There are tears in Uli’s grey-blue eyes as he leans forward to kiss my cheek at the front door. He pats Ellie on the head and she looks at me, perplexed to be at the centre of so much unrestrained emotion. Seeing tears in my eyes also, she makes a dash inside for Uli and Bronwyn’s small Maltese dog, Tilly. She rubs the dog’s tummy and giggles as the old pet circles her back leg in the reflex scratching motion that dogs have but that Ellie hasn’t seen until now.
‘Don’t you mind my blubbing, Liebchen. Knowing you has made this old man very happy. Now, watch this.’ He calls to his dog, ‘Tilly. Ball!’ The little dog trots to its basket and retrieves a shaggy tennis ball. Ellie laughs. ‘Ask her to drop it,’ Uli tells Ellie, and the dog does as she says, leaving the toy right at her feet.
‘How about you take the ball outside and throw it to Tilly, Liebchen. She’d love that.’
Ellie grins and runs with the dog outside, casting the ball helter-skelter in the tidy backyard, the small white dog always in front of her, eyeing the ball in anticipation, but never accurately predicting which way it will go. Each time Ellie throws the ball, the chickens in the coop at the back of the yard squawk.
‘How was Germany?’ Uli asks me.
‘Very good. I thought of you and your family a lot.’
‘Our family,’ he corrects me, his hand on my shoulder. ‘I’ve not been back for some time.’
Bronwyn waves to me from the kitchen door and says she has to attend to something on the stove. She is wearing jeans and a t-shirt under her apron and appears more relaxed without Helena here. She seems mindful of my father’s and my need for space.
‘Thanks for the invitation, Bronwyn.’
‘Just something simple,’ she calls back.
Uli steers me into the lounge room and to a couch, where a bowl of peanuts, a bottle of beer and two glasses are already on the coffee table. He pours each of us a beer and sits beside me, pointing at Ellie and the dog playing outside. I look at the wrinkled skin around Uli’s smiling eyes and think that he is a living example of how to go forwards in life. If only he had not been shut out of our family. If only Nina had not made it necessary for my mother to visit him secretly, at night.
‘I’m pleased to know you’re seeing more of your mother,’ he says. ‘From what she said it has been a while. Don’t punish her any longer.’
‘No. I’m not. It’s all different now,’ I tell him, emotional again. ‘I feel differently about Nina, too. She was always my rock. But so much was false.’
‘No, no, Sara. She did her very best. It is all any of us can do. She also endured much.’
‘She stopped you from loving my mother.’
‘No, she never stopped that,’ he says quietly.
I rest my hand on his knee.
A large lump has formed in my throat, and it is difficult to swallow. I put my hand to my neck and rub gently.
‘From what your mother has explained to me in recent weeks, she never told Nina that I might be your father. Never. In your grandmother’s mind, you could only have been the product of the rape of your mother. That changed everything.’
‘I know.’ I run my hands through my hair, trying to smooth out the tension in my scalp and to stop the advance of a headache I can feel building. I rub the top of my neck, where it connects with my skull. If only Helena had told Nina that I might be Uli’s child, surely Nina would have come around to giving her blessing to the pair being together, wouldn’t she? Whether or not he was German? I shake my head.
‘But why didn’t Helena fight for me? I was still her child, whoever my father was? And why didn’t she fight for you?’
‘I suspect she wishes she did. We were so young though, Sara. Less than half your age. Don’t be too hard on her. Or your grandmother. Don’t think she didn’t suffer. I suspect Nina lived with more guilt that we can imagine. For the attack on your mother particularly.’
‘It wasn’t her fault!’
‘No, but she felt it was.’
He pours the rest of the bottle of home-brewed beer into my glass without asking, saving just enough to put a mouthful in his own.
‘We have found each other, Sara. We can be pleased for that.’ He raises his glass.
‘And I got her chickens.’ He chuckles, pointing to the coop in the corner of the garden. ‘After your grandmother died, Helena asked me if I would mind taking them.’ He is quiet for a moment. ‘Before my parents came here, they were told rumours that the cockroaches in Australia were the size of chickens, that it was a place of snakes and spiders and savages.’ He shakes his head again.
Ellie comes back inside, the small dog in her arms, and I watch my father go to a cupboard. He takes out an old-looking violin case.
‘Do you like music, Liebchen?’
Ellie nods.
‘Then I would like you to have this.’ He opens the case. Inside is an exquisite violin, freshly polished, the timber a red-brown, like nothing I have seen before.
‘Lunch is ready,’ Bronwyn calls, bringing to the table a large plate of fried sausages and mashed potato. ‘Sara, love, can you grab the salad?’
Abdhul opens the door to me and I go inside. The bald patch on his head has become larger, and he sees me looking.
‘See, my hair is falling out.’ He gives a sad laugh. ‘From the stress.’
‘I am so sorry. Any news yet on your visa appointment? With Immigration?’
‘I have a date,’ he says.
‘That’s good.’
‘There was another bombing at the bazaar near our house.’
‘Oh God. Is your family okay?’ My hand is on his shoulder and I feel my heart race. I think of his wife’s dress and the perfume on it.
‘They are safe, thank you.’
‘Do you want to come for dinner tonight?’
‘No, sister. I must go to a funeral. There is a dinner afterwards.’ He looks down.
I am afraid to ask.
‘It is for Mukhtar. You met him once, sister. Remember? A tall man, older than me. Little bit grey.’ He points to his temples.
‘Yes.’ I remember him. ‘He seemed well. An accident?’
‘No. He kills himself. He found out he might have to go back home. No visa. It was not for sure but he was sick with waiting.’
I am gutted. ‘That’s terrible news. I’m so very sorry.’ There are tears in my eyes but he says nothing. I want to reach out to him and hold him, but there are limits to what I can do. Rules that I have probably already broken. I do not know if I should offer to go with him to the funeral. Mukhtar was not a man I knew at all well. I decide to wait to see if Abdhul suggests I come. He doesn’t.
A week later, Abdhul texts me at work.
‘My father has died, sister.’
I leave the lab and phone him from the courtyard outside. ‘Oh, Abdhul.’
He sighs.
‘He was very old, wasn’t he?’ I ask.
‘One hundred and four.’
‘That’s incredible. So old …’
‘Yes. There will be a gathering at my house.’
‘Of course. Thank you for letting me know. I’m …’
I know Abdhul would tell me that he would pray for me, or for my father, I am not sure which, but I cannot say this because I do not pray.
‘Your friend Sue said her sister has a farm,’ he says. ‘Can you take me there?’
‘Today?’ I have to get Ellie from school.
‘Yes. I want to go somewhere happy. Like where I grew up. There is too much bad news.’
‘Okay. I’ll call you back.’
I think of Mukhtar’s recent suicide and, fearing for Abdhul’s mental health, return to the lab to find Sue, who phones her sister straight away.
‘Carol would be delighted to have you visit,’ Sue tells me after the call. ‘I’m only sorry I can’t join you. Bloody Dale dropped a job on me that can’t wait.’
I phone Abdhul back. ‘I will come and get you as soon as I’ve picked up Ellie from school. Okay?’
/>
‘Thank you, sister.’
‘And, you didn’t tell me. When is the gathering?’
‘Next Tuesday.’
I have an overnight trip to a genetics lab in Melbourne on Tuesday. People are coming from interstate. It has taken weeks to arrange.
‘Abdhul, I am really sorry, but I won’t be in Hobart then. I will be in Melbourne, for work.’ He is quiet for some time and I feel desperately torn. Perhaps I should cancel the trip. Abdhul is a good friend. His father is dead. How can I not attend the gathering, the memorial? What will he think of me putting work above this? I am about to say I will change my plans when Abdhul speaks again.
‘Okay, sister. Doesn’t matter. My friends come. Men. I must go now. I am very tired. I will have a short sleep then we will go to the farm.’
Sue’s sister welcomes Abdhul, Ellie and me with open arms. She introduces us to her husband and then to the chickens pecking at the grass around her feet. There must be twenty of them, and I see Abdhul smile at the various types, from regular backyard chooks to show chickens that resemble avian poodles fresh from the salon. Ellie is in heaven, gleefully, albeit cautiously, taking in the scene around her, her hands tucked up under her arms and away from inquisitive beaks.
‘I have never seen such chickens,’ Abdhul says, chuckling. He scans the property: chickens, ducks, sheep. He observes that the ewes are pregnant. It is not something that is obvious to me and I raise my eyes to Carol.
‘Yes, they are.’ I can see she is impressed.
‘And it is not their first babies,’ Abdhul says.
‘No.’ Carol smiles. ‘It is their second pregnancy.’
‘That is good. Better. They won’t need so much help.’
‘No. You are absolutely correct.’ She studies him, hands on her hips. ‘You know a bit about farming then? Sue says you grew up on a goat farm?’
‘Yes. But we had chickens, too, of course.’
‘I’ve actually just been given two lambs from a neighbour. The lambs’ mother died, but one won’t drink from a bottle …’
‘Can I see?’ Abdhul asks.
Carol puts her hand on his arm. ‘I was hoping you would ask.’ She leads the way and Abdhul goes into the house behind her, to where the two small lambs are lying in an old playpen. He picks up the smaller lamb and puts his finger in its mouth. He tries various angles. Waits patiently.
‘It doesn’t know how to suck. It was with its mother for a bit longer than the other one?’ he asks.
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Carol raises her eyebrows again at me. ‘The other one was taken away earlier and bottle fed.’
Abdhul takes the bottle and adjusts the teat. Squeezing it to extract some drips. He places it into the lamb’s mouth, continuing to knead it at the same time. He strokes the lamb’s neck and talks to it gently. Soon, it is taking mouthfuls.
‘It’s drinking!’ Ellie yells and I see Carol shaking her head in amazement.
‘I’ve been up half the night trying to get that little imp to drink.’
Abdhul looks at me and smiles modestly.
‘Shall I show you around outside a bit more?’ Carol asks.
Abdhul looks at the vegetables, giving them all their Hazaragi names, and wherever he sees a weed, he pulls it out. He lets himself into an enclosure where two roosters are cordoned off.
He laughs. ‘They are very good.’ He picks up one of the roosters, a large, foreboding-looking bird, and inspects its feet and long claws. ‘Very strong.’
‘He knows animals,’ Carol’s husband says from behind us.
‘If ever you want any work done … I’m sure,’ I start, but pause, not wanting to impose or seem pushy.
‘If we had some spare cash, he’d be welcome, but we’re a pretty lean operation,’ he answers.
‘Of course.’
‘But we’ll keep him in mind.’
‘So, some tea?’ Carol asks.
‘Yes, please.’ Abdhul says. ‘Thank you. It is good to be here.’
In the car on the way back to town, Abdhul looks at me, a glint in his eye. There is no hint anymore of the modesty he had displayed to Carol and her husband.
‘You certainly impressed them,’ I say.
‘Especially with the lambs.’ He plays it up, sitting straight and appearing overtly proud, rocking his head from side to side.
We burst out laughing.
He is quiet for a time and when I next glance over, he is looking out the car window, his face calmer than when I collected him, but sad again, and I know he is thinking of his father.
32
Ellie opens the front door and runs out to the letterbox and back inside, cradling something in her hands.
‘What have you got?’
She shows me a small, aged matryoshka doll, which looks like it belongs to the set Nina gave me. I look at her, perplexed.
‘The postman brought this?’
‘No. The man across the street. I just saw him put it in the mailbox. And you said he wasn’t very nice.’
‘Right.’ I look out at the house over the road and see Michael Forster closing the door behind himself. ‘You know, I may have been wrong about that.’
I take the set of matryoshka dolls off the mantelpiece and give it to Ellie to disassemble and play with. The set is complete for the first time in decades, and I note the large, bright red rose painted on each doll’s apron.
‘Can you stay here, sweetheart? I’m just going across to have a word.’
Standing outside Michael Forster’s house, I knock and he opens the door seconds later.
‘How did you come by that doll?’ I ask.
He feigns ignorance for a moment, but I can see he wants to talk. His head moves forwards as if he is about to speak, then retracts again. It happens twice. On the second occasion he even opens his mouth, but no words come out. I think of Carol’s chickens jutting their heads.
‘My daughter saw you put it in the mailbox.’
‘It was your mother’s.’
‘Yes.’ I stop. ‘You knew Helena was my mother?’
He dips his head. ‘Yes, I knew it.’ He draws breath, and begins, ‘Helena and I, we used to play together, like I said. Before.’ He looks emotional. ‘She was my best friend. She left that doll behind in the park once.’
‘And you kept it? All this time?’
‘I did. I shouldn’t have, of course. But we stopped seeing each other as much after that and …’
He invites me into the kitchen, where he sits heavily on a straight-backed chair. He holds out a hand to me, suggesting I also sit down.
‘No one else used to talk to me when I was a kid. I was very shy. More than that. I’m not great with people. You’ve probably noticed.’ He waits.
‘We haven’t had much to do with each other …’ I can still see Nina’s cottage through the window, and tell myself Ellie will be fine alone for a few more minutes.
I think of Michael Forster’s parents. His loathsome, domineering, rapist father and birdish mother, her face pinched and closed, like her mind. It’s no wonder he’s socially awkward.
He goes on. ‘But your mother understood me. She was bullied, too. We used to have such good conversations, as kids. I tried to kiss her on the cheek that day in the park, and she took off home.’ He nods at our cottage across the street. ‘It’s why she left the doll. I’m quite ashamed but I still thought maybe she’d be my girlfriend one day. Then, much later, she met the other lad, the German, and she forgot all about me. I kept meaning to give the doll back, but years passed, and it felt stupid. And I liked having something of hers … What your grandmother said. About my father raping her. It was a lie.’
‘Yes.’
He looks surprised.
‘He raped my mother,’ I say.
‘When did you find out?’
‘Only recently.’
He looks down, shamefaced. ‘I sometimes followed Helena when she went to visit her boyfriend, the times she went to his house rather than meetin
g him down the road. She didn’t go there very often, just a few times I think, when his parents were out, but I worried about her, out on her own. Once, I went right to the house and looked through the window to try to see what they were doing, but it was too dark. I think she must have left very late that last time because I didn’t see her go. I only heard our door bang shut …’ He stops speaking and rubs at his chin. The side of his mouth is shaking. ‘At first I thought it was the wind, or a possum, then I heard a scuffle across the street. And a sound, a muffled sort of cry. By the time I got there, I saw my father – my father! – holding your mother up against the house. Your grandmother must have heard, too, and, like me, went to check. She was holding up a torch. I saw what he was doing, but I was too late …’
He presses his long fingers against his eyes before looking at me again. ‘Your grandmother ran at them, waving her hands and screaming in Russian: “Net, net, net.” She hit my father over and over, and he ran off like a bloody scolded child, his trousers gaping.’
I feel ill.
‘Your father got off! Why didn’t you say something?’ My face is hot.
‘Because your grandmother said she was raped. If she hadn’t lied I would have testified against my father. I wouldn’t have thought twice. But I thought Helena mustn’t have wanted to tell the truth. That she must have wanted to keep it a secret.’
I shake my head. ‘It was Nina who wanted to keep the secret.’ I try to process the new information. ‘So, your father knew that you knew?’
‘He did. And I had to live with him after that. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have any money to move out. I felt even worse around people. Nervous all the time.’ He wrings his hands, sliding his left thumb back and forth across the palm of his right hand, then again over his shut eye.
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