Little Paradise

by Gabrielle Wang

  Mirabel slumped on the bed, head bowed.

  On the bedside table sat a snow dome, a gift from Father when he had returned from one of his fruit and vegetable buying trips to Adelaide long ago. She reached across and picked it up. A little girl wearing a yellow coat, striped scarf and woollen hat was making a snowman. When she was small, Mirabel would imagine being that little girl, forever happy inside a perfect snow-filled world.

  She shook the dome and the snowflakes changed into a cloud of locusts, swirling, engulfing, turning everything grey.

  Mirabel gave up her job at the mapping department. There wasn’t much work any more, now that the war was over, and Jock and Murray had left several weeks earlier and gone back to do their own painting. Mirabel told them everything.

  ‘I felt something was up,’ Jock had said. ‘You just haven’t been yourself lately.’

  Murray cuffed her on the chin. ‘If you ever need a babysitter …’

  Mirabel nodded and smiled.

  As the months wore on, she spent the lonely hours designing clothes, painting, cooking and reading. Lola treated her with a newfound respect. It was as if getting pregnant was some kind of rite of passage to being a ‘bad girl’. Lola had found another boyfriend, a policeman, and Mirabel loved hearing about the places they had been to. Lola was her thread to the outside. And it was Lola, and Great Auntie May on her regular visits to their home, who saved her from going mad.

  During the day when Father was at work, Mama cooked tonic soups with herbs to make her stronger. Sometimes she would catch Mama looking at her, and when Mirabel turned, she would glance away. Mama’s disappointment felt like a stake through her heart.

  All the while, Father’s attitude remained steely. When they ate dinner, he would not include her in the conversation. It was as if she did not exist. She was both a prisoner and an exile within her own home, forbidden to go into the front garden, banished to her room when relatives or friends visited.

  And always in the back of her mind were his last words. After it is born, you are to give it away.

  They haunted her day and night, filling her dreams with horrific images.

  One evening Great Auntie May came over for dinner, and Mirabel hoped that her sparkly nature would lighten the gloom that had settled over the household. But every time Great Auntie May tried to include Mirabel in the conversation, Father’s glowering stare dried up Mirabel’s reply, and she shrank into herself.

  Great Auntie May looked at her with a small smile, and lifted eyebrows and shoulders together in a shrug, as if to say, ‘Just hold on for now, Mirabel; this too will pass.’

  As she was leaving, Mirabel was able to draw her aside into the front room.

  ‘Great Auntie May, what am I going to do? They want me to give up the baby. They want to take him away, and I’ll never see him again. I can’t let them do that, but I don’t know how to stop it. Please, Auntie, help me. Tell me what to do.’

  Great Auntie May looked at her with pity, and shook her head. Then a light came into her eyes and she smiled. She leant forward, held Mirabel’s arm, and whispered in her ear.

  ‘You go to Eva,’ she said. ‘You go to Adelaide and have the little one there.’

  ‘You mean run away?’

  Great Auntie May nodded.

  Mirabel felt the first faint stirrings of hope.

  February, 1946

  Dearest Eva,

  I have made a mess of everything and find myself in an impossible situation. I feel as if I am dying, and all the while there is a little life growing inside me. Yes, dear Eva, I am pregnant. But I am afraid I will never see JJ again.

  Father says I must give the baby away as soon as it is born. I cannot do that. I will not!

  I really have nowhere else to go and nobody to turn to. So I am going to beg you to take me in for a short while, just until the baby is born and I can decide what to do.

  I have already booked my train ticket. I am leaving Melbourne for Adelaide on 1st of March. I know there will be no time for you to reply, so I will just have to trust that you will help me out of the kindness of your heart.

  Your friend always,

  Mirabel

  Eva by the Sea

  Mirabel closed the wardrobe door and picked up her small suitcase. She reached for the oracle bone sitting in its usual place on a small brocade box by her bedside. It was still as white as the day the soothsayer had scratched his prediction on its surface. It had always exerted a compelling allure. She could not go anywhere without it. She popped it into its silk pouch and into her handbag.

  Outside her parents’ bedroom she paused, pressing her forehead against the door. Father was snoring, and she pictured Mama sleeping as she always did, hands folded under her chin, facing the small statue of the Virgin Mary that sat on her dressing table.

  Mirabel turned, sniffed back the tears and walked down the stairs, her hand running along the balustrade. How well she knew the feel of the wood, every nick and crevice and creaking step, every bare patch in the worn carpet. She gripped the railing tighter as she realised that she might never see her family again.

  Quietly closing the front door behind her, she stepped onto the verandah, breathing in deeply, looking up at the wide black sky. Perhaps it was the night air or the sudden freedom after being locked inside the house for months, but all at once she felt invigorated.

  Then she smelt the acrid fumes of a cigarette. There was a movement in the shadows.

  ‘Where you going?’

  Mirabel turned and saw Jimmy, leaning against the wall of the house.

  ‘You should be asleep!’ she said. ‘What are you doing out here? And get that thing out of your mouth! You’re only eleven.’ She took a step towards him and tried to grab the cigarette, but Jimmy ducked and backed away.

  Mirabel hesitated. It was no longer her duty to discipline her little brother, to take care of him. She shook her head. That life was over. She had a night train to catch.

  Jimmy flicked away the cigarette and took a step towards her. ‘Are you going away?’ His mouth trembled.

  She hugged him.

  ‘I don’t want you to go,’ he sniffed.

  ‘I must.’ She paused, holding back her tears. ‘Be good, little brother.’

  And before he could reply, she had walked out the gate.

  Spencer Street station was deserted, except for the newspaper-covered mound of a derelict on a bench by the gates. She found her platform, where the steaming throb of the locomotive showed it was ready to depart, and looked for the number of her carriage.

  She struggled with her little suitcase up the steps and along the corridor until she found her empty compartment. She dropped the suitcase at the door and flung herself into the seat by the window. The high lamps on the platform looked strange without their wartime hoods, she thought. But still their yellow glow seemed constrained, held in by the surrounding darkness.

  Just then the train jerked into movement. Mirabel rested her elbows on the small table that folded up in front of the window, and stared through the glass at the factories and run-down buildings that passed, first slowly and then with increasing speed. She got up to stow her suitcase away properly, and by the time she returned to the window they were passing through moonlit countryside.

  Mirabel dozed, sitting by her window, rocking to the rhythm of the train’s movement. She sat up briefly to see ghost gums flash by, postured in stark poses, but it must have been several hours later that she was awakened as the train rattled across a wooden bridge.

  She sat back and stared in front of her. She had never been this far from home. There had been no reply from Eva; there had been no time. Mirabel had left her life behind, and there was nothing in front of her. Nothing certain. She was no longer Lei An, the good daughter. She was not part of the family. She was alone.

  No, not alone, she thought fiercely. She had her baby. It was the two of them now. A picture of JJ with them, as a family, appeared in her mind but she thrust it away. That
was cruel, torturing herself with what could never be.

  And if Eva wouldn’t take her in, what then? She imagined drawing portraits by the seaside to support herself, finding a cheap room somewhere, and a determination grew within her. She would survive somehow, and protect her baby, she was sure of it. And knowing this one unalterable fact, she fell asleep as the train rocked back and forth.

  Adelaide station glistened in the dawn light. On the platform, waiting for Mirabel, was Eva. Even though they had been writing as penfriends for years, Mirabel still felt slightly awkward meeting Eva face to face for the first time. At twenty-six, she was tall and thin, with thick dark hair tied back into a loose French roll. She looked like a woman from last century, Mirabel thought, in her three-quarter-length maroon skirt, sensible black shoes and white blouse. When she saw Mirabel, a smile lit up her face.

  ‘It’s so lovely to see you,’ she cried, gliding up to Mirabel the moment she stepped off the train. ‘Let me look at you.’

  ‘I didn’t know if you would come,’ Mirabel said.

  ‘Why on earth wouldn’t I? I’ve been beside myself with excitement. Aubrey thinks I’ve gone quite mad. The spare room has been cleared out and everything is ready for you and your little one.’ She patted Mirabel’s tummy.

  Eva took Mirabel’s suitcase and they walked out through the doors of the station and down the steps to a waiting taxi.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough, Eva. I was worried about Aubrey, that he might not think too kindly towards a girl …’ Mirabel looked around then lowered her voice ‘… like me.’

  Eva raised her eyebrows and gave a cheeky laugh. ‘Aubrey is almost an old man. He’s fifteen years older than me and he’s been all over the world, so he’s seen just about all there is to see. Let’s get you home and we can catch up over breakfast.’

  Mirabel felt herself relax into the seat of the taxi. She closed her eyes, feeling an incredible lightness come over her. In this city she would be able to walk down the street without worrying about Father’s reputation. She could visit the park and the beach and no one would know her.

  The house was small with steps leading up to an enclosed front porch. Eva pointed to rows and rows of cactus plants. ‘It’s Aubrey’s hobby. Keeps him out of mischief,’ she said. ‘He’s at one of his cacti and succulent meetings right now but he’ll be back soon. He can’t wait to meet you.’

  Eva led Mirabel down the hall to the kitchen. The table was set for breakfast with a lace tablecloth and floral cups and saucers.

  Mirabel picked up a small photograph off the windowsill. It showed Father and Eva’s father on a fruit-buying trip together.

  ‘You’re probably half starved after your long journey. Sit down and I’ll make a pot of tea.’ Eva filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. ‘Would you like eggs? I can make you an omelette.’

  ‘Do you have any cereal, like Rice Bubbles?’ Mirabel asked sheepishly. ‘I seem to have developed a craving for them.’

  ‘Rice Bubbles!’ Eva burst out laughing. ‘I thought your baby was Chinese.’

  ‘Well, who do you think invented puffed rice in the first place?’ Mirabel grinned.

  Eva opened the cupboard and pulled out a box of Rice Bubbles. She turned and looked at Mirabel. ‘And you’re not to worry about a thing. There’s a small hospital that I’ve booked you into. It’s five minutes away from here with a glorious view of the sea.’

  ‘Thank you for everything, Eva.’

  Eva smiled and gave a little shrug.

  ‘He-llo!’ came a voice from the hallway.

  ‘We’re in the kitchen, dear.’

  A big man with a round face and snow-white hair entered the room. ‘Welcome, Mirabel, welcome to our home.’ He took Mirabel’s hand and squeezed it warmly. ‘Eva has told me a great deal about you. I feel as if I know you already.’ He stood behind his wife, rubbing her shoulders, and Mirabel couldn’t help but feel a hint of jealousy. How perfect Eva’s life was.

  After unpacking her clothes and helping Eva set up the bed in the spare room, they took a short walk down to the beach. The fresh air, the seagulls, the dark-blue ocean and Eva’s kindness gave Mirabel the strength to think about what lay ahead. She had not wanted to imagine the birth, the pain, whether her baby would be normal or even alive. But now, here, she felt a sense of calm.

  Treasure

  ADELAIDE

  MARCH 1946

  A baby boy was born to Mirabel on a Tuesday when the morning star was still bright in the dawn sky.

  The labour had been a painful and exhausting fourteen hours, but as she cradled him in her arms for the first time, the memory of the ordeal faded and she was left with an immense feeling of love. She named him Bao Bao – Little Treasure.

  That first night, as she lay in the small hospital listening to the waves, she began to cry for JJ, the father her little boy might never know. After she had received his letter, she wrote back straightaway, explaining the misunderstanding, asking him to forgive her. But she’d heard nothing back. The silence tormented her.

  A nurse came into the ward. Heavy footsteps on linoleum. She approached the bed with Bao Bao in her arms. ‘You have a very hungry little boy, Mrs Lin.’

  Mirabel sat up, stacking pillows behind her back before the nurse gave him to her. She had lied about being married, and felt wrong taking JJ’s family name, but when they asked at reception, the words tumbled out as if they had a will of their own. Now, each time she heard the name being used, she died a little inside.

  She looked down at the small face scrunched with hunger.

  ‘You are doing very well,’ the nurse said. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

  Mirabel stroked the boy’s downy, soft hair. It was just a faint smudge, but one day it would be full and thick like his father’s.

  ‘My own little treasure,’ she whispered.

  At once the soothsayer’s prediction came alive in her mind.

  Treasure not wed.

  A shiver ran through her. For a moment, Bao Bao stopped feeding.

  But that was the second line written on the oracle bone! The first chilling line – dressing the dead – hadn’t come true. Nobody was dead. Everyone was fine.

  Then her stomach knotted in fear.

  Perhaps something had happened to JJ.

  Mirabel spent a few more days in the hospital then moved back in with Eva and Aubrey. Eva fussed over Bao Bao, giving him baths, and playing with him while Mirabel napped. They took long walks to the beach with a pram that Aubrey bought her, or they would sit chatting in the back garden, talking about the latest movies and books while a summer breeze rocked the small hammock Mirabel had set up for Bao Bao.

  But those few weeks of sunshine did not last.

  Mirabel had fed Bao Bao and was putting him down for a sleep when the doorbell rang.

  The sound of Father’s voice made her tremble and she held Bao Bao closer. Footsteps passed Mirabel’s room. She heard Eva say, ‘I’ll just go and get her. She’ll be glad to see you both.’

  Both? Had Mama come too? She had missed her so. She faced the door.

  ‘Mirabel,’ Eva whispered, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. ‘Your parents are here.’ She gave her a look of sympathy. ‘What do you want me to say?’

  Mirabel knew she had to face them. She took a deep breath, gathered Bao Bao in her arms, and followed Eva to the living room.

  The first person she saw was Mama, looking older, greyer. The dress she wore was dowdy and her hat crumpled. Mama’s eyes fell on the baby and she instinctively stepped forward with outstretched arms, taking Bao Bao from Mirabel. She cooed softly through tears.

  Father stood on the other side of the room, talking with Aubrey. Mirabel saw them both glance up, then Aubrey laid a placating hand on Father’s arm. But Father pulled his arm away and came towards her.

  ‘I have made the arrangements, Lei An,’ he said. ‘You are to give him up here in Adelaide then come home with us.’

  M
irabel had dreamed that when Father saw Bao Bao for the first time, all talk about giving him up would end. He would not be able to resist this beautiful baby, his own flesh and blood. But he didn’t even glance towards his grandson.

  ‘No, Father …’ She took Bao Bao from Mama. Indignation stirred within her. ‘I did not ask you to come here. I’m not under your roof or under your control. You don’t have to worry that I will ruin your precious reputation.’ She held Bao Bao up to face him. ‘Look at him, Father,’ she demanded. ‘Just one look.’

  Bao Bao began to cry. Father turned and stared out the window. Mirabel could see his shoulders tighten as he worked to control his anger. For the first time, she felt a deep pity for him.

  Touching Mirabel’s arm, Mama gave her a gentle reassuring nod, indicating with her eyes that she should say no more. Mama’s face was so full of certainty that Mirabel withdrew. Mama was right. Any issue where pride and reputation were at stake blinded Father from what was true and good. This time Mama would fight for her – for them. Mirabel could see that now. She tightened her lips and gave her mother a shaky smile.

  ‘I am going to make some tea,’ Mama said, putting her arm though Father’s. ‘Come with me now, Father.’

  And she led him quietly from the room.

  Imprisoned

  Mama won the battle with Father and Mirabel brought Bao Bao home, but strict conditions were imposed.

  She was never to leave the house with Bao Bao unless he was in the car, hidden from view. Nor was she to mention him to anyone. And, to support her baby, she was to work at the market.

  Often Father would say, ‘I will have to talk to a few politicians because Lieutenant Lin won’t be able to come to Australia under the White Australia Policy unless I do. But as soon as I can arrange it, the two of you will get married. Lieutenant Lin is not the man I would have chosen for you, as he has no good prospects, but no one else would marry a girl in your position. For a while people may talk, but hopefully our shame will be brief and we will once again be able to raise our heads in society.’