by P. J. McKAY
LUISA, 1989
Korčula, Yugoslavia
SEPTEMBER
Luisa starts and turns back from gazing out her bedroom window as Mirjana barges in.
‘They’ve been staring at me all day,’ says Mirjana, breathless, thrusting two aerogrammes at Luisa. ‘As soon as I saw the New Zealand stamps I knew they were yours.’
It takes a moment for Luisa to register. There’s a letter from Mum but the second one’s from Bex. Her reaction is immediate. She crosses to the bedside table and tosses Bex’s letter down.
‘That one from your friend?’ says Mirjana, standing back, watching.
Luisa ignores the jibe and waves the other letter. ‘Mum will be here in person soon.’ She shakes her head. ‘Why would she bother?’
‘Who knows?’ says Mirjana, waving her hands like a conductor while backing towards the door. ‘But all day they’ve been staring at me. I’ll leave you to it but let me know everything’s okay. Don’t want you going into meltdown again. That toilet’s seen quite enough of you.’
‘Yep. Been there, done that,’ says Luisa, giving Mirjana her best pained expression. ‘Thanks. I’ll let you know.’
When Mirjana’s gone Luisa collapses onto her bed and stares at the thin blue letter bearing Mum’s scrawl. She can’t help herself though, Bex’s letter is like a magnet. She places Mum’s letter on the bed and leans across to pick up the other one, turning it over in her hands as though by looking at it from all angles she might make the best decision. The New Zealand stamp is intriguing. Bex must have gone home? Luisa’s curiosity gets the better of her and she tears it open.
September 3rd
Dear Luisa,
I’m determined not to fail this time. I need to apologise, but it’s also time for me to confess. When I left you at the airport in Skopje, just like all the other times, I was running away from myself, only this time I couldn’t escape. I didn’t stay in London. Couldn’t. I went straight back to New Zealand to try and sort my shit out. I’m determined not to give up this time and this letter has to be the first step if I have any chance of healing.
There’s no easy way to say this. I was to blame for what happened. It wasn’t just that I slept with Nikola and left you on your own. I did something far worse.
It was when we were playing cards, after you’d gone to bed. I made a stupid throwaway comment to Kosta, a terrible thing. I said that you’d been uptight since breaking up with your boyfriend and perhaps all you needed was a decent shag. The next morning I blamed the alcohol but of course that was no excuse.
Those same words have been churning inside me ever since. You had to live through the most horrific trauma imaginable and afterwards I treated you so badly. I didn’t even have the guts to admit what I’d done.
All I can offer is my deepest apologies and hope this gives you some explanation for the way I acted. Rightly, you felt abandoned when I was so busy hiding from myself. You had been so good to me, so understanding when I was trying to stand on my own two feet. I didn’t deserve your kindness and I don’t expect your forgiveness now. Please trust that I won’t make contact ever again, but I want you to know how much I value the time we did spend together. I admire your strength and your resilience, and it’s my hope that I can try and draw from what you’ve taught me.
I hope with all my heart that you will heal, and that your Croatian family have surrounded you with the love you deserve.
Bex
Luisa’s trauma rises without warning, the taste of bile a sordid reminder. Her hands are a shaking mess, but still she manages to twist and mangle the flimsy sheet of paper into a golf-ball sized missile to fire across the room. The ball of blue ricochets off the skirting board, coming to rest on the tiles just in front of the chest of drawers. For the longest time Luisa gazes into space, unseeing, unable to focus. It feels like another scab’s been knocked off her wound. Eventually, her attention turns to her hands and she stills them, stops the wringing, bringing some illusion of control. Again she tries to rationalise her thoughts but there are no answers. Is that what Bex really thought of me? How can Bex think that a letter might absolve what she did?
Luisa feels compelled to stand as though by touching solid ground the answer might become clear. Her hand brushes against the other letter. Mum’s letter. This feels like a gift now, a chance to escape what’s just played out and to reconnect with her former self. When she opens the aerogramme a separate piece of paper floats to the floor and Luisa gathers this up, smiling, in spite of herself. Mum’s never been known for her succinctness. She begins to read.
1st September, 1989
My darling girl,
There are moments in life when you are forced to look back on your past, and face the decisions you’ve made. For me, this began when you were preparing to leave for your overseas trip and ended when Josip phoned me last night. For so long, I’ve swallowed my secret. It’s partly the reason I fell out with Josip and I fear that if I continue to hold it close, it will cause problems between the two of us. Josip was concerned you were holding something back — like mother, like daughter, he said — which stung me to my core. Being a shut book cost me the chance to return to Korčula. I never made my peace with Tata, and worse, I never held Mama in my arms before she passed away. The truth of this still rips at my heart and I would hate it if whatever you are holding close worked its way between us. Perhaps you might choose to stay on in Yugoslavia, or somewhere else far away. It might seem an easier option. I want you to know it’s not the only way.
I’m not one to look back with a sour face, but I think you know life wasn’t the easiest for me growing up. Tata wasn’t what you’d call a doting father. Josip might view this differently, but then he was the boy. But, of course, this wasn’t why we fell out.
Mum’s story tumbles out and Luisa is drawn in. It’s as though Mum is sitting next to her, talking with an honesty they’ve never shared before. Not through any of the often heated discussions they’ve had. Perhaps Mum felt if she was to safeguard her secret that she had no other choice than to toe the parent-party line. Luisa had never felt Mum could relate to her world, that their realms of experience might ever be the same. Rather than feeling disgusted, Luisa is proud of the way Mum coped. That Uncle Ivan should be castrated! How could he live with himself? Luisa’s hands start to tremble again. She swallows hard and grabs at the second part of the letter, scrambling to turn her attention to something tangible, anything to clear away those other pictures crowding her mind.
Even though now you will likely think of me in disgust, I hope you can also understand why I kept my secret close. What I’d done felt so shameful that I couldn’t face being exposed again. How could I have thought it was acceptable to be with my uncle, even a half-strength one in this way? Looking back, I was a silly young girl, totally entranced by the attention of an older man. But at the time I thought he was in love with me and that he could whisk me away to a better life. With wiser shoulders I realise he was simply taking advantage and using his power to abuse me.
When Mama tried to reconcile the rift between Tata and me, she said I was too stubborn, like a mule. Tata was the same. For his part, I think he found it easier to forget me. Ivan was as much to blame, but of course in Tata’s eyes I should have been stronger. It was the way things were with the men. Mama, bless her, was the one who suffered. How could we bridge the gap between our two families so far apart? She missed out on the joy of being Baba to you, Anita and Marko. She missed out on seeing you grow. This makes my heart break if I think of it too long.
I will leave you with the thought of how much I love you. When you feel the moment is right, and before I arrive, please share the first part of this letter with Josip and Mare. It is time. With regard to your own secret, only you will know when the telling time is right. While I’m no shining example, I hope this letter provides some perspective. Your tata was the only person I shared my secret with. At the time we were both young and guilty of diluting the details. He didn’
t push me to explain my hurt, or take the time to ask more questions, to understand how deeply Ivan’s abuse had affected me. I convinced myself that what mattered most was him accepting that I wasn’t a virgin so that we could make our marriage work. Being young and so far from home, it was easier for me to remain silent, to not explore my other feelings, to bury my hurt. When I showed this letter to your tata he couldn’t hold back his tears. I hadn’t appreciated how much my secret had cost him. How it created some distance between us by nibbling away at our relationship and making jagged edges at times. Worst of all, your tata was forced to push aside his dream to visit our homeland.
Draga, our secrets are no more than scars — part of us, but they mustn’t be allowed to define us. For me, my scars catapulted me on a journey across the world and I experienced so much more than I might have otherwise. I will leave you with this thought. It’s only when we reveal our secrets that we allow ourselves the freedom to become our true selves. Only you will know when your moment is right. Please know that I won’t force you, and whatever you decide, my love will always surround you. I know as well as anyone that some things take time.
Dad and I can’t wait to see you.
All my love,
Mum xx
Luisa rereads every last word of the letter, blinking away her tears. It’s Mum’s final words that stare back at her. Sharing what happened in Macedonia won’t miraculously heal her, but rebuilding relationships is a two-way thing. She came to Korčula for a reason, and if she’s to connect with her family she has to trust. She goes to find Mirjana.
‘Good news?’ says Mirjana, looking up from where she’s sitting on her bed. Her look of surprise quickly changes to concern when Luisa sits down, gripping Mum’s letter tight.
‘Jesus, you’re like a ghost. What’s wrong?’ Mirjana says, reaching for Luisa’s hand.
Luisa understands Mirjana’s reaction. Her circulation might as well have been switched off, her hands look so white. Even thinking about what she’s about to tell Mirjana makes her want to throw up.
‘I was raped,’ she says, forcing herself to turn back to Mirjana once the vile words have escaped.
Mirjana’s jaw drops. Luisa can’t believe how matter-of-fact she just sounded. She pulls Luisa into a hug. ‘Oh my God! And you’ve been carrying that around all this time? I thought you were just being precious about a tiff with your friend.’
Luisa winces and pushes her sleeve up against her eyes. Mirjana squeezes her, pulling her closer. ‘I was hoping that by not telling, I might be able to forget,’ says Luisa, her voice small. ‘But it keeps following me around.’
Mirjana reaches across to pull a handkerchief from her bedside cabinet, passing it to Luisa. ‘Did you report it to the police? How could your friend have deserted you?’
‘We did report it, but the doctor . . .’ Luisa shudders and her words stick in her throat. ‘He barely qualified as a human.’ Mirjana pulls back, but Luisa can’t meet her eye as she continues telling her the story, omitting only the very latest details from Bex.
‘I’m so ashamed of our country,’ says Mirjana. ‘That you were treated like this. What’s more, that bastard’s unlikely to face any consequences.’ She shakes her head. ‘That republic. Our country. There’s too many issues.’
For a while they sit in silence, Mirjana rubbing Luisa’s back. Now that she’s voiced it aloud there is some relief, a weight lifted, even if it’s just that her cousin has some context for the way she’s been acting since her arrival.
‘I’m not sure I want to say anything to Josip and Mare,’ says Luisa. ‘Not yet. There’s something more important to tell you all over dinner.’ She waves the letter. ‘It’s about Mum, and that will be enough for everyone to take in. What’s happened to me can wait, and it may be something I never share. But I wanted you to know.’
Mirjana nods, her eyes glassy.
‘I need a bit more time to get my head straight. Okay? I promise I won’t go back to my old tricks but it’s so clear to me now why some women never report rape.’
‘Of course,’ says Mirjana, pulling Luisa close again. ‘Come down when you’re ready. And thanks. I feel terrible for judging you. For so long I’ve been jealous, wishing that Tata had been more like your mama, that he had escaped this place too.’
Luisa can’t help herself, turning back at the door. ‘In the letter Mum mentioned Uncle Ivan. Do you know him? It’s the first I’ve heard of him.’
‘The family’s mystery uncle,’ says Mirjana, her expression questioning. ‘How weird. He was the one who helped get your mama out. Maybe she didn’t want to let on that she’d gone behind Dida’s back? Dida was furious at the two of them, apparently, but I’ve always admired your mama for being brave enough. Even as a child I knew not to cross Dida Ante. She was obviously smart — after all, Uncle Ivan had all the contacts, and from what I understand he organised the paperwork and helped with her fare. If only Tata had been more gutsy and seen the same opportunity, I wouldn’t be stuck here still.’
Luisa grips the doorframe. How could Mum’s story have got so far twisted from the truth? ‘But you’ve never met him? What happened to him?’
‘His name’s in the paper sometimes. He’s high up in the Party, one of the generals. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve fantasised about tracking him down. He’ll be in a mansion somewhere, living the life. For sure he’d have known when to jump well before Tito died.’
It takes all Luisa’s self-control not to burst Mirjana’s bubble. That will happen later, tonight, when she can speak with them all together.
‘We’ll have to work on our own plan to get you to New Zealand once Mum and Dad get here,’ Luisa says. ‘I’ll catch you at dinnertime. Hey, thanks, I feel better for sharing.’
Back in her own bedroom thoughts whirl in Luisa’s head. It’s outrageous that disgusting man got away with this, that he’s been put on a pedestal. She stares at the ceiling, desperate to calm her thoughts. Even though Bex has admitted blame it’s Kosta who is the guilty one, not Bex. Mum’s words push back. What’s important now will be moving forward, one day at a time, and trusting that her pain will lessen. Luisa smiles. She can’t wait to see Mum now, and Dad. To embrace that familiarity, the certainty that comes from years spent together. She’s been lucky with the people who have helped her so far. Her family here, and Helena. She thinks about that piece of paper Helena handed her with her address. With all that’s happened, perhaps a miracle is possible. Being passive goes against her whole being; it might help to do something positive. With Mirjana’s help maybe she could make contact again, follow up with Nikola? Find out what happened to that bastard Kosta and use her legal nous to force a prosecution.
But these are likely just wild thoughts, and she can’t think about them now. What’s most important is preparing to welcome Mum home. To pave the way by sharing her story. To put things right.
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Acknowledgments
At times when writing this novel, The Absent Time felt more apt as a title. My heart goes out to John McKay, my love, for your enduring faith in this novel, your encouragement when doubts crept in, and for your astute eye and patience when reading yet another draft. Had I realised what
was ahead on this journey I may never have embarked on it. Knowing now what I have gained, I am grateful that hindsight is never a luxury at the start of a journey, and that your support was always there to carry me through. Thank you too, Cam, Alex, and Hamish for your understanding — just like teenagers, a distracted Mum was no doubt infuriating at times.
Stephen Stratford, thank you for working your editing magic. Your scrupulous eye for detail was impressive and my words have benefited from your professionalism.
To my parents, Sue and Ron Lamont, your love and support has always been a surety. You were a wealth of information about life in the 1950’s as young adults. Thank you for sharing your stories and in particular, Mum, thanks for the spark of inspiration when writer’s block set in. Your recollection of that day at the Feilding races, when Red Glare romped in as a rank outsider, was the inspiration to take Gabrijela to the Ellerslie racecourse.
Louise Marinovich, you have been part of this project from the start, on walks and over wine. Thank you for regaling me with your stories and insights into life growing up as a Croatian Kiwi. I could always count on you to cast my curly questions wider to your parents, Paul and Tonka Marinovich, and your extended family.