Tasia could not understand Olga’s behaviour. She started to think perhaps Olga was planning to go alone to Western Australia in search of John. She didn’t want to tell her about it because she didn’t want to upset her. In any case, Olga was talking in a roundabout way. She started to say that in this vast and inhospitable land that they had found themselves, each one ought to take care of herself foremost, to make her life, to find a place to settle and put down roots. And the best way to do that was to find a companion, a husband for support.
She was talking in a general sort of way, but then Martin’s name would pop up. Tasia was mystified but she was sure it was impossible for Olga to know what had happened. Most likely Olga was trying to get rid of her so she could attach herself to Nick. At a time when she was most vulnerable, Olga’s odd behaviour was devastating to her, increasing even further her insecurity and loneliness. And, as most of the Australians she worked with looked down at her, she felt a nobody.
It was a light relief to see Martin’s cheeky face on Thursday morning. He appeared at the kitchen door full of his usual compliments. He told her how much he missed his Greek goddess whom he would want to have by his side day and night, a situation that depended entirely on her.
‘Come and live with me; let’s get married; come and I’ll show you what life is all about. I’ll take you to places you can’t even imagine. I’ll show you things that’ll amaze you. I’ll make you my queen!’
‘Okay! Okay!’ she answered jokingly and immediately she saw his face change from happy to serious.
When he recovered from his surprise, he moved towards her with his hand ready to embrace and kiss her but she moved playfully and returned to her room.
She pretended to have a cold, even sneezed and coughed several times to excuse her lassitude, her retching and her dizziness.
‘It’s nothing. Just a bit of a cold. It’ll go soon.’
All the time her mind was preoccupied with what Martin had said, hoping he meant it, that he wouldn’t change his mind and take off. Oh, God! Make him propose again! If she were pregnant, Martin was solely responsible for it. Marrying him would be the only way out.
The next time she saw him he looked different. He looked tired and worried. His eyes had lost their spark.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked, genuinely concerned.
‘Yes, I’m well. What about you? Are you well? Do you still want to marry me?’
‘Yes, tomorrow!’ she said, laughing to make it appear as a joke.
‘Tomorrow? Well, you are in a hurry! These things take time. You must apply, get permission, arrange the time —’
‘I’ll apply. Where should I go?’
‘A friend of mine got married last week. I’ll ask him. But lately I’ve had some problems at work. Something didn’t go as I’d planned and I’m short of money. I can’t even buy our wedding rings.’
‘I’ll buy them!’
‘You’ll need a nice dress too.’
‘I’ll get one!’
‘And you must do something with your hair.’
‘I’ll cut it!’
Martin wasn’t asking for much. He didn’t want money or a dowry. Buying the rings and a dress was the least she could do for her own wedding.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instinctively, she knew what she was planning to do was sheer madness. But she decided to ignore that internal warning because she didn’t have the luxury of choice. After all, she tried to pacify herself, Martin was also a human being, not an alien. She could see some of his ideas were peculiar and his ways were very strange but she tried to convince herself that as they were both young, all their life was in front of them. They would learn from each other, broaden their views and become better people.
In some ways Martin was charming. He was talkative and entertaining, very quick to come up with the right flattering compliment, always well-dressed, sophisticated. He loved the arts and the theatre and was always listening to classical music. His table manners were exemplary, refined. It was obvious he had travelled a lot and was smart. His whole appearance was confident and decisive, in contrast to her who was going wherever the wind took her. Martin would give her the security and direction she craved even though several of their ideas were diametrically opposed. When she realised this initially, she was shocked. In any case these differences made her stop and think seriously about her own beliefs and values. Tasia decided she would have to change some of them, while others she was prepared to defend tenaciously and uncompromisingly even with her own life. And his confidence in his views, his tendency to call everybody who didn’t agree with his ideas ‘mad’ was only a game, she told herself.
He was doing it on purpose, to provoke her, to force her to express herself in English, to improve her vocabulary. When they’d reach an impasse, she’d agree with him just to end the argument. Come to think of it, these differences of opinion were stimulating and fun. It was obvious Martin was smart enough not to pursue his arbitrary dispute of proven scientific facts. But surely he was only pretending he viewed things and events differently from most people in society.
They were married one Saturday afternoon in the Central Registry Office. That suited her fine because, from a very early age, she hadn’t liked big weddings. She could remember watching the demure bride — all dressed up in white with downcast eyes, followed by drums and clarinets — walk to the church with all the village people out on the street watching. She was embarrassed at the thought that everyone knew what was going to take place that night, along with the expectation of a bloodied sheet the following morning to confirm the purity of the bride to her in-laws. Tasia considered it terribly humiliating and disparaging to a young woman. To think how people assessed the virtue of a girl by the most disgusting part of her anatomy rather than her mind, her soul, her character.
The witnesses to the momentous life’s milestone were Olga and Francis, the newlywed friend of Martin. He came along with his wife, a good-looking and lively girl with long blond hair, a low-cut, revealing blouse, tight skirt and stiletto-heeled shoes. Nick was the only other person present at the ceremony which lasted less than fifteen minutes. Tasia promised to be Martin’s wife in a language she could hardly understand. They left the Registry Office under a leaden, grey sky. The strong and cold wind penetrated her flimsy dress, making her shiver. The high-heeled shoes she had borrowed from Olga made her feel unsteady and she was forced to hang tight onto Martin’s arm. He in turn had turned all his attention to Tzina, the young wife of his friend, and was talking to her in their language.
Nick had to drive Olga back home to rest and Martin took her and the other guests to some club in the heart of the city — German or Czech; it was difficult for Tasia to know. At one stage, Martin took Tzina to the dance-floor leaving Tasia and Frances to stare embarrassed at each other and study the pattern on the tablecloth. Later, when Martin took her to dance, her feet got tangled up and, as Tasia wasn’t familiar with the way he danced, she earned a rather annoyed ‘I wish you could dance like Tzina’.
Nothing happened the night of the wedding. Martin, drunk and exhausted, went straight to bed and fell asleep instantly. His gentle snoring and the tick-tock of the clock on the bedside table kept Tasia awake all night, driving her crazy. It was stupid of her not to go to his bed before the wedding. And now? If he continued in this way how could she tell him she was carrying his child?
She had decided in advance never to tell Martin she married him because she was expected his child. From now on, as his lawfully wedded wife she had to find a way to make him want her. And who knows — maybe one day she’d want him too. In any case, now that they were married, she was determined to make the union work. She wanted to create a nice, happy family. And when, after a number of years she went back home to the village, her child and her presentable husband by her side, she’d watch the surprise on the people’s faces.
‘You’re more backward than I expected,’ Martin exclaimed bitterly, dropping by her side
after making love to her. ‘Any other woman would have convulsed with pleasure in my hands but you lie there like a log, counting the crannies on the ceiling. Now stop crying. I can’t stand your whimpering,’ he scolded her. ‘It doesn’t really matter,’ he continued more gently. ‘You’re very young and I’ve made it my mission in life to teach you how to live. There is nothing more worthwhile than having a good time and getting pleasure. Come now. Stop crying.’
She tried; she tried very hard but the hurt was too deep. She couldn’t stop sobbing and crying, not only because of his bitter words but also because of the incredible loneliness crushing her. Annoyed by her behaviour he got up, dressed and went out slamming the door behind him, leaving her even more desperate and lonely.
How could all his politeness and affection evaporate so suddenly? Was it possible a person could be so superficial? Was he a sham or was he right? Tasia felt as if she were the cause of the whole problem. She had no idea how to be a woman, how to be with a man; she had no idea about real life. No wonder he told her his mission was to teach her how to live. She had to learn many new things, to have an open mind, to consider new ideas and new ways of living in the world. The things she had learnt at school and in the closed society she had lived in before emigrating had not the slightest relevance to her new environment.
Martin returned home after midnight. He brought a bouquet of flowers and arranged them in a vase himself. He fell into bed, turned his back and soon was fast asleep. Tasia was desperate. That was a bitter first experience of married life. She didn’t want to accept that having a husband, a lifetime companion was going to be like that. Having a moody partner next to her, a partner who wasn’t willing to talk or listen made her loneliness unbearable. She asked Martin why he had married her.
‘I’d had enough of eating in clubs and restaurants,’ he answered, ‘but the way you cook I’m afraid that from now on we’ll have to eat out.’
He looked with distaste at the meal she placed in front of him, pushing most of it aside. Martin liked different types of food from the ones she was used to. He liked fatty foods, plenty of salami, smoked meats and bacon, and potatoes cooked in a variety of ways.
‘I’m not a grass-eating rabbit,’ he scolded her when she placed a lettuce salad on the table, pushing aside the plate with feta cheese and olives. ‘I can’t understand how people can eat such disgusting things,’ he belittled her.
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to start sending my washing to the laundry again,’ he said one day, holding up a freshly ironed shirt, ‘because they do a better job than that!’
At the end of that week he once more asked her to pay the rent as things hadn’t worked out as he had expected.
Some days he was home before her. He would be all dressed up waiting for her to get ready and go out to his club to meet his friends where he would immediately become the centre of attention, ignoring her completely. As she couldn’t understand the language they spoke Tasia was left out, unnoticed by anybody and feeling neglected, out of place.
‘One day I must take you to Tzina to teach you how to dress,’ he told her one afternoon looking at her disapprovingly, reducing even further her infinitesimal confidence.
She felt like she was chasing her tail, going round and round and arriving nowhere. She worked hard all week but her money wasn’t enough to keep them going until the following pay day. Martin continued to have problems with his affairs and was facing financial difficulties. The money Tasia had managed to save before their marriage dwindled. There was just enough left to pay Olga’s room for another two weeks. Fortunately, Martin didn’t know about these savings, otherwise he might have asked for them too.
‘Tell me, how did you get into these financial difficulties?’
she asked him one day.
‘From the day I married you my luck has gone sour,’ he answered.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m a punter.’
‘A punter? What does that mean?’
‘I bet on horses, cards, dogs. Till the present time I was lucky. I was doing very well. But from the day we got together my luck changed. I stopped winning. How long can it last? I’ll get there in the end. And when I win big, I’ll stop you from working; I’ll take you places, buy you things. I’ll treat you like a queen.’
‘Maybe we shouldn’t be going out so often. Maybe we should be living more economically,’ she suggested.
‘What for? You can’t be serious? I can’t see the reason for that.’
‘Just to be able to do something for ourselves, to have some savings, to buy a house, to have a family, to make children.’
He looked very annoyed.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘they’re the myopic ideas of every poor devil that rushes to put a noose around his neck. He borrows money to buy a car, buy a house, and then he spends the rest of his life living like a miser to pay his loan to the bank. No thank you! I don’t want such responsibilities. Houses, children! What for? I’m not so stupid as to have mortgages and children. I want to live my life. I want to enjoy it.’
‘But —’
‘No ‘but’ about it! That’s how things are. Now just be quiet and let me listen to the races on the radio.’
She shrank back into her corner and watched him listening to someone talking very fast as he wrote on a small notepad. Just imagine: Tasia had started the conversation because she wanted to tell him she was expecting his child!
How was it possible for a person to have two completely different personalities? In public, Martin was the life and soul of the party, full of humour, lively. The moment he’d enter their room he’d be sullen and gloomy. He’d sit there mute and dull or would fall asleep. And if he bothered to talk to her, it was to criticise and undermine her, as if she wasn’t worth talking to.
S
he couldn’t let Olga know about all this. Olga was in a sorry state herself and had to be protected from any extra worry. She couldn’t work any more. She spent most of her time in bed nursed by Nick. But as Nick’s annual leave was coming to an end he had arranged for her to go to a Greek-run rehabilitation centre to recover completely.
‘Come on! Don’t cry! Believe me it’s the best solution.’
Olga tried to calm Tasia down while she put her things into boxes.
‘Take whatever I leave behind into your room and return the key so you won’t have to pay the rent. You take good care of yourself, do you hear me? Martin seems a decent enough fellow. He’ll look after you.’
‘Yes, he’s very nice,’ Tasia assured her, but inside she was grieving.
It was a very depressing day. Tasia had a bad premonition as she left work. She rushed home to help Nick transfer Olga to the centre. She thought of how strange and unpredictable life was. There was no point in doing any planning because things never turn out according to plan. Look at Olga, that proud and competent young woman. How could she ever have imagined that one day she would be looked after in a philanthropic institution? How was she going to cope with that? And how could Tasia support and take care of her now that she had Martin by her side?
Nick had parked his car close to the gate and one of Olga’s suitcases stood next to it. As Tasia came out of the house carrying the second one, she vaguely noticed across the road a taxi stopping and someone getting out holding a bunch of flowers, but didn’t pay any special attention. She put down the suitcase and rushed to help Olga — supported by Nick — who had just come out the front door. Suddenly, she heard someone running behind her and saw a bunch of flowers thrown under her feet. She turned around and couldn’t believe her eyes.
‘John, John!’ she screamed, ‘John!’
She turned around to look at Olga and saw her limp body bent over. Nick was forced to spread his legs to steady himself so as not to drop her.
‘Well, well, well!’ John shouted. ‘This is a surprise! I never imagined I’d find you in the arms of somebody else. Where do you think you’re going? And the child? What did you do to our child?
Did you kill it? Did you get rid of it?’
He looked ready to slap her.
‘Stop it! Leave her alone!’ Tasia screamed. ‘Can’t you see you’re killing her? And what about you sir? Where have you been all this time?’
She turned around to protect Olga whose face was tortured by pain. She brought her hands up to her chest, opened her mouth as if to say something, turned her dilated eyes from John to her, to Nick, then fell to the ground. At that very moment the storm broke.
She was too young to die. She was a special person, a very nice human being, caring, loving everybody and everything. Why had things happened as they did? Who could give answers to life’s big mysteries?
In her present state of mind Tasia wasn’t in a position to formulate questions, let alone arrive at answers. Dusk had fallen but she continued to kneel in front of the small mound of freshly dug soil. The headlights of the cars filled the place with strange, moving shadows. A drop of rain fell on her cheek. Scared by the impending rain, the night birds flapped their wings in the thick foliage of the trees. It was time to get up and go. The tombstones appearing and disappearing under the lights of passing cars unnerved her. The distant footsteps getting closer made her heart leap. What sort of shadows played hide and seek in this macabre place?
Tasia made an effort to get up but she was stiff and her knees were stuck to the ground. The footsteps came closer, making her heart leap into her mouth. They stopped behind her. Someone bent over trying to find out who was kneeling in front of the new grave.
‘What the hell are you doing here this time?’ she heard John’s angry voice.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked spitefully. ‘Isn’t it enough that you killed her? You have the audacity to come and disturb her even in her grave? Go away! You have no right to be here! You let her struggle six whole months without sending her one single letter even though you had her address.’
The Lace Tablecloth Page 30
