Kal

by Judy Nunn

  The crowd gathered around the slopes and, as the leaders disengaged themselves from the masses and one by one appeared before them on the small mound of the reservoir, a mighty cheer went up.

  First Sir Willam Lyne, then the Sydney politician George Reid, soon to become Prime Minister, then finally Sir John Forrest, Federal Minister for Defence and the man elected to officially open the scheme. Each was enthusiastically cheered by the massive crowd.

  Amongst the thousands were Giovanni and Alice, hands clasped, Rico and Teresa, Rico holding his two-year-old son Salvatore above his head like a tribute. Evan and Kate Jones, Evan bearing little Briony on his shoulders, and Harry and Maudie Brearley, arms linked around each other’s waists. They cheered along with the others whilst young Jack Brearley, Enrico Gianni and Paul Jones ran amok thrilling to the noise and the crowd itself.

  The masses hushed as Sir John Forrest commenced his address. His voice was loud and clear. ‘My mind is filled with humble gratitude for having been permitted to declare this great water scheme open to the public…’

  When he grasped the large wheel and turned it, not a sound was heard for several seconds. During those seconds, and for the many thousands gathered, time stood still.

  Then the water gushed forth and the crowd erupted. Strangers embraced each other. Hundreds and hundreds of hats were heedlessly thrown high to be lost in the crowd. The cheers were never-ending. People wept, people laughed. Jubilation filled the air.

  During the trek down the slopes, the exhilaration continued unabated. Many were going to the hotels to drink to the success of the seemingly impossible. There would be parties in the streets. Law and order had no place in tonight’s festivities. But law and order would not be needed—people were too happy to make trouble.

  Giovanni did not join Rico and a band of others who were going to drink at Maudie’s. He had to go home to wash and dress for the banquet.

  ‘He is too grand for us, Arturo.’ Rico nudged his friend and minced down the street like a fop, his hobbled legs ridiculous. ‘He must look pretty for the men from the city.’

  ‘Oh no, Rico.’ Arturo joined in the mockery. ‘He would be a fool if he did not look pretty for the women of the men from the city.’ He made a lewd gesture and the two men laughed. Little Arturo and his wife owned the store in Boulder from which Rico bought his abundant supplies of red wine and the two had become good friends.

  Giovanni laughed along with them. The derision was good-natured enough. But nonetheless he refused to join them even for one quick drink. He knew it would take time to shave off his eighteen-month growth of beard and he did not want to break his promise to Harry. Shaving off his beard would be his way of apologising to his friend and dispelling any sense of acrimony that might remain.

  TWO HOURS LATER, at the appointed time, Giovanni walked up the back stairs of Maudie’s pub to Alice’s room. True to her word, Maudie had allowed Alice the night off and Alice had planned her evening meticulously. She and Giovanni would have a drink in the downstairs ladies’ lounge and then together they would go to the car barn where they would meet with several of her friends to watch as the dignitaries arrived, one by one. Then, when Giovanni himself entered the banquet hall as an official guest, Alice would glow with pride. Just think! Her fiancé was to mingle with the most important men and the most fashionable women in the country! Then she would join the party in the streets with her friends and wait for Giovanni to come to her room late that night and paint a picture of the banquet for her, every single detail. It would be as if she had been there herself.

  Giovanni suspected that it was not the correct etiquette for him to arrive at the banquet after the dignitaries and that Harry would probably be annoyed. But he said nothing and agreed to Alice’s plans—he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her.

  The din from the crowded downstairs bar was deafening as Giovanni tapped lightly on Alice’s door. Men were singing and shouting and spilling out into the street.

  Alice appeared, smiling. She had dressed carefully for the occasion. Her very prettiest late afternoon dress with the little yellow daisies and a bolero jacket with slightly puffed sleeves. But she had decided against a hat. That would look too formal. She did not want to appear as if she had delusions, just because her fiancé had been invited to the banquet.

  ‘Giovanni.’ The smile froze on Alice’s lips. Then slowly it faded.

  ‘Who was it that you expected?’ Giovanni smiled at her surprise. ‘You look very pretty.’ The yellow daisies reminded him of the wallpaper Teresa so liked.

  Alice felt as though she had been struck. This was not her Giovanni. She didn’t know this man. She knew the suit—she had chosen it herself. Three-piece. Charcoal black. And the fine white shirt with the starched high collar. Gentleman’s attire. Giovanni had laughed and said he would look like a clown. But he didn’t. The clothes sat upon the body of one born to wear them. Broad-shouldered, straight-backed, Giovanni looked like a nobleman. And the face. She couldn’t take her eyes from his face. It was more than handsome. Its mixture of man and boy was beautiful.

  A strange sense of despair overwhelmed Alice. Who had she been fooling? she thought. No one but herself, surely. She had known all along that Harry hadn’t thought she was good enough for Giovanni but she’d told herself that was just Harry Brearley with his airs and graces. But Harry had been right. Had the others been laughing at her as well? she wondered. She was too old for Giovanni. Too old, too ordinary and too plain.

  ‘What is wrong, Alice?’ The fine brow was perplexed and his eyes were anxious. ‘What is wrong?’ he repeated when she didn’t answer.

  ‘You look different,’ was all she could manage.

  ‘Ah, the beard.’ He laughed and the boyishness of his smile broke her heart. ‘You see?’ He bent down, took her hand and put it to his cheek. ‘You see, I did not even cut myself.’

  She felt the texture of his skin beneath her fingers, fine and smooth. And she traced the scar on the side of his face. Even the scar did not disfigure; it enhanced, if anything, making the boy’s face that of a man.

  ‘It was a promise to Harry,’ she heard him say. ‘I made a promise to Harry that I would shave away the beard.’

  The beard had been her disguise, she realised. Hers, not his. In his rough miner’s clothes with his rough miner’s beard she had been able to pursuade herself that he was like the others. But, deep down, she had known he was not. She had seen women look at him. Suddenly Alice’s best afternoon dress didn’t feel pretty any more. ‘I will grow it back if you wish.’ Why did she look so sad? Giovanni wondered. ‘As soon as I am able, I will grow it back for you, Alice.’

  ‘No, Giovanni.’ She forced a smile. With or without the beard, it would make no difference. It had all been a dream. ‘You look very handsome. Very handsome indeed. Shall we go?’ She took his arm and they went downstairs.

  As they opened the door to the ladies’ lounge the noise from the main bar next door was deafening. But it was no longer the sound of singing and shouting. Voices were raised in anger and there was the shattering of glass.

  Behind them, Maudie came thundering down the stairs. ‘What’s going on?’ she yelled. Damn you, Harry, she thought, why aren’t you here? Harry was having pre-banquet drinks at Hannan’s Club with Richard Laverton and his cronies. She disappeared into the bar.

  Then Giovanni heard the familiar roar. Then Maudie screaming, ‘Get him out! Get him out!’

  ‘Stay here, Alice.’ Giovanni raced through the back door of the bar to see Rico being pushed and dragged to the main doors. The whole bar was intent on getting him out into the street but even with men hanging off him, it was a slow process. Rico, bellowing like an enraged bull, struck out blindly at all in his path.

  Giovanni knew it would be impossible for him to fight his way through the crowd to get to his brother. He went back into the lounge and Alice watched, frightened, as he ran through the side door and around to the front of the hotel.

  The main
doors swung open and Rico staggered out onto the pavement. He fell, taking four men with him. The men tried to let him go but he wanted to fight all of them at once.

  ‘Don’t let him get up,’ one of them yelled. ‘Sit on him, hold him down!’ But it was too late. Rico was on his feet and smashing at anyone who tried to prevent him getting back into the bar.

  Giovanni dashed up and managed to grab Rico’s arms and pinion them behind his back. Momentarily taken by surprise, Rico paused for a split second. His opponents had been in front of him. Who was this fresh attacker? The arms that held him were strong. In that split second, one of the men from the bar landed a heavy punch in Rico’s solar plexus but he appeared not to notice.

  With a howl of fury, Rico broke Giovanni’s hold and whirled about to face him. ‘I kill you!’ he screamed, demented. He lunged for his attacker’s throat.

  A strong hand grabbed his wrist and held him at bay long enough for him to hear the words ‘You would kill your brother?’ Rico broke the hold and reached out with both his hands for the man’s neck. ‘Is that what you would do, Rico? You would kill your own brother?’

  As his hands found their mark, Rico finally registered Giovanni’s face, the eyes, cold and brown, staring at him with disgust.

  ‘Giovanni?’ he whispered.

  Giovanni continued to stare Rico down while the men backed away toward the bar doors waiting to see what would happen. The dawning of surprise on Rico’s face would have been comical, Giovanni thought, had he not been so disgusting. He reeked of cheap rum; saliva ran from the corners of his mouth.

  Giovanni reached up and disengaged his brother’s hands from about his throat. Rico’s arms fell limply to his sides.

  ‘Come. We will go home.’ He turned to the watching men. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘For my brother, I am sorry.’ And, in that moment, he hated Rico. Why should he have to apologise for the name of Gianni? ‘I am sorry, Maudie,’ he said when Maudie appeared behind the men. ‘For my brother. I am sorry. I will pay for the damage he has done.’

  ‘He’s not to come here again, Giovanni,’ Maudie said. ‘If he tries just once to enter this bar he’ll have the law to answer to.’

  Giovanni nodded and hooked Rico’s arm over his shoulder. He turned, humiliated, and half-carried his brother across the street.

  The others stood watching for a moment, then dispersed back to the bar, muttering amongst themselves.

  From nowhere, Arturo scuttled up beside Giovanni and took Rico’s other arm. Rico was incoherent by now, mumbling drunkenly.

  ‘I am sorry, Giovanni,’ Arturo said. ‘There was nothing I could do.’

  ‘It is not your fault, Arturo. Help me get him home.’ Arturo was a coward but he was quite right, Giovanni thought. In his madness, Rico seemed unable to discern friend from foe, and Arturo was a little man—Rico would have swatted him like a fly.

  Teresa was putting Carmelina to bed when they dragged Rico through the front door. Little Salvatore was fast asleep and Enrico had already left to watch the procession of dignitaries with Jack and Paul.

  ‘Mio Dio,’ she muttered as Giovanni and Arturo dumped Rico into his armchair.

  ‘There was nothing I could do, Teresa,’ Arturo said as she pumped water into a basin to bathe the cuts on Rico’s hands and face. ‘He was drinking rum from the bottle and he thought someone called him a cripple. But they did not. Truly. I heard no one say it.’

  ‘Go home, Arturo,’ Giovanni said. ‘Go home. Thank you for your help.’

  Arturo left, grateful to be gone. Tonight had frightened him. He knew Rico could be aggressive but he had never seen such violence before, such murder in a man. And for no reason.

  Giovanni stayed with Teresa while she bathed Rico’s wounds. They said little. They both knew there was little that could be said. Then Giovanni rose to go. Poor Alice. He hoped that she had had the sense to join her friends and watch the procession. It would be over by now and the banquet about to start.

  ‘You will be all right?’ he asked.

  She was kneeling beside Rico, stroking his brow. He seemed peacefully asleep. ‘Of course, Gio.’ She looked up at him and smiled. ‘Never would Rico hurt me, you know that. And never would he hurt the children.’ She returned to stroking her husband’s brow. ‘There is unhappiness in him. Deep inside. You know that too.’

  Giovanni felt the familiar surge of guilt, and he wondered whether that was what Teresa intended. But no, she meant nothing. Beautiful, strong, loyal Teresa. Giovanni watched her caress her husband’s face. If Rico only knew how lucky he was to have such love from such a woman. But then perhaps he did know. Giovanni felt weary. He didn’t want to go to the banquet, but he owed it to Harry. He turned to leave.

  ‘Eh, Gio.’ Rico’s eyes had sprung open. He took his wife’s hand and held it on his knee as he sat up. He no longer looked drunk. ‘I would not kill my brother.’

  ‘I know, Rico, I know.’

  ‘Sit, Gio, sit. Talk to me.’

  What was there to talk about? Giovanni knew what would follow. Defiance and remorse and then Rico’s declaration of love. But he sat nonetheless.

  ‘I did wrong, Gio, I know. But I will not be called a cripple. I am a man. I have my pride.’ He was defiant.

  ‘No one called you a cripple, Rico.’ Giovanni wondered why he was bothering to contradict his brother, it would lead nowhere.

  ‘Maybe not to my face. But I saw the man. I knew what he was thinking.’

  ‘You cannot fight people for what they are thinking.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know.’ Rico tried to look contrite but didn’t really succeed. He changed the subject instead. ‘Why do you say such things to me, Gio? “I would kill my brother.” Why do you say this? I would kill for my brother. I would kill for my family.’ He held Teresa’s hand to his chest. ‘I would kill for my children. I would kill …’

  ‘But do you not see, Rico? There is no need to kill.’ Giovanni could not quell his exasperation. ‘There is no need to kill for any one of us. We are not threatened. You disgrace our family when you do this.’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ Now the remorse. ‘I am sorry I disgraced you. I am sorry I disgraced our father and mother. It is the anger, it makes me crazy.’

  Giovanni stayed for nearly an hour listening to Rico’s excuses and apologies and, finally, the declarations of love. And then he left for the banquet. It would be half over by now, he supposed. Harry would be angry but that couldn’t be helped.

  Coffee had been served and the speeches were nearing completion when Giovanni arrived at the car barn. He stood in the shadows beside the main doors, hoping no one could see him, and searched the sea of faces for Harry. He had never seen so many people under one roof. How grand it all looked. Lights and decorations hung from the high ceilings. A long bar was at one end of the hall and at the other end, far from the main doors, was a podium from which a florid-looking gentleman was addressing the crowd. The rest of the massive area was lined with row upon row of white-clothed tables at which were seated hundreds of finely dressed men and women. Try as he might, Giovanni could see no one he knew.

  But Harry had seen him and in an instant, he was at Giovanni’s side. He hurried him to his seat.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he whispered urgently. ‘It’s very rude of you, Gee-Gee. The speeches are almost over.’

  ‘I am sorry, Harry. It was family …’

  ‘No matter, no matter.’ Harry bustled Giovanni into the seat beside him and flashed an apologetic smile at the attractive middle-aged woman seated opposite.

  ‘Ladies and Gentleman, a final toast,’ the florid man on the podium was saying. ‘To Charles Yelverton O’Connor and the Goldfields Water Scheme.’

  Harry hurriedly poured Giovanni a glass of champagne from one of the many bottles on the table and, together with the hundreds, they stood.

  ‘To Charles Yelverton O’Connor and the Goldfields Water Scheme,’ five hundred voices said in unison.

  ‘The beard was a good idea,’
Harry muttered. He winked suggestively as they sat. ‘You’ll win hearts tonight, I tell you.’

  Giovanni was relieved that his friend was not angry. Obviously no acrimony lingered from the afternoon’s exchange and Harry was not even cross with him for being late. Of course he would probably be cross when he heard about Rico and the trouble at Maudie’s but Giovanni would deal with that later.

  The podium was being removed and the members of a ten-piece orchestra were setting themselves up at the far end of the hall. ‘Well, at least you arrived for the best part,’ Harry whispered and Giovanni grinned back. Yes, he was looking forward to the dancing.

  There was good reason for Harry Brearley’s joviality. For him the evening could have ended before the speeches had even begun. His had been an early conquest.

  It had started with the pre-banquet milling. Before the guests had been seated, Harry had already chatted to all three of the federal ministers present, including Sir John Forrest himself. He’d shared a joke with the Mayor of Kalgoorlie—but then he’d shared a joke with Koonan on many an occasion over a brandy at Hannan’s—and he’d had conversations with a number of influential city businessmen. But he felt he hadn’t yet made his impact. No one had seemed hugely impressed by his ideas or his social position or the fact that he owned the Clover. Then he met Gaston Picot.