The Last of the Bonegilla Girls

by Victoria Purman

  Iliana followed Massimo’s directions as he navigated using her UBD from the glove box, all the way across the Harbour Bridge and into Sydney’s northern suburbs, until finally they pulled into the driveway of Frances’s home. It was a large, long block, on a quiet suburban street, with gum trees filling the front yard, their spindly limbs overhanging the front of the squat brick house. There were two cars in the gravel driveway; a white VW Beetle with rusted scratches in the rounded, sloping boot and, beyond it, a cream-coloured Volvo station wagon.

  Massimo dipped his head to look through the front car window. ‘This is where Frances lives?’

  ‘Yeah. They bought the house a few years ago. 1970, I think.’

  ‘It’s not what I expected.’ He turned to her. ‘It looks like hippies live here.’

  Hippies. What would her brother know of hippies? He’d probably seen a Vietnam war protest on the news once. ‘You think anyone else is here yet? Oh, can you bring the Tupperware from the back seat? I bought some cannolis from that new pasticerria on Parramatta Road.’ Iliana pulled her keys from the ignition and opened the door. She twisted her body to get out, and Massimo’s hand was on her arm.

  ‘Stop. I’ll help you.’

  ‘I can do it.’ She pushed his hand away from her shoulder, but he was too fast and a moment later was by her side, reaching for her hand, hauling her to her feet.

  ‘You sure you’re not having twins?’ Massimo smiled.

  ‘Just one baby.’ Iliana patted her tummy. ‘One big Italian bambino.’ She smoothed down her billowing brown, orange and white patterned kaftan. Her flat white sandals peeked out from underneath. It was all she could fit into now, with the baby so close and the humid Sydney heat swelling her feet almost beyond recognition. Massimo closed the door behind her and took the food from the back seat. Their shoes crunched on the gravel driveway that led to the front veranda. It was filled with bikes, roller skates, a deflated netball and an assortment of sneakers and rubber flip-flops. By the door, there was an orange ceramic pot filled with a dead bird’s-nest fern. Iliana and Massimo exchanged glances.

  ‘Australians,’ he said. Then, ‘I look okay?’

  ‘You look gorgeous.’ For a forty-year-old, Massimo was still handsome. His high-waisted trousers and clinging body shirt showed that he worked for a living. Iliana wasn’t sure his wife Domenica appreciated him. How good a husband he was. How hard he worked and how well he provided for his family. All she seemed to do was complain.

  Iliana pressed the doorbell and a moment later the front screen door flung open and a man appeared, wearing nothing but shorts. His hair sat on his shoulders, he was tanned and lean and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks. ‘Hey, you must be … let me guess … Iliana?’

  ‘Yes.’ She held out her hand and he shook it heartily.

  ‘I’m Andrew. Frances’s husband. And is this Vinnie?’

  Iliana laughed heartily. ‘No, Vinnie’s at home with our daughter. This is my brother, Massimo.’

  ‘Oh, cool. Nice to meet you, man.’ Andrew held out a hand and Massimo shook it cautiously. Iliana could bet Massimo had never been called ‘man’ in his whole life. ‘Yeah, come on in.’

  Iliana and Massimo followed Andrew down the shag-carpeted hallway to the back of the house, where the kitchen was situated on one side of a large family room. The windows across the back room overlooked the backyard.

  ‘Iliana!’ Frances tossed a tea towel onto the sink and rounded the breakfast bar to hug her friend. ‘It’s so wonderful to see you.’ She pulled back, smoothed her hands over Iliana’s stomach. ‘You must be about to burst. How are you feeling?’

  Iliana smiled. ‘Hot. Sweaty. Huge.’

  ‘When are you due?’

  ‘Two weeks.’ Iliana tried not to sound nervous about it.

  Frances slapped her hands to her cheeks. ‘I can’t believe this. I can’t believe we live in the same city and yet we’ve waited so long. There’s so much to catch up on, Iliana.’

  Massimo stepped up next to her. ‘I brought Massimo, just for old time’s sake. And so he can take me to hospital in case the baby comes.’

  Frances faltered. ‘Of course. Welcome. It’s so lovely to see you too, Massimo. It’s been …’

  ‘A long time,’ he said gruffly. ‘Here. Some cannoli.’ He held the pale yellow Tupperware container out to Frances. She seemed embarrassed to take it and Iliana wondered if she shouldn’t have brought any food. Didn’t Australians take food when they were visiting someone’s house? An Italian would never turn up to a party empty-handed. Why, after twenty years in Australia, did she still not understand things like this?

  Frances studied her bare feet. Her toenails were painted blue and the polish was chipped. ‘Thank you, that’s really nice of you. I don’t think I’ve had a cannoli since …’ She looked up. ‘Oh well … for ages and ages.’ Frances put the container on the burnt orange laminate counter behind her. She tucked her long, straight hair behind her ears and glanced out to the backyard, before looking back at Massimo. ‘Now, can I get you two anything to drink? Water? Wine?’

  ‘Water will be fine for me,’ Iliana said.

  ‘And for you, Massimo?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘A beer would be good. Thank you.’

  Frances went to the fridge, took a bottle from the door and gave it to Massimo. Then she poured a water for Iliana from a jug filled with ice that sat on the counter.

  Frances smiled and cocked her head to the back doors. ‘Why don’t you head out into the backyard? I’ll just finish up here and be out in a sec.’

  ‘Sure. Are you sure you don’t need a hand with anything?’ Iliana asked.

  Frances waved her away. ‘Go rest.’

  Massimo went first. He held the back door open for his sister and headed over to Andrew and the barbeque. When Iliana looked out into the backyard, she gasped. ‘Oh my God.’ She crossed herself three times and clutched at the doorframe. Elizabeta and Vasiliki were walking towards her, smiling, laughing, and in that moment Iliana was back at Bonegilla, to a time when they were all young, when life was about to unfurl before them.

  She held out her arms to them and they both came to her. They hold onto each other in a long embrace.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Iliana whispered breathlessly. ‘You two

  … Frances didn’t tell me anything about you coming. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Surprise!’ Vasiliki laughed and squeezed her friend tighter.

  ‘Elizabeta. Your letter. I’m so sorry about your father. God bless him.’

  ‘Thank you. It was quick in the end.’

  Iliana made the sign of the cross. ‘And your mother? How is she?’

  Elizabeta looked downcast. ‘Not very good. She has moved in with my family now. She was very lonely without my father.’

  ‘You are a good daughter to her.’ Vasiliki leaned up and kissed Elizabeta’s cheek. ‘Come, let’s sit down.’

  They walked back across the lawn to a wooden outdoor setting under a huge gum tree.

  ‘Here I am looking like a whale and you two … you are both still so beautiful,’ Iliana said. They searched each other’s faces across the table. ‘Vasiliki, look at you. Hardly a day older than when we first met on the boat coming to Australia.’

  ‘Please,’ she laughed, ‘No one calls me Vasiliki except my parents. Call me Vicki.’

  ‘Vicki, of course. I know you’ve told me that a million times but I can’t get used to it,’ Iliana smiled. ‘It’s very Australian.’ Vasiliki’s long and silky hair was tamed into large, bouncing curls. Her purple silk pantsuit with bell sleeves was stunning and her mission brown wedge heels made her seem much taller. There were lines on her face now that she hadn’t worn at sixteen, but she was still the Vasiliki she remembered.

  ‘And look at you. I was sure you would have had the baby by now,’ Vasiliki said.

  Iliana held up a hand and crossed her fingers. ‘Two more weeks, with luck. I’m at that stage now where I
just want this baby out of me. Phew, I’d forgotten how this feels. I pee eighteen times a night.’

  The three women laughed, the sound competing with the call of the birds in the trees above them.

  ‘Remind me how old your girls are now?’ Elizabeta asked Vasiliki.

  ‘My girls? All grown up. Aphrodite is eighteen and a hairdresser. This is her work.’ Vasiliki smoothed down her hair. ‘I’m trying to keep her away from boys but you know what that’s like these days. All this freedom the young girls think they deserve. Elena works in Myer in Bourke Street, in the shoe department.’ Vasiliki flicked out a wedged heel to table height. ‘There are some perks with that, let me tell you. And Stavroula and Effie are still in school.’

  ‘Four daughters.’ Iliana sighed. ‘One is a handful.’

  ‘Imagine a houseful! They are all so beautiful and clever. But poor Steve, surrounded by all these women in the house. It drives him so crazy sometimes that he goes off on the weekends to watch the Cannons play, to be with the boys a little bit.’

  ‘What about you, Elizabeta?’ Iliana turned. ‘What are your kids up to?’

  ‘Well,’ Elizabeta began. ‘Luisa is fourteen and in high school and could be doing much better if she wasn’t listening to the radio and that pop music all the time. Johnny is ten and in grade five and he would rather play football than be doing anything else.’

  ‘He plays soccer?’ Iliana asked.

  ‘No. The other football. The Port Adelaide kind.’

  Vasiliki chuckled. ‘Remember the boys at Bonegilla playing soccer? They were crazy for it.’

  Iliana looked over to her brother with Frances’s husband at the barbeque. She wondered what he was thinking, if he had forgotten about Frances. In all the years since, he’d never mentioned her name once. ‘That was all Massimo would do. All day, play with the Bonegilla United soccer team. Nothing else.’

  ‘And he hit Frances on the head with his kick, remember?’

  ‘I remember,’ Elizabeta said, smiling. ‘I translated for you.’

  ‘And we took her flowers,’ Iliana added. ‘Massimo felt so guilty and my father thought we would get kicked out of Bonegilla by the director for hurting his daughter.’

  ‘What are you all laughing at?’ They looked up. Frances was crossing the lawn to them. Her long straight hair was parted in the middle and hung down her back. Her flared denims were loose and casual and Iliana noticed that she wasn’t wearing a bra under her deep brown halter-neck top. Her beasts bounced with each step. How could any woman go out without a bra, especially after having children? She quite liked her Playtex Cross Your Heart, thank you very much.

  Vasiliki urged Frances to the table with a wave. ‘We were remembering when you were in hospital back at Bonegilla.’

  Frances’s mouth opened in surprise. ‘I haven’t thought about that in years. Lucky there was no harm done, but I remember you came to visit me at home when I got out of hospital. That’s how we all met, right? If it wasn’t for your brother, Iliana …’ Frances’s thoughts trailed off. She held a white plastic tray with three spumante glasses and a refreshed glass of water for Iliana on it. She set it on the table. ‘I thought you might like this. This is a celebration indeed and Iliana taught me years ago that spumante is just perfect for celebrating.’

  Frances reached for a glass of honey-coloured bubbles and sat down at the table. ‘Well, cheers to us.’

  The four women clinked their glasses together and took a ceremonial sip.

  ‘Prost,’ Elizabeta said.

  ‘Saluti,’ Iliana said.

  ‘Yamas,’ Vasiliki said with a smiling cheer.

  ‘And … well, cheers!’

  ‘To the Bonegilla girls!’ Elizabeta said. ‘My dear friends.’

  Another clink of glasses, another sip for them all. Another round of smiles and then silence. The hundreds of letters over the years were one thing, but being with each like this, after so long, was something else entirely. Letters were edited highlights of a life. That’s all they’d had from each other in so long, with the sadness and heartbreak skimmed over and the achievements emphasised by repetition and exclamation marks.

  Iliana wondered, did they still really know each other at all?

  She looked at each of them while they sipped. Frances’s casual cool. Vasiliki’s preened perfection. Elizabeta’s sad dowdiness. They had been friends when they were young, when they were able to celebrate the freedoms of a new life in Australia, thrown together by the circumstance of being at Bonegilla at the same time. They’d supported each other, laughed and learned English together for a few months. And somehow, their friendships had survived all the years since then, even though they were in different states, living very different lives, and came from different backgrounds. Perhaps that was the measure of true friendship after all. Iliana still felt a deep bond with all these women, something she hadn’t felt with anyone but her family.

  ‘I can’t believe we’ve finally done this,’ Frances said. ‘After twenty years. Look at us.’

  The four women smiled and took in the details of each other’s faces. There were lines now, faded freckles. There was a pregnant belly and other rounded ones. There was love and heartbreak and experience in their expressions.

  Iliana looked over to the barbeque. Massimo and Andrew seemed to be chatting happily. Andrew was flipping sausages and Massimo was drinking his beer, looking more relaxed than she’d expected. Every now and then, he glanced over to the table, his gaze serious. Iliana thought it was so like him to be protective of her.

  ‘How’s Massimo and that wife of his?’ Vasiliki asked.

  ‘They’re okay.’ Was her brother happy? Who knew? They would never speak of such things.

  ‘He’s gorgeous, your brother.’ Vasiliki winked at Iliana and took a gulp of her spumante. ‘Look at me, being so cheeky. That’s what happens when you leave all your family behind and have a holiday in Sydney with your old friends. Cheers!’

  Iliana clinked glasses with Vasiliki and Elizabeta. Frances was staring over her shoulder at her husband.

  ‘Elizabeta,’ Vasiliki said suddenly. Her face fell. ‘I’ve just realised. It’s twenty years since your sister died, too.’

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  ‘Vicki,’ Iliana scolded. ‘It was so many years ago. Why bring that up now?’

  ‘Because she was there too. Elizabeta. I remember your sister. I remember Luisa with the red hair just like yours. She used to have two long plaits that your mother tied up in loops. And she wore ribbons, too.’

  All eyes were on Elizabeta. She was lost in her thoughts for a moment. ‘My father used to put his finger in the middle, like he was poking a hole.’

  Frances flicked her long hair over her shoulder and leaned forwards. The frayed hems of her flared denims rustled at her bare feet. ‘She was such a sweet little girl, Elizabeta. Have you ever been back to Albury to see her grave?’

  ‘No. My mother, she didn’t want to go. I still have the photo you sent me, Frances. Of her grave. It’s hidden away.’ Elizabeta put her glass on the outdoor table. She didn’t look at anyone. Her hands were in her lap, her fingers together in a knot.

  Frances let out a little gasp. ‘No. That’s so sad.’

  Iliana drained her water in a long gulp. ‘It was so many years ago. The past is the past. Sometimes it’s best to leave it there.’

  Vasiliki reached for Iliana’s arm. If only that were true. The past rises up, Vasiliki knew. Just when you think you’ve forgotten it, the memories surface and float.

  The smell of burning sausages and onions wafted over from the barbeque. Elizabeta breathed in deep and straightened her shoulders. ‘Just after my father died, my mother told me something about Luisa.’

  The three women sat to attention.

  ‘What did she tell you?’ Vasiliki asked.

  ‘There was a man at Bonegilla. A German soldier. My mother …’ Elizabeta searched for the words. Tears welled in her eyes and she let them fall without emb
arrassment. ‘This man. He raped my mother during the war. I was there, in our house in Hungary when it happened. He was the father of Luisa.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Iliana gasped.

  Elizabeta’s words were slow and deliberate. ‘I didn’t know until my father’s funeral. She couldn’t tell him while he was still alive. You see, he loved her very much and he perhaps loved Luisa even more. My mother lived with the shame for thirty years and when my father died, she could finally tell someone the truth. I have spent these past weeks trying to understand it.’

  Vasiliki took in Elizabeta’s expression. It had been twenty years since her sister had died and, in that moment, Elizabeta’s face mirrored the grief of it as fiercely as if it had happened just yesterday. She looked white as a ghost.

  ‘I think there was a curse on her from the beginning. I lost her twice. I know that now. When she died, it was so hard, being in a strange new country, so quickly I didn’t even get to say goodbye. And then we left Bonegilla and we left her behind.’

  Elizabeta’s voice was quiet, but tears streaked her cheeks. Iliana handed her a handkerchief she’d dug from her handbag. She took it with a nod and dabbed at her eyes as if she wanted to soak up the grey shadows under them.

  ‘My mother has been in hospital a few times over the years, to make her better.’

  ‘Oh, dear Elizabeta.’ Frances slipped an arm around her friend’s shoulders.

  ‘But it doesn’t work. She is living with us now.’

  ‘How terrible for your mother,’ Iliana said, crossing herself three times. ‘And for you. That must be very hard on you, looking after everybody.’

  Elizabeta shrugged. ‘It’s what I must do.’

  ‘Kefi,’ Vasiliki announced. She lifted her empty glass.

  ‘What’s that?’ Frances asked.

  ‘In Greek, kefi means living right now. In the moment. We are very good at it. There is sadness, yes. We all have broken hearts, no?’ A shiver goosebumped her arms even in the warmth of the Sydney heat. ‘Let us be happy for one another. For what we have. Right now? I am so happy to see my Bonegilla friends. My first real friends in Australia.’