by JH Fletcher
Maybe I should leave it all to Kath, let her sort it out. But knew he would never do that. Owning land and disposing of it were two sides of the same coin. He alone must decide what had to be done. But not until he had to; keep them all guessing, that was power.
But he knew he would have to do it soon. Whatever he might tell the rest of the world, he sensed the approach of the dark. Darkness signifying day’s end, life’s end. With the darkness came memories. All of them were connected with the land — land to prove his existence, which otherwise he might have doubted.
Most of the blokes who had died in the camp had nothing to keep them alive. I was different, because I had the land. Okamura saw that; used it on me, too, the bastard. That time when beriberi nearly got me and that priest pinched the vitamin tablets that kept me alive …
In the shadows the faces waited. Their voices breathed the words that had echoed in his life ever since. He had fought to quieten them; for years had succeeded but not, it seemed, forever. One voice in particular had accompanied him on the return journey from Thailand to Singapore, slept beside him on the Rokyu Maru, withheld his hand from the dying soldier after the ship sank. Now, once again, it sidled insidiously into his brain.
Okamura smiled at Hedley, whose recovery might have been miraculous, had he believed in miracles. ‘I am glad to see you so much better …’
Hedley, guarding tongue and eyes, saying nothing with either.
Okamura smiled genially, tapping his calf with his leather-covered cane. He was prepared to devote as much time to the interrogation as was needed. ‘I envy you, coming from such a beautiful place. The ranges, the soil … Oh yes, most beautiful.’ He watched as Hedley tasted the memories that his words had awoken. ‘I hope most sincerely that you will be able to return there safely, once this stupid war is over.’
‘Yes.’
‘You have a wife, I believe. A son?’
‘Yes.’
‘Whom you have never seen?’
Hedley was fighting now, determined to keep any hint of desperation from his voice. ‘Right.’
‘This stupid war. A son is something every man can be proud of,’ Okamura suggested, eyes watchful. Perhaps he read something behind Hedley’s blank expression. ‘Although the land has a prior claim, perhaps. Is that not so?’
‘Could be …’ Yes, Hedley thought, but would not commit himself so far to this man who, like all the enemy, was not to be trusted.
‘Where did you get the tablets, Mr Warren?’ The inflexion of Okamura’s voice was as benign as ever, his expression unchanging.
Hedley had known the axe was hanging over him yet still the shock was traumatic. ‘Dunno what you’re on about.’
‘People do not recover miraculously from beriberi, Mr Warren. Beriberi is a vitamin deficiency. The only cure is vitamin B.’
Hedley neither spoke nor moved nor drew breath. The distant ranges, the paddocks of wheat and barley, mocked most painfully. Silence spread its butterfly wings gently about him.
‘Do not misunderstand me,’ Okamura said. ‘I do not ask you to give me the name of the man who stole the tablets for you. You have your military duty. I understand that. But I, too, have a military duty that I must carry out. Tonight, there will be roll call, as always. When the name of the man is called out, I want you to cough. That is all.’
Once again he smiled, and walked away. The leather-covered cane slashed the grass.
Hedley thought, I will not do it.
The sun’s heat lay upon him. The decision that Okamura demanded lay upon him. If I do not do it, I am dead.
Survival is not everything. I have to live with myself, afterwards. With my memories. How can I, if I do such a thing?
A cough.
Anyone can cough.
Father Mike saved my life. I will not let them kill him for helping me. But, if I do not, what was the point of doing what he did? He knew the risks. He would not wish me to die, after he had done such a thing.
I will not do it.
Anyone can cough.
The ranges beckoned through a tracery of fresh leaves. The scent of dust and heat filled his nostrils. Beyond the trees the wheat swayed, golden in the breeze. While all about him, reality was the faecal stench of the living and the dead, a life that could be blotted out in an instant to join the avenues of the dead. From which no fresh leaves would rise.
Anyone can cough.
He recoiled in horror from temptation’s voice. How do I live with myself, if I do it? How shall I forget?
32
DANIELLE
1999
Danielle hated lunch parties at the best of times, had attended this one only so that she could keep tabs on what was going on. As she had expected, it had been a complete waste of time.
She got away as soon as the table was cleared. Said she had work to do but, in fact, went back to her cottage to think. Perhaps it hadn’t been an absolute loss, she thought. Seeing the others had at least reminded her what she was up against. The faces of the opposition: my own sister and brothers, but that’s what they are. The relationship meant nothing; she had not a thing in common with any of them.
Danielle had a friend who hung pictures of herself on a board in her bedroom. Herself with mates, taken at parties, at footy matches, on outings to Adelaide. Strutting her stuff on the bar in front of a bikie mob. Not too many secrets left, after you’d had an eyeful of that one. There were days when Danielle would have given her eye-teeth to have photographs of herself like that, to have the courage to display them if she did. She had never dared; Grandpa would be fuming if he got wind of it, and that could be serious.
She’d had to make do with the real thing, instead.
From the age of twelve, Danielle had always been one for the boys, hadn’t been much older than that when she’d started to experiment, had gone all the way with Darren Clifton when she was just fourteen. It had been exciting because it was forbidden, but that was all — Darren had been as much use as a limp lettuce leaf.
Not that she’d known it at the time but, two years later, Luther Giles had shown her how. Luther: hell of a name for a stud. Told her his Grandad had been a minister or something, way back. Luther had led her a dance and no error. At twenty-one, he had been five years older than Danielle, a hunk who’d had a trial for Port Adelaide. He’d never made it, but had the muscles, to say nothing of the other gear. They’d been knocking around for eighteen months when she discovered that she wasn’t the only chick in Luther’s life. Even at that age, she had never seen the percentage in going with a bloke who shared it around the town, so she dumped him. For two years she’d played the field, and then, when she was twenty-two, had taken up with Cedric Culpepper.
Cedric was the nephew of an accountant in Clare. A prissy number by all accounts, the sort of bloke gets excited filling out forms, and Cedric had taken after him. Had money, though, and didn’t mind spending it. Showed her a good time, always game for tickets for a concert whenever the overseas stars came to Adelaide. She’d got to see Madonna that way, although she’d had to work on him for that; Cedric’s taste ran to Neil Diamond. To keep him sweet she had gone with him to that one, too; had sat in a crowd that must’ve been fifty years old, the lot of them. Real oldies; but Cedric Culpepper had been born old. It showed in other ways; after her time with Luther, Danielle knew when she was missing out. Just as well she was seeing Hugo Welke as well although, for the present, she took care that Cedric didn’t know about that.
What was a girl to do? Lively blokes like Luther never had a bean and never would, but with Cedric she might as well put in for the pension right off and be done with it.
There was only one way she would be able to run her life the way she wanted. She had to have cash, and that meant Grandpa’s land. She wanted it for other reasons, too. Quite simply, she loved farming. It made her feel great to manage the stock, see the crops grow, handle the machinery better than most men but, above all, it was the land itself that turned her on. The land an
d the knowledge that she would never be complete without it.
Unfortunately, wanting and getting were two different things.
‘She’s a farmer to her bootstraps…’ Grandpa had said once, when he’d thought she couldn’t hear. From him, it had been the ultimate compliment, but she had known he would never leave the farm to her because she was a woman, and Michael had wanted it as well.
He wasn’t half the farmer she was, but he was the oldest, he was a man and, in the traditions of the countryside, he was certain to cop the lot. The injustice made Danielle boil, but Grandpa wasn’t the sort to break with tradition, except when it suited him.
She had always known that Rebecca was likely to be a problem, too. Rebecca wasn’t interested in the farm as such, but she certainly loved money and would want her cut when Grandpa died. Would take them all to court, if she had to. She’d made that clear enough and, married to a tame lawyer, she could afford it. How to pay her off without selling land? Danielle didn’t know. I’ll have to find a rich farmer, she told herself. But it was this land she wanted, not someone else’s. As for marrying a rich farmer, she might as well be in jail. Danielle wanted her freedom, too, and with a husband holding the purse strings, there would be blow-all chance of that.
It all looked pretty hopeless. Then two things happened, and suddenly it didn’t seem so hopeless, after all.
‘Your sister’s been to see my uncle …’
Cedric talking out of turn, as he often did, insecure about his place in Danielle’s life. He’d even asked her to marry him; she’d managed not to laugh, said they should wait a bit. Ever since, he’d been trying to impress her with what he knew. It irritated the hell out of her, but she never let on; you never knew when he might come out with something useful.
As now.
‘What’s she want to talk to him for?’
‘Can’t tell you that.’ And smiled smugly.
‘Right.’
She’d get it out of him later, when she’d worked him up a bit. Which she did that night, saying yes to this, no to that, until Cedric’s eyes were out on stalks.
‘What’s this about Rebecca?’
Rebecca was the last thing he wanted to talk about, but Danielle wasn’t going to let him off the hook.
‘Stop it …’ She slapped his hand away, gave him a bit of a kiss to make up. ‘Tell me?’
It didn’t take long. ‘She sent him a letter …’
She’d wanted to know what she could expect from her share of Grandpa’s land after he died. Whether — even better — there were any possibility of realising assets before he died, if he became incapable of running the place properly. In the interests of the family … Yeah, right.
Grandpa would go ape if he read that. It raised interesting possibilities.
Now she let Cedric do what she had previously denied him. ‘That’s nice …’
Although she knew from experience it wouldn’t come to much; no-one had told Cedric that women like to feel good, too.
‘Get me a copy of that letter?’
He was shocked. ‘I could never.’
‘Oh.’ She was good at that: a single word sounding like the South Pole. ‘Pity.’
‘My uncle would fire me.’
‘Sure.’
She went through a performance of tidying up around him: stacking chairs in a caff at closing time.
‘Get up. I want to strip the bed.’
He struggled into pants, socks, all the rest of it, right down to the long-sleeved white shirt. At least I’m spared the tie, she thought, although knew he wore one to the office. That’s the way he takes it easy; he takes off his tie.
He looked at her uncertainly. ‘When do I see you again?’
She put the bite on him. ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘Why?’
She couldn’t stand blokes who whined. ‘Because you only want one thing —’
‘That’s not true.’
‘I let you do what you want’ — coming on like an outraged virgin — ‘and you won’t lift a finger to help me.’
‘I can’t.’
Stone face, stone voice. ‘Right.’ Let her robe sag open just a second — let him see what he’s losing — before tightening the sash again, defiantly.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said.
She smiled at him then, hugged him, let him slip his hand down her front, before easing away from him again. ‘Tuesday?’ she suggested.
The next night she told Hugo about it.
‘Will he do it?’
‘Sure he’ll do it. Had to twist his arm, mind.’
‘Only his arm?’ He grinned lazily, ran his hands over her. ‘You must be slipping.’
Cedric came through, as she’d known he would. She rewarded him, as she’d known she would. Cheap at the price, she thought. She would have no trouble with Rebecca, now.
Which had left Michael. Then Michael and Grandpa had had their big bust-up, and suddenly Michael, too, was out of the running. She was in with a real chance.
The farm and then Hugo, she thought now, with me holding the purse strings. Things might work out, after all.
33
KATH
1957
Alone after the others had left, Kath was thinking. So this is what it all comes down to, after all the pain and joy and endurance and work. Four people fighting over the scraps. Unless you take care to protect yourself from such thoughts, they can almost make you wonder whether your life has served any purpose at all.
Emily said much the same thing to me once, when she came to see me at the mill. It can’t have been easy for her. I suppose I treated her almost as Rebecca would like to treat me, if she dared: like an enemy or, even worse, an irrelevance. I have often regretted that. I think, knowing what I know now, I should have been kinder to her. But who, at that age, really knows these things? And in truth she did represent a threat, although perhaps she did not know it.
It happened one morning in February, when Jeth was at work and Walter at school.
‘I was just passing,’ Emily said. ‘Thought I’d see how you’re getting on.’ Neither by word nor gesture did she show disapproval, or anything.
‘We are good,’ said Kath, giving nothing.
‘You have a nice place.’
‘We like it.’ And brought tea for her mother-in-law. Biscuits on a plate; the best china, the tray with a cloth on it. See how we live, here?
On a side table there was a framed photograph of Kath and Jeth laughing together at the beach house, sunlight on their faces. Emily examined it. ‘Do you love him?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m glad.’ But did not sound so.
‘I’m not coming back,’ Kath said. And wished she had swallowed her tongue, which suddenly seemed too big for her mouth.
‘Hedley is your husband,’ Emily said softly, yet with steel.
‘I know what he is. That’s why I left him.’ Kath’s tone was brutal; she found it hard to handle this softly-spoken woman, who had always been good to her.
‘And Walter?’
‘Walter had the choice. He could have stayed. He decided he’d sooner be with me.’
‘Hedley will never accept it. Walter is his son, too. All of us work for the future. Otherwise there’s no point.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ She replenished Emily’s cup. Neither of them had touched the biscuits; she took one now and bit into it, defiantly. ‘I have endured Hedley ever since he came back after the war. I know all there is to know about him.’
‘It was the war,’ Emily acknowledged sadly.
But Kath would have none of it. ‘Other men fought in the war. Not all behave like he does.’ But of course she could not be sure; there would be those who imagined that Hedley Warren was all right, too.
‘I know how hard it has been for you —’
‘No, I’m sorry. You do not know.’ She was frightened what power a husband might have, within the law, should he choose to exercise it;
fear made her mean. ‘Do you want me to tell you how many times he raped me?’
Emily’s generation did not discuss rape, or any physical problems; might even have believed that in such matters a husband’s rights were paramount. So she ignored Kath’s question, would not ever show the shock she felt at hearing such a word. Instead focused her attention on Walter. ‘Hedley will never let him go.’
‘Did Hedley send you?’ Which was unworthy, as she acknowledged privately as soon as the words were out. All the same, she was not willing to retract.
‘I was on my way to town, thought I’d see how you were. As I said.’
Again the steel shimmered in Emily’s voice. Her daughter-in-law may have been her friend, but Hedley was her son.
‘All I want,’ Kath said, ‘is for him to leave us alone.’
‘That he will never do.’
A blow, although in her heart Kath had known it all along. The tea was finished. She stood and, to cover her feelings, said, ‘Would you like to see round the house?’
But there were limits to how far Emily was willing to go. ‘I’m in a bit of a rush, dear. Perhaps another time.’
There would be no other times, as both of them were aware.
‘That’ll be good,’ Kath said.
She waved as Emily drove away up the twisting road and went back into the house where, after her mother-in-law’s visit, even the shadows were threatening.
She washed up, put the cups and plates and saucers in the cupboard. She bit into a second biscuit, put the rest of them away, too. She did everything mechanically, trying to subdue thought and fear, and when it was finished, was once again helpless.
He can’t do anything, she told herself. Images menaced her: of Hedley, armed with lawyers, smashing down the doors of her happiness. Stealing her son. Perhaps stealing herself; she had no idea what the courts could, or could not, do. One thing was undeniable: in the eyes of the world she, who had left her husband, was in the wrong. And Walter, although with a mind of his own, was still under age. Hedley may even accuse me of kidnap, she thought.