by Carol Coffey
“I am going to teach violin to the children at the centre. Already eleven children want me to teach them,” he says proudly.
My mother opens her mouth but for a moment nothing comes out. “Wilfred, that’s a wonderful idea. How did you think of that?”
Wilfred shyly tells her that it was Father’s idea, that the night he returned from Lightning Ridge Father told him to look for a reason he survived, to see how he could give something back.
I can see my mother blush and Father knows what she is thinking.
“Yes, go on, you thought we were at the pub.”
“I did,” she laughs. “I’m sorry. Oh Wilfred, it’s a marvellous thing you are doing!”
Wilfred nods. “My father would be glad that I put training to use for good purpose. And I think the centre will like also for Penelope to teach piano. I asked and they said yes.”
My mother is a little more worried about this.
“It’s all right,” Father says, raising his hands up. “Greta will go with her until she feels more comfortable.”
A huge smile spreads across Father’s face. I know he is going to make one of his jokes. I cringe and wonder why he always seems to joke with people who have no sense of humour.
“Hey, Wilfred, that might get you in. You know, including Penelope like that, it might get Victoria to notice you more!”
“I have no interest in Victoria. Yesterday she looked embarrassed when I came into room. I tell her to stop. I only like to hear Penelope play. This is all.”
Mother and father laugh but Wilfred stands with his mouth in a tight line.
That night, my mother works a double shift with Greta and Father helps Li in the kitchen. We are all thinking of Kora and Jeff and hope they are enjoying their honeymoon. My father told Jimmy about our plans to put a lift in so that he can have his old room back which cheered him up a little. My mother has noticed him becoming quieter and more thoughtful and says she saw him express concern for Martin’s worsening headaches by stretching his arm out as far as possible and patting Martin on the back while he waited on Tina to get some painkillers for him.
As the residents move off slowly to their rooms, I visit Martin and wait to hear how he got along with his brother. He has been very quiet since he returned and my mother has not asked him how it went. I sit beside him and watch him lie in his bed, his blue striped pyjamas moving quickly over his troubled lungs. He coughs and spits a black tarry substance onto a tissue.
“Being doing that all day,” he says. “You going to stop with me?”
I nod and write him a note, asking him to tell me about Danny.
He sighs and closes his eyes tightly as if he is trying to block out something painful. My heart speeds up. I am frightened that it was not a happy meeting.
“When I got there, his son was there. Brian. Nice lad. Don’t know him though. Don’t know any of my nieces and nephews. Never invited to anything, weddings, nothing.”
Martin coughs and when he wipes his mouth with a tissue, he raises it to his eyes to dry the small tears that he hopes I cannot see. He sits up, hoping it will ease his laboured breathing.
“Tina stayed a few minutes. She knew I felt – uneasy there. I don’t know why I went there. It just came to me one night. Tom asked me. With that awful raspy voice he had. Clear as day he said ‘Go see Danny’ so I did.”
“Are you glad you did?” I write but he doesn’t answer.
He looks away from me and his breathing quickens. He coughs again and his shoulders shake with the exertion.
“Danny’s the same. All cough and only skin and bone behind it. Bloody mine! He was a big man once, like me. And now . . . we’re just two old men . . . wasted.”
Martin rubs his hands together and thinks a while. He knows what I am waiting on and he is stringing it out because he knows . . . he knows . . .
He takes a deep breath and looks at the empty wall in front of him. I move my chair to get a good view of his words.
He sighs again and opens his mouth, revealing only a few yellow teeth.
“We talked. He almost seemed like he’d expected to see me. I mean . . . long before the arrangements were made. He looked relaxed and . . . resigned to seeing me. I wondered if Tom had come to him too . . . or Liam . . . I wondered if they were haunting him but then I thought why should they? What did he ever do wrong? What did Tom or Liam ever do wrong? It was just me. I have to tell you that. I know you’ve been waiting so I should tell you.”
I sit completely still. He continues.
“My mother . . . he told me this . . . she was broken-hearted when Tom died. She fell to pieces. My strong mother with her sharp tongue and her – her – vengeful ways . . . she was hurt . . . when my father died, that was the end of her. Danny said she sat and poked an empty fire and lamented their passing. She wouldn’t allow any singing in the house – nor dancing – nothing like that. And she used to love that . . . music and stuff. She loved stuff from the old country. Only one that she’d talk to was my father’s good friend – the Aboriginal fellow. She told Danny that he was the only one who understood her loss. He said it was a mercy that she died before Liam was lost in the war. Even when Danny married and his children were born, she didn’t come back to the living. He lived with her there and he said most days he thought she was almost dead, that her mind was gone and only her heart was beating. But he told me – that she missed me – she asked for me when she was dying. It was the second time . . .”
Martin started to cry and he put his fist to his mouth to try and stop the gush, the waterfall of tears that was waiting finally to be set free. He shook the tears from his face and continued.
“Good job Jimmy’s not around,” he joked through his shiny eyes. “He’d have me guts for garters.”
I ignore his attempt to lighten the atmosphere, anxious to hear the rest of the story.
“It was the second time she asked. Danny said . . . when father died . . . she asked Liam to go to town and tell me. Danny didn’t know about this until years later when Liam and he were organising her funeral. Liam . . .” he says his name through gritted teeth, “he didn’t come for me. He didn’t want me there. He had grown up knowing that I – I . . . the others poisoned him against me so he told her that he went to my house but that I wouldn’t come. Liam told Danny that years later because he was eaten up with guilt. He told him because when my mother died, she asked Danny to fetch me and he didn’t. She asked him to make sure that I was at her funeral, that she wanted as many of her sons as possible to carry her coffin. When Liam heard this he told Danny about the mistake he had made and how sorry he was for that. He pleaded with him to contact me but Danny wouldn’t do it. He said I had ruined his life and that he would never forgive me. Liam died in the war and Danny kept what he knew to himself. He said that when I asked to see him, he knew it was time to tell the truth.”
“How did you feel?” I write.
“How the bloody hell do you think I feel? I feel bloody cheated. She asked for me. She wanted me there and they – both of them – they didn’t tell me.” Then he broke down and turned on his side, his sobs slowly turning to a whimper.
“My head hurts so badly!” he cries.
“I know, Martin, but do you forgive them?” I write.
He tries to pull himself back up on his elbows and I can see every muscle in his body slack. He looks deflated and there is an air of exhaustion about him. He looks at me through half-closed lids and nods.
“I – I’m tired” he says. He takes a deep breath and lies completely still and for a moment I am afraid that he is dead. I poke him and he opens his eyes angrily at me.
“What?” he screams.
I feel the strength of his word bouncing off the wall. I move back and he softens again.
I shove my note towards his face and his expression changes from anger to resignation.
“I do!” he cried. “I do. They shouldn’t have done that but I do. I forgive them.”
“They need
to forgive you. You need to tell me what you did,” I write.
Martin opens his eyes wider. I can see him shake slightly. He lowers his chin and braces himself. He knows he has no choice. I will not give in.
I watch him as he remembers the fire that swept through the barn when he was only seventeen. I watch his thickened tongue move back and forth under his cheeks. His eyes are darting from left to right, trying to find some way out of the situation he is in but there is none. I am waiting. He lowers his head and starts to speak.
“I tried to get her out but she was tied into the back of the barn. I ran in twice but the flames threw me back. There was smoke everywhere. The hay was on fire. God, the hay, I remember thinking what would we feed her with if the hay burned but she was burning. She was screaming. I never saw her so afraid before and she was a stupid horse – useless – I tried to get to her but I couldn’t – after I realised – after I thought – what have I done? Why did I do that? Why? It was – why – I don’t know – I was jealous – I felt left out – I wanted – I wanted to be the same as him – as Tom – to be treated the same. But she was burning and Tom . . . he went in further . . . and my father . . . and then . . . everything was lost . . . too late . . . I could not turn it back – take it away. Tom was dead and my father . . . not that long after him. It was me . . . I . . . caused all that to happen . . .”
And he finally breaks down . . . finally admitting . . . finally acknowledging the truth about that day he changed the course of his life, the day he decided to blame everyone else and take no responsibility for his actions. I know how he is hurting. I have similar things to confess . . . things only Steve knows . . . things that will have to come out soon.
“You started that fire,” I say. It is a statement, not a question, because I have always known.
“Yes,” he says, “and I’m sorry. I’m sorry to Tom . . . and Liam. I’m sorry to my mother and father . . . and to Danny. I am sorry for them all. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone but that day, it started me on that road where I was always angry and I could never figure out how to get off it, how to turn around.”
“They forgive you,” I say but he is not finished.
“And my wife. I carried what I’d done with me. I was cruel. My children . . . I was as cruel to them as my father was to me. I did the same . . . beatings. Steve was right. I just couldn’t face up to it.”
“They all know,” I say.
“Can I have your notebook?” he asks weakly.
I watch as he writes a letter to his children. On top he lists all of their names, four daughters and two sons. I know he is hoping that his letter will explain his actions but I also know that it will be up to his children to decide if it is enough or if they too will carry their father’s regrets into the next generation. He asks me to make sure the letter will get to them. I promise and he lies down. I watch his breathing soften and quiet, his cough ease and his headache disappear. For a while he seems to be asleep and when he opens his eyes I watch as he looks around the room. He is smiling and reaching out for spirits only he can see. I leave him to his vision and make my way to my room. There is no more that I can do for him. As I move to the door he turns his head and looks at me.
“Can you see them, Christopher?” he asks.
I sign “Yes” and he smiles and looks away.
I make my way down the hallway and once again meet Mrs Bianchi looking for her wedding ring. I feel sorry for her because she is one of the ghosts that stay behind. These are the ones I cannot make happy. I conduct the usual ritual of searching the floor until I once again pretend to find it. She smiles and thanks me and disappears but she will be back again because it will never be her ring.
I lie on my bed and when I hear Tina’s chair scratch against the floor and the gush of wind from opening doors I know that Martin is dead and that he is finally at peace. I drift off and try to dream of my own peace. I know it is coming. I know it is not far away.
The following morning, the air has saddened once again at the passing of Martin. My mother stands in the hallway with Ellen and hands her the letter he left for his children. She reads it quickly but her heart is not sad. Martin didn’t put any joy there so there is no loss for her to mourn. Una is busy in the office making telephone calls with military precision. I watch her tell her brother that their father has passed away. She finishes the call quickly and phones the next sibling. I don’t need to be able to hear to know that none of them are upset at their father’s passing.
When Una and Ellen leave to make their arrangements, my mother checks her schedule for the day. She is meeting with prospective residents and I look over her shoulder and remind myself that Joe will be here at ten. I sit in the Penance Room waiting and my heart leaps when I see it is Maria’s grandfather being pushed up our pathway by his son. He shakes as the chair is pulled up each step and I suddenly see Maria standing in front of the wheelchair, holding his chest in case he falls. I try to stand but I feel weak. I pull myself off the pew and make my way on shaky legs to my mother’s office. She gives Mr Moretti a glass of water and tells his son that she would like to speak with Mr Moretti alone. Frank Moretti leaves but Maria stands firmly behind her grandfather’s wheelchair and doesn’t budge. She doesn’t speak to me so I sit on the window-seat and watch my mother talk to Mr Moretti.
“Welcome, Mr Moretti. It’s been a long time since I last saw you.”
I am shocked as I didn’t know my mother knew Maria’s grandfather well.
Joe Moretti smiles and shakes her hand. He waves his right arm around.
“I know. I remember your father well. Good customer,” he says. “And you, since you were a little girl I know you. So sweet. Yes.”
Maria is looking anxiously on. I realise now that when she came to Kora’s wedding she must have known that her grandfather had chosen to move here and that’s why she was looking around the house and watching my mother. What I don’t know is why she didn’t tell me this.
“So you are sure about this. About moving here?” my mother asks.
“Ah yes. I think my son is unhappy but I no want to leave this town. Is difficult for me now to manage. I need more help so this is fine. This is good place. You know, this will be a surprise for you but this is the first place I live when I come to Broken Hill.”
My mother raises her eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yes. I was a young man – fresh from Italy. I stay here for four months and I work to rent a house and then I buy my shop. I live there too. It is like I am back to where I begin.”
“You were very successful. I remember your shop.”
His eyes glaze over. “Yes. It was very good. I have very happy life. One son of course die in the war. I was very sad. My Natalia, she is now passed also but my son he live in Sydney now. He too sad to stay here. You remember of course.”
My mother nods. “I do. It was terrible. She was beautiful.”
Joe’s eyes moisten and he dabs them with an old dirty handkerchief. “My Maria. My sweet girl. Her Communion Day!”
My mother moves and puts her arm on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mr Moretti. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He waves her away and gathers himself together. Maria stares at me and I am rooted to my window-seat. My heart quickens as I try to understand why my mother is talking about my friend in the past tense. She is standing in front of me and she is still beautiful. I look at Maria and huge tears well in her brown eyes. I can see her heart breaking for me.
“Is okay. I try. I know I try save her,” Joe continues. “We have party and she get annoyed when her mama say take off her veil. The comb come loose and need fixing. She no want to take it off. So she go upstairs and she cry. Soon, she fall asleep and my daughter-in-law take the veil across to my shop to mend it. I say, I come too and we fix together so my son and his wife and I go across to my shop which has air-conditioning. They are tired and they enjoy the cool of my house so soon they fall asleep on the armchairs. I sit in my shop and look across at
the house in case Maria wake and wonder where we are gone but soon I doze on my chair. A fire . . .” his chin trembles again and hot heavy tears cloud his vision. “A fire break out. I wake and see black smoke upstairs. I shout for my son to wake and I run across the road to Maria. A neighbour telephone for fire brigade but lots of bushfires that day so no one can come soon. People run from their houses and try to throw water. I run upstairs and I try see her but there is too much smoke and I call, I choke, I call ‘Maria!’ but there is no sound. I put my body on the ground and I move on the floor. I feel on her bed and she is asleep. I say, how can this be? How can she no hear the shouting for her? I lift her and she almost fall from my arms. She was so still. I didn’t understand. I move to the stairs but the floor was old. It was on fire and when I try to cross it break and I fall downstairs a long way. I still hold her. I don’t let her fall and when I reach the bottom I cannot move. Her father take her from my arms. I say, ‘Is she all right? Is she all right?’ But she was not sleeping. My Maria was dead. She . . . the smoke . . . she die and I . . . can no longer walk.”
He sobs and I watch Maria pat his shoulder and soothe him but it is me she is looking at. I should have known. Why did I not know? I cannot believe that she is not really here with me. That we are not going to have the future I had imagined together. Heavy tears fall from my eyes. I bend forward and begin to sob.
“But . . .” he says, wiping his eyes, “you also have had such tragedy. I shouldn’t cry. I am old . . . you . . . I feel so sorry for your loss.”
My mother swallows and touches the locket around her neck. “They were around the same age. I remember. A few months apart. Andy and I had struggled so much with his deafness and we – we did our best. It wasn’t the right choice but at the time . . . when he was hit by . . . that train . . . I knew as I held him . . .”
I gasp and turn away from my mother, unable to breathe. I cannot bear to see her say it. I don’t want to see her say those words. But a small hand suddenly takes mine and sound explodes in the room like shattered glass: my mother’s words. I can hear her. I can hear but I do not want to.