Suitcase of Dreams

by Tania Blanchard

  ‘Thank God you set them both straight!’

  ‘We can’t afford to eat meat now,’ Claudia continued in a low voice. ‘We have it maybe once a fortnight and then it’s only pig trotters or offal, but I don’t mind. At least I don’t have to eat lamb any more.’

  ‘You know it’s really mutton, don’t you?’ I said, trying to lighten the mood. It was so good to talk to her about our situation. She understood.

  ‘I know, but I’ve just got into the habit of calling it lamb like everyone else.’

  ‘I have to admit that I’m sick of it. It’s all they ever give us at the hostel – whether it’s roasted, boiled or stewed, it’s always so tough and chewy.’

  Claudia pulled a face. ‘At least I’m cooking what I want. It’s good to be cooking German food again. The children are happier and Franz looks forward to the evening meal now.’

  I nodded and took a sip of coffee. It was sobering to think that in some ways we might be even worse off in our own place after buying what we’d need to get started but I knew that it wouldn’t change how I felt about being out of the hostel. The benefits of home cooking and privacy outweighed everything else for me. Besides, I knew how to make do on limited rations. I’d done it for years in Germany.

  Claudia turned serious. ‘How are you coping at the hostel? I know you wear a bright face and keep optimistic for the children, but how are you dealing with your situation?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said automatically.

  ‘You’re not fine. Don’t pretend.’ Claudia knew about the fight Erich and I had and how I’d been struggling with the idea of staying.

  I slumped in my chair and sighed. ‘All I want is our own place, somewhere that feels like home to us.’

  ‘I know. It’ll come. I thought we’d never get to this point, yet here we are.’

  ‘I have to accept our situation for what it is. Crying and complaining about it won’t help. We’re both doing what we can to get out of the hostel. I can’t find full-time work but Erich’s doing as much overtime as he can.’ I had seen families fall apart under the pressure of surviving at Villawood, trying desperately to get a start, and I was determined not to let that happen to us.

  Claudia squeezed my hands in sympathy.

  ‘At least the girls are happy, although they miss Anna and Peter terribly. We’ve been trying to dress our rooms up to make them feel more like home for however long we have to be there. Erich’s made a few small things, shelves and tables for next to the beds. He hasn’t made furniture in years, but he loves doing it and they’re really quite beautiful.’

  Erich had bought offcuts of maple cheaply from the door factory. The timber was grown in northern Queensland and New Guinea and was a rich pink hue. He seemed happy when he was making furniture and I knew how much feeling he put into each item.

  ‘You’re both strong and healthy and you love each other. The rest will come.’

  I nodded. ‘I realised that we have to be united. The only way we can get through this is if we do it together. Somehow I’d forgotten that.’

  ‘It’s no wonder, after everything that’s happened. Franz and I have had our moments too, but I’ve always known that we’ll never go back to Germany. Franz made that very clear to me, even before we left. I don’t know exactly why, but he never wants to set foot in Germany again, even if it means never seeing his family.’

  A pang of sorrow shot through me. Erich’s mother and his two children from his first marriage were still in Germany, as were my parents. We had all hoped to leave the long shadows of the war behind us in Germany but I was beginning to see that sometimes the past journeyed with us no matter how far away we went or how many years had passed.

  *

  17th September, 1957

  Liebe Lotte,

  My darling girl, this is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write. Your father passed away in his sleep yesterday. As you know, it wasn’t unexpected – he’s been unwell for some time now. I can imagine how hard this news will hit you, as it has me. I can’t believe he’s gone – that I will never again see his smile, the love in his eyes for me, his calm and gentle manner. He was the love of my life and now I feel lost without him.

  I sat at the kitchen table, stunned, tears streaming down my face, the letter from my mother crumpling in my hands. I had known that Vati wouldn’t live forever, I’d seen him age suddenly and swiftly after the war, but it didn’t take away the shock of his passing. My Vati was dead, the man who had been my rock, my support, and who had always had unerring faith in me.

  Alone with my grief, I allowed great gasping sobs to erupt from me. All my bottled-up pain and disappointment burst free, a raging sea of failure and loss that threatened to consume me. The fear and confusion I felt after the divorce of my parents when I was ten years old returned to me. When Johann von Klein married my mother five years later, I left boarding school to live with them. Vati always treated me as his daughter, cherishing me as the child he’d never had.

  Now that extraordinary man was gone. I had said my goodbyes to him before we left Germany, knowing I would probably never see him again, but now the day had come, I didn’t know how I was going to live without him in my life, even on the other side of the world. Besides Erich, he was the only man who had truly understood me, the perfect counterpoint in my often volatile relationship with my mother. How was I going to manage without him?

  I looked at Mutti’s letter again, smoothing the creases flat on the table. I didn’t know if I could bear to read the rest of it, but I would try, for Vati’s sake.

  Your father and I spoke about what I would do when he was gone. I didn’t want to hear such talk but he made me listen. He knew I would struggle and made me promise him something – he wanted me to come to you in Australia, to bring his last gifts to you myself.

  I will come, if you and Erich will have me. I have nobody here now that he’s gone. He was my life.

  Vati’s last gifts? But what could he have to give me?

  I skimmed the rest of the letter and my tears dried as I realised what Mutti had written. My father’s last wish was to send my mother to us with money to help us get started here in Australia. Would we perhaps be able to buy a house? I had tried not to say too much in my letters to them, keeping the news positive, but Vati must have read between the lines. He knew me so well. My heart swelled with gratitude for this most generous last gift of Vati’s, the burden of the last months lifting from my shoulders. Even now, he was doing all he could for my family. I couldn’t believe our good fortune, but it was bittersweet. Fresh tears fell.

  I had composed myself by the time the children came home from school, although my eyes were still red-rimmed and they knew I had been crying.

  ‘Grosspapa has died,’ I told them softly, holding them close to me. ‘It’s all right to cry,’ I said, stroking their heads. ‘He knew how much you loved him.’

  Greta and Johanna knew Vati was old and had been unwell, but it was still a shock to them as it had been to me. After a little cry and hug with me, they went off to do their homework.

  I was glad that they had taken it well but I was still in shock.

  My head began to pound as I moved mechanically through the afternoon’s routine. I didn’t know how to feel. I was numbed by the loss of Vati, but hope for our future had sprung like a seedling that sprouts after the winter snows. My mother would bring this blessing to us, and although I wanted nothing more than to see her and hold her tight, I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to stay with us permanently. But I was all she had left and I felt ashamed to be so uncertain.

  ‘Look, Mutti,’ said Johanna, coming in the front door, Greta behind her. I hadn’t even realised that they’d gone outside. ‘We picked some flowers for you.’ She thrust the flowers in front of my face. ‘We know you’re feeling sad and we wanted to cheer you up.’

  My heart filled with joy for my thoughtful, gorgeous children. They made everything worthwhile.

  ‘That’s lovely of you, sweethea
rt.’ I took the flowers and sniffed them. Johanna’s eyes gleamed and Greta smiled with satisfaction. ‘They’re beautiful and smell wonderful. Come here and give me a hug.’

  Encircled by love, I let my tears fall, weeping again for the man we’d all adored.

  *

  After dinner that evening, when the girls were in bed, Erich and I sat at the table sipping coffee. I showed him the letter. I watched the sadness in his face become a frown as he continued to read. My mother wasn’t his favourite person.

  ‘I’m so sorry, my liebchen,’ he said eventually, grasping my hand across the table. ‘I know how much your father meant to you. He was a good man and he’ll be sorely missed. I’m sorry that you weren’t there when he passed.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I whispered. ‘We said everything we needed and wanted to say to each other before I left. He knew how I felt about him and I knew how he felt about me. We knew it was likely we would never see each other again. He understood why we had to come to Australia.’ I started to sob. ‘I miss the sound of his voice, the smell of tobacco on his coat . . . I miss him so much.’

  Erich held me tightly, our coffee forgotten on the table, but there was a hole in my heart now and nothing either of us could do about that. I’d known loss before and although it would heal in time, the ache would never fade.

  ‘What are we going to do about Mutti?’ I asked tentatively. I wasn’t sure I could turn her away, despite the difficult history between the three of us.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ Erich knew life would be challenging with my mother, and yet he understood what it was like to have nobody else. He had thought that his first wife and two eldest children had perished in a bombing raid during the final months of the war and his father had disappeared, probably into a Russian camp, but nobody could tell him what had become of him. Erich’s mother Karoline had disappeared after the war too, only to be found by the Red Cross in a Russian camp in Western Siberia.

  ‘Vati wanted her to come to us and she’s bringing us everything we need for a fresh start here but – ’ I couldn’t continue, my throat choked with emotion.

  ‘I can’t believe what your parents are doing for us. We won’t be able to ever repay them. And what your mother’s doing . . .’

  ‘They’re doing it because they want us to be happy and to do well. Maybe we can buy a house and you can go back to university.’ I still couldn’t believe it myself and was amazed at my mother’s decision to come to Australia to be with us. I understood what it meant for her to give up her sparkling life and felt gratitude for her selfless act. But I also wondered what we would do if she didn’t like it here.

  ‘Maybe,’ echoed Erich.

  I took a deep breath. ‘But how do you feel about Mutti wanting to live with us? Do you think you could cope?’

  ‘Is that what you want? Your mother’s very generous and I’m grateful for any gift, but you know it’ll come with conditions.’

  I nodded. I had thought about that. I’d even considered the possibility of her coming to visit and not staying, but rejected it immediately. I couldn’t be so heartless.

  ‘Certainly the money will be an incredible help to get us started but we can manage if you don’t want her to come,’ he said, then paused and looked into my eyes. ‘You know what she does to you. Will it make you happy to have her here?’

  I stared back at him for a moment. My mother represented everything I had rejected about my old life. She was controlling, and had held on to me desperately when I fought to find my own path, constantly reminding me that I should uphold the traditions of my social class and respect my family name. Here in Australia, I could be free of that influence, free of that expectation. Erich and I could forge a life of our choosing, deserving all the opportunities that might come our way. I could be free of shame and guilt. I knew Mutti would try to drag me back to the old life.

  I didn’t know if it was possible for any of us to cope with her in a confined space for a lengthy period of time, especially in the hostel. She and Erich didn’t see eye to eye and I feared that she might be critical of our life here and try to create a wedge between Erich and me. But we were the only family she had left and, despite it all, I still loved her and missed her – and I knew that she loved me too.

  ‘I know she can be difficult but she has nobody else now that Vati’s gone . . . She could look after the girls while I’m working and maybe even do some housework,’ I said, shrugging. ‘She’s offered to help any way she can.’

  Erich pulled a face and I laughed. My mother had kept servants and a cook until the latter part of the war. Although she’d managed without them, she was never quite as accomplished at those domestic tasks as she could have been and she never enjoyed them.

  ‘What do you want, Lotte?’ Erich repeated softly, cupping my cheek in his hand. His eyes were steadfast and full of love. He would bear my mother if that’s what I wanted, and take all the changes that would come with her arrival in his stride.

  ‘I want her here with us. I want to be able to hold her whenever I want, for her to see our girls grow up. I miss her.’ A sense of calm washed over me, and a tentative joy at the thought of being in the same room with her again.

  ‘Then that’s settled, isn’t it?’

  ‘Really?’ I looked into his face, trying to detect some reservation.

  ‘Of course, my liebchen, she’s your mother. Anything for you.’ Erich understood how hard it was to be far away from family, and my heart twisted at the thought he might never see his own mother again. He kissed me lightly on the lips and I leant into him instinctively. ‘Besides, it might be interesting to watch your mother deal with Australian life.’

  I snorted, batting him playfully on the arm. ‘Don’t be so rude! She’s tougher than you think. She’ll be fine.’

  ‘Well, you’d better put her out of her misery and let her know. Ask her when she plans to come. In the meantime, we’ll find out what we need to do to rent a house somewhere. She can’t stay here in the hostel with us – that will drive us all mad!’

  ‘You’re right. I need to find some more permanent work. I’ll talk to the studio again next time I’m there. Maybe they can help with some contacts.’

  Erich nodded, and I could see the wheels turning in his mind already. Whatever we needed to do now, he would make sure it happened. I loved him even more for it.

  It was time to leave the hostel.

  *

  After speaking with Mr Baker, he suggested I contact a photographic studio in Liverpool. It was owned and run by a German family who had migrated to Australia before the war. Although only a small business with a handful of photographers, all trained in the European tradition, it had a fabulous reputation and the owner, Reinhardt Weber, had high expectations. The more senior photographers focussed on studio sittings through the week and attended weddings on the weekend. The high-profile events, studio and photo shoots were managed by the owner and his family.

  I decided to go in person.

  ‘You’ve come highly recommended, I see,’ said Mr Weber, reading the glowing reference from Mr Baker. ‘I remember what it was like when we first arrived from Germany. I’m not looking for a photographer right now, but maybe I have something else for you. Come into my office and tell me about your training.’

  My heart thumping in my chest, I showed him my qualifications and, happy to be explaining in German, told him about the techniques I had learnt in Munich. I prayed that it was enough to get some work.

  ‘Impressive,’ he said, stroking his bushy grey moustache. ‘Did you bring any examples of your work?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ I slid the portfolio across the desk to him and waited anxiously as he thumbed through the pages.

  ‘Very good.’ He looked up at me and smiled. ‘With skills like that, I have to hire you on the spot. You can start in the darkroom until you get some experience behind the camera. How does that sound?’

  ‘I’ll take it,’ I said, ready to sag with relief. My
gamble had paid off.

  I was terribly excited to be working with other photographers, finally beginning my career. Even discovering that it fell to me to process the film and develop the negatives into photographs – since I was the most recently employed and had the least experience – didn’t dampen my enthusiasm. It was tedious work and backbreaking, leaning over the chemicals and negatives all day long, but I knew that with time I would prove my worth and work my way up to what I really wanted to do: take photographs.

  I began to work some late nights, retouching the negatives and colouring photographs. Reinhardt had been impressed with the work I had done for the studio in the city. I didn’t complain; it meant we could save more and move out of the hostel a little more quickly. And on Saturday mornings, I continued the work I received from the city. I barely had time to think about our living conditions, but the need to find somewhere to live before Mutti arrived loomed and suddenly I wished I had more free time to look for a house.

  Claudia was my saviour. She told me about a little place near her in Liverpool, on Northumberland Street. It was a semi-detached house and the rent was just manageable, less than a fully furnished apartment or a whole house. Better still, it had a yard for the children and for Erich and I to plant a vegetable garden and flower beds. A young couple lived on the other side of the house and had their own entrance. This house meant I could walk to work rather than catch the train each day and Erich could travel to work with Franz again, who now owned a car. The girls could join Anna and Peter at the local school. We could be near our friends and continue to support each other.

  ‘What do you think?’ I whispered excitedly to Erich as we looked around the empty house. It wasn’t much to look at – only two bedrooms with a combined lounge and dining area and a small area off the kitchen that may have been an enclosed patio – but it was a lot more private and spacious than our rooms in the hostel. Heavenly!

  ‘I think it’ll do,’ he replied, opening and closing doors to make sure they were swinging correctly. ‘It’s not as big as I’d like but at least we’ll be out of Villawood.’