by Joy Rhoades
‘Eh? Eh?’ Vittorio said, laying the tray carefully on the end of the table on the verandah.
Luca collected Pearl from the cradle inside and returned. But Vittorio would not uncover the thing until Daisy joined them from the kitchen. Finally, he pulled the tea towel off, shouting, ‘Panettone! Panettone!’
His audience clapped, to his great pleasure.
It was the oddest thing Kate had seen: a tall, narrow cake, Alice in Wonderland-like in its proportions. She just hoped he hadn’t put pepper in it. And how he’d managed to get it to rise, she couldn’t imagine. But it was delicious. ‘Christ mass,’ Vittorio explained to Kate. ‘For the Christ mass.’
‘Christmas,’ Luca corrected. ‘We eat her for the Christmas.’
Kate smiled at him. It was so good, so natural to have them all with her, Daisy, Pearl, Vittorio. And Luca. She tried not to imagine how different her life would be in just twenty-four hours. And she pushed that thought out of her head and watched Vittorio’s explanation for Daisy, with actions, on how to cook the tall cake. And so the afternoon passed, and for once Kate did not lament the bright blue sky, enjoying the heat and hoping it might bring some rain.
But her sadness came on in earnest that night. She and Luca ate their evening meal together in silence. Vittorio’s peppery pasta was as delicious as usual but Kate had little appetite. Partway through, Luca reached out for her hand across the table and held it. She hung her head, and tears ran down her nose into her pasta. He got up and came round to her, to lean over her from behind, and buried his face in her hair and her neck. He stopped still, then straightened up as drops of rain spat onto the tin roof above them. Kate held her breath as the patter turned to a drumbeat. Then it started to pour, really pour. And it carried on, the first solid rain in years.
They went onto the verandah to see it. It was now so heavy that the gully was just visible through the sheets of rain as they watched it. Luca took her hand again. ‘Thank God,’ she said, grateful for good rain at last, half thinking it might be so heavy the road would be cut off and Luca would be with her another day, or days. But she knew that was just wishful thinking.
Back inside, with the comfort of rain on the roof, she gave him a present. It was about the size of a cigarette box, and she’d wrapped it in brown paper. He looked stricken; he had nothing for her. She just smiled. ‘Open it,’ she said.
He shook the small packet and it rattled. With the string and paper off, it was a flat tobacco tin, filled with fat, black seeds. He knew what they were: seeds for the white wisteria.
‘For your brother. To remember him.’
‘Sì. Glicine,’ he said, reaching to kiss her.
They went to bed that night under the glorious pounding of rain on the roof. Luca held her for the longest time, lying still, his arms around her, the only movement the gentle rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, in the quenching embrace of rain all around the homestead. When they made love, it was almost more than she could bear, his kisses across her fingers, her arms, her shoulders, a farewell.
She awoke just before dawn. The rain had stopped and even the kookaburras were songless as she lay alone in the quiet house. Her life stretched out, silent and uncertain, in front of her.
CHAPTER 50
The woolgrower’s target shall be the good thriving of his flock and its pastures, and so of himself and those whose livelihoods depend upon his enterprise.
THE WOOLGROWER’S COMPANION, 1906
Just after seven that morning, the dogs started up as the truck arrived. Kate and Daisy, with Pearl swaddled to her back, went from the kitchen to the verandah and down onto the lawn, still damp from the shower the night before.
Ed covered the ground from the truck to the fence with his odd limp, his eyes on Daisy.
‘How’s your father?’ Kate asked.
‘He’ll live. Be a peg leg, but he’ll live.’ He shrugged wearily. ‘I’ll drive the Eye-ties in, y’know, Mrs D, to the train.’
‘It’s all right. I can make it. You stay with Daisy.’ She wanted every last minute with Luca. Also, the gossip about her father would be all around the district now, and she didn’t want Ed to have to deal with it. It was her family’s mud.
‘When ya back, Mrs D, I’ll come and have that yarn about findin some blokes for the muster.’
‘Good. I’m going to talk to Robbo Yorke, too,’ she said.
If there was a reaction from Ed, he covered it fast. Kate enticing Robbo away from his family to work for her was incendiary, given the family’s refusal to see her.
‘Best I ride over and see Robbo, eh? Rather than y’self?’ Ed suggested.
‘That’d be good,’ she said. They needed to find the men as soon as possible.
For the farewell, Johnno and then Spinks climbed down from the truck tray. They were dressed for a work day, ten-gallon hats in place. Vittorio came down next, all spruced up for the occasion. His faded, plum-coloured uniform was pressed and starched and creased. He’d borrowed the iron.
‘You look spic-and-span,’ Kate said. Vittorio must have understood because he smiled proudly. He’d even trimmed his beard for the occasion; it was close to his chin now, and from side on, he seemed grown-up, regal, like King George himself. Luca stood on the edge of the tray and then leaned forwards, to half fall, half jump to the dirt. He looked so good to her. He stood with his hands on his hips, avoiding her eyes. Kate did the same, fearful that the charge between the two of them must be plain as day to all. There was an awkward moment until Pearl started to grumble on her mother’s back. Daisy rocked her back into silence.
‘We got yez a pressie, eh,’ Ed said. He took two parcels and two brown paper bags from the truck seat and gave one of each to Vittorio and Luca.
‘Grazie,’ Vittorio said, grinning. He tugged at the string until Ed limped forwards and cut it with his knife. He did the same for Luca’s parcel. From within the brown paper came a whip for each, made of kangaroo skin, plaited and bound up, neat and rolled for the trip.
‘Bellissima,’ Vittorio said and then he began to cry noiselessly, tears rolling down his cheeks.
‘Grazie,’ Luca said, looking at each present in turn. ‘Grazie, Signora,’ he said to her. Vittorio fished about in the brown paper bag and pulled out a felt hat. He put it on and looked just like the stockmen around him. Luca put his on as well, and they stood together under their hats, smiling. Vittorio’s seemed too big for him. Luca looked like he’d worn one all his life. Handsome, he was, even with his chipped tooth smile.
‘Ya better get goin, eh,’ Ed said. ‘Train’s in ninety minutes, and you got the drive.’ Luca nodded slowly, looking around him, at the homestead, the avenue of trees, the yards and the meat house, taking it in. Ed reached out to shake Luca’s hand. But the Italian leaned in, putting him into a bear hug, thumping him on the back.
‘Jeez, mate.’ Ed laughed, wriggling out. Still grinning, he was more gracious with Vittorio and ready for a hug. Kate felt a sudden pang for Harry, sad that he could not be here to see them off.
‘Good luck then, you blokes.’ Ed gave a kind of half-wave, half-salute as they climbed in. Vittorio had the good sense to ride in the tray, leaving the cabin for Luca and Kate.
Out on the main road, Luca shifted up into fourth gear. He reached across the bench seat for her hand, and held it. Kate kept her eyes straight ahead, fearful she would cry if she looked at him. Then he touched her cheek with his fingers. When she turned to him, his fingers went to her lips.
‘Lipstick. For you,’ she said.
‘Grazie.’ He smiled.
Outside, the myalls and eucalypts shone in the morning light. The miles rushed by, Kate’s life with them.
At the station, a perfect sky, empty of everything but smoke from the waiting train, sheltered the chaos of noise and movement on the ground. Kate pushed her fingernails into her palms, steeling herself for Luca’s departure, and climbed down from the truck cabin. POWs, their graziers, the graziers’ wives and chi
ldren, all milled about beside the waiting train. At the heart of the crowd, by the end platform of the passenger wagon, stood Captain Rook and Corporal Oil, signing POWs in.
Vittorio passed their sacks and bags from the truck tray down to Luca. They had the bags they’d arrived with, plus a duffel bag each, and Luca had a small wooden crate as well. Kate knew what the bags contained: all the clothing castoffs they’d been able to muster (including the last of her father’s things) and in Luca’s crate, wood – red gum carved and to be carved.
So much had changed. The POWs themselves seemed well, not the watchful men of skin and bone who’d climbed down off the train ten months before. Some were jubilant; today they embraced their freedom, anxious to start their long journey home. Others were quiet, aware of the great losses they must face upon their return.
The graziers were different, too, and many wives had come along, with children in tow, the families who were sad to be losing these men they’d grown fond of. Kate kept close to Luca, unwilling to leave the shelter of the truck. Some of the wives – most – would shun her after all the goings-on at Amiens. With a pang, Kate missed Meg, her fun and nonsense.
One thing was the same, though, as when the POWs arrived: two black cockatoos sat on a high branch of the dead pepperina tree.
As they made their way through the crowd, Vittorio bounded ahead, and Kate and Luca followed. They were obliged to stop every few feet for Vittorio or Luca to be greeted with a ciao from a fellow POW, to shake a hand or receive an embrace. When the three walked near Frank Jamieson, his pipe, unlit as always, in his mouth, Kate went to the Tablelands Clarion editor. She’d not seen him since she’d heard the news that his son had died in Singapore.
‘Mr Jamieson,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. About Doug.’
‘Thank you.’ He nodded at her and his eyes grew wet. She remembered that herself, that a tiny kindness would undo her, undam the careful containment of her grief. She touched his arm and moved on. When Luca nodded at the man, Jamieson looked straight through him.
Kate saw Elizabeth Fleming, with her husband and their Italians. ‘Hullo,’ she called automatically, smiling. Elizabeth didn’t turn towards her. Kate thought she hadn’t heard so she went over then realised, too late, that Elizabeth had heard her all right.
‘Hullo, Kate,’ she said, embarrassed and distant. This time, it was Kate who turned away. Behind her she heard Elizabeth’s husband, John. ‘In the manager’s cottage? The half-caste baby and the girl, too?’
It struck Kate that Meg would find her blunder and Elizabeth’s failed slight funny. She had a hunch that she and Meg would be mates again soon enough. The girl was right – wise to let things settle down before any flouting of her parents’ ban on Amiens visits, and Kate felt a rush of gratitude for her friend.
Vittorio clenched her in a quick and fierce hug. ‘Grazie, Signora. Grazie,’ he said and bounced off towards the train. He threw his bags onto the carriage and scrambled up after them. Within a minute, he’d reappeared, sticking his head out of the window. ‘Arrivederci, Signora,’ he called.
Then she lost Luca in the crowd, until he appeared beside Vittorio in the carriage.
Kate tried not to be gutted. Mrs Riley came over to speak to Kate, her husband looming behind. The big woman looked down at her curiously. ‘You all right, dear?’
‘Yes. Thank you. Thank you.’ Kate smiled gratefully.
‘You people get any rain yesterday, dear?’
‘A bit.’
‘Us too. Thirty points or so. Are you working today?’ Mrs Riley, dressed for town in hat and gloves, looked at Kate’s jodhpurs. Her Italians were already on the train, Giacomo still as cheerful as the other was sullen. ‘Such good boys. And we’ll bring them back. You sponsoring yours?’
‘No. Vittorio doesn’t want to, and Luca has family to look after.’
‘Ah. Luca’s the nice young man, isn’t he? Giacomo speaks highly of him.’
‘Yes. Very nice,’ Kate said but couldn’t look at Mrs Riley.
From the train, Oil waved his clipboard above his head to get attention. ‘All aboard,’ he called. Kate jumped when the engineer released a long loud blast of the train whistle, a column of black smoke and steam shot into the perfect sky. She willed Luca to come off again to say goodbye.
And then he was beside her. He offered her his hand. Kate took it, feeling the warmth of his palm, the comfort of it. When she let him go, he held on for a second longer, his pale eyes on her face, and he smiled, his sad half-smile. He picked up her hand again and squeezed it. Beyond them, Mrs Riley blew her nose into her hanky.
‘Good bye, tesoro,’ Luca whispered. ‘Much luck. Much luck, unless …’ He shrugged.
‘And to you,’ Kate tried to say, yet the words would not come. Luca followed the last of the POWs up onto the train. She held onto the picture of him in her head, his eyes and his face. The train began to move, and POWs hung out of the windows, skylarking, yelling, cheering, hooting and crying. Kate caught sight of Vittorio, waving both arms out of the window, and Luca, behind him, still, his gaze on her.
Next to Kate, Mrs Riley was crying wetly as the train pulled away. Kate hoped her own tears went unnoticed. The train picked up speed, pounding, drumming, pulsing away, and grief took hold of her.
‘Such good boys. Like our own children, not that we were blessed with littlies. Who’d have thought it, eh?’ Mrs Riley blew her nose again. Her pressed hanky had a border of tiny robins inside a crocheted edge. ‘So sad to have them go. But we must go ourselves now. Goodbye, dear.’ She kissed Kate. Then she added fiercely, looking about as the crowd dispersed, ‘Pay people no mind, you hear me? There’ll be something else to talk about tomorrow.’
Kate reached up to hug her back. She watched the Rileys go then she stood for a long time as the station emptied and the train became a smoky dot on the horizon. Her limbs were heavy as she walked back to the truck. The quiet emptiness at the station engulfed her, the stillness of the barren plain and the empty sky. From the dead tree above her, the two black cockatoos lifted off and she watched them as she walked. They banked together, languid in the air. Then she stopped. They flew due east, straight on, as if the Dividing Range was all they had in mind – the Range and then the shelter of the coast before a big wet.
‘I seen em too, eh,’ said a voice behind her.
Kate turned, incredulous. ‘Harry!’ she yelled, and ran to him.
‘Aw, bloody hell,’ he said, struggling out of her arms.
‘No swearing.’
His spikey blond hair needed a wash and a cut. He was wearing a shirt she recognised from before. It hadn’t seen an iron in a while, but at least it looked clean. And he seemed a good inch taller; it could just be the hair. ‘Where’s your uncle?’
‘Moree, by now, eh. We got on the train here at five this morning, the train to Mullenvale and on to Moree. But I jumped off about a quarter of a mile out.’ He grinned widely, proud as punch.
‘Does he know you’re all right?’
‘Dunno. He shook his fist at me.’
‘Will he come back for you, do you think?’
‘Nuh. I bin givin im curry. He’s had a gutful, I reckon.’
‘So what will you do? Can you come home with me?’
Harry squinted, frowning. As if considering his options, he rolled his whole head to look from one end of the empty station clearing to the other. ‘I reckon you’ll do,’ he said.
Kate smiled. They got into the truck and Kate reached for the ignition. Then she stopped.
‘I can drive, eh,’ Harry said. ‘Ed learned me.’
‘I’m sure you can.’ She shifted the big bench seat forwards, Harry shuffling up to help her. She thought of Luca’s legs that had stretched there just where she sat not an hour before. She took a breath, adjusted the rear-view mirror and the mirror on her side and ran through Ed’s checklist in her head. Then she put the clutch pedal down and rattled the gearstick.
‘She’s in neutral,’ Harry explained
.
‘Just checking.’ Kate fired the ignition.
‘An I were goin to school. In Longhope, eh.’
‘So I hear.’
‘Bloody Grimesy were dark about it, but.’
‘No swearing.’ Kate checked her mirrors, put the truck into gear and released the clutch. They lurched forwards, and Harry rolled his eyes.
‘I’ll go back t’Bomber now. T’school at Frenchmans.’
Kate glanced across at him then got her eyes swiftly back on the road. Harry had it all worked out.
‘Daisy’s orright? And Ben?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Daisy’s staying. With the baby.’
‘The bub come? Jeez, eh. That’ll sort er out.’
Kate drove, wincing with each crunch of the gears, and Harry chattered. She listened. In her bones she felt it, a physical pain, the distance growing between her and the train bearing Luca away. A gulf widening, a moment passing. Her time with Luca had changed her, she knew that now, and helped her see what she had to do for Daisy and Pearl, to help them and to protect Amiens for them, even from Jack. As Luca said: fight one war, then more.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Apart from obvious historical events, this is fiction. The idea for the story came to me out of the experiences of my grandmother, Gladys Wyndham Mueller-Chateau, 1906–2009. While it is not her story, it was inspired by her. She spent much of her life on her family’s sheep property in northern New South Wales, including throughout the Second World War, when Italian prisoners of war were assigned there. My grandmother’s recollections of life on the land, of the impact of the war and the drought on the district, the circumstances of the Aboriginal people and the strict social codes in place in her girlhood, evoked a sometimes wonderful, sometimes terrible place, which I wanted to capture on the page. Some of the material covered in the book is confronting. For authenticity, I have been obliged to use terms which are offensive, like ‘Abos’ or ‘Aborigines’, rather than ‘the Aboriginal people’.