*
It was October before Erich was discharged from hospital.
‘I’ll work on my leg at home,’ he told everyone convincingly. He used a walking stick to travel short distances and crutches to get around outside. It was wonderful to finally see him out of traction and on his feet but my blood ran cold to see how wasted, thin and disfigured his leg was, even after the constant exercises he did and the long sessions of rehabilitation that totally drained him.
‘When can I return to work?’ he asked the doctor before leaving hospital.
The doctor looked hesitantly at the physiotherapist, who was arranging a time for Erich’s weekly sessions. ‘Mr Drescher, you’ve surprised us all with how well you’ve done and while your leg is now healed, the bones haven’t set as straight as we’d like. You have a shorter right leg, and a knee bent in flexion. This may affect the time it takes for you to gain full function in your leg.’
‘How long?’
‘It’ll be many months before you can stand or walk for longer periods. Only time will tell whether your knee stiffness improves and whether you can walk or use your leg normally again.’
This was the moment I’d been waiting for and my world tilted drunkenly. Thank God I was sitting. Although I knew in my heart that Erich’s leg didn’t look good, I could never admit to myself that there was a chance he would never use it properly again. What were we going to do? I grasped Erich’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
Doubt flickered in his eyes. He had been sure he’d walk normally again. He’d been so determined to prove everyone wrong.
‘What about my old job?’
‘At the factory?’ said the physiotherapist.
‘That’s right,’ said Erich.
‘I doubt you’ll be able to return to that type of work,’ the doctor said. ‘The long periods of standing, manoeuvring heavy objects . . . Returning to any work is a long way off. Sitting without support for your leg’s still painful, so it may be six months to a year, and even then it will be a graduated return. Maybe you should consider a line of work that doesn’t involve manual labour, one that’s less stressful on your body.’
Erich’s face was pale but no emotion showed on it besides mild interest. ‘Thank you, doctor, for your advice.’
That night, as we lay down together on the fold-out lounge burrowed under our eiderdown, I sighed as my toes began to thaw. I’d missed Erich sleeping next to me, but I’d forgotten how he radiated heat like a fire. I was blissfully warm for the first time since we’d moved to the farm.
He tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable. The medication never really gave him good relief, it only took the edge off his pain. We had tried rolled-up towels and pillows to support his leg with varying degrees of success, but now he pushed them to one side.
‘What’s wrong?’ I murmured, sleep tugging at my body.
‘Nothing. I just want to be near you.’ He wriggled towards me again until we were touching, moving his leg carefully.
The feel of him beside me, the sound of his breath next to my ear, made me realise once again how close I’d come to losing him.
‘I missed you. I’m so glad you’re home.’
‘I’ve missed you too. I went to sleep every night dreaming about the day I’d be home and lying next to you.’ Erich embraced me, his leg awkwardly out to the side.
‘There were some days I wondered if this was ever going to happen, but we did it.’
Erich shifted slightly to get comfortable. ‘We did, thanks to you. All your hard work’s paid off. Everyone’s happy.’
‘Better than a single bed and a curtain, isn’t it?’
I expected a grin but instead he sighed. ‘That was the hardest thing, you know. Being apart from you, not being able to touch you and hold you . . .’
I held his face between my hands. ‘Don’t ever do that to me again.’
‘Do what?’
‘Don’t ever scare me like that again . . . don’t ever leave me like that again,’ I said, my voice cracking. The pent up emotion of the last few months came rushing out and I wept in his arms, relieved that he was finally home.
He squeezed me tight, making my ribs creak in protest. ‘Oh, my liebling, if I could take that day back, I would.’ He kissed away my tears and we held each other until I fell into an easy sleep.
*
It was a long, painstaking recovery for Erich. It was wonderful to have him home but it broke my heart to see how slow and difficult his movements were. I knew how determined he was to get back to normal. He never let it stop him, however. He was stubborn like that, pushing himself until he couldn’t any longer, his muscles quivering and his face white with pain. It was frustrating for him to see things that needed doing that he couldn’t manage. But he was able to chase up the council about getting the utilities connected, and finally we had electricity and hot and cold water. Life was still rudimentary but it was a huge improvement on what we’d had.
Leading up to Christmas, work was busier than ever with studio shoots and weddings as Sabine prepared for the birth of her first child. Even Reinhardt was forced back behind the camera most days, a situation he was willing to put up with until he found a new photographer. I didn’t mind the work. It had become routine and standard, not very exciting or creative, but I loved improving my skills and taking the best photographs I could. My dream of one day opening a studio and exercising my creative flair still lurked at the back of my mind, but for now I was happy enough.
That was until Erich received a letter from his oldest child, Eva, just before Christmas. This time of year was always difficult for him with his family still on the other side of the world. Eva had written to us while Erich was in hospital to tell us about her engagement. We were both thrilled for her but it worried me that Erich had time to think about how far away he was from his other children and how unlikely it was that he’d get to her wedding.
‘She’s getting married in April,’ he said softly, as I watched him lower himself carefully into the lounge with the assistance of his walking stick, eyes glued to the page. ‘She’d like me to be there.’
‘A spring wedding, then.’ I left the dining table, where I was colouring photographs, and joined him. ‘I know how much you want to be there.’ I rubbed his back gently before picking up the jar of ointment to begin the nightly ritual of massaging the tightness from his leg.
I remembered the days when Eva and Walter had lived with us. Despite the awkward situation, they’d adored their new sisters. I was grateful for how wonderful they were with the girls, drawing and singing songs, allowing themselves to be dragged around and even cuddling them on their laps. Eva was already almost a woman then, helpful and kind, and Walter had taken his role as big brother seriously. Now they were grown up and living lives of their own.
‘I’d hoped that maybe by some miracle I’d be able to make the trip or that maybe she’d set the date for later in the year but now . . .’ He shrugged. ‘There’s no possible way I can go the way I am.’
‘Maybe we can plan a trip once your leg has healed,’ I said soothingly. I knew how much he missed them.
‘Who knows when that will be?’ He pushed hard on his knee, trying to force it to straighten but it was stuck in the same position like a block of concrete.
‘It’ll happen,’ I said, a little alarmed by his heavy-handedness, ‘but it’s going to take time.’ My fingers were greasy and I wiped the excess ointment gently on his knee.
‘Let’s face it, I’m not much good for anything now.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous—’
‘I couldn’t get anything more than factory work before, and now I can’t even manage that.’ He shifted to get more comfortable and let out a sigh of frustration. ‘I don’t think I can do this any more.’
I frowned, feeling my heart beat rapidly in my chest. ‘What are you talking about? Of course you can, look how far you’ve come with your leg.’
‘No, I can work on my leg but I can’t begin
again, I’m too old to have to try something new. I think I’m out of options.’
I watched as the fight went out of him, like the air from a balloon. It was true, he was getting older, his fiftieth birthday loomed on the horizon, but to me he was the same as ever: strong, capable and able to adapt to any situation.
‘You’ve managed far worse than this,’ I said. ‘You’re in pain, frustrated and not thinking straight. You’ll find the right thing, I know you will, but it’s early days. You should be concentrating on getting mobile and strong again.’
He seized my arm. ‘We have to face reality, Lotte. I may never get much better than this. You might end up with an invalid on your hands.’
The doctors had warned us shortly after Erich’s accident that he might never walk again, but that had been nearly a year ago. The fact that he could was a miracle, a testament to his iron will and determination. But we both realised that it would be a long time before his leg was normal again, if ever. He had to find another job that was less physically demanding.
Blinking tears away, I grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘You’re not an invalid. The doctors are already amazed by your progress. You’ll prove everyone wrong and show them what you’re made of.’
I dropped my hands to my lap. I always felt capable of finding a solution to a problem, always knew what to say to inspire hope, but now I didn’t know what else to say to him. In the face of his despair, I had no answers.
‘Don’t cry, Lotte. All I mean is that the promises I made you before we came to Australia have come to nothing. This is all my fault. I haven’t given you the life you wanted and I can’t give you another child while I’m like this.’ He gazed at me with regret. ‘I don’t want to disappoint you any more.’
I’d had lingering doubt that we would ever have another child, but Erich’s accident had made this a reality. It would be hard to accept at first, but I knew the pain and loss would soften to a dull ache. I would cope. I put my arms around him. ‘You could never disappoint me.’
‘Maybe we’d be better off going back to Germany. I know that’s what you wanted.’
‘You want to go back? After everything?’
‘Nothing’s worked out here for us, maybe it’s for the best.’ His voice was flat and dispassionate.
‘But look what we’ve done here. We’ve bought a farm, we live in our own house and although it’s not much at the moment it’s ours . . . The children are happy and thriving and I love my work as a photographer. We didn’t have any of that in Germany. We’ve laid roots, finally.’
‘But we need my income and I’m not fit for anything right now and I have no idea what kind of job I’ll ever be able to get.’
‘We’ll cope until you’re able to work and you find something, even if you have to go back to study and get some qualifications.’
He ran his hands through his hair. ‘I don’t want to do that to you. I’m supposed to be the breadwinner and I feel like I’m no man at all, just a broken-down horse who needs to be put out to pasture.’ He choked on those last words and my heart broke for him. He couldn’t cope with being a kept man. He’d always prided himself on doing whatever he had to, to keep his family fed, comfortable and happy.
‘One last time, my darling. Promise me you’ll try one more time.’
He stared into the distance and then nodded. ‘All right, I’ll try.’
12
1961
Erich kept his word and worked hard to improve the flexibility and strength of his leg. He continued his rehabilitation sessions at the hospital, insisting on going to Liverpool on the bus one or two days a week, although his walking was slow and laboured and he struggled to get up and down the steps. During the warm weather, he took advantage of swimming at the public pool. He was doing everything he could, to the point where I wondered if he was pushing his leg too hard, but he was stubborn. All I could do was support him.
Sometimes he’d call in to have a coffee with me during my break or he’d walk around the shops for a short while, talking to shopkeepers he knew, especially those who’d come from Germany or Europe, before catching the bus home.
‘What’ve you been doing?’ I asked him one hot February day. I was adjusting the lens of my camera in the lunchroom while we waited for the water to boil. I’d noticed that his sessions always fell on a day that Mutti was home. She came into Liverpool two days a week, spending one day with Suzanne and another day with Claudia’s cousin Hildegard, a widowed woman in her forties who had just immigrated and was staying with Claudia and Franz until she was on her feet. They were good company for each other. Mutti’s mood was always more cheerful when she returned home after a day out.
Erich gave me a strange look and then shrugged. ‘I’ve been to the library looking for something stimulating to read but I think I prefer to read in German. Then I got talking to another German man at the library. It started with books and jobs and ended up with our childhood and where we grew up.’ He smiled. ‘And he got me thinking.’
‘About what?’
‘About something I could do as a new business.’
My head jerked up in surprise and I stared into his eyes. He was serious. My mind began to race at a million miles an hour. I was so focused on work, keeping us afloat and on Erich’s recovery that I hadn’t considered him going into business for himself, but it made perfect sense. He was driven, methodical and good with people, and he could find something that wouldn’t tax his leg.
‘What are you thinking?’
Erich looked pleased with himself. ‘I’ve got a few ideas that I have to research. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know when I have something more concrete.’
*
We were having breakfast at the table one Sunday about six weeks later, the sun streaming in through the glass door. Mutti and the girls had gone into Liverpool. The girls were helping Claudia and her children make Easter ornaments from eggshells while Mutti visited Hilde. It was lovely not to be rushing for a change. The house was quiet and peaceful except for the warbling of magpies over the background chirping of the birds outside. I loved it here surrounded by gum trees and space – our sanctuary.
I looked out the window at the patches of vibrant colour between the soft green of the eucalypts. I missed the riot of red, gold and purple that was everywhere you looked in Germany and the piles of dry leaves crunching underfoot as winter approached, but there were still some signs of the changing seasons here, enough to make me smile when I saw them. It made me realise how much I’d grown to love the evergreen gum and the steady and peaceful flow from one season to the next. I felt that peace in myself now – and I know it showed in the way I looked and held myself. I felt happy and confident. I knew Erich could see it, too, in those moments I caught him looking at me with pride and love in his eyes.
‘We’ll have been in Australia for five years soon,’ I said casually.
‘It’s gone so fast,’ said Erich.
‘What do you think about applying for Australian citizenship?’ I said, taking a bite of my jam and bread, although now that I had started the conversation I’d wanted to have, I could barely get the mouthful down. My heart began to pound.
Erich stared at me. ‘What?’
I took a deep breath. ‘We can apply six months before the qualifying residency period of five years. I think we should.’
He put the newspaper down. ‘What’s brought this on?’
‘I think it’ll be good for us – for the children. They speak English like Australians and they’ve lost their accents. With each passing year, they become more Australian. At the very least we have to do it for them, but I think it’s right for us too.’ I didn’t tell him that I thought it would be good for him; he seemed lost now that he was out of work, gravitating to anything German, to what he’d always known.
The truth was that my past life in Germany was becoming a distant and hazy memory as my present took over, demanding all of my attention. I was feeling settled and had begun to fall in love wit
h Australia. The move to the farm had unexpectedly made me realise that I wanted to stay.
Erich was watching me intently, his green eyes narrowed, jaw tight with tension. ‘I don’t see why we need citizenship. We can do all the things we want without that. What if we want to go back to Germany?’
It was my turn to stare at him. ‘The children’s future is here and it’s the next step for us.’
‘But what if I can’t get a business off the ground? I won’t become another unemployment statistic, I won’t become a burden.’ The frustration rolled off him in waves as the anxiety of the last year finally came to a head. At least he was talking to me about it rather than bottling it up.
‘You’d never be a burden.’ I squeezed his hand, still strong and capable. But I knew there was something more. Eva’s wedding was the following week, on Easter Sunday. ‘You want to go back to see Eva, Walter and your mother.’ Germany’s pull was strong for him and had been getting stronger since the accident.
‘Of course I miss them. I’d love nothing more than to see them. I wanted to walk Eva down the aisle on her wedding day . . .’ He hesitated, gazing wistfully out the glass door to the marigolds and daisies lining the dirt path. ‘But I know I can’t. I know that Greta and Johanna’s futures are here. Maybe you’re right about citizenship.’ He smiled sadly.
‘We’ll go back one day and see them all.’
‘I’ve had a lot of time to think after everything that’s happened and I’ve only recently realised how much I’ve struggled to fit in here, to belong. I know that I’ve promised to find a way to make it work and I honestly think that a business is the best choice for me, for us. I’ve been making enquiries, putting a plan in place for our future . . .’ He sighed deeply, sadness settling into his face.
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