Henry answered for her. ‘Iliya Dalevich. He worked with me; he was a cane cutter.’
‘Is he aware?’
‘No.’
‘And where is he now?’
Julia spoke this time. ‘I don’t know.’
Okay, that’s fine. And then what happened?’ Click-clack, the keys swept along with the dialogue.
Julia held her breath and then slowly let it out. She could answer one of two ways: the truth, which was entirely useless here, or go along with the story that her husband told. She pressed her fists onto her thighs and reopened the scar.
‘He… well.’ Slowly. Wrong story. Try again. ‘We slept together.’ Keep with the lie. The truth won’t help you now. She looked down. ‘Then, I found out I was pregnant. I told my husband the truth in August this year.’ That’s it. Well done.
‘So, let me get this correct,’ Bennett stopped typing, resting his fingers on the black keys. ‘You committed adultery with a man, became pregnant and then had the twins, telling your husband that they were his?’ He cleared his throat and looked at her. His face resembled a man that was watching a very dull movie.
‘Am I correct?’
‘Yes, I didn’t know if they were or not.’
He began typing again. ‘Well, were you having, ahem, relations with your husband at the time as well?’
Henry interrupted and shifted in his chair. ‘Is that necessary?’
‘Yes, sir, I’m afraid it is, to see the possibility of there being a different alternative to this case.’
Henry lit a cigarette and looked at Julia and then back at Bennett. ‘No.’
She was shocked. He was punishing her and felt it as if he had dug a cold knife slowly into her heart. He was lying. She looked at Bennett, imploringly. ‘But we were.’
‘Hmm. See, I do think, madam, that a man would remember these things quite well,’ he smirked. ‘And to be fair, your memory is a bit sullied with, let’s say’-- he motioned to the paperwork, and then to her-- ‘what you were preoccupied with.’ He continued typing. ‘Regardless, it’s safe to say that your adultery is a punishable offense to your marriage regardless.’ Bennett shook his head, and whether it was in admonishment or disbelief, Julia wasn’t sure. She felt invisible.
‘So, you told your husband and you and your husband decided that the only choice was to put your two, possibly illegitimate children, up for adoption. Yes?’
They both nodded.
‘Have you considered the possibility of raising these children as your own?’
‘I already told you, no.’ His heart had changed. It had built a layer of distrust around it, and it firmly stood in self-preservation, unwavering. If he didn’t utter these words calmly and detach, he would break. ‘This is our decision.’
Bennett turned to Julia. ‘Is this correct?’
Julia felt her chest grow cold and tight. ‘Yes. What my husband says is correct.’
Two sheets of paper spooled out of the typewriter, heavy with black words and dates and spaces to sign. Bennett handed them pens. He pointed at a final declaration that Julia and Henry had to sign, a simple date and confirmation of the decision made:
QUEENSLAND
STATE CHILDREN DEPARTMENT
I, THE UNDERSIGNED Julia Rudnick, OF STRATFORD NEAR CAIRNS, BEING THE MOTHER OF THE INFANT, HEREBY STATE THAT I UNDERSTAND THE NATURE AND THE EFFECT OF THE ADOPTION ORDER FOR WHICH THIS APPLICATION IS MADE; AND THAT IN PARTICULAR I UNDERSTAND THAT THE EFFECT OF THE ORDER WILL DEPRIVE ME OF MY PARENTAL RIGHTS; AND I HEREBY CONSENT TO THE MAKING OF AN ADOPTION ORDER IN FAVOR OF ANY APPLICANT APPROVED BY THE DIRECTOR, STATE CHILDREN DEPARTMENT. IN WITNESS WHEREOF I HAVE SIGNED THIS CONSENT ON THE 15TH DAY OF NOVEMBER, 1951.
Henry signed his without issue. She waited; her fingers hot as she clutched the pen. ‘I, ah, what does this mean?’ Her eyes looked up from the paper, searching Bennett’s. One possible moment of understanding. One possible explanation, reason or purpose that could help her find the clarity that she desperately wanted. Her hand hovered.
‘Mrs. Rudnick, you are agreeing to an adoption, because as you have declared, you have committed adultery and your husband said he would forgive you if you gave up the children that he, and you, suspect aren’t his. In signing this, you are agreeing that you will leave this in the hands of the state, and the state will decide for you whom will have your children. You are agreeing that you will not have any rights as a parent to the children you are giving up.’ He clarified. ‘You can’t go back through this door once it’s closed, do you understand?’
She looked down at the paper, a thin black line waiting for her pen to rest, and then looked over at Henry; he was looking towards the middle of the room, at no one, casually staring past her, cold and indifferent.
And then the slow destruction of her world finally began as she touched the pen to paper, her fingers shaking as she carved her name with solid dark lines. She was being told the worst thing a mother could ever hear, a pain that wasn’t even remotely imaginable by even the wildest scope of thought: that she was unworthy of the children that she had wanted and loved.
They left the courthouse as they arrived: in silence.
In the weeks immediately following, Julia and Henry played the placid family game. Moments revolved and grew around the suppurating silence of a broken marriage; the trust was irretrievable, and as much as Julia reached, Henry drew back, walked away. She would catch him staring at the family, wondering if he’d still leave. Silences were only interrupted by young voices, a sometimes-painful reminder that what was true now, would soon be so different.
In the days she had with her little family, Julia tried to ignore the inevitability that there was probably a couple, young and married, who were at this moment, signing white pieces of paper in front of someone like Mr. Bennett. They would be smiling at each other, She would be dressed in a pale blue jacket and skirt, her hair done nicely but not too primly. Her husband would be leaning towards her, talking to her about the decision that they would be making. Are you okay with this? Should we go through with it? Yes, she would say. I love you, and this would be a blessing for us, is what she would say. This would all be happening at the same time Julia would be dressing Lesia in a dress that she made for her; Maksim would be in his shirt and trousers, his light brown hair swept to the side, blue eyes searching. It would all be happening as if in a slower, parallel life: this woman in her blue suit would be clutching her handbag, happily in conversation with someone official and lean, watching her husband shake another man’s hand, an agreement in place for their future. Sometimes Julia would sit next to Slava and they would both watch Maksim and Lesia as if memorizing their faces.
‘Slava, I need to tell you something.’ Julia was sat on the bed folding laundry distractedly. Folding, refolding, forgetting what she was doing.
‘Yes?’ She responded, looking up from her drawing, then back down. She was drawing a woman with yellow hair and a big red smile, holding a baby.
‘What, Mama?’
‘Slava, you know how Lesia and Maksim are here with us?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, they will be going on a trip soon.’
‘Can I come?’
‘No, it’s just for Maksim and Lesia. They’ll be going on a trip with a man and a lady, they are nice people and they’ll look after them for a while.’
‘Why?’
‘Because,’ She ran her fingers through her hair, words failing her. ‘Because, it will help us. Papa and I decided it would be for the best.’ She got up from the bed, walked out of the room. ‘For the best,’ She murmured quietly, to no one in particular.
‘Mama?’
‘Yes, Slava.’
‘Will it be okay?’
‘Of course.’
‘Will they have a good time?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will the people be kind?’
Oh, she hoped. ‘Yes.’
She walked out to see the twins on the floor of the main room, with books, l
aughing and teasing, their hands mimicking the each other’s like shadows. It was a scene that was too painful to watch, too beautiful to walk away from.
A few days later, a letter arrived in the post, stamped with the insignia of The Office of Joseph Bennett, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Henry Rudnick. She ripped it open, and there in black ink was an appointment for them:
Dear Sir and Madam:
This letter is to advise you that there has been an appointed day for you both to come to the Townsville Receiving Depot to sign the adoption declaration, and for your children, Maksim and Lesia, to be placed in welfare before they are assigned to their adoptive family.
Please bring both children to the courthouse at 1pm, as well as any medical records, a few items of clothing and any personal possessions that they may require.
Sincerely,
Joseph Bennett
Solicitor
She was holding the letter delicately, as if it were a rare jewel, or a bomb. Her insides felt as if they had been scraped out. Hollow and lifeless. There were no tears, for it felt too great of a flood to pick at. She had, in fact, destroyed her family, and she had ten days to fill her time without any temptation of taking her own life, though wouldn’t that be selfish. Evenings would be the worst, she knew. Every day the minutes would count down to her sentence, every minute lost was one less of seeing her children clutch at their well-worn blankets; every day was one less of smelling their skin when she held them. This was irreversible, and any other words that could possibly describe it, and the most extraordinary, consuming pain she had ever felt in her life; so much so, that she had almost entirely gone numb to it.
Ten days crawled at a slow pace; some moments felt too protracted, and yet others felt unsatisfying in their brevity. Ten days spent wondering how she would cope without them, ten days spent wondering whether she had done the right thing and whether she could eventually cope with Henry leaving her, because, it was possible. This love, this guilt, tore at her like a fresh wound, over and over again, until there was no blood left.
21
Six weeks had passed, and now, Julia had run out of time.
It was humid for November, and the first thing she wanted to do that morning was the mundane, and it was as if she was discovering old memories, memorizing them, and then erasing them resolutely, preparing for a new version of the future: clearing the sink with empty cups, rubbing out the stains left from breakfast, and the clothes that still needed hanging on the line. She was still a mother, after all, and would always be one, and this to her was a kind of comfort.
She checked every room and folded the sheets tightly on the bed and ran her fingers over the dust that had collected on the dressers.
She walked outside into the fog that was lifting from the warm rains that morning, and walked to the back of the house, and rung out the clothes that had been left there the night before, the ones that she’d forgotten about.
She swept the steps and walked over to the chickens, throwing their feed in sandy bursts at them.
She walked over to the cows and filled their troughs with water.
She scanned the garden to see if there were any vegetables ready to pick, and a few soft ruby-colored tomatoes were ready, so she thumbed them off their stalks and carried them in her skirts back to the house.
After breakfast, Maksim and Lesia came running towards her as she sat outside, careering their bodies around the edge of a chair, narrowly missing the table, and falling into Julia’s side. Slava padded out after them. Julia was folding clothes into a bag, putting favorite books on top. She felt Maksim’s warm little arms around her own, and she looked into his searching eyes. ‘Where’s your sister, mmm?’ She looked across the garden as Lesia placed a ring of daisies around her head. ‘Mama, look!’ Slava shouted as she stood behind Lesia. She whispered in her ear and then the two of them began to sing. Maksim giggled and ran over to be with them.
Julia watched as their arms stretched wide, a song on their lips that she taught them, the Ukrainian words and melody surrounding the air around them, the sunlight on their faces. Julia murmured ‘yes, well done’ and smiled, as her shaking hands placed the children’s last few toys into a canvas bag. They were still playing, their hands linked together, when Julia stood. She watched as Slava brushed the hair from Lesia’s face, and that moment withered whatever was left of Julia’s insides.
‘We must leave soon, yes?’ Julia announced to them.
‘Mama?’ Maksim pointed. ‘Sad?’ Slava followed his gaze. She was 6 now, and she observed her world keenly. The children padded over to her.
Julia crouched down and stroked his face. ‘No, sweetheart. Not sad tears,’ Julia cleared her throat. ‘Happy ones. Too much love,’ she smiled weakly.
Slava placed her hand on Julia’s shoulder. ‘Mama, what’s wrong?’
Julia wiped her face with the back of her hand and moved forward to Maksim and Lesia. ‘It’s time to go on your little trip, sweetheart.’
‘Oh, a picnic?’ Lesia clapped excitedly.
Maksim looked up at Slava and back at Julia. ‘A picnic? Mama, with you?’
‘No, not with me.’
‘What do you mean, Mama?’ Slava frowned.
‘Papa and I have people we know who will take you two on a little trip and you will stay with them…’
‘— For how long?’ Slava interrupted.
Julia couldn’t answer. Lesia reached out for her arm and Maksim stood, distracted by the bag that Julia held next to her. ‘I have your toys in here,’ Julia patted the bag. ‘And you will have lots of fun because these are good people.’ Her chest felt heavy as she said it, because the truth was, she could only hope they were.
Julia stood up, and the twins placed their hands in her own. ‘Come, let’s make you a little lunch and then we’ll go, yes?’
Slava looked back at the garden and ran back to grab the daisy crown and followed them inside. ‘Mama?’
Julia turned around, letting go of the twins. ‘Yes, rabbit.’
‘Where are Lesia and Maksim going?’
‘They’ll stay with a nice family for a while.’
‘But…’
‘Can you put a dress on, please? You’re going to Marta’s.’
Slava paused, frowning, waiting for more of an explanation.
‘Please do as I say.’ Julia bit her lip: her curt tone wasn’t for Slava, it was for the guilt. ‘Thank you’ she called out to her when she walked off.
After lunch, Henry took Slava to Marta’s house, which was not too far from Elina and Iliya’s house, and that knowledge levelled Julia with fresh pain and humiliation. Marta would surely know what had happened, and Elina more than likely told her.
Julia brought the canvas bag to the front door. She had packed a blanket, a small wooden cross, their favorite few pieces of clothing, a toy and a Ukrainian story book. She looked back at the two children walking towards her, walking towards the open door that would lead away from the house, towards the path, towards the car, towards the courthouse and through an entirely different door. One by one, they all walked down the steps, followed by Henry holding the bag, followed by Julia, as she shut the door behind her.
The black writing on the placard said Townsville State Department of Child Welfare. The building was as wide as it was tall, white boarded, with the roof extending not a bit too high in three separate points. The path curved gently towards the door, surrounded by green grass on either side and fences at the border of the property. It was expansive and lent itself to be friendly and warm, despite circumstance. She wondered what the house was like on the inside, what the children were like and what ages they were, what languages they spoke.
Walking towards it, Julia felt a sick panic in the center of her chest. She looked behind her quickly and searched for somewhere to run, a path leading somewhere, anywhere, else. It was lunacy, she knew she’d make a spectacle of herself and Henry would probably have her arrested or worse, taken away from the family entirely. She w
atched Henry walk ahead, bags in hand, saw his footsteps; they were purposeful, unlike hers. He had a reason to be there, but did she? She wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe her life was not made to have them in it, their beds, the extra food and money needed for them, maybe it was all superfluous; maybe giving them up to someone else was the ultimate selfless act, for them to be safe, to be looked after. She stood in between the twins, their hair tickling her thighs as they clung to her. She smiled. ‘Come. Let’s go in.’
At the door, the Australian lilt echoed in the rooms within. Henry went in first, she followed after.
They stood up from their chairs, a woman dressed in a simple green linen jacket and skirt, her dark blonde hair cascading in waves down to her shoulders, and shoes that were polished leather, and were probably bought new. A man stood next to her, a few inches taller, dark hair that had been doused with a pomade, combed to the side. Dark trousers, white shirt, tie. Bennett stood behind his desk.
‘Hello, I'm Gordon, from welfare…’
‘...and my name is Sarah. We work for the state and will be taking the children to their temporary home before they are formally adopted.’ She stretched her hand out. Her skin felt soft, cold; thinly stretched around her delicate fingers, like a doll. They scanned Julia and the twins.
Julia nodded, clutching the children to her legs. As if feeling her hesitation, they responded by grabbing her skirt nervously, peering from behind it. ‘Mama, carry.’ Arms outstretched, waiting. Julia’s instinct battled with what was expected of her. She felt an entire room watching her. She bent down and picked up Lesia, her body melting so perfectly into hers, like a thumbprint into dough. Maksim held onto her other leg.
‘Here.’ Julia shifted Lesia off her hip and slid her down to the floor, holding her small hand. She watched as this Sarah woman knelt down and touched Lesia on the arm. She bristled.
‘Hi there, sweet girl. Are you excited to come and stay here, and play for a while?’
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