Move the Mountains

by Emily Conolan

  If you decide to go to Wollongong to look for Charlie’s farm, Sandford’s Rise, go to scene 19.

  If you decide to go to the Snowy Mountains with Federico, to look for Mario, go to scene 20.

  By the morning, you’ve decided to stick with your original plan: you’ll go to the address you have for Charlie’s farm, Sandford’s Rise, and if Mario isn’t there then you can try the Snowy Mountains next.

  The next train to Wollongong doesn’t leave until that afternoon, so after purchasing your ticket, you sit down on your suitcase at the station.

  You see a man reading a copy of Truth, and when he throws it away you pluck it out of the bin. You gasp when you see the headline: ‘Bob Dawe, Yankee Scum Afloat!’ Reading the article, you discover that Davey-boy was able to dig up a lot more dirt on Bob Dawe, implicating him in a number of crimes, including money-laundering and high-stakes gambling. It says, in part:

  This American interloper has also purchased a large number of Aussie properties, including farms, mansions and office blocks. When foreign crooks like these gobble up assets that should be in the hands of true Australians, it’s time for the government to intervene!

  You roll your eyes. Even though you agree Bob Dawe is ‘scum’, it seems Truth can’t give up on its anti-migrant tone. Just then, a hand lands on the back of your neck, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

  ‘Well, hi there,’ says a wiry middle-aged man, smiling crookedly at you. He’s wearing a dark-blue suit with a pale-green shirt, and his scant hair is oiled and combed back over his head.

  You stand up, your heart hammering.

  ‘It’s all right, honey. I just wanted to have a little chat,’ he says.

  Your skin crawls. Your instinct is to run away from this man, right now. He’s looking at you with a hungry, stealthy smile. You grab your suitcase.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he says, putting his hand over yours and pushing the suitcase back down to the ground. ‘You can’t go around giving interviews about powerful men and expect you’ll be let off scot-free.’

  ‘But Bob Dawe’s in gaol!’ you exclaim.

  ‘No, he isn’t,’ the man hisses. ‘At least, not yet. And if he stays out of gaol, the boys and I can too. But there you are, blathering all about it to the boys at Truth.’ He steps behind you, and something hard jams into your back. ‘Feel that, honey? That’s my gun. Now pick up your suitcase, we’re taking a little walk to that van over there.’ He indicates a baby-blue delivery van parked on the road outside the station. ‘Come quietly,’ he purrs.

  You have no intention of going quietly. You thought Bob Dawe was just a greedy fool, but it seems he’s a kingpin from some kind of criminal web. This oily man either wants you dead, or permanently scared into silence.

  Your heart is pumping, pushing you into action. Go! you think and swing your suitcase hard at the man’s legs. But with lightning reflexes he sidesteps, and your case swings into thin air.

  ‘Walk faster,’ he snarls, pushing the gun harder against your back.

  You glance desperately around the train station.

  ‘Not a word,’ he hisses, ‘or you’re dead.’

  As you reach the van, you feel a jab in your arm. The oily man is depressing a syringe. Whatever he’s injected you with is acting fast: your fingers feel numb, your legs feel wobbly. He shoves you into the back of the van and slams the door. The roar of the engine is a tornado that lifts you up … and away.

  To return to the last choice you made and try again, go to the end of scene 18.

  ‘Things don’t always turn out as you expect,’ Federico told you last night.

  You can’t be sure the Mario whom Federico knows from the Snowy Mountains is your Mario, but you decide you might as well go and find out. After all, your whole life has been a series of weird surprises, ever since Charlie dropped out of the sky when you were eight. Why not follow through on this chance encounter with Federico now, while you have the opportunity? You can always head to Charlie’s farm next if this doesn’t work out.

  You spend the money you won in cards from Davey-boy sending a telegram to Charlie’s farm. But several days later, when it’s time for Federico to head back to his job, there has still been no reply.

  In the meantime, you’ve discovered you made the right decision in sticking with Federico. The day after you arrived in Sydney, Truth published your interview, and as well as reporting on the food-theft crime you’d told Davey-boy about, he’d dug deeper into Bob Dawe’s other activities and revealed his criminal prowess extended way beyond that, into other crimes such as money-laundering and high-stakes gambling. A note at the end of the article listed a whole lot of Australian properties Dawe had been buying up with his ill-gotten cash – among them, Charlie’s farm, Sandford’s Rise!

  You can’t stop thinking about that now, on the train ride up to Cooma, a town near the edge of the Snowy Mountains. Federico keeps trying to make conversation but you’re too distracted, staring out the window. You wonder what Sandford’s Rise is like, and what could have made Charlie sell it – and to Bob Dawe, of all people.

  Where is Charlie now?

  Now visiting Charlie’s farm is no longer an option, what will I do if Mario isn’t in the Snowy Mountains?

  You pass fields of sheep eating dry, yellow grass and patches of what you suppose must be Australian forest: a tangle of silvery-skinned trees and spiky bushes.

  The countryside approaching Cooma is mostly timeworn nubs of hills and rolling, fawn-coloured pastures. When you step off the train, clutching your suitcase, the air feels fresh and crisp. But Cooma is in a state of upheaval: the whole town is a building site. Something big is happening here, and everyone has a job to do. Webs of dirt roads branch off the few paved ones. Across from where you stand at the station, a new building is going up, and men are all over the site, pushing wheelbarrows and pouring concrete, climbing scaffolds and consulting clipboards.

  Men, men, everywhere! As you walk towards the employment office with Federico, you notice they seem to outnumber women by around twenty to one. A few men pause in their work to stare at you as you pass by.

  Meanwhile, Federico is giving you a steady tour-of-the-town commentary: ‘Those are the single men’s sleeping quarters. That’s the mess hall. Over there we take English lessons. The post office is down the road …’

  You imagine Mario walking around these streets. You keep thinking you see him, then realising you’re wrong.

  Why do so many of you guys think a moustache makes you look good? you think wryly.

  Federico takes you up some wide steps into a newly built complex and bids you farewell, leaving you to wait in a corridor outside a door marked ‘Employment’. He has to leave for a worksite in the mountains, but he’s promised to do his best to find Mario along his way. In the meantime, you’ve agreed you might as well find out if there are any jobs going.

  You can smell new linoleum on the floor and hear the rumble of industry outside: sawing, hammering, and calls in many different languages.

  I wonder if I could live here, you think. Everything is so new.

  You think about the wild rivers of the Snowy Mountains, now being harnessed to make traffic lights shine and kettles boil. This is the modern world, you think, feeling awed. This is what humans are capable of when we stop blasting each other to smithereens.

  A call from inside the employment office interrupts your thoughts: ‘Next!’

  A blond man leaves the office, looking pleased. ‘Tank you a lot! I will work hard!’ he calls back to the woman standing in the doorway. She beckons you in.

  You give your name, age and other details. You even have to step on a set of scales so that the woman – a tidy middle-aged brunette called Mrs Montgomery – can measure your weight, and she whips out a measuring tape and jots down your height as well.

  ‘Let’s organise your accommodation first,’ she states. She flips through a folder. ‘You’ll be boarding with … let’s see … Edik and Olenka Nowak, a Polish
couple. Edik is stationed out at Adaminaby most of the time. That’s right up in the mountains. They have two children, Lidia, who’s four, and a baby, Teodor. I’m sure Olenka will appreciate your help. Now, as for work, what are your skills?’ she asks.

  ‘I’ve finished senior high school, and my favourite subject is maths,’ you tell her.

  She raises an eyebrow and makes a note on your file.

  You start to feel a little uneasy, but you press on. ‘I’d like to be an engineer,’ you tell her.

  ‘Can you care for small children?’ she asks.

  ‘No!’ you say bluntly, and she stiffens.

  Suddenly, you feel like you’re eight again, being forbidden to return to Charlie’s cave, given the task of keeping the small ones occupied. Then you realise you must seem rude.

  ‘I mean, I can care for children, of course. It’s just that … I don’t see how that would help me to become an engi—’

  You break off, because someone is looking through the window behind Mrs Montgomery’s back, grinning and waving wildly. You scream with delight, and Mrs Montgomery rears back in shock.

  ‘It’s Mario!’ you cry. ‘My cousin,’ you add hastily. ‘Excuse me!’

  You dash outside, feeling like you’re running on air. He’s here! He’s really here, after all!

  ‘Mario!’ you shout, and slam into him. His wiry arms squeeze you tighter than tight. He spins you around, then pulls back and kisses you on both cheeks.

  ‘What in God’s name are you doing here?’ he cries. ‘This is wonderful!’

  ‘I followed you!’ you exclaim. ‘The house burnt down, and I thought my only hope was to find you and Charlie, and— Where is Charlie? Why aren’t you on his farm?’

  ‘Oh,’ says Mario, and you sense his happiness deflate a little. He chews his lip. ‘Charlie … you didn’t get my letter?’ He’s standing back now, looking guarded. A cold feeling creeps through you.

  ‘What is it, Mario? Is Charlie dead?’

  ‘No – well, he might be – I have got no idea. He … he didn’t write that letter, inviting me to Australia. I wrote it.’

  ‘You invited yourself to Australia? Why would you do that?’ you ask incredulously. There’s a long, awkward silence. ‘Why did you let me believe it?’ you ask, your voice rising a notch in panic.

  ‘You weren’t meant to come!’ he says. ‘It was Mamma, she wouldn’t have let me go otherwise. I just wanted an adventure …’

  While he blathers on, all you hear, tolling over and over like a church bell, are the words: You weren’t meant to come. You weren’t meant to come.

  Suddenly, coming to Australia feels like a terrible mistake.

  ‘Damn you!’ you explode, and you shove Mario hard in the chest so that he stumbles back. ‘I crossed the world because of your lie!’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to do that!’ he hollers, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you.

  ‘What am I going to tell Mamma?’ you choke. Your heart sinks even further as you realise that you’ll never get her back the cornetto as you promised. She’ll be so disappointed in you. You start to cry.

  Mario’s tone softens. ‘Look, I’m sorry it worked out this way. But if you just look around, you can find great opportunities here.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me about opportunities!’ you shout, fury flaring up in you again. Your face is on fire, and you stab at Mario’s chest with your finger. ‘You’ve always had all the opportunities, while I get stuck looking after babies! You land on your feet every damn time, Mario De Luca, and you don’t even stop to think how hard it might be for me!’

  It’s certainly not the first time you’ve screamed at him – all through your childhood, you two were at each other like a pair of cats. But it’s the first time he hasn’t retaliated. Instead, he simply stares at you, and then he draws something out of his pocket and tosses it at your feet.

  It’s Charlie’s golden compass, the green emerald in its centre glittering in the bright sun. You stoop to get it, and look up to see Mario’s retreating back. You want to let your rage out in a good old-fashioned brawl, but Mario is now a grown man, and you’re a ‘lady’, which means you are expected to bottle up your emotions. Now you see why ladies’ feelings can ferment like poison inside them.

  You put the compass into your pocket. People are staring. You look up at the window and see Mrs Montgomery’s face watching in consternation.

  I’d better go back in and grovel, you think.

  Mrs Montgomery pretends not to have been watching. ‘We were talking about child minding,’ she says. ‘Or perhaps a job in the kitchen – do you like to cook?’

  ‘I love to cook, ma’am,’ you lie, feeling wretched.

  Do with me what you will, you think. There’s no point in fighting this. I’ll just have to get any job they’ll offer me, and make the best of it.

  ‘Oh, excellent,’ Mrs Montgomery replies briskly. ‘The kitchen is extremely short-staffed, so—’

  Just then, a man strides into the room, knocking on the door as he steps through it.

  ‘Betty, I need a tea-lady,’ he says to Mrs Montgomery. He is very tall with thick eyebrows, close-cropped dark hair, and a square jaw. ‘This one,’ he says, pointing at you rudely. ‘What is she, Italian?’

  You bristle.

  ‘What do you think, is she any good?’ he presses.

  Mrs Montgomery sizes you up. ‘I was going to put her in the kitchen,’ she says. The two of them are deciding your future as if you’re a chicken. Is she a good layer? Or will we boil her?

  ‘Excuse me, do I get a choice?’ you butt in.

  They both look faintly surprised. Oh, the chicken speaks!

  You introduce yourself and put out your hand.

  ‘I’m Des Ford, chief engineer,’ the tall man replies, shaking your hand, looking as amused and baffled as if you really were a trained chicken.

  So he’s an engineer! you think.

  ‘Sir, I can do more than make tea,’ you begin. ‘I’m very good at maths, I’m a fast learner, and I really want to be an engin—’

  But Mr Ford cuts you off.

  ‘So long as you can carry a tray, and remember “milk, no sugar”, they’re the only skills I require from you, miss,’ he says firmly. To Mrs Montgomery, he says: ‘I don’t want one who’ll get above herself, Betty. Honestly, a monkey could do the job, but it just wouldn’t be as easy on the eye.’

  Your jaw nearly hits the floor. ‘I beg your pardon?’ you begin.

  Mrs Montgomery holds up one finger. ‘If you want a job in an engineer’s office, this will be the only one available for quite some time,’ she tells you curtly. ‘Otherwise, I know the kitchen would be very happy to have you.’ She looks at you pointedly. ‘There’s your choice. And feel grateful you get one at all.’

  While Mr Ford and Mrs Montgomery go through some papers, you think through your position.

  Some choice, you think bitterly. Some land of opportunity. Mamma’s one million lira could be a long time coming.

  Still, you have to make the best of it, because the only way out is through. You draw a breath. You’re ready to make your choice.

  To work in the kitchen, go to scene 21.

  To work in Mr Ford’s office, go to scene 22.

  To learn more, go to Fact File: The Snowy Scheme, then return to this page to make your choice.

  To learn more, go to Fact File: Women’s Rights, then return to this page to make your choice.

  Your time on the boat has taught you all you need to know: it’s better to avoid morons than try to work for them.

  First Bob Dawe, now this Mr Ford character, you think wryly. I’m better off getting a job that doesn’t tie me to men like them.

  To Mrs Montgomery, you say: ‘I’m happy to work in the kitchen, thank you, ma’am.’

  Although ‘happy’ is an exaggeration, you think as Mr Ford huffs out and Mrs Montgomery takes you through some paperwork, explains about the accommodation, and walks you over to the kitch
en.

  You scan the streets of Cooma, hoping you won’t see Mario. Right now, you don’t feel like speaking to him ever again. What an arrogant, self-centred jerk. He lied to his family so he could cross the world with no responsibilities. Now I’m stuck here too.

  AFTER YOUR FIRST week on the job, it’s clear that there are going to be pros and cons to working in the Cooma ‘mess’, as they call the kitchen and dining hall.

  The biggest con is the food itself: boiled mutton and boiled cabbage – the smell makes you retch; flaky, overcooked potatoes, covered with handfuls of salt to disguise the total lack of flavour; and green beans that may have once been crisp and springy but are now rubbery and grey.

  Why do people cook like this? you ask yourself. How hard would it be to just make a pot of spaghetti, with some garlic and tomato sauce?

  Pretty hard, as it turns out. Pasta, garlic and olive oil are considered strange, foreign foods here; the head cook tells you that you’d have to make a trip to Sydney or Melbourne to buy them.

  The terrible food is probably one reason you never see Mario in the mess – he’d be more likely to shoot a rabbit and slow-cook it with some onions for himself, which you’ve heard that some of the men here do, rather than eat what’s served up.

  The head cook is a wiry, tireless Australian called Rich – although he seems to be fairly poor, so the name is confusing. For a man who spends most of his life up to his elbows in food, he never seems to eat. He moves across the kitchen like a cranky lightning bolt, swearing and banging pots. The other kitchen worker is an older Aboriginal guy called Frank who is unflappable and steady. Although they’re an odd couple, they seem to like each other – and they like you.

  The pros of working in the mess with Frank and Rich are that they expect you to work just as hard as they do, lifting heavy pots and staying behind late to finish off. They immediately treat you like one of their own, showing you no special favours, but making no insulting remarks either. In the kitchen, you’re as good as the work you do – and if you’re prepared to work hard, then you’re accepted, no questions asked.