In the Wet Read Online Free PDF

good cobber, but he’s in the wrong job.”
    “Aw, cut it out, Stevie.”
    “He believes people go to Heaven when they die,” said Stevie. “Harps and angels’ wings.” He turned to me. “That’s right, cobber?”
    “Pretty well,” I said. And beside me Jack Picton said, “You’re not going to Heaven when
you
die, Stevie, and ifyou don’t stop annoying Mr. Hargreaves I’ll dot you one and bust the other ear.”
    I put a hand upon Jack’s arm. “He’s right—he’s doing no one any harm.” To Stevie I said, “I don’t know if you’ll go to Heaven, but I do know that it’s time you went to bed, with that ear. Where are you sleeping, Stevie?”
    There was no answer. One of the men said, “He hasn’t got a bed, Mr. Hargreaves. He just sleeps around, any place he fancies.”
    I turned to Mr. Roberts behind the bar. “Got a spare bed, Bill? He should sleep somewhere on a bed tonight, with that bandage.”
    “That’s right,” said the innkeeper. “There’s a spare bed on the back verandah. He can sleep on that.”
    I turned to the men. “Let’s take him up there.”
    Jim and Jack Picton grasped Stevie by each arm and marched him out into the back yard; I followed them. They stopped there in the still moonlight for a certain purpose, and then they took him up the outside stairs to the back verandah and deposited him upon the vacant bed. “Now see here, Stevie,” said Jim Maclaren. “The parson’s got you this bed, and you’ve got to stay up here and sleep on it. If I see you downstairs again tonight I’ll break your bloody neck.”
    “Let’s take his boots off,” I said.
    We took his boots off and dropped them down beside the bed, and pushed him down on it. Jim said, “Want a blanket, Stevie? You’d better have a blanket. Here, take this.” He threw one over the old man. “Now just you stay there. Nobody’s shouting you another drink tonight, and if you come downstairs again I’ll break your neck. That’s straight. I will.”
    “Harps and angels’ wings,” the old man muttered. “That’s no way to talk.”
    Jim laughed shortly. “Come on down, Mr. Hargreaves. He’s right now.”
    “I could tell you things,” Stevie said from the semi-darkness of the bed. “I could tell you better ’n that, but you wouldn’t believe me.” There was a pause, and then he muttered, “Pisspot Stevie. Nobody believes what Pisspot Stevie says.”
    I said in a low tone to Jim Maclaren, “I’ll stay up here till he goes off to sleep. He won’t be long. I’ll see you downstairs later.” It was a subterfuge, of course. I wanted to avoid going back with Jim to the bar.
    “All right, Mr. Hargreaves.” He went clattering down the stairs with the other men, laughing and talking, and their voices died away into the bar. It was very still on the verandah after they had gone. Half of the verandah was in brilliant, silvery moonlight, half in deep black shadow, hiding the beds. Under the deep blue sky a flying fox or two wheeled silently round the hotel in the light of the moon.
    “I could tell you things,” the old man muttered from the darkness. “You think I told you something when I said Black Joke, but that ain’t nothing. I could tell you things.”
    “What could you tell me?” I asked quietly.
    “Being born again,” he muttered sleepily. “All you think about is harps and angels’ wings, but Liang’s a Buddhist, ’n he knows. Old Liang, he knows, all right. He tol’ me all about it. He knows.”
    It was somewhat dangerous, but the night was quiet, and I wanted to explore the depths of this old man. “What does Liang know?” I asked.
    “About another chance,” he muttered. “About being born again, ’n always another chance of doing better next time. I know. I got the most beautiful dreams, ’n more andmore the older that I get. Soon I’ll be living next time more’n this time. That’s a mystery, that is.” There was a long, long pause; I thought that he had gone to