Suitcase of Dreams

by Tania Blanchard

  Apparently Ernst returned the following day as if nothing had happened and, with his son safely away, Franz did nothing further. But Claudia could see that he was close to breaking and she had no idea how to help him. He continued working long hours, continued preparing to open a small practice in Liverpool and played the piano until late in the night.

  Ernst was away during the day and mostly kept to his room at night but Claudia told me she could feel his eyes on her while she cooked dinner, and he would casually appear in the room when she was taking a phone call or trying to talk to Franz. The only real privacy she felt she had was in bed with her husband. Erich and I were horrified, but felt helpless. All we could do was continue to see them regularly and offer them our support.

  Greta was upset when she heard that Peter was being drafted. She spent time with Anna, who was across the street from the hospital at Sydney University studying law, whenever she could. But I worried about Johanna. Although she and Peter had been close since childhood, it seemed that their friendship had deepened in spite of the different lives they now lived. I didn’t know how I would console her if anything happened to him, how I would ease her pain. I began to pray for Peter and all the young men in Vietnam and redoubled my efforts with Save Our Sons, writing letters to members of parliament, drafting petitions and supporting Claudia at the meetings and demonstrations I could attend.

  Erich was wonderful with his practical advice but his work had become busier than ever. He had crafted a number of furniture pieces to be included in the Australian pavilion, themed ‘Spirit of Adventure’, at the international expo in Montreal and had received a number of large commissions as a result. It felt like our troubles were finally behind us. But there was a little voice within me that reminded me of my discontent at work. I had always thought it would be more satisfying running a business but I’d realised Reinhardt’s studio would never be my business. Reinhardt deferred to me more often than not, but I’d never found that sense of fulfilment I’d been after.

  ‘You’re not happy, are you?’ asked Karoline one Sunday morning as I accompanied her on a walk.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Are you doing what you love?’

  I sighed. I didn’t really want to have this conversation. I had no intention of upsetting the finely balanced calm I had discovered. But Karoline was intent on getting answers.

  ‘I don’t know any more. You know how I love photography but . . .’ I thought for a moment, trying to articulate what I’d been feeling for a while. ‘Somehow the artificial settings and positions day after day have worn me down. So often it feels soulless.’

  ‘So when do you feel the joy?’

  ‘Natural settings,’ I said. ‘Among people going about what they do . . . out in nature. So much of the photography I do is staged and I do see the value of it, but I want something more.’

  ‘Have you ever thought that maybe you just need to balance the two? Surely you can drop back to part-time work at the studio and perhaps begin a small business on the side for yourself, taking photos of what you love, showing the soul and spirit of this country just as your husband does with his furniture? You’re so very much alike.’

  ‘Nobody would buy them,’ I said flatly. I knew how hard Otto had worked to find success with his photography and he didn’t have a family to feed.

  ‘What about Erich’s contacts, the ones who buy his furniture? Wouldn’t they be interested in Australian scenes, photographs or paintings?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s your perspective that’s unique, how you see things behind the lens of the camera. That’s what makes you special. The sooner you realise that, the sooner you’ll find your happiness.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘My dear,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’m an old woman and I’ve seen enough of the world to understand these things.’ She squeezed my arm. ‘You’re the daughter I never had and I’m as proud of you as I am of my son.’

  Emotions welled up inside me and tears rolled down my cheeks unchecked. I only wished my own mother had been able to tell me these things.

  ‘Just promise me you won’t forget my words. When the time is right and you’re ready, what I’ve said will resonate with you.’

  I took her hand in mine and held it tightly. ‘I promise.’

  *

  Peter was refused his exemption and deferral.

  It was a blow to us all. There was talk about hiding him in a network of safe houses that kept drafted boys from serving, but in the end Peter decided that he had to do his duty. Claudia and Franz could do nothing to sway him, and rather than lose him, because he promised never to speak to them again if they persisted, they let him go. I wondered if Ernst had been an influence in Peter’s decision.

  Of course we were all there at Marrickville Army Barracks when his time came. We knew he’d be away at the training camp for about five or six months before he was deployed, probably at Kapooka near Wagga Wagga. Peter was a strapping young man, his blond hair cut neatly. He wore a suit jacket and his shoes had been polished until they gleamed. He was a good boy, respectful, hard-working and driven. It didn’t seem right to send him into war like this, with his life ahead of him, but perhaps he would do well.

  I watched Johanna say goodbye to him. The tight embrace, the deep kiss and the longing gazes were all I needed to see what it meant for them to be parted.

  Keep him safe and whole, I prayed. Bring him back to his family and my Johanna.

  The memory of my two brothers and Heinrich leaving for war at a similar age all those years ago came to me like it had been yesterday. Emotions overwhelmed me so I reached for Erich’s arm to steady myself as my vision swam. War changed everything. Both my brothers had died and Heinrich and I – well, our lives had been irreversibly altered.

  Loved ones milled around the new recruits, bursts of tears or nervous laughter accentuating the low murmur of goodbyes. The ever-respectable women of the SOS held a silent vigil, lining the street outside the barracks, brandishing their placards and posters like avenging angels in long coats and gloves to ward off the wintry cold of the July morning. Something made me glance across the street and I spotted men carrying cameras, taking photos of the event and the SOS. Some were journalists but others were not. I shook my head in amazement.

  ‘There are men across the street who think we’re a security risk,’ I whispered to Erich.

  ‘Oh yes, I see them. They’re clear as day, aren’t they?’

  ‘If you know what to look for. Were they the same at your rallies and demonstrations?’

  ‘They were. I always knew when they were there, trying to catch us out.’

  ‘I can’t believe they think that a group of mothers concerned for their sons and the youth of this country could be a risk. I mean, for God’s sake, take a look at them! Have you ever seen a more benign-looking group?’

  ‘It means you’re making headway, making waves, and that’s a good thing.’

  ‘We get spat on, shoved, pushed and called all the names under the sun by people who don’t like what we stand for. As much as that is horrifying and humiliating, I suppose it shows that we’re being noticed and heard.’

  ‘You should be proud. Your group’s getting under the skin of the government and the public.’

  I leant against him, as much to ward off the blast of icy wind as to feel his solid strength beside me. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry I made it so hard for you when you were out there. I was so afraid for you.’

  ‘I know.’ He kissed my forehead and pulled me closer to him. ‘I think we’ll have some tears when we get home – it looks like we need to get Peter back as quickly as possible before Johanna falls away to nothing pining after him. I know she’s got a sensible head on her shoulders but I’d forgotten how much the young ones think they know it all.’

  ‘First love,’ I murmured, remembering my engagement to Heinrich, and when I’d first met Erich.

  ‘As long
as he hasn’t touched her,’ he said darkly. ‘If anything happens to him . . .’

  ‘She’s smart enough not to have done that,’ I said with confidence, but I remembered that cold March day with Erich twenty-two years earlier and suddenly I wasn’t so sure.

  *

  Nineteen sixty-eight started with uncertainty and change.

  ‘I can’t believe the prime minister just disappeared like that,’ I said to Claudia, over an iced coffee.

  ‘They never even found his body. How can such a thing happen?’ she whispered, horrified, scooping ice cream through the thick layer of cream. The disappearance of Harold Holt while swimming off a beach in Victoria had been the talk for weeks.

  ‘It’s not like anything’s changed with Gorton as prime minister.’

  ‘No,’ said Claudia, her face falling. ‘Public support for the war in Vietnam is dropping with the casualties and deaths of our soldiers but there’s still no end in sight to the fighting.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Claudia.’ I placed my hand on her arm. ‘How are you and Franz? How’s Peter?’ Peter had recently been deployed to Vietnam with the infantry.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, nodding, her pale blue eyes bright with tears. ‘Peter’s fine with it. He wants to do his duty to his country and prove his worth as a man.’

  ‘Of course, he’ll make us all proud. And you?’

  ‘We don’t talk about it, especially whenever Onkel Ernst is in earshot, which is most of the time since he’s retired, but I know Franz is as worried as I am. He stares at Peter’s photograph when he plays the piano, the one you took before he left. At least Peter’s writing to us – it’s the only way we know he’s alive and safe.’

  My heart clutched at her words. I had a sudden memory of the portrait I’d taken of my brother Willi before he’d been deployed to war and how I’d stared at it for hours after we’d learnt that he’d been killed in action.

  ‘I’ll pray for his safe return,’ I whispered.

  ‘We just have to get our boys home,’ she replied, steel in her voice, and I knew that Save Our Sons was all that was keeping her going and holding her together.

  Peter wrote regularly to Johanna too. Sometimes she would read parts of his letters after dinner. I only ever heard her read out one full letter, behind her bedroom door as I passed, to Greta when she was home one evening.

  9th June, 1968

  My dearest Johanna,

  I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to write back to you. It sounds like another busy year at university but I know you’ll be wonderful as ever and the best (and most gorgeous) veterinary student of your year! Good to hear that Mutti, Vati and the girls are holding up.

  I haven’t had much time to miss the cello or music, but when there’s a lull in the constant noise of aircraft (mostly helicopters and jet air strikes) or the noise of artillery and gun fire, I can imagine playing Bach, Beethoven or Dvorak. If I’m telling the truth, what I most imagine is playing Bach’s Suite No 1 – Prelude in a private performance just for you, but I won’t get into that right now in case your parents see this letter. When the ground shakes from the bombs and leaves fall from the trees like confetti or when we’re lying in the pits and we hear the whiz of bullets too close for comfort, I fantasise about having you in my arms to chase away the bone-numbing fear, and about becoming a world-class cellist like Pablo Casals, using my music to spread a message of peace around the globe.

  In the meantime, I keep myself busy. Since arriving in Nui Dat in April, it’s been crazy. As I’m sure you’re well aware from the papers, everyone’s been on high alert since the Tet Offensive. One day often blurs into the next as we move through the jungles in the humid heat and often in the pouring rain and dig pits at every position we reach. We only get a few hours’ sleep in between. Sometimes when a rainstorm hits we have to sleep sitting up as the bottoms of our pits get flooded.

  We were redeployed to a new operation last month, following the withdrawal of the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese forces. We offer support at a couple of the fire bases. One of the bases was attacked with the most intense fighting we’d seen while we’ve been here. It was there that I saw death first hand when one of our own was hit by shrapnel from a mortar. It was a frightening but sobering moment, and made me more determined than ever to get back home to you alive and in one piece.

  I think the worst is over now. We’re back in Nui Dat, continuing with our regular tasks, and I’m very happy to have dry feet, warm food and somewhere safe to sleep. I’m so glad I have you to tell my private thoughts and feelings to. It eases my mind to know that I can tell you anything. Nobody else would understand.

  I have to go now but I look forward to your next letter.

  Love,

  Peter

  War was war anywhere, and I couldn’t stop the tears falling as I rushed to my bedroom. I understood the innocence Peter and these young men had lost and I knew that they would never be the same again. I wept for them all, and for Johanna. Peter could never return as the boy he had been.

  *

  About this time, it was announced that those trying to evade National Service would be prosecuted with jail time equivalent to the period of National Service – up to two years. Massive demonstrations erupted across the country. Clashes with police became more common and violent, leading to many arrests. But the tide had turned against the war in Vietnam and the demonstrations didn’t stop. Various anti-war and anti-conscription groups began to work together, applying further pressure on the government. With the opposition even greater in the United States, many agreed that it was only a matter of time before both governments called for an end to the war.

  Amid the madness that surrounded us, our family was going from strength to strength. Johanna submerged her anxiety for Peter by working hard at university. Greta had one more year of nursing to go and was doing well. She was in charge of the night duty on one of the surgical wards and often in charge on weekends. She was extremely busy and we only occasionally got to see her, but we were happy that she was doing what she loved. She couldn’t stop talking about Australia’s first heart transplant, which had just been performed at St Vincent’s Hospital, and she told me she was interested in completing further studies in intensive care.

  Erich had outgrown his work space and it was with heavy hearts that we decided to sell the farm and buy a block with a new home and space for a larger shed and display room. My conversation with Karoline had got me thinking and I had discussed the possibility of my own part-time business with Erich. He insisted that we make room for a small studio and darkroom for me.

  We found what we were looking for at Ingleburn, not far from where we were. Erich and I were smitten when we discovered that it backed onto rugged bushland and the Georges River – a sanctuary right at our door. Any reservations we held about leaving a home that we had invested so much in and which held so many memories were dispelled. We bought the property immediately and began building the shed before we’d even moved in.

  I shared our good news with Mutti over lunch.

  ‘I have some good news for you too,’ she said smiling. ‘Rudi and I have decided to get married.’

  I flushed with pleasure. ‘Mutti, that’s wonderful. We’ve all been wondering if you were ever going to do it. Why have you waited so long?’

  Despite my initial reservations about their relationship, I could see how Mutti blossomed when she was with Rudi. There was a bounce in her step and a sparkle in her eye. He was a lovely man with grown-up children and a total gentleman. And since I didn’t see Mutti as much as I would’ve liked after her move to Liverpool, I was glad she had someone to care for her. I could even say that our relationship was so much better since she was with him. Even Erich couldn’t begrudge Mutti her happiness.

  A shadow passed over her face. ‘Rudi’s wanted this for some time but it’s been so hard after Vati. I’ve never really been able to let him go.’ I squeezed her hand and nodded. Losing Vati had seemed to drain the li
fe from her. He had been her true love.

  ‘What changed your mind?’

  ‘We’re not getting any younger and neither of us wants to waste any more time.’ Mutti was beaming. It was wonderful to see her so happy and finally settled.

  ‘I’m so happy for you both. Have you set a date?’

  ‘Not yet. We have a few things to organise and Rudi wants to wait until his daughter returns from Europe.’ She patted my hand. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be the first to know.’

  But on the heels of happy news came terrible news. We were at Claudia and Franz’s place, the house they’d built themselves on two acres at Cobbitty, celebrating the opening of Franz’s new law practice. It was October and the first warm day we’d had that spring. Greta had joined us to visit Anna before a party she was going to. She was gorgeous in a sleeveless dress of sheer fabric over a strapless bodice, pointy-toed heels that were all the fashion and her dark hair constructed into a bouffant roll called a beehive. She looked glamorous and vibrant like Audrey Hepburn. Johanna was at home with Karoline, studying for her exams. Anna hadn’t yet returned from picking the twins up from a birthday party in Camden.

  ‘Can you get that, Franz?’ called Claudia from the kitchen when the phone rang.

  We heard the low tones of his voice coming from the hallway as Claudia returned to the lounge room with pretzels and nuts.

  ‘Claudia, can you come here please?’ yelled Franz.

  Claudia frowned and looked towards the doorway. ‘Sorry, I won’t be a moment.’ She gave us an apologetic look before heading out to the hallway.

  Erich, Greta and I were looking at each other, not sure what to expect, when Claudia stumbled into the lounge room, pale-faced, Franz following, not looking much better.

  ‘Peter’s been injured – gunshot wounds to his chest, abdomen and thigh,’ he said shakily. ‘He’s being airlifted from the medical facility at Nui Dat to the military hospital at Vung Tau.’