questions Kally needed answering? As the morning wore towards lunch I realised that they were not. She had her Belgian engineer. She didn’t need me to build a vehicle for her escape. But I wanted to be the one to emancipate her; I wanted to be the hero, to earn her gratitude and adulation.
I was being selfish and not thinking of Kally at all.
I felt in my jacket pocket for the bundle of paper I’d stowed there earlier. There were the details of our accounts at the Bank of New South Wales. A small pile of Gold and Wool Bonds, already browned and torn at the edges. Our Mortgage.
I took two of the Wool Bonds and one of the Gold and stuffed the rest into the bottom drawer of my desk. The pile of patents, useless to me, I placed onto a trolley for someone else to file.
The Bank was in Macquarie Place and I chanced through the doors at a time of relative quiet. I was able to walk right up to the cashier and present my Bonds without waiting. The cashier took them without a word and stalked off through a side door, returning after a short while with a ridiculously large pile of banknotes.
I did not hear the amount and I do not remember signing whatever was presented for me to sign. I was too busy looking at the money before me: five pound notes stacked an inch thick. Surely that was enough to buy Kally her freedom?
With renewed enthusiasm I bounded back to the office, every stride a joyful step closer to Kally.
The afternoon passed quickly as I leapt around the office annoying everyone, not accomplishing a scrap of work. I joked and danced and sung merry tunes. I waxed lyrical on the beauty of women, of music, and of freedom. When they’d endured enough of me I tidied my desk and shuffled papers, humming to myself, cheeks sore from grinning.
As I rearranged the desktop for the fifth or sixth time my grin widened further, widened until it burst open with a laugh I’d no chance of containing. Everyone in the office looked up, wondering if I’d lost my mind, but no, I most definitely had not! Before me was the very patent I’d been examining all week: a radium powered steam-engine, scalable, without the need for coal, and with a fuel supply that could theoretically last many, many years.
I waited until the rest of the office had returned to their work and folded the blueprints into a tight square. With barely controlled glee I slipped them into my jacket pocket beside the money.
For the rest of the afternoon I twiddled my thumbs, grinning my painful grin at all who looked my way.
Five o’clock came and I was out the door, hat in hand, before the bell had even finished ringing. I skipped the streets to Surry Hills and through Chippendale, whistling as I went, the distant sounds of the circus my beacon.
The girl at the ticket-carriage passed me a ticket without a word. At the Big Top I did not even need to produce it, the usher letting me pass with a nod of recognition and a smile.
Kally’s performance was both ecstasy and agony. The ecstasy of her playing, her voice. The agony of waiting, of knowing that her salvation resided in my coat pocket. I closed my eyes and soared with her, shutting out the clowns and jugglers, the acrobats and animals. I heard only her sorrow, and a longing to be free, and knew that tonight I would deliver her dream.
When the show was over I moved immediately towards her gilded carriage, bold and full of purpose. McKenzie saw me and wandered across the ring.
“Ah, you’ve returned,” he said. “I was wonderin’ if our Kally’d entranced y’enough to warrant a second visit.”
He took me by the elbow and led me towards the back of the carriage. A young roustabout was there, pulling on rigging and tightening knots. He glared at me as McKenzie led me to Kally’s door and I felt his jealousy like a baleful fire. Kally’s grace and sophistication would never be for the likes of him and he knew it, hating me for being someone he could not. McKenzie gestured for me to step up to the
I was being selfish and not thinking of Kally at all.
I felt in my jacket pocket for the bundle of paper I’d stowed there earlier. There were the details of our accounts at the Bank of New South Wales. A small pile of Gold and Wool Bonds, already browned and torn at the edges. Our Mortgage.
I took two of the Wool Bonds and one of the Gold and stuffed the rest into the bottom drawer of my desk. The pile of patents, useless to me, I placed onto a trolley for someone else to file.
The Bank was in Macquarie Place and I chanced through the doors at a time of relative quiet. I was able to walk right up to the cashier and present my Bonds without waiting. The cashier took them without a word and stalked off through a side door, returning after a short while with a ridiculously large pile of banknotes.
I did not hear the amount and I do not remember signing whatever was presented for me to sign. I was too busy looking at the money before me: five pound notes stacked an inch thick. Surely that was enough to buy Kally her freedom?
With renewed enthusiasm I bounded back to the office, every stride a joyful step closer to Kally.
The afternoon passed quickly as I leapt around the office annoying everyone, not accomplishing a scrap of work. I joked and danced and sung merry tunes. I waxed lyrical on the beauty of women, of music, and of freedom. When they’d endured enough of me I tidied my desk and shuffled papers, humming to myself, cheeks sore from grinning.
As I rearranged the desktop for the fifth or sixth time my grin widened further, widened until it burst open with a laugh I’d no chance of containing. Everyone in the office looked up, wondering if I’d lost my mind, but no, I most definitely had not! Before me was the very patent I’d been examining all week: a radium powered steam-engine, scalable, without the need for coal, and with a fuel supply that could theoretically last many, many years.
I waited until the rest of the office had returned to their work and folded the blueprints into a tight square. With barely controlled glee I slipped them into my jacket pocket beside the money.
For the rest of the afternoon I twiddled my thumbs, grinning my painful grin at all who looked my way.
Five o’clock came and I was out the door, hat in hand, before the bell had even finished ringing. I skipped the streets to Surry Hills and through Chippendale, whistling as I went, the distant sounds of the circus my beacon.
The girl at the ticket-carriage passed me a ticket without a word. At the Big Top I did not even need to produce it, the usher letting me pass with a nod of recognition and a smile.
Kally’s performance was both ecstasy and agony. The ecstasy of her playing, her voice. The agony of waiting, of knowing that her salvation resided in my coat pocket. I closed my eyes and soared with her, shutting out the clowns and jugglers, the acrobats and animals. I heard only her sorrow, and a longing to be free, and knew that tonight I would deliver her dream.
When the show was over I moved immediately towards her gilded carriage, bold and full of purpose. McKenzie saw me and wandered across the ring.
“Ah, you’ve returned,” he said. “I was wonderin’ if our Kally’d entranced y’enough to warrant a second visit.”
He took me by the elbow and led me towards the back of the carriage. A young roustabout was there, pulling on rigging and tightening knots. He glared at me as McKenzie led me to Kally’s door and I felt his jealousy like a baleful fire. Kally’s grace and sophistication would never be for the likes of him and he knew it, hating me for being someone he could not. McKenzie gestured for me to step up to the
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