Teresa: A New Australian

by Abela, Deborah

  ‘Does it hurt?’

  Kristina shook her head. ‘Not really.’

  Teresa could tell it was a lie, which made her even more determined to carry out her plan. She slipped her writing book from under her pillow. ‘We have to be quiet,’ she warned. ‘If we’re caught awake after lights out we’ll be in big trouble.’

  ‘What is ungrateful?’ Kristina asked.

  Teresa thought how best to explain it. ‘Sister Mida thinks we don’t say thank you enough for being in Australia.’

  ‘I do say thank you!’ Kristina objected. ‘In Poland, I live in camp. Was cold and no food and guards with sticks beat us …’ She tried not to cry. ‘Is good in Australia. Better than Poland. I do say thank you but English very hard.’

  ‘That’s why we’re here,’ Teresa smiled. ‘Anna and I are going to be your English teachers, so that Sister Mida will never call us ungrateful again.’

  Dear Nanna,

  We’ve just been given the results of our English test and I came first in the class. I am so excited! I wrote a story called ‘Underground War’ about the time we spent in the shelters. Sister Felicity, the deputy headmaster, said it was outstanding. I received a certificate for best student of the week. I think you would have been proud.

  Mama and Papa came to visit on the weekend and they took Anna and me on a picnic. There is a river nearby and we went swimming. It was perfect! Papa looked very tired and we tried not to make too much noise while he slept under a tree but we couldn’t resist jumping on him when it was time to eat.

  They say the house is going well. They have made friends with an Italian builder and his brothers who are helping them and Papa is very happy with how fast the house is being built.

  Our Secret Night Lessons are going well. We meet after lights out. We even sneak food from the kitchen sometimes and have midnight feasts. Anna and I have been teaching everyone words, like ‘impressive’ and ‘generous’ and ‘extraordinary’. The nuns are shocked when one of us uses them. It’s fun to watch.

  I’ve also learnt some new Australian words. ‘Chunder’ is when you are sick, an ‘ankle biter’ is a child, and if someone is ‘aggro’ it means they’re angry, which is how Angelo Moretti is most of the time.

  But don’t worry, I stay away from him.

  I miss you and love you and keep you in my prayers every night.

  Lots of hugs,

  Teresa xox

  Teresa never mentioned the other new Australian words she had heard. Most were yelled at them on their way to school by the local children.

  Words like wog and reffo and garlic muncher. They were the most confusing words of all. What did garlic have to do with what a person was like inside?

  They were words that hurt and were said with spiteful looks and mean laughter. Nanna would only worry if she knew this, so Teresa never said a thing.

  ‘Lovely diction, Emily,’ Sister Mida said. ‘Your pronunciation is a joy to listen to.’

  The young English girl blushed and made her way back to her seat while Sister Mida checked the list of students still to be assessed.

  ‘Who is next? Oh,’ she sighed, ‘Kristina.’ She peeked over the rim of her glasses. ‘It’ll be a waste of time, but let’s get this over with.’

  Kristina clutched her book and didn’t move. For a moment Teresa thought she might not get up.

  ‘Don’t keep us all waiting,’ Sister Mida said.

  Teresa caught Kristina’s eye and gave her a small nod. The younger girl got to her feet and took slow, quiet steps to the front of the class. She passed Sister Mida, who didn’t even bother looking up. She was writing in her book, as if she’d already made up her mind about Kristina’s grade.

  ‘Get on with it, child.’ Sister Mida kept writing.

  Kristina opened her book and briefly looked up, catching the encouraging smiles of Anna and Teresa. She took a deep breath and began.

  ‘Hard by a great forest dwelt a poor woodcutter with his wife and two children. The boy was called Hansel and the girl, Gretel. He had –’

  ‘What’s that, child?’ Sister Mida interrupted.

  ‘It’s Hansel and Gretel, Sister, about two small children who live with a mean –’

  ‘I know what the story is about,’ she snapped. ‘What I don’t know is how –’

  ‘How what, Sister?’

  ‘How –’ Sister Mida spluttered. ‘Ah, nothing.’ She flicked her hand. ‘Continue.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister.’ Kristina sneaked a smile at Anna and Teresa. She stood a little taller and held her book a little higher and read on in a clear voice with almost perfect English pronunciation.

  ‘Papa!’

  Teresa raced across the yard and threw herself at her father. It had been weeks since she’d seen her parents, and even though she knew it was against the rules to run on convent grounds, the moment she saw him get out of the taxi, she couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Whoa, you’re getting strong!’ Papa said. ‘You nearly knocked me over. What’s she been eating, Anna?’

  ‘The usual, Mr Fontana. Potatoes and overcooked stew.’

  He looked carefully at his daughter. ‘And you’re growing – you’ll be taller than me soon.’

  Mama hugged the girls. ‘You both look so well.’

  ‘Why are you all dressed up?’ Teresa looked at Papa with his white shirt and tie and his shiny hair that had been Brylcreemed so all his curls were combed flat. ‘We’re still going to the river, aren’t we?’

  ‘Of course we are.’ He held out his arms. ‘Can’t I look special for my girl?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s a little overdressed for a picnic.’

  ‘I spend my days in overalls and I wanted to wear something nice for a change.’ He tried to stifle a yawn.

  ‘Are you working too much?’

  ‘It’s worth it. The house is starting to look good. There’s still a lot to do, but it won’t be long now before we can be together again.’

  Teresa noticed Anna’s smile falter, so she said quickly, ‘Can we start our picnic now?’

  ‘Soon.’ Her mama fixed her hat. ‘We need to have a quick chat with the nuns first.’

  ‘What about?’

  Mama kissed her on the cheek. ‘To make sure you’re being looked after, that’s all. We won’t be long.’

  As they walked along the gravel path, Papa held Mama’s hand.

  ‘They’re very sweet, your parents.’

  ‘They’ve always been like that. My nanna used to say that even after years of marriage they were like newlyweds.’

  Anna watched as they disappeared into the building. ‘It won’t be the same without you here,’ she whispered.

  Teresa couldn’t answer. It was the one thing she’d been dreading ever since she’d met Anna again in the dorm on her first day at St Patrick’s. She reached across and held her friend’s hand. It was all she could do to stop herself from crying.

  ‘Watch it!’

  Angelo Moretti had been in a particularly bad mood all day, when another boy accidentally bumped into him.

  ‘You not see me?’

  The younger boy muttered sorry and hurried away.

  Anna and Teresa were waiting in line for their turn at skipping.

  ‘He’s so angry all the time,’ Teresa said. ‘Why does he have to be mean to everyone?’

  He was itching for a fight, Teresa could sense it. They’d seen him in this mood before and it never ended well. He clenched his fists, and his eyes searched the playground like a skinny dog that hadn’t eaten in weeks.

  ‘Uh oh.’ Anna looked away. ‘He saw us staring and now he’s coming this way.’

  Angelo stood beside them, a sneer spread across his face as he watched them play.

  ‘Stupid game.’

  When he was like this, it was best not to say anything.

  ‘You think you so good.’

  This was directed at Teresa. She bit her lip and stayed quiet.

  ‘You think you better than every per
son.’

  It bothered Angelo that she wasn’t reacting, so he tried something else.

  ‘Italians better than Maltese.’

  Teresa spun round. ‘The Italians bombed us like the Germans when we did nothing to them.’

  Angelo shrugged. ‘Was war.’

  ‘And we beat you.’

  ‘Because British save you.’

  Some of the children stopped their games to stare.

  Anna tugged at Teresa’s sleeve. ‘He’s only trying to upset you.’

  ‘The Maltese people fought hard.’

  ‘Is easy to be brave when you hide behind British.’

  ‘We didn’t hide,’ Teresa cried. ‘Our men fought bravely for three years.’

  Angelo laughed. ‘Without British, your soldiers nothing.’

  Teresa’s skin burned with anger. ‘My papa was one of those soldiers.’

  ‘Your papa,’ he said, ‘is nothing.’

  Angelo spat on the ground.

  ‘You take that back!’ Teresa shouted.

  ‘Teresa,’ Anna warned, ‘he’s not worth it.’

  The other children moved closer. Surrounding them on all sides.

  Angelo smiled, enjoying having the attention of the whole playground.

  ‘He nothing, your papa.’

  ‘My papa is a hero.’

  Angelo laughed. ‘No hero, coward. He –’

  Teresa threw herself at Angelo, driving her fists into his shoulders with so much force he fell to the ground. She sat on his chest and pinned his arms to the hot concrete.

  ‘Take it back!’

  ‘No!’

  There were cries and shouts and children jostling to get a better view.

  ‘Get him!’

  ‘Go, Teresa!’

  ‘My papa isn’t a coward,’ she hissed. ‘He is one of the bravest people in the world.’

  Through the legs of the other children, Angelo saw the black shoes of a nun marching towards them. ‘Get off me! Ouch! You hurt me.’

  Teresa pushed against his arms even harder. ‘Not until you take it back.’

  ‘What’s going on there?’ Sister Felicity jostled her way through the pack of children. ‘Teresa! Let go of that boy this instant.’

  She held on tight. ‘But he said my papa –’

  ‘Get off that boy, now!’

  Teresa held on for a few more seconds before reluctantly climbing off him.

  Angelo sat up. ‘She fight. I do nothing.’ He rubbed his head. ‘Is bleeding!’

  Sister Felicity searched through his thick curls. ‘There’s no blood, thankfully. Go to the kitchen to have those scratched elbows cleaned up. Teresa, you come with me.’

  ‘Sister Felicity,’ Anna cried, ‘can I come too? I can help explain what –’

  ‘Just Teresa.’

  She spun round to face the crowd of children, who scrambled aside to let her through.

  Teresa gave Anna a grateful shrug before she followed. She knew she was in big trouble and that she’d be marched straight to Sister Pauline, but she also knew that Angelo had it coming. He’d been so cruel to so many children, it felt good to finally let him have it.

  But instead of heading to the office, Sister Felicity turned towards a bench in the garden. ‘Sit with me.’

  It was only now Teresa saw the look of disappointment on her face and wished she was being yelled at by Sister Pauline instead.

  ‘You can never behave that way again.’

  ‘But he said –’

  ‘– something that was not only awful but untrue. Am I right?’

  Teresa nodded. ‘He does it to everyone, that’s why I had to –’

  Sister Felicity held up her hand. ‘You need to do your best to resist the urge to act like a ruffian.’

  ‘But Angelo –’

  ‘– can be a real pain.’

  Teresa was startled. ‘Sorry, Sister?’

  ‘There’s no need to look so surprised. We all know it. He might even be the most annoying child I have ever met.’ She sighed. ‘Don’t tell him I said that. I know I should love all God’s children equally, but Angelo makes it very difficult.’

  Teresa was confused. ‘So you’re on my side?’

  ‘If we keep taking sides and fight everyone who offends us, then we’ve learnt nothing from the war.’

  Teresa scowled. What did the war have to do with Angelo? And if Sister Felicity agreed that he was a pain, then surely it was right that she’d defended her papa?

  ‘Every child in this convent is carrying something of the war with them. You’ve all suffered losses and are dealing with them in your own way. Angelo is no different.’

  ‘Yes he is, he’s a bully and he –’

  Teresa was about to say more, but the look on Sister Felicity’s face made her reconsider.

  ‘What happened to Angelo in the war has made him angry, but it’s up to each of us, when faced with aggression, to find a better way to act. Otherwise wars continue, people get hurt and nothing changes. Do you understand?’

  Teresa nodded.

  The bell rang for class. ‘Can I go now, Sister?’

  ‘Not yet. I walked past your dorm last night after lights out.’

  Teresa’s skin tingled all over. ‘You did?’

  ‘And imagine my surprise when I heard voices. One of them sounded a lot like yours.’ She frowned. ‘Which makes two rules you’ve broken in less than a day.’

  ‘I know, Sister, but that’s different. I was only –’

  ‘– teaching English to the other students,’ Sister Felicity finished for her.

  ‘Sister Mida called them lazy and ungrateful when they’re not,’ Teresa explained. ‘They just need time and practice and they’re learning really fast.’

  Sister Felicity stood, adjusted her veil, and smiled. ‘Now that is a much better way to win a war.’

  It was still dark outside when the lights in the dormitory flickered on.

  Teresa held her hand against the sudden glare. ‘What’s going on?’

  Kristina sprang upright. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘We’re not sure,’ Anna said.

  The corridor filled with frantic steps.

  ‘Wake up, children!’

  Sister Pauline marched into their dorm and stood at the head of the room. Something must be very wrong.

  Sister Pauline never came anywhere near the dormitories.

  ‘Children, I have something to tell you and I want your full attention.’

  Those who were lying down quickly sat up. Even though Sister Pauline spoke softly, Teresa was reminded of those tense moments just before the bombs fell on Malta.

  ‘Bishop Francis has made time in his busy schedule to visit us this afternoon, which is a tremendous privilege and we need to prepare. The sisters will give you instructions on what’s to be done and I expect you to do exactly as you are told.’ She paused and scanned the room. ‘And to show His Excellency your best behaviour.’

  Teresa felt the implied threat hang in the air as Sister Pauline charged from the room.

  Orders flew around the convent immediately. Beds were made, floors swept and scrubbed, windows and banisters polished until the entire building sparkled.

  The children were ordered into the showers and the nuns inspected each one to make sure they’d washed their hair and scrubbed the dirt from their nails and behind their ears.

  If they weren’t clean enough, Sister Mida took particular delight in sending them back, long after the hot water had run out. ‘We can’t have you looking like wild children in front of the bishop.’

  They were being drilled in the proper way to address him, practising curtsying and bowing and kissing his hand, when someone cried, ‘He’s here!’

  The children were lined up beside their beds, ribbons tied, shoes polished, dresses and shirts immaculately pressed.

  Soon they could hear Sister Pauline’s words flitting like butterflies in the corridor. They’d never heard her like this before, giggling and si
ghing like a nervous schoolgirl.

  ‘And this is the girls’ dormitory.’

  Teresa stole a quick look and saw the bishop enter with the stride of a king. He was a tall man, dressed in black flowing robes. His hair was swirled with grey and his smile seemed to have been plastered on in a way that didn’t quite fit.

  He nodded at the children, took a brief look around the room and asked, ‘Is there tea? I’m parched.’

  Sister Pauline’s hands flew into the air. ‘Most certainly, Your Excellency. I’ve had a special afternoon tea prepared in your honour.’

  She almost bowed and let the bishop lead the way, while Sister Mida stayed behind to issue a stern warning. ‘Do not move or make a sound.’

  There was a brief confused silence.

  ‘Is that it?’ Anna asked. ‘All that scrubbing and preparing for that?’

  For what felt like hours, they sat in their room, talking in quiet whispers until it was finally announced the bishop was about to leave.

  The children were quickly shuffled downstairs into the yard, where they were arranged into a guard of honour. A driver in a suit and gloves waited at attention beside a sleek, black car. They stood in the hot sun while the bishop shook each of the nuns’ hands and they in turn curtsyed. He strode past the children, lifting his hand in a single wave before stepping into the car and being driven away.

  ‘Do you think we’ll get to eat now?’ Anna asked.

  ‘I hope so,’ Teresa said. ‘I’m finding it hard to hear anything over my rumbling stomach.’

  Sister Pauline waved the bishop off until his car had left the grounds. It was then she slowly turned to them, her face a seething mask of fury.

  ‘Who did it?’

  The only sound was the sharp hum of cicadas.

  Sister Pauline waited before repeating with more insistence, ‘Who did it?’

  ‘What’s she talking about?’ Anna whispered.

  Teresa shrugged. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Who stole the cake from Bishop Francis’ afternoon tea?’

  There was a general swapping of fearful looks.

  Cakes were for impressing parents and visiting dignitaries. They were for nuns to eat after a sumptuous meal.