The Rain Circle, page 22
Nothing is said for the next two rounds of the paddock. Both are in quiet thought as they watch the lights of the header illuminating the crop, slicing through with swift efficiency. Occasionally Patrick checks moisture levels, temperature and yield harvested per hectare, on dashboard dials. Every few minutes he glances at a small screen showing what is happening at the rear of the machine. Normally the aftermath is just a crewcut of clean stubble but now he notices from rear lights and sensors that too many ears of grain are left behind, so he stops to make adjustments.
Soon after the harvester is put back to work Christian falls under the spell of an uncontrollable urge to sleep. He enters a special domain of consciousness where there is drifting through childhood, his years at university and skiing with Inka. There are visions of Synebrychoff Park and the lakes at Lahti, aromas of crushed pine needles and Oona Franz’s pulla buns, and words of the prophet Amos floating through a litter of research papers. As he comes out of the sleep he feels the presence of someone to his right. It is Inka, so happy to be sitting next to him as the aircraft descends to Sydney.
‘Thought you were Inka,’ a drowsy Christian mutters.
‘Better get those eyes tested mate.’
‘Mate, It is a nice to hear you use that word. I know you didn’t particularly like me when I came here. Think we have a special bond now.’
‘Hey! Hey! Don’t get too carried away. You’re as bad as bloody Kris Pavic the way you pick your mates!’
‘Oh come on Patrick. Loosen up a bit.’
‘Me? Me? Me loosen up? You’re the serious one.’
‘Well, I have been through a lot you know. What, with you wanting to abandon me in the rain after the big day at sea. At a toilet block to make it worse.’
Christian unconvincingly tries to look genuinely hurt and Patrick calls him a bloody sook. It is a jovial repartee Patrick will keep in his memories.
There is a stop to empty grain from the harvester into a silo. Through the darkness on this hot night they see distant lights of a neighbour’s harvester and hear the hum of Brian’s machine working closer and to their rear. When the transfer of grain is finished Patrick urinates over stubble and hears Christian trying to clamber down from the cabin.
‘If you need a leak too mate I’ll help you down,’ he offers. ‘Let me help you to the ground.’
After Christian has relieved himself he is made comfortable in the cabin and as the harvesting is restarted he hears the music of Sibelius.
‘Thoughtful of you to have that playing,’ he says with a faint smile. ‘But I’d like you to play something Australian. Harvesting on a hot night in Australia needs something local.’
Patrick says he has a set of Greatest Australian Hits of All Time. ‘Why not have something from this?’ he asks, flicking through the choices.
‘Why not indeed,’ Christian mutters with eyes closed.
The selection is Live it Up by Mental as Anything, released way back in 1985. Patrick sings along with the chorus.
Hey yeah, you with the sad face
Come up to my place and live it up.
You beside the dance floor
What do you cry for
Let’s live it up
While it plays, Christian thinks of Inka’s sad face. A rarity until he became involved in the final stages of the rainmaking project. Again he is overcome by sleep. A much deeper and more relaxing sleep this time.
After an hour passes, Patrick realises Christian has gone beyond a deep sleep. The header is stopped and then is driven away in the direction of a house on the west property. Brian calls to ask what is happening and is told Christian is being taken somewhere to rest. The younger Ellson returns to his harvesting and finishes just before 11.30pm when he notices his father packing it in for the night.
They go their separate ways when Patrick says he is off to check on Christian, adding that he’s going to camp in a spare room in the shearers’ quarters so he can be up early to get some chores done without disturbing anyone.
The late-night tap on Inka’s window tells her what has happened. She’s asked to gather Christian’s belongings and leave them at the door.
‘I’ll return to pick them up in half an hour or so and slip away quietly to deal with them,’ he says nervously. ‘Told him I want to do it the way he prefers. Honestly, it’s my decision and I don’t feel pushed into it.’
Inka has a numb stare and doesn’t want a debate. She just wants it over and done with. A little nod indicates she’ll get the belongings together and doesn’t want to think about what will be done with the body.
‘I’m taking all responsibility Inka,’ he assures her. ‘At the right time tomorrow I’ll tell Dad and Bernadette and May. And no-one but me will know the last resting place.’
In the early hours of the morning of Thursday November 27th Patrick makes a coffin in his workshop. Before anyone wakes he has wrapped Christian in a white sheet and placed him in the coffin, with a sprig of rosemary on his chest. The coffin is loaded aboard a truck, along with a small tractor fitted with a digging scoop, a shovel and Christian’s belongings. It is driven slowly and lights are dimmed to minimise disturbance as it heads for the burial site. Digger takes a ride in the passenger seat, his quiet company being appreciated. If the early morning movements have disturbed sleep it has not been enough for anyone to get up and investigate. After all, harvest has started and activity during hot nights is expected.
Returning two hours later in broad daylight driving a truck with a small tractor on board, and with Christian nowhere to be seen, there has to be an immediate explanation of what has happened. And Brian and Bernadette are already waiting to hear it, standing by the truck shed. As the truck motor is stopped, Inka and May also appear and take a place close to Patrick while he talks about his actions. Expressionless faces of Brian and Bernadette show they don’t agree with these actions.
‘Son, what you’ve done is dreadful,’ Brian says.
‘And unlawful too,’ adds Bernadette looking disgusted with the whole matter.
Tired and filled with guilt and sorrow Patrick thinks he may agree with them. He holds back from telling Brian the dreadful thing is Christian’s death, not his burial. And he could have snapped back at Bernadette to ask about the unlawfulness of her being involved in a clandestine operation in the Great Australian Bight, which is a marine reserve. But he’s too exhausted and excuses himself to get back to his harvester.
In the harvester cabin Patrick feels shielded from negative forces and is taking relaxing breaths with eyes closed. He lounges back with arms outstretched seeking a little sleep when his fingers touch something plastic between the seat and backrest. It is an empty twin bubble pack. As he tucks it into his sweaty shirt pocket behind his phone there is a buzz and he takes the call from Inka. There are comforting and supporting words before she gets down to the matter of informing Christian’s parents.
‘Send me their number and I’ll do it.’
‘They’ll want to know the arrangements.’
‘I’ll say his wish was for a private funeral and that he’ll be buried in the Kimba cemetery. There’s no point in them coming out now, I think. Christian always thought they’d accept it and have their grand Catholic memorial service in Helsinki. He said he’d be happy with that as long as he wasn’t there, in a box in front of an altar.’
‘And if they do come out?’
‘Then I’ll trick up a neglected plot in the cemetery at Kimba, like I talked about.’
‘I can’t be here if they do come. His mother seems to detest me and I won’t be able to stand up to her demanding questions. I don’t want to have those piercing eyes drilling through me like I’m to blame for everything.’
‘Hey, hey, don’t be upset. You haven’t done anything wrong Inka.’
~~~~
When early afternoon arrives, Patrick has completed ground-truthing to set his harvester on driverless mode and figures it is the right time to make that call to Helsinki.
It begins nervously with Patrick asking, when Maria answers, if her husband is with her.
‘Oh no. It is about Christian, isn’t it?
‘I think I should talk to you together if I may.’
‘No, no, tell me. Forget about my husband. He has already gone to the university. If this is about my son I want to know now.’
‘I have some sad news I’m afraid.’
‘He has died, hasn’t he?’
There is a wail of grief when there is not an immediate response. Through the crying she asks about the time he died and whether he was comfortable. She is pleased to hear he died at night, in comfort and in his sleep.
‘We will need to get him home,’ Maria says. ‘And who might you be sir?’
‘I’m a friend he has entrusted to handle the funeral arrangements,’ says Patrick, suspecting she may not accept this. ‘He wanted a private, non-religious funeral and wished to be buried here in Australia.’
‘No that can’t happen. You will have to make arrangements to help us get him home.’
‘I am sorry. I know this must be an awful time for you Mrs Laakkonen but I have to follow the instructions he has given me.’
‘No thank you. You will do what we wish. He is our son. Is that Inka anywhere abouts? Perhaps I can talk some sense into her.’
‘I have to go now Mrs Laakkonen. My sincere sympathy is extended to you.’
Reference to ‘that Inka’ contributes to Patrick ending the discussion. It makes him understand why Inka must be out of sight if the Laakkonens come to Buckleboo and steels his resolve to stay on course with Christian’s wishes. When he returns to fix himself something to eat in the shearers’ quarters kitchen he finds he has no appetite. It just doesn’t seem right to eat at this time. He slumps into a chair and feels the arms of May come around him from behind. With a kiss on the head she says she’s sorry for what he’s been through.
‘Oh, have to tell you that an hour ago Maria Laakkonen made a booking for Monday December 8th and Tuesday December 9th. They tried to get here earlier but the seats on planes have been re-prioritised with the restrictions. Think they want to see where Christian spent his last few months.’
Patrick believes they want more than that. He decides to assert his authority as the funeral arranger appointed by Christian and meet with his father and Bernadette that night and tell them they have to be on the same page when the Laakkonens arrive. When they meet there is an air of indifference about the story to be given to Christian’s parents, and this makes Patrick feel a sense of abandonment.
‘Come on, please, we have to be unified and say he is buried in the Kimba cemetery,’ Patrick pleads. ‘He wanted a private funeral and this took place four days after his death, we’ll say. Simple as that.’
‘It’s not simple Patrick,’ his father says. ‘And you know what you’ve done is out of order.’
‘Out of order? Out of fucking order?’ Patrick responds. ‘A lot’s been out of order around this place for a while. Don’t start shitting on me.’
‘Don’t swear son.’
‘Okay Dad I won’t swear and you won’t help me get the Laakkonens in and out of here without me facing jail time.’
Bernadette cuts in to say ‘We didn’t say that.’
‘No, we didn’t say anything. Dad’s the only one of you who’s said anything and that’s just to tell me to settle down. And you both sit there with a judgmental look while I feel like I’m left high and dry. Well, you can both feel at ease. I don’t want your support. I’m going to text them, maybe just when they’re on their plane and tell them how Christian has got his wish and has been buried in Kimba. Yeah, thanks for nothing.’
‘Son, come on, you know we don’t want you getting into trouble,’ Brian says with his deepest of frowns.
‘Sounds like it,’ Patrick yells, storming off.
19
Buckleboo, December 2036
It is early evening on Monday December 8th when Brian, accompanied by Bernadette, picks up the Laakkonens from the Kimba bus stop. Conversation in the car starts with stating the obvious about how tiring a long bus trip must be on top of an international flight, extending to the expected expressions of sympathy, and a description of what to expect at the farm.
‘It’s not five star accommodation,’ Brian apologises.
‘I’m sure it will be very nice,’ Edvard says. ‘And you are harvesting right now? Noticed some lights a little way back. Is that a harvester at work?’
‘Yes it is. Christian was out with us when we harvested our first grain. He took a lot of interest in what we do on the farm.’
Maria knows these strangers have had time with Christian that she has been denied and it irritates her. When the time comes to settle in at their farm stay accommodation, her feeling of being left out intensifies when, under better light, she recognises Bernadette as the new parishioner who attended church on the day the rainmaking news broke. Although her emotions are running high, the shared sadness at the loss of Christian makes a bond of sorts. It is only when May enters the kitchen that Maria’s emotional state spills into rudeness.
‘Hullo Mr and Mrs Laakkonen, I’m May. I took your booking,’ May says. ‘We have fresh eggs. Can I make you an omelette?’
‘I think I know how to make an omelette,’ Maria responds with a serious look and the tone of an adult admonishing a child.
To Maria the teenager appears to be junior hired help intruding on an adult conversation. May of course simply wants to welcome guests with a homely touch, believing they will be tired and possibly hungry. Sensing her presence is not welcome, May makes a quiet exit.
Edvard feels awkward and says the young lady just wanted to help, to which Bernadette responds with the revelation that the young lady is her daughter and is managing the farm stay business. It is said in a friendly manner so that the visitors are not too embarrassed, and the incident becomes an ice-breaker. Maria apologises and lowers her barrier in the process.
‘I am just not myself,’ Maria says. ‘I just assumed you two were partners, you know, both involved in the same project as Christian. So, May is your daughter Bernadette. And Patrick, he is your son I believe Brian. We had that message from Patrick, which you can understand is a concern for us. Can we perhaps talk about this in the morning?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Brian agrees. ‘You must join us for breakfast.’
~~~~
The breakfast meeting does not involve Patrick yet the outcome for him is devastating. He learns of what amounts to sabotage of his plans when May comes running to the workshop where he has been repairing a bent harvester comb.
‘I’ve heard them talking and you won’t like it,’ she cries, out of breath, surprised and angry at the turn of events. ‘Mum told Mrs Laakkonen her son is buried on the property. True. I overheard them.’
‘Thanks May,’ Patrick says, placing his welding gun on the concrete floor and looking across the large open space between the workshop and main house. Across this space are now walking Brian and Bernadette. ‘Promise me you’ll always be my friend May because I’m losing friends pretty quickly. Those two have probably just sent me to prison for a couple of years.’
Patrick asks May to stay out of it for a while then strides towards Brian and Bernadette, telling them gruffly to join him in the house. The front door is slammed behind him as he confronts his father.
‘What the fuck?’ he asks slowly. ‘What the fuck have you done?’
‘Done to what?’
‘Done to me. Done to Christian.’
‘Son, you know your way isn’t the way we’d have handled this.’
‘Now, wait, wait, wait. You, from my recollection were never bloody asked to handle it. I was! So when do you come into the picture old man? Tell me. This had nothing to do with you.’
‘Patrick, please, of course it has something to do with me. It is my property and I’ve got responsibilities.’
Bernadette enters the foray with a contribution about responsibilities to other people as well, and this stops Patrick in his tracks. He leaves his face-to-face with his father to turn with disgust towards Bernadette.
‘Yes, well of course you can afford to consider the interests of that mother of his, can’t you? A cleanskin. A devout Catholic. The holy Maria who sees Inka as the enemy and me, probably, as some bloody evil devil. Did you tell her when you were getting chummy over breakfast that I’m a convicted drug dealer? Do you know these bastards just want him dug up and flown to Helsinki for a ritual Christian thought was a heap of shit? Very easy for you two. I’m the fucking bunny here.’
‘Just watch your language son.’
‘Oh, fuck, my language. Oh I am so, so sorry about my language when I am about to be cuffed and escorted to prison. Sorry I can’t be more careful about my choice of words.’
Bernadette tells Patrick that she and Maria have had a very frank discussion about all the possibilities and she has expressed that her only desire is to see Christian’s last resting place and to say a prayer over it.
‘This is fairyland bullshit,’ Patrick suggests. ‘All they want is the chance to dig him up and take him to an altar he finds repugnant. Can you understand this Bernadette? Christian is not a Catholic. He is not a bloody Catholic. Hates all they stand for.’
‘I am sorry Patrick, but by virtue of his birth and confirmation he is a Catholic.’
‘Bernadette, what about his own beliefs by frigging virtue of his due consideration of what he reckons makes sense? And, anyway, when does the Catholic card trump the wishes and beliefs of a dying man? A man who dies too young. A man who I still think hasn’t always made the right decisions. But, shit, he did a great thing. Not the way I’d approve. But he was a special person. And he deserves to go the way he wanted. Don’t you reckon?’
There is silence which suggests they don’t reckon.
‘Tell you what you two,’ Patrick exclaims with determination. ‘I’ll take the only path I’ve got left to follow. I can only punt on the prospect of mother Maria finding closure with a prayer over the last resting place of her beloved son. Then she and her husband will piss off back to Helsinki. I’ll lead the procession at 7am tomorrow before it gets stinking hot. Tell your devout companions to wear light clothing, hats and sunscreen. Wouldn’t want them to go home with sun burn.’
