Elianne

by Nunn, Judy

  ‘What is it, what’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t have a condom.’

  She looked at him quizzically as if he might be joking, then when she realised he wasn’t she burst out laughing. ‘Good grief, Alan, this is the sixties, where have you been?’

  His response was blank.

  ‘I’m on the pill, of course.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. Sorry.’ He cursed himself again – how could he have sounded so dumb? He supposed these days most girls were on the pill.

  ‘You really are a country boy, aren’t you?’ She didn’t sound in any way disparaging, just amused.

  ‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ he admitted.

  ‘I like country boys,’ she said, wantonly reaching her hand down to him, and as they kissed again she parted her thighs and guided him into her.

  Alan tried desperately to retain control, but the sensation that engulfed him was overwhelming. The inside of a woman was more sensual by far than his wildest imaginings, and before long he realised he was fighting a losing battle.

  For a novice he acquitted himself admirably nonetheless, indeed perhaps a little too admirably. Jane was teetering on the brink of orgasm when he finally exploded.

  Bugger it, she thought as they lay on their backs gasping for breath like a couple of hundred-metre sprinters, couldn’t he have lasted just thirty seconds longer?

  Despite his inexperience, Alan was aware of his failure to satisfy. ‘I was a bit quick, wasn’t I?’ he panted.

  Something of an understatement, she thought. ‘Yes, just a bit.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jane, really I am. It’s just that was my first time, so I suppose . . .’ he tailed off apologetically.

  ‘Oh God, don’t tell me . . .’ She rolled on her side to face him. ‘You’re not only seventeen, you’re a virgin?’

  He grinned, he couldn’t help himself. ‘Not anymore.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘Why would I? No bloke would, surely.’

  Jane returned a wry smile: he was right of course. ‘Well I have to admit for a beginner you’re not bad. Shall we finish our beers and give it another burl? That is if you think you’ll be up to it,’ she added suggestively.

  ‘Oh, I’ll be up to it all right. But I can do without the beer.’

  ‘Me too. A cup of tea then.’ She sprang from the bed. ‘You wait here, I won’t be a tick.’ She slipped on her dress, but ignored the undies. ‘Stay in the mood,’ she said with a wink and then she was out the door.

  After their cup of tea, Alan was more than in the mood, he was raring to go, but this time he was determined to practise restraint. He’d come to a decision while she’d been downstairs. He must learn from his experience today. He must learn how to give a woman pleasure.

  He took his time as best he could, matching his pace to hers, and when finally he sensed her approaching orgasm, he held himself in check, allowing the movement to be hers alone, careful not to thrust, knowing that if he did he was gone. She was uninhibited in her pleasure, which he found intensely erotic, and it took every ounce of willpower he could muster not to let go, but he managed. Only when he was sure she was completely satisfied did he give in to his own climax.

  Jane flopped back on the pillow, sweaty and sated. ‘Well that was a whole heap better,’ she said when she’d regained her breath, ‘you’re a quick learner, I’ll give you that much.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He was pleased. It was exactly what he wanted to hear.

  During the days that followed, Alan mulled over the event of his sexual awakening. He had enjoyed the act. Indeed he’d found sex as exciting as his friends had boasted that it was. But Alan Durham was not like his friends. To Alan, the casualness of the act and its supreme lack of meaning made sex in itself a shallow, empty thing. Sex was not making love. Making love would be something entirely different. He would not have sex again until it was with Paola, he decided. No matter that their marriage was some years away, he would wait.

  He didn’t agonise at all about whether or not he should tell Paola of his sexual encounter: of course he would tell her, they’d agreed they were never to have secrets from one another. But should he feel guilty for having so unashamedly used Jane? He wasn’t sure about that one. Jane seemed liberated, certainly, but would she presume there was some form of ongoing relationship? Girls usually did when they’d been to bed with someone, didn’t they?

  ‘Hello, Alan.’

  ‘G’day, Jane.’

  It was during a break between lectures and he was sitting in the Gardens Tuck Shop eating a pie with peas and mashed potato, his favourite of the daily specials when he hadn’t had time to scoff down his landlady’s tea. Seated by the door as he was, he saw her the moment she walked in and, the chair opposite him being vacant, he expected her to join him. He rather hoped she would so they could clear up any possible misunderstanding.

  She didn’t join him, however. In fact she paid him scant attention. She appeared to be looking for someone. Then her eyes lighted upon the young man at the counter who’d just been served a cup of take-away coffee.

  The young man turned from the counter and Alan watched as Jane stepped directly into his path.

  ‘Oops,’ she said when they bumped into each other. ‘I’m most terribly sorry.’

  Alan smiled at the familiarity of the scene. He smiled even more when the young man introduced himself. She’s home and hosed, he thought.

  The referendum of 27 May 1967 sought approval for two amendments to the Australian constitution that were considered discriminatory to the Aboriginal people. The first clause related to the government’s power to produce laws with respect to the people of any race, other than the aboriginal race in any State, for whom it is deemed necessary to make special laws. The second related to the government census. In reckoning the numbers of the people of the Commonwealth, or of a State or other part of the Commonwealth, aboriginal natives shall not be counted.

  It was recommended the reference to ‘the aboriginal race’ be removed from the first clause, and that the second clause be removed altogether.

  The two simple questions put to the Australian people were, should Aborigines be counted in the census, and should Aborigines be subject to Australian Federal law. The public voted overwhelmingly ‘yes’ on both issues.

  ‘Well done, Kate.’

  Jeremy had turned up at the celebratory party that was held on a fine, but chill, Saturday afternoon in the rear courtyard of the Bondi Pavilion. The once-grand bathing pavilion overlooking Bondi Beach had gone to seed over the past decade, but its main hall, rarely put to community use of late, had served as a convenient meeting place for the campaigners, particularly the younger members, who during the summer months liked to finish the day’s business with a swim.

  ‘Thanks, Venner.’ Kate returned his effusive handshake. She was surprised to see him. He hadn’t been particularly committed to the campaign. But then Jeremy liked to maintain an interest in all major causes whether as an active participant or not, seeming to know every single statistic and every single person involved in every single campaign. ‘Knowledge is power, Kate,’ he’d repeatedly told her in those early days when, Svengali-like, he’d groomed her for a future in social activism.

  ‘I felt compelled to come and offer my personal congratulations,’ he now said in all earnest. ‘Truly Kate, you’ve every right to feel proud. Good God an almost ninety-one per cent affirmative vote! That’s got to be the most successful campaign for change this country’s ever seen. Well done!’

  He embraced her and she returned the hug, although she was conscious of the wary look from Isobel, his new girlfriend, whom she knew vaguely from university. Isobel was aware of their previous relationship.

  ‘It was hardly a solo effort,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Hello, Isobel.’

  ‘Hello, Kate. Congratulations. Venner’s told me how hard you worked on the campaign.’

  ‘So did everyone here,’ she said looking around at the crowded c
ourtyard, ‘and so did hundreds of others all over the country. I don’t think I can take any personal credit,’ she added with a smile.

  ‘Bullshit,’ Jeremy protested, ‘you gave it your heart and soul.’ He could see several other people out to attract her attention. ‘Don’t let us hold you up, Kate, go and mingle. It’s your night.’

  ‘All right, I’ll circulate for a while. I think I’m meant to. There’ll be a few speeches soon. Not long ones, I promise,’ she hastily added, ‘we’ve all agreed there’s been enough haranguing at rallies to last us a lifetime. I’ll see you a bit later on.’

  Jeremy watched as she melted into the gathering. God how he missed her. He took his girlfriend’s hand. ‘Come on, Izz, let’s grab a drink,’ he said and they headed for the white-clothed trestle tables that served as a bar, where glasses of beer and champagne were being doled out.

  Charles Perkins introduced the short round of speeches. After graduating from Sydney University in 1965, the first Aboriginal student to do so, Charlie had become manager of the Foundation for Aboriginal Affairs, an organisation that had played a key role in advocating the referendum’s ‘yes’ vote. His opening speech was brief and succinct, but as always impressive.

  One of the principal actions that had led to this referendum and its successful outcome, he informed the assembled gathering, was the Freedom Ride of 1965, which had raised public awareness about racism. Student Action For Aborigines no longer existed as an organisation, he said, but student activists continued to play an immensely important role in the campaign for Aboriginal rights. He then introduced one of the leaders of the student movement, Kate Durham.

  Kate joined Charlie up on the small makeshift stage and, looking out at the hundred or so gathered, she thanked all those who had worked on the campaign, individually naming a number with whom she’d been closely associated.

  ‘As a friend of mine remarked just a short while ago,’ she said in conclusion, ‘a yes vote exceeding ninety per cent makes this referendum one of the greatest victories Australia is ever likely to see in a campaign for change.’ There was a resounding cheer and as she caught Jeremy’s eye he nodded and gave her the thumbs up. ‘I’d like to congratulate everyone involved,’ she said, ‘most particularly Charlie Perkins, without whose dedication none of this would have happened.’ She shook Charlie’s hand, they’d become good friends over the past year or so, and a round of applause followed as she left the stage.

  Charlie then introduced the special guest speaker who’d just flown up from Melbourne. Frank Madigan had joined the cause less than a year ago, he said, but during that time he’d become one of their most valuable speakers and co-ordinators who, for the past two months, had been tirelessly campaigning across the country.

  ‘Over to you, Frank,’ he announced and he left the stage.

  Frank Madigan was a good-looking young man in his mid to late twenties. Lanky, casually dressed, with unruly dark hair and a lazy smile, he appeared something of a larrikin at first glance, but he wasn’t. As he loped up onto the stage, his manner was not cocky, but rather laidback and assured. Frank was not a man who felt the need to prove himself, a fact that became evident the moment he spoke.

  ‘You’re quite right, Kate,’ he said, looking down at her where she stood beside Charlie and smiling his easy smile, ‘this is certainly the greatest victory a campaign could hope for.’ His eyes, grey-blue and fiercely intelligent, scanned the gathering. ‘And I too would like to congratulate all those involved.’

  In addressing the crowd, he didn’t appear to raise his voice, nor did he attempt to project his personality: the simple power of his presence seemed enough. ‘But the outcome of this referendum is far more than a victory for our campaign,’ he said, ‘it’s a victory for Australia. It’s more than a “yes” for change, more than an agreement to make a couple of amendments to the constitution, it’s proof of the enlightened attitudes of the general population. This referendum has been far more important than most Australians realise. In travelling the country as I recently have, I can tell you here and now we have a long, long way to go, but I can also tell you here and now that this is a momentous step for Australia. People are actually talking out there. They’re communicating. And they’re communicating about a problem that many have been blind to, that some hadn’t even known existed . . .’

  Frank Madigan spoke for barely ten minutes, but Kate found him riveting. She was not alone. His audience was captivated. He could have gone on for a further half hour if he’d wished. He chose not to.

  ‘Thanks for your attention, everyone, and thanks for a tremendous effort.’

  He gave a wave and stepped down from the stage to a huge round of applause and pats on the back from eager admirers.

  Kate was surprised she’d not met him before through the campaign. She knew all of the principal organisers in Sydney and many others who’d travelled from interstate over the past year. His was certainly a commanding presence, he’s probably a lawyer, she thought, a lawyer with political aspirations . . .

  ‘Hello, Kate, I’m Frank.’

  He was suddenly there by her side, his hand outstretched, not waiting for Charlie’s introduction, although Charlie offered one anyway.

  ‘Kate Durham, Frank Madigan,’ Charlie said.

  ‘Hello, Frank.’ They shook. ‘I thought your speech was great.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m hanging out for a beer, do you want one?’

  ‘I’ll go a champagne.’

  ‘Goodo. What about you, Charlie?’

  But Charlie was already being claimed by others. Now that the speeches were over, people nearby were vying for his attention as people always did and Charlie, as always, good-naturedly obliged.

  ‘No thanks, mate. I’ll mingle.’

  Kate accompanied Frank to the trestle tables where two volunteer barkeepers were frantically refilling glasses and doling out fresh ones. He handed her a champagne, grabbed a beer for himself and they edged their way out of the melee to sit at one of the tables that had been set up around the periphery of the courtyard.

  ‘Good turnout,’ he said lowering his lanky frame into the chair and gazing about at the crowd. Few had availed themselves of the tables and chairs, most milling in groups and avidly chatting. ‘You know all these people, I suppose?’

  ‘Not all,’ she replied, ‘but I’ve seen most of them around at rallies and meetings.’

  ‘They’re strangers to me,’ he said, ‘apart from Charlie and a few others. I’ve been working solely out of Melbourne.’

  Well that explains why I hadn’t met him, Kate thought.

  ‘We’ve built up a strong movement there too, I’m proud to say.’

  ‘Charlie said you’ve been campaigning all across the country.’

  ‘Yeah, the timing was spot on. I’d just given up my job so I was able to travel around and co-ordinate regional action groups.’

  ‘What actually was your job?’ she asked with characteristic directness. He probably found her impertinent, but she couldn’t resist.

  He didn’t find her in the least impertinent. ‘I’m a plumber.’

  So much for a lawyer with political aspirations, she thought.

  ‘What are you studying at uni, Kate?’

  ‘Vet science.’

  ‘Really?’ He appeared quite astounded. ‘Strange. I automatically presumed you’d be doing law or something that’d lead to a political career.’

  In the face of her own presumption she couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Makes us an unlikely pair of activists doesn’t it, a vet and a plumber?’

  ‘Yes I suppose so.’ He was intrigued. ‘Why vet science?’

  ‘I’ve never wanted to do anything else for as long as I can remember.’ She shrugged, end of story, it was that simple. But his focus was now solely upon her, the crowd seeming to vanish as his eyes urged her to go on. So Kate did. She was not to know that Frank Madigan had a rare talent for drawing information out of anyone who interested him.

  ‘I come
from the country,’ she explained, ‘a property in Queensland. My brothers and I grew up with horses and livestock. I remember helping birth calves and foals when I was ten. I loved anything to do with animals. And as for being a vet,’ she rolled her eyes in mock adulation, ‘well, where I come from, the vet’s more important than the doctor, the lawyer and the judge all rolled into one.’ She smiled self-deprecatingly – she seemed to be talking a lot. ‘So perhaps all I really wanted was to be somebody very important.’

  ‘Did your brothers want to be vets too?’

  ‘Oh good heavens no. My younger brother’s obsessed with all things mechanical and has been from the age of six, and my older brother’s being groomed to take over the management of the property. Eventually, anyway,’ she added, her face clouding a little. ‘At the moment he’s in Vietnam.’

  ‘Oh.’ He’d noted her concern and didn’t enquire further, but she volunteered the information anyway.

  ‘Neil was conscripted,’ she said. ‘His tour of duty’s nearly over though; he’ll be home next month.’

  ‘That’s good news.’

  ‘Yes it is.’ She sat back and sipped her champagne. ‘Your turn.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘To talk. What about your background, Frank?’

  ‘Nothing to tell,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘I doubt you’d find plumbing of interest.’

  ‘Try me.’ Whether plumbing was of interest or not was immaterial to Kate. It’s the man himself who’s interesting, she thought.

  His father was a plumber, he told her, or rather had been, semi-retired now after a recent stroke. ‘Usual scenario,’ he said, ‘kid follows in old man’s footsteps. I didn’t have any other ambition at the time, apart from kicking a footie around, so why not?’

  He was going to leave it at that. Frank was obviously a man who preferred to hear the stories of others rather than tell his own, but upon further badgering she learnt that he was actually a master plumber with a degree in education. For the past two years, he’d been teaching an apprenticeship course in plumbing and gas-fitting at Technical College in Melbourne, he said, but since his father’s stroke it had been agreed he’d come home and take over the family business in Redfern.