Sanctuary

by Judy Nunn

  ‘We want to buy a few new outfits for Jalila, Izz.’ Paul said.

  ‘Of course, come with me.’

  Izzie led the way and they followed her towards the rear of the shop.

  ‘What sort of outfits, Jalila?’ she asked as they went. ‘And what size are you?’

  Jalila looked blankly at Izzie and then at Paul, who answered for her.

  ‘A couple of dresses,’ he said, ‘tops, skirts, that sort of thing, not sure about size, we leave it all in your hands.’

  ‘Happy to oblige.’ It would certainly be no hardship to dress a beautiful young creature like this, Izzie thought.

  Having gathered from the girl’s accent that her knowledge of English was limited, she wondered briefly where Jalila came from, but unless information was offered, she had no intention of asking. ‘Have a look around, Jalila,’ she said as they reached the racks of clothes, ‘see if there’s anything that takes your fancy and I’ll find it in your size.’ Then she added apologetically to Paul, ‘Back in a moment, sweetie, I have another customer to tend to,’ and she silently mouthed, ‘Sahndy.’

  Ah, he thought, grateful for the warning, so we’re about to cop Sandy. Oh well, better to get it over with sooner rather than later.

  ‘Everything all right in there?’ Izzie asked through one of the cubicle’s curtains. ‘Need any change of sizes?’

  ‘No thank you, Izzie,’ came a familiar voice. ‘I’m all done, I’ll be out shortly.’

  Sandra Shadforth hadn’t been even halfway through trying on the plethora of garments she’d selected, but having heard every word of the exchange between Paul and the Marstons she’d climbed rapidly back into her own clothes and was now freshening her makeup. She couldn’t wait to lay eyes on young Paul Miller’s new wife.

  Barely seconds later, the curtains were swished aside and she stepped out from the cubicle, a tall, elegant woman in her mid-fifties. Regal of bearing, perfectly coiffed and impeccably dressed, she would have been handsome had it not been for the perennial air of dissatisfaction that marred her well-chiselled face. Many years back one of the town wags, probably Mac, had remarked ‘Sandy always looks like somebody’s farted,’ and the comment had struck a chord with many.

  ‘I’ll take the dove-grey,’ she said, handing a blouse to Izzie, ‘hello, Paul, so this is your lovely new wife?’ It all came out in the one breath.

  ‘Hello, Sandy. Yes, this is Jalila. Jalila, this is Mrs Shadforth.’

  ‘How do you do, Jalila.’ Sandy offered her hand.

  ‘How do you do, Mrs Shadforth.’ They shook.

  ‘My goodness, you are indeed lovely,’ Sandy said, ‘and how did you two meet?’ It was a talent of Sandy’s developed over the years, running two different thoughts together, usually involving a query, and all without drawing breath. Many people found it disconcerting, which was perhaps her intention.

  Izzie, blouse in hand, started off towards the counter and in passing gave a brief eye-roll to Paul. The inquisition was about to begin.

  ‘We met through my sister, Bev,’ Paul said, ‘in Geraldton. A number of times actually, but we only recently started going out together –’

  ‘Surely Jalila can speak for herself, dear,’ Sandy said, flashing one of her supposedly gracious smiles that somehow never quite managed to reach her eyes.

  ‘Well no, she can’t really, Sahndy.’ This time Paul gave the name the comic over-emphasis that the woman never seemed to register as mockery. ‘Jalila’s English is not very fluent.’

  ‘Ah, how interesting, so where does she come from, how long has she been here –’

  Sandy might even have managed to string on another query had Paul not interrupted.

  ‘Her family comes from Iraq,’ he said, gabbling the answers out at the same rocket speed the questions had been fired, ‘they’ve been in Australia for a long time now, living in Perth, Bev went to university with Jalila’s older sister –’

  ‘My sister Paraza live in Perth,’ Jalila added loudly. ‘Paraza and Bev, they is good friends.’

  ‘Yes,’ Paul said, loving her boldness, ‘Paraza and Bev are very good friends. And now, Sandy, if you’ll excuse us, we must get on with our shopping.’ He gave the older woman the friendliest smile.

  ‘Of course, dear,’ Sandy returned her own tight smile, ‘how nice.’

  She left for the counter to settle her account; she’d really wanted to buy far more than the one dreary, dove-grey blouse, but having emerged she could hardly now go back into the cubicle where all those untested clothes remained hanging on their hooks.

  As Sandra Shadforth ferreted out her reading glasses and focused on her credit card transaction, Izzie signalled congratulations to Paul.

  ‘Be with you in a moment, Jalila,’ she called.

  They left the shop a good hour later with at least a dozen items of clothing, which seemed to Jalila amazingly extravagant.

  ‘Is too much, Paul,’ she argued. ‘Who need so much clothes?’

  ‘Rubbish,’ he insisted, ‘all girls buy this much stuff. Well,’ he corrected himself, ‘I know Bev does – she buys heaps more.’

  They’d actually shopped economically: Izzie had seen to that.

  ‘It’s a case of mix and match,’ she’d explained to Jalila, quickly realising the girl had no idea of how to go about shopping. ‘This light jacket will go with that skirt, that dress and those trousers, and these shirts and blouses can be swapped around, you see. You end up with a whole new wardrobe.’

  Jalila had cottoned on to the idea very quickly.

  ‘I like mix and match,’ she admitted as she and Paul walked next door to the coffee shop. Despite her protestations Jalila was secretly thrilled with her ‘whole new wardrobe’.

  Nina’s Bakery assailed the senses the moment they stepped inside.

  ‘Told you it always smells good,’ Paul said as they were hit by the heady mix of freshly baked bread and muffins mingling with the richness of home-made pies and pasties.

  ‘G’day, Paul,’ the girl called from behind the counter, where she was serving several customers from the extraordinary array of goods on display.

  ‘G’day, Alex,’ he called back, ‘your mum not about?’

  ‘Nup, she’s in the kitchen cooking up a storm, won’t be out until the crowd turns up.’

  Nina’s bakery and café was another family business, run by Nina Adrejic and her seventeen-year-old daughter, Aleksandra.

  ‘We’ll go through, OK?’ He gestured at the open doors that led into the coffee shop.

  ‘Sure, I’ll be with you in a tick.’

  It was not yet lunchtime and they had the café to themselves, as he’d hoped they might – he’d looked forward to having a quiet chat with Nina. He chose a table in the far corner, and they dumped their parcels and sat.

  Five minutes later, Alex was by their side, a rather heavy-browed and attractive girl of central-European appearance.

  ‘What’ll it be, folks? Name your poison,’ she said, pen poised and order pad at the ready. Her voice belied her Serbian heritage – born in Shoalhaven, young Aleksandra Adrejic was an out-and-out Aussie. She gave them both a friendly smile while trying not to stare at the beautiful young woman. Paul’s new girlfriend’s a stunner, she was thinking, how come I haven’t noticed her around town?

  Aware young Alex was dying of curiosity and playing it cool, Paul made the introduction.

  ‘Jalila, this is Alex,’ he said, ‘Alex, Jalila.’

  ‘How do you do, Alex.’ Jalila offered her hand.

  ‘G’day, Jalila.’

  ‘Jalila and I got married in Gero last week,’ Paul said casually.

  The girl dropped her ‘cool act’ altogether. Utterly gob-smacked, she made no attempt to hide her amazement. ‘Crikey, are you for real?’ she asked, gawking at the two of them, wide-eyed.

  Paul nodded. ‘Yep, we’re for real,’ he said with a smile. Much as Alex tried to be worldly she was really just an overgrown kid.

  ‘Can I go an
d get Mum? She won’t want to miss out on this, and she’ll kill me if I don’t tell her.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Young Alex belted off eagerly to fetch her mother, as Paul had hoped she would. He’d been disappointed not to discover Nina in her usual spot behind the counter – he’d wanted her to be one of the first to meet Jalila. Nina Adrejic could prove a valuable asset, he was sure. She was bound to spread the news of his marriage around, and in just the right way. Nina might well become a true ally for Jalila.

  His reasoning proved sound.

  ‘Oh my dear girl,’ Nina said in her mangled accent when, the two of them having risen to greet her, Paul made the introduction. ‘Oh my dear, dear girl,’ she repeated, embracing Jalila as if she was a lifelong friend. ‘You are married! This is wonderful!’ She beamed from one to the other. ‘I may join you?’

  ‘Yes, yes, please do,’ Paul urged, pulling up another chair.

  ‘Coffee, Aleksandra,’ Nina ordered peremptorily as she sat, the others joining her while Alex scuttled obediently off to the counter.

  ‘Now you tell me, dear girl,’ she went on, leaning forwards, elbows on the table, her full focus upon Jalila, ‘where you from? How long you been here? How you meet our beautiful Paul?’

  A short woman in her mid-fifties with an age-thickened body, Nina still had the striking features of her youth. The high cheekbones, the piercing grey-blue eyes and dramatic Slavic brow were an arresting mix, particularly combined with the forcefulness of her personality.

  ‘You tell me all,’ she said, smiling broadly, ‘and I mean all of everything,’ she added with a wave of her hand and in the butchered accent that had not changed during the thirty years she’d been in the country. An intelligent woman, Nina’s vocabulary and command of the language had improved in leaps and bounds since she’d arrived as a twenty-two-year-old unable to speak a word of English, but as she’d greedily soaked up the cadences and oblique vowels of her fellow countrymen her accent had remained the ghastly, mangled mess it had been from the start.

  She now sat back and waited to hear Jalila’s story.

  Jalila stared uncomprehendingly at the woman, who seemed so very nice. She knew she’d been asked a set of questions, but at such speed and in such a peculiar accent, she hadn’t fully understood them.

  ‘Ah,’ Nina nodded knowingly, ‘you don’ speak English.’ She turned to Paul for verification. ‘That’s it, eh? She don’ speak English?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Jalila had understood that part perfectly. ‘I do speak English,’ she said firmly. ‘Not good, but I do speak English.’

  ‘Ah,’ Nina beamed once again, ‘this is excellent. It is essential you learn the language of your new country, quick, quick, quick, soon as possible. Communication of vital importance for immigrants. So where you from? How long you been here?’

  Aware that Jalila was once again becoming confused by Nina’s rapid-fire barrage, Paul intervened.

  ‘I think you’d better ask your questions a bit more slowly, Nina,’ he suggested.

  ‘Ah yes,’ she replied apologetically, ‘I talk fast when I get excited, this is true. I am sorry, my dear girl,’ she said to Jalila. Then with solemn deliberation and pausing between each word, she asked, ‘Where … are … you … from?’

  Paul smiled as Nina proceeded to interrogate Jalila in a voice like a faulty recording slowed to half-speed, enunciating each word with what she perceived to be great clarity, unaware she was highlighting the hideousness of her accent. Nina was often unwittingly funny.

  He didn’t interject as the interrogation continued, but sat watching, a contended bystander, feeling proud when Jalila fielded all the questions to perfection. Her family had come out from Iraq some years ago … she had recently joined them … she had met Paul through Bev, who had gone to university in Perth with her sister, Paraza … Jalila didn’t put a foot wrong, and Nina tastefully did not push for any further detail, she was interested only in the basics.

  Paul didn’t find Nina Adrejic’s forthright enquiry in the least offensive or overly intrusive as Sandy Shadforth’s had been, even though she was asking the very same questions. It was quite clear Nina identified with Jalila and was genuinely interested in the girl. They were fellow immigrants and she wished to welcome Jalila to her new country and her new town and her new home, just as she herself had been welcomed all those years earlier. In fact Nina was behaving in exactly the way Paul had hoped she would. The woman would indeed be a valuable ally.

  Young Alex delivered the coffee, longing to join them at the table, but ordered by her mother to return to her post at the counter.

  ‘And you bring us fresh muffins,’ Nina demanded, ‘hot ones, mind, be sure of this, hot ones from the kitchen.’

  Then Nina proceeded to tell Jalila her own story, a brief shorthand version, just in order to make the girl feel at home. And she told it slowly so that Jalila, whose knowledge of English was obviously limited, would understand. At least that was Nina’s intention. As she warmed to her theme, however, the speed of her delivery grew exponentially.

  ‘I am little older than you when I come here from Yugoslavia,’ she started out. Nina never referred to herself as Serbian, always Yugoslavian, simply because her mother had always referred to herself as such. ‘I am twenty-two when I arrive with my husband. He also is Yugoslav, but he is not a good man, he leave me thirteen years later. And I tell you what’s more he leave me with two children!’ She snarled the words, her lip curling contemptuously, already she was getting carried away. ‘I think he don’ like when Aleksandra arrive, he is nearly forty and don’ want another baby. No matter, no matter …’ with a wave of her hand, she dismissed her husband to the oblivion where he belonged ‘… he is bad man, I am better off without him.’ She smiled at Jalila in the friendliest manner, as if they shared something deeply personal. ‘I am happy in this beautiful country, with my beautiful daughter and my beautiful son.’

  Nina then went on to boast of her son. ‘Born in this country, same as Aleksandra,’ she said with great pride. ‘Both son and daughter true Australian.’

  Twenty-five-year-old Boris Adrejic was currently up north working on the oil and gas fields, she told Jalila, but he would return for the lobster season.

  ‘He is fisher, like your Paul here,’ she said, referring to Paul for the first time since she’d embarked upon her story, ‘and like your Paul, he live out on Gevaar Island during the fishing season. You will get to meet him when the season starts, Jalila, and you will like him very much. A fine young man. I hope one day,’ she added warmly, ‘my Boris will meet a lovely girl like you.’

  Attentive and interested though she had been, Jalila had absorbed only half of Nina’s story, due again to the speed of the delivery and the peculiarity of the accent, but the mention of the woman’s son living on the island during the season instantly hit home. She wondered which hut was Boris Adrejic’s. Could it be the one she herself had lived in? And if so, how would Nina feel about such an intrusion?

  Jalila had been pleased that she’d answered correctly the questions asked of her and she’d basked in the knowledge that Paul was proud of her, but now, given the warmth of Nina’s welcome, she regretted the need for deception.

  ‘Ah, the muffins,’ Nina said as Alex arrived at the table. ‘Apple and cinnamon, baked fresh this morning.’ Then to her daughter, ‘You chose these from the latest batch still warm from the oven?’

  ‘Course I did, Mum, just like you said.’ Having placed the dish of muffins in the centre of the table, Alex doled out the side plates and serviettes. ‘Hey, you better come and give me a hand though, the lunch mob’s turning up.’

  ‘Oh.’ Swivelling in her chair to look behind her, Nina was surprised to discover several people now seated in the café, and beyond the door a number gathered at the counter. She’d been so carried away she hadn’t heard or seen them arrive. A few of the customers gave her a wave, which she returned, but she didn’t rise, remaining seated at the table, quite un
fazed.

  ‘Get back to work, Aleksandra,’ she said. ‘I will be with you shortly.’

  ‘Right you are.’

  As Alex scurried away, Nina took Jalila’s hand in both of hers and offered the young woman her final heartfelt words.

  ‘I welcome you to Shoalhaven, my dear girl. You will be happy here: we are good people in this town, and you have a good husband.’ She flashed a smile at Paul then returned her attention to Jalila, patting the girl’s hand briskly to emphasise the importance of her advice. ‘But you make sure you work very hard on your English,’ she instructed. Nina had sensed Jalila hadn’t fully comprehended all she’d said. ‘It is very important for immigrants they should learn to speak good English. Australians like that you do this, and it is right you should. This shows respect for your new country, you understand me?’

  ‘Yes, Nina,’ Jalila said obediently, ‘I understand you.’ She had – more or less.

  ‘Good.’ Nina sprang to her feet. ‘Good, good, good, and now I must return to my work. You want I should bring you some lunch?’

  Paul looked a query to Jalila, who shook her head – she was far too excited to think of lunch.

  ‘No thanks, Nina,’ he said, ‘the muffins will do us fine.’

  ‘I get Aleksandra to bring you fresh coffee,’ she said. ‘You don’ pay her, this is my shout for Jalila.’

  She beamed at them both then sailed off to the counter.

  Jalila turned to Paul, puzzled by the remark.

  ‘She means the coffee and muffins are a present for you,’ he explained.

  ‘She is very nice, Nina.’

  ‘Yep, and she’s a bloody good cook what’s more,’ he said, biting into a fresh, warm muffin that was truly delicious.

  Well so far so good, he was thinking. Nina Adrejic had proved as accepting of their marriage as the Marstons had, and she would certainly spread the word around in the best of ways. Paul was pleased with their progress.

  After leaving Nina’s Bakery, they went shopping for food and general supplies, and the reception they met along the way continued to be favourable. As they walked up Main Street, they passed several people who greeted Paul, and when he stopped to introduce his new wife they were surprised, but unreservedly warm in their congratulations.