Empire Day

by Diane Armstrong

  She paused, and chewed the end of her pen, wondering what to write next. Although she would have preferred to leave it at that, for all she knew it might have been Ernst’s wife Urszula who had made the allegation about him in revenge for his affair with Sala, which had endangered her as well. Urszula may have told the investigators about their relationship, and if so, they’d dismiss Sala’s letter as biased and unreliable. She’d have to tell the whole truth.

  I feel I should mention that on one occasion, when he’d been drinking, Mr Hauptmann forced himself on me, but when he was sober, he regretted what he’d done, and I have forgiven him.

  As I said at the beginning, this is a personal testimony. I don’t know about anything he did during the war, but I do know that, thanks to him, I survived.

  Ernst Hauptmann was not a hero, but he was brave enough to risk his life to save mine with no thought of financial gain, at a time when many people denounced Jews and turned them over to the Gestapo.

  In conclusion, I’d like to say that war creates extreme situations which often blur the line between good and evil. I believe that few people are wholly good or wholly bad, and that circumstances can affect their actions, but even evil-doers can redeem themselves.

  She put down her pen and reread the letter. The last paragraph had taken her by surprise. Until she’d written it she hadn’t been aware of her own philosophical attitude. As she read her own words, tears came to her eyes, but whether she was crying for herself, for Ernst, for the victims of war, or for ordinary people struggling to live up to their dreams of themselves, she didn’t know.

  As she sealed and addressed the envelope, she felt as though she’d finally set down a crushing burden, and she wondered why it had taken her so long to write the letter.

  She glanced at the solitary geranium on the windowsill. When Mrs Olmanis had given her the cutting, it had looked as though it was about to wither. In the first two weeks she had watched in distress as the stem dried up and shrank. Although several times she had been about to throw it out, she hadn’t given up on it, and now she saw that it must have put down roots because a tightly furled leaf of tender green swelled the top of the stem.

  Chapter 54

  Kath was on her hands and knees scrubbing the verandah, thinking about the change in Meggsie since Mr Emil’s last visit. He’d stopped complaining about Nurse Gately’s exercises, and tackled them with a determination that astonished her. As soon as he’d finished the exercises, he’d start squeezing the little rubber balls Mr Emil had left him, grimacing with the effort.

  She heard Meggsie calling her and went inside. He was throwing the balls and catching them.

  ‘Look, Mum, that’s seven I’ve caught in a row!’ he said. ‘Yesterday I only caught six. When Mr Emil and I do our show, will you make me a cape like his?’

  She smiled. ‘Just keep practising with those balls and doing your exercises, and I’ll see about the cape.’

  As she was tidying his bedside table, she glanced out of the window and saw Miss McNulty crossing the road. It was unusual to see the old woman out in the street in the evenings, and Kath wondered where the old bat was going. She was taken by surprise when Miss McNulty opened her gate. Probably coming to complain about the boys making too much noise with their billycart and scaring her mangy cat.

  Kath braced herself for the inevitable barrage. Instead she heard a scraping sound in the hall. An envelope was lying on the floor. A moment later she heard her front gate open and close again, and she saw the old woman scurrying back across the street.

  Now she’s leaving me poison pen letters, Kath thought. Hasn’t even got the guts to tell me to my face.

  Kath picked up the envelope, surprised by how bulky it felt. She opened it and whispered, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’

  Inside was a wad of banknotes. She sank to her knees on the floor and started counting. Fifty pounds. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ she said again.

  ‘What is it, Mum?’ Meggsie called out. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Without replying, Kath went to the kitchen and took down her jewellery box from the top of the dresser. She took out the first envelope, which still had most of the money inside, and compared it to the one which had just arrived. They were identical.

  She sank into a chair, trying to figure out why Miss McNulty had just delivered an envelope with exactly the same amount as Mr Emil had left her several weeks before.

  It was like trying to solve a mystery with vital pieces of evidence missing. How come Mr Emil had left the same amount of money in exactly the same envelope as Miss McNulty? As she kept going over all the facts, she realised that she hadn’t actually seen Mr Emil leave the money, and he’d said nothing to indicate that he’d put it there. She had assumed he was the secret benefactor because of his mysterious manner and his recent friendship with Meggsie, and she’d taken the fact that he’d said nothing about it as an indication of his shyness.

  But now, as she looked at the two identical envelopes, and thought about the secretive manner with which her neighbour had dropped the envelope and crept away, it hit Kath that her secret benefactor wasn’t Mr Emil at all. It was the last person on earth she would have suspected.

  With trembling fingers, Kath tore off her apron and hurried across the road. When Miss McNulty opened the door and saw who it was, her mouth puckered with dismay.

  ‘I know you don’t want to be thanked,’ Kath said quickly, ‘but I had to come and thank you.’

  Miss McNulty made a deprecating gesture with her wrinkled hand. ‘I don’t like fuss,’ she said, and started to close the door, but Kath refused to be cut short.

  ‘I’ve been having a tough time, and your money has made all the difference. Now I can continue paying the nurse to give Meggsie the exercises that might help him walk again. But apart from that, I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you wanted to help us.’

  ‘Well, if you’re going to stand there talking, you may as well come in,’ Miss McNulty said.

  She padded down the corridor in her felt slippers until they were in the darkened lounge room. The windows were closed and the only source of light was a small fringed lamp on a glass table.

  ‘I don’t want the light fading the carpet and the upholstery, so I keep the windows closed and the blinds down,’ the old woman said, following Kath’s gaze. ‘Well, I suppose you’d better sit down now you’re here,’ she added.

  Kath sat in an armchair, and as she placed her hand on the white lace-edged antimacassar she reflected that the furniture was in far better shape than its owner, and would outlast her.

  If the old biddy could be blunt, so can I, Kath decided.

  She leaned forward. ‘I’d like to know why you did it. It’s not as if there’s any love lost between us.’

  Miss McNulty didn’t reply at first, and her expressionless face made Kath think of a house without windows.

  ‘I know what it’s like to be different from everyone else, and how it feels to be ridiculed and treated like a freak through no fault of your own,’ she said. ‘I heard some of those young larrikins making fun of your boy one afternoon, and it made me hopping mad.’ Her voice dropped so low that Kath had to strain to catch what she was saying.

  ‘I know how it feels because everyone looked down on me. My father was the last hangman at Darlinghurst Gaol.’

  Kath sat very still while Miss McNulty told her about her unhappy childhood, about being bullied and ostracised, and made the butt of jokes and jibes. No wonder the old woman had become reclusive and spiteful. Life had dealt her a rotten hand and she had passed it on to others.

  ‘That’s terrible,’ Kath said. ‘You couldn’t help what your father did for a living.’

  ‘He couldn’t help it either,’ Miss McNulty snapped. ‘He never wanted to be a hangman. He used to drive a horse cab and everyone liked him, but after his accident, his face was so misshapen that people wouldn’t get into his cab, and no one would give him a job.’

  Kath was pensiv
e. How unfair life was. Injustice reverberated through so many lives, gathering momentum with each generation. Instead of showing compassion, people tormented others in trouble. Perhaps they thought that by distancing themselves from misfortune they’d protect themselves from it.

  ‘It was really generous of you to give me all that money,’ Kath went on. ‘As soon as I get a job, and get back on my feet, I’ll pay you back.’

  ‘I don’t want you to pay me back,’ Miss McNulty said. ‘I’m an old woman, and I don’t need much. I’ve sold a rundown cottage I had up on the cliffs at Bondi, and I’ll never use up all the money.’

  Kath stared at her, trying to take it all in. She’d heard stories about Nosey the hangman, and Meggsie had told her that Nosey’s spooky cottage was haunted, but she had never suspected that Miss McNulty was the hangman’s daughter.

  The cottage above Ben Buckler had been rotting away for decades, a monument to her useless life and her painful memories, yet Maude had lacked the courage to let it go, to free herself from the misery it represented. It wasn’t until Verna Browning had told her that Kath couldn’t afford to pay for Meggsie’s treatment that the idea had come to her. The cottage was no use to her, in fact it kept her chained to the past, and if she sold it, she’d have more money than she’d ever be able to spend. For the first time in her life, Maude had wanted to do something for someone else. But she had been determined to do it anonymously to avoid the sentimental slush she had no time for.

  She had always shunned displays of emotion. There had been too much of that at home. The vitriolic outbursts of her embittered mother, angry that her husband had been robbed of a lucrative, respectable job and been turned into a pariah and a drunkard. The shouts and curses of her father, and then his harsh drunken sobs. And little Maude, running from the room with her hands over her ears so she couldn’t hear them fighting.

  Kath broke into her reverie. ‘I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, Miss McNulty, but you’re the last person I would have expected to help me. I always felt you looked down on me because I was a barmaid. But it wasn’t my fault I became a barmaid, any more than it was your father’s fault that he was a hangman, so I would have thought you’d be more understanding.’

  Maude was taken aback. She hadn’t expected such a forthright comment from anyone, especially a woman to whom she had just given so much money. She was about to make a tart reply when she thought better of it. No one had spoken to her like that because no one cared what she said or did, or whether she lived or died.

  ‘Sorry if I upset you,’ Kath was saying, ‘but I just had to get it off my chest.’

  The old woman made a gesture that could have signified irritation or grudging assent.

  Kath stood up. ‘I’d better get back to the boys. Why don’t you come over and have a cup of tea some time? Meggsie would love to hear all about the old days.’

  Maude’s throat closed up, and all she could do was nod. She’d lived on this earth for ninety-two years, but no one called her their friend, asked her opinion or wanted her company. They smiled to her face but she knew they made fun of her behind her back. In all the years she’d lived in Wattle Street, no one had ever invited her in for a cup of tea or wanted to hear anything she had to say.

  ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled. ‘One of these days I might do that.’

  Chapter 55

  Three weeks had passed since Sister Gately’s last visit, and when she came to check on Meggsie again, she noticed the improvement in his muscle tone.

  ‘His hands are much stronger, and there’s some improvement in his legs as well,’ she said to his mum. Turning to him, she said, ‘I can tell you’ve been doing your exercises, young man.’

  Meggsie smiled to himself. Ever since his conversation with Mr Emil he’d felt more energetic, and as he kept on with the exercises he could feel his arms and legs becoming stronger. He often reminded himself that he was going to get better.

  ‘It’s Mr Emil,’ he blurted out. ‘He’s given me these little rubber balls, and I’ve been practising with them. And he said —’

  His mum cleared her throat loudly and shot him a warning glance. He wasn’t sure why his mother didn’t want him to tell Sister Gately about Mr Emil, but he suspected it was something to do with the fact Sister Gately liked to be in charge.

  ‘Well, whatever you’ve been doing, you’re coming along nicely,’ Sister Gately said, giving him a pat on the back. ‘Keep on with the exercises, four times a day if you can.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Sister Gately,’ Meggsie said cheerfully. ‘I will. And don’t be surprised if you get an invitation to a magic show one of these days.’

  Joan Gately turned to Kath and shook her head in wonder. ‘He’s not the same boy.’

  ‘It’s magic,’ Kath said, and winked at Meggsie.

  When Sister Gately had finished examining Meggsie’s legs two weeks later, she turned to Kath and said, ‘I’ve been thinking for a while now that it’s time to give walking a go. Let’s swing his legs over the side of the bed and see how he goes.’

  Kath’s heart was pounding so fast that she couldn’t catch her breath. Excitement mingled with apprehension. How would Meggsie cope with the disappointment if he couldn’t do it? She bit her lip and twisted her hands inside the pocket of her apron as she prayed to all the saints to let him walk again, forgetting that she no longer believed in them or their miracles.

  Very gently, Sister Gately pulled Meggsie up to a sitting position and turned him towards her so that his legs dangled over the edge of the bed and his feet touched the floor. Then, taking his hands in hers, she gradually pulled him up.

  Kath pressed her hands against her mouth. He was standing, but a moment later his legs wobbled, his knees buckled, and he sank back onto the bed, his face crumpling with disappointment.

  ‘Not to worry,’ the nurse boomed. ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day. Let’s try again. Up you get. Take your time.’

  This time Meggsie’s legs wobbled a little less and, gripping Sister Gately’s hands like a drowning man clutching his rescuer, he took one tottering step towards her, let go of her and stood for an instant on his own.

  The look on his face showed that he could hardly believe what he’d done.

  Kath leapt to her feet, screaming, ‘You did it! Holy Mother of God, you did it!’

  Tears were pouring down her face and she was laughing and crying at the same time. The moment she had dreamed about for so long had finally arrived.

  The God she’d stopped believing in, who had rained one misfortune after another upon her, had finally redeemed Himself in her eyes with that one act of grace.

  His face taut and white with the effort, Meggsie took another wobbly step, and then another, before collapsing into Sister Gately’s outstretched arms.

  Tears were shining in her eyes too. ‘Good lad. You’ve done well,’ she said, patting his shoulder. ‘Now that you know you can do it, I want you to try taking a few steps every day, holding onto your mum’s hands at first till you can do it on your own without her. Better have a rest now.’

  She said something about getting him crutches, but Kath was too excited to take it in. All she could think of was that she’d just witnessed the miracle she hadn’t dared hope for.

  When Sister Gately had gone, Meggsie couldn’t stop talking. ‘I have to tell Mr Emil! And Hanny! I want to tell Hanny. Now I’ll be able to go back to school and play with the other kids, and I’ll be able to do that magic show. I want to have another go at walking, Mum. Can you help me?’

  ‘Don’t overdo it. You know what Sister Gately said. A bit at a time.’

  ‘Just once more. Come on!’

  Her hands shook so much that she could hardly keep them steady enough to support him. Every nerve stretched taut with concentration, he shuffled towards her, as awkward as a newborn giraffe.

  ‘I did it again, Mum! I did it!’

  She wiped her streaming eyes and hugged him. ‘Thank the Lord,’ she kept repeating. ‘Thank t
he Lord.’

  Chapter 56

  Too excited to keep still, Kath rushed over to Verna Browning’s place to tell her the good news. Incoherent with joy, she hugged her friend and danced around the hall with her.

  ‘I still can’t believe it,’ she kept saying.

  ‘That nurse has certainly done a wonderful job,’ Verna said.

  ‘But Mr Emil is the one who got him started. He’s the real miracle worker.’

  Verna sighed. ‘I wish he’d come here and work some magic on Ted,’ she said.

  That evening, as rain pattered on the roof and the wind rattled the windows, providing an apt soundtrack for her Saturday night serial, Inner Sanctum, Verna heard the front door open and close. Putting down the sleeveless vest she’d almost finished knitting, she came out to the hall before Ted could slip into his room.

  ‘Have you had your tea?’ she asked. ‘I saved some meatloaf for you.’

  ‘Not hungry, thanks, Mum.’

  She smelled beer on his breath, and supposed he’d been at the Journalists’ Club, the only place that served alcohol after six o’clock.

  ‘Well come and have a cuppa and warm up.’

  ‘Some other time, Mum, it’s late.’

  Normally she would have given up at this point, but this time she persisted. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, Ted, but whatever you’ve done, I want you to know I’ll always stand by you.’

  He almost laughed, but what came out was a harsh grating sound. ‘Thanks, but I haven’t killed anyone.’