Revelations by the Black Book

Life, Love, Feelings, Joy, Loss, Sorrow.

The one blade of grass missed by the lawn mower was left to flick in the breeze, various shades of green danced from it in the sun. Blades of grass, similar to some lives, cut short, only the lucky left to dance in the light on their own. Diane was one of these people, a typical Country Women’s Association lady, a bright cheery face, and a warm welcoming hug, and just a touch of cheek. You could imagine scones, jam, and cream with tea being served on a wooden veranda with a smile and a wink.

Pride, Hubris, Truth, Care, Need, Recognition.

The day was a proud day for her, it showed in the glow of her face. Her niece was to marry this very day. The extraordinary lengths both in travel and the said financial contribution, thirty thousand dollars, showed more than just the role of Aunty Diane. It was later cleared up, she had not married, no children, her brother’s family was her’s too.

Buildings, Religion, Strength, Old, Society, Pancakes.

The strong brown and red bricked walls that had stood the test of over a hundred years. The dark insides of the temporary cathedral, St Luke’s, now known as the Pancake Manor was fitting, given the conversation to soon be presented. Knowing today that the architecture is Romanesque is somewhat fitting given that Roman society collapsed similar to many relationships lost through death and disagreement. Diane was different to the many City women seated. The Cathedral furnishings were fitting of her personality and presentation, old world, similar to the polished wooden tables, out of place anachronistic in current society. There were quick introductions, and hugs of future meetings. Reflecting on the conversation to proceed is haunting.

‘Have you ever wondered what it is like to drive yourself into a truck?’ and ‘Do you think it would be quick?’ Diane looked beaten for a moment, her demeanour was as if to say, better to perish than to survive through injustice.

Help, Confessions, Shrove, School, Empathy, Failure.

‘Is everything ok, can I help?’ ‘No matter how bad things get they always get better!’ ‘Is it money?’ Even though the words were spoken as a reply by the priest, a role assumed, it was more about convincing himself.

It was a statement that would prove only to be a memory. The reality, a memory of not so much failed words, preventing death, but of the significance of the old church and its new purpose as the Pancake Manor. Diane’s had been shriven that day. It was her Pancake Day, something the priest hadn’t experienced since his high school days.

Absolution, Sanctuary, Moment, Sweet, Hunger, Save.

As soon as this haunting had started, a disapproving presence that seemed to hush all, entered the exchange. No more would Diane reveal her dire thoughts, confession had been absolved. It was her boyfriend’s long-lost, and until a few years earlier, unknown daughter. The biological dad too busy to visit this weekend had organised transportation for Diane with her. The new priest, and her twins, playing, their curly hair springing in time. Their laughter brought light to the dark premises. Not dissimilar to escaping a vampire, the repurposed church seemed to provide some sanctuary from the conversation. The waitress in her routine of life moved forward to provide a table. Distracted with the menu of sweet and delicious pancakes, all seemed peaceful. The distraction was just that and the priest sought to absolve himself. No further confession was forthcoming and seemed to bring delight on Diane’s face. It was decided to let others attempt to save her, maybe her God.

Tour, Cathedrals, Saints, Smoke, Pope, Links.

Dropping her back at the top of the Terrace to get dressed for the wedding, the priest decided to get smokes at the convenience store. Having some time prior to dropping her at the wedding he lit a cigarette and spoke about what occurred. Looking back the decision had been made for a new Pope, the smoke released.

The reply from his wife was dismissive in tone, ‘Maybe talk to John about it, he will know what’s going on.’ They drove her to Saint John’s Cathedral. It turned out to be a day tour of early twentieth century Brisbane Church architecture. The only reason Saint Luke’s existed was as a temporary Cathedral while Saint John’s was built, did Diane know the link?

Congregation, Trio, Work, God, Hush, Cut, Grass.

The priest that Monday discussed with the congregation, smoking trio, about the confession. Tipped beyond doubt that he must talk with John, the priest dialled the number, as if to speak with God.

The answer of the phone was typical ‘J & J Slashing, we cut your grass.’

‘Hey John, it’s me, something is troubling me about Diane. She asked have I ever thought about driving into a truck? I’m concerned for her welfare. Are you guys ok?’

‘Don’t worry I’ll talk to her tonight, must have been a misunderstanding,’ said John in a matter of fact tone.

Hushing any further discussion, ‘got to go, B-double about to pass the Tractor.’

Awake, Netball, Police, Orange, Truck, Confrontation.

The priest, awoken by his wife before he was conscious. Something about her receiving a phone call.

‘You know my Netball and police officer friend in Orange,’ she blurted.

She had adopted her father’s way of saying Orange, ‘Or/range’. Never heard it pronounced like that the priest thought again, always heard ‘Orange’ when living down south.

‘She called, there’s been an accident and it’s being shown on Channel Seven News.’

Arriving to be confronted in the lounge room by a vision on the television of what was barely left of a silver Nissan x-trail, blackened grass, and a B-double truck surrounded by police cars and fire trucks. The priest knew the driver, Diane, but it would be a long time and a number of events before he realised his own involvement in this tragedy. In hindsight there is still the grey of doubt, a matter for his own mind and personality to recover from.

Bed, Control, Wife, Kids, Flaws, Reveal.

Once again, the trio met at the field to escape the confines of control, naughty school kids at heart. The priest offered up the event as if still surprised. A number of other events to ensue first, as even with hindsight there is doubt. A matter for his own mind and unrealised flaws.

Laying on the bed the priest asked in his doubtful voice, ‘Do you think he is the killer?’

The priest’s wife looked excited and delighted. Why does she cast doubt and not answer he thought to himself?

‘Why don’t you ring Or/ange Police?’ ‘Tell them about what was said at the Pancake Manor, ask to speak to my friend, you know her.’

Getting through to the Police in Orange that day was difficult. Another Officer, Jason, answered the phone and the haunting was passed on to be conveyed to the Netball connection.

Travel, Airport, Tragedy, Hire, One, House.

Arriving at the airport, Gateway to the outback, the only reminder of the passage was a mural of kangaroos and emus on the wall and ceiling. Not Sistine Chapel art and not the splendour of the once visited blinding white beaches and crystal blues of Islands water. It was not quiet, and not peaceful. Lost in the enormity of the vast spaces of the hanger-like building. Attending a funeral, visiting Orange, and some still to this day an unremembered one house town was and is difficult in one day. Through this tragedy came one benefit, a break from the routine. Further along the road the thoughts of the accident became clear as trucks passed at speed. The realisation that the hire car was almost the same. What a horrible means to an end. The road trip was not as once remembered.

Grief, Job, Cremation, Funeral, Peace, River.

The 12.00pm funeral filled the square un-ordained Church. Almost temporary, the brick structure in its cyclonic design, square and small. It was not befitting the woman whose soul was to be carried from its walls. For St Luke’s had become her home. It was after all the only crematorium outside of Orange and within distance of her home. Was there any need for the family to finish the job of the truck and Saint Luke’s?

At the funeral the priest spoke with his usual authority of empathy, ‘She’s at peace now.’ ‘She’s in a better place.’ ‘John, sorry for your loss, I’m sure you tried your best.’ Wrapping his arms around the old bull he felt the loss as if his own.

‘Yeah thanks mate, I’m thinking of taking her brother up to the River, take his mind off it, get him around to my way of thinking.’

Eulogy, Community, Time, Reveal, Post, News.

The Eulogy was befitting such a beautiful person, well loved by her community of family and friends. No one but the priest knew her thoughts prior to the accident, he was sure, or was he. The brother seemed agitated as though he knew the secret too. Both looked at each other but knew it was not the time or place. It was revealed that she worked at a little post office come news agency. Respected by all the town's businesses, for she had been their priest too. Loved as such, due to being not one for gossip. It was hidden the shame she had fallen victim to.

Revelations, Unfulfilled, Safe, Money, Mystery, Evils.

It would be the unfulfilled daughter-in-law that would reveal the truth sometime later.

‘I heard from my police friend, you know there was money missing from the safe at the post office, the little black book left in the safe has all the records. She said it amounted to some 20 thousand dollars’ stated as if she had caught her red handed herself.

The priest almost in disbelief succumbed to the fraud of his thoughts. Had she stolen the wedding money? John did have that new tinny with the 50 four stroke mercury. He travelled out to the River with her brother. Did the brother now think like him? How did he purchase the new motorbike? Was the River where John did his preaching? These thoughts were dangerous to the priest and he did not realise how? He had always lived in the moment and rarely in the past. His grieving now seemed skewed by the mystery. He smoked his way through the thoughts unaware that it was his choice. He did not understand the psychology of his addiction. His smoking was directed at bringing him back to the moment. Smoking may have saved him on numerous road trips, ignoring evil, and allowing him to stay awake. Would he and others wake up to the evil preached?

Strange, Calm, Will, Psychological, Addiction, Thoughts.

Avoiding dissociation of his mind and self, the priest remained calm. Internalising the emotions, avoiding the situations where control was necessary. It seemed he would be rewarded, a Coroners Hearing to determine if charges should be laid against the truck driver. Would he be asked to appear? The priest was reading Dr. Jeffrey A. Schaler, psychologist, Addiction is a Choice. ‘People have more control over their behaviour than they think.’ On the other hand, ‘many scientists say addicts have literally lost control, and that the loss of control is a characteristic of the addiction disease.’ It seems strange to the priest looking in his own mirror of reflection to see the loss of control, of values, of his own will. Had this been what happened to Diane?

Mirror, Betrayal, Tolerate, Teach, Own, Value.

Much searching and stumbling through various connections provided guidance to why it happened, why he could not save Diane. It would be easy to forget and forgive those for their crimes. But it would be wrong. “The Man in the Mirror,” a poem provided earlier in life to the priest by an alcoholic, ex-psychologist, come book seller, Mr White, provided solace. A poem that provided self-control, cooperation, and the explanation of why to be good. The relationships that were scorned with betrayal soon came to light, “be careful what you tolerate, you are teaching people how to treat you.” The quote owned by all is a full reflection and clarified by a new, but all too late, mantra, “value yourself.”