by Derek Hansen
‘I’d grown up with droughts and living on the brink so I knew it was possible to recover. I put my head down and worked day and night to make their dream happen. It took quite a few years but I finally bought them an apartment up on the Gold Coast. I bought it before I bought a place of my own. Do you think Billy could’ve done that for them?’
‘You were just working off your guilt.’
‘I admit there was an element of that. I took care of Billy too. I felt responsible for everything that had happened to him. I can’t tell you how many times I had to bail him out financially but I never got a word of thanks. Every time there was a drought he turned to Bank Neil. When he needed new equipment, more livestock or a new ute, it was always Bank Neil that got it for him. The thing is, if Billy had come back from Vietnam with his head still in good shape, everything would’ve worked out.’
‘Of course, he could always have come back dead,’ said Ramon quietly.
Neil spun around.
‘That was the risk I took.’
‘No, Neil, that was the risk Billy took.’
‘Just be careful what you say, Ramon. We all know there are more skeletons to rattle in your closet than there are in mine.’
‘So you keep saying. The point is, Neil, it really doesn’t matter how many homes by the beach you bought your parents or how many times you helped Billy out with your money. What you did was unforgivable. Unforgivable, Neil, no matter how you attempt to justify it. Could you forgive anyone who did that to you? Could you?’
Neil’s eyes narrowed and he studied Ramon intently.
‘When were you going to tell me, Ramon?’ he said quietly. ‘When were any of you going to tell me?’
Milos and Lucio realised what Neil was alluding to and stared shamefaced down at the table. Only Ramon kept his head up.
‘Before you say anything else, Neil, first let me congratulate you on your skill. If Barbara had not come to see us, I would never have guessed. None of us would have. You once accused me of dressing my confession up as fiction, an allegation I deny, but you have gone a step further and executed your story brilliantly.’
‘I appreciate your compliments, Ramon, but let’s face it, they are rather hollow. You had no right to interrogate Barbara the way you did. You talk about honour and respect and flaunt your European manners but the bottom line is, you can’t be trusted. None of you can.’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Milos.
‘One moment, Milos. Yes, Neil, it is true that I probably asked Barbara one question too many. But you can understand how she caught us by surprise. You can understand how bewildered we were by the contrast between her descriptions of the gentle, sensitive person she claims you really are and the abrasive “chat room” persona you adopt for us. What were we supposed to do? Just sit there with our mouths open? I had no intention of undermining your story. When she volunteered the facts that Billy was still alive and that you’d been in therapy, Milos quickly interceded to stop me asking any further questions. The truth is, Neil, she’d already told us too much before I asked any questions. Our only deception was not to tell you. It is not a decision we took lightly and we took it in what we thought were your best interests. We didn’t want to spoil the telling of your story. And the truth is, we didn’t. These two still haven’t guessed, though I think they are now beginning to suspect what really happened.’
‘What happened?’ said Milos.
‘Will you tell them, Neil, or will I?’
‘Why don’t you, Ramon? How could I possibly deny you when you’re so obviously full of your own genius?’
‘Four things gave you away, Neil. First, Barbara’s description of you. Second, the fact that you were in therapy. Third, the fact that Billy was still alive. And fourth, the fact that you didn’t care. You claimed Billy didn’t care when he came back from Vietnam and got involved in fights. He didn’t care that he got sent to gaol. You described Billy’s mind-set exactly the way Barbara described yours when she told us of the massive risks you took building the business. She actually used the same words. She said you didn’t care, just didn’t care. She also gave us the impression that Billy is in fact your older brother. Is that correct?’
‘Spot on.’
‘So you engaged in role reversal to tell the story of how it was actually you — not Billy — who went to Vietnam, how you were manipulated to go in your brother’s place. Why, Neil? Just to get it off your chest?’
‘I don’t know.’ Neil exhaled wearily. He was aware of Milos and Lucio staring at him open-mouthed as they came to terms with this latest twist. ‘I had this vague idea that it might be cathartic, provided I could do it in such a way that you guys would be none the wiser.’
‘And was it?’
‘Too soon to tell, Ramon. It doesn’t really matter. I guess the main reason I told this story was because I thought I could get away with it. And, at the same time, present a compelling case for reverting to the telling of fictions at our lunches.’
‘I suspect your real reason for telling the story was to gauge whether the resentment you still harbour towards your brother is justified, if what he did to you could ever be forgiven.’
‘I like to think I forgave him a long time ago, but you’re right — forgiveness is sometimes hard to maintain when I have to deal with the nightmares. Thank God, they’re increasingly infrequent. At the end of the day, I have to concede that everything did work out for the best. The fact is, we did burden my brother with all our hopes and aspirations. And I did owe him for rescuing me from the pigs. I made a promise to him that some day I’d pay him back. I paid him back by going to Vietnam in his place.’
‘My God,’ said Lucio. ‘Five minutes ago I thought you were the biggest arsehole that ever walked the earth. Now I have the pleasure of liking you all over again.’
‘It is a pleasure the three of us share,’ said Milos. ‘Congratulations on a story brilliantly told.’
‘What about Grant and Linda? How much of that story was true?’ asked Lucio.
‘As much as you want,’ cut in Ramon. He was puffed up and clearly revelling in the fact that he’d guessed Neil’s intentions. ‘Neil did what we pride ourselves on doing. He used truth as a basis to contrive a fiction. Grant and Linda’s story was simply the vehicle he used to tell his real story. Am I right?’
‘No comment. It is the listener’s prerogative to believe or not believe. Now, gentlemen, I’m going to leave you in peace so you can discuss my brilliance at length.’ Neil pushed himself to his feet and took hold of his crutches.
‘What? Won’t you at least stay and have a celebratory drink?’ asked Ramon. ‘You’ve certainly earned it.’
‘No, not this time,’ said Neil. He took a couple of awkward steps towards the door before turning and smiling. ‘My story’s finished. I’ve achieved everything I set out to do. Now I’m going to go and take this bloody cast off.’
‘What?’ Ramon started as though shot.
‘Yes, the cast has served its purpose. Really, Ramon, how could you ever believe anyone who described me as gentle and sensitive? Dear-oh-dearie me.’
It took Milos and Lucio a moment to appreciate the magnitude of Neil’s deception. They looked at each other, then at the hapless Ramon, and burst out laughing.
‘Think about it, Ramon. Think of all the clues I gave you.’ Neil’s demeanour had changed, his weariness gone. He hobbled back to the table and sat down, clearly enjoying himself. ‘You of all people appreciate the structure of stories and the devices we use. Didn’t you get suspicious when I employed the same devices Milos used in his story? No disrespect, Ramon, but Blind Freddie could see I was up to something.’
‘We did discuss it,’ Milos conceded.
‘But not with me,’ said Neil. ‘That was your mistake. I kept waiting for you to challenge me and could hardly believe my luck when you didn’t. That was all the encouragement I needed. Milos told the story of his brother. So did I. He referred to himself in the third person. So did
I. He brought in Gabi to reinforce his story. I brought in Barbara. In Milos’s story his brother took his identity. I took Billy’s. Come on! Surely that must have set the alarm bells ringing. But you ignored them. Not just Ramon, but all of you. And shall I tell you why?’
‘Go on,’ said Lucio. Like Milos, he was beginning to share some of Ramon’s discomfit.
‘Because, for all your intellectual pretences, you’re no better than a bunch of women gossiping over the back fence. You couldn’t help yourselves. You saw the chance to peep behind my “chat room persona” to who I really am and you couldn’t resist. Instead of concentrating on the story, you jumped at what appeared to be an opportunity to find out what makes me tick, what my strengths are and, more particularly, what my weaknesses are. You protested that the baring of my soul risked jeopardising our lunches, but you made no real attempt to stop me. The opportunity to paw through my dirty laundry was just too good. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. You claim to take pride in our anonymity and the fact that we choose to reveal little about our real selves but your actions convey the opposite. But for your sordid, morbid curiosity I’d never have got away with my deception. Your pettiness made it all possible. In the end, you learned nothing about me, nothing at all. You don’t know me any better now than you did at the start of my story. But I learned something about you. Protest as much as you like, but I don’t think there’s a principle you’re not prepared to sacrifice.’
‘You don’t think you’re being a bit harsh?’
‘You tell me, Ramon. Were you deceived by my story or not?’
‘Fair point. But it may be that our only fault was that we dared to hope.’
‘Hope?’
‘Yes, Neil, hope that somewhere beneath your abrasive, often obnoxious exterior there lie some saving graces.’
‘No way,’ said Neil grinning. ‘What you see is what you get.’
He started laughing and, one by one, the others joined him.
Acknowledgements
For most fiction writers, credibility is the key to good storytelling. It certainly is for me. I read a lot of books and spend hours in libraries researching the places, times and events about which I’m writing so that I can work from a solid base of knowledge. However, credibility often lies in the detail and books don’t always provide it. There is nothing to compare with conversations with people who live in the places about which I’m writing and who experienced similar events or were witness to them. In the course of writing this book a lot of people gave up their time to speak to me and share their knowledge. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank them for their contribution.
I am particularly grateful to Peter Stonestreet, noxious weed inspector for Castlereagh-Macquarie County Council. Peter was kind enough to take me with him on his rounds through Walgett, Lightning Ridge, Cumborah, the Grawin and Glengarry, and showed me how to spray the prickly pear and other noxious weeds we found by the side of the road. Through Peter I met John and Jackie Brenerger of Eumenbah station and Fred Coliwell of New Prospect who gave me the benefit of their knowledge gathered over years on the land.
I was doubly fortunate in that Peter’s wife, Claire Scanlan, is the District Veterinarian for the Coonamble Rural Lands and Protection Board and was able to fill me in on all the terrible things that can happen to livestock out in the northwest.
Yet, for all the help that I was given, I don’t doubt that there are a few things I didn’t get quite right. However in talking to graziers — and I spoke to quite a few — it became apparent that every grazier has his own way of doing things and there is no set time for lambing, shearing or mulesing, to use a few obvious examples, and no universally agreed ‘right’ way of doing anything.
It’s also particularly pleasing when friends and former colleagues step up to the plate to help. I’m especially grateful to:
Chris Baker, Probation and Parole Officer from the Long Bay Parole Unit, for his advice and insights;
My agent, Margaret Connolly, for her unflagging support;
My editor, Nicola O’Shea;
And the team at HarperCollins who worked hard and conscientiously to ensure that this book presents as well as it does.
Excerpt from Lunch with the Generals
DEREK HANSEN
Ramon, self-styled master storyteller, has steered his listeners down a sinister path littered with love and betrayal, secret police and death squads. But as the Argentinian’s tale nears its startling conclusion, his audience is struck with horror at the possibility that Ramon’s clever invention is nothing more than the cunningly disguised chronicle of his own shadowy past.
Is Ramon a gifted artist of the imagination or the perpetrator of a terrible act of revenge that defies all forgiveness?
‘Hansen is a great novelist. Only the bravest and most confident writer could grant his characters such intelligence and insight and still remain in command.’ West Australian
‘blazes life and death and love from every page’ The Courier Mail
ISBN 0 7322 7542 3
Excerpt from Lunch with Mussolini
DEREK HANSEN
Spring 1945: The quiet of a northern Italian village is shattered by an explosion of gunfire as eight innocent women are gunned down. But why have they been executed now, with the war almost over and the Germans standing to gain nothing from further reprisals?
Fifty years later, the daughter of one of the victims finds the German officer who ordered the executions living under an assumed name, and sets out to avenge her mother’s death.
‘It is no coincidence that two great novels linked with the Second World War have come out of Australia … Keneally’s Schindler’s Ark and now Derek Hansen’s Lunch with Mussolini.’ Glasgow Herald
‘Derek Hansen take a bow. You have written one of the most entertaining, gripping and powerful novels of the year.’ Sunday Telegraph
ISBN 0 7322 7543 1
Excerpt from Lunch with the Stationmaster
DEREK HANSEN
The eagerly awaited third novel in Derek Hansen’s bestselling ‘Lunch’ series.
Lunch with the Stationmaster takes us back to Gancio’s restaurant. It is a Thursday and, as usual, Ramon, Lucio, Milos and Neil have gathered for their weekly lunch appointment. It is Neil’s turn to take the floor—except that Milos steps in and demands to tell his story. He has no choice in the matter, he says: ‘This story has already been too long awaiting the telling. It must be told now. Time is running out. It is not just an obligation but a repayment of a debt.’ With those words he hooks the three other men—and Derek Hansen hooks his readers.
We are taken back to Hungary in the 1940s, a time when Jews are persecuted and rumours of the terrifying death camps are circulating. This is a novel with huge range, set within a real historical landscape populated by figures like Adolf Eichmann and the Russian and Hungarian secret police. It is also a love story set during a time of turmoil and separation, a story which begins in Hungary and seeks its conclusion in Australia.
ISBN 0 7322 7508 3
About the Author
Derek Hansen is a former advertising man who walked away at the peak of his career to fulfil a lifelong ambition to write novels.
His first novel, Lunch with the Generals, became an immediate bestseller, followed by Lunch with Mussolini and Sole Survivor. Lunch with a Soldier is his seventh novel and the fourth in the Lunch series.
Derek Hansen’s work has also been published in America, Europe and the United Kingdom. He is married, has two adult children, and lives on Sydney’s northern beaches.
Praise
‘[Lunch with the Generals] is a rare book and a rare story that blazes life and death and love from every page … the style sparse yet detailed, the sign of a brilliant storyteller’
— Courier-Mail
‘Derek Hansen, take a bow. You have written one of the most entertaining, gripping and powerful novels of the year’
— Sunday Telegraph on Lunch with Mussolini
‘Another fine effort from Hansen, with complex characters from wartime Germans to Italian fascists to Australian widows’
— Courier-Mail on Lunch with Mussolini
‘Derek Hansen has a knack for making the immediate past come alive with contemporary pain’
— Canberra Times on Sole Survivor
Other Books by Derek Hansen
Lunch with the Generals
Lunch with Mussolini
Lunch with the Stationmaster
Sole Survivor
Blockade
Perfect Couple
SHORT STORIES
Something Fishy
Dead Fishy
Psycho Cat
Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2004
This edition published in 2014
by HarperCollinsPublishers Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
A member of the HarperCollinsPublishers (Australia) Pty Limited Group
www.harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Derek Hansen 2004
The right of Derek Hansen to be identified as the moral rights author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000 (Cth).
This book is copyright.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission.
Inquiries should be addressed to the publishers.
HarperCollinsPublishers