Above the Fold Page 21

  “Bloody marvellous,” Steven said in bed that night. “Just imagine if that shocking old man of Luke’s was alive, he’d never believe it, would he?”

  “He certainly wouldn’t,” she agreed. “And while we’re on the subject of shocking old men, I think your father’s finally given up on lawyers.” They both knew what she meant. Ever since they’d defied him and come north to the warmth of Queensland, Jerold Pascoe had been trying to find a lawyer who’d take them to court, over the claim their marriage had no validity; it being a false attempt to overrule his parental authority. “No matter how much money he’s prepared to lash out, he can’t find a barrister willing to go into court and look like a charlatan without a genuine case. Even he can’t pull a swiftie like that,” said Claudia.

  “He should’ve listened to reason. I’m only sorry that you had to go to such an extremity to stop him,” Steven said, and she frowned at him.

  “Don’t say that, Steven. Please.”

  “Why not? Let’s face it — you’d never have married me otherwise.”

  “Will you please shut up?” Claudia said anxiously. “I don’t like hearing you say that.”

  “But it’s true.”

  “Please, Steven. Stop it. We agreed the only way I could try to help look after you was if we lived together. To get you away from what your father wanted. And when he made threats, being married was the only way for us to feel safe from his attempt to bring a charge against me … I don’t have a single regret about it. Until you start saying things like that.”

  “Claudia … you know we wouldn’t be here but for me getting sick …”

  “Please, for Christ’s sake, stop! He would’ve had you in an iron lung. Not because he cared for you. You have to believe what your mother said, like I believe her. He wanted you home, to be able to look at you and be secretly pleased you were helpless, so for the rest of his life he could say I told you so.”

  “I know my mother said that, but I’m not sure it’s completely true. I find it too difficult to believe. I just feel … not even he could be that malevolent.”

  “Oh, yes, he could. I wish you’d been there to hear the kind of things he said to me. If you’re upset that we got married, and you can’t believe your mother … then I don’t know what we should do. You want us to get a divorce? Is that what you want?” When he didn’t seem able to answer this she said bitterly, “You make it awfully difficult for us, some of the things you say, Steven. You really do. You want to go home to your father?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what?”

  Oh God, she thought, on a day when we at least had a few laughs and felt relaxed, then comes this again. We have it every month. This depression. This sudden guilt of his that I can’t handle. It makes me upset and angry. Makes me feel that what I did was a waste. A stupid senseless waste. I brought the newspaper because I was excited, because it’s wonderful for Luke. But it makes Steven feel troubled and insecure … as if we did the wrong thing, that we betrayed Luke.

  I just don’t know what to do. It’s not how I thought it would be. Luke did his best to accept what we did, but it’s Steven who seems to regret it.

  And that makes me feel this was a terrible blunder. But if I allow myself to think that, what will happen to any of us? To Steven, or Luke or to me?

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Rupert was in Melbourne to produce a new drama series for the ABC, when he saw Luke’s final article on the reign of General MacArthur in The Age. He read it on the plane and brought a copy back for Helen.

  THE IDES OF MARCH

  By Luke Elliot

  March is an unfortunate month for General of the Army Douglas MacArthur. It was on the eleventh of March 1942, when he escaped from the Philippines aboard a PT boat, along with his wife, family and, according to legend, some of his household furniture. It is well known the General regretted leaving; he wanted to remain and fight the Japanese, for he had commanded the army in the Philippines for many years. But he was ordered to leave by President Franklin Roosevelt, and to continue the war from Brisbane in Australia.

  Now, nine years later, another United States President has given an order that terminates his long and distinguished career. During the month of March President Truman has tried to come to terms with his commander, but the clash of two strong personalities has brought about the General’s removal as head of the allied force in Korea, and also the position of Military Governor of Tokyo, a post this correspondent understands that he cherished.

  The decision has created a storm of controversy in America, where there was a move to adopt MacArthur as Republican candidate in next year’s presidential election. It has also come as a shock to the troops on the Korean peninsula. While it was known there was disagreement between the two men, no-one expected quite such a public humiliation as this abrupt dismissal.

  In an announcement from the White House, President Truman accused the General of persistent disloyalty. “He continued to make statements in open defiance of my orders as President and Commander in Chief. It was a challenge to my authority under the constitution, and General MacArthur left me no choice. I could no longer tolerate his insubordination. He is relieved of all commands, to be replaced by General Matthew Ridgway.”

  On his return to Sydney, Rupert was having a drink with former colleagues at Macquarie, and showed them the article. One said he could remember Luke from when he ran messages.

  “Used to pick up my grog and cigarette ration,” said Montague Taylor, the advertising manager. “At times I had to remind him how important that was. Too busy with his head in the clouds, thinking about writing plays. Not much chop as a messenger boy.”

  “He seems to be doing all right now,” Rupert answered, relieved he no longer worked with self-opinionated idiots like this. He was proud of Luke’s achievement, and his own share in the start of it. His friendship with Luke had been a benefit, leading to close ties with Claudia and Steven, and in particular with Helen. These days they were seen so often at concerts, the opera or first nights of new plays, that people considered he and Helen a couple and invited them as such to their dinner parties.

  Claudia bought The Courier-Mail again after hearing the news on the radio. She read Luke’s story on the dismissal of MacArthur, but this time did not take it home to Steven. Ever since their distressing quarrel, she had been striving to think how to avoid another flare-up. Their relationship was too fragile to survive such conflicts. At the hospital she asked one of the doctors, a visiting orthopaedic surgeon, what might cause a patient with poliomyelitis to fret and be concerned unnecessarily.

  “Are we talking of anyone in particular?” he asked her, and Claudia, who wanted an honest answer, knew there was no point in evasion. She told him the details of her marriage and its background.

  The surgeon was perceptive. “I can’t really give a diagnosis without seeing him, and I get the feeling you don’t want that.”

  “Not if it can be avoided. I don’t want to create the impression I’ve gone behind his back, which of course I’m doing. But this began through our real friendship, and I’m beginning to feel I might’ve lost that.”

  “Tell me about his treatment. If he doesn’t feel it’s progressing, that could be a factor. After all, you’ve both made big sacrifices to pursue even a partial cure, so the lack of result could easily promote nervous tension and the moods and depression you mention.”

  Claudia related Steven’s determination to avoid dependence on the iron lung, and the methods of hot blankets and muscle stretching that had been so painful but gradually did bring about some relaxation. She saw the doctor raise an eyebrow and said, “You don’t approve of Sister Kenny?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he answered.

  “Your right eyebrow seemed to suggest it,” Claudia said.

  He smiled, “I’m not a convert, but nor do I disparage her. There are people who claim she’s cured them. And,” he added with another smile, “after all, Hollywood did make a
film of her life. Rosalind Russell, wasn’t it?”

  “I didn’t see it,” Claudia smiled in return. “I didn’t want his family saying a moving picture had brainwashed me.”

  “What have you done about physiotherapy?”

  “I take him twice a week to a clinic in town. But a year of it doesn’t seem to have made much difference.”

  “You’ve been aware of that. The lack of progress?”

  “Gradually.”

  “Has Steven noticed it?”

  “He hasn’t said so.”

  “But he is showing signs of stress, impatience, even self-loathing.”

  “I’d have to say yes,” Claudia answered reluctantly.

  “I can’t diagnose at a distance, and I’m certainly not a psychiatrist, but I do treat a lot of orthopaedic cases, and it is a frequent problem when there’s a slow response. It could stem from a feeling these sessions are proving futile. And he doesn’t want to say so, because it would be disloyal. He’s well aware of what you’ve given up for him, but he can’t help this irritation inside him. He can’t walk it off, he’s helpless without your help, so it festers.”

  “When you put it like that, it makes me realise how awful it is for him,” Claudia said, suddenly confronted by this image.

  “Awful for you both,” the surgeon said. He took one of his cards and scribbled a name on the back. “I don’t know the place you’ve been taking him to, so I can’t comment on it. But I do know this one at Mooloolaba. It might be worth thinking about, even worth taking a visit there to check it out. It’s a long drive, not exactly convenient, but … I leave it to you, Claudia.”

  That afternoon, wheeling Steven to the physiotherapist as soon as she finished her hospital shift, she kept thinking of what had been said. She had chosen the local physiotherapist partly because of the convenience. It was only a short walk each way, and she was able to push him in the chair without the difficulty of loading the wheelchair into the car. But had the past year shown any real improvement in his condition? Or had they talked themselves into believing in this slow and lengthy process?

  Next day she rang the Mooloolaba clinic and asked them to send her a brochure and details of their fees. When it arrived she picked her moment after they’d had dinner and she’d helped him into bed. He lay watching as she then undressed, put on her pyjamas and sat on the bed beside him. The room had single beds a few feet apart, and until now Claudia had always dressed and undressed in the bathroom.

  Steven did not comment on this change, but when she sat alongside he reached out and held her hand.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, “I’m going to shift these beds together.” He just gazed at her, and tightened the grip on her hand. “It’s lonely, sleeping alone. I’ll buy some double bed sheets, and we can snuggle up.”

  “If only we could,” he said.

  “We will,” she promised. “We need some change in our lives. For a start, I wonder about the physio treatment. I’m not sure it’s doing enough for you. Someone at the hospital told me about another clinic.” She showed him the brochure, and his immediate interest convinced her that what the surgeon had said was correct, he had felt a lack of progress but hadn’t voiced it.

  They studied it together. It had a large indoor pool for water therapy, a team of four masseurs, two trained physiotherapists, as well as a former Olympic swim coach who had undergone specialist medical training. There was a gym and a diagnostic room with an attendant physician.

  “It looks terrific,” Steven said, “but Mooloolaba is at least an hour’s drive each way. That’s too far for you.”

  “Nothing is too far if it’s better,” Claudia replied. “It’s also rather more expensive.”

  “I noticed that.”

  “I was sure you did,” Claudia lay full length on the bed and rested her face against his. She could feel the heat as their skins touched. “That’s why I said it before you could raise the subject. I rang my dad last night and asked him for a loan, and tomorrow we’re going to drive there and see it. This is why we came to Queensland, not just for a warmer climate but to find a place something like this. Okay with you, my darling?”

  “Yes,” he smiled at her, “okay with me.”

  “So ‘Iron Tits’ is the new commander,” Luke said. General Ridgway was notorious for draping two live grenades around his neck that hung across his chest, hence the nickname. “You were right, my love.”

  “You’d better stop calling him that,” Hannah warned. “His staff are looking for victims, and we’re prime suspects.”

  If the dismissal of MacArthur had created controversy in America, it caused uproar at Allied HQ in Pusan. Very few were privy to MacArthur’s reckless statements and the input from Washington the way Hannah had been. Her prescience was based on fact, whereas others felt sure he would survive this spat with the President. None of them had much respect for Truman, with his mid-west accent and small town image. To them he was a man who had only reached the top because Roosevelt had died in office; they tended to forget that Harry Truman had then won the 1948 election. With customary hubris of the military elite they had underrated him.

  There were staff changes when Ridgway took command, but those loyal to MacArthur who stayed in Korea were vindictive: Luke began to find it difficult to get interviews or access to any American deployment. Hannah was informed that the post of press attaché would be declared vacant; she could re-apply if she wished, but knew the invitation was a prelude to humiliation, and announced she was going back to Washington.

  Luke remained in Korea for another few months, spending all his time with Australian troops. He reported their successful commando operation and victory over heavier Chinese forces at the hillside battle of Maryang San. After that he spent a month with 77 squadron of the RAAF. But more and more he began to feel it was a futile war. Neither side could win; the only result could be an agreed ceasefire. In other words, in Luke’s thoughts a scoreless draw, which, after so many deaths and casualties was both wasteful and tragic. Australia had three hundred troops killed, and more than a thousand wounded.

  Before the uneasy peace treaty he resigned and returned to Tokyo. The occupation of Japan was about to end, and the Pacific Monitor was due to publish its last edition. Harry Morton intended returning to work for the Fairfax Group in Melbourne, and said they’d made enquiries if Luke would be interested in joining them. But he was not yet ready to return to Australia. He sometimes wondered if he ever would be.

  The following week he flew to Washington, where Hannah was at the airport to greet him.

  The change of treatment for Steven put more stress on Claudia, but they soon began to realise it was worth the extra cost and the longer car journey. With Claudia’s four-hour nursing schedule it meant she had very little spare time and was often tired at nights, but after three months she started to notice the physical difference in him. To begin with he’d had to be carried into the indoor pool for water therapy, where he was supported by rubber floats while he tried to move his legs. The treatment left him exhausted, but by the end of the third month he was floating without this aid, and at the end of another six months there was a perceptible movement of his legs in the water.

  The slow but gradual success of the treatment was stimulating, and it also achieved a noticeable improvement in their relationship. For the first time since they’d begun sleeping in the same bed, there was an attempt to make love. On the third occasion with Claudia’s encouragement and help, Steven reached a climax that left him weary but happily content.

  The following month he began to speak about the idea of finding part-time employment. He felt a need to work; apart from wanting to repay the loan from Claudia’s father, all the months of lying in bed or on the divan in the sun room, reading or listening to the radio for most of each day, had made him lethargic. In his mind he’d become depressed before the change of clinic, convinced his body was deteriorating. But now his new physical improvement was forcefully rejecting this. He could move h
is legs a little more; with her careful aid he could sometimes make love. He was going to recover, not rot away crippled with polio. They started to check local papers, looking for a job, just a few hours each day, a desk job where he could use the skills from university while in his wheelchair.

  In the end it was their friends, the surprising pair of Helen and Rupert, who were able to help. They flew up for a long weekend visit, stayed at the Plaza Hotel in Maroochydore, and Claudia and Steven met them for lunch the next day.

  “Rupert’s been looking for a holiday house,” Helen told them, “and he tried Warren & Cooper in Noosa.”

  Claudia knew it. “It’s near the hospital,” she said. “A new real estate agency. The first sign of a renaissance in our quiet little backwater.”

  “When I phoned,” Rupert explained, they asked if it was about their advertisement for an accountant. I said I knew someone who might be interested, provided he didn’t have to run around looking at properties.”

  “An accountant,” said Steven. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously, Steve. They didn’t have a weekender that suited me, but they had something for you. A few hours two afternoons a week, until the business expands. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds perfect,” he replied, “if they have any wheelchair access.”

  “We’ll call on the way home,” Claudia suggested, “but on the other hand …” She left them abruptly and, as they wondered why, she hurried to the hotel desk, asked if they knew the number of Warren & Cooper and could she use the telephone. She came back smiling a few minutes later.

  “They have a car park at the back, which would be wheelchair access, and I said we’d call in about five this afternoon. And that you’d done an economics degree at Sydney uni until you went into the army. They’re thrilled. I’d say the job is yours.”

  It was on one of the afternoons when Steven worked, and Claudia was on her way to collect him from the estate agency, that she saw a placard outside the combination store that made her abruptly stop to buy a newspaper. AUSSIE JOURNALIST TO WED was the top of a column on page three, with a picture of Luke.