Lina at the Games

by Sally Rippin

  ‘That’s very nice of him,’ Lina’s mother said, smiling. ‘We’ll see.’

  Lina wandered over to the sink to help herself to a glass of water. ‘Papa’s at work?’

  Lina’s mother nodded and patted the chair beside her. Lina carried her glass over to the table and sat down. ‘Did you eat?’ her mother asked. ‘There’s a bowl of pasta on the bench if you’re hungry?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Lina said. ‘We ate some sandwiches the Mother Superior had prepared.’

  Lina’s mother pulled a face. ‘Oh dear. Spongey white bread with plastic cheese?’

  Lina giggled. ‘Nope. Vegemite!’

  ‘Oh no!’ her mother said, acting horrified. ‘That stinky black stuff ? Surely she didn’t make you eat that? Are you okay?’

  Lina put her hand up to her forehead, pretending to be ill. ‘Actually, I’m feeling pretty weak. Must . . . eat . . . some . . . Parmesan . . . cheese . . .’ she moaned.

  Her mother laughed and pulled Lina into a fierce hug. ‘Come here, you!’

  Lina let her own bony body melt into her mother’s soft one. They fit together as if cut from the same piece of cloth. We’re not so different, she thought, feeling comforted. My blood is her blood, only my thoughts are my own.

  The next morning, Lina caught the later bus. There was someone she was hoping to see. To her delight, John waved to her enthusiastically from his place in the crowded corridor. Lina bit back her grin. Even though she did her best to picture John as merely a friend, she still couldn’t quash the butterflies in her stomach each time he smiled.

  ‘Lina!’ he called. ‘Come down here!’

  Lina pushed her way through the bodies to get as close as she could. ‘Guess what! I went to the Opening Ceremony yesterday!’ She was nearly at the place where John was standing when a stout old lady with her arms full of shopping bags grumbled at her. ‘Hold your horses, Lassie! I’m getting out at the next stop.’

  John pinched his face into a funny expression and Lina had to cover her mouth so the old lady wouldn’t catch her laughing.

  ‘So, how was it?’ John said over the woman’s head, when Lina had recovered from her fit of giggles.

  ‘Amazing!’ Lina gushed. ‘Just amazing!’

  ‘Did you say hi to Dawn Fraser from me?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Lina, grinning. ‘She said to tell you that you need to wash behind your ears.’

  John pretended to look shocked. ‘I have the cleanest ears in town!’

  ‘But the loudest voice!’ the old lady said shrilly.

  Lina snorted in laughter again.

  The bus pulled into the next stop and Lina was shoved aside as passengers forced their way off. ‘This is why I catch the early one!’ she yelped in John’s direction.

  A new group of people got onto the bus, and as Lina stepped forward she suddenly found herself pushed right up against John. She tried to pretend she was fine with this but her ears began to burn and her heart began to pound. Trickles of sweat ran down the backs of her knees.

  Now that they were standing so close, John lowered his voice. Lina felt his breath on her ear. ‘I watched it on the televisions in the Myer windows,’ he said. ‘I think I saw you. But it could have been a speck of dust on the glass.’

  Lina’s heart was beating too hard for her to laugh at his joke. She twisted her face to try and look up at him, but they were so close that this was even more awkward, so she stared at the pattern on the shirt right in front of her.

  ‘You know, it got me thinking,’ he continued in her ear. ‘You know how in the Opening Ceremony they all come out in teams? Under their countries’ flag?’

  Lina nodded.

  ‘Well, wouldn’t it be great if the athletes were involved in the Closing Ceremony, too, except all mixed together? You know, like one big nation. The Melbourne Olympics is supposed to be the “friendly games”. It would be nice to see them all mingled together as citizens of the world, not divided up by countries, don’t you think?’

  Lina nodded again. ‘Sure,’ she squeaked. She shifted position slightly to move away from the briefcase digging into her hip. Somebody behind her stunk of garlic.

  ‘So, I was thinking I might write to them to suggest it. What do you reckon?’

  ‘Write to who?’ Lina said, twisting her head around again to try to see his face.

  ‘The Olympic Committee,’ John said. ‘Tell them my idea.’

  ‘Why would they listen to the idea of a sixteen-year-old student?’ Lina said, smiling.

  ‘Seventeen,’ John corrected.

  ‘Well, whatever age you are. Haven’t the Olympics been going on forever? Why would they change them now?’

  John shrugged and chewed his bottom lip. ‘Yeah, you’re right, I guess. It was just an idea.’

  ‘No, no, it’s a good idea,’ Lina said quickly, worried she had hurt his feelings. ‘I just don’t see how a group of adults would listen to a kid. Adults never listen to kids.’

  ‘Well, they should,’ John said, poking Lina in the arm. ‘Kids have all the good ideas!’

  Lina grinned. ‘Oh, this is your stop!’ she said alarmed. The time always went much too quickly when she and John got chatting.

  ‘Maybe see you on the bus after school?’ John said, lifting his bag up over his head to wind his way to the door.

  ‘Maybe!’ Lina called back. She watched him jog down the steps and onto the footpath, then gave him a little wave through the window as the bus pulled away.

  Lina thought about what John had said. Even though she knew nobody would pay him any attention, she liked his idea. He felt the same way about the world as she did. Maybe more people should listen to what kids have to say, she thought. If people read Anne Frank’s words or listened to John’s idea or even read my story, it might help them to understand each other better and see we’re not so different after all.

  IN the courtyard before school that morning, all anyone wanted to talk about was the Opening Ceremony and a big group of girls gathered around Lina when she arrived. Even though other St Brigid’s girls had also attended, and nearly all of them had listened to the broadcast on the radio, Lina and Sarah were the school’s ‘official reporters’ so everyone wanted to hear about it from them.

  ‘What did you think of our uniform?’

  ‘What were the other teams wearing?’

  ‘Were the American athletes cute?’

  ‘Did you see Dawn Fraser?

  ‘Betty Cuthbert?’

  ‘Murray Rose?’

  ‘Oh, isn’t he just dreamy? I’m going to marry Murray Rose one day!’

  Lina answered as many questions as she could, full of pride and enjoying the attention. But when Mary arrived, many of the girls rushed over to her, eager to hear how the ceremony had looked on television.

  ‘Oh, it was much better than being there!’ Mary boasted loudly. ‘Because you got to see close-ups of all the athletes. They weren’t just specks in the distance. Why would you bother going all the way into town to watch the Olympic Ceremony with all those people when you could watch from the comfort of your own home?’

  ‘Perhaps for the atmosphere?’ came a voice. Lina spun round to see Julia Goldbloom from her Home Economics class. ‘Not much of an Olympic spirit in the lounge room, I’m guessing?’ she said, with a wry smile. Then she shrugged, pushed her tortoiseshell glasses up her nose and walked off, her springy black curls bobbing.

  Lina smiled gratefully. She’s right! she thought. Nothing replaces the feeling of being there in person.

  Lina and Sarah were busier than ever. Each night, Lina stayed up trying to maker her article on Dawn Fraser perfect. Every lunchtime, the girls sifted through piles of stories, poems and drawings to choose the best ones and work out where to place them in the school magazine. Now that they no longer had Mary to help them, Sister Rosemary had become their third editor. One day, as Lina and Sarah sat around Sister Rosemary’s desk sorting through all the pages of writing, Lina spied an article on  Anne Fra
nk by Julia Goldbloom. She was surprised to see that Julia knew of Anne Frank’s diary. It had only been in the library for a few months.

  ‘I lent it to her after you,’ Sister Rosemary explained. ‘I thought she’d like to read it, too.’

  Lina felt a curious twist of jealousy in the pit of her stomach, then she scolded herself for being silly. I know it’s Sister Rosemary’s job to suggest books to students. It’s just that Anne Frank’s diary felt like it was written for me.

  Sarah peered over Lina’s shoulder. ‘Oh, not another story on World War Two, surely?’ She sighed. ‘This magazine is supposed to be fun! Besides, Julia is in my history class and she is an annoying swot. She always gets “A”s and she has awful hair. I vote we don’t include her.’

  ‘I don’t know if having awful hair is a good enough reason to vote someone’s story off the magazine,’ Sister Rosemary said calmly. ‘Lina?’

  Lina skimmed the article and was almost disappointed to find that it was good. Very good. Julia Goldbloom certainly knew how to write. Then Lina remembered the little joke Julia had made the other day. ‘I think we should include it,’ she said, looking right into Sarah’s eyes. ‘Two against one. It’s in.’

  Sarah scowled and pulled another piece of paper out of the pile. ‘You’ll have to cut it back then,’ she said to Lina. ‘In my opinion, we’ve got way too many boring history articles and dreary poems about the war, and not enough fashion and movies.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘This magazine isn’t just for librarians and migrants.’

  Lina felt her cheeks begin to steam, just like they had when she and Sarah were enemies. How dare she!

  Fortunately, Sister Rosemary, in her ever-patient tone of voice, jumped in before Lina was able to add fuel to the fire. ‘Sarah, you are right; there should always be room for more fun in our lives, but it’s important that all our student demographics are covered. I imagine that Anne Frank’s diary was significant to Julia because she is a Polish Jew. Her family may even have been through something similar to Anne, which is why I lent the book to her. I am sure her article will be of interest to other St Brigid’s girls, aside from us librarians and migrants.’

  ‘Julia is Polish?’ Lina asked in amazement.

  ‘A Polish Jew.’ Sister Rosemary nodded.

  ‘But . . . I thought she was Australian,’ Lina insisted.

  ‘She is, Lina,’ said Sister Rosemary. ‘She was born here. Her parents were refugees from Poland. They came out during the war. As did quite a few other students’ parents. In fact, the Australian government encouraged Europeans to move here and start new lives. They’re an important part of our country now.’

  Lina’s mind was fizzing as Sister Rosemary’s words began to sink in. ‘But . . . I thought I was the only non-Australian girl here.’

  Sister Rosemary’s face wrinkled into a broad smile. ‘Lina, you were born here. You are just as Australian as any girl at this school.’

  Lina felt herself glow with pride. Sarah just sniffed and picked at her nails.

  ‘As Australian as me,’ Sister Rosemary continued, ‘whose parents came from Ireland. And as Australian as Sarah whose family came from . . .?’

  ‘We’re all Australian,’ Sarah corrected.

  ‘Really?’ Sister Rosemary said, her eyes twinkling. ‘You have very pale skin for an Aboriginal.’

  ‘We’re not aboriginal!’ Sarah scowled. ‘That’s not what I mean. My family’s probably from England, originally, or something like that! But we’ve been in Australia ever since . . . it became Australia!’

  ‘Oh,’ Sister Rosemary said, winking at Lina, ‘so your ancestors were convicts, then? I suppose that’s much better than being a refugee.’

  Sarah stood up and pushed her chair back angrily. ‘No, they weren’t! How would you know? You don’t know anything about my family, okay? I was just saying . . . oh forget it!’

  Sister Rosemary rose and put her hand gently on Sarah’s shoulder. ‘How about I make us a pot of tea? I think we could all do with a little break, don’t you? We’ve been working hard. Do you both take cream and sugar?’

  Lina nodded and covered a grin with her hand as she watched the old nun hobble off to put the kettle on. Sister Rosemary is the best, she thought admiringly. She’s proof that calmness mixed with cleverness wins every time. Lina made a mental note to try being more like Sister Rosemary in future, instead of her usual hot-headed self.

  Then her thoughts turned back to Julia Goldbloom. She’s Polish? I wonder how many other girls’ families are immigrants like mine? And she decided at that moment to find out.

  ‘THE Mother Superior wants an article on an Australian Olympic athlete for the front cover,’ Lina told her father one evening. They were sitting together before he went to work, reading Stella Davis’s column in the newspaper and chatting about the school magazine. ‘I’m almost finished writing my story on Dawn Fraser but I’m worried Sarah might write about her, too.’

  ‘Sarah? Who’s Sarah?’ asked Papa.

  Sometimes it amazed Lina how little her family knew about her life. ‘You know, the girl I’m working on the magazine with. We used to be enemies but we’re almost friends now. Sort of. Still, sometimes I feel like she wants to take over the magazine when it was really my idea. That’s why it has to be my story on the cover.’

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to work hard to write the best article then,’ her father said, smiling. ‘Look at Stella Davis. She didn’t get to have her own column by just sitting around, did she?’

  ‘I guess not,’ said Lina, catching her father’s smile. She paused as a thought came to her that she had never dared find words to express. ‘Do you think . . . Do you think I could ever become a journalist like Stella Davis?’ Once her dream was out in words, it hung between them like a fragile bubble. Lina didn’t breathe for fear it might burst.

  Her father pulled her in tight to his chest. ‘Lina, if you work hard, you can be whatever you want to be,’ he said into her hair, then kissed the top of her head. ‘That’s why we are here. That’s why we work so hard. So you kids can have everything we weren’t able to.’

  Lina hugged her father back. ‘Thank you, Papa,’ she said.

  Lina’s father turned another page of the newspaper and took a sip of his strong black coffee. The Olympic stories filled the first half of the paper, the second half contained anything else that might be going on in the world. ‘What else can you translate for me?’

  Lina pointed to a photo of a tank rolling through a narrow street. She read the caption: Soviet tanks crush Hungarian hopes for revolution. ‘Why are they still fighting? Didn’t the war end years ago?’

  ‘Yes, Lina,’ her father said. He took another sip of coffee and the aroma filled Lina’s nostrils. ‘For us it is. But the Russians took control of Hungary after the war. You remember how we read that article together a few weeks ago about the university students protesting in the streets of Budapest?’

  Lina nodded, vaguely remembering.

  ‘Well, the Hungarians don’t want to be controlled by the Russians anymore. Imagine another country taking over Australia and making us do everything they say. Making up rules that mean we can’t do what we want.  You wouldn’t like that, would you?’

  Lina shook her head. ‘No, of course not!’

  ‘Well, at first it looked like the Russian government might listen, but then – just days ago – the Russian army sent tanks into Hungary to attack the students. Those poor Hungarians are fighting to get their country back from the Russians, but how can a bunch of students with handmade explosives possibly win against an army of tanks?’

  ‘That’s awful!’ Lina said. ‘The Russians should just leave the Hungarians alone. It’s not their country.’

  ‘People do cruel things to feel powerful, Lina,’ her father sighed. ‘Especially if they know they can’t lose. Remember that boy in your primary school who used to hit little children to make himself feel big and strong? He would never fight someone as big as him, would he?�
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  Lina nodded. ‘That was Peter. I remember him. And when Bruno challenged him that time, he burst into tears and ran away!’

  Lina’s father patted her hand, happy to see that she understood. ‘And when the school got hold of his parents, you remember what his father was like? A big bully who beat his little boy. Cowards come in all shapes and sizes, Lina, but the worst ones are the bullies.’

  ‘That was what happened to Bruno, wasn’t it?’ Lina blurted. ‘He was beaten up by a bully. Wasn’t he, Papa?’ She desperately wanted to tell her father that she knew all about the Carlton Park Gang, even though Bruno had demanded she keep it a secret.

  But her father only frowned at her. ‘Lina,you need to let that drop now, okay? This is your brother’s business. If he doesn’t want to share that with us you need to respect that. He will have his reasons. Come along now.’

  He kissed Lina’s forehead and she clasped him around the waist to make him stay a little longer, her mind still buzzing with questions. In the evenings before he left for work, he still smelled like her father, not the factory, and she breathed in his lovely coffee, tobacco and sunshine smell. She wanted to ask him more, but she knew he would only begin to get grumpy and she hated the thought of him going off to work in a bad mood.

  All the students were already in class and the school grounds were deathly quiet except for the snip, snip, snip of Old Ben’s secateurs as he clipped away at the rose bushes nearby. Even though it was still early in the day, the sun already stung Lina’s bare arms and made the bitumen shimmer. The sky was bleached the palest blue, and the air was dry and still. Lina pulled the brim of her school hat down over her forehead to give her face more shade as she waited for Sarah and her father to pick her up from in front of the school gates. They were off to see the Olympic swimming that morning – the event that Lina had been waiting for – and Sarah’s father had offered to go with them, as Lina’s parents were working. Now Lina waited nervously in the sharp morning sun.