One Place

by Cara Shaw

  Maria glanced over at Robbie, who had fallen asleep quickly and was breathing in long drawn out breaths. His body was very, very still. She had noticed the same thing when she was looking after him at the hospital. When he slept his soul did not seem present, almost as if it was flying elsewhere while using his body as an anchor. He was so deep in slumber that she didn’t bother with modesty, and undressed down to her chemise to bathe. She poured some warm water from the kettle into a tin bowl and began her nightly ritual. She rinsed out her cloth and after putting drops of lavender oil onto it sponged her face and body, and finished by scrubbing her hands and nails with soap. She took the lamp over to her beside and turned it all the way down, then she too fell asleep, feeling the most peaceful and calm than she had for a very long time.

  When she awoke Robbie was sitting on the bed holding a cup of tea, she gave a little yelp and snatched the sheet up to her chest.

  “I’m not that scary am I?” he teased and handed her the mug. He stood up and pulled the sheet divider across and left her alone. She sipped the black tea; he had found the honey she had bought on the black market, spooning in a generous amount so that it was pleasingly sweet. When she had finished she arose, washed again and dressed, and then walked out into the garden where she guessed he would be. There he was, sitting on the tiny brick terrace, leaning against the cottage wall with knees drawn up and holding a steaming cup of tea.

  He heard her and said, “Nice here in the sun.”

  She sat down on the ground near him, and could feel the warmth of the old clay bricks through her dress. The cottage backed onto a large garden, and was once tended to by the local priest who had lived there before the war and the parish gardener, both long gone now. She had hardly seen the garden since she had arrived, and had never been out there during the cold winter months. It was late summer, and now with Robbie here, she looked at it with new eyes.

  At the bottom of the garden ran a high stone wall, and fruit trees had been planted along its breadth, she could tell by their leaves and shape that they were apple, plum and orange – the same ones her mother grew behind their house at home. The garden beds were arranged to receive as much sun as possible so the plants could flourish. The beds were heavily overgrown now, and the grass between them was thigh high and scattered with poppies and sweet-smelling violets. Down to the left was the collapsed chicken coop, which she already knew about, as Honoria an old hen still roosted there although Maria had no idea how she had survived all this time. Maria sneezed and Robbie chuckled, the grass seed and sun had stimulated her senses, and her body unused to being outside had responded. The garden was alive with insects, bees and butterflies, ants and caterpillars. There were even a few flies about, and an earthy smell rose from the damp ground as the day warmed up.

  Robbie stood up and held out his hand, “Come on,” he said and she stood up, slipping her little hand his large one as if it were the most natural thing in the world. They explored the garden together, chatting quietly. They talked about his country, the animals, his family and what it was like to live near the river. He told her that his was an ancient people and that before they were invaded their lives had revolved around caretaking their traditional lands and learning their law through stories. He didn’t recognise the birds that dipped down into the garden occasionally, and she told him that they were red robins and swallows. He told her the legend of how the wili-wagtail, a native bird, the dyirridyirri came to be and showed her how it moved by jumping about and waving his bottom in the air. The sight was so funny that she began to laugh hysterically, all at once forgetting everything; the war, her loneliness, and missing her home and family so much that at times she had a physical pain in her chest. And while she was laughing she felt Robbie’s large arms wrap around her, and his beautiful lips pressing down on hers in a long luxuriant kiss. Then they cuddled for a long time, holding each other in the wild garden, where it seemed that a seed of possibility was also ready to flourish in the warm weather. They went back inside and Maria made him some porridge with water and honey and another cup of tea. After they ate Robbie went over to his kit bag on the bed and sorted through it.

  Everything smelled, infused with the foul mud from the trenches.

  He made a pile on the floor and said to Maria, “I’ll have to wash these, they smell terrible.”

  He found the least grubby singlet and shorts and went outside to change into them. Maria heated up the kettle on the wood stove and when it was boiling they took the tin tub that she used for bathing to the terrace with a pat of soap, and they sat together and washed his uniform, shirt, socks and underwear, and rinsed them in cold water. They squeezed the clothes out and hung them in the trees to dry, and then Robbie went for a wander around the garden while she sat in the sun. He returned a little later with eggs that he had found near the chicken coop, and Maria was surprised.

  “I didn’t know she was still laying,” she said.

  “We’ll boil them up, if they’re no good we’ll find out soon enough,” he replied.

  He took a metal bucket back out into the garden with him, while she went inside to boil the eggs. He walked around the old garden beds, and he thought he recognised a few carrot tops, so he pulled them out. He was right and he managed to retrieve around ten. Then he dug up some potatoes and onions, and picked some spinach that had grown wild and tough. He even found some small tomatoes that had gone soft. He put them all into the bucket and took them back to Maria, and they sat down at the table to peel and slice the vegetables. When the eggs had finished boiling, she took the old pan off the stove and put them in a ceramic bowl for later, then she tossed all the vegetables in with more water and left it to simmer. They went back outside again and Maria showed Robbie the herbs that were hiding behind the weeds, and picked some parsley, thyme and rosemary, explaining to him what they were while she did so, saying they would add more flavour to the vegetable stew they were making.

  Many years later when Robbie was an old man he would remember these idyllic days with Maria as the best of his life. He would recall that the wild vegetable and herb stew that they had made together was the best he had ever tasted, and that when they cracked open the eggs to eat with it, only two were good, the others stinking so badly of rot that he had to run out and bury them in a hole while Maria opened the cottage windows and flapped her apron, wailing over the disgusting smell. And then he would remember that after they ate their lunch he drew the pretty dark girl onto his lap, and they kissed and then made love for rest of the afternoon, getting up later to eat the leftovers of their lunch with a few plums and apples, taken from the trees at the bottom of the garden. He knew that it was a memory that should not have remained so sweet, as everything that happened occurred during a war of great destruction and consequent devastation. When he was much older he grew to realise, that although they had found each other in dire circumstances, their love – true and innocent, had transcended it all.

  They stayed together in the cottage for seven days, during which Robbie proposed and Maria accepted.

  One evening they were lying in bed holding hands with the back door open so they could see into their now beloved garden and Robbie declared, “You are my wife,” and Maria turned to him, kissed him on the cheek and said, “Yes I am. I am your wife.”

  They only had one argument the entire time, when Robbie wanted to eat the chicken.

  “No, you cannot,” Maria said heatedly.

  “Maria! We need food!” his voice rising, it had been so long since he had eaten chicken he could hardly remember what it tasted like.

  “No! Honoria has survived this long, it would not be fair to kill her now!” she argued.

  Robbie smouldered for a couple of hours, he couldn’t see Maria’s point. To him Honoria was just an old hen ready to eat, nonetheless, he didn’t mention it again. Maria went back to work, and Robbie idled away the days waiting for her to return, collecting produce from the gar
den to supplement the food Maria brought with her from the hospital or sourced from the black market.

  On the seventh day they sat down to talk about their future.

  “I have to return to my regiment, if I don’t I could get into serious trouble, perhaps even go to jail. They warned us about deserting in training,” said Robbie.

  “You haven’t deserted!’ cried Maria “You have been recuperating…”

  “It’s time I went back anyway. Has anybody asked after me at the hospital?” he said.

  No one had. Robbie’s case had been subsumed in the ever­ growing tide of injured men that were constantly trafficked in and out of the hospital, dead and alive. The most severely wounded were sent home on hospital ships, the hulls emblazoned with huge white crosses to indicate they were transporting the sick. Both the British and French armies buried the dead where they could, and tried to keep records as accurately as possible. Robbie and Maria agreed that it would be simple enough for him to slip into the hospital and report back to the Supervising Officer to find out what he should do next. It was impossible for him to stay at Hollebeke, and he told her he was duty bound to return to Billington to help provide for his family. Maria made a brave decision.

  “I will come with you, we can make our life in Australia,” she said.

  “I love you Maria,” Robbie said.

  “I love you too,” Maria replied.

  They agreed that once he reported in and was sent on his next deployment, she would finish at the hospital and return to her family in Italy. When the war was over and it was safe for her to travel, she would join him in Australia. Billington. This was the best plan they could think of under the circumstances, and only years later would a much older and more knowledgeable Robbie come to understand that the idea was completely doomed.

  The next morning they both awoke while it was still dark, and Robbie packed his kit bag, put on his uniform and boots and embraced Maria before setting off, promising to meet her later at the hospital. He walked in the pearly dawn through the empty streets, past the rubble that was once the houses and shops of Hollebeke, where everything was cold and lifeless and his breath misted in the damp morning air. It was hard for him to imagine what the village had looked like before the war. He was an Aboriginal man who had lived his life on the outskirts of a country town, his day to day world consisted of tall swaying gum trees, and tiny huts built from scavenged materials. The road he walked along here had been laid with cobblestone; the paths at home were worn tracks that were dusty during summer, and packed down hard in the mild winter. He had hardly ever been into Billington, and most of the time he didn’t want to go. If an errand was unavoidable, he had to steel himself, as white people looked at him as if he were a piece of rubbish, which made him feel depressed and alone. He could never understand their attitude or their wrinkled noses and disgusted looks. He had never done anything at all to harm a white person, and had performed little more than menial tasks for the farmers and sheep stations around Billington. He now knew that in his own country, being a black man meant that he had no civil rights. Serving in the army had taught him everything he needed to know about equality and more. That being free was worth fighting for, except he wasn’t fighting the Germans or the Russians or the Turks, he was fighting against discrimination.

  As he made this way to the hospital he was filled with optimism, when he returned to Australia he would make changes, and bring Maria home and raise their family decently and provide for them properly. Yes, he knew who he was now and nothing would stop him. He had arranged with Maria that she would start her walk an hour after him so that there would be no hint that he had been lodging with her, and once inside the hospital courtyard he made his way straight to the Supervising Officer’s area. This was no more than a desk pushed up against a wall covered and surrounded by stacks of brown folders, and even though it was still early, a harried looking man in uniform sat behind the desk. Robbie halted and saluted.

  The man looked up in an agitated way, and when he saw Robbie his eyes widened in surprise. Robbie stood at attention.

  “At ease,” said the officer, “What is it?”

  “Private Dalton reporting in sir,” replied Robbie.

  “Reporting in from where for god’s sake?” the officer snapped.

  “I’ve come off the ward, I’m fit now and ready for duty,” Robbie said nervously.

  “Right,” said the officer, “Discharge papers?”

  Robbie panicked, “What?”

  “I said where are your hospital discharge papers, who was the doctor that signed you off?” said the man, badly irritated.

  “Ah, I’m Australian,” Robbie said desperately, not really knowing what else to say.

  The officer looked at him in annoyance, “Well that’s a bloody pain isn’t it? Forget the discharge papers, what was wrong with you?” he said, scribbling away on a sheet of paper.

  Robbie swallowed and replied, “I was gassed.”

  The officer glanced up at him, “Alright now?”

  “I’m fine,” said Robbie.

  “Good, I’ll just put down gassed. Right you’re in with the British Fourth, there’s a truck departing at midday. And keep these papers with you at all times. Dismissed,” and he went back to working through his files.

  Robbie was relieved, “Thank you sir,” and he began to step away.

  Then he heard the officer say, “One moment.”

  Robbie stopped in his tracks, he felt the sweat dripping down his arms. This is it he thought.

  “Have you eaten?” the officer asked.

  “No,” said Robbie.

  “Go to the mess hall and have breakfast before you leave,” and he went back to his work.

  Robbie hurried away and was at first thankful and then worried sick. His new orders instructed that he was to be absorbed into the British Expeditionary Force, Fourth Army; and that meant he would be heading straight back into combat. He walked desultorily along the hallway, crowded with trollies and makeshift pallets, where wounded soldiers lay smoking cigarettes or sipping tea from tin mugs and waiting to be transferred. There were others with sheets drawn over their heads, the bodies ready to be taken to the morgue. The living and the dead side by side thought Robbie, it was a gruesome sight. He tightened his hold on his kit bag, and looked down at his uniform, which still smelled slightly of the rose scented soap he and Maria had used to wash it. His body was intact and strong, it could be worse he thought, and he entered the mess hall for a warm bowl of porridge and a hot cup of tea.

  Chapter Four

  An hour later Maria followed Robbie on that chilly autumn morning in Hollbeke, and they met after he had finished breakfast in the hospital mess hall. When he told her about his new orders they both fell silent with fear. Being young and in love was no guarantee against the perils they both knew lay ahead, the evidence was abundantly clear to both of them. They stood together in a quiet spot waiting for Robbie’s transport, sipping black tea from enamel mugs.

  “I may not see you again Robbie,” said Maria frankly.

  Robbie looked down at her pretty face, memorising every curve, every angle. He knew it would be unfair and wrong to assure her that they would meet again, they had both seen too much to pretend that their future was safe.

  “I love you Maria. Always will darlin’” he said smiling at her.

  Soldiers were milling around them, talking, smoking, some in pairs others alone and anxious. Most of the men were going straight back into combat just like him, and the sense of combined fear was almost palpable.

  “I love you too Robbie,” she replied. They looked at each other dry-eyed – neither of them could cry, tears had left them both weeks ago. The men began to move into formation, ready to board the first of the trucks that would take them straight to the front. Senior officers marched about shouting out instructions. Robbie stepped away from her as his name
was called, his nervousness displayed only by the strong grip of his hand in hers.

  “Remember what we agreed, what we talked about,” his voice was urgent as he let go of her hand.

  “Robbie!” Maria said loudly, “Please, stay safe…”

  He nodded and climbed aboard the open-backed truck, watching her intently as it drove away, and she stood in the rubbish-strewn, foul-smelling hospital courtyard while her heart plunged into her stomach. All she had left was hope, and right now that appeared to be frighteningly slim.

  After their farewell she returned to the wards to clean and scrub, empty bedpans and give some comfort to the dying and the wounded. She did not sleep for nearly two days nor did she bother to return to the cottage. Once she dozed off in a chair and another time she felt herself being shaken awake by a well-meaning nurse, and discovered that she had fallen asleep in the mess hall with her head down next to her porridge, spoon in her hand. That afternoon she made the long walk back to the cottage and stoked up the stove. She piled all blankets onto the bed as well as her coat and shut herself in to sleep for a day and a night, and tried to recover from the shock of Robbie leaving. The feelings she was experiencing were unlike anything she had known before. Love had left a burning hot needle inside her body somewhere beneath her rib cage, attached to a long cruel thread that periodically pulled and tugged at the painful sliver, causing her immense anguish.

  Eventually she rose and bathed, and knowing that she must return to work, made a small bowl of porridge. She took her breakfast and tea outside to eat in the early morning sun, still warm despite the encroaching autumn weather. She looked over the old garden, which was preparing for the coming winter by dropping petals from luxuriant cabbage roses and affable daffodils, intermingled with dancing blue butterflies. She felt her stomach turn and vomited quietly into the woody lavender bush that grew next to the back door. She knew at once that the seed that had flown into her, propelled by love, had begun to flourish, and she prayed very hard to a God that she was not sure that she believed in anymore for her Robbie to stay alive.