by Max Howell
“But surely Murray would tip it off.”
“How? He does not call you Faith, does he? He has no idea you ever knew Mark.”
“But he will know, or hear, that I knew you.”
“So what? I know lots of people. So Murray’s mother was born in Randwick. Big deal!”
“There must be some way he would find out.”
“Even if he did, Faith, does it really matter now? He is married, you are married. At the very least, it is no international calamity, and even at the very, very worst, why would he divulge it to Murray? It would only take ten minutes with Murray to know who he thinks his father is.”
“Yes, you are right. I … I just would not want him to find out, unless it is from me, and I just do not want to do it. It would create a host of problems for all of us, and turn our lives upside-down.”
“All right, I can accept that. Look, I have thought through every single aspect. There is a way he can find out, it is the only way I can see, if Murray takes a photo of you with him.”
“But he is certain to do that.”
“Not if you tell him not to.”
“But how can I do that, Terry? You know how much he loves me.”
“Well, I have thought through that too. He is a tough young cookie, as the Yanks say, and there is one argument he will respond to.”
“What is that?”
“Tell him you do not want him to take a photograph because you want him to be independent. That is what I did with him, told him that you were not to come with him to swimming coaching, that very first day. I saw the look in his eyes. It is the same look that Mark gave me, and the same one I see when I tell you that you should have told Mark. Oh, you may have to dress it up a bit, tell him you feel the memory of you is better kept in his mind, and not a photograph. You will think of something. But stress you want him to stand on his own two feet. That will do the trick with young Murray. So what do you say?”
“I … I have to think about it, and I want to talk to Toch first, then Murray. There is no point in you going to a lot of trouble if either one is against it. Toch first and Murray second, and maybe I will want to think about it myself a bit longer. I will surely need a few days. But thanks, Terry, for thinking of it. You are a true friend.”
“Yes, I am, Faith, to you and Mark and Murray. You three are the best thing that ever happened to me. I wish it had turned out different, mind you. But I refuse to get into that again.”
Faith smiled. “Like heck you won’t, you old rascal. You will never give up.”
Instead of catching the bus back to Peter’s Corner, as the trams had ceased operating a few years before, Faith walked back slowly, going over everything that had been discussed in her own mind. The more she thought about it, the more she felt the excitement. Mark, coaching his own son. It was well beyond her wildest dreams … Mark, seeing this young boy, a replica of himself, and being his mentor. It will mean that Mark will have shared in the boy’s life, even though he will never know. Murray will learn what a fine man Mark is, and if he ever does find out the real truth he will be able to put the whole thing in better perspective. I like the idea, she thought, in this way I will feel I am closer, once again, to Mark, and through Murray I will know more about Mark, what he is like now, how he lives, what he looks like. The whole idea is exciting.
That evening she asked Toch to go for a walk, and she carefully, without revealing her excitement, unfolded what had happened that day. When she had finished, and had analysed the pros and cons for Toch, he said nothing for quite a while, and walked with her in silence, wrestling with the problem that she had presented.
He finally stopped, turned to face her, put his arms gently onto her shoulders and looked steadily into her eyes.
“You want this, Faith, don’t you?” he said quietly, in his unemotional way.
“Yes, Toch, I do. But not if you do not approve.”
“I appreciate that, Faith. You have never done anything I have not approved of since I have known you.”
“Thanks, Toch, I feel the same about you.”
“So if it is what you want, then we do it.”
“You are a fine man, Toch. Not many would have agreed to this.”
“As I said, if it is what you want, we do it. But we have to do all we can to make sure Murray does not find out. It would be a terrible shock to him,” and then he smiled, “and can you do without him for four years, that is the question?”
“I have obviously thought about that, and the answer is, with difficulty.”
“Me too. He is a fine boy. I think I should break the news to him.”
“So do I. So let us talk about it with him to-morrow.”
Faith and Toch met Murray after his swim training, and they sat down on the hill overlooking Coogee Beach. She had made some cucumber and tomato sandwiches, and some orange drink, and they watched Murray devour everything with gusto. It was a source of continual astonishment to her how much food he would eat in a day, though they certainly understood it with the physical work-outs he customarily faced as part of his training.
Toch waited some time, and then said, in his drawling manner, “Murray, there is something serious your mother and I want to talk to you about.”
“Oh, Dad, you have not caught me stealing the cakes Grandma makes again, have you?”
“No,” he laughed, “I know all about that, and those lollies she keeps giving you. No, it is a little more serious than that. You know you finish high school at the end of next year. Have you thought much about what you want to do?”
“Well, Dad, I would like to go to University. I am not certain what I want to specialize in yet. I have not made up my mind. I like working the property, like you, so maybe I could do agriculture. But the closest University is at Armidale or at Brisbane. I would love to go to Sydney University, too. But I have never asked you whether you can afford it. Can you, Dad?”
“Yes, I think we can.”
“What I do not like is being away from you and Mum. But heck, Dad, I may not get the marks to go to University.”
“You have topped every class since you were 10 years of age. We sort of think you will make it, Murray.”
“You cannot be sure, Dad, these last two years are pretty rough.”
“All right, but let us work on the assumption you are admitted. Have you ever thought about America?”
“America? How could I go to America?”
“Well, Terry used to coach Mark Jamieson, and he is the head coach at the University of California at Berkeley. He said he would write him. He obtained a scholarship for Mark Jamieson many years ago.”
“Mark Jamieson? I did not know who he was when I started going to Terry when I was a kid, but I sure know about him now. Terry has photographs all over the place of him, and it is all I ever hear, Mark did this, Mark did that. He sounds like a pretty nice bloke, however. Do you think he could put up with a country kid like me?”
“Terry seems to think he can.”
“What do you think, Mum?”
“We would hate to see you leave us wherever you go. But if you get the marks, you are going to have to live away from home, that is all there is to it. Now we have saved enough money to get you to University, hoping you might make it. What Terry hopes he can get, and he cannot guarantee anything, we just did not want him doing anything if you did not want to go, is an athletic scholarship. I do not know whether you know much about them, but virtually all your expenses are paid for. You will get a free education. They may fly you over there free as well.”
“So you are not against it, Mum?”
“No, Murray. We think it would be a marvellous experience for you and I guess we would feel a lot more comfortable with an Australian, and someone Terry knows so well, in charge.”
“And you, Dad?”
“We feel the same, your mother and I. We will miss you, but if it comes off we think it will be a great experience, and good for your future.”
“Can I tell you a
secret, Mum and Dad? I have actually dreamed about this a lot, but I never thought it was possible. I have often heard the older swimmers talking about it, and those who have gone to America have all had tremendous experiences and received a fine education, often in areas we do not have in Australia. My namesake, Murray Rose, and a great sprinter, Jon Henricks, went overseas, as did John Davies, a butterfly champion, and Ian O’Brien and Bob Windle. I just never thought of myself following in their footsteps. As you know, I read the swimming magazines voraciously, and know about all the swimmers world-wide now. The athletic scholarship means I can study and swim at the same time. That is absolutely perfect for me. I will miss you two terribly, that is the only disadvantage. But I would love to go if it is at all possible, and if it is all right with you two.”
“Then it is settled, Murray. Now I warn you it may all fall through, but we have two years to try to line it up. We will tell Terry to-day so he can write to Mark Jamieson.” They all hugged one another. The idea was sealed.
“Mum, I am so excited,” exclaimed Murray as they got up from their picnic. “The boomers in the surf are up and I will try to catch a few. It will soothe my nerves.”
He ran off towards the sea, his muscles rippling. They watched him dive into the sea and cleave his way through the water. Faith put her hand in Toch’s. “Thanks, Toch, I know it was a lot tougher on you than you indicated.”
“No sweat, Faith, simply no sweat.”
They both walked overt the Coogee Aquarium and told Terry of their decision. The die was cast.
CHAPTER 13.
MARK IS MARRIED AND DIVORCED
The years had been kind to Mark. He was heavier than he had been during the heydays of his athletic career, and there was a streak of grey in the front of his still-blonde hair. He remained bronzed and handsome, and had developed an easy-going, academic approach to life that made him popular with students and faculty. At 35, he was happy and healthy. Happy, that is, in all respects but one.
As he waited the arrival of his swimmers for training, he pondered the problem he was having in his marriage, and felt a wave of sadness. I wonder, he thought, if I will ever achieve happiness? Perhaps I am destined to be a loner, to be unhappy in my personal and private life. I lost Faith, which will ever be one of the great mysteries of my life.
I should never have married Lisa, never, never. I should have known better. I thought it would be all right. She was George’s daughter, and she worshipped me as a kid, followed me around like a little lap dog. Despite the ten-year age difference, he thought it would work. But it did not. She had already left him, and he knew in his heart there could be no reconciliation.
His mind flashed back to his College days and the beginning of his academic career. After Faith wrote him to tell him everything was off between them he was devastated, and could not bring himself to date anyone for about eight years. He would go out to parties where there were women and would mix well, but would always arrive alone and leave alone.
He knew he was attractive to women, and was even propositioned a few times, but always smiled his way out of any such situation. His fellow swimmers would at first try to line him up with girls, but after a while they gave up, and accepted the fact that he had an unhappy love affair and needed time to get himself together. They knew he was not a homosexual, and could see that women liked him, but ultimately came to respect the fact that he could not bring himself to have a physical relationship with another woman.
Now he realized he used George’s daughter as a subterfuge. From the time Lisa was 18 years of age, and he was invited to a mixed party, he would ask her to go along. She would jump at the opportunity, being squired by a handsome, older person, and they looked a magnificent couple. Everyone would say how well they appeared together. George was secretly pleased, because he knew Mark’s character and that Lisa was safe with him, and hoped that one day Mark would be part of his own family. Mark had been like a son. He was his protégé, and now occupied his former position.
After a while it became an accepted fact that Lisa and Mark would be married. They went everywhere together. They were a fixture, in everyone’s mind. Mark was not even certain he ever asked her, they sort of drifted into marriage, more because it was expected of them than anything else, and no one suspected that there was no emotional or sexual attraction or commitment.
Their problems began the day they were married. The wedding was exceptional by any standards. The couple looked magnificent, and could have graced the cover of any of the popular magazines. It was a match that everyone approved of, it was as if it were part of the American dream, the coach marrying the coach’s beautiful daughter, to have glorious children and continue the dynasty. There was nothing to criticise in either one of them. It was as if the world was their oyster.
They were married in George’s home, which was bedecked for the occasion in storybook fashion. Lawn chairs around the garden, white roses over the lattice, the picket fence adorned with pink carnations. The sun shone, the heavens seemingly blessing the event. Like everything else, the day reeked of perfection, of beauty, of the joining of the ‘good’ people for the betterment of society.
Everyone satiated themselves with the catered food, the champagne and the strawberries. Mark had seven-up, simulating the appearance of an exuberant bride-groom, while Lisa, less fixed in her habits, and on an emotional high as the day was the fulfillment of her dreams, being married to the man she had worshipped since she was a child, was sipping the champagne contentedly.
When the bride and groom started to leave at 7 pm, they were embraced by their relatives and friends, and then they went through the picket gate to Mark’s MG. Their plan was to spend the night at Mark’s apartment in Le Conte Ave., and then drive to Las Vegas the following day.
Lisa had changed to a light floral dress, and Mark to white pants, tennis shoes and a floral shirt, and they looked resplendent as they walked into Mark’s apartment. She looked around at the all-too-familiar surroundings. It was what was called campus-casual, the living room with large pillows strewn around the floor and a large, white, comfortable sofa that was dominant. Mark’s books were everywhere, in both order and disorder. The paintings were nondescript, mainly Gaugin prints with plywood backing. Mark was attracted to Gaugin’s art, she thought, and wondered what she might change.
It was about 8.30 when they faced one another, and embraced. “You are a beautiful bride,” he said honestly.
“And you are the most handsome bridegroom ever seen.”
“I do not know about that, Lisa, my father used to say I would not look good in a golden casket.”
“Well, he was wrong, Mark. You looked good in your tuxedo, and you look good now.”
Mark started to feel apprehensive, and shifted from foot to foot. He said, nervously, “What do you want to do, Lisa?”
“I think it is time to go to bed, Mark. Do you think other people think that we have slept together before?”
“I have not really thought about it.”
“Most people do go to bed before their marriage, Mark, so I expect many people would be surprised to know we never have.”
“Maybe,” said Mark, and he noticed his heart pounding. Come on Mark, he said to himself, get a hold on yourself. Calm down. He tried to relax, but he could not as she led him into the bedroom and without embarrassment started to undress. Mark followed suit, and they slipped into bed, their nude bodies coming together.
“You look beautiful, Lisa.”
“Thanks, Mark.”
She closed her eyes, and Mark kissed her.
“Your hand is shaking, Mark, and your heart is pounding. Are you all right?”
“I am fine, Lisa. It is the girl that is supposed to be nervous, not the man.”
“It is the first time for me, Mark.”
“I know, Lisa. Just close your eyes.”
She did, and he rolled over slightly and put his lips on hers. As he did, he looked at the clock next to the bed. It was 9 o�
��clock. Nine o’clock! My God, has Faith followed me to my matrimonial bed? Can I never escape her? Every evening at 9 he had thought of her, and he did now, and he was seized with panic. What am I doing here, when I do not love her? His lips froze on Lisa’s as memories came flooding back, of Faith and her love, and the beauty of her seduction. He could not move as panic seized him.
Lisa opened her eyes in alarm. “Mark, Mark, what is wrong?”
“I … I am sorry, Lisa, I am truly sorry. It must be the excitement of the day. I … I just cannot do anything at the moment. I feel like a fool, such a bloody fool. I feel terrible.”
“It is her, Mark, isn’t it, isn’t it?” She burst into tears and turned away from him. “Oh, Mark, I want you so and love you so. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see you are holding on to a dream, a mirage that goes away as you try to touch it.” She got up from the bed, and Mark thought how beautiful she was. “I am here, Mark – I am real, not a dream, not a long-lost love. She left you, damn it, she left you! I have waited for you, waited and loved you. Touch me! For God’s sake, touch me! I am flesh and blood! She is a ghost, a ghost of yester-year. Please Mark, please, you cannot do this to me! You simply cannot!”
She pulled away the sheets, and looked at Mark’s naked and athletic body. “Make love to me, Mark, dream of her if you want to, but do not tell me, for heaven’s sake do not tell me, or it will kill me,” and she moved towards him, and fondled him, and they finally consummated the marriage.
She held on to him afterwards and whispered: “I love you, Mark. I know you have not loved me, but you will, you will, I will do everything I can to make you love me.”
Mark held on to her until she fell to sleep, and then rolled over onto his back, and lay there, staring at the ceiling. He felt sick inside, as if he had broken a secret trust. He knew it was illogical, that what Lisa had said was true, but his love for Faith had been such an integral part of his life that he just could not push it aside. He thought he could, but he now realised he could not. He was linked with Faith for life. His marriage was doomed, he was in love with a ghost. He fell to sleep, on his wedding night, conjuring up visions of Faith.