The White Girl

by Birch, Tony;

  Sissy ignored her grandmother’s protests. She put the plug in the bath, turned on the taps and went to fetch Odette’s dressing gown. When she returned, Odette was standing in the middle of the room, fully dressed.

  ‘Come on, Nan. You have to take your clothes off.’

  ‘I will after you leave,’ Odette said. ‘Once you’ve left I will lock the door.’

  After Sissy left Odette stood watching the flow of hot water streaming into the tub. She placed the palm of one of her hands against the white tiled wall. It was completely unmarked; no dust, no mildew, no cracked or broken tiles. She walked around the room, allowing her hand to glide across the cool surfaces. She sat on the edge of the bath and slipped her fingers into the clearest water she’d ever seen. As much as she would have enjoyed soaking her weary body in the bath, Odette could not bring herself to hop in. Such a luxury was more than she could contemplate. She pulled out the plug and stood back. She was struck by how quickly the water gurgled down the drain. She wondered how people could afford such waste. She changed into her nightgown, put her cardigan on over the top, and went back to the room. Sissy was laying on one of the beds.

  ‘That was quick, Nan. Did you have the bath?’

  ‘Of course, I did.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Sissy asked, suspiciously. ‘Your hair is dry.’

  ‘It’s dry because I didn’t wash it. How many times have I told you that you never wash your hair before getting into bed. The cold you catch could kill you. Are we back with your twenty questions?’

  ‘Nope. I was just wondering.’ Sissy didn’t want to worry her grandmother more than she was already.

  ‘Well, wonder no more. I’m dead tired. You’re going to have to chat to yourself if you have anything more to say tonight. I will be fast asleep.’ Odette didn’t bother turning down the blankets. She lay on top of the bed and fell asleep.

  Sissy looked across at her grandmother. She didn’t know what Odette was suffering from, but she now realised that her grandmother was sicker than she’d let on. She got down from her own bed, pulled the bedspread and blankets off the top and used them to cover Odette. Sissy turned the light off, stood in the darkness for a moment, and then climbed into bed beside Odette. She wrapped her body around her grandmother’s, and was comforted by the old woman’s warmth.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Odette rolled over, lifted her arm and accidentally slapped Sissy in the face. She opened one eye. ‘Sorry, Bub,’ she croaked. ‘Your Nan can be a clumsy old girl sometimes.’

  Sissy giggled and patted Odette on the cheek. ‘You always do that.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘But you do,’ Sissy whispered, playfully. She turned onto her stomach. ‘What are we doing today?’

  Odette rubbed her eyes and coughed. ‘Well, I have to go out this morning, and I need you to stay here in the hotel. I have to see a doctor in the city.’

  ‘What sort of doctor?’

  ‘A specialist is what they call them.’

  ‘I want to come with you, Nan.’

  ‘I’d love you to do that, keep me company. But I could be waiting awhile. It’s best for you to stay here. I’ll feel better knowing you’re not sitting around with strangers. Hey, we should get out of bed, both of us. We’ll get dressed, have breakfast together and then I’ll have to get going. I don’t want to be late.’

  After breakfast, Odette spoke to the receptionist and arranged a time for Sissy’s lunch. Odette searched the pages of the telephone book and found the address of the café that Lila had mentioned in her last letter, the Arizona.

  ‘Are we far from King Street?’ Odette asked the receptionist.

  ‘No more than a fifteen-minute walk. Let me write the directions down for you.’

  Odette left the hotel with the address of the Arizona café in her handbag. Walking through the city she was awestruck by the crowds in the streets – men in suits, young women in beautiful frocks and older women wearing cleaning aprons. She watched the faces of the young women in particular, speculating that any one of them could be Lila. She was drawn to a woman in a red floral dress with dark hair and coffee skin. As the woman brushed by, Odette had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her. The distraction caused her to walk straight past the café. She turned back and found the café shut. There was a handwritten sign taped to the door: Open at 11. Odette had more than an hour to spare.

  The State Museum on the corner opposite caught her eye. Odette crossed the street and walked up the steps into the grand foyer of the building. Unknown to her, the museum had been built using the same stone mined by the Aboriginal workers of Quarrytown. The floor of the entrance hall was finished in colourful patterned tiles and the ceiling was decorated in gold leaf. A marble staircase ran either side of a large central statue of Queen Victoria. Odette had never seen such a fine building.

  She listened to the echoing footsteps and whispers of a group of schoolgirls walking up the stairs. Following them, she found herself in a cavernous room lined with cabinets full of antique guns and swords, stuffed animals and skeletons, and row after row of colourful but dead butterflies. Odette leaned forward and examined the wings of a spectacular specimen. It was similar to the butterflies she’d sometimes seen in the bush on the outskirts of Deane. She shook her head with dismay. It made no sense that a person would do something as senseless as kill and spear a butterfly and put it in a glass case.

  The next room contained a menagerie of stuffed snakes, gorillas and birds. One side of the hall housed a display of dioramas – Cultures of the World. In the first scene, Odette stood before a collection of penguins crossing an imaginary ice shelf. Behind them stood a mannequin, a fur-coated hunter, poised to spear a fish. A group of young boys stood in front of the adjoining diorama. One of them imitated the sounds of a monkey and beat his fists against his chest. His friends laughed at him. More of them poor gorillas, Odette thought. Approaching the diorama, she discovered the boys were not mimicking a monkey, or any other animal, but an Ancient Aborigine.

  Odette stared at the figures of a man, woman and two children sitting around a campfire. Each of the wide-eyed figures, painted jet black, were unable to contain their broad smiles. One of the schoolboys turned, looked at Odette and whispered in his friend’s ear. Odette turned away too quickly and crashed into another display case. She was confronted by a full human skeleton, the bones held together with copper wire, screws and metal rods. The skeleton was separated from her by a fine sheet of glass. Odette read the label attached to the display case – Aboriginal Woman of Australia. She backed away in horror and hurried from the building. When she reached the front steps she was gasping for air and sat down. The sight of the skeleton shocked her. It reminded her of seeing her own skeleton, X-rayed at the hospital in Gatlin. The schoolgirls Odette had followed earlier were also sitting on the steps. They wore pleated woollen skirts, monogrammed blazers, long white socks and polished shoes. Each girl wore her hair long and plaited, or tied in a ponytail with a red ribbon. Odette tried to imagine Sissy sitting among them. Would she fit in with these girls? What would she have to say for herself? Sissy could do it, Odette thought, hold her own. But the thought vanished just as quickly as it had come. Sissy wasn’t one of them and never would be. Odette could pass her granddaughter off as white, out of necessity, but the child could never be one of them.

  When Sissy went back to the room after breakfast she opened Odette’s suitcase, looking for a book to read. Instead of her book she found the picture frame that held the photograph of her mother. It was empty. She couldn’t understand why Odette would have removed the picture. She laid the empty frame on the floor. Even though she knew she shouldn’t, Sissy couldn’t help but search through the case. She took out Odette’s woollen cardigan. A corner of a cigarette packet fell from one of the pockets. Jack Haines’ name and address was written on it in pencil. Sissy returned it to the pocket. She to
ok an envelope out of the case, opened it and found two photographs. She stared at the faces of two mysterious young girls. She put the photographs on the floor beside the empty frame. The girls were fair-skinned and their hair was such a rich red it appeared to be on fire. She looked from the older girl to the younger one and back again. They were very much alike, obviously sisters. She continued rummaging through the case and soon found the rolls of money she’d seen Odette counting at the kitchen table. She returned the money to the zip pocket where she’d found it. A bundle of letters, tied together with string, was her next find. Sissy untied the string and lay each of the envelopes on the bed. She read the address on the front of the first letter. Mrs Odette Brown, c/- Deane Post Office. She turned the envelope over. There was no return address. She spread the letters on the bed in the order she’d found them. She was desperately curious to read them even though she knew she shouldn’t. She snatched the first envelope from the bed, stuck it in the sleeve of her cardigan and left the room.

  The receptionist heard Sissy coming down the stairs. ‘Are you hungry again, already?’ she asked.

  Sissy had decided the night before that she liked the receptionist. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Well, breakfast has finished and the cook is on a break, but no matter. You find a seat in the dining room and I’ll make you something.’

  Sissy felt important seated at a table with a proper cloth napkin, unchipped crockery and matching knives and forks.

  ‘I’m not much of a cook myself,’ the receptionist said. ‘Would you settle for a bowl of tomato soup and a sandwich?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Sissy said.

  ‘Good. I didn’t introduce myself last night. I’m Wanda.’

  ‘Thank you, Wanda,’ Sissy replied. She dabbed her lips with the clean napkin. ‘I’m Sissy.’

  As she ate, Sissy thought about the letter tucked into the sleeve of her jumper. It scratched at her skin. When she’d finished her soup and sandwich, Wanda brought a plate of biscuits over to the table.

  ‘Here you are.’ Wanda continued to stand at the side of the table while Sissy concentrated on a cream biscuit. ‘You’ve come a long way,’ Wanda said.

  ‘Yes, we did. We were hours on the train,’ Sissy answered, taking a second bite of the biscuit.

  ‘Where did you begin the trip?’

  ‘From Gatlin. But first we drove from where we live at Deane, with Henry Lamb. He’s Na … Odette’s old friend from when they were younger. He drove us to the station.’

  ‘Deane? And that’s where you’ve always lived?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘And Odette? She’s your?’

  Wanda’s questions began to bother Sissy. She didn’t answer, hoping it would be enough of a signal for Wanda to leave her alone. The receptionist tried a different tack. ‘Odette, she’s a lovely woman, isn’t she?’

  Sissy thought carefully about her answer. ‘Odette is a very nice lady.’ She wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin. ‘I have to go now, to our room.’

  ‘We must talk again,’ Wanda said.

  ‘Yes,’ Sissy answered politely. ‘When Odette comes back.’

  Walking slowly up the stairs, purposely counting each step as she climbed, Sissy regretted taking the bundle of letters from her grandmother’s case even though she already knew she was about to read them. She was certain they contained information about her. When she opened the door she looked across to the bed. The letters were waiting for her. She took the envelope from the sleeve of her cardigan, sat down, slowly opened it and took the letter out, carefully unfolding the sheet of writing paper. She read the single, blunt paragraph several times before picking up the second envelope.

  Sissy read each of the letters. They had little to say and explained nothing about why her mother had left her, what she was doing with her life, or when she might return home. Worst of all, her mother hadn’t talked about her at all. Sissy had only been mentioned twice as the baby. She was furious. She’d conjured so many fanciful but loving thoughts about her mother over the years. It wasn’t that the letters told her a different story about her mother, but that they told her nothing. She picked up the first letter and tore the envelope down the centre. She tore it again and again into smaller pieces. She ripped the remaining letters apart with increasing anger, eventually leaving a frenzy of confetti across the bed and on the floor.

  The tolling of church bells in the distance roused Odette to her feet. She struggled down the museum steps and made her way back across the street to the café. A waitress was sweeping the footpath out the front. Odette waited until the waitress went back inside before following her in. The blinds were drawn across the window. Odette could hear the voice of Hank Williams wailing a familiar chorus. She’d heard the tune many times on the mantle radio in her kitchen at home. The sadness in his voice appealed to Aboriginal people.

  ‘Take a seat,’ the waitress called from the open kitchen.

  The café floor was covered in black and white chequerboard tiles and the walls were decorated with pictures of Hollywood movie stars. Odette sat at a booth, opened her handbag, took out the photograph of Lila and placed it on the table.

  The waitress came over to the booth and pulled a pencil from behind her ear. ‘What can I get for you, Love?’

  ‘Do you have any food?’ Odette asked.

  ‘Yeah, it’s all on the board there,’ the waitress answered, nodding in the direction of a blackboard menu above the counter.

  Odette couldn’t read the menu from such a distance. ‘I’ll just have a drink, please.’

  ‘Yeah. What? Coffee? A cold drink?’

  Odette had drunk coffee only once before in her life. Although she’d enjoyed the smell, the drink had tasted awful.

  ‘Do you have tea?’ she asked.

  ‘Tea?’ the waitress replied. ‘Yeah I can get you a tea. Some milk and sugar with it?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Odette watched the waitress cross the floor and tried to imagine Lila working in such a place. She realised it was difficult to imagine her daughter at all after twelve years. The waitress returned with a weak white tea, slopping over the sides of a mug. She plonked it on the table. Odette had the photograph of Lila in her hand.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, just as the waitress was about to walk away.

  The waitress clicked her fingers together. ‘You don’t have to tell me, Love. I forgot the sugar.’

  ‘No. It’s not that. It’s something else.’ Odette showed her the photograph. ‘I’m looking for this girl. I believe that she used to work here, in this café?’

  The waitress glanced briefly at the photograph. ‘Wouldn’t have worked here. The boss doesn’t hire the young ones. They’re too much trouble.’

  ‘No. This was taken many years ago. If she’d worked here, it would have been around two years back.’

  ‘I was working here then,’ the waitress said. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Lila. Lila Brown.’

  ‘Lila? We’ve had no Lila in here, not in my time, and I’ve been here for five years or more.’

  ‘Can you take a closer look?’ Odette asked. ‘Please. It’s important.’

  The waitress took the photograph from Odette and studied it more closely. ‘Hang on. Are you sure this girl’s name is Lila?’

  ‘Yes. That’s her name,’ Odette said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, she looks a lot like Lorna. She worked here maybe two years ago. Could have been a bit less. She was here for maybe six months and took off out of the blue. This one, in the picture, she’s a lot younger. But I think it might be the same girl. Hold on, let’s get a second opinion.’

  The waitress walked over to the counter and called out, ‘Alfie! I need you out here.’ She walked back to the booth. ‘The boss is on his way out. He studies the form guide about this time every morning. Hasn’t picked a winner in
a year. We’ll ask him.’

  The boss, Alfie, was aptly built, like a jockey. He wore a crumpled and stained powder-blue suit.

  ‘What do you want, Sheila,’ he grumbled, without so much as a nod to Odette. ‘I’m working back there.’

  Sheila picked up the photograph. ‘Take a look at this picture and tell me who it is.’

  ‘What’s this, a joke?’ he asked. ‘I don’t give a fuck who it is. I’m organising my bets. You should know better than to interrupt.’

  ‘Come on,’ Sheila laughed. ‘It’s a game, Alf. See if you can guess who this is and I’ll give you a prize.’

  Alfie snatched the photograph from Sheila, tearing it along one edge. He squinted at the portrait and nodded his head. ‘Yeah, I do know her,’ he said. ‘It’s Lorna.’

  ‘You recognise her?’ Odette asked, excited.

  ‘Yeah, I know her. She worked here for a few months and then one day she shot through with a Greek fella. When she started here she told me she was Maltese, but I pegged her for Greek straightaway. Didn’t I Sheila? It all made sense when she ran off with him. He came in here every morning for a coffee. Yeah, a wog bloke, he was.’

  ‘What was his name?’ Odette asked.

  ‘Don’t know. Some of our regulars called him Zorba, but I never asked what his true name was. She was a good worker, Lorna. But jumpy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Odette asked.

  ‘Well, when she first come in for work and I asked her if she had experience she rattled off at least a dozen pubs and cafés in cities and towns along the coast that she’d worked in. Been to more places than Lucky Starr.’

  ‘And while she was here,’ Sheila added, ‘she was always talking about taking off for the sun. Up north somewhere. She could never keep still. Unless you put a kid in front of her, of course.’

  ‘A child?’ Odette asked.

  ‘Yeah. A kid or a bub. Both did the trick. Anytime one of the working girls came in here with a kid, Lorna would be straight across to the table wanting to nurse it, slobbering it with kisses and hugs. She was as clucky as a girl can get. She had none of her own and I don’t reckon her bloke was keen. If you ask me, he was some sort of gigolo. Or a crim. He always had money on him, but as far as I know, he didn’t have a job. You know what them foreign blokes are like. They can talk smoother than silk underwear.’