‘What did he say?’
‘After a lot of excuses that he could see I didn’t accept, he finally admitted that the company hadn’t yet reached that stage and it would be some time before a plant was ready. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and stared at him in astonishment. I asked him how long it would be until the job I had accepted was available, but he couldn’t tell me.’
‘What do you mean?’
He sighed. ‘It all felt wrong, and then the penny dropped. Everything I’d been told was a lie. The company’s engaged in industrial espionage, I’m sure of it. I understand now why there’s always been such a big turnover of engineers. Nobody stays when they realise what’s going on.’
‘God in heaven! How can something like this happen? What did you do?’
‘I told him what I thought of his company and quit. He went red and then white as a sheet and didn’t know what to say. I’m disgusted they’re using vulnerable migrants to carry out such criminal activities.’ Erich sat back and smiled grimly. ‘Perhaps the other engineers just left without telling him what they thought. I’m sick of being taken advantage of and it’s disgraceful what he’s doing to desperate people.’
A surge of pride mingled with a stab of fear. This was the man I loved standing up for injustice, but I knew from experience how dangerous it could be to tell people with power what you really thought.
‘Will you go to the police?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t want any trouble. Besides, the boss could try to turn it around on me and say that I didn’t understand what I was supposed to do. I’ll just tell everyone I know to be wary of job advertisements in German newspapers. If they seem too good to be true, they probably are.’
‘So now you’re without a job.’ I wiped my clammy hands on my skirt.
‘I’m so sorry, Lotte. I just couldn’t stay there. It wasn’t the right thing to do.’
‘I know. I don’t blame you, but . . .’ I debated whether this was the right time to tell him my news. It was never going to be the right time, I decided. It had to be now, like ripping off an adhesive plaster. ‘I have some news of my own.’
‘What is it, my liebchen?’
I took a deep breath and stared into the concerned green eyes. ‘I lost my job today. The textile factory is putting people off because they don’t have enough work.’
‘You lost your job.’
‘Yes.’
‘So we’re both out of work now.’
I nodded. Erich stared at me.
‘We couldn’t have planned this if we’d tried, you know,’ he said. The edges of his mouth turned up and began to quiver before he broke out into helpless laughter.
I stared for a moment, taken aback by his reaction, but I understood it. If we didn’t laugh, we’d cry. I began to laugh too and it felt good to release the day’s worries.
‘What a day we’ve both had,’ he wheezed as the laughter fizzled away. Then he looked serious as the reality set in. ‘We’re back to square one.’
On the boat journey, Australia had been an unknown quantity, full of possibilities, and my imagination had run wild with all that we could achieve. Erich had been so happy and we had been so full of hope. I had to hold on to that feeling now.
*
Thank God for Franz. The company he worked for was looking for someone to cut and plane the timber for the doors they made. Through him, Erich was lucky enough to get the job and was working again within the week. We were so grateful for the wages coming in, but I was worried about Erich when I noticed open sores on his shoulders after the first few days. He tried to brush them off as nothing but, when I insisted, he finally explained his job to me. He had to unload the timber from the truck, each board six metres long and weighing fifty kilograms, cut it on the circular saw, plane it and dress the timber. I knew that it was manual work but never realised how demanding and taxing it really was. Yet he’d never complained about it.
Over coffee one evening at the end of the week, Franz and Erich tried to explain the work hierarchy they had witnessed to Claudia and me.
‘Australia needs migrants to do its manual labour and unskilled work. They don’t have enough people to do this kind of work now that the manufacturing industries are booming. There’s no such thing as employment contracts for migrant labourers either,’ said Erich. He was so indignant he had forgotten the cigarette smouldering between his fingers. A few cigarettes were his one indulgence at the end of the working week; we couldn’t afford for him to smoke more than that. I knew how much he missed it and looked forward to Friday night coffee when he could sit and relax and have a smoke. Privately, I didn’t miss the smell on his clothes, breath and skin, even though I had become used to it when he smoked like a chimney during the war.
‘Really? No employment contracts?’ Thanks to Franz, Claudia was used to the organised, pragmatic approach to legal matters. It would never have occurred to her that Australia was any different to Germany.
We knew a little about the life she and Franz had shared in Germany. We were happy to share personal stories of family life but never discussed the war years in any detail. Nobody wanted to remember that time and we’d all come to Australia to get away from the horrors we’d seen and experienced under Hitler’s Reich.
‘It’s no different in the textiles factories where you work,’ said Erich.
Claudia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘I just assumed that the jobs Lotte and I started were the usual way to enter the workforce and once we’d proved ourselves, we would work our way up.’
Erich shook his head.
She glanced at me and I shrugged. ‘I didn’t know either until I lost my job. Erich explained that I had no recourse to complain or fight for my job. Migrants are always first to go.’
‘That’s how some of the trade unions get migrant members,’ said Erich. ‘The union reps wait at the factory gates to talk to new workers. Some unions are more inclined to help migrants, explaining their vulnerability and how easily they’re being taken advantage of and discriminated against.’
After what had happened with the engineering job, I knew that Erich had considered union membership as a way to be heard. He’d become quite passionate recently about finding the best way to protect the rights of workers arriving in Australia.
‘At least they employ us Germans,’ said Franz bitterly. ‘As far as the management is concerned, we’re good workers and anti-communist. After all, everyone knows Hitler was fighting the communists. We won’t cause trouble, striking and demanding better conditions and pay, like the supposed communists in the unions and industrial groups.’
‘I can’t believe that belonging to a union brands you as a communist,’ said Claudia. ‘Let the Hungarian refugees talk about real communism. They understand what it’s about.’
‘Reds under the bed,’ I murmured. ‘It’s insane. If Australians really knew what communism was, they’d see they’re under no threat here.’ The stories Erich had heard about life under Stalin in the Soviet Union from the Russian soldiers he befriended during the war still made my blood run cold.
‘Blame the Petrov Affair in Canberra a few years ago,’ said Franz, ‘and now the war in Korea. Anyone spouting socialist ideas is branded a communist and a threat to democratic and civilised society. Not only that but we’d also be branded Nazis.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ spat Claudia. ‘How can you be a communist and a Nazi?’
Franz shrugged. ‘But it’s not worth the risk for us. I’ll have to wait and fight injustice as a lawyer once I’ve finished my studies.’
‘It doesn’t matter that some of us are so much more qualified or experienced than the Australians, our papers and work history seem to make no difference – all the higher positions, the managers and bosses, are Australian or English,’ said Erich. He clearly didn’t want to discuss communism and I wondered how close he was to joining the union.
‘That’s right,’ said Franz. ‘Educated m
en like us suffer the most. There’s no way we can rise to a higher position, it just isn’t possible.’ He cocked his blond head to the side, frowning slightly. ‘No, that’s not exactly true. There are exceptions. Migrants who have risen to elevated positions have been here for some years and are naturalised . . . Australian citizens.’
‘All I know is that Australian craftsmen and builders must be good: we’ve decided to rent for a while before we can afford to build a house because the labour costs are outrageous!’ Claudia rolled her eyes.
‘Maybe Erich and I should go into the building business,’ said Franz, grinning. ‘He’s a master with timber even though he hasn’t got any trade qualifications.’ He slapped Erich on the back. ‘We have to be smart about it, understand how the system works here and make the most of it. We’ll be successful just to spite them all!’
Not long after, I found casual work on factory processing lines, standing for long hours, performing mindless and repetitive tasks: checking, filling or capping soft drink bottles or packaging soap into boxes. I hated it. I wasn’t there long enough each week to make friends, maybe one or two days at each plant, and the permanent workers kept mostly to themselves. The factories were always the same: poor natural light with the windows high up in the factory walls, cold as the season turned towards winter, the floors hard concrete and the work relentless. But I couldn’t complain – at least it was money coming in. I realised that I’d been reduced to being grateful for any kind of work like the woman I’d spoken to on my first day at the textiles factory, but I’d be damned if I was going to do this forever. Things would turn around for us soon, I told myself. It was the only way I could bring myself to return to the factory each day.
*
In the dead of winter our crates finally arrived. It was just like Christmas. The girls hopped from one foot to the other waiting for Erich to pry the lids off the boxes.
‘Come on, Vati,’ said Greta impatiently. ‘You’re doing it too slowly.’
‘Am I?’ asked Erich innocently, a twinkle in his eye. ‘I’m going as fast as I can but these lids are shut so tight, I don’t know if I can open them.’
I was just as excited as the children. I mostly remembered what we had packed but that was over nine months ago now and I was sure I would find as many surprises as the girls.
‘Put them out of their misery,’ I said.
Erich looked at me. ‘In some kind of hurry, are you?’
‘No,’ I said, my fingers itching to rip the lids off the crates.
Johanna pulled on her father’s shirt sleeve. ‘Vati, I’m going to burst with excitement if you make us wait much longer.’
‘Well, I don’t think Mutti would like to clean up the mess after that. I’d better put some more muscle into it then. Can you girls help me?’
Greta and Johanna were by his side in an instant, helping to lift the lid of the first crate.
‘Well, I think the honour of discovering what’s under all this padding goes to Mutti,’ Erich said. ‘Move aside, girls, and let your mother through.’
In the silence that followed, I removed the padding from the top of the crate and reached in to remove the first treasure, wrapped in paper. I realised it was part of my dinner set, the one Mutti had given us before we left Germany. I carefully placed the package on the small table.
‘What are all these stickers on the side of the box?’ asked Greta, always the curious and observant one.
Erich looked to where she was pointing then glanced at me, his face clouded in concern.
‘What is it?’ The package was forgotten as my stomach clenched in apprehension.
‘The crates have been opened by customs. I hope everything’s all right.’
Dread swirled in my belly. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Willing my hands not to tremble, I began to unwrap the first parcel. ‘It’s broken!’ My voice caught as my shaking fingers pulled the wrapping away. ‘My beautiful crockery, it’s smashed.’
Just like that, our joyful and excited mood was gone.
‘This isn’t how we packed everything,’ I said as I looked into the crate. ‘It’s all been pulled out and put back in but with no care to how it would travel.’ White hot anger surged through me.
Then Erich’s hand was on my shoulder, ready to soothe me. ‘It might be only one package. We’ll have to unpack it all now to make sure the rest is undamaged.’
I shook my head. There was no way the dinnerware would be unbroken. ‘But you wanted to rest. You’ve had such a busy week.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ He reached into the crate and pulled out another package.
I kissed him on the cheek. ‘Come on, then,’ I said to the children. ‘We all have to help if we’re going to get anything else done today.’ I handed a parcel to Greta. ‘Here, unwrap it carefully.’
But we soon sent the girls outside to play after they began crying when we discovered some of their toys had been broken.
After everything was unpacked, Erich and I stared at each other.
‘I can’t believe it.’ Precious things that could have helped us enormously in our new life were no good now. Most of my china was smashed and the sewing machine that I’d hoped to use to make us clothes and curtains was ruined. Many of the household items we’d worked so hard to save for in Germany like the radio and gramophone were dented and some were simply destroyed.
Each package brought back memories of our life in Germany, reminding me of what we had been through and what we had sacrificed to be here. My parents were on the other side of the world and I missed them terribly.
‘Even your technical tools and measuring instruments are gone,’ I whispered, not daring to look at him. They were Erich’s livelihood.
‘We’ll manage.’
‘We always do,’ I said flatly.
If only we could return home, but we had no money to go back and no way of repaying the fare that brought us here to begin with. I blinked away my tears, determined not to show Erich how upset I was. Somehow I had to come to terms with the fact that our life was here, at least for the next couple of years.
4
We discovered we weren’t the only ones who had suffered such destruction and loss. Many of the immigrants in the camp shook their heads when Erich and I shared our experience but their sympathy didn’t help my state of mind. Everything had changed. I couldn’t see a way of staying. All the disappointments we’d endured spooled over in my mind like a movie.
‘We can’t keep doing this,’ I whispered to Erich as we lay in our beds. ‘We’ll be worn out before we can enjoy the results of our hard work.’ Neither of us could sleep although we were exhausted.
‘I know. I’ve been thinking the same thing . . .’ The stiff sheets rustled as he turned towards me. ‘We have to find you a job in photography. At least you’ll be doing something you love and I’d imagine the hours and money will be better too.’
‘Who’s going to employ me? I haven’t worked in the industry since my training,’ I said a little bitterly.
‘You don’t know that. We’ll start looking in the newspapers. There’s bound to be something. I want to find something with more pay too. The sooner we get out of this hostel, the better. I’ve been thinking and looking at our options.’ Erich paused and even in the gloom I could see the indecision and apprehension crossing his face. Perhaps he’d come to the same conclusion as me. I slid out of my bed and into his, settling against him with a sigh of pleasure.
‘Tell me,’ I said hopefully.
He took my hand and held it against his chest. ‘We have to make some plans, otherwise the despair we’re feeling will drag us down.’
‘Nothing’s worked out for us,’ I said. ‘Receiving the crates was the last straw for me. It’s time to talk about going home.’
‘Home? Isn’t this home?’
‘This is not home,’ I hissed, anger flaring in me. ‘I mean Germany. I want to go back to Germany.’
‘We can’t go back. You know that.
’
‘Yes, I know, we’re committed for two years, but we can go after that.’
‘Whatever for? We’ll be out of here then, renting and saving to buy our own house, something we’d never be able to manage in Germany. I want the girls to grow up in a place that’s our own, with plenty of space to run around. Isn’t that what you wanted?’
I stared at him silently.
He tried again. ‘We have just as much chance, if not more, of making it here as back in Germany.’
I pulled away from him, unable to believe what I was hearing. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘I hope not.’ Erich shrugged but the wariness in his eyes and the set of his jaw told me he’d known what my reaction would be.
I sat up, furious. ‘It’s hopeless! This is never going to work. Nobody wants us here. We may as well jump into the ocean and try to swim back to Germany. It’ll be a quicker death, because staying here is going to kill us slowly.’ I knew I shouldn’t say it, I knew that Erich felt the full brunt of our failures here in Australia, but his plans to stay were too much and I couldn’t hold my feelings in any longer.
He looked at me for a second and then he embraced me. ‘We can’t let this get us down, liebchen. We’re better than this. If nobody wants to help us, then we have to help ourselves. It’s the only way we can get through this and get ahead. We’re both strong and resourceful and we will find a way.’
‘After everything that’s happened, I don’t want to hear you say that.’ I pushed him away. ‘We were promised so much more. We can’t even get decent jobs, let alone work we want to do. How will you ever be able to manage to go back to university at this rate? And I’ll never have that photography studio, will I?’ I slapped the mattress in exasperation. ‘Look at us! We’re no better off. All the broken promises, the broken dreams. We’re working our fingers to the bone in those awful factories, we never see each other or the children, and at this rate we’ll never be able to afford to have any more children. And you want us to stay? Have I got that right?’
Suitcase of Dreams Page 4