Falk Character Analysis

Even those who didn’t darken the door of the church from one Christmas to the next could tell there would be more mourners than seats. A bottleneck of black and grey was already forming at the entrance as Aaron Falk drove up, trailing a cloud of dust and cracked leaves.

Luke lied. You lied. Be at the funeral.

“It’s good to see you again, Aaron.” Her blue eyes wandered over his face as though trying to memorize it and she smiled a little sadly. “Maybe see you in another twenty years.”

“It died,” Luke said. His mouth was a tight line. He didn’t meet Aaron’s gaze.

“How?”

“I don’t know. It just did.”

Aaron asked a few more times but never got a different answer. The rabbit lay on its side, perfect but unmoving, its eyes black and vacant.

Raco sighed, and flipped open Luke’s aged pack of cigarettes. He put one between his lips and offered the pack to Falk, who surprised himself by taking one. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smoked. It might easily have been in this very same spot with his late best friend next to him.

He’d always assumed Luke had been found in the ute’s driver’s seat, but the images showed his body flat on its back in the cargo tray. The lip of the tray was open and Luke’s legs dangled over as though he’d been sitting on the edge. A shotgun by his side pointed towards the mess where his head would have been. His face was completely missing.

When Aaron Falk was eleven, he’d seen Mal Deacon turn his own flock into a staggering, bleeding mess using shearing clippers and a brutal hand. Aaron had felt an ache swell in his chest as he, Luke and Ellie had watched one sheep after another brawled to the ground of the Deacons’ shed with a sharp twist and sliced too close to the skin. […]

Ellie had barely raised her head when the noises from the barn had floated over to where the three of them had been sitting on the sagging porch.

It would have been easy to miss, but when Falk thought about it afterwards, he felt sure. In the corner of his vision, Mrs. Sullivan had jerked her pale gaze up in surprise. She’d stared at her grandson for barely half a moment before casting her eyes back down. Falk had watched closely, but she didn’t look up again once.

“Scott,” she began, then stopped. He waited. She took a deep breath. “Scott, to be honest, I wasn’t sure about coming to you with this. My husband—” Karen held his gaze, but Whitlam felt she was forcing herself. “Luke, well. Look, he wouldn’t be happy.”

She made a face. “I’m working.” For the past year she’d had a part-time job which mainly involved standing disinterestedly behind the counter of the milk bar.

“Didn’t you work last night?”

“Milk bar opens every day, Aaron.”

“I know, but—” It was more work than usual. Out of nowhere he wondered if she was lying to him, then felt ridiculous. She wouldn’t bother.

“You’re a closed book,” she’d said one final time before she’d left. She’d said it a lot over the two years they’d been together. First intrigued, then concerned, finally accusing. Why couldn’t he let her in? Why wouldn’t he let her in? Did he not trust her? Or did he not love her enough?

“I’m trying to keep Kiewarra safe for our kids. Is that too much to ask? Haven’t things been bad enough? I know you didn’t have much time for Karen, but you could at least show some respect, Gretchen.”

“Christ, it’s like Deliverance around here sometimes.”

“But seems it’d be better all round if you and I stuck to shooting rabbits together, don’t you reckon?”

“Did you do it?”

“I’m not judging you for being gay, mate. I’m judging you for wasting our time when a family’s lying dead.”

‘You know what I mean, Aaron,’ she said. ‘You were there. You saw exactly the same things I did. How weird she was in those last few weeks. When she actually spent any time with us, that is. She was hardly around. She was always working at that crappy job, or—well, I don’t know what. Not hanging around with us anyway. And she’d completely stopped drinking, do you remember? She said it was to lose weight, but with the benefit of hindsight that sounds like bullshit.”

Falk leaned over him, ignoring the dog as it bared its teeth. He stood over an ill man lying on the ground. Later he would hate himself for it. At that moment, he didn’t care.

The tiny pink face, dark hair and chubby wrist peeked out from the folds of a blue blanket in his arms. Luke held the child comfortably, closely. Paternally.

“These gambling types are fair old suckers, though. Always looking for strategies and loopholes. End of the day, it only works if you back the right horse.”

“It was never about Luke.”

“Stay back,” he said, rotating his hand. Falk caught a first glint of metal and his brain screamed gun, while a deeper part flitted frantically, trying to process what he was seeing. Raco tensed next to him. Whitlam unfolded his hand finger by finger, and Falk’s breath left his chest. He heard Raco groan long and deep. A thousand times worse than a gun.

It was a lighter.

If my dad finds out, he will kill me.

The sun was gone and night had fallen around him, he realized. Above the gum trees, the stars were bright. He wasn’t worried. He knew the way. As he walked back to Kiewarra, a cool breeze blew.

Even those who didn’t darken the door of the church from one Christmas to the next could tell there would be more mourners than seats. A bottleneck of black and grey was already forming at the entrance as Aaron Falk drove up, trailing a cloud of dust and cracked leaves.

Luke lied. You lied. Be at the funeral.

“It’s good to see you again, Aaron.” Her blue eyes wandered over his face as though trying to memorize it and she smiled a little sadly. “Maybe see you in another twenty years.”

“It died,” Luke said. His mouth was a tight line. He didn’t meet Aaron’s gaze.

“How?”

“I don’t know. It just did.”

Aaron asked a few more times but never got a different answer. The rabbit lay on its side, perfect but unmoving, its eyes black and vacant.

Raco sighed, and flipped open Luke’s aged pack of cigarettes. He put one between his lips and offered the pack to Falk, who surprised himself by taking one. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smoked. It might easily have been in this very same spot with his late best friend next to him.

He’d always assumed Luke had been found in the ute’s driver’s seat, but the images showed his body flat on its back in the cargo tray. The lip of the tray was open and Luke’s legs dangled over as though he’d been sitting on the edge. A shotgun by his side pointed towards the mess where his head would have been. His face was completely missing.

When Aaron Falk was eleven, he’d seen Mal Deacon turn his own flock into a staggering, bleeding mess using shearing clippers and a brutal hand. Aaron had felt an ache swell in his chest as he, Luke and Ellie had watched one sheep after another brawled to the ground of the Deacons’ shed with a sharp twist and sliced too close to the skin. […]

Ellie had barely raised her head when the noises from the barn had floated over to where the three of them had been sitting on the sagging porch.

It would have been easy to miss, but when Falk thought about it afterwards, he felt sure. In the corner of his vision, Mrs. Sullivan had jerked her pale gaze up in surprise. She’d stared at her grandson for barely half a moment before casting her eyes back down. Falk had watched closely, but she didn’t look up again once.

“Scott,” she began, then stopped. He waited. She took a deep breath. “Scott, to be honest, I wasn’t sure about coming to you with this. My husband—” Karen held his gaze, but Whitlam felt she was forcing herself. “Luke, well. Look, he wouldn’t be happy.”

She made a face. “I’m working.” For the past year she’d had a part-time job which mainly involved standing disinterestedly behind the counter of the milk bar.

“Didn’t you work last night?”

“Milk bar opens every day, Aaron.”

“I know, but—” It was more work than usual. Out of nowhere he wondered if she was lying to him, then felt ridiculous. She wouldn’t bother.

“You’re a closed book,” she’d said one final time before she’d left. She’d said it a lot over the two years they’d been together. First intrigued, then concerned, finally accusing. Why couldn’t he let her in? Why wouldn’t he let her in? Did he not trust her? Or did he not love her enough?

“I’m trying to keep Kiewarra safe for our kids. Is that too much to ask? Haven’t things been bad enough? I know you didn’t have much time for Karen, but you could at least show some respect, Gretchen.”

“Christ, it’s like Deliverance around here sometimes.”

“But seems it’d be better all round if you and I stuck to shooting rabbits together, don’t you reckon?”

“Did you do it?”

“I’m not judging you for being gay, mate. I’m judging you for wasting our time when a family’s lying dead.”

‘You know what I mean, Aaron,’ she said. ‘You were there. You saw exactly the same things I did. How weird she was in those last few weeks. When she actually spent any time with us, that is. She was hardly around. She was always working at that crappy job, or—well, I don’t know what. Not hanging around with us anyway. And she’d completely stopped drinking, do you remember? She said it was to lose weight, but with the benefit of hindsight that sounds like bullshit.”

Falk leaned over him, ignoring the dog as it bared its teeth. He stood over an ill man lying on the ground. Later he would hate himself for it. At that moment, he didn’t care.

The tiny pink face, dark hair and chubby wrist peeked out from the folds of a blue blanket in his arms. Luke held the child comfortably, closely. Paternally.

“These gambling types are fair old suckers, though. Always looking for strategies and loopholes. End of the day, it only works if you back the right horse.”

“It was never about Luke.”

“Stay back,” he said, rotating his hand. Falk caught a first glint of metal and his brain screamed gun, while a deeper part flitted frantically, trying to process what he was seeing. Raco tensed next to him. Whitlam unfolded his hand finger by finger, and Falk’s breath left his chest. He heard Raco groan long and deep. A thousand times worse than a gun.

It was a lighter.

If my dad finds out, he will kill me.

The sun was gone and night had fallen around him, he realized. Above the gum trees, the stars were bright. He wasn’t worried. He knew the way. As he walked back to Kiewarra, a cool breeze blew.