by Judy Nunn
‘So I come to Sydney,’ he said, ‘on a boat. A big, big boat.’ He held his arms out wide to signify just how big, and Violet laughed.
‘And then I come to Cooma.’ Pietro had not spoken at such length and with such enthusiasm for as long as he could remember; it was pouring out, he seemed unable to stop. ‘When I come here I am …’ he couldn’t think of the word ‘…confusione,’ he said in Italian before rattling on. ‘Where is this mountains, I think, where is this snow?’ He shrugged expressively, hands in the air, and, even in the dim light of the moon, his expression was so comical that Violet burst out laughing. He laughed along with her.
‘I am glad now I come here,’ he said, his burst of energy finally spent. He looked out at the river. ‘I love this place.’
‘I’m glad you came here too,’ she said.
He turned to her. She seemed to be hardly breathing, he thought as her eyes met his. Did she want him to kiss her? He would like to, very much, but did he dare? He wasn’t sure if he was good at kissing. There had only been that one time, with the prostitute in Milano, when his workmates had taken him to a brothel, insisting it was time he lost his virginity. He’d liked the prostitute, she’d been nice. And she’d called him her handsome boy. ‘Mio carino,’ she’d said and when he’d kissed her, clumsy in his excitement, she’d told him to go slowly. ‘Lento,’ she’d said, ‘lento.’ And when he’d slowed down, enjoying the feel of her mouth, she’d said, ‘buono, buono, mio carino.’ He’d liked kissing her, but when she’d guided him into her, everything had happened so fast. She’d felt indescribable, something he’d dreamed about, sinful as it was, and then suddenly everything had been over. He’d wanted to lie in her arms and feel her soft skin, but she’d jumped up from the bed and started washing herself with a flannel, and water from the basin on the wooden dresser. She hadn’t been unkind, just businesslike. ‘Non ti preoccupare, carino virgine mio,’ she’d laughed. She’d told him that it would be better next time, and then before he knew it he’d been outside in the street, his workmates thumping him on the back and congratulating him.
Violetta was still looking at him, she had remained motionless. She wanted him to kiss her, he was sure of it. He put a tentative hand on her shoulder. Still she didn’t move, and very slowly he brushed his lips against hers.
His mouth felt so soft, Violet thought. She’d wanted desperately for him to kiss her, but even as she’d willed it to happen, she’d hoped it wouldn’t be like the time with Craig McCauley. She’d been willing Craig McCauley to kiss her too, just so she could know what it was like. It had been three months ago, behind the pavilion hall during the school fundraising dance, and it had been horrible. He’d stuck his tongue in her mouth – halfway down her throat it had felt – and he’d grabbed at her breasts as he’d shoved her into the wall and ground his pelvis against hers. He’d been panting and sweaty and she’d felt his hardness sticking into her through her thin summer frock. She hadn’t been frightened. Only last year she’d gone to school with Craig McCauley, and she was sure she could still belt the living daylights out of him if she wanted to. So why didn’t she? she’d wondered as she put up with his mauling. Finally, she’d forced him away from her, and he seemed to come to his senses. ‘Sorry, Vi. Sorry,’ he’d panted before disappearing into the dark.
She’d thought about Craig’s kiss for the past three months. At night, in her bed, she’d rolled her tongue around her mouth imagining it was his and she’d been repulsed, but she’d also been fascinated. Was that what kissing was like? Real kissing that led to sex? The pursed-lips kisses she’d exchanged with boys in childish times, experimental to both parties, had never been like that. She remembered feeling his penis, hard against her, and, while that, too, repulsed her, she couldn’t get it out of her mind.
Now, she felt Pietro’s lips open slightly, and she opened her own in return, waiting for the tongue, not sure whether she dreaded it or wanted it.
Lento, Pietro thought, remembering the prostitute’s instructions, lento. And, without breaking the gentle rhythm of the kiss, he put his arms around her.
Violet’s eyes were closed, she felt as if she were floating, aware of nothing but the softness of their mouths and the warmth of his arms, and slowly her hands crept up to his chest.
Pietro was aware of everything. He was becoming aroused and he fought against it. He could feel the swell of her breasts beneath her coat, and he was careful to keep his groin away from hers so that she wouldn’t feel his erection. Finally he drew away; he must not allow things to go too fast, he must not frighten her.
She remained for a moment, eyes closed, lips parted. ‘Violetta,’ he murmured, softly stroking her hair.
Was it over? She opened her eyes. She wanted more. She had been prepared for the tongue, it would have been tender, like his lips; she would have welcomed it.
‘Is time we go back,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she agreed.
He wanted to tell her he loved her, but he knew it was too soon to say the words, so he took her hand instead and they walked back to the hall.
It was June, 1954, and the first leg of the mighty Snowy River Scheme was nearing completion. The Guthega project comprised a 110-foot-high concrete dam, a three-mile tunnel, 3,200 feet of steel pipeline, aqueducts to maximise the flow of water into the dam, and a reinforced concrete power station, which had been commenced in November 1951 and was officially scheduled to start operation in early 1955.
‘If we can make it by February, we’ll be right,’ Commissioner William Hudson said to Rob Harvey as they stood among the gathering beside the power station. ‘February’ll see us only a few weeks behind schedule.’
Hudson was a good-looking man, tall, with a strong-boned face, a fine head of greying hair and the easy confidence of one to whom command came naturally.
‘It’ll be a big day,’ Rob remarked, ‘when the Snowy comes to life.’
‘You’re not wrong.’ It would be the biggest day of his own life, Hudson thought. The life of the Snowy and William Hudson were by now irrevocably entwined.
Gathered with them on the rocky hillside were other senior representatives from the Snowy Mountains Authority and Selmer Engineering, the Norwegian contractors. All were stamping their feet and hugging their coats tight to their chests.
‘Wish they’d hurry it up a bit,’ Hudson said, but it wasn’t the cold that was making him impatient. He flashed a quick smile of anticipation at Rob, not bothering to disguise the touch of anxiety in his excitement. He shared his feelings freely with Rob Harvey; the two were often in liaison and he liked and trusted the man both professionally and personally.
Rob returned the smile. Today was a big occasion all right, he thought. The second in just a matter of weeks. It had been barely a month ago that the workers had celebrated the Guthega-Munyang tunnel breakthrough. The completed connection between the power station and the dam three miles away had been cause for great jubilation. When the final explosion had broken through the hillside, the Norwegians had passed around their specially imported Akvavit and everyone had joined in the partying until cries of ‘Skål!’ had echoed all about the countryside.
And now the top end of the hierarchy was gathered for another great occasion. The structural work on the station was almost completed, the turbines and generators had been erected, the two 30,000 watt transformers installed, and the Guthega Power Station was about to undergo its first test: the trial run of its mighty turbines. Momentous times, Rob thought as he trained his eyes on the mouth of the massive pipeline.
The collective gaze of most of those present had been trained on the pipeline for quite some time. Any moment now, minds had been ticking. The few who had become impatient and wandered off in search of a nook or a cranny away from the chill wind missed the initial drama of the moment.
Suddenly, like a geyser, the water burst from the bone-dry mouth of the pipeline with unbelievable force. It hit the stores building on the other side of the bridge with such power tha
t, in an instant, the building was blown away by the sheer strength and ferocity of the torrent. Jaws dropped – no-one had seen anything like it before. Rob Harvey hardly dared blink, it had happened so quickly, and he was aware that Commissioner Hudson beside him was staring with equal amazement.
‘What happened?’ someone queried. The several who had been sheltering from the cold and not paying attention during those few crucial seconds were dumbfounded. One moment the store had been there, and the next it had disappeared. Along with 40,000 pounds worth of tools, as it later turned out.
No-one was hurt and the situation was quickly brought under control, the Selmer engineers admitting that perhaps the trial hadn’t gone precisely as planned. Perhaps the demonstration had proved that a little modification here and there was necessary, they agreed, but, all in all, the test was considered a great success.
‘Well, at least we know it works,’ Hudson muttered to Rob Harvey. ‘Let’s grab a beer at the pub in Jindabyne.’
‘We might be working for the Americans soon,’ Lucky said to Pietro as they took their crib at the campfire site which the workers had cleared in the snow not far from the tunnel entrance. There had been a heavy fall the previous night and the countryside was at its most spectacular. There was no breeze, and trees stood motionless in mantles of lace. Sounds were hushed, and the snow lay smooth and unblemished, the ground resting breathlessly still beneath its blanket of dazzling white.
As part of the Guthega project, the aqueduct system, and its series of tunnels upon which Lucky and his team were working, was also nearing completion, and Rob Harvey had discussed with Lucky the fact that their job with the Selmer Company would soon be over. Rob had already been approached by the American contractors who were keen to have him on board as soon as he was available the following year, and Rob was equally keen to keep Lucky and those men of Lucky’s choice with him when he made the transition.
Lucky automatically swapped his salami sandwich for Pietro’s liverwurst, the two sharing their crib as many did. The packed lunches of fruit, cake and sandwiches were doled out at the Spring Hill settlement each morning before the men left for work, and favourites were readily exchanged.
The team was gathered around the campfire, squatting on the logs and rocks that they’d cleared of snow, pouring tea from the billy can and warming their hands against their tin mugs. They were taking their crib while the ventilating system cleared the tunnel of fumes from the last firing. When Lucky declared the all-clear, they would push the skips along the rail tracks into the tunnel where they would load the spoil.
The men were loudly discussing horses and the line-up at Randwick that coming weekend, and Lucky was trying to cheer Pietro up. He’d been a bit down lately, something to do with Violet, Lucky was sure. The boy was plainly lovesick, but he wasn’t going to ask. A lover’s tiff perhaps? Pietro would tell him if and when he wished.
‘Wouldn’t you like to work for the Americans? It’s rumoured they will pay big overtime – you would make more money.’
Pietro looked up from his sandwich, a flicker of interest in his eyes. More money would be good, it would impress Violetta, and perhaps she would change her mind. Yes, he would like to work for the Americans, he thought.
The American conglomerate, Kaiser-Walsh-Perini-Raymond, known as ‘Kaiser’, had been contracted for the next major series of constructions on the Snowy, and although work was not due to commence until December, senior Kaiser staff had already arrived in Cooma. Those in the know were aware of the Americans’ expertise. The Yanks intended to import modern machinery, the likes of which had not been seen on the Snowy before, and their work methods were radically different. The Yanks would offer bonuses – their adage was ‘time is money’ – and workers could get rich. Lucky was one of those in the know, via his good friend Rob Harvey.
‘The Yanks are contracted for the Eucumbene-Tumut tunnel and the Happy Jacks and Tumut Ponds dams,’ Rob had said, ‘everyone knows that. But Bill Hudson reckons he’s going to hand over the dam at Adaminaby to them if he can. He’s sick to death of the Department of Public Works and their bullshit – it’s been five years now and they’re way behind time.’
Rob had been recounting to Lucky the conversation he’d had with Commissioner Hudson at the Jindabyne pub following the fiasco of the Guthega Power Station trial.
‘Hudson reckons it’ll cause a bureaucratic furore, taking the contract off the DPW and handing it to the Yanks,’ Rob had told Lucky, ‘but he’s right. Jeez, you can’t have a public institution responsible for one of the biggest rock-fill dams in the world; it’s got to go to those who know what they’re doing. And Kaiser sure as hell does. All this is strictly confidential, of course,’ he’d added, and Lucky had nodded – it went without saying.
‘I will work for the Americans, yes,’ Pietro said, his face brightening at the prospect. ‘If I make much money, perhaps Violetta allow me to meet her father.’
So that was it, Lucky thought, but he said nothing.
‘Why she not wish me to meet him, Lucky?’ Pietro asked. They spoke always in English these days, at Pietro’s own insistence. He’d become more determined than ever to improve his language skills since he’d met Violet.
‘How do you know she doesn’t want you to meet him?’
‘Ah. Of course. I do not tell you.’ Pietro pretended that he’d forgotten to discuss the issue. He hadn’t forgotten at all – he discussed everything with Lucky – but they’d spent less of their leisure time together of late, and even when they did meet up, he’d been too distracted by his problems, unsure how to voice them. Now, having brought up the subject, he couldn’t wait to unburden himself.
‘Two month now I go out with Violetta, each second week it is that I see her.’
Lucky nodded, he knew that. He’d lived through the first kiss the two had shared by the river, and also their forays to the pictures, and their dinners and dancing at Dodds Family Hotel. Pietro had recounted every detail to him. But the boy had been introspective over the past fortnight, and Lucky had presumed that things had gone a step further, that perhaps Pietro and Violet had become lovers and that their intimacy was no longer something to be shared. He’d made no enquiry, respecting his young friend’s privacy, but he’d been concerned when Pietro had appeared unhappy.
‘Each time I see her,’ Pietro continued, ‘I ask to meet her father. I wish to tell him I court his daughter, this is proper.’ Pietro desperately wanted Lucky’s advice; he had only the lessons of Sister Anna Maria to go by, and they had been ringing in his head for the past two weeks.
One day you will be a man, Pietro, and you will fall in love, Sister Anna Maria had said. Her voice had been very strict, and her hands around his wrists had felt like steel as she’d eased him away. It had been shortly before his fourteenth birthday and he’d just wanted a cuddle, or so he’d thought. But he’d suddenly been aware of the feel of her, of her womanly softness, and, to his shame, she had somehow known it.
And when you do fall in love, Pietro, you will respect your intended according to the laws of the church. You will seek her father’s permission to court her legitimately, and you will never … never, do you hear me … attempt to take advantage of her.
Overwhelmed with guilt as he’d been at the time, Pietro had nonetheless sensed that Sister Anna Maria was more cross with herself than with him, although he hadn’t known why. She had never again spoken to him harshly, but she had never again cuddled him either. From that day on, she had ceased to treat him as a child, preparing him instead for his adult life in the world that existed outside the convent.
‘Is right I ask permission of her father, yes?’
Pietro was plainly begging for assurance, but Lucky was at a loss for the right answer. His position as the boy’s adopted father figure seemed suddenly invidious. What was he expected to say, what advice should he give? He wished Pietro could just have an affair like any normal, lusty young man, but Pietro was different, and Lucky knew it. He was a t
rue innocent, unaware of the prejudice of others, and he was set on courting Cam Campbell’s daughter. Hell, no wonder young Violet was so reticent: she obviously feared her father’s reaction, and no doubt rightfully so. Elopement, that’d solve the problem, Lucky thought. The two of them should just run away together. But it was hardly a responsible option to suggest. He tried to buy time.
‘You love her very much, Pietro?’
‘Oh yes, I love her.’ Pietro’s eyes glowed with adoration. ‘And she love me, I am sure of this.’ He scowled again, troubled. ‘So why she not wish me to meet her father? Why she not wish me to tell him I court her?’
Back to square one, Lucky thought. ‘I don’t know. Have you asked her?’ He glanced at his watch. It had been nearly an hour since the firing, the tunnel would be cleared of fumes and it was time he called the men back to work. Just as well, he thought. He didn’t have the right advice, and who was he to offer it anyway? He didn’t even know how to handle his own relationship with Peggy.
‘Yes, I ask her,’ Pietro said. ‘She say she speak to her Auntie Maureen. She live with her aunt,’ he added, ‘and I have been to her house. Twice now I have been to her house.’
‘Yes, you told me.’ He had, several times. He’d met Violetta’s Auntie Maureen, he’d said, and he’d liked her.