La Strada Da Seguire: The Road to Follow

by Susan Toscan

  “Travelled this road many years ago with my mate,” Michael told him.

  “Was that before the war?” Ray asked.

  “Sure was, mate. We had this dream to raise fine-wool sheep, and we came this way to buy the merinos at the sale in Adelaide. You should’ve seen us; we were so full of life and ambition back then.”

  “The war’s taken its toll on you, for sure,” Ray commented. He could see that Michael was not a well man.

  “My life’s changed a lot since then. I like to remember those days when life held so much promise. My mate’s made that business a big success, and I couldn’t be happier for him.”

  Ray could see that Michael was lost in his memories, and he let him rest. He knew a lot of returned soldiers whose lives had changed for the worse, but he did not think that he had seen a man as sad as Michael.

  Michael found the travelling very difficult. He was so unwell that he needed to rest a lot throughout the day. Ray kindly allowed Michael to sleep in the compartment behind the seats.

  After Ray finally delivered him to the outskirts of Griffith, Michael found his way to a pub and booked a room for the next few days. He was not concerned about anyone recognising him as he looked very different from when he was last there. Only Steven had seen him recently. Michael was extremely thin, he had a beard and his hair was almost completely grey even though he was still in his 30s. He took time to rest, relieved to be able to remove his artificial leg, which still proved to be very uncomfortable.

  But Michael could not keep still for too long. He wanted to drive past the house where his family lived, so he took a taxi to the address that Steven had given him months ago. It all felt very strange. He was somehow disconnected from his actions; he had a sense that he was watching himself carrying out all of his actions in slow motion. Michael saw two children playing outside of the house, and he asked the driver to slow down. “Patricia, Neil,” he breathed.

  “What’s that you said?” asked the taxi driver.

  “Nothing. I just thought that I recognised someone. Drive on.” Michael craned round to look behind him at the two laughing children—his children! He wondered where Frances was. She would be such a big girl now; she was most likely helping her mother. God, he thought, the price has been too high!

  The next part of his plan was to make discreet enquiries about Brad and where he spent his time, in and out of work. Pubs were a great place to get information. Michael smiled to himself; there were no secrets in a country town, and everyone knew everyone else’s business.

  Michael found out that Brad now worked for the local council. He would often go rabbit-shooting on the weekends. In fact, there was a group of men going shooting the next day. It was not hard to find out where they were meeting and where they were going.

  Before he went to the pub that the shooters would be setting out from, Michael visited the post office. He had written a letter to Steven.

  My dearest friend,

  I write to say goodbye and ask you to follow the instructions in my will when you get news that I have gone. My identification will be under the name Mick Griffiths. Only you will know that it is really me. I know that my secrets are safe with you, and I trust that you will continue to look out for my family.

  Take care, my friend. M.

  Once at the pub, Michael stayed out of sight of the shooters. The day before, he had hired an old utility from the owner of the hotel where he was staying, and he would use it to follow the men when they left to go on their trip. He wanted to make sure that Brad was there, although he wondered if he would remember what the man looked like. When the time came, however, Michael instantly recognised Brad, and he was surprised that the other man had not changed all that much over the years. Michael thought that it was interesting that the fellows who did not go to the war seemed not to have aged. Those who had seen active service, despite most of them still being in their 30s, often looked like they could be in their 50s.

  As the men started to leave the pub, Michael got into the utility and prepared to follow the two trucks heading out of town. He had been told that they would go out towards Darlington Point. This suited Michael as he knew that area very well.

  Before leaving South Australia, Michael had packed a very expensive, very powerful rifle that he had purchased some time back. He had practised with the rifle to make sure that he was still something like the crack shot he had been during his army training and his time in Tobruk. His hands were not as steady as they once were, but he was still an excellent marksman. Michael was very focused. He had a plan. He was a soldier again. He was going after an enemy, and he was very clear about how he would carry out his strategy.

  Thirty minutes out of town, the trucks turned off the road into a property. Michael did not follow them through the gates. Instead, he drove on a little further and parked the utility off the road, between some trees. It was very late in the afternoon, but he had a good torch with him, and he set off on foot in the direction of the trucks. His artificial leg made the walk across the paddock difficult for him.

  Michael did his best to stay hidden among the trees. The dust cloud left by the shooters’ trucks allowed him to follow their slow progress along the rough track; it also let him know when they had finally stopped. He moved in as close as he could without being seen. The men were laughing and talking loudly. As he looked on, they split into two groups and went in two different directions. He kept watch with his binoculars and soon spotted Brad’s group. The members were well equipped, carrying large flashlights as well as their rifles. As they headed towards the river, Michael followed; he could hear them talking about selling the rabbits that they would shoot.

  With the sun now going down, the light was diminishing quickly. There were lots of trees, and it was not difficult for Michael to stay well hidden. He stayed some distance back from the men. After first looking through the binoculars, he looked through the powerful sight on his rifle to check that he could clearly see his target. He could feel the weight of the weapon in his grasp, and he was ready to set his family free. It made no difference to him that he knew the face of this enemy. He had killed men for reasons that he did not understand during the war. Now at least he had a very clear understanding of what he was doing and why he was taking this course of action. He still had the instincts of a soldier, and for the first time in a very long while, he felt in control. He was a strong, whole man again. He held his destiny in his hands. It was good to know that his final act would be for the benefit of the people he loved.

  He saw Brad break away from the group as all the shooters took separate positions. As the sun sank below the horizon, they started to fire.

  Michael moved closer. The noise was deafening, with rifles going off and men shouting instructions. He cleared his mind, focused his attention and raised his rifle. He released the safety catch and squeezed the trigger. Just one perfect shot.

  Brad was down, but no-one in his group had noticed yet. He was not moving. Michael continued to watch through the rifle sight to make sure that he would not get up again.

  He heard voices calling. “Brad? Brad? You there, mate?” There was no response. He heard running feet and more voices calling.

  “Christ, Brad’s been hit. Which one of you idiots shot in his direction? The rabbits are out in front of us; how could anyone get a shot over in that direction?”

  “We were all focusing in the direction of the torchlights. No-one pointed his gun towards Brad. How the hell could this have happened?” The men were panicking. The one closest to Brad was trying to revive him. “He’s not breathing,” Michael heard him say. “It was a clean shot to the head.”

  Michael had done it. His hands were shaking. He took the bottle of whisky from his pack and drank. Then he sank down onto the ground, the relief of what he had achieved overwhelming him.

  The men hastily loaded Brad’s body onto one of the trucks, yelling instructions to each other and obviously all in great distress. Michael assumed that they would go
to the police station and try to explain what happened. He knew that it was unlikely that the police would check for the bullet that killed Brad. Shooting accidents happen, and they would assume that this death too had been an accident.

  Michael waited until the trucks disappeared down the track before he made his way back towards his vehicle. He took his time. He was exhausted now, and moving over the rough terrain was taking its toll on his strength. At last he saw the utility up ahead. He got into the driver’s seat and sat for a long while, trying to get control of his nerves. Then he started the motor and drove towards Darlington Point. Michael did not intend going back to Griffith.

  He made his way to a special place by the river, a place that held many memories. This was the place where, long ago, he and Agnes had first made love. This was where his first baby was conceived. Agnes had loved it here. He sat in the utility and looked at the dark water. His mind took him back to a happier time in his life.

  The love that he and Agnes had shared had been very precious. He let his heart feel that love again and felt at peace as he got out of the car and walked towards the water. He had the rifle in his hand; he had removed the bullets from the rifle and wiped it clean of any fingerprints. He would hold onto the rifle as long as he could, but he knew that it would eventually sink to the bottom of that vast river and, he hoped, disappear forever.

  Michael could hear Agnes laugh as he pictured her running ahead of him, splashing him as he followed her into the water. Michael followed that laugh again, and this time he walked slowly, with the picture of his wife’s lovely face in his mind. “I’m so sorry, my darling. I failed you all. You deserved so much better. But perhaps I’ve put things right for you now.”

  Michael kept walking deeper into the cool waters of the Murrumbidgee River. He did not struggle as the water closed over his head. He lay back and let the current take him to a place of peace that he had craved for a long, long time.

  Freedom for Michael’s family

  The day after the shooting accident, the town was abuzz with various versions of what had happened. The police went to see Agnes the night of Brad’s death. When she opened the door and saw the two local policemen standing there, she asked them in, smiling. She had no sense of anything being badly wrong. Agnes knew these men well and thought that they must have come to see her husband. “Brad isn’t here; I’m sorry,” she said as they followed her into the kitchen. “He went out with his shooting buddies earlier this afternoon.”

  “Agnes, I’m sorry, but we’re here with some bad news. Brad was killed earlier this evening in what appears to have been a shooting accident.” The policeman who had spoken moved quickly to take hold of Agnes as she began sinking to the floor. He pulled a chair over so that she could sit down.

  “No, you must be mistaken—he was with his friends—they’re all experienced hunters.” Agnes struggled to comprehend what she had just been told.

  “There is no mistake. I’m sorry, Agnes. We have seen his body. We need you to come with us to the morgue to positively identify him.”

  Agnes could not regain control of her emotions. Her heart was beating at 100 miles an hour. “My God,” was all she could say. There were no tears—just an uncontrollable shaking that slowly overtook her body.

  “The children are with my parents,” she said. “His daughter should be told.”

  “Let’s get the identification over with, and then we’ll take you to your parents.” The policemen were very kind. One of them had known Agnes since they had both been children. He was very concerned about her. He knew how hard her life had been since her first husband had disappeared. Such a nice bloke Michael had been. This Brad fellow was not a local, and he certainly did not have a good reputation in the town, he thought.

  The policemen took Agnes to the hospital. As they made their way down the long, dark corridor to the morgue, Agnes was still shaking, but she was able to walk by holding onto her friend. She stood in front of a window at the end of the corridor while one of the policemen went into the room; the other stayed with her. The light in the room came on, and as she was ushered through the door, she saw a hospital trolley before her. On it lay a person’s body covered with a sheet. The policeman partially pulled back the sheet to reveal Brad’s face while making sure that it still covered the side of the head where the bullet had penetrated. Agnes gasped involuntarily.

  “He really is dead,” she said, almost to herself.

  “You confirm that this is the body of your husband, Brad Collins?” The policeman asked.

  “Yes,” she responded. Then she turned and walked unassisted out of the hospital.

  The policeman, her old school friend, followed her. “Agnes, are you okay?”

  Agnes turned and looked at him, the confusion and unreality of the situation reflected in her eyes. “I’m all right, but I need to see my children and tell Brad’s daughter. Will you take me to them, please?”

  The policeman helped her into the police car and did as she asked.

  Maddy was distraught. The other children were very confused, but no tears were shed. They clung to Agnes, and together they formed a solidarity that no-one would ever take from them again.

  Agnes got word to Steven the next morning, and all of her family and friends joined forces to support her and the children. Steven was baffled. Even though he had certainly heard of shooting accidents before, he knew that Brad and his friends were experienced hunters.

  Two days later, Steven returned home to find a letter addressed to him. He recognised the handwriting, and his heart sank. He read the words that Michael had written only a few days ago, and the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. At this stage, Steven did not know how his friend had done it, but he knew for sure that Michael had killed Brad.

  Two weeks later, there was a notice in the local paper. A body had been found in the Murrumbidgee River, downstream from Darlington Point. There was no identification found on the body, but a utility found near the river belonged to the publican of the Victoria Hotel, who had hired out the vehicle to a guest. He identified the man as ‘Mick Griffiths’, address unknown.

  The publican confirmed that Mr. Griffiths had an artificial leg, as did the body found in the river, and that he had appeared to be very unwell. No connection was ever made between the shooting death of Brad and the drowning of Mick Griffiths. Only Steven knew the truth, and he would never tell.

  Letting go

  When Steven and Renata went to her with the details of the money that she had been left, Agnes was very confused. Steven explained that it had been held in trust for a certain number of years after Michael’s disappearance, but now it had been released—and it was for her and the children.

  He watched as Agnes tried to comprehend what he was telling her. She looked at him intently. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” Steven tried to play dumb, but Agnes was not having it. “Steven, I know that you knew where he was, at least in the last little while. I know that whatever was wrong with him somehow prevented him from coming home. I know now that he is gone; his suffering is over.”

  Steven simply nodded, and then he held Agnes in his arms as she cried all the tears she had held back for so many years—lost years, missing the man she had loved for so long.

  She knew that Michael must have suffered a very sad existence since the war. He must have been so broken that he believed he could not be mended. Now she was finally able to let go of the frustration she had felt knowing that if only he had come home, her love could have healed him. He had chosen to be alone and most likely to die alone, and there was nothing she could have done about that. It was time to move forward with her life—time to put her children first.

  Agnes was faced with two very traumatic experiences, the losses of both the men to whom she had been married. She had certainly not wished for anything so horrible to happen to Brad, but she could not grieve for him.

  The grief that she felt and that people saw in her eyes was for Michael and the wasted life that
she knew was now over.

  Frances would not accept that her father had died. She questioned everything. “Why did Daddy never come home to us? If he was sick, we could have helped him. I don’t believe that he’s dead.”

  Agnes had only told the children what she thought they could understand. It was difficult enough for her to rationalise how or why Michael had stayed away from them all those years—she certainly did not want the children to know that there really was no answer to that question. She found it easier to tell them that he had lost his memory when he had been so badly wounded in Tobruk.

  Nothing Agnes could say would convince Frances. “How do you know that he is really dead? It could have been someone else if he had no identification.”

  Agnes explained that Michael had been identified through the records that the army kept, but Frances still tried to find out more. She spoke to Steven, but he was not able to tell her any more than her mother could.

  But Steven did tell Frances, Patricia and Neil about his time with Michael in Tobruk. “It’s important that you know how brave your father was. He helped so many other soldiers, and he was respected by everyone.” The children loved hearing these stories. It gave them a connection to their father that they had lacked for most of their lives. Steven’s heart was always heavy with regret that his good friend had not shared these moments and memories with his children.

  The choices you make

  Savina couldn’t wait for Alessandro to get home so she could share the news that Louie would be visiting them over Easter. Louie’s letter had reassured her that he was working hard and making plans to bring Olga to Australia. The thought of having her sister so close was just wonderful. She missed her family terribly. She would often wake during the night thinking that she had heard her father and sister’s voices. She longed to be able to show them her new home. She wanted them to see how happy she was.