Macbeth and Son Page 15

  Suddenly his anger evaporated, leaving emptiness and something else too. Awkwardness? A small bit of conscience as well? Because Sam did try.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Luke. ‘Thanks for…for everything. And for looking after Mum too.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Sam a little self-consciously, ‘it’s my pleasure, mate.’ Then, as though he wanted to sweep the emotion from the room, ‘You’re up early. What’s up?’

  ‘Assignment,’ said Luke. ‘Due in today.’

  ‘Hard one?’

  Luke shook his head. ‘Not now.’

  It was true. He had to change everything he’d written. He might lose everything today. Not just his scholarship, but his friends too. Patrick. Megan.

  He was risking hurting Mum as well. But Mum would cope. At last he knew what he was going to say.

  Lies killed Macbeth. Lies were poisoning his own life.

  Now he was going to tell the truth.

  Chapter 28

  Luke

  But screw your courage to the sticking-place,

  And we’ll not fail.

  (Macbeth, Act I, Scene 7, lines 61–62)

  ‘Lady Macbeth wasn’t evil,’ concluded Megan. ‘She was trapped. It was her duty to help her husband, who was too much of a coward to do what he wanted without her pushing him into it. Like him, she was trapped by the witches. But most of all, she was trapped by the time she lived in.’

  Luke began the clapping. The rest of the class followed. Mrs Easson clapped too. She looked amused. ‘Fascinating,’ she said as the clapping died down. ‘Very good indeed. You’ve reminded us that there’s more than one way of looking at this play. Luke?’

  Luke stood up. His knees felt funny, as though one of Macbeth’s witches had turned them into marshmallow. Double, double toil and trouble, he thought vaguely, make Luke’s legs begin to bubble.

  It seemed to take an hour just to get to the front of the classroom. The faces swam before him. Suddenly it seemed like the whole class was just one face.

  For a moment he felt too scared to speak. What was he doing? They’d laugh at him…Then Megan grinned and mouthed, ‘Good luck!’

  Luke nodded, and began to speak.

  ‘“Macbeth’s Progress into Villainy”.’

  His voice squeaked. Someone giggled. Luke took a breath and tried again. ‘This is supposed to be how Macbeth was corrupted by the witches and went bad. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?’ he asked Mrs Easson.

  Mrs Easson looked startled. ‘This is your assignment, Luke.’

  ‘But teachers know what they want when they ask kids to do assignments,’ argued Luke. ‘There was lots of stuff on the Internet I could have used, really highmark stuff. That’s how it’s supposed to go, isn’t it? You steal other people’s ideas and put them into your words and you get high marks for it? But I’m not going to.’

  ‘Luke…’ said Mrs Easson. ‘I think you need to answer the question.’

  ‘I’m going to,’ said Luke. ‘But I’m going to do it in a different way. I’m going to tell the truth.’

  ‘Get on with it, man!’ muttered Jingo from the back, fiddling with the notes of the talk he’d given earlier. Luke ignored him.

  ‘Once there was a king of Alba called Duncan. Alba was what they called ancient Scotland. Scottish kings were elected in those days, like we elect people to Parliament and they elect the Prime Minister.

  ‘But King Duncan kept fighting wars to expand his territory. People were starving. So the chiefs and churchmen elected the Chief of Clan Moray as king instead.

  ‘Outside Scotland royal families poisoned each other and made war. But things were pretty good in Scotland. The new King united the whole country for the first time. He made sure everyone followed the laws. Scotland was a place where the old and sick were protected, and where women had equal rights. Everything was peaceful and prosperous.’

  ‘What’s this got to do with Macbeth?’ This time Jingo’s voice was louder.

  Luke ignored him and went on.

  ‘But the dead King’s son, Malcolm, had fled to the English court. The English didn’t have the same sort of laws as Scotland. The English didn’t elect their kings either—the king’s son became king no matter how stupid or bad he was. So the English King helped Malcolm raise armies to conquer Scotland.

  ‘But Malcolm’s armies couldn’t take Scotland. So Malcolm sent assassins to murder the Scottish King.’

  Luke looked out at the class. They were all staring at him, trying to work out why he was telling them all this. ‘The Scottish King’s name was Macbeth.’

  ‘But Macbeth was a bad guy!’ objected Jingo.

  ‘No, he wasn’t. The Irish and Norwegian and Scottish historians said Macbeth was a really good king. Only the English historians said he was a bad guy. And then six hundred years later Shakespeare wrote his play.

  ‘Shakespeare made Macbeth even worse. He added witches, because King James hated witches. He made Banquo look really good, because Banquo was one of King James’s ancestors. He made Macbeth’s wife into a madwoman, even though the real person was known as a really wise queen.

  ‘Shakespeare didn’t care what was true,’ said Luke. ‘He only cared about sucking up to the King.’

  ‘Luke, this isn’t fair…’ began Mrs Easson.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ demanded Luke. ‘I asked you two days ago, “How can Shakespeare have written all that when it wasn’t true?” and you said it didn’t matter. That the play was more important than the truth.

  ‘Well, I don’t think it is. Does truth matter? I think it does. What if someone wrote a play in a hundred years’ time about our prime minister? How he was so evil he secretly murdered all his opponents? Or how he was so brave he fought off the New Zealanders when they tried to invade?

  ‘Neither one would be true. But people might think it was true…especially if it was a brilliant play.

  ‘Shakespeare didn’t have to write about a real king. He could have written about, oh, King Jason, if he’d wanted to. Someone who never existed. But Shakespeare didn’t just want to write a brilliant play. He wanted money and a licence to perform from the King. So he lied.’

  ‘So what?’ It was Jingo again. But for once he looked interested. He wasn’t just objecting for the sake of it. ‘What does it matter if some old guy lied, like, a hundred years ago?’

  ‘Four hundred,’ put in Mrs Easson.

  ‘Whatever. Who cares?’

  ‘Because truth matters,’ said Luke slowly. ‘If someone in a hundred years’ time writes a play about you, for instance, and says you were, I don’t know, a wuss or something, would that matter?’

  ‘Man, I’d bash his—’

  ‘But you’d be dead! There’d be nothing you could do!’

  ‘But does it matter?’ asked Megan suddenly. ‘In a hundred years’ time, what does it matter if people think Jingo was a wuss or not?’

  ‘Hey, it matters to me!’ called Jingo.

  ‘That’s what I’ve been thinking about for the last week,’ said Luke. For longer than that. For ages.

  ‘What does it matter if Shakespeare lied? What does it matter if people lied about weapons in Iraq?

  ‘Everybody lies these days. Most ads on TV are just a lie. I thought: maybe lies are okay if they lead to something good.

  ‘But are they really?

  ‘I think lies are wrong. When you lie about something that matters…well, you know you’ve done the wrong thing, that’s all.

  ‘Maybe lies are wrong because they’re so easy. A company doesn’t have to make an iceblock that tastes better than everyone else’s. They just have to say it’s better. Or a government can hire people to say it cares about—oh, not having enough hospitals or something, without really doing anything about it.’

  Luke paused. The class was quiet.

  ‘Maybe lies are wrong because every time you find out someone has told you a lie you trust other people just a little bit less. And if people can’t trust each other, well, how can we kee
p working together?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘I sat the exam for St Ilf’s Grammar last month. And they gave me a scholarship. But I wrote a letter this morning refusing it. Because I’d already seen the questions on the exam paper. I didn’t mean to cheat—they must have sent me the exam paper accidentally, with some old ones.’

  Everyone was staring at him. Even Mrs Easson. Even Jingo. Luke tried to read Megan’s expression, but he couldn’t.

  What were they all thinking? He couldn’t tell. But he had to go on.

  ‘I wasn’t a cheat then. But I would be now if I kept the scholarship. I’d be a liar. I’d always know that I’d been wrong.’

  Suddenly he had run out of words. He looked at the notes in his hand. There was one more thing he had to say.

  ‘Some things are important. Some things are worth fighting for. Truth matters. Because if we don’t tell the truth we don’t just cheat other people. We cheat ourselves. How will we live if we don’t know what’s true, or who to trust? If our friends…or our leaders…or the people we admire lie to us?

  ‘It’s not easy sometimes to tell the truth. Sometimes it’s not easy to hear the truth either. But we need to try. And…and…if my great-grandson wants to write a play about a wuss, he’d better not call the hero Luke.’

  His legs were marshmallow again. Swords would have been easier, he thought vaguely. You know where you are with swords.

  What now? He’d lost the scholarship. Probably no one here would ever speak to him again, and that’d really matter now that he had to stay here for the rest of school.

  He was halfway to his seat before he noticed the applause.

  Chapter 29

  Luke

  Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood

  Clean from my hand?

  (Macbeth, Act II, Scene 2, lines 59–60)

  Luke sat down in his seat, trying to get his breath back. Patrick turned round and gave him a thumbs up. Over by the window Megan was grinning.

  ‘Well done, Luke,’ said Mrs Easson. She looked a bit stunned, as though she wasn’t sure if she was congratulating him for his honesty or his talk. ‘Excellent. Really excellent.’

  It was over, thought Luke. Or was it? He glanced at Megan.

  No, it wasn’t over yet. One lie down, and one still to go. He had to tell Megan that Sam couldn’t—wouldn’t—help.

  He had to tell her, as soon as English was over…

  Someone knocked on the classroom door. ‘Message for Megan and Patrick Fisher. They’re wanted at the office.’

  Mrs Easson nodded. ‘Off you go, Megan, Patrick.’

  What was wrong? Were their parents okay? Luke peered out the window as Patrick and Megan hurried along the verandah and up towards the office.

  ‘Well,’ said Mrs Easson, ‘I don’t know if any of us will be able to concentrate after that. But we do have some more talks to get through…’

  It seemed an age before English finished. Luke gathered his books together as his classmates passed him one by one.

  ‘Good on you, Luke.’

  ‘Yeah, mate. Well done.’

  ‘Thanks,’ muttered Luke. He didn’t know what else to say.

  Half of his mind was on Megan and Patrick. Were they okay? What was going on?

  Now they’d all gone except Jingo. ‘Hey, Luke!’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Did you really refuse the scholarship?’

  Luke nodded. ‘I posted the letter before school.’ He frowned. ‘I haven’t told Mum and Sam yet.’

  Jingo was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘I don’t think I’d have been able to do what you did today. It took guts.’

  ‘Thanks, Jingo,’ said Luke, touched.

  He followed Jingo out of the classroom.

  There was no sign of Megan or Patrick on the bus. No one knew where they’d gone either.

  The house was empty when he got home. Mrs T would be out getting the groceries today. There was a note from Mum on the bench, where she knew he’d find it when he looked for something to eat.

  Gone to Sydney with Sam. Back tonight.

  Love, Mum.

  Luke opened the fridge and took out a carton of milk. There was the rest of last night’s chicken there too. He’d grab something to eat then ring the Fishers…

  Just then the phone rang. Luke put the chicken back and picked up the receiver.

  ‘Luke?’ It was Megan. Her voice was…different. Excited.

  ‘What’s wrong? Is everything okay?’

  ‘Everything’s wonderful! Turn on the TV!’

  ‘What—’

  ‘Have to go! I want to watch it too! Just wanted to say thank you! Thank Sam for me too!’

  ‘What—’ The phone went dead.

  Luke raced over to the TV and switched it on.

  Cartoons. Why would Megan want him to watch cartoons?

  Unless it was something on another channel. Luke switched them frantically, barely noticing what he was doing. Why hadn’t she said which one?

  And suddenly there she was, on the screen, in the Fishers’ orchard, with her parents and Pat behind her.

  ‘I…it’s been ours for over a hundred years,’ she was saying. ‘Some things are important. Some things are worth fighting for. It’s not just our farm that’s threatened. It’s anyone who is growing food that people need, running a family business, people like us coming up against big companies that can force them out. People need to know that they can rely on their council or their government to protect them. People need to know who they can trust.’

  My words, thought Luke. Megan’s using my words.

  The scene changed. It was the Mayor. He looked harassed and embarrassed and defensive. ‘Certainly no decision has been made…Environmental considerations are always important…’

  ‘Then you don’t think this resort will be approved?’ The interviewer wasn’t Sam. It was a woman.

  It’s a different station, Luke realised. Not Sam’s at all.

  The Mayor gulped, staring at the camera. ‘Of course, I can’t make a decision myself. That’s for the Council. But if I were a betting man I’d say it was very unlikely.’

  The interviewer turned to camera for the wrap-up. But Luke wasn’t listening. He had to thank Sam, apologise to him…or something. He picked up the phone again and dialled Sam’s mobile.

  ‘Hi, you’ve called Sam Mackenzie. I’m not here at the moment…’

  The answering machine. Should he leave a message? The beep went before Luke could think what to say. ‘Sam, it’s Luke. I…I’ll call back later.’

  He turned back to the TV. The Mayor’s face had vanished. In its place a shot of the Fishers’ farm appeared, taken from the high point near the rock where he’d sat with Megan, while the program’s credits rolled. It was a shock to see the rock like that, on a TV screen. It looked so different that it was almost as though he’d never seen it before.

  How could he possibly have thought he could leave the farm and go to St Ilf’s? He’d go to agricultural college eventually, perhaps spend a gap year who knew where. But Breakfast Creek was the heart of his life. His country.

  And it had taken Megan to show it to him.

  There was the sound of a car outside, then Mum’s voice and Sam’s in reply.

  What was Luke going to say to them? What could he say?

  ‘Luke? Are you there?’

  ‘Here, Mum.’

  ‘Oh, Luke.’ Mum was carrying a giant pizza box. It was hard to read her expression. Sam stood behind her, holding a bag of groceries. ‘The school called me a few minutes ago.’

  ‘You mean St Ilf’s?’ But they wouldn’t have the letter yet, Luke realised.

  ‘No, it was Mrs Easson. She said you gave the most wonderful talk she’s ever heard in all her years of teaching. Luke, I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘Mum…I’m sorry about St Ilf’s…’

  Mum’s voice was choked. ‘I never wanted you to go away to Sydney anyway. Just to have a chance…the
sort of chance your dad never had.’

  ‘I’ve got all I want right here,’ said Luke, without hesitating.

  ‘Oh, Luke. Come here.’ She hugged him hard. The pizza box began to crumple, sending a dribble of melted cheese down Luke’s front. But it didn’t matter. ‘That stupid school, sending you the wrong paper…’

  So Mum didn’t know Sam had been behind it—even if he’d never meant it to go so far. Luke met Sam’s eyes. Sam’s face was carefully bare of expression.

  No, thought Luke, Sam wasn’t Malcolm, the thief, the betrayer. And if he wasn’t Macbeth the hero either—well, who was?

  Sam did his best. Which was more than most people ever tried to do, Luke realised. And today, at least, Sam’s best had been pretty good.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said to Sam.

  ‘Ah.’ Sam’s voice was suddenly…what? thought Luke. Friendly? Normal, not the ‘I’m on show’ voice? Relieved? But sort of proud of himself too. ‘So you’ve seen it.’

  ‘Yes. It was wonderful! Was it you? I mean, did you…’

  ‘Just pulled a few strings,’ replied Sam, and he definitely sounded proud of himself now. ‘Still have a few contacts in the opposition. They did an okay job, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Luke. So did you, he thought. But he didn’t say the words. He didn’t need to.

  ‘I’ll just put this in the oven,’ said Mum tactfully, as she tried to smooth out the crumpled pizza box. ‘Celebration tonight! Oh, blast the thing, it’s all gooey. Well, maybe we can go out. The Fishers might like to come too.’ She took the groceries from Sam and disappeared into the kitchen. She was humming again.

  ‘Luke, mate, I’m sorry,’ said Sam. ‘You know I didn’t mean—’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Luke. And if Sam hadn’t exactly said what he was sorry for, well, that didn’t matter either. Because it was okay. ‘And I really like the bike,’ Luke added.

  This time Sam’s grin was genuine. ‘Hey, mate, maybe I should get another one for me to ride too. By the way,’ he added, almost too casually, ‘I’ve put in a bid for the resort land. Guess they won’t be wanting it now. Might get it cheap. Thought you and I could sort of toss around a few ideas about what we might do with it.’