Keith’s eyes widened for a moment, until Harry and Diana laughed and he felt safe enough to join in too.
‘A girl with a sense of humour,’ he said. ‘I like that.’
Harry set up a dining table in the greenhouse terrace. Diana laid it with a cream tablecloth and a royal blue place setting. She twisted sprigs of fuchsia around the base of the candlestick. It had been a long time since I had experienced such relaxed elegance. It was an effect my father had been good at creating. I rubbed the edge of the linen cloth between my fingers and relished the weight of the silverware. In the centre of the table Diana placed a bowl of cabbage roses. I breathed in their sweet-scented fragrance. The candle flickered and I saw Sergei standing in the shadows, his arms laden with wedding flowers. Dmitri floated out of the darkness towards me and took my hands in his own. ‘Let me go, Dmitri. Please,’ I said inside my head. But moments later I saw that I was in a bath full of petals. Dmitri was scooping up water by the handful. But the more water he drank the lighter he got. And he began to fade away.
‘Anya, are you okay? You’re terribly pale,’ said Diana, tapping my arm. I squinted at her, disorientated.
‘It’s the heat,’ said Harry, getting up from the table and opening the windows wider.
Keith picked up my glass. ‘I’ll pour you some water.’
I rubbed my forehead. ‘I’m sorry. Everything is so beautiful, I forgot where I was.’
Keith set down my glass in front of me. A drop of water slid down the side and splashed onto the tablecloth. It looked like a tear.
Dinner was poached scallops mornay with creamed mushrooms. The conversation was light and Diana kept it moving along with a deft hand. ‘Keith, you must tell Anya about your parents’ farm. I heard from Ted that it’s lovely’ and ‘Anya, I saw the most gorgeous antique samovar in Lady Bryant’s home but neither of us had any idea how it worked. Could you explain it to us, darling?’ I was aware of Keith’s eyes on me and I was mindful to pay attention to him when he spoke, and not to discourage him, as Diana had accused me of doing in other similar situations. I wasn’t crashing into love as I had with Dmitri. I felt like a flower waiting for a bee.
After the plates had been cleared, we moved to the lounge room for apricot chiffon pie and vanilla icec-ream.
‘Now,’ said Diana, waving her spoon in the air, ‘you simply must tell Keith your rice story.’
‘Yes,’ laughed Keith, moving closer to me. ‘I must hear it.’
‘I haven’t heard this one myself,’ said Harry. ‘Every time Diana tries to tell it to me she begins laughing so much…well, I never get to hear the end of it.’
The food and wine had relaxed me and I felt less shy. I was happy that Keith was sitting close to me. I had warmed to him. I was glad he wasn’t afraid to show that he liked me too. My re-entry into the world of romance wasn’t turning out as badly as I had feared.
‘Well,’ I began, ‘one day I went to visit my best friend and her husband and we started talking about all the food we missed from China. Of course, rice in this country must be the hardest ingredient to find and nearly all the dishes of our childhood contain rice. So we decided to go to Chinatown one day and bring home enough rice to last us for three months.
‘That was in 1954, when Vladimir Petrov and his wife were given asylum in Australia in return for rooting out Russian spies, and rooting out spies became foremost in a lot of people’s minds, including the old lady next door to my friends’ house. She saw us lugging sacks of rice up the drive and speaking in Russian, and called the police.’
Keith laughed and rubbed his chin. Harry chuckled. ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘So two young constables came and asked us if we were Communist spies. But Vitaly somehow persuaded them to stay for dinner. We cooked risotto Volgii, made with bulgur, broccoli and silverbeet sautéed in onion and garlic and served with a side dish of eggplant and yoghurt. Now, refusing to drink with Russians can be extremely difficult, and refusing to drink with a Russian man is downright insulting. So Vitaly managed to convince the police that the only way to boost true “international friendship” and repay him for the “best meal” they had tasted in their lives was to down a few glasses of vodka. When the policemen were so drunk their faces were turning strange shades, we piled them into a taxi and sent them back to the station, where you can imagine their sergeant wasn’t very happy with them. And although Mrs Dolen at number twelve still reports us regularly, we haven’t heard from the police since.’
‘Goodness,’ bellowed Harry, winking at Keith. ‘She’s a rascal. You watch out for her!’
‘I will,’ said Keith, grinning at me as if there were no one else in the room. ‘Believe me I will.’
Afterwards, when Harry was taking the car out of the garage to drive me home, Keith walked with me to the door. Diana rushed past us out into the garden, pretending to search for her nonexistent cat.
‘Anya,’ Keith said to me. ‘Next week it’s my friend Ted’s birthday. I would like to take you to the party. Will you come?’
‘Yes, I’d love to.’ The words rushed out of my mouth before I had time to think about them. But I felt comfortable with Keith. There didn’t seem to be anything hidden about him. Unlike me. I was full of secrets.
After Harry had dropped me home, I opened the windows and lay down on my bed, listening to the sea. I shut my eyes and tried to remember Keith’s smile. But I had already started to forget what he looked like. I wondered if I sincerely liked him, or whether I was only making myself like him because I thought that I should. After a while all I could think about was Dmitri. It was as if just as I was preparing to let go his hold on me for good, my memories of him returned stronger than before. I tossed and turned in my bed, our wedding night playing over and over again in my head. The only true happy moment of our marriage. Before Sergei’s death. Before Amelia. My soft wet body covered in petals pressed against the hardness of Dmitri’s burning skin.
The party Keith took me to the following weekend was my first real Australian party. I had never been to a party with people my own age and economic class, and it was an eye-opener for me.
My experience of Australia had been different to that of many of the other Russians from Shanghai. Mariya and Natasha had been given work in a hospital laundry and their husbands, although both educated, worked on construction sites. But my experience of life was not typical for Australian girls my age either. Because of my position on the paper I was invited to some of the most elegant parties in the city. I had met politicians, artists and famous actresses, and had even been asked to help judge the next Miss Australia Quest. But I had no true social life of my own.
Ted was Keith’s photographer on the sports pages and he lived on Steinway Street in Coogee. When we arrived, people were already spilling out of the doors and windows of the fibrocement house. ‘Only You’ was spinning on the record player and a group of guys and girls in neck scarves and shirts with the collars turned up were crooning along to it. A blond man with sideburns and his cigarette packet tucked in his shirtsleeve hurried over to us. He slapped hands with Keith and then turned to me.
‘Hello, lovely. Are you the girl Keith has been telling me about? The Russian fashion queen?’
‘Give her a break, Ted,’ laughed Keith, then turning to me added, ‘It takes a while to get used to his humour. Don’t worry.’
‘So it’s your birthday, Ted,’ I said, holding up the present Keith and I had brought: a Chuck Berry record wrapped in spotted paper and sealed with a bow.
‘You guys didn’t have to…but put it on the table,’ Ted smiled. ‘Lucy is making me open them up all together later.’
‘She’s turning you into a girl,’ said Keith.
The lounge room was a hothouse, steamy with the heat of bodies pressed together and the summer night. People were sprawled over the carpet and lounge, smoking and drinking soda or beer straight from the bottle. Some of the girls turned to look at me. I had worn a sleeveless torso dress with a high shou
lder to shoulder neckline. The other girls were wearing Capri pants and body-hugging shirts. Their hair was short, in the style many Australian women preferred then, and brushed forward, like pixies. Mine was still long and I wore it loose with curls at the ends. Their glances made me uncomfortable. They didn’t seem very friendly.
I followed Keith into the kitchen, squeezing past people who smelled of Brylcreem and candy. The bench was littered with sticky cola bottles and plastic cups.
‘Here, try this,’ said Keith, handing me a bottle.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘Try it and see,’ he said, opening a bottle of beer for himself. I took a sip from the bottle. The liquid was sweet and potent. It made my stomach heave. I read the label: Cherry Pop.
‘Hey, Keith,’ a girl called out. She pushed her way through the crowd and grabbed him in a bear hug. Keith rolled his eyes to me. The girl let go and followed his gaze. She frowned. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Rowena, I want you to meet Anya.’
The girl gave me the slightest nod of her head. She had pale skin and freckles. Her lips were big and red and her eyebrows were thick spiders over her pretty eyes.
‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ I said, extending my hand. But Rowena didn’t take it. She stared at my fingers.
‘You foreign?’ she asked. ‘You have an accent.’
‘Yes, I’m Russian,’ I said. ‘From China.’
‘Aren’t Australian girls fancy enough for you?’ she huffed at Keith, moving away from him and pushing herself through the crowd back out into the garden.
Keith cringed. ‘I’m afraid I’m showing you how ignorant some of Ted’s friends are,’ he said, lifting himself onto the bench. He moved the bottles and dirty plates, wiping down the bench to make space for me.
‘I think I’m dressed all wrong,’ I said.
‘You?’ He laughed. ‘I’ve been jealous because the men here have been stealing glances at you all night. You’re beautiful.’
There was a whoop of laughter from the lounge room and we piled in with the others to see what was going on. A group of men and women were sitting on the floor in a circle, a bottle poised in the middle. I knew the game: spin the bottle. But not this version of it. Each participant had a beer by his or her side and when the bottle was spun and the tip had settled on a member of the opposite sex, the spinner had a choice of either kissing that person or taking a swig of beer. If they chose to drink, the person being rejected for a kiss had to take two swigs of beer. I spotted Rowena in the group. She looked up, sending a sour glance my way. Or was it to Keith?
‘Just another Australian excuse to drink,’ said Keith.
‘Russians are the same. Well, the men at least.’
‘Really? I bet Russian men would rather kiss girls than drink beer though, given the choice.’
Keith was looking at me in that direct way of his again, but I couldn’t hold his stare. I glanced down at my feet.
Keith drove me home in his Holden. I was tempted to ask who Rowena was, but I didn’t. I sensed it didn’t matter. He was young and attractive, of course he would be dating other girls. I was the one who was the freak. The one who had spent most of her youth alone. Whenever Keith wasn’t looking, I sneaked glances at him. Studying the texture of his skin, noticing for the first time the freckle on the corner of his nose, the light spray of hair around his wrist. He was good-looking, but he wasn’t Dmitri.
When we reached my apartment building he pulled the car to the kerb and turned the engine off. I twisted my hands and prayed he wouldn’t try to kiss me. I wasn’t ready for anything like that. He must have sensed my uneasiness because he didn’t kiss me. Instead he talked about the tennis matches he was covering and what nice guys Ken Rosewell and Lew Hoad were to interview. After a while he squeezed my hand and said he would walk me to my door.
‘Next time I will take you somewhere more classy,’ he said. He was smiling, but I sensed disappointment in his words. I stammered, not sure what to say. He had mistaken me for a snob. I wanted to assure him how much I liked him but when I said, ‘Goodnight, Keith,’ it came out tight and wrong.
Instead of going to bed happy, I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake, terrified that I had ruined a relationship even before I was sure whether or not I wanted it.
The next day Irina and Vitaly came to meet me for our planned picnic on the beach. Irina was wearing a smock dress although she was barely starting to show. I suspected that she was too excited to wait until she got fatter. A few weeks earlier she had come over with patterns for baby clothes and sketches of how she was going to decorate the nursery. I couldn’t help sharing her sense of joy. I knew she was going to be a wonderful mother. I was surprised to see that Vitaly had put on weight since Irina had found out she was pregnant, but I refrained from any ‘eating for two’ jokes. The extra weight suited him. His skinny gauntness was gone and his face was more handsome when it was round.
‘Who was the guy you were with last night?’ he asked me before he had even put his foot in the door. Irina jabbed him in the ribs.
‘We promised Betty and Ruselina we would find out.’ Vitaly grimaced, rubbing his side.
‘Betty and Ruselina? How did they know I was with someone?’
Irina swung the picnic basket onto the table and packed in the date loaf and plates I’d prepared for the day. ‘They were spying on you as usual,’ she said. ‘They turned off the lights in their flat and pressed their faces to the window when he dropped you off.’
Vitaly picked a corner off the loaf and took a bite. ‘They tried to listen to what you two were saying but Betty’s stomach kept rumbling and they didn’t hear a thing.’
I took the loaded basket from Irina. It wasn’t too heavy but I didn’t want her to carry anything. ‘They make life difficult when they do that,’ I said. ‘I’m self-conscious enough as it is.’
Irina patted my arm. ‘The secret is to get married and move a suburb away. That’s not too far but not too close either.’
‘If they keep it up I won’t get married,’ I said. ‘They’ll scare men away.’
‘Tsch!’ snorted Vitaly. ‘Who is this suitor, Anya? Why didn’t you ask him along today?’
‘I met him through Diana. And I didn’t invite him today because I haven’t seen you two for ages and I wanted to spend the day with you.’
‘Too early to introduce him to the family, I see,’ said Vitaly, wagging his finger at me. ‘But I have to warn you that your wedding dress is already being discussed downstairs.’
Irina rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, pushing me and Vitaly out the door.
On any Sunday in summer Bondi Beach was packed with people. Irina, Vitaly and I had to walk to the Ben Buckler headland before we could find somewhere to sit. The glare was dazzling. It reflected off the sand and the wall of beach umbrellas much the same way snow glistens from the rooftops and trees in the northern hemisphere. Vitaly spread out the towels and set about planting the beach umbrella while Irina and I donned our sunglasses and hats. The lifesavers were training in the surf, their brownskinned muscles shimmering with the residue of the sea and sweat.
‘I saw some of them training in the pool the other weekend,’ said Vitaly. ‘They were swimming with water-filled kerosene cans tied to their belts.’
‘I guess they have to be strong to fight the sea,’ I said.
A sweets vendor passed by, the zinc cream on his face melting like ice-cream in the sun. I called out to him and bought three vanilla cups, handing one each to Irina and Vitaly and opening my own.
‘The lifesavers are good-looking, heh?’ Irina giggled. ‘Perhaps Anya and I should join the club.’
‘You’ll be swimming with more than a weighted kerosene can around your waist in a few months, Irina,’ said Vitaly.
I watched the lifesavers go through their drills with the belt. One of them stood out from the others. He was taller than the other men and solidly built with a square face and thick jaw. His fellow lifesav
er, performing the part of the near-drowned victim, was securely held and in no danger of being dropped. Every task that lifesaver performed was executed with vigour and single-mindedness. He whipped the belt around his waist and sprang into the ocean without hesitation, dragging his victim from the surf without strain and mock-resuscitating him on the beach as if life on earth depended on it.
‘That one is very impressive,’ said Vitaly.
I nodded. Again and again with effortless energy the lifesaver bounded into the waves, in search of the next person in need. He ran like a stag in the forest, fast and carefree. ‘He must be the one Harry was talking about the other night…’ I stopped mid-sentence. A tingle ran over my skin.
I jumped up, shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand. ‘Oh my God!’ I cried.
‘What is it? Who is it?’ Irina asked, standing up next to me.
I answered her by waving my arms at the lifesaver and calling out, ‘Ivan! Ivan!’
SEVENTEEN
Ivan
Betty and Ruselina were listening to the radio and playing cards at the table by the window when we burst into the flat, one after the other, with Ivan in tow. Betty glanced up from her cards and squinted. Ruselina turned around. Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes welled with tears. ‘Ivan!’ she cried out, getting up. She rushed across the rug towards him. He met her halfway, hugging her so furiously that her feet swung off the ground.
When Ivan put Ruselina down, she clutched his face between her hands. ‘I thought we would never see you again,’ she said.
‘You’re not half as surprised as me,’ Ivan said. ‘I thought you were all in America.’
‘Because of Grandmother’s illness we had to come here,’ said Irina. She glanced at me and I felt guilty, although that hadn’t been her intention. But I was the one who was supposed to have written.
Ivan spotted Betty wavering by the couch. He greeted her in Russian. ‘This is my friend Betty Nelson,’ Ruselina explained. ‘She’s Australian.’
‘Oh, Australian,’ said Ivan, moving towards Betty to shake her hand. ‘Then we’d better speak in English. I am Ivan Nakhimovsky. An old friend of Ruselina and the girls.’
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