‘I wish you’d tell me what the matter is. You’ve changed so much I hardly know you. I’m worried.’
His face seemed to fold in on itself and a moment later he made a strangled sound she hadn’t heard since he was twelve years old and had been scratched from the cricket team.
She waited until the sobbing subsided, led him to the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove.
‘Ted, whatever it is, there’s got to be a better way of dealing with it, love. You’re letting this eat you up. It’s no good keeping everything inside.’
He looked away, clearly embarrassed at his show of weakness. ‘It’s too complicated. And talking about it won’t help.’
Verna tightened her lips as she turned the teapot three times and poured the scalding tea into their cups. ‘You think I’m ignorant, but even if I didn’t finish high school, I still know a fair bit about life,’ she said.
He was staring into the distance and she’d started to wonder whether he’d heard what she said, when he started talking. He talked slowly at first, and then, as he became more upset, the words tumbled out faster and faster until he had told her the whole story.
‘So, can you solve my problem?’ he said, unable to keep the anger from his voice. ‘Can you tell me what to do so I can live with myself and not lose the girl I love? It’s like Bob Dyer’s Pick-A-Box show,’ he said bitterly. ‘Only instead of choosing between the money or the box, I have to choose between the story and the girl. And whichever one I choose, I’ll lose.’ He looked up at her. ‘You’re the one with all the worldly wisdom, you tell me what to do.’
She ignored his sarcasm. ‘I don’t know the answer, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you what to do,’ she said. ‘But your father always used to say that we pay for everything we do in life, and we have to live with the consequences. Whenever he couldn’t decide what to do, he knew the right decision was always the hardest one.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose that’s why he joined up.’
‘And look where that got him,’ Ted said.
She nodded. ‘He did what he thought was right.’
‘That’s what Dad used to say. But what do you say?’ Ted asked.
‘I think you really know what to do. Maybe you’d like me to talk you out of it. Either this girl loves you or she doesn’t. If she doesn’t, then you’ve got nothing to lose. But if she loves you enough, she’ll find a way to come back to you one day.’
He uttered an exasperated grunt and pushed his chair from the table. A moment later she heard him close his door.
Chapter 57
Ted spent the next few days racking his brains for some way of getting in touch with Lilija. The letter he’d written and slipped under her door the week before had gone unanswered, and he supposed that her father had intercepted it. Increasingly desperate, he’d tried to call her at the hospital, but a disapproving voice had told him that Nurse Olmanis was on duty and couldn’t take personal calls. Once, he had caught sight of her turning into Wattle Street, and he’d run after her, calling her name, but without looking back she had hurried into her house, slamming the door behind her.
With every passing day the conviction that he had to confront Paulis Olmanis about his past grew stronger. No matter how desperately he tried to convince himself that he could let the matter drop, he knew he had to see it through to the end. But first he had to talk to Lilija again. Even if he couldn’t change her mind, he might be able to convince her of his love.
A few days later Ted was called into the morning conference to give Gus, his deputy and the news editor an update on his investigation. He was proud to see that they looked impressed, especially when he described his conversation with Anna Vestermanis.
Gus leaned forward, spraying ash over his polished mahogany desk.
‘Got a quote from the Latvian bloke yet?’ he asked.
While Ted gave an evasive reply, Gus lit another cigarette, leaned back in his black armchair and surveyed him with his reptilian gaze. ‘Even if the bastard talks to you, and we run this exposé of yours, no one’s going to do a bloody thing about it. Immigration will keep defending its screening process, the new spy service will keep using former Nazi collaborators and deny it, and if the Latvian government asks for his extradition, our government will refuse to deport him on humanitarian and political grounds. They’ll claim that the Communists will kill him as soon as he sets foot there. And on top of that, they’ll say you’re a Commie or a fellow traveller. So don’t kid yourself that you’re about to change the world.’
Ted found it hard to sit still through this barrage. His lunch was rising into his throat, and in a strangled voice he said, ‘Does that mean you’re not going to run the story?’
Gus gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Well, if I don’t, you can always offer it to the Tribune. Those Commies will lap it up.’
For several moments Ted heard only the loud ticking of the wall clock and the thumping of his heart. When Gus finally spoke, Ted jumped as though a gun had suddenly gone off.
‘It’s a bloody good story, son, and when it’s finished I’ll run it just to show those bastards in Canberra that we know what’s going on.’ Gus had a combative gleam in his eyes. ‘We’ll make the buggers squirm when they have to answer questions in parliament.’
Ted was in a daze when he left Gus’s office. Praise from his boss was as rare as a heatwave in Antarctica. But how on earth could he get Paulis Olmanis to talk to him?
The following Monday morning, instead of going to the office, Ted stayed home. He was standing at the window, waiting for the rent-collector to appear. When he saw the familiar figure with the leather satchel turning into Wattle Street and opening the gate of the Olmanis house, Ted slipped out and hurried towards him.
The rent-collector pressed the bell, the door opened, and at that moment Ted squeezed past him and came face to face with Mrs Olmanis in the doorway. Before the startled woman had time to speak, Ted called out, ‘Mr Olmanis, can I see you for a minute, please?’
Paulis Olmanis strode into the hall, and as soon as he saw Ted he stiffened and raised his fists. His face contorted with rage, he grabbed Ted by the collar and shouted, ‘Get out or I’ll call the police!’
As he was being shoved out of the hall, Ted turned and shouted, ‘Were you a member of the Arajs Kommando in Latvia? Were you in charge of a unit that shot civilians outside Riga in 1942?’
Paulis Olmanis’s eyes were flints. ‘I never heard of that unit. I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he hissed, and with one powerful thrust he flung Ted onto the verandah and slammed the door behind him.
‘Strewth,’ the rent-collector said, and without waiting for the rent, he hurried next door.
Ted picked himself up, brushed himself off and rubbed his bruised knees. He limped away, despondent over his disastrous encounter. At least he’d managed to confront the man, whose violent response spoke for itself. Then the significance of Paulis Olmanis’s denial struck him. He’d denied knowing about a group whose uniform he was wearing in the photograph taken in Riga in 1942.
Half an hour later, Ted was leaving for the office, elated at the prospect of telling Gus that he’d caught Paulis Olmanis out in a lie. He was at the gate when he heard an ambulance siren. The ambulance stopped outside the Olmanis house, and he watched with dread as the ambulance officers went inside. A few moments later he saw them carrying someone out on a stretcher, and saw Mrs Olmanis running beside it. Her face was white and crumpled, and in her broken English she kept repeating, ‘Quick, go quick. My husband very sick.’
A small crowd had gathered on the footpath outside their house, and as the ambulance sped away Ted hurried towards them.
‘I reckon the old boy had a heart attack,’ Pop Wilson was saying. ‘I just come out on the verandah when Mrs Whatshername came running out of their place, gabbling and carrying on, and it took me a while to sort out what she was on about. Said something about him getting bad news and then clutching his chest and collapsing on the floor. Said his fac
e was grey and he was sweating and couldn’t catch his breath, so I ran to the phone box and called the ambulance.’
As the neighbours speculated what the bad news could have been, Ted edged away. He felt sick. He knew what had caused Paulis Olmanis’s heart attack.
Several weeks went by and Ted’s efforts to contact Lilija proved fruitless. Neither she nor her mother were ever at home, and he never came across her on the tram.
One evening when he came home, his mother sat him down, and from the look on her face he steeled himself for bad news.
‘That girl up the road — I can never pronounce her name — Lily, is it? I saw her and her mother getting into a taxi this morning, and they had their suitcases with them. In the afternoon a truck came for their furniture.’
He stared at her uncomprehendingly.
‘They’ve moved out,’ she said.
‘Just like that?’ He couldn’t keep the desperation from his voice. ‘Do you know where they went? Did they tell anyone where they were going?’
Verna shook her head. ‘It doesn’t look like it. They got into the cab and drove off without saying a word to anyone or giving the street a second glance. Sorry, love,’ she added as he covered his face with his hands. ‘I know you’re upset.’
The following day, unable to stand the uncertainty any longer, he rushed out of the newsroom at lunchtime. He had to see Lilija. He’d look for her at the hospital. If she saw how distraught he was, how he couldn’t live without her, she might relent. He couldn’t live with this anguish.
He ran into the courtyard of the hospital, scanned the names of the wards, and dashed in and out of several entrances, knowing that he probably looked like a madman. Two nurses in white caps and navy capes were crossing the courtyard, but when he asked if they knew where Nurse Olmanis worked, they stared at him and edged away, nudging each other and whispering. He knew that his erratic behaviour was attracting attention, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was finding Lilija.
Claiming to be Lilija’s cousin, he asked the sister behind the reception desk if he could see her for a moment to tell her something important. She gave him a curious look and said, ‘Nurse Olmanis doesn’t work here any more.’
He pleaded with her to tell him where she’d gone but the sister shook her head. ‘I’m sorry but we can’t give out that information. I think you should leave now,’ she added in a stern tone.
He was walking blindly towards the exit when a young nurse ran up to him. ‘I heard you asking for Lily,’ she whispered. ‘You must be Ted. She told me about you.’
He spun towards her, overjoyed.
‘Did you know her father died?’ she said.
He stared at her, too shocked to speak. Many times he had wished that Paulis Olmanis was dead, but the knowledge that his wish had come true, and that he’d been partly responsible for the heart attack that had caused his death, made his knees buckle. He couldn’t pretend to grieve but he felt guilty. Although he knew he wasn’t thinking rationally, he wondered whether he’d underestimated the lethal power of malevolence. With an effort he turned his attention back to the young nurse who was saying something.
‘Lily and her mum decided to move away when he died. She said she didn’t want to stay in that horrible street any more.’
His tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth. ‘Where did she go?’ he rasped. Without realising it, he’d grasped the nurse’s arm and raised his voice. ‘You’ve got to tell me where she is. At least tell me where she’s working.’
The nurse pulled away, and from the way she looked at him, he sensed that she was weighing up how to say something unpleasant. ‘She left the hospital because she didn’t want you to find her.’
Ted stumbled from the grounds of the hospital feeling like a hollow shell. Passers-by turned to look at him as he walked along Macquarie Street with his head down, muttering to himself as his mind churned with recriminations. Near Bridge Street someone grabbed his arm to stop him falling under a bus. Suddenly he gave a bitter laugh. By granting his wish, fate had turned the perpetrator into a victim. Now Paulis Olmanis would never have to answer for his crime.
Chapter 58
Empire Day had come round again, and most of the reporters were hurrying to the Journalists’ Club, but Ted was sitting at his desk, staring at his by-line in the morning paper. His story, headlined THE WAR CRIMINALS AMONG US, was accompanied by a photo of an accusing Anna Vestermanis holding the photograph of her murdered family. The caption read, I’ll never forget his face as long as I live.
Passing his desk, Joe Black noticed Ted’s dejected face. ‘You should be chuffed,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
Ted shrugged. He couldn’t bring himself to rejoice at his hollow victory.
Joe gave him a shrewd look. ‘Here’s a tip straight from Caesar’s mouth. Once you’ve crossed the Rubicon, don’t look back. Just keep going.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Come on, mate, it’s lunchtime. Let’s go and drink a toast to our glorious empire, because if Gus is right, we won’t be celebrating it much longer.’
Gus’s editorial that morning had poured cold water over the fervent patriotism of many readers.
What on earth has happened to the British Empire? he wrote, sounding like an exasperated preacher railing at his wayward congregation. One by one, its members are breaking away. Eire, India and Burma have gone. Ceylon and Malaya will go soon; South Africa calls itself a republic, and Canada is closer to America than to Britain. Only Australia and New Zealand remain, but we’re paying a heavy economic price for our loyalty. Perhaps it’s time to think of our own future. Today Australia is being enriched by an influx of migrants from all over Europe, and their allegiance is to this country, not to England. Instead of celebrating Empire Day, perhaps we should consider celebrating our own nationhood with Australia Day.
Staunch monarchists like Maude McNulty were appalled by what they regarded as Gus’s disloyalty to the King, and conservative readers compared his salvo to the Boston Tea Party, but some Australians, old as well as new, regarded his editorial as visionary.
But there was no mention of any subversive ideas about the end of the empire at the Bondi Junction Primary School that day as the children gathered for assembly in the yard in front of the flag, and recited the pledge in singsong voices: ‘I honour my God, I serve my king, I salute my flag.’
While the headmaster gave a patriotic speech about the significance of Australia’s bond with Britain, which had brought civilisation, progress and justice to people all over the world, the boys fidgeted and pulled faces at the girls who smothered their giggles in their floral handkerchiefs. When the headmaster’s speech was over, they all stood up straight and sang ‘God Save The King’ in solemn voices.
Then the school captain, a girl in Hania’s class, came to the front and recited all the verses of Dorothea MacKellar’s ‘My Country’ without stumbling or making a single mistake, and murmurs of envy and admiration ran through the gathering.
When it was time for the choir to sing ‘Land of Hope and Glory,’ Miss Finlay, the pretty, young music teacher, came out in front of the assembled schoolchildren, held up her baton and waited until all eyes were on her before she brought it down. Standing in the front row of the choir, between Beverley and Tina, Hania looked around for her mother, who caught her eye and waved.
As she sang, Hania felt little jabs of electricity prickling her spine. The singing was a silver thread which drew their voices together and united them all until religion and race, past and present, no longer mattered. Her own voice blended in with all the others, connected and indistinguishable from the whole. Beverley glanced at her friend’s glowing face, reached out and took her hand, and Hania squeezed back.
After school had broken up for the day, the children ran home to prepare for Cracker Night. They took out the fireworks they’d been buying with their pocket money for the past few weeks, collected wood for the bonfire and heaped it in the middle of Wattle Street just as they’d done the year bef
ore.
By the time the first star appeared, the bonfire was crackling and spitting sparks into the sky. As rockets sizzled, Catherine wheels twirled, and tom thumbs exploded, the street resounded with children’s excited voices.
Kath’s boys were shouting and jumping aside as they hurled double bungers onto the ground. Mr Emil was outside, talking to Kath, and they were both watching Meggsie, who was on the other side of the street, talking to Miss McNulty. A few minutes later he hobbled back on his crutches, dragging his legs but grinning as though he’d just won a race.
‘Gee, Mum, Miss McNulty was just telling me about Empire Day when she was at school. Did you know she was once Britannia in the procession?’
Verna Browning, who was standing nearby, smiled to herself. Maude McNulty now had a new audience for her stories.
Ted wasn’t in the mood for celebrating Empire Day, but the shouting and whooping of the children, and the snapping of twigs in the flames, lured him outside, and he stood on the verandah, watching the scene around the bonfire.
Pop Wilson was out there as usual, bantering with the kids and chatting with the adults as he checked that there was enough wood to keep the fire going, and that the children didn’t let their crackers off too close to the flames. Ted wondered if anyone beside himself had noticed that behind his jovial façade, Pop wasn’t his usual light-hearted self. He promised himself that one of these days he’d definitely drop in to Pop’s place for a chat.
He looked out of his front gate in the direction of the house where Lilija used to live. Was it only one year since he had been bewitched? It seemed like a lifetime ago. Now he’d never feel Lilija’s warm body or her soft lips, and he’d never hear her lilting voice whisper that she loved him. The memory of the times they’d spent together made his eyes water, and he took out his handkerchief as though to wipe away a smut that had flown into his eye. His father had been right. Every decision carried a price, but the price of integrity had been too high, and in the end it had all been in vain.
Empire Day Page 37
