Move the Mountains

by Emily Conolan

  Olenka gives a shaky, relieved sigh. ‘I walk, I smile,’ she says croakily. ‘But is … show only.’

  You thought it would be unbearable to look at Olenka’s face; to see the suffering written there. But now her hazel eyes look into yours without flinching – the eyes of someone who has dived down and touched the bottom of sorrow, and is still swimming back up for air – and you realise she knows how you feel. She doesn’t say anything to try to make it better. The cracks in her heart mirror the cracks in yours.

  You feel a deep love towards her, broken as she is, and some of that love reflects back and warms you. Then, gradually, something profound shifts in you. Grief is running in like a tide. You’re not numb anymore. Tears come at last.

  You let yourself cry, and Olenka cries too. You mourn for Edik, for her children, for the arm that will never come back. You remember the accident, and your sobs become deeper as you realise that it wasn’t your fault – there was nothing anyone could have done. Eventually Olenka leans forward, presses her damp cheek to yours, and sighs a kiss.

  ‘I love you,’ you tell her.

  ‘I love you too,’ she replies.

  ‘Why … why didn’t you come sooner?’

  She looks down for a moment. ‘I am not want … to hurt you. You … nearly die to save Edik. If I come and cry here, I am insult to you. I am problem for you. So … I came to smile. My plan is to smile. But … I cry instead.’ She shrugs.

  You give her a real smile, and it feels wonderful. ‘Thank you … for helping me cry,’ you tell her.

  There’s a squeal at the doorway, then Lidia rushes in. A nurse follows with Teodor in her arms.

  ‘Someone couldn’t wait outside any longer,’ the nurse says, nodding at Lidia.

  ‘That’s all right,’ you say. ‘Seeing them is the best medicine.’ Lidia piles onto your lap and Olenka says something in Polish, which you take to be a caution to Lidia to be gentle.

  ‘It’s all right,’ you say, and tousle Lidia’s sweet brown curls. She smiles brightly. Then her eyes widen as she sees your stump.

  ‘That’s where your arm … got off?’ she says. She reaches out and brushes the bandages gently with her fingertips. You love the Australian twang in her voice when she speaks English: ‘off’ sounds like ‘orf’.

  ‘Yeah, mate,’ you say in your best Aussie accent. ‘That’s where it god orf.’

  Like a passenger getting off a train, you think, and you start to giggle.

  Lidia looks astonished, then she grins and burrows her head into your chest for a hug. You squeeze her with your left arm and give her a little tickle. Her chuckle is the best sound in the world. You look over at Olenka, and she’s smiling, really smiling. Life has returned.

  YOU’VE BEEN GIVEN a plastic arm to wear, which is uniformly pink and smooth as a doll’s arm. Its fingers don’t move. Its elbow is at a permanent ninety-degree angle.

  ‘You won’t need to be here much longer,’ the nurse tells you one morning. ‘You’re ready to tackle the world outside! Now’ – she tightens the leather straps over your stump – ‘how does that feel?’

  ‘Like there’s a heavy lump of plastic hanging off my stump,’ you tell her honestly, and she cocks her head sympathetically.

  ‘Well, you don’t have to wear it,’ she says, ‘but it might be useful once you learn how to use it.’

  There is obviously some meaning of the word ‘useful’ I’ve never heard before, you think, but instead you just nod, smile as she bustles off, and then unbuckle it. It lies on your bed like a magician’s prop.

  Hearing heavy footsteps, you look up with a start. Mr Ford is standing at the foot of your bed. Your stomach clenches.

  This is all his fault, you think. Edik’s death, my arm…

  Then a voice inside you says: No, he couldn’t have foreseen this.

  Although you’ve never liked the man, you sense that dwelling on blame will hurt you more than it will hurt him. And he looks, you have to admit, cowed. He’s holding his hat in his hands. He can’t look you in the eye.

  ‘Yes?’ you say, and he startles, chews his lip.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he begins, ‘for the intrusion and, ah … your loss.’

  ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ you say.

  He perches awkwardly at your bedside and holds up a clipboard. ‘I’m here with … paperwork,’ he fumbles. ‘The documentation surrounding Edik’s passing. It would really help if you can tell me everything you remember.’ He coughs.

  ‘Would you like a glass of water?’

  He nods and reaches for the water jug on your bedside table, then leaps up as if stung, crying: ‘Good God!’ His chair topples backwards and clatters to the floor. He is gulping like a fish.

  You examine your bedside table to see what could have caused such a reaction. There’s your water jug, a newspaper, a medal that Lidia made you from a milk-bottle lid with the word ‘BRAEVRY’ scratched into it, and Charlie’s compass, which survived the accident with only a small scratch and dent.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ he gasps.

  ‘Uh, Lidia made it for me—’

  ‘No – the compass! My compass!’

  You stare at him. ‘That’s Charlie’s compass – Charlie Sanders. He was a navigator for the—’

  ‘I know who he was,’ Mr Ford cuts across me. ‘He’s my brother. Or, I should say, he was my brother.’

  Your mouth hangs open in disbelief. This can’t be! It must be a joke. You examine Mr Ford’s face. You can’t get your head around the idea that this brutish man is Charlie’s brother. Impossible! Before you can find any words, the impact of Mr Ford’s was hits you.

  ‘You mean …’ you whisper, ‘… Charlie’s dead?’

  ‘Yes,’ sighs Mr Ford, and you feel your heart shatter. ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘He was my teacher,’ you tell him through tears. ‘And my friend. I never would have come to Australia if not for him – and nor would my cousin, Mario.’

  Realisation dawns on Mr Ford’s face. ‘You’re the two he spoke of! The girl and boy who found him and hid him in the caves! You saved his life.’ There’s a pause. ‘He thought that you, in particular, were a genius. Never met anyone like you, he said.’

  You’re stunned. To have come all this way, and find that Charlie’s brother was right here under your nose the whole time!

  ‘So, Charlie made it home from the war?’ you ask.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ says Mr Ford, and then his face seems to close over. ‘But things weren’t right for him after that. He … died soon after. Anyway, we’re here to talk about the incident,’ he says briskly. ‘What do you remember?’

  You sense that Mr Ford is not being wholly truthful. I’ll get it out of you, you think. What aren’t you telling me about Charlie?

  You tell Mr Ford about the events leading up to the accident in as much detail as you can manage, though you hate to think about it. You still have nightmares, and the phantom pains and itches in your missing limb still plague you. ‘That’s all I can tell you,’ you conclude, and Mr Ford closes his clipboard and stands up. Then his hand hovers over the compass.

  ‘May I take this?’ he asks. ‘I’ll return it.’

  You are instantly suspicious. ‘Why?’

  He looks shifty. ‘It’s a memento, that’s all. I’m sentimental.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ you counter. ‘I know that much about you. Why do you want it?’

  ‘All right.’ He sighs. Then he takes a step closer and speaks in a hushed tone: ‘It has a code on it – the combination code for a safe deposit box my father left in the Canberra bank that I’ve never been able to open. Charlie didn’t know that when he gave it away.’

  You’re curious. You’ve had that compass for half your lifetime, and the only markings on it are the ‘C’ and the ‘D’ for ‘Charlie’ and ‘Desmond’.

  Mr Ford’s eyes are drawn back to the compass. He picks it up and turns it over in his fingertips. ‘Nothing visible externally …’ he mutters. �
�The code must be inside or else be some kind of puzzle …’

  You hold out your hand. ‘Mr Ford,’ you say politely, ‘that’s my compass.’

  Reluctantly, he puts it in your palm, clears his throat and shifts from side to side. You can tell he’s itching to grab it and run, but you hold it tightly.

  Eventually, he speaks. ‘I can tell I’ve underestimated you, and I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Would you consider taking up an apprenticeship as an engineer in my office? We’ll pay for your university studies. Your handicap wouldn’t be a problem.’

  Up until five minutes ago, you considered the mere fact that I was a woman to be an insurmountable handicap, you think bitterly. An engineering apprenticeship is what I’ve always wanted, and you know it. What are you up to, Desmond Ford?

  ‘Of course,’ he goes on, ‘as I would be entrusting you with such a great responsibility, I would expect in return that you would trust me enough to lend me the compass. I’ll return it to you, of course, as soon as I figure out the code.’

  You pause. ‘What’s in the safe, anyway?’ you ask him.

  He shrugs. ‘I wish I knew,’ he says. ‘I only found out it existed when I read the letter my father left for me after he died. He told me that the contents of that bank safe were his greatest legacy, and that the code was engraved on my mother’s heirloom compass. He thought Charlie still had it, of course.’ He snorts. ‘Dad always loved puzzles and mysteries. Sometimes I imagine him laughing at me from beyond the grave. I think he did it just to torture me.’

  He really doesn’t know what’s in there, you think. That’s the bit he’s being honest about. But there’s something funny about the way he clammed up when I wanted to know about Charlie. What happened to Charlie?

  You consider what you will say to Mr Ford. You could say: I’ll give you the compass, but only if you tell me what really happened to Charlie. And I’ll start as an apprentice engineer next Monday, thank you.

  Or, you could tell him to get lost. If there’s a mysterious code on that compass, you want to find it – although you don’t know how to find the safe, and the fortune wouldn’t be rightfully yours, anyway. You’d also lose your best shot at finally getting your dream job.

  Mr Ford holds out his hand.

  If you accept Mr Ford’s offer and let him take the compass, go to scene 30.

  If you keep the compass and refuse Mr Ford’s offer, go to scene 31.

  You hold the compass over Mr Ford’s outstretched palm. He smiles greedily. ‘I’ll lend it to you on the condition,’ you say, ‘that you tell me the truth about Charlie, and bring me a formal offer of the apprenticeship.’

  ‘Visiting hours are over!’ calls the nurse. Mr Ford takes the compass. ‘Tomorrow,’ he promises. ‘Your new job, in writing.’

  ‘And Charlie!’ you call to his retreating back.

  Darn it, that was dumb, you think. Who’s to say he’ll ever come back with the job offer – let alone the truth? I just gave away my bargaining power.

  Still, whatever happens next, you feel ready to go out and tackle the world again, even if you need to do it single-handedly. You chuckle at your own pun. You’re sure things will be frustrating at first as you adjust, and tiring, but you’re so glad you’re still alive.

  The next morning – the day you’re due to be discharged – the same nurse who was on duty yesterday, a short, wiry British woman called Nurse Ellis, hands you a manila envelope. You rip it open eagerly. The letter inside says: ‘The Snowy Mountains Hydro Electric Authority offers you a part-time engineering apprenticeship in combination with part-time university study, all tuition fees paid.’ Who would have thought that losing your arm would give you this opportunity? You ask Nurse Ellis for a pen and sign the offer left-handed. That’s a skill you’ll have to work on.

  Nurse Ellis doesn’t seem particularly happy for you, though. ‘Been making friends with Mr Ford then, have we?’ she asks, and her tone is curt, like there’s a bad taste in her mouth. She seems to think you’ve done a deal with the devil.

  You look at her, puzzled. It’s really none of her business, and you have half a mind to tell her that – but then again, perhaps she has a good reason to behave in this way.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I work for him?’ you ask.

  ‘He’s a powerful man, I’m sure you’ll go a long way,’ she replies. Then she turns to walk away.

  ‘Wait!’ you cry. Nurse Ellis turns. ‘Is there something I should know? Is this offer I just signed not real?’

  Nurse Ellis chews her lip, as if making up her mind whether or not to speak. ‘The offer’s probably fine,’ she says. ‘I just don’t think it’s right … to disown your own brother like that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ you ask.

  ‘Charlie Sanders isn’t dead. I should know – I was his nurse in Canberra Hospital until just last month, before I came here.’

  ‘Charlie’s alive?’ you gasp. ‘But why is he in hospital?’

  ‘He’s not right in the head,’ Nurse Ellis says, tapping her temple. ‘A lot of them after the war had reactions to the stress of war. Can’t forget the awful things they’ve seen, can’t adjust to normal life. Still, that Mr Ford should’ve taken care of his brother, not chucked him in a ward and thrown away the key.’

  There’s a long silence, in which you’re too stunned to speak.

  ‘I know some people are ashamed when a relative starts acting crazy,’ she says eventually. ‘A lot of people on that psych ward have been abandoned. But you can get better from these things – combat stress reaction, depression, you know. If you’re treated with respect and loving kindness.’

  She sighs.

  ‘Anyway, that has nothing to do with your contract,’ she goes on, in a lighter tone. ‘Chance of a lifetime, if you like that kind of thing – as long as you don’t mind being the only female engineer in the country!’ She laughs.

  ‘Thanks,’ you say absently, but your insides have turned to jelly. Charlie’s alive! You’re delighted, but it’s scary to think of him in a psychiatric ward. If I go to visit him, will he still be Charlie? you ask yourself. Or has he changed into some sort of… beast? You wonder what awful things happened to him after he disappeared mysteriously from the cat’s guts all those years ago. Was he captured? Tortured? Poor Charlie.

  You agree with Nurse Ellis that whatever state Charlie’s in now, it’s wrong for Mr Ford to pretend his brother is dead. A thought strikes you. ‘If there were some sort of a fortune,’ you begin, ‘I mean, a will or an inheritance for both brothers … would Charlie get his share?’

  ‘Not until he’s discharged,’ Nurse Ellis tells you. ‘And Mr Ford would have to sign the papers for that.’ She smiles sadly. ‘Charlie’s been in there for a long time, love. I remember when the family farm was sold against his will. He cried like a baby; said he felt so helpless.’

  You remember the article you saw in Truth –Charlie’s family farm was sold to Bob Dawe. It’s another thing you’ll have to ask Mr Ford about.

  ‘In the eyes of the law,’ Nurse Ellis goes on, ‘once you’re not of sound mind, you have limited rights. If there’s a fortune, Mr Ford will likely get to control it all.’

  Picking up your contract, you use your left hand and your teeth to rip it in two. It’s time to leave this hospital once and for all. ‘I’m going to Canberra,’ you tell her.

  While you dress one-handed (buttons are tricky; shoelaces are awful), you think about that golden compass. Charlie wouldn’t have given it away if he’d known about the safe combination being on there. But what could the code be? The only markings on it were the ‘C’ and ‘D’ inside a circle, for ‘Charlie’ and ‘Desmo’—

  Wait! You stop mid-breath and drop your shoe. I’ve got it! Just then, Mario walks in. You barrel across the room and grab him by the shoulder. ‘That’s it!’ you cry.

  ‘Uh … hello to you too,’ he begins.

  ‘The “C” and the “D” don’t stand for “Charlie” and “Desmond”!’

&nbs
p; Mario just stares at you.

  ‘They stand for “Circumference” and “Diameter”!’ you crow. ‘And the circumference of a circle divided by the diameter is always equal to …’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he confesses.

  ‘It’s equal to pi! The impossible, never-ending number! Three point one four one five nine two six five three five nine—’

  ‘Stop, stop,’ demands Mario. ‘What the hell?’

  ‘Oh, it’s so simple!’ you exclaim.

  ‘Whatever’s going on here,’ says Mario, ‘it’s not simple. Have you lost your mind?’

  ‘No!’ you cry. ‘I’ll explain everything on the way to Canberra. Come on, you’re driving me.’ Mario bought a car while you were in hospital, which you thought was extravagant at the time, but now you’re glad of it.

  Mario trails in your wake. At the hospital’s front door, you meet Olenka.

  ‘Help me talk some sense into her,’ Mario begs Olenka, gesturing at you. ‘She’s gone crazy!’ He tries to explain what’s going on to Olenka as they follow you outside, because you’re not stopping for anything.

  The trees in the gardens have grown their new spring leaves and the air is fresh and clean. You break into a run. You feel amazing, like you could fly.

  ‘Which way’s your car?’ you shout, turning back to look at Mario, then – smack – you run straight into Mr Ford.

  ‘Out for a run?’ he asks, amused, then he looks at your face. What does he see there – wildness, triumph? Whatever it is, he steps back, unnerved. ‘Hold it right there,’ he says. ‘Where are you going?’

  You size him up. You think you’re so powerful, Mr Ford. Controlling everyone. But not me.

  ‘I’m going to visit Charlie,’ you say and watch his face collapse. ‘The brother you’d rather pretend was dead than admit is in a mental hospital.’ Behind you, you hear Mario and Olenka gasp.

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Mr Ford blusters. ‘You don’t understand …’

  ‘You’d be surprised what I understand, Mr Ford,’ you tell him.