Gallipoli Street

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  ‘Can we keep the land?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said and she breathed a sigh of relief, ‘but not much else. The cars will have to go. I’m…I’m so sorry…if I’d only known…my mind hasn’t been on the job, I know…’

  ‘No. We’re not doing this.’ She gripped his hand tighter. ‘Stop blaming yourself. You said the New York market? It appears to me that it was a much bigger problem than anything you could have controlled.’

  ‘Yes, well, everyone is in the same boat. Those poor buggers out there won’t know what hit them. It’s going to be a huge mess,’ he admitted.

  ‘So, the way I see it, you did exactly what everyone else would have done and it was certainly not your fault.’

  He looked across at her, her chin jutting out, loyalty in every word, and he shook his head. ‘How can you stand by me, Vera?’

  ‘Because I love you, remember? And you know I mean it. I’m a terrible liar.’ She managed a smile.

  ‘But I’m a failure, on top of everything else…both of our families stand to lose the lot. Because of me.’ His head fell into his hand as he rubbed at his drawn face, the lines stark against his skin. For a man in his thirties he looked far beyond his years. But all she saw was suffering.

  ‘No. Because the stock market crashed. You are not to blame so stop this nonsense right now, Jack Murphy. It is not your fault, do you hear me?’ She turned his face towards her and stroked back his still thick dark hair, now flecked with grey. ‘You can do this. We can do this. We’ll…we’ll eat rabbit and wild honey, pick the apples and milk the cow. I’ll be right beside you all the way. I’m not afraid to work hard, Jack, and I can live without servants and fancy cars…but I can’t live without you, do you understand?’

  He shook his head. ‘You’re all better off without me… I wish I’d ended up dead and buried…’

  Veronica slammed her hand against the dashboard. ‘Don’t you dare! Don’t you even say it! To think of all my prayers! And all those men who didn’t make it and would have given anything to have what you have now. What is it you can’t bear? Is it me? The children? What is so terrible about this life we’ve given you? Is there someone else? Don’t you…don’t you love us? For God’s sake, Jack, just tell me. There’s nothing else to lose now.’

  ‘Of course there’s no one else. It isn’t because of you and the kids, how could it be…?’ He stopped and she waited, unwilling to let it go. Not this time.

  ‘Just tell me what it is then!’ she said again.

  ‘But I…’

  ‘Just bloody talk, Jack!’

  He stared at her in surprise. ‘I…I wanted to tell you…there were things that happened, things that if you knew I’m afraid you couldn’t possibly love me anymore,’ he said falteringly.

  ‘It’s impossible for me not to love you, you bloody idiot of a man. Go on.’

  The words were coming reluctantly, but he was actually forcing himself onwards. Veronica felt like she was pulling in a prize fish that was only just on the hook.

  ‘I was there a long time, you know. I…I killed a lot of men and their faces became nothing to me somehow. I stopped caring. But now I can’t stop seeing them…especially their eyes as the life…left them…and…and I can’t understand how I did those things. Some of the stuff I saw. Tom…when I saw what they did,’ he choked, forcing himself on, ‘…it…it made me so angry. After that I…I wanted to kill them. I wanted to kill, do you hear me? Do you love that man?’

  His eyes were red and his face twisted in agony, but she blessed his bravery as he fought his way out against the greatest enemy he had ever faced: his own guilt.

  ‘More than ever.’ The tears began to fall and she smiled through them as he reached up and touched one.

  ‘I’m damned, Vera. A condemned man before God. Thou shalt not kill, remember? I’m not fit to walk along the street and pretend to be anything else. I’m…unworthy to live with good people, especially you. I love you so much…and the children. How can I be a husband and father to innocents when I am a monster? A murderer?’ He forced the last.

  ‘You’re not the monster.’ She shook her head. ‘War is the monster. Do you think I didn’t hate when they killed our Tom,’ she held back a sob at the thought of him in torment, ‘and I saw Mick and Iggy maimed and…and Clarkson? They shot my cousin dead, leaving my best friend a widow! Do you think I didn’t want to pick up a sword when I saw what they did to all of those young bodies in the hospitals? I hated them too. I wanted to kill too.’ She said it slowly, emphasising every word. ‘We are human,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘God knows that. What, did you think I didn’t know what you had to do and what you must have felt? For pity’s sake, what do you think I was doing over there? Dabbing at paper cuts? I’ll wager I saw more death than you! And just because I didn’t wield the swords or shoot the guns doesn’t mean I was any the less responsible. Your country sent you to war to kill. It sent me to war to stitch them back up. Let’s face it, I probably killed more men than you by helping save them then sending them back!’

  He shook his head. ‘But it was at my hands. I killed. Me.’

  She thought about that for a moment. ‘Well, you might have been the hands but the government was the brain…and the people…well, they were probably the heart and everyone else…I don’t know, parts of the whole body. We all killed. The war made anything else impossible. Kill or be killed. War forces us to commit murder, to stop it coming here. War makes us hate and enjoy revenge. But don’t give war this. Don’t give them us.’

  ‘But I still did it…’

  ‘Yes. You did. But your only other choice was to die.’

  ‘But I wanted to kill them…’

  ‘How could you not, after what you went through?’

  Jack was silent for a moment, staring at the windshield as the rain blurred the outside world. ‘So what does that make me?’

  She searched for the right word, finding it suddenly. ‘A survivor.’

  ‘I don’t deserve to have survived…’

  Veronica kissed his fingers, shaking her head. ‘Remember when you asked me to marry you? When you said I deserved to have children and grandchildren and be loved?’ She moved into his arms, holding her ear close to his chest. ‘That’s how I feel about you. You do deserve survival. You do,’ she squeezed him as close to her as she could. ‘Just because you had to kill doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to live. Please, Jack. Please. Come back to me.’

  His heart beat strongly against her and she heard the words reverberate as he finally spoke. ‘But we’ll have nothing.’

  She raised her face to his. ‘Do you really believe that?’

  He stared into her eyes and she saw the answer dawn. Jack stroked back her hair, shaking his head. ‘No.’

  ‘No,’ she confirmed, loving him. She smiled and finally, beautifully, he smiled back and leant forward, kissing her tenderly.

  The weather pelted against the soon-to-be-sold car as they made love in it for the first and last time, and afterwards, as Veronica ran back up to the house to check on James, Jack opened the car door and stood, stretching his arms out to the rain. They had lost everything, and in doing so he had found himself forced to the cliff’s very edge. No more pretending. Time to fall or jump. So he’d jumped, and somehow he was free. Not perfect, not without scars, but the truth had been released and the most beautiful soul in the world accepted it. And if she could, maybe he could too.

  Jack went into his mind and visited the room. The door was wide open and for the first time, he let it be.

  Part Five

  Thirty-four

  St Reuben’s Convent, country New South Wales, March 1937

  They ran across the gardens, their long uniforms flapping awkwardly as they crunched through the leaves of the liquid amber trees outside the convent.

  ‘Come on,’ Theresa panted, taking the stairs two at a time, urging Missy onwards. Mother Superior didn’t tolerate tardiness.

  They arrived outside her office and stra
ightened their uniforms and hair, composing themselves before knocking. Theresa was nervous. Nothing good ever came from being summoned by Mother Superior.

  ‘Enter,’ said the much-feared voice.

  Missy raised worried eyes to Theresa, who took her hand briefly, squeezing it. ‘We’ll be all right,’ she whispered, letting go to push into the room. Missy followed her.

  Mother Superior sat behind the large desk, looking up at them from beneath her spectacles, her watery eyes pinning them. Theresa felt as if she were ten years old and about to get into trouble for stealing plums from next door’s tree and shifted nervously, feeling the tension emanating from Missy, who stood stiffly beside her.

  ‘Sit,’ ordered the nun and they did so automatically, perching themselves on the edges of the hard wooden chairs. She watched them for a moment before firing a question. ‘You’ve finished the night shift, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ Theresa said. ‘Just now.’

  Mother Superior shifted her gaze to Missy. ‘You were late.’

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ Missy said, looking to Theresa for help. ‘The matron wanted us to–’

  ‘Do not blame others for your mistakes, Bernadette. Contrition and a constant focus on improving oneself is all that God asks.’

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ said Missy, squirming.

  They waited as the nun tapped her fingers against some paperwork in front of her and Theresa tried to make out the words upside down.

  ‘I have good news for you two girls,’ Mother Superior said suddenly, flashing a smile so small and brief they thought they’d imagined it. ‘I’ve had word from the bishop and he has agreed to allow you both a rare and exciting opportunity. Two posts have become available with Father Burnett, who as you know is working in the Congo as a missionary with some of our sisters. You’re familiar with his regular reports in the Parish News?’ They nodded and Theresa had a sinking feeling.

  ‘Father O’Brien and I have managed to pull a few strings and, as soon as you take your vows of course, you are granted permission to join them. I know this is sudden but I’m sure you’ll feel enormous relief that the good Lord has provided for you.’ Her voice prattled on as she went through the details of their entry into the order and they listened in silence, hardly believing what they heard until finally she asked them a question, rousing them out of their shock. ‘What names will you be taking?’

  ‘Names?’ Missy echoed.

  ‘Yes, girl, you’ll need to consider which name you will adopt. Here, take my book of saints with you. You can decide that later. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’ve been blessed in this way. Goodness knows I didn’t know what would become of you at this age, but there you are. A good lesson in trusting God will provide. Do you have any questions?’

  ‘No, Mother Superior,’ they both murmured automatically before finding themselves excused.

  Walking back down the stairs and out into the fresh air, Missy turned to Theresa, her emotions erupting.

  ‘Nuns? I don’t want to be a nun! And in the jungle? With the leeches? Oh God…Theresa, why are they making us do this?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose they think we’re spinsters now at the grand old age of twenty-two,’ she said, kicking at the leaves as they walked. ‘They probably figure if we’re not going to fulfil our Christian duty as mothers and wives, we need to serve God elsewhere.’

  ‘It’s not our fault! How were we ever supposed to meet anybody here?’

  Theresa couldn’t have agreed more. The country town they lived in only had a limited number of eligible bachelors and most of them had been snapped up by girls with ‘family’. Poor orphan girls were not marriage material. Of course that hadn’t stopped the boys pursuing them for other reasons and Theresa had had to drag Missy out of precarious situations on more than one occasion. Somehow the time had come and gone and their opportunity for husbands with it.

  ‘There must be a way out of this.’ Theresa furrowed her brow, thinking hard.

  ‘Let’s run away! They can’t make us live in the Congo. It’s…it’s undemocratic!’

  Theresa gave a little snort of laughter. Missy really should be on stage, as she so dearly wished to be; she was very dramatic. ‘Of course, but without any money how are we going to go anywhere? And if we refuse we may lose our places at the hospital as well. Then what? Live on the street?’

  Missy began to cry, wailing about giant snakes and cannibals until they reached their dorm rooms in the hospital. Theresa tried to comfort her.

  ‘There, there, Missy,’ she soothed, ‘I’ll figure something out. There must be a way.’ Missy threw herself on the bed and Theresa watched her thoughtfully. She was the closest person to her in the whole world, their fates having collided the day Missy arrived at St Reuben’s at the age of eight, having lost both parents to illness in the space of a month. Small and frightened, Missy had latched on to Theresa who was strong, resourceful and, for some reason, immediately protective of this new girl. She wouldn’t allow anyone else to hold Missy when she cried or say unkind words about her skinny frame and boggled eyes.

  Looking at her now, it was hard to imagine that the scrap of a girl was the same person. Bernadette ‘Missy’ Garcia had blossomed into a shapely woman with glossy brown curls, and her enormous brown eyes had lost their stricken appearance and were now her greatest feature. Theresa knew she would be a hit on stage, if only she had the chance.

  She strengthened her resolve. Theresa had never let anyone take advantage of Missy if she could prevent it and she wasn’t about to let that change now.

  She worked through the situation over and again in her head, knowing she would have to use all of her wits and strength to battle the mighty force that was the Catholic Church in this town. Most of the townspeople paid more mind to Father O’Brien and Mother Superior than to the politicians or the police. It would be a difficult task indeed to gain sympathy or quarter. No, their only hope was escape, but how to do it on their paltry nurses wages, most of which the Church found ways of filtering back to their coffers?

  ‘We need money,’ she said decisively. ‘Come on: let’s think. What are we good at? You can sing…’

  ‘Maybe we could join the circus,’ Missy mumbled into the pillow.

  A knock came to their door and Theresa opened it. ‘Sister Carmel,’ she said in surprise.

  ‘Good morning, Theresa, Bernadette. I wonder if I might have a moment?’ said the elderly nun, her face a pattern of wrinkles in its white habit frame.

  ‘Of course,’ Theresa said, standing back to allow her in.

  She stood in the small room, taking in the austere furnishings that Theresa had tried to soften with bright crocheted blankets and the watercolours Missy had produced over the years.

  ‘It’s a cosy little nest you’ve made here, isn’t it?’ She smiled at Theresa, the lines around her bespectacled eyes falling into rows from the many thousands of such smiles she had bestowed during her life. Theresa couldn’t help but return it. This nun was the only one who had ever shown them true kindness during their harsh upbringing. She and Missy had always adored her, and had missed her since she’d retired.

  ‘Please, Sister, have a seat,’ Missy said, settling her gently into a chair by the windowsill.

  Sister Carmel thanked her and looked out at the hospital wall opposite.

  ‘A pity the wall sits here but I see the good Lord has blessed you with a rhododendron tree. Must be lovely for you in spring.’

  ‘Yes, we look forward to it each year,’ Theresa said, nodding towards the thick green leaves that relieved their bland view and wondering at the timing of Sister Carmel’s arrival.

  ‘I’ve heard of your commissions,’ Sister Carmel said, turning back towards them, confirming Theresa’s suspicions. Their old friend didn’t leave the convent very often anymore, so she’d known there would be a particular reason for this visit. ‘And what do you make of it?’ Her still-shrewd eyes were on Missy.

  ‘I am…That is to sa
y I feel…it is probably my duty, I suppose. To do God’s work,’ Missy hedged. ‘If I must fight through the jungle for the Lord then I suppose that’s my calling.’

  Sister Carmel’s eyes twinkled at her. ‘I don’t believe you actually have to become a female Tarzan, my dear,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen him at the pictures,’ she confided. ‘Quite entertaining, I must say, but hardly what this work would involve. It will be more teaching and nursing work and the like. The villages are very primitive but quite settled. Terribly hot though, I hear say,’ she nodded, fanning her face at the thought. ‘But there’s a bit more to it than that, isn’t there, my dears?’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  ‘Do you feel ready to take your vows and become a bride of Christ?’

  Both girls stared at her and Missy finally blurted out the truth. ‘No. I mean, no offence, sister, but I…I don’t.’

  Sister Carmel nodded slowly. ‘And you, Theresa?’

  ‘Nor I, Sister. It is not what I would choose,’ she replied honestly.

  The old nun looked down to her pocket and slowly took out a letter.

  ‘I wrote this to you, then I decided I’d really rather come and see you myself to explain…’ She paused, holding the envelope in her lap and seeming to search for words. ‘I know you won’t mind me telling you this in front of Missy, Theresa. Heaven knows you would run and tell her what I’m about to say anyway. Never could keep you two apart.’

  Theresa stared at the letter then back at the nun.

  ‘When you take your vows you give up your claims to all your worldly possessions, child and…well, I’m not sure if anyone has ever told you that you had quite a few things when you came to us.’

  ‘Things?’ Theresa repeated.

  ‘Yes. The clothes were given away but there were other objects you may not be…keen to give up easily. Father O’Brien has them safely locked up, and I’m sure he will tell you about them before the ceremony, but I’m afraid you will feel that by then it is too late to change your mind.’