The Gospel According to Luke Page 2

  Aggie approached a table covered in glossy pamphlets and pastel-coloured information sheets. Get Jiggy For Jesus!, Safe and Sound – Our Security Guarantee, The Christian Revolution – A History, and NCYC – This is Not a Church! lay alongside The Truth About Safe Sex and How Far is Too Far?

  The leaflet that had inspired Aggie’s visit was not on the table. Clearly, the propaganda designed to recruit children was different to that intended to stir up hatred and prejudice in the general community. Besides, they knew as well as she did that had they told a bunch of teenagers that Aggie’s office was ‘distributing pornography to children’ those children would have been queuing up around the block to get some.

  A girl of about twenty wearing a fitted fuchsia jumper and a swinging blonde ponytail bounced up to the table. Her name tag said: Hi! I’m Belinda.‘Welcome to the NCYC. Are you interested in signing your kids up to one of our programs?’

  Aggie smiled down at the girl, who, like everyone out here, was at least half-a-foot shorter than her. ‘Actually no. I was hoping to speak to the manager.’

  ‘The manager? Oh, well we don’t really have a manager. Each member of our Pastoral Team is responsible for various aspects of the Centre’s operation. For example, I –’ the girl pointed to her name tag, ‘– am Belinda Swan, and I oversee the Learn and Praise Program, organise the Girls Only and Teen Spirit groups and act as Personal Assistant to the Senior Pastor. I’m also the unofficial cleaning lady, laundress and kitchen hand. Not that I mind. It’s all God’s work. Even scrubbing pots. Right?’

  ‘So this Senior Pastor . . . he’s the boss?’

  Belinda giggled. ‘Technically, I guess. But he’d turn red as a beetroot if anyone called him that. He’s our leader, sure, but –’

  ‘Is he in?’

  ‘I’ll check if he’s available. Your name?’

  ‘Aggie Grey.’

  Belinda nodded, taking a mobile phone from her belt and punching the keys. ‘What is the visit regard–Luke, hi. There’s an Aggie Grey here to – yes, yes . . . you’ve been . . . yes, sure, I will. Bye.’ She returned the phone to her belt before looking back up at Aggie. ‘Pastor Butler said to tell you he’s been looking forward to meeting you. He’s in the kitchen. Just go on through these doors, straight to the end of the corridor and it’s the last door on the right. I’d show you the way but I have to stay here to meet and greet.’

  Aggie thanked her and made her way through the courtyard. She noticed a few of the teenagers smiling at her like they knew her, but she was pretty sure she had never seen any of these kids before. Freshly-scrubbed, expensively-dressed teens rarely ended up in Aggie’s office. Not because they never needed help, but because they had somewhere better to go to get it.

  She pushed open the frosted-glass door, stepped inside the building and stopped, momentarily stunned by the change in environment. There was no sound except her breathing and the distant hum of the air-conditioning. The air was warm and clean, and the low lighting illuminated only pale walls and dark doors as far as she could see. She headed down the corridor, aware, with every step, how loud her footsteps were. They were not loud in the way that stiletto heels clicking against tiles are loud, but in the way that a giant’s footsteps are loud, even when that giant is attempting to move lightly across the carpet in her rubber-soled sneakers.

  Aggie paused outside the kitchen door. She heard the tinkling of a teaspoon in a teacup and a tuneless humming. She took three deep breaths, imagining a piece of string running up her spine and through the top of her skull, pushed her shoulders back, sucked her stomach in and ran a hand over her head to ensure her hair was not sticking up.

  She pushed open the door and was greeted by a smiling boy with dark curls and a blinding lime shirt, holding aloft a yellow teacup. ‘Hello. Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Neither, thanks. I’m looking for Pastor Butler.’

  ‘You’ve found him.’ He motioned toward the enormous timber table that stood between them. ‘Pull up a pew. I’m just brewing a pot. Sure you won’t have a cup?’

  Aggie stayed in the doorway. ‘You’re in charge here?’

  ‘No, no, no.’ He carried the pot and a cup to the table, then slid onto the bench behind it. He motioned for Aggie to join him. She stood her ground.

  ‘Can you tell me please, who is in charge?’

  The boy pointed to the ceiling. ‘God, of course. I’m just doing his bidding. Now please, Aggie Grey, sit down. Let’s talk.’

  Aggie sat down. He smiled; she did not. ‘You know who I am, so I’d appreciate it if –’

  ‘Luke Butler. Senior Pastor.’ He put down his cup and offered her his hand, which she shook the way her father had taught her: fast and firm. Luke Butler did not look surprised at this; he matched it with his own. Aggie withdrew her hand wordlessly.

  ‘So,’ he said, clasping his tea cup. ‘So.’ He held her gaze, smiling as though he had a great secret he couldn’t wait to tell.

  ‘I’m here to talk about the leaflets.’

  ‘Yes, I thought you might be.’

  ‘Your leaflets are defamatory. If you don’t stop distributing them, we will press charges.’

  Luke Butler’s smile remained. He topped up his teacup. ‘You deny carrying out the activities listed? Encouraging illegal conduct such as drug injection and under-age intercourse? Promoting homosexuality and promiscuity? Distributing pornography to children?’

  ‘We encourage and promote nothing except health and safety. If you believe any of our activities are illegal, you’re free to report us to the relevant authorities. You are not free, however, to distribute defamatory literature. It stops immediately or you’ll be hearing from our lawyers.’

  Luke sat back in his chair and ran both hands through his curls. ‘Better get your PR staff involved too, then. Imagine how much fun the tabloids will have with this.’

  Aggie shrugged. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. If we can communicate to the community the importance of what we do, then –’

  ‘Forget communicating to the community for a minute. Communicate to me. Tell me why you should be allowed to continue operating.’

  ‘Listen, you arrogant little prick. I’m not justifying the validity of my work to you.’ Aggie stood up. ‘If the harassment doesn’t stop, I will call the police. Then I’ll call a lawyer. And you may have the Telegraph and the talkback shock jocks on your side, but I can stir up every progressive in the country if I call in the ABC and the Herald.’

  Luke stood and came around to the other side of the table. He placed a hand on Aggie’s shoulder; this was alarming as she’d been hit often but held by the shoulder rarely. ‘I’m sorry I upset you,’ he said.

  ‘No, you didn’t. It’s fine.’ She shrugged, but his hand remained.

  ‘I didn’t know you’d get so upset. I was just . . . I hadn’t meant to be arrogant. I only wanted to understand why you do what you do. You seem like such a nice –’ His hand fell, and he stepped back. ‘I just wanted to understand how such a nice person could be in the business you’re in.’

  ‘This isn’t about me, Mr Butler.’ Aggie stepped sideways and made for the door. ‘Stop the leaflets or you’ll hear from our lawyers.’

  ‘Let me show you out,’ he said, but Aggie’s long, fast strides left him finishing the sentence from the kitchen while she had already reached the front doors.

  Malcolm was out the front of the office smoking when Aggie returned. She pulled a face at the cigarette, but he was already grinding it into the ashtray and didn’t see.

  ‘Thought this week was quitting week?’

  Mal followed Aggie inside. ‘Quitting at home week. Next week I’ll stop smoking at work, and the week after that, I’ll stop altogether.’

  ‘And does Will know about your three-step program?’ Will had been on at Mal to quit smoking and lose weight almost since they’d met. It was bad enough, he said, that Mal was fifteen years older, without having to worry about him dropping dead prematurely of a heart-attack. Will’s fears were
behind the stash of chips and lollies in Mal’s desk drawer, the gym bag thrown onto the filing cabinet every Monday morning and taken home unopened every Friday night, and now, the cigarettes kept in a drawer alongside peppermints and deodorant spray.

  Mal put a finger to his lips. ‘You don’t tell him about the ciggies and I won’t tell him about the smoked salmon at the Red Cross fundraiser.’

  ‘I was drunk and it was dark.’ Aggie had known after the first bite that the tiny cross-shaped sandwiches contained salmon, and she had not only swallowed the morsel already in her mouth but had proceeded to eat five more. Mal, who was vegetarian only when Will was looking, had been delighted to smell salmon on the breath of Aggie, the only person he knew who was more sanctimonious about her intake of animal products than Will.

  ‘No excuse for slaughtering innocent salmon, Ag. None at all.’ Mal took a Mars Bar from his desk and unwrapped it slowly, lovingly. He grunted and half of it disappeared in one bite. He chewed with his mouth open and moaned with delight. If it wasn’t for the receding hairline and waistline blubber anyone would think he was fourteen years old.

  She took a soy protein bar from her desk drawer and bit into it with theatrical relish. She chewed and swallowed, pretending it did not taste like cardboard soaked in vinegar and nutrasweet.

  ‘Do you want to know about my meeting with the Bible Basher or what?’

  Mal mumbled something through a mouthful of chocolate and caramel.

  Aggie put the protein bar back in her drawer. She wasn’t hungry enough for the taste not to bother her.

  ‘The head bloke is, like, ten years old, dressed like something out of Young Talent Time. He talked tough, but he’s just enthusiastic about his shiny new grown-up job, I think. If he doesn’t settle down in a week or so, we’ll go over his head. Send a letter to the head office threatening legal action.’

  ‘Why wait?’

  ‘Goodwill. We have to live with them right across the street. No point getting into a legal stoush if it’s not absolutely necessary.’

  ‘Aggie Grey talking about goodwill toward fundies and eating smoked salmon at balls,’ Mal said. ‘Your mother would disown you.’

  3.

  Joe lived in the covered doorway of a long-abandoned drycleaners in the same street as Aggie’s office. Over the years Aggie had known him he’d been placed in homes and hostels a dozen times by various religious and government social workers, but he was never gone from his doorway for more than a week or two. He drank, which was no surprise, but unlike many of the street alcoholics who drank for warmth and rest, he was a mean, filthy drunk. He drank and cursed, drank and threw bins through windows, drank and defecated on picnic tables. Joe was the first person Aggie introduced work experience kids to; meeting him killed any romantic notions about the nobility of homelessness or the warm-fuzziness of working with the destitute.

  Aggie checked on Joe every night. If he was conscious she would ask him how he was and if he needed anything. Invariably, he would tell her to go fuck herself. If he was unconscious she would hold her breath and bend in close to check if he was breathing. She always hoped for an unconscious but breathing Joe; even the foulest of human beings were loveable when asleep.

  Tonight he was on his side, his legs curled up toward his stomach, one arm stretched out in front. Aggie steeled herself for the stench of vinegar wine and unwashed flesh and crouched down. The stink was fouler and stronger than normal and his outstretched arm was convulsing.

  ‘Joe?’ Aggie picked up his arm and felt something warm and sticky. ‘Shit! Joe, can you hear me?’

  She reached for her mobile, but then remembered the battery was dead. She yelled out for help, but had no expectation of being heard. All the shops and offices had closed hours ago.

  Bile spilled from Joe’s mouth and onto Aggie’s leg. His arm continued to spasm between her hands; if she put it down he would injure himself further on the concrete. She glanced up and down the street, but it was late and no one walked through here after dark. Joe’s convulsions were intensifying and she was afraid he’d fracture his skull. Aggie kept hold of his arm and lifted his head onto her leg. He was a dead weight but her office was close. She thought she could make it there and call an ambulance.

  ‘Joe? I’m going to lift you up, okay? It might hurt for a second, but I promise it will be better soon.’ Aggie slid out from underneath him. Immediately, Joe’s head thumped into the concrete. He reared up and fell down again, falling heavily to the ground.

  ‘Have you called an ambulance?’

  Aggie spun around. The boy pastor stood, phone in hand. She shook her head and he began punching the keys. While he talked to the emergency operator Aggie set to work making Joe more comfortable. He was small and withered but heavy with unconsciousness, and his convulsions made him difficult to move.

  ‘Slide over.’ Luke Butler lifted Joe’s legs and placed them on his own lap. The man lay like a plank across Aggie and Luke’s laps, their four hands holding him still. ‘Ambulance is on its way.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Aggie pulled a tissue from her pocket and tried to staunch the bleeding from Joe’s elbow. The tissue was quickly soaked, but Luke pressed a handkerchief into her hands, and while she held that to the wound, he worked his right shoe off with his left foot, raised his shoeless foot up over Joe’s legs and removed his sock.

  ‘Hold the hankie there – it’s much cleaner than this.’ Aggie did as he asked, and Luke worked around her hand, binding the elbow with his thick black sock. ‘Pathetic!’ he said, chuckling. ‘But it’s better than nothing, I suppose.’

  Sirens filled the air and they shared a brief, grateful smile. Then the paramedics were upon them lifting their burden, firing off questions to which Aggie had few answers. One of the men noted her name and work address in a book while the other strapped Joe in.

  ‘Thanks,’ Aggie said again when the ambulance had gone. ‘You saved me having to lug the old bastard down the street.’

  Luke smiled. ‘You should carry a phone. It’s dangerous around here at night.’

  Aggie laughed, walking the few steps to stand under a street light. Blood on her hands, shirt, knee. Unidentified wetness on her lap, shirt, thighs. ‘I know this area. I know the dangerous people. They don’t hurt me. But yes,’ she said, ‘a working phone would have been helpful tonight.’

  He grabbed her hand. ‘You’re all bloody.’

  ‘Yeah. I got the messy end.’

  He released her hand and stepped into the light. ‘You sure?’ Aggie saw the large brown stain on his white pants. She laughed and so did he.

  ‘You don’t seem bothered?’

  ‘Nah. I’m used to it. I worked outreach for years. In the Cross mostly. Of course, I never wore white then. I thought my days of grime-proof dressing were done with.’

  Aggie looked into his face. He didn’t look old enough to have done anything for ‘years’. But he had handled himself well with old Joe – that much was true.

  She began walking and he kept step beside her. ‘The Cross, huh? I bet you heard some sad stories working there.’

  ‘Some, sure. But I got to hear the joyful ones, too. Sometimes I got to talk to people who were heading down the path of promiscuity and drugs, and I was by their side as they committed to Jesus Christ and handed their lives over to Him to be healed. I can’t tell you how exciting it is to witness that. How much better to point a person toward the light than to hand out protection against the dark.’

  They had reached Aggie’s office. ‘Right, I bet. So thanks for helping. Go on home and get cleaned up.’

  He squinted in concentration as though he were adding up a series of numbers in his head. After a few seconds he rubbed his forehead and smiled. ‘What an amazing night.’

  ‘Dramatic, anyway.’

  ‘It never fails to astound me, the way God appears in the oddest – the most unexpected – places.’

  ‘Joe’s bowels are certainly an odd place for God to emerge from, I’ll give you that
.’

  ‘Joe’s – Oh! I see!’ He smiled. ‘Very funny. But no, I meant you, Aggie Grey. God’s light is so strong in you right now. You glow with it.’

  ‘Goodnight.’ Aggie began to unlock her door.

  He touched her shoulder and turned her around. ‘I think you were sent to me, Aggie. By God. He sees what you’re doing here; He sees that you have good intentions and a generous spirit. He sees your compassion and courage, and He wants you on his team. He sent you to me so I could show you the way.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I need to wash this blood off, and you really, really stink. Goodnight.’

  ‘Oh, no, that’s what’s happened all right. I haven’t been so sure of anything since I got my calling to the ministry. I’m all lit up by you.’

  Aggie leant against the door, watching him watch her. He seemed to genuinely believe what he was saying. She wondered whether he got these messages a lot.

  His eyebrows started to move toward each other. His mouth straightened and two small lines appeared in the centre of his forehead. His eyebrows met over his nose, kissed and then parted again. Twice he opened his mouth as if to speak, closed it, pressed his lips together and sighed through his nose. He could have been just another terrified teenage boy, working up the courage to admit he kinda liked boys, or to ask her if it was true you could get AIDS from blowjobs.

  ‘Look, I have to –’

  His hand darted out, grabbed one of hers and held it tight. ‘We’re in the grip of something very powerful here, Aggie.’

  ‘The only thing gripping me is your hand. Please, let –’

  ‘I’m going to stop those leaflets. I was being stubborn. I was forging ahead with what I thought was right, and I wasn’t paying attention to what God wants.’

  Aggie swallowed. ‘And God wants you to stop harassing us?’

  ‘I believe He wants me to help you find the way, and I can’t do that if we’re enemies.’