by Judy Nunn
She had finished blowing her nose and was looking defiantly at him. Evan didn’t know what to say. He wished he could voice his fears. Were they to ignore the fact that she loved another man? Could they live with that terrible knowledge? But he was silent. He couldn’t say the words.
WHILE THE CAGE lowered its human cargo into the darkness and the teams alighted at each level, the talk of Varischetti continued. And when, at level ten, one thousand feet below the surface, Alwyn, Giovanni and Freddie lit their candles, they were still talking about the miraculous rescue.
It was only when they were deep in the drive, when all sound and light was swallowed by darkness and each man was no more than a flickering silhouette to his workmate, that the talk ceased.
The above-ground world always ceased at the work face. It was not only Evan who was thankful for that fact. Giovanni, too, breathed a sigh of relief. It was below ground, at the work face, that he also finally felt a sense of peace.
The morning’s work progressed smoothly. They drilled the face, placed the charges in formation and Alwyn detonated them sequentially, as the men listened to the muffled explosions from a safe distance. Then Alwyn, Giovanni and Freddie waited in the plat for the fumes to clear and for Evan to conduct his inspection.
The cage clanged in the main shaft behind them. Evan had arrived, for his first inspection of the day.
He greeted Alwyn in Welsh as he always did; Freddie lit a candle for him and the four of them walked along the drive, the two Welshmen leading the way.
Evan knew there was something wrong as soon as they arrived at the work face. The others hung their candles from rock ledges and prepared to observe the customary silence—it would be several minutes before Alwyn’s query, ‘What are they saying, Evan?’ But this morning Evan didn’t wait for the question. Evan Jones knew only too well what the rocks were saying.
‘Run!’ He wheeled around to face the others. ‘Get out of here. Quick! Run!’
Freddie obeyed every order the instant it was issued, and was already running for his life towards the plat. Giovanni, jolted from his momentary shock, followed blindly. But, as he did, he heard the ominous rumble behind him and had to look back.
Earth was showering from above and smaller rocks were tumbling into the drive. Giovanni knew the signs—precursors to a cave-in. He saw one of the rocks strike Alwyn who was running behind him. The Welshman was thrown to the ground and lay there unconscious. Giovanni grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him back along the drive. Where was Evan? he thought, panicking. Where the hell was Evan?
A crack like thunder split the air. Through the shower of dust and earth, for a second, Giovanni saw him, a motionless shadow in the last flickering light of the remaining candle.
‘Run, Evan, run!’ Giovanni heard himself scream. The figure started to run towards him. Then there was a massive roar, the candle went out, and the world came crashing in upon them.
Giovanni threw himself to the ground, covering Alwyn’s head with his body and shielding his own head with his hands while the forces unleashed their might.
The noise was horrendous. In the coal-blackness, the gods and demons of the underworld wreaked vengeance upon the intruders, roaring and screaming their outrage.
It seemed an eternity before the noise finally died away and Giovanni dared lift his head. The rubble and earth fell from his body as he slowly raised himself to his knees, scarcely believing that he was still alive. A fit of coughing overtook him as the dust bit into his lungs. Beside him, he felt Alwyn stir, then heard him groan in pain. Where was Evan?
‘Evan!’ he called. ‘Evan, where are you?’
‘Run, Giovanni.’ The voice was not far away. Only several yards deeper into the drive. Giovanni crawled forward.
‘I said run, man,’ the voice urged. ‘That was only the beginning.’
Giovanni was close to the voice now, but he could crawl no further. There was a wall of rock before him. He felt about in the blackness. A hand. He clutched at it. ‘Evan! Are you hurt?’
But, even as he said it, his other hand had traced Evan’s head, shoulders and chest, before hitting the wall of rock, and Giovanni knew that the Welshman was buried from the waist down.
‘Did the others get away?’ the voice asked.
‘Freddie did. Alwyn is hurt—I don’t know how bad.’
‘Get him out. The whole drive will go any minute.’
‘Can you move?’ Giovanni demanded.
‘I’m buried, man. Get out I tell you.’
Giovanni started to claw desperately at the rocks.
‘Dear God in heaven, man, did you not hear me?’ The voice which snarled at him was surprisingly strong. ‘I’m trapped, I can’t move. Now get Alwyn out of here.’
Giovanni felt himself start to panic. Evan was alive. How could he leave?
‘You must get him out, Giovanni.’ The voice was quieter now, but just as resolute. ‘Alwyn has five daughters.’ There was a moment while neither man spoke. Then, ‘God go with you,’ Evan said.
‘I’ll come back, Evan.’
‘Fine. Fine. But you get him above ground first.’
Giovanni crawled back along the drive until he reached Alwyn. The man was groaning, but unable to move. Giovanni dragged him out of the rubble and several yards further down the drive to where he could stand and hoist him onto his shoulders. As he did, Evan’s voice reached him from out of the blackness.
‘Giovanni!’
Giovanni turned and looked back down the drive, into the pitch black.
‘Look after my wife for me,’ Evan’s voice called to him. ‘Look after my Kate.’
‘I’m coming back.’
‘She is yours, Giovanni. She has always been yours.’
Giovanni paused for only a moment. ‘I’m coming back, Evan,’ he called into the blackness. ‘I’m coming back.’
EVAN COULD HEAR the Italian stumbling through the darkness towards the plat. He concentrated on the sound until he could no longer hear it. Then he stared up at the roof of the drive and filled his head with the silence. He could see the rock formations above him, he was sure of it. And it wasn’t silence he was listening to at all. The rocks were talking to him, he could swear it. What were they saying? Was it ‘freedom’?
He’d fallen on his back and felt strangely comfortable lying there. He didn’t attempt to move his head or his arms—it was excruciatingly painful if he did. But, oddly enough, he couldn’t feel the lower part of his body which was trapped under the rockfall. His legs were numb, as if they no longer existed.
He wondered why he hadn’t run faster, sooner, escaped the cave-in. He wondered why he’d stayed those extra seconds.
‘Freedom,’ the rocks said, over and over. Perhaps that was why.
He breathed deeply, amazed that it didn’t cause him pain, and listened to the rocks. But they were no longer talking to him. He could hear a perfect sound. A perfect voice, joined by other perfect voices. It was a glorious choir he could hear. The rocks were singing to him. And they were singing ‘Calan Lan’.
GIOVANNI COULD SEE the lights as he stumbled towards the plat. He could see the cage and young Freddie sitting beside it, whimpering like a lost, forlorn puppy.
‘Freddie!’ The authoritative voice brought the youth immediately to attention and he sprang to his feet. Someone was going to tell him what to do. Freddie knew no fear if someone simply told him what to do. Giovanni appeared at the entrance of the drive. ‘Help me get him into the cage.’
Strong as an ox, Freddie lifted Alwyn from Giovanni’s shoulders and Giovanni gratefully sagged against the wall of the plat. Every bone, every muscle was aching.
It was then that they heard it. A baritone. Strong and clear.
‘Nid wyn gof am bwyd moethus
Aur y byd uw berlei man
Gofyd wyf am galon hapus
Galon lwn a galon lan…’
There was a low rumble and the plat itself seemed to shudder. But the voice sang on.
> ‘I seek not of worldly treasure,
Gold nor pearls of any mart.
Give me a heart of joyful measure.
Just a guileless, honest heart …’
AS EVAN SANG, he gloried in his voice. ‘Calan Lan’ was the finest hymn ever written on God’s earth and never had he sung it so well. He wished his choirmaster at Aberystwyth could hear him now. ‘Sing up, boy!’ he could hear the old man say. ‘‘Tis a fine voice, don’t be afraid to let it be heard. Sing up!’ So Evan sang with all his might. He felt no pain. He felt nothing but the power of his voice as he sang with the rocks. He could see them clearly now, the rocks, his choir. And they were the rocks of the Welsh hillside and the tunnel was filled with light.
FROM THE CAGE in the plat, Giovanni and Freddie stood silently listening.
‘Only guileless hearts keep singing,
Singing day and—’
Then a mighty bellow roared from the very centre of the earth, followed by the crashing of huge boulders, and dust billowed like smoke from the entrance of the drive. And the voice was silenced.
As the cage ascended, Giovanni and Freddie watched the walls of the plat slowly start to crumble. Then, there was nothing but the inky black of the main shaft and the inferno’s roar still ringing in their ears.
At the poppet head there was no sound. A hundred people or more were gathered but there was no sound, no movement. The siren had stopped screaming and all eyes were directed at the entrance to the main shaft. Silent, motionless, they waited for the cage to appear.
Tears still streaked the faces of the women who’d watched and waited for their men. Who was dead? Who was alive? Each time the cage appeared, a woman would run to her man, or she would fall to her knees and thank God while the others stood, breathless, some clutching their children to them.
When most of the teams were above ground, the men compared notes. Some had heard noises, some had felt tremors. There had been a minor cave-in on level nine and one man had a broken arm. Level ten was the disaster area, they agreed, as they waited for the final cage.
With them was Freddie’s mother and Eileen Llewellyn, Alwyn’s wife, her arm around her eldest daughter. And next to her stood Kate Jones.
When the cage finally surfaced, there were three men in it. The first was easily recognisable. Freddie saw his mother, forgot all else and ran to her. But the other two? As one man wearily hoisted the other upon his shoulders and stepped out of the cage, it was impossible to tell who they were. Covered in dust, they were the colour of the earth.
Willing hands assisted the unconscious man and, as he was gently lowered to the ground, Kate heard the intake of breath from Eileen Llewellyn beside her. Then, the man who had been carrying Alwyn looked up and Kate felt her own intake of breath. The man had no beard.
Giovanni looked out at the crowd and his eyes immediately found Kate’s. Slowly, he walked towards her.
She didn’t move, but her eyes didn’t leave his. She knew that Evan was dead and she knew that God might damn her but she couldn’t help it. Giovanni is alive! her mind screamed. Giovanni is alive!
He stood before her and no words were spoken. It was only when he gently shook his head that she finally averted her eyes. ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I know.’
‘I will take you home.’ She did not move. ‘Come, Caterina.’ Gently, he took her by the arm but she pulled away from him.
‘I must tell the children.’ She turned and walked away from the poppet head. The crowd watched her go. News of the tragedy had spread quickly and people had arrived at the mine to offer help and comfort, but it was obvious Kate did not want either just then.
Giovanni walked beside her, at a loss as to what to do. She was not weeping, she did not want his support. How could he comfort her in her grief?
‘He died bravely and honourably, Caterina. He had thoughts only for the safety of others.’
Still she kept walking and still there was no sign of a tear. She was in torment, Giovanni knew it. If only she would stop, if only she would sob on his shoulder, share the burden of her grief with him.
‘He made his peace with God, I know he did,’ he continued desperately. ‘He sang, Caterina. Such a beautiful sound. Evan was not afraid to die, I swear it.’
She stared resolutely ahead and quickened her pace.
‘His last words were of you.’
Finally she stopped. ‘What did he say?’
‘He asked me to look after you.’
Kate closed her eyes for a moment as the full measure of her guilt overwhelmed her. The shame of her joy when she’d seen Giovanni step from the cage. Of course Evan was not afraid to die, her mind screamed. He wanted to die, what reason did he have to live?
‘Come, Caterina, let me take you home.’ He took her arm once again, but she pulled away from him more sharply than before and there was anger in her voice.
‘Leave me, Giovanni! Leave me alone!’
Don’t you understand, Giovanni, she wanted to shout, Evan knew! He’d known for years! That’s why he wanted to die!
‘I must tell the children,’ she said. And Giovanni watched, helpless, as she walked stiffly away from the mine.
ON THE EVENING following Evan’s memorial service several days later, Giovanni was sitting on the verandah of the small, dingy boarding house where he lived. He was thinking of Caterina as he sang softly to himself.
‘Non ti scudare di me,
La vita mia legata ‘e’ te …’
Many had attended the service for Evan. Giovanni had watched from the back of the church as Caterina sat motionless in the front pew, Paul and Briony on either side.
Afterwards, she was surrounded by friends and well-wishers and, as she appeared to be avoiding his eyes, he left without formally offering his condolences.
Now, he wanted desperately to go to her. They belonged together. They both knew it. And Evan had known it too. ‘She is yours, Giovanni,’ Evan had said. ‘She has always been yours.’
‘Io tamo sempre piu,
Nel sonno mio rimani tu …’
And he had always been hers, Giovanni thought as he sang. Always. Since that very first morning on the mountain, she had owned him, heart and soul.
The street was deserted, people were in the town centre or in their homes with their families. He did not see her standing in the deepening dusk, watching him.
She had been panting when she’d arrived at his house. It was a good twenty minutes from the Golden Mile, and she’d run most of the way.
She’d heard the piano accordion from several houses away. As she caught her breath and stole towards the little verandah, she heard him quietly singing. An old Italian song—one she knew well.
‘Don’t ever forget me,
My life is entwined with yours …’
She stood mesmerised, watching him sing to the dusty verandah floorboards. On her way to him, she had felt guilt. But now, with the music calling to her, there was no longer guilt. There was no sin in their love, she knew it. His voice and the music told her so.
‘I love you more and more,
In my thoughts you will always remain …’
As the last notes of the song died away, Giovanni looked around and saw her.
She watched him come to her. They said nothing as they embraced. Then he kissed her and he felt her lips move against his as she whispered, ‘I love you, Giovanni, I love you,’ over and over. And he took her into the small dingy room in the small dingy boarding house, but neither of them noticed. It could have been a palace.
ENRICO GIANNI HAD written the words to his love song the very same night he had met Solange. He had weathered the storm of his father’s rage and retired to his room with ‘Solange’s Song’.
The following day after school, he had waited on the opposite side of the road a block away from Red Ruby’s. But she hadn’t come. He’d waited the next day. And the next. Then it was Saturday.
He had waited all day, and in the late afternoon had been mustering th
e courage to cross the road and knock on the door when he saw her rounding the corner in the distance. She was wearing a simple brown day dress and a straw hat with a yellow bow on the front and she was carrying a bunch of wildflowers, vivid red and green kangaroo paws.
Enrico couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was as pretty by day as she had been by night. He could see now that her curls, beneath the pert straw hat, were the colour of honey and, to his delight, she was no taller than he was.
As she approached him, Solange became aware of the fact that the boy in the street was staring at her. She gave him a saucy smile, then realised who it was. The boy with the concertina.
‘Bonjour, Enrico.’
He was thrilled that she remembered. ‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he said, drinking in her green eyes.
‘Here,’ she said, handing him a kangaroo paw, ‘for you. They are beautiful, yes? But they have no smell.’ She kept walking and Enrico was forced to walk with her. ‘The boronia is not so beautiful but it has a fragrance beyond compare. I could find no boronia.’
‘I wrote the words to my song.’
‘Ah bon, bon.’ He wished she would stop walking. They would be at Red Ruby’s any second now. ‘It is so strange, is it not? For such an ugly little flower like the boronia to have such a beautiful perfume.’
‘I have been waiting for you every afternoon this week,’ he said. Thank goodness she was there at last.
Solange felt irritated. She didn’t like being spied on. ‘I visit my cousin only on a Saturday or a Sunday,’ she said primly. ‘And I think it is not a good thing at all for a young boy to be lounging around outside a place like Red Ruby’s.’
