anymore, would his revenge have any purpose?
He stopped and inspected the ferry he was about to board. He was rather shocked to see its condition. It was all rusty, in desperate need of maintenance and a good paint job.
“Is it the same one I was a stowaway in seventeen years ago? He thought. “It was a Friday, the 8th of June 1935, a day that I have to erase from my memory.”
It was however still clear in his mind, as if he had seen it in a movie the night before, but he was positive that these memories wouldn’t bother him after completing his mission. He felt better as he walked into the waiting room and was pleased to see that it was empty. He sat and took a magazine from an old coffee table. He was going through the pages without interest when he heard someone walking in. He didn’t look up and tried to ignore the presence of the new arrival.
“Good morning. Are you mister Wallis?” He heard the man said.
Jeremy looked up and saw a young South East Asian man in white, with a bright smile.
“Yes,” he replied.
“I’m Ricardo Cruz, the captain of the ‘Eigamoya’, the ferry you’re about to come onboard. On behalf of the company and the islanders, I welcome you.”
Jeremy looked at him, and was wary.
“The man can still call the newspapers,” he thought, and after moment, “do the islanders know I’m coming?” He finally asked.
“I don’t think so,” said Ricardo, “would you like me to contact them by radio?”
“No, no,” replied quickly Jeremy, “I don’t like welcoming committees.”
“It has been a good surprise to see your name on the passengers’ list,” said Ricardo, “I’ve read about your charity works and I’m honoured to have you onboard.”
“Passenger’s list?” Inquired Jeremy
The captain smiled and added, “it’s not really a list; we only have you and Reverent Pat O’Brien as passengers. ”
“Reverent Pat O’Brien!” Jeremy slowly repeated the name, trying to remember if he had met him before.
“Yes, he’s one of our regular,” replied the smiling captain, “he’s a missionary who’s trying hard to build a church for the islanders, but money is scarce. I really hope you can make the difference. The islanders desperately in need of one.”
Jeremy didn’t comment and after a moment of uneasy silence, Ricardo lost his smile. He turned and was about to exit through the door leading to the waterfront when Jeremy asked him, “do you know Damien Macadam, the farmer?
Ricardo stopped, faced him and smiled again.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “He’s the chairman of the Islanders Farming Co-op.”
“Is Mary, his wife still living with him?”
“Of course,” Ricardo said. “She’s a nice lady. Do you know her?”
Jeremy nodded and smiled. “Yes, I believe I do know both her and her husband,” he added.
“I’m glad,” said Ricardo, before leaving, “enjoy your journey, sir.”
Jeremy flicked through the pages of a magazine without much attention.
“It had to be God’s will,” he thought, “without stress, everything is falling into its right place.”
A few minutes later a sailor came to guide Jeremy to his cabin.
It was so claustrophobically small that he couldn’t stay there. He found his way back to the lounge and bar, which was surprisingly in better condition than the rest of the ship. There wasn’t anybody in the quite large room, so he sat on one of the black vinyl sofa, made himself comfortable and closed his eyes.
“It’d be good if I could take a nap,” he thought. After all he had woken up very early in the morning, but the anticipation was too overwhelming. He tried to imagine Mary’s face when she would recognise him.
“After what she had done,” he thought, “I guess she’ll be too ashamed to even look at me. But she’ll know! They’ll both realise that judgement day has come.”
He felt the ship moving and resisted the urge of going to the bridge to watch the coastline slowly disappearing. He didn’t have that luxury when he was a stowaway; he wanted it to be the same, a way to really feel that he was sailing back into the past. He was also relieved; as the ferry was leaving the harbour, there was no chance of meeting a reporter.
He opened his briefcase and took out a file. It was a deed to repossess the farm for unpaid loans. He studied the contents for a while before he heard someone entering the room. He quickly closed the file and put it back in his brief case. He looked up and saw a priest in black robe walking towards him.
“Jeremy Wallis, I presume?” He asked, with a laugh.
“Yes.”
“I’m Pat O’Brien, missionary,” presenting a friendly hand to shake. “Ricardo told me that you were sailing with us and I’m very excited.”
Jeremy shook his hand and without adding another word, observed him. His first impression was that he looked more like a salesman than a priest and guessed that his enthusiasm was probably about fund for his church that the captain had previously mentioned.
“Ricardo Cruz, the captain,” repeated the priest, noticing Jeremy unresponsiveness, “have you met him?”
“Oh yes,” replied Jeremy, “don’t you think he’s a bit young to be a captain?”
“He’s all the company can afford; like the island, the ferry isn’t doing well. I guess it’s good for him because it’d be hard to find a job like this in a normal situation. But he’s knowledgeable, very religious and I trust him.”
“This makes me feel a lot better,” smiled Jeremy.
“I don’t know what you have in mind for the island,” said the priest, “but I’m sure it will be for the good of the people.”
Jeremy hesitated for a moment, but knowing that the media couldn’t be contacted, he was confident to declare the reason of his mission.
“I’m not going there to help anyone,” he admitted.
The priest stared at him.
“I have a court order to repossess the Macadam’s farm due to failure of mortgage payment,” Jeremy continued, “the farmer owes a lot of money to my company….” And he added as a sort of an excuse, “…business is business.”
“But you can’t do that,” exclaimed the priest, stunned. “What will happen to Damien, Mary and their kids? And the dozen of people who work on the farm?”
“I shall appoint a caretaker administrator,” he said, “the workers may have nothing to fear; they will have time to decide their future before the board will come up to a decision about what to do with the asset. Indeed you can’t continue a business that keeps losing money.”
“But Damien, you can’t just kick him out of his own farm? You’re not the person the media makes us believe you are.”
“He couldn’t run his business properly,” Jeremy impatiently raised his voice, “it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“There have been a few bad years,” said the priest, “you have to realise the situation and be more compassionate. You have really disappointed me.”
“Let me tell you,” said Jeremy, trying to control himself, “I knew Damien and Mary a long time ago; believe me they were not as nice as you think.”
“Perhaps he did a few bad things when he was young,” said the priest, “boys are boys, but what I know is that Damien has worked harder than anyone to keep his farm and the co-op afloat and provide jobs for the islanders.”
“The bank wasn’t going to give him any more fund,” insisted Jeremy, “his loans exceed the value of his assets. How was he going to pay the workers? In a way I did him a favour by taking over the mortgage, at least he had a few more months of finance to pay the wages and come up with the payment.”
“So it was you who took over from the bank?” said the priest, “Damien told me about it; he wasn’t too sure what was going on; the bank wasn’t asking for any payment. He thought that they were helping him getting out of bankruptcy. That was only about three months ago, you can’t expect him to repay you in such a short time?”
“Good business men usually read the fine prints before signing a loan contract,” said Jeremy, “I have sent him all the required papers.”
“You have tricked him,” said the priest, “he could have gone somewhere else to find the fund. Even the bank would have been more sympathetic than you, sir.”
“What Mary and Damien had done to me was unforgivable,” shouted Jeremy impatiently, but he quickly calmed himself, then continued with a softer voice, “you have to know the whole story before you cast the first stone.”
“What can they have done to you?” Asked the priest, “please tell me the story.”
Jeremy stood up, feeling uneasy. “Only Mary, Damien and I know what happened. I’m sure that they haven’t told anyone either.”
“This revenge! I guess you had it on your conscience for a long time,” said the priest, “it’s a sin you know. If you wish to confess this is the time’.”
“Confess?” Mumbled Jeremy.
“Why not? I’m a priest… And there’re only you and I.”
Jeremy hesitated.
“If you had talked to a priest then,” said the missionary, “you wouldn’t have a problem now.”
The missionary sat on one of the black vinyl sofa and made himself comfortable.
“Well,” he said.
Jeremy walked away from him, but he wasn’t completely against the idea. It took him some time before he could persuade himself that this could be in his favour.
“What’s better than having a religious man as an ally?” He thought, being certain that if Pat O’Brien, the missionary heard his story he would be on his side.
“Well, I guess we could try,” Jeremy finally said, and after a long moment, putting his thoughts together, he began, “I was born on the island.”
“That’s how you knew Damien,” said the priest, “Hasn’t the shipping Co. notified him of your arrival?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Jeremy, “I’ve changed my name after the Salvos found me covered with manure near Kensington’s abattoirs in the morning after I spent a freezing night in a rubbish trolley. They took me and made me a human being again. When I was born my name was Jim Martello.
He started walking slowly around the room before gaining enough courage to continue.
“I didn’t have an easy childhood, we were very poor,” he began, “never knew my father, my mother was a very irrational woman. She drank and smoked too much and had too many men friends. I moved out of her flat above the ‘The Pirate Cave’ hotel as soon as I could and the old farmer, Damien’s father gave me a job. Later I realised that he had been one of my mother’s visitors and somehow he wanted to give me a chance because of her. But Damien, perhaps knowing his father’s reasons, was against the decision to employ me. He argued that I wasn’t strong enough to work as a farm hand. Of course I couldn’t walk properly, I had polio when I was seven. but I tried hard to do the work a fast as anybody else. The old farmer however had a deaf ear to his son’s complains. It made Damien even angrier and he started to bully and abuse me. I endured all the abuses for the simple reason that there wasn’t work anywhere else on the island at that time. Nevertheless I would have probably forgiven Damien for the abuses, but Mary’s arrival changed everything. She and I became quickly friends, perhaps because she pretended to dislike Damien as much as I did. I became very fond of her. Although I never told her that I was in love with her, yet she must have known of my sentiment and I thought she felt the same way. One afternoon after work she told me to meet her near the old barn the next morning and we’d both go to work together… I was so happy. ”
Suddenly he was overcome by his emotions.
“…But when I arrived there that morning…. ” He tried to continue, but stopped talking, covered his face with his hands and let himself down on a sofa. For a while he didn’t say a word; he seemed to be sobbing softly.
The priest observed him in silence.
“Oh God!” Jeremy cried, “I still can’t understand why she went out of her way to humiliate me… why? I know I was just an insignificant crippled young man. I would have understood if she wasn’t interested in someone like me. Damien was better looking and had the security of wealth; but why did she lead me to believe? The fact was that she made me fall in love with her just for a cruel joke. They must have laughed their heads off when they saw me running away in tears.”
He stopped talking and didn’t move for a while.
“What happened in the barn?” Asked quietly the priest.
“She… she was making love to Damien. I couldn’t see her because she was in a bale of hay and he was on top of her, but I could hear her moaning. She had the decency to muffle her voice as I walked in, but he lifted his head, looked at me with defiance and smiled. God! It was the most evil smile… He seemed to say I’m making love to your girlfriend what can you do about it?”
Jeremy couldn’t hold back his tears; took a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose.
“What did you do?” Asked the priest.
“I… I felt so demeaning that I didn’t want anyone to see anyone, frankly I wish I were dead. I got out of the barn and ran without knowing where I was going. I found a cattle truck on its way to the ferry. I jumped in, hid myself among the cattle. It drove onto the ferry; we sailed to the mainland. I got out of the truck near the Kensington Abattoirs, loss, cold and covered with manure. For years I could smell it on my skin regardless how many showers I took.”
Jeremy closed his eyes and felt drained of all energy. The priest remained thoughtful for a while.
“What will happened to my church if the farm can’t operate?” He murmured, almost to himself, “and the ferry? Ricardo will lose his job.”
Then he stood up and without looking at Jeremy, “you should forgive,” he stated. “Remember Mathew chapter 5 verse 33 ‘If someone slaps you on your right cheek, turn your other cheek to him as well.”
“I can’t,” mumbled Jeremy, “All these years I’ve heard her voice in my sleeps and every time I’ve looked at a woman I’ve seen her laughing at me. I have to stop the nightmares and start living a normal life.”
The priest slowly left the room. Jeremy watched him until he shut the door behind him. He closed his eyes.
After a long while, the ship horn took him out of a stupor. He stood up and went to the porthole; saw land at a short distance and a few small boats approaching the ferry. He took his briefcase and his walking stick, walked to the door. He couldn’t open it. He tried another door but it was locked too. Puzzled, he went back to the porthole and recognised Damien coming onboard, a woman and two Police officers accompanying him. The captain and the priest came to meet them. They talked for a moment and then disappeared from his view; soon the door opened and the policemen stood at the threshold, Damien, the woman and captain behind, Jeremy could see the priest peeping behind the door.
“Jim Martello, alias Jeremy Wallis” called one of constables, “you’re under arrest for the rape and murder of Mary Jones on the 8th of June 1935.”
Jeremy looked at them in shock. He opened his mouth, but there was no sound. He then glanced at the woman standing next to Damien.
“You may remain silence,” continued the constable, “but whatever you say or do will be taken as evidence in a court of law.”
Damien put his arms on the woman’s shoulder, looked at Jeremy with defiance and smiled. The same evil smile he had seventeen years ago in the barn. It was on the 8th of June 1935, the day Jeremy wanted to erase from his memory.
This is a prologue of a novel I’m writting. Jeremy will be imprisoned, accused of Mary’s murder, he will be sentensed to death by hanging in a kangouroo court. I will appreciate your suggestion to get him out of jail. WAIT FOR THE NEXT SHOW.
Turn the other cheek (the book)