by Derek Hansen
‘C’mon, Ramon, you know what I mean. We need one of Lucio’s bedtime stories otherwise we all might as well just go home and open a vein.’
‘I think Lucio has done enough talking, no?’ Milos looked around the table seeking consensus.
‘Yes, he has done enough talking. Milos’ comment is obviously aimed at me. I want to hear more about Colombina and Lucio had promised to enlighten us.’ Ramon paused. ‘But I don’t need to see his face to know that he is tired. No one can tell such stories without becoming affected by them. He has his tiredness and Ulla’s. He has his despair and Friedrich’s. And he bears the sorrow of the story yet untold. I release him from any promises. Besides, Milos has indicated that he will intercede to prevent a repetition of last week.’
‘Thank you, Ramon.’ Lucio exhaled and slumped back in his chair. ‘I was prepared to continue. I just needed to catch my breath. You are quite right, you know, a storyteller does live his story and I feel the combined weariness of all the characters. I will never tell a story like this again. It is too exhausting. I promise I will begin next week with Colombina. In truth, I should end with her tonight to give you something to think about over the coming week. But, dear God, today has been harrowing enough.’
‘You’ve given us plenty to think about. It’s really strange to hear about the war from the German side. All my life I’ve been taught that the Germans were the baddies and the only good kraut was a dead one. I thought they were all Nazis.’
‘No Neil,’ said Milos, ‘most Germans were just very ordinary people with very limited choice. The German people were the first victims when the Nazis came to power. The ordinary citizens had only one option. They could speak out against the atrocities, the treatment of the Jews and the loss of civil rights. But to do so was to invite a visit from the Brownshirts or the Gestapo, and not just them but their whole family would be made to suffer. Bear in mind also, that they would be making a stand against the one man who could put food back on their tables and fuel in their fires; the one man who could unite Germany; the one man who could give them back their sense of pride. Even so, a large number of German people were appalled by what the Nazis were doing. But here again, you have an example of Hitler’s evil genius. He could always find justification even for his most vile actions. He revived the belief in the primacy of the German race. It was ingrained in most Germans that they were special people whose birthright was at risk because of the influx of foreigners. He pounded his message home until belief was accepted as fact. That gave dissenters an easy way to salve their consciences. Now if they weren’t prepared to stand up and take their chances with the Gestapo, they were no longer cowards but patriots, allowing the Nazis to reclaim what was rightfully theirs. Of course, the Nazis’ methods were distasteful, but few could argue against the justice of their cause. Besides, most people believed Hitler would stop once they had their Grosswirtschaftsraum. Once the war had escalated and started to go against them, most people were happy to distance themselves from the Nazis. But by then it was all too late. The man who’d promised to set them free was now their gaoler, and the instruments used for repressing the Jews and the Slavs were now poised above their heads. There were informers everywhere and no one could be trusted. Imagine how they felt. There they were, ordinary people doomed at the hands of the Russians, the Allies and in fear of their own leaders.’
‘Well said, Milos.’ Ramon turned to Neil. ‘You must remember, Neil, history is always written by the victors. If Hitler had won, Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill would have been the villains and you here in Australia would have been none the wiser.’
‘We’d be Japanese, that’s what we’d be, wise or otherwise.’
‘There were bad things on both sides,’ said Gancio gloomily. ‘That’s why it’s all best forgotten. There is no right or wrong in war, just winners and losers. And there are always more losers.’
‘That’s it! I am going to open a vein.’
‘No! Neil you can save your razor for your chin.’ Everyone turned to Ramon. ‘Gancio should go and get us a bottle of his best grappa instead. I will pay for it. Then we can all phone for a taxi to take us home.’
‘Or a bloody hearse,’ said Neil grimly.
FIFTH THURSDAY
‘We’ve got to find some way to lighten up,’ said Neil. ‘Last week I’d had my best day in years and you still managed to spoil it. I used to look forward to these lunches. Remember when we used to enjoy ourselves? I’d always go straight from here to my girlfriend’s and round out the day in the nicest possible way. I tell you, she got to look forward to our Thursdays as much as I did. Now—shit!—they’re about as much fun as making love on a sandy beach with an on-shore breeze.’
‘Half your luck!’
Neil paused and looked at Milos. ‘Half my luck? Milos, you are an ignorant man. I have made love in phone boxes, movie theatres, small cars and even on a motorbike. I’ve made love on a concrete patio till my bum was rubbed raw. I’ve made love on my desk with a secretary who should have been a jockey, and spent the next ten minutes pulling glider clips and staples out of my back. I have made love by moonlight and by cellulite. But mate, there is nothing worse, no pain on earth to compare with having sand blown up onto the sticky bits when you’re heading for the happy ending. No don’t laugh. Don’t any of you bastards laugh. You’re all reffos and you know nothing. You wouldn’t know a rabbit was up you until he had a nibble at your carrot.’
Gancio saw his friends laughing and came scurrying over to the table to see what was happening.
‘It’s okay, Gancio, you’ve missed nothing.’ Lucio smiled. ‘We’ve swapped roles. Neil has turned into me. He was just recounting some of his more intimate experiences.’
‘Maybe you’d be better off doing the same,’ cut in Neil. ‘C’mon, mate, give us one of your tales for old times’ sake. Give us all a laugh for a change.’
Lucio thought for a moment. A little digression would do no harm. Neil was right. They could all do with a laugh. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I have a story to tell which is worse, much worse, and much more painful.’ His four friends sat up expectantly. This was the Lucio of old, the one they’d come to love. ‘As you are all aware, there are times when my member could be accused of irresponsibility. When I was a young man in Varese, I fell in love with a beautiful woman. She could have been anything. A famous model, a movie star, who knows. She had the sort of body that makes men groan in their sleep, and the face of pure love. I tried hard not to learn her name so that I wouldn’t give myself away by calling it out aloud when I was with another woman. But it was no good. I thought about her the whole time. Finally I lost my appetite for food and for sex. It is true. How could any other woman interest me when I had discovered the one woman I wanted more than life itself? I knew then the full agony and despair of lovesickness. I knew then why lovelorn men shoot themselves and throw themselves off bridges. Life no longer has purpose.
‘I decided I had to meet this woman, to talk to her, hopefully to seduce her and maybe one day ask her to be my wife. But there were difficulties. I was only nineteen and she was twenty-one. And she still lived with her parents. Her parents were very devout and went to church every day and twice on Sundays. My love, this woman, went with them on Saturdays to confession and Mass on Sunday morning and evening. What could my angel possibly have had to confess? She had no life. Her parents watched over her like eagles over their chick. She could never leave the nest without them.
‘As I watched I saw other men try to get close to her. Her parents would glare at them and that seemed to frighten them off, because either there’d be a different man trying his luck the following Sunday or nobody.
‘I bided my time and one Sunday morning I sat next to her. I never looked at her or spoke to her. I did the same in the evening but this time I smiled at her. She smiled back and her parents scowled. I can’t tell you how wonderful it felt just to be next to her, just to be near her, to breathe the same air. She was so pure and virginal, a
nd so very desirable.
‘As we were leaving, I discovered I was alongside her. She smiled so I spoke to her. Oh joy! She had the voice of an angel. She could sing like an angel and now that angel voice was talking to me. She told me her name. It was Pia. Pious Pia, I thought. Then she leaned close to me and said, “I know what you want.” I was stunned. Could she read my mind? I thought of all the thoughts that had gone through my head as we’d knelt together in prayer. I began to blush. And do you know what? As we walked down the aisle to the exit her hand brushed my fly. Now I was really blushing. I hoped God wasn’t watching. She took my hand and led me over to her parents.
‘“Papa, Mama,” she said, “I would like you to meet Lucio. I have invited him to have coffee with us.”
‘She had? When? It didn’t matter. Her parents just shrugged their acceptance although their annoyance was unmistakable. We went back to her home and we sat in their lounge room sipping weak coffee. It was more milk than coffee, exactly the way I loathe it. The room was small and the house was small. It was crowded with furniture and religious icons. Every wall had a crucifix or a Madonna or a baleful looking Christ. We talked about my job and my mother. Her parents said nothing. They just watched and wilted. We talked about the flowers in church. I was so polite my jaw ached. Then her parents stood up and announced that they were going to bed and that it was time we did too. I stood to leave but Pia grabbed my hand and pulled me back down onto the sofa.
‘“I haven’t finished my coffee,” she said. “Neither has Lucio. Surely it would be rude to ask him to leave before his cup is empty. What would he think of our hospitality?”
‘It was clear to me that neither of her parents could give a damn what I thought of their hospitality, but equally they were almost asleep on their feet.
‘“You go on to bed,” Pia told her parents sweetly. “Lucio can finish his coffee and go. We will only be ten minutes.”
‘Well her parents looked at her doubtfully, but they were tired and there’s not a lot that can happen in ten minutes, particularly when the preliminaries haven’t even begun. Pious Pia had done nothing to arouse their suspicions or, more to the point, anything to arouse me. It was hard to believe that this was the same girl who professed to know what I was thinking and whose hand had brushed my fly. At that stage my disinterest was palpable. So they left to go to bed. I sat there on the sofa wondering what was going on. Pia sat in the chair opposite and talked a lot of rubbish about the service. I thought now was probably a good time to leave. She was beautiful but there is a limit to what a man can stand, even for love. Every now and again she’d stop talking and listen. I opened my mouth to speak but she put her finger to her lips for silence. I heard her mother go to the toilet, then her father. I heard them brush their teeth. I heard one of them fart. There are noises everybody makes that are best not shared. I’ll be charitable and say it was the father. I heard him go to bed and then her mother suddenly opened the door.
‘“Not finished yet?” she asked pointedly.
‘“Mother, we were just discussing the sermon.” Pia looked up at her mother all starry-eyed and innocent. It was the truth. She was discussing the sermon when her mother came in.
‘“Good night, then,” says her mother. “Don’t be long. Finish your coffee.”
‘She closed the door and we heard her walk into the room alongside and climb into bed. What now? What was the point? If we could hear them, surely they could hear us. What did Pia hope to achieve? Well, I wasn’t left to wonder. I have seen strippers have more trouble getting out of their clothes than Pia had getting out of hers. I have never seen anyone undress so fast. Her clothes flowed off her and she was standing in front of me absolutely naked, eyeballing me with her nipples. She’d made no attempt to dim the lights so I missed nothing. Even now I can tell you, I have never seen anyone or anything as beautiful in my life. I remember every detail. Her skin was flawless and almost as pale as the English. Her breasts were erect—that is the only word to describe them. I have never seen nipples point so high. Like anti-aircraft guns. Next thing she was undoing my trousers. She lay back on the sofa and invited me in. I wanted to shout, to scream, to whoop for joy, but what could I do? I climbed out of my trousers and onto her nest. I needed no encouragement. My thing was like a space probe, a Saturn rocket and only centimetres from the moon. And, my God … what bliss! She moved slowly beneath me as if she knew every squeak in the sofa and how to avoid them. Oh God, I was scared to breathe. I didn’t want her parents to come in and interrupt this ecstasy. And it was ecstasy. Round and round she went and up and down. Slowly. Expertly. But how can anyone be ecstatic in silence? She was coming to a climax and so was I. Her eyes were shut and her face screwed up. Round and round she went. I crossed my eyes, I crossed my toes, I crossed my heart! Nothing in my life would ever be better than this. I knew then with absolute certainty that when we came we would wake the dead. We would wake all of Varese. Our cries would reach out to the galaxies to all the stars in creation. Just as nothing can stop the sun from rising nor the tides, nothing could stop us from howling the house down. But Pia had thought of a way. Without warning she sank her teeth into my shoulder. Not like a love bite but like a wild animal. Like a vampire. Any other time I would have gone soft with the pain. But I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not now! Round and round she went, faster and faster, hanging on by her teeth. I don’t know to this day which was the greater sensation, the orgasm or the pain in my shoulder. All I know is we came to a gasping, shuddering, wonderful climax, with after-shocks rolling on and on like waves onto a beach, and neither of us had made a sound. Not a peep! She because she had a mouthful of my shoulder. Me because I was grinding my teeth so hard to block out the pain. Next thing I knew she was up and getting dressed. She threw my pants at me to put on. It wasn’t easy. My shoulder ached and already the blood was sticking to my shirt. She sat down opposite me and watched me as she calmly finished her coffee.
‘“That’s it,” she said. “Coffee’s finished. Will I see you in church next Sunday?”
‘Well of course I said yes but in truth I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure my shoulder could go another round and, besides, she’d ruined my best shirt. I didn’t know what to make of her. I was utterly confused. I’d hoped to seduce her but had no idea how to go about it. Instead she’d seduced me and knew exactly how to go about it. I went to the café where my friends hang out. We’d been talking a while when I took off my jacket. My shoulder was stiff and sore and I wanted to rub it. They saw the blood and one of them pointed and shouted, “Hey! Look! Lucio’s been to church!” Then I understood why no man sat with her twice. They all had scars on their shoulder. They’d all felt the bite of my love, my unassailable virgin. The bitch had sunk her teeth into half the men in Varese.’
The friends collapsed in laughter. Other diners turned around, curious as to the disturbance. Gancio returned to the kitchen to fetch the next course, colliding with chairs and diners as he went. This was more like it. This is what the Thursdays used to be all about. But just as an entree is often no guide to the main course, their levity was no indicator of the tale to come. Lucio had set the parameters of his story and there was no changing course now.
Chapter Twenty-four
Colombina was devastated. She stood stunned, motionless on the narrow pathway as the calamaris she’d intended for lunch leaked water through their paper wrapping. The grass between the pavers that had felt the weight of her feet, slowly unwound and tentatively reached back up for the sky. What did the woman next door mean when she said, ‘He’s gone.’ Did that mean he was dead, or simply not there? Please God! Please don’t let him be dead! She looked over to the window to see if the woman had reappeared but her curtains were drawn. Colombina didn’t know which way to turn. Little by little the Oberstleutnant had taken over her life. He was all that mattered to her. His death, and the manner of it, had become the focal point of her existence. He had to be made to confront his past and face his guilt. He had to pay for the dea
th of her mother. She felt a massive emptiness inside.
Colombina returned to her car and sat slumped over the steering wheel. Disappointment and bewilderment fought for ascendancy. And there was another emotion, also insistent and intrusive—a deadening sense of loss. She discovered she was crying but her confused mind couldn’t pinpoint the cause. All her life she’d managed to keep her emotions under tight control. Now that they’d escaped the restraints, they ran riot and Colombina lacked the experience to rein them in and deal with them in an orderly fashion. If she had, perhaps she would have discovered a few truths and faced up to the new knowledge. Instead, she sat in her car and let the waves of distress wash blindly over her until she calmed down. Then she began to consider her next steps coldly and logically.
She would ring the hospitals until she found him or, at least, someone who knew what had happened to him. She started her car and drove home. She sealed the calamaris in a plastic container and put them in the fridge. She put away her pasta and olives, and sat the artichokes in a fruit bowl. She washed her face and hands and changed her dress, and wondered why fish shops bothered to put their goods in plastic bags when they neglected to seal up the necks. Her soiled dress would have to be dry-cleaned. She made herself a coffee and sat down at the phone.
Colombina had recovered her strength. If the Oberstleutnant was dead then he was dead, and that was the end of it. There was nothing she could do about it except forget him, and forget that she’d ever had a chance, however briefly, of avenging her mother. In a way she felt as though she’d been relieved of a burden. By the time she’d got through to the reception desk at the Mona Vale Hospital, she’d convinced herself that the old man and her burden were gone from her forever.
‘Hello, I am Mrs Galli. I am making inquiries about a Mr Heinrich Bose. I believe he was brought in on Wednesday some time.’
