by Carol Coffey
Wilfred doesn’t answer but stares at the empty wall in front of him. I can see the skin peeling off his face and the small bite-marks running along his eye sockets.
“There is something I need to ask you and I really need you to be honest with me,” Father says.
Wilfred looks up and narrows his eyes. He has told Father everything there is to know about him. There is nothing left to say.
Father swallows hard. He has built up a strong friendship with Wilfred and I know he is worried that his question might destroy what is now left of that bond.
“Did you . . . did you do anything to Iren?”
“Who?” Wilfred asks. It is the first word he has said since father helped him up the stairs.
“Iren,” Father says. I can tell his tone is sharp.
I can see Wilfred straighten up and then slump down as though father has taken the air out of him.
“No! Why do you ask me this?”
“Because she’s dead, Wilfred – or Carl. Iren is dead.”
Wilfred leans forward on his bed and stares at the ground. “Good. I am glad this lady is dead. She is with her husband and boy now. But I didn’t harm her. I only wish I had courage to make her at peace.”
“I’m sorry then. I am sorry to have asked you but you understand, don’t you? The night you disappeared she was upset and you said . . . about those prisoners . . .” Father tries to explain why he thought Wilfred had harmed Iren but he can’t find the words and neither can he cope with Wilfred’s staring eyes. Father sighs again and rubs his hands slowly together. I know this sign. There is something else on his mind, another question he must ask.
“Then why . . . why did you run away?”
Wilfred exhales and runs his hand over a large dressing on his forearm and then clasps his hands together on his lap.
“I was ashamed. When we finished talking, I sat on my bed and thought what have I done? I had too much to drink. I never told anyone before . . . I never had a friend like you to talk to. Later, I regretted my words and I decided that I could not face you again. I decided to leave and hoped you didn’t think I am an evil man.”
“I don’t think you are an evil man, Wilfred. I think you are an ordinary man who was caught up in an extraordinary situation. Have you thought of the thousands of other German soldiers out there who also survived? There must be other soldiers like you, thousands of men who are feeling the same way. Soldiers who followed orders even though they didn’t agree with them. You are not alone in this, Wilfred.”
Wilfred doesn’t answer.
“Wilfred, you are sorry for what you did but there is nothing you can do now to change things. You will have to try to forgive yourself.”
“Never!” Wilfred says, becoming suddenly annoyed.
“Then do something to make amends. Do something to help yourself find some peace. You are still a young man, Wilfred, and you waste your days hiding here and going over things that you can never change. There is a reason you survived. There is a reason you are home safely with us. Find out what it is.”
Wilfred looks up for the first time since Father entered the room. Father’s words have got his attention.
“Andy? When I was in the desert, I heard your son calling to me. I heard his voice. He was telling me to come home. I must have slept because I saw him walking towards me and his foot – it was fine and he could hear. I answered him. I remember it so clearly.”
Father stares at him and it looks as though he is about to break down from exhaustion. He leans against the now empty wall. I can see his chin shake.
“Perhaps it was dehydration,” Wilfred offers when he sees my father’s face sadden.
“No. Christopher always had special abilities but . . . there was a time that I didn’t believe . . . that I didn’t believe in him . . . I couldn’t face up to what was wrong with him . . . I should have been looking at what was right with him, the things he could do. I let him down, Wilfred. I gave up on him but I won’t give up on you.”
He gets up and goes to the door. I slink back into the darkened hallway and try to stifle the sobs that have risen in my throat. Father’s legs appear to shake as he negotiates his way down the narrow stairwell. He passes his bedroom where my mother is sleeping and sits in the Penance Room alone. I creep down and watch him from the door. He sits down on my favourite seat and stares sadly out the bay window into the night. I wish my mother could see this. I wish she knew how sorry he is and that together they can move forward and, like Wilfred, make the best of what is left.
I leave Father there and return to my room to sleep. I look briefly into Martin’s room as I pass. He is awake but calm.
“Christopher? I want to visit my brother.”
I sign “Good” and make my way past Aishling’s empty desk. I ease my tired body into bed and for the first time I dream that everything is all right in my home. Everybody is happy, even Kora. I can see her standing in the Penance Room in her cream wedding dress, laughing and crying at the same time as though her whole world has changed in an instant. I hope it comes true.
Chapter 30
The following morning, Tina makes a call to Martin’s brother asking if it would be all right to visit him. I watch as she writes the date in the diary “Tuesday at 10.00 a.m.”
Martin seems pleased and tells Jimmy all about his plans to make up with his brother before he dies. Jimmy nods and mumbles a response but his thoughts are on his son’s wedding to Kora in two days’ time. Deirdre has arrived without her daughter and is once again sitting in the garden with Father Hayes. She has brought old photos with her and is showing them to him. Greta and Tina, who are watching through the window, are thrilled at how happy he looks but say that they worry how he will react when Deirdre leaves. When she comes inside for more water, Tina makes small conversation with her even though she is worried for Aiden.
“He looks happy.”
Deirdre nods. “Oh, we’re having a lovely time. We’ve been going over old photos of home. He remembers everyone in them. Names and all. He’s got a better memory for the past than I do!”
Tina bites her lip. She doesn’t want to spoil their happiness by mentioning her concern for Aiden when Deirdre is gone.
“Your daughter’s not with you?” she asks, changing the subject.
“No. She’s met someone at the hotel named Charlie who is giving her a tour of the area on a motorbike today. Never seen her look so happy.”
Tina nods and opens the door for Deirdre as she goes back into the garden. She shrugs at Greta.
“A little happiness is better than none at all,” Greta says, smiling her broad smile and revealing her gold teeth.
My mother is phoning people who have been on the waiting list for a room. Aron and Iren’s room is empty as is Jimmy’s since he moved downstairs. She is discussing this with my father who slept in and has phoned work asking for some holidays. It has been a rough few days on my father and he has dark circles under his red eyes but I know that more than anything he is thinking about what Wilfred told him last night.
Father didn’t always believe in my abilities. He once asked a doctor in town to talk to me about the dead people I spoke to. Doctor McCabe said that he shouldn’t worry, that I was a lonely child and would grow out of it. I didn’t. Father is sitting on a chair in Mother’s office, distracting her from her telephone calls. He rereads a letter that came a few days ago from Mr Berman informing my parents that the Kleins’ bequest amounted to $126,000 and asking them to inform him of their decision as soon as possible.
“You know,” he says, running his freckled finger over the letter, “we could do an awful lot to the house with that money. We could build on so people would not be on a waiting list. We could have ramps outside and a special bus to take residents out. Oh, a lift or even a ramp inside would mean Jimmy could have his room back. He’s been miserable since he’s had to go into the ward. He hates it –”
Mother raises her hand to stop him but he laughs and goes on. “�
�� and we could even offer some residents that just need a little security a small unit of their own. We could build four of five of them for people like Mina and Wilfred, people capable of living independently. It’d give them their dignity for as long as they are able to live out there and, then, when the time comes, they could move inside.”
I can see he has got my mother’s attention but she frowns. “I think you’re getting carried away, Andy. I don’t think the money would stretch that far! Look, aren’t you supposed to be working on your speech? The wedding is in two days!”
Father ignores her. “If we at least build onto the house and take in more residents, we could afford more staff. You wouldn’t have to do as many hours. You’ll need time when the baby comes.”
Mother is looking more intently at Father now but I know that if she accepts the Kleins’ gift, she’d rather it was for the residents’ benefit and not hers.
“Air-conditioning!” Father says. “You said yourself that the bed-ridden residents are baking in the long ward. At the very least we could get some proper patio doors and throw them open in summer.”
Mother turns her face away from Father and I see her say: “Catherine.”
“What?” Father asks.
“Catherine. She’s always so hot.” She bites her lip the way she always does when faced with a decision. She shakes her head a couple of times and I know that in her mind she is arguing with herself.
“All right. We’ll accept the Kleins’ kindness,” she says at last, “but let’s take things slowly. We’ll start with some bathrooms for existing rooms and get a quote for air-conditioning. We can see how much we’ve got left after that. Now, will you let me get some work done here?”
Father laughs and hugs her. He is still thinking of me and I know he needs something cheerful to look forward to. He leaves her and goes to check on Wilfred.
I sit with my mother as she works her way through a pile of paperwork.
About half an hour later I see Father and Wilfred passing by the window. They open the gate and walk together in the direction of the town. My mother runs to the door but they are already out of earshot. She goes into the Penance Room where Tina is helping Deirdre to sit Father Hayes in his favourite seat.
“Did Andy say where he was going with Wilfred?” she asks.
“Em . . . something to do with the community centre,” Tina absentmindedly replies.
“The community centre?”
Tina nods but barely looks up. “Yeah, you know. The one Aron and Iren set up.”
My mother frowns. She can think of no reason for Wilfred or my father to go there.
“Better not be going to the pub!” my mother mutters with her back turned to Tina.
I follow my mother into her office. She begins to make calls to people on the waiting list. I watch her strike off those who have found a place and put a note beside those who want to come and see the vacant rooms. I watch the times and dates she writes in to see who might be coming to live with us. “Joe, Wednesday, 2 p.m. Olivia, Friday 10.00 a.m.”
I return to the seat under the window and daydream of the type of people Joe and Olivia might be and what secrets they will bring with them. I wonder if Steve will help me when he returns or if his intention is to take Aishling to live in Sydney with him. I dream of a plaque being placed in the garden in my honour for all the souls I have helped and I can see myself making my acceptance speech through sign language with Maria, my wife to be, interpreting for me. When my mother suddenly stands and rushes to the window, almost knocking me off my seat, I reluctantly leave my dream and look out the window to see what is troubling her.
A large muddy pick-up has pulled up right outside our gate. The door is open and a large woman is trying to free her foot to get out onto the pavement. When she turns to face the house I can see that she is a young Aboriginal woman. She is followed by another woman. They look just alike and I think they must be sisters. Together they help a woman who is sitting in the back out of the pick-up. She seems to be having trouble and they pull at her until she has managed to put her two swollen feet on the pavement. She fixes her skirt and mops her brow. The three women face the house and look nervously at its white façade. My mother gasps and puts her hand to her neck. She opens her office door and runs to the kitchen to Li.
“Is Kora here?” she asks.
Li shakes her head. “She’ll be here in about an hour. What’s wrong?”
My mother is trying to think on her feet. She decides not to tell Li and races to greet her visitors at the door. When she opens it, the two younger women have only managed to get the older lady up two of our five wooden steps. She is panting in the heat but her eyes are fixed on my mother who is smiling nervously. Mother seems a bit tongue-tied and stumbles over her words.
“I’m Em – Emma” she says. “Did you come about . . . about the newspaper article? Sorry, come in, come in, please!”
Mother steps out of the way as the women enter and then she leads them into her office. She leaves them for a moment to ask Li to bring some cold water.
I watch them while they sit and look around the room. They seem as nervous as my mother who eventually returns and sits facing them. She takes a deep breath, unsure where to start. One of the young women opens a newspaper and thrusts it toward my mother. It is open on the page where Mother’s article is. Mother cringes slightly at the sight of an eight-year-old Kora beaming into the camera. The caption says “Lost daughter desperate to find family” and Mother’s face reddens with the indignity of it. She looks at the woman’s face and knows she is far too young to be Kora’s mother. She looks at the other young woman and comes to the same conclusion. She focuses finally on the older woman who looks like she is in poor health.
The woman with the newspaper finally speaks.
“This is our mother, Burilda Hill. This is Lurnea and I am Nadda. We’ve come a long way. A relative of my husband told us about your article and posted it to us. Said it might be our own Kora.”
Nadda looks at her mother who is running a tissue between her hands.
“You want me to tell the rest of the story?”
The older woman waves to her daughter and nods her head. Her chin wobbles and I know she is too upset to speak.
“Mother lived on a cattle station eastwards. Good long way. The owner made her pregnant when she was only nineteen. Threw her and her brother Jirra off the station. Jirra was eighteen. He’s gone now. Mother was responsible for him. Her father Natan was killed in town when she was only one and her brother just born. When Natan was killed, her mother threw herself in the river, didn’t want to live without him. There were no other family alive in those parts so they were just taken care of by the other Aboriginal women working at the station. Owner of the station was Tom Hill. He was married, old enough to be her father with a wife that was more in charge than he was, so he threw her off before anyone figured out about the pregnancy. But Burilda knew that if her father had been alive Hill would not have touched her. She had no one to protect her.”
My mother looks out the window. She has heard the name Natan before. Her eyes move right to left as she tries to recall. When she opens her eyes wide and puts her hand to her throat, I know that she has remembered that Natan was the name of the Aboriginal man Jimmy’s father murdered. She pulls her lips into a tight line and shakes her head. I know that she is hoping that this is a coincidence but in her heart she knows and I can see her shrink down under the weight of this knowledge. My mother doesn’t believe in keeping secrets but she is sure that this one should remain unspoken. She tries to compose herself and asks a question.
“Hill wasn’t a drifter?”
Nadda shakes her head, unsure why Mother asked this question.
“How come your name is Hill if you weren’t married to him?” she asks Burilda.
“Blackfellas took the name of the station owner in those times. We were all named Hill,” she says somewhat shyly.
My mother takes a deep breath. She t
ries to say something but changes her mind.
“Mother and my uncle made their way to the station at Grenfell but it wasn’t a proper reserve. No teacher there. Just police came to keep eye on men drinking. She had her baby on that station and named her Kora. She had no money and had to keep watch on her brother at this station. Nothing to do there and no work going. Just a few tin-roofed huts and dust. She said Jirra was angry with her for getting them thrown off Mr Hill’s land but it wasn’t her fault. He wouldn’t leave her alone. Uncle would not do what she asked and hung around the station all day with the older men. She got some work in a house few miles out, washing and cleaning clothes with a little farm work and a woman watched Kora on the reserve till she got back. It was a good job and the people were kind. Burilda hoped they might get some living space there but that didn’t happen. Each day she would walk a long way to that house and a long way back in the heat. Some days Uncle would steal her wages for drink and disappear off the reserve for days. The woman who looked after Kora got sick and Mother said Uncle should watch Kora and for a while he did and he understood they needed to get off that reserve and into a proper one where Kora could get taught. But soon he was back to his ways and Mother would get mad and shout. He didn’t take proper care of Kora. A few days she carried her with her to the farm but the owner’s wife hadn’t been able to have children and didn’t want reminders of what she was missing so she told Burilda not to bring Kora there any more. Couple years later, things were the same. Burilda still walked to that farm each day and some days she would come back and find other women trying to look out for Kora and no sign of Uncle.
“One day she arrived home late. She had to work extra hours at the farm. Everyone was crying and she thought someone must have died. Lots of people on the reserve were sick and there was no doctor.
“A woman screamed when she saw her coming: ‘Kora’s gone, Kora’s gone!’”
Nadda stops talking and all three women well up. Burilda looks out of the window, the pain of the memory still haunting her after almost thirty-five years. “They told her that the police came and found Kora wandering around, half dressed and thirsty. They took other children too. Six altogether and all of them half-whites. The woman said a man wrote all of the children’s names down and pinned their names to the smaller ones’ clothes.