Back in town Lili went to the biggest department store and said she was a Viennese dress designer. The manager engaged her on the spot, starting at five pounds (not bad) and put her in the cutting room. The head cutter had been with them twenty years and was jealous of Lili, and that winter nineteen forty was not a good time for refugees. Lili had only made dresses with Vogue patterns and nobody helped her, they wouldn’t tell her what they wanted made and then it was always not just what they wanted, they didn’t tell her the girls should do the machining and so she tried to make the dresses all herself, there was never a machine free when she wanted it so at the end of the month she knew she would have to leave. The manager said: If you feel that way about it perhaps it is better you do.
She did sewing at home to pay the rent at the Goldings. The Goldings took photographs. Mr Golding’s brother asked to take her out, she didn’t like him he was just like cousin Fritz in Vienna. She put on her evening dress with the buttons made of antique Austrian coins and they went to the opening of a Dreamland Club, everyone in evening dress it looked like a real cabaret and there were some Englishmen at the next table. They were looking at her. Jock Campbell, nice boy, fair, nothing particular, Scotch type. Franz Golding was dancing with other girls, till Jock Campbell said: Could I take you home later on as I have a car. But Lili said: I’m sorry I came with my partner Mr Golding so I’m afraid he’ll have to take me home but we shall be round here again taking photographs. Then she was sorry for after they got in the car Franz Golding said: You don’t mind if I drop you home quickly, I have to go on somewhere else to see a girl.
Jock came the next day to the Goldings. They were moving house and trying to clear up all the rubbish and dirt there was with all those people living there and make it a bit clean for the new tenants and staining the floor. All in old clothes they were staining and painting, it was very Bohemian. Jock had a little truck, it was not a car. He asked if he could help and did some painting and he moved everything in his little truck. He was so in love just like a young boy. What are we going to do? Lili said. I shall never get rid of him.
Jock couldn’t live with his wife. He slept in bunks and garages all over town so as not to go home. She didn’t mind at all. He was sleeping on a bench in a shed behind the funfair. Couldn’t I rent your veranda? he asked Mimi Golding. Why not? This is a boarding house, Mimi said. Ten shillings. It was a glassed in veranda. Whatever have you done? Lili said: Now I am never going to get rid of him.
He was an expert at repairing slot machines so the owners of funfairs liked to keep him around but he wasn’t the kind who would ever make much money. He was intelligent but too soft. They would ring him up at ten o’clock of the night to say a slot machine had gone out of order, he would get up, out of his warm bed, dress and drive off in his little van. When he came back to bed Lili would say: How much they pay you?
Oh ten shillings.
They should pay she said in her clear high voice that easily struck a harsh note: They do not consider you. They should pay they should pay!
He could take her out dancing in the evenings. They could go in free where there were slot machines or where the Goldings were taking photographs and he had an evening suit, tails, and he looked all right. His wife didn’t mind, she went out with other men. She was a waitress. They’d got engaged in England and he said he’d bring her out and he had and married her and they had three children. He adored the children.
He told Lili all this. He was very serious. And English! When he took her home from a dance he gave her a kiss on the cheek like a boy of seventeen. Englishmen! Imagine. He didn’t know anything. He had been three times with his wife and had three children and once on a weekend with another waitress and that made four. A man of twenty-nine! He was so shy.
Why don’t you come in my room and talk to me?
Can I really? He would sit far away on the end of the bed and talk.
You can stay here if you like.
Can I really? He didn’t know anything but he soon picked it up, a man in perfect physical condition, imagine!
When he was in bed with flu the children came over. His wife didn’t mind, she was probably going away with another man. They were marvellous children a boy of eight and twin girls of six. That woman! Lili said, they have only rags on their bodies. They were clean, yes they were clean, but those poor children were ashamed to be undressed, their clothes were full of holes and safety pins. And the things they knew. How Uncle Bob liked his porridge a certain way. They knew all the names of the men who came to the house.
Lili told Jock: What you must do is to put a detective after her and divorce her. Better to put them in a good boarding school than paying money to that woman who doesn’t look after them. Jock was scared. But I would look after them, Lili said, we could get married. They were marvellous children. And when they got home they would only talk of Lili. Then the wife got worried when she found it was a foreign woman they’d been with and she said she was never going to divorce Jock, no court would ever allow the children to be looked after by an immoral foreign Jewess. And Jock wouldn’t do anything. The children. His wife. Not done. He was too soft.
The last time they met he said he would feel terrible if it was his fault. If Lili had got like this because of him. And Lili said (it was too late by then, she didn’t care for anything at all) that he mustn’t think he was responsible because it would have happened anyway, she liked him so much and she so loved children but she would have had the depression anyway. To live, what for? And the rain and nothing nice to see anywhere. Unheated cinemas and draughty dance halls. And hardly enough money to pay the rent. To live just to eat and sleep. And no love.
Lili was coming home from work wearing the dirndl dress with the little flowers, old white sandals, a white hat. The Yank was standing outside the door of the Waverley. When he saw her he smiled as if it was somebody he recognised. He didn’t say anything, she walked on. When she got to the corner she turned round, she didn’t know what made her, something, a feeling. He was walking after her. She went on to the bus stop and waited in the queue, he had come up and was standing right at the end of the queue. But the end of the queue was left when the bus started.
She said to Sophie: Such a nice Yank, we smiled as if we had recognised each other but then I couldn’t do anything further because if a man expects that I never have, there is something wrong, I couldn’t do it and that is all. But the next evening he was there at the bus stop.
What? she said. What is this?
All right this time. I timed your bus right.
But what happened? What about yesterday?
I’d just landed off the plane. I was very tired and then I could see you were not that sort of girl you could just walk up to and say hello. I couldn’t think up anything else. I was tired you see. I guess my brain wasn’t working too well. Would you care to have a drink?
I’m sorry but I am on my way to dinner at home. She had the packet of meat in her bag.
I have a date for dinner too with the consul. Maybe tomorrow we could have a drink together, maybe we could have dinner together.
It was very nice, Lili said to Sophie, specially for a Yank officer because they wouldn’t be troubled to walk to the end of the street after a girl. Why should they? It was too easy for them.
Charles was tall and brown, he was well mannered and kind, he had brown eyes and a brown moustache. He was goodlooking in the well cut cool pale khaki uniform. The NZ uniforms were a laughable fit, they were hot and uncomfortable to dance in. After dinner they sat in the lounge of the hotel only for American officers. They could get as much whiskey and cocktails as they wanted, everyone around them was drinking but they didn’t drink much, they sat there talking. Charles was married, he liked his wife, but after all they had been married about ten years, but he was crazy about the children, a boy of nine and another boy of seven. They were marvellous kids, he showed her the photographs. He asked her what there was to see in Auckland. It was Friday and he was
flying back on Tuesday. He had come over for some business with the consul because the Yanks were all moving out.
She said if he was going so soon he ought to see the West Coast at Piha, it was lovely scenery, and he said he could borrow a car would they go together? They went on to dance at the Civic. It was very hot. There were no drinks there. No drinks at any cabaret in Auckland but they didn’t mind. He liked her and she him. Going home he did not put his arm round her or kiss her, he did not even suggest it.
Saturday was another perfect day. She wore her dirndl dress, they started early. She offered to drive as she knew the road and then he could rest. She would look after him, that would be fine. She missed the turning twice, they went miles out of the way on bad side roads. When they got to the last bit, the sheer turns and the breakers down there below, Lili was happy. It looked worse than it was but she noticed how quiet he was and then she saw he was hanging onto the door. She laughed. He was hanging quietly onto the door. She could do what she liked, they flew down round the bends.
When they got to the beach they were both breathing hard. First they both undressed in the car. They lay on the sand, it was very hot in the sun, beyond the breakers the sea was calm as calm. It was easy to get out and beautiful swimming there beyond the breakers but coming back—the first time she had ever thought she would have to give up. She had never known the sea could be like this. But she wouldn’t call to him she wouldn’t let him see. He was finding it hard too, he was always further away from her being carried away towards the rocks. Saving all her breath, making her voice sound natural she called out: Don’t swim over there you silly boy, make for the beach. And then another wave and she was sucked down, banged on the sea bottom, and every time she gained she was dragged back. It was the first time she had ever had this sensation that she could do nothing, that she must give up.
When they got to the beach they lay there quite exhausted but they didn’t say anything. She wasn’t going to and he wasn’t going to admit it. After a while they were terribly hungry. She had said they could eat there for there was a boarding house but the boarding house was closed until February. Nobody in the baches would sell them anything. All they got were some apples and stale scones. They didn’t mind, they only thought it was funny. Lili said: New Zealand, they will only do anything for you if they know you. We can go back to town.
He was sorry to be going back to town. It’s beautiful here, he said.
Then she had a brain wave to stop at another boarding house on the coast, and because she was known there they gave them dinner of fresh fish.
Could we stay here for the night? Charles said. But Lili said it wouldn’t be all right because she was known there.
What a country, Charles said, but he wasn’t angry, he was very nice. It was only a suggestion because it’s so nice here, such a beautiful place.
Going back he drove, he thought it would be safer, and having his arm round her he ran the car off the road into a sandy ditch and there it stuck. Look what’s happened. Well now we shall have to stay, he said.
You didn’t do it on purpose, Lili said. But a man coming along the road helped them, they put stones under the wheels and all pushed and got the car back on the road.
No, Charles said, but I’ll tell you I thought of taking some part out of the auto when we were down there. But I wouldn’t do a thing like that with you.
After dinner in town they sat in the lounge and talked and Lili showed him the photographs of herself as a little girl, her father and mother, that was the wedding one—no the fiancé’s, the wedding one was a group, with my beautiful Auntie Lisa who died of TB and my little cousins Fritzerl and Hanserl. Isn’t my mother beautiful? Look what a thick plait of hair on top of her head the same way they do the hair now, I do mine like that sometimes, and my father, I get my light eyes from him, here they are on the beach at Paris Plage, that is me and my sister Mitzi, here they are in the funicular, in those funny hats. Up there is the White Horse Inn? You know the play, there is a real White Horse Inn.
When they got back to the house they sat in the car for a long time and talked. And he kissed her goodnight.
Why not kiss me last night?
I don’t know. I suppose I thought what would be the use. You know I love you so what would be the use of starting anything when I’m leaving on Tuesday?
I’m sorry we couldn’t stay at the beach.
Better most likely and anyway we shall all meet tomorrow.
Sunday was another perfect day. The Goldings had invited Charles to come riding with them, when Lili took him there for coffee, and he said in his shy way, he hadn’t ridden for years but he’d like it. The Hoffmans had their own horses, the first thing they did when they had some money saved was to buy horses so they could use their riding things tailored by the best tailor in Vienna, then they had joined the ski club so they could use their skiing outfits, they had bought a V8 because it was good for business, but they all still lived at the Goldings because it was cheaper. The others hired horses at the riding school. They rode along the tracks above the sea, Charles not saying anything, looking at Lili. There were too many people all round and presently they got away and went for a walk to the other end of the beach. They went to a movie and when they got home that night they sat for hours in the car. I wish I could stay over a few more days, he said. But everything is arranged for me to go back. Maybe it’s better that way.
She knew he was thinking, because he liked her so much. Because of his wife and the kids he was crazy about.
I like you too, she said, it has been so nice. Not many people are nice to refugees.
What are you trying to tell me? A girl like you with everything.
I don’t mean that. Everyone will stare at me in the street. Silly old women will have their frocks made by me because I am a smart Viennese—they hate me really, not many people are nice to refugees.
You must come to the States.
I will soon when I get a quota number.
Neither of them believed that she would.
The next day she was going to have lunch with him but a client made her late. Charles came into the workshop and when she’d got rid of the client as quick as she could he said: Lili could you do me a great favour? Could you possibly take the afternoon off so we can have the afternoon together? He was very pale.
Yes I will. You can manage this afternoon? she said to the girls: Do what you like. Shut the place up. It doesn’t matter. The girls had never seen her like that before.
After lunch they sat in the lounge. Then they went up to his room to make some calls. The sky outside the window was grey. It was hot, heavy, clouding over for rain. Charles rang every hotel in Auckland but not a place could take them for one night. He rang through to the rooms of other Yanks, they said if it would be any other place they could but being Auckland they didn’t know what to tell him. They’d never hit such a town if it was a town but they said if it would be sly grog or a cat shop—
So there was nowhere they could be together for the night because the Waverley was for officers and she wasn’t even supposed to be in the room. So there was nowhere, unless some little place out at Ponsonby a place like that, one of those places—
We couldn’t. Not with you Lili. No. It’s better not. I guess we’ll have to eat and go to a movie. I’m not hungry though. Sick sort of.
I’m not hungry either. Excuse me. While he thought she was in the Ladies’ Lili ran to the phone booth. She rang Sophie.
Just for this once Sophie.
You know what I think. You know what happened with Jock. You know how excitable. You know how all your friends tried—
For this once—Lili’s voice was very small.
If you come in after nine after Karl and I are in bed and if you don’t make a noise—
Lili suggested they should go and eat.
He wasn’t hungry and it made it worse to watch Lili eating a beefsteak and then another. He pushed his plate away, put his head in his hands. Wha
t’s happened to you Lili?
He was annoyed she could eat like that, her cheeks were flushed, she ate ravenously without tasting like several cocktails on an empty stomach.
What’s the matter with you Lili? He was tired of it all and sad and sore at her. Shall we go to the movie?
I think it would be nicer to go for a drive round the waterfront, you haven’t seen it.
There was a place looking over the harbour where people parked their cars. It was not allowed to drink on the waterfront and the police came round sometimes and looked in a car but in the next car against the street light they could see the silhouette of a lifted bottle. Everyone in the cars round was drinking but they were not. They just sat there without saying anything. He held her by the wrist, she could feel her pulse under his fingers.
What time is it?
Half after eight.
We ought to go home.
You want to go home? he said. You really want to go? You want to leave me?
You come with me. I arranged it with my friend if we get in after nine and don’t make any noise. They’re in bed. They don’t need to know.
She was glad she had made the little room pretty. Though the light was only on for a minute. Before he went to sleep he said goodbye. Please Lili, he said, be sure to wake by five o’clock at the latest, I’ve got to make the airfield by six. You sure you can do it?
Yes I can do it. She woke him just before five and then it was really goodbye.
She sent him the photo and he wrote once or twice. But when she said she’d applied for a quota number he didn’t write again. Lili thought it was that he really liked her and it would make difficulties for him with his wife.
(1947)
James K. Baxter, from ‘Recent Trends in New Zealand Poetry’
Lately I was crossing the Straits. The wind leant the boat over; and as we came to the deep water off the Kaikouras, I thought that if the Friday and the Monday boats were sunk, New Zealand literature would suffer a severe loss. But we might be inclined to overestimate the setback. If every writer who has published a book in this country was rolling among the seaweed, a new generation would no doubt take over. One of the functions of artists in a community is to provide a healthy and permanent element of rebellion; not to become a species of civil servant. The younger writers are at least aware of this necessity.
The Auckland University Press Anthology of New Zealand Literature Page 58