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by Larissa Behrendt

  “They were happy enough to let us fight and be killed in the war,” Mark reflected bitterly to Thomas. “But the war won human rights, not rights for our kind.”

  Mark’s activism, his outspokenness, left Thomas feeling anxious. While Mark fought to change anti-homosexual laws, Thomas went to Oxford and earned his doctorate in a study of Attic vases. The ideals of Ancient Greece attracted him. It inspired male values and he preferred this to modem society and its cult of women. In Ancient Greek society, the everyday was ritualistic. Vase paintings told stories about gods and heroes who were greater than mere men.

  Some scholars would write that the glory of the Greeks was tarnished by their treatment of women and their participation in slavery. The Greeks labelled all foreigners as ’barbaric’ and inferior, well-suited to become slaves. Thomas would reason that there is cruelty and barbarity in every society and that the focus on these uglier aspects of the culture took away what he believed to have been the idealistic strengths of Greek society. Certainly there was a trade in women. The female slaves worked as prostitutes. Their abuse was evident from the same pieces of art that Thomas studied. The men who had the power to do so inflicted humiliation upon the women they owned. They would force their slaves into intercourse openly, whenever the mood took them, in the presence of onlookers. These slaves would be tattooed to show their status and savage origins.

  Oscar Wilde once wrote: “For any man of culture to accept the standard of his age is a form of the grossest immorality.” He had also said that whatever is modern in our life, we owe to the Greeks, whatever an anachronism to medievalism. The world owed nothing, Thomas thought, to the savage tribes.

  These sentiments only reinforced Thomas’s feelings about the inferiority of his Aboriginal ancestry and reiterated the sense of shame he knew would attach to it if it were known. His mother would reveal all the lies he had wound around his new life, his new identity. He would remember the link to that dark part of him and the name she had called him. He had now forgotten the word, lost it — Europa? Europe? ’Europe’ comes from a Semitic word that simply means ’darkness’. He had known at the time that the word was a door to other things, a special reminder of someone, of something she had held dear.

  His mother was a woman with her own secrets, her own thoughts and images locked away in her head. He would recall the closeness of their connection together under the stars when she had finally let the walls slip down and had revealed something secret and special to him. She had beckoned to him and he had responded by abandoning her. It was a time when he guarded himself around her as he was coming to terms with his own private thoughts, but he fled with them rather than trust her to share them. She had said to him once that a mother would always know where her child was. He had doubted her at the time but now, he prayed, he hoped, that she had been telling the truth.

  When he would die, at age sixty-five — pilot, expert on Greek antiquities, lover of Mark, eldest brother of five siblings, exile — he would still be ashamed of his secrets. Ashamed of his mother’s Aboriginality, ashamed of his father’s German name and ashamed that his lifelong love was another man. Death came like a releasing kiss, leaving behind an epitaph, which puzzled everyone who saw it, including those who thought they knew him best: There shall be wings. If the accomplishment be not for me, ’tis for some other. — Leonardo da Vinci.

  He did rectify one guilt. He left a large bequest to the Lithgow local library to replace the books he had vandalised during his youth.

  The earth of Thomas’s grave was fresh, but the soil over William’s body had been packed tightly for forty years. Like his older brother, William had joined the armed forces. Aborigines had been enlisting since the beginning of the war despite the formal ban on non-white volunteers. Aboriginal men had gained admission by special authorisation, as fifty ’part-Aborigines’ did in Darwin in 1939. By 1940, ’full-bloods’ were prohibited from signing up; those already enlisted were allowed to stay. But Boards remained confused and recruiting stations signed some ’full-bloods’ up. William signed up this way, in an unsuspecting booth in Queensland. He was to remain while others who had been signed up were discharged.

  William had gone to Egypt with the 17th Battalion. He was in the offensive in Tobruk, one of the ’rats’. The cohesion within his small combat group was devoid of racism. They were united against a common enemy; internal prejudice could prove deadly. The soldiers on the front were far more accepting of the Aborigine than those higher up the chain of command. Senior Army officers seemed adamant that Australian men should not serve with Aborigines because it would undermine morale in the ranks. However, Aborigines were permitted in the RAAF and could hold commissioned ranks. Each of the services developed their own rules for enlisting Aborigines — or not.

  William understood the inequity of being conscripted but not being allowed to vote. He decided that rather than protest about the hypocrisy and demand citizenship rights, he would fight hard, exorcise his rage, and show them all what he was made of. He knew that some were turned away from enlisting, considered ’neither necessary nor desirable’.

  By March 1941, there were no Aboriginal officers, but there were some, like William, serving as corporals and sergeants. Most Aborigines enlisted between mid-1941 and mid-1942. Things had changed after Japan entered the war. William was deployed to New Guinea where he fought along the Kokoda Trail, one of more than 3000 Aborigines who served in the armed service that had not wanted them. In 1944 the Federal Arbitration Court denied Aboriginal pastoral and agricultural workers the award wage. The Aborigines’ Progressive Association demanded the release of all Aboriginal servicemen from the Army. William would have supported them in their anger, but by that time it was too late for him to join their fight.

  He was killed in a battle at Shaggy Ridge, his grave unmarked. In his pocket was a picture of Daisy and a letter he had begun to write to her but never finished.

  Dear Princess,

  I won’t tell you what it is like here, as I hope you will never know the dark things that men are capable of. Sometimes the only thing that gets me through is knowing that you are safe. I remember when you used to ride around on my shoulders. I remember the way you used to laugh …

  23

  1958

  WITHIN THREE SHORT MONTHS of joining the Navy, Bob and four of his friends were court-martialled for gambling. Although they had only been playing poker for pennies, they were hauled through disciplinary proceedings. Bob knew it was going badly for him when their assigned advocate addressed the court by saying, “Your Honour, I think you should throw the book at them.”

  This was the first of many times that Bob and his closest friends, Ernie Gibson, Colin Reid, Geoff Young and Bernie Sinclair, would find themselves relegated to extra duties and marching around the yard. “Being on chooks”, they used to call it as they strutted around the parade yard, marching to the directions of a Petty Officer. Bob trained as a radio operator and was assigned to HMAS Melbourne. Bob had enlisted eighteen months after the Korean war had ended. Being on an aircraft carrier gave him the regimented life he was used to but, even more than in his youth, he was willing to stretch the rules in the name of having fun.

  He was well known for his escapades with Ernie. When they were training in Canberra they had snuck into the women’s barracks to visit a girl that Ernie was keen on. Tracey had to hide them in the lockers when an inspection was called. They were almost caught when Ernie — filled with alcohol and oppressed by the heat in the confined space —vomited. This earned Bob a reputation for being one of the lads, taking orders when he should but still being up for a good time when the opportunity arose. On shore leave, he joined in the social night-time hunts for girls.

  Although he loved dancing to Roy Orbison and taking pretty girls to the movies, Bob was nervous in the company of a woman, especially if he liked her. He had affection for the few women he had fleeting relationships with — Penny Sutton, with her green eyes and throaty voice, Charlotte Carter
with her long legs and wedding band, and Lily Watson of the jet-black hair and pale skin. But most of the women he met were too unlike the soft and sweet Annabel Stewart to make their way into his heart. Annabel Stewart, when she became his friend, had made him feel as though he was as white as everyone else.

  He would provoke the usual male bravado when returning to the ship.

  “Did you get any?” Colin would yell out.

  “No. And I wouldn’t tell you bastards if I did, anyway,” was Bob’s standard reply.

  Bob was always careful to try not to look too clever in front of his friends, a trick he had learnt when trying to win favour with his pals in the home. He loved reading, but would tell his friends he only did it because he had trouble falling asleep; although his buddies did not believe him, they let him be. Within the regimented life of the Navy he found a way to fit in, to be like everyone else. It reminded him of a line that Rudyard Kipling had written in ’Gunga Din’:

  An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide

  ’E was white, clear white inside

  That was him: White, clear white inside — as white as everyone else. “Don’t rock the boat, even if you’re in the Navy” was his tongue-in-cheek motto. When he looked around, Bob could see there were men who did not fit in, who could not control their tempers or were too awkward — lonely figures who reminded him of Danny. And there was one man who spent all his spare time answering the pile of letters that came for him every week until it was discovered that he sent them to himself.

  His shore leave in Sydney was always spent with Patricia. When she was still living in the terrace house with Danny, he would visit with presents for her and Danny from his travels around the Pacific and Asia. Patricia would be delighted with each gift.

  “You shouldn’t have,” she would say as she studied fabric, fluttered fans or opened bottles of perfume. “You should be saving your money for yourself.”

  Danny was absent from the house more often than he was there, and often Bob would leave without seeing him.

  “He’s just not able to keep a job,” Patricia said forlornly. “It’s not the money so much now because I’m being paid more and there is plenty of room here for me and Danny. I’ve even started to redecorate, to make it seem more cheery.” Patricia swept her hand in the direction of the new lavender curtains and matching pillows she had made. She sighed. “More and more of Danny’s time is spent with his friends from Redfern and they aren’t the sort of people I want him running around the streets with at night. He’s gone for days at a time and when he does come home, he sleeps all day.”

  Patricia did not tell Bob that sometimes Danny would steal money from her purse while other times he would be flush with funds. When she refused the money he offered her, Danny would sneak some crumpled, dirty notes into her handbag.

  “When I try to talk to him about it, he tells me to mind my own business. But I’m the closest thing to a mother he has and if it’s anyone’s business, then surely it’s mine,” Patricia said, as she and Bob lay side by side on her bed, a warm breeze floating in through the open window.

  “Well, I can’t see what more you could do for him,” Bob would say to comfort her. “He has everything here. Danny’s just never happy. He wasn’t happy in the home and he isn’t happy out of it.”

  “Bob,” Patricia would chide, “You’re too harsh on him. He was in that home for a long time on his own. Almost ten years. That’s a long time for a little boy, almost his whole life. He probably can’t even remember what our life was like before then.”

  “You’re too kind-hearted,” Bob said softly, patting her lightly on the hand.

  “That’s what Daisy would say,” Patricia said wryly.

  “Still no word from her?”

  “No.” She paused as a tear formed in the corner of her eye. “I just hope she’s alright. I worry about her so much. She’s so young and pretty, and although she likes to talk as though she’s tough, she’s really very gentle.”

  “As gentle as a snake,” Bob said.

  When Bob returned to celebrate his twenty-first birthday, a red-eyed Patricia told him that Danny had disappeared. He’d taken a job as a kitchen hand in an Italian restaurant, and had been working there for less than a month when he vanished one night along with the evening’s takings. Patricia had gone to the restaurant when Danny had not returned home and found the enraged owner, Pasquale Tramino, about to call the police. She pleaded with him not to press criminal charges and had been so upset that he calmed down and tried to console her. He had since been to call on her several times.

  Bob travelled to places that he had seen on the map at school — borders coloured in as though the soil were pastel-pink or lime-green. When he travelled to New Guinea, he read about the war that had started when he was born, a war in which he had lost two brothers. When he travelled to Singapore and Japan, he read about their history and geography. He was overwhelmed by how polite the Japanese were to him and his fellow sailors, even apologising for the war.

  “Domo Aragato,” thank you, they would say to him and his pals as they walked through the narrow shop-lined streets in their bell-bottomed pants and white sailor hats, Bob buying jade and a carved wooden box for Patricia.

  He was treated as an Australian, as a victor, one who had fought on the side of good, not like those Aborigines who had resisted the explorers. Bob felt he was, this time, on the side that was fighting for progress and democracy.

  The man stands behind the fire. His face is black but marked with white paint. He holds out his hand to Bob. He stares at Bob. He motions with his hand for Bob to follow. Bob starts to move towards him, frightened but knowing that he must obey the old man. As he tries to step towards the beckoning hand, the flames begin to engulf him.

  Bob woke, sitting upright, after the recurring dream. Each time it left him with a feeling of terror. No matter where he travelled, the dream would follow him.

  Patricia married Pasquale Tramino in a small ceremony in Madelaine du Point’s garden. It was the first time Patricia had been to the house; she thought it the grandest residence she had ever seen. Madelaine arranged for a caterer, decorated her yard with white lilies and had fitted Patricia’s dress: ivory satin with scalloped lace sleeves and an ivory train. Patricia would not have spent her own money on such extravagance. Even though Madelaine paid her more and she did not have anyone but herself to support, her frugality through the years when she struggled to feed and clothe Daisy, Bob and Danny made it hard for her to spend money on something frivolous like flowers and fancy food. Madelaine, however, was used to spending money on luxuries and took charge.

  “I have no daughter. You are the closest thing I have to that,” she said matter-of-factly, and proceeded to organise the entire event to her own taste. Patricia didn’t mind that she didn’t seem to have much choice in the details. She enjoyed seeing Madelaine so animated and merrily preoccupied. At least, Patricia thought to herself with a smile, I got to pick the groom. She also persuaded Pasquale to have Bob as his best man. Patricia thought of her mother and her brothers and sisters as she walked down Madelaine’s path to exchange her vows, allowing herself that one moment of sadness before the joy of the wedding.

  Bob was happy for his sister. So long she had seemed to devote too much energy to a family that kept slipping through her hands like water. And Bob liked Pasquale, who had arrived in Australia after the war and worked hard to start his restaurant in East Sydney. Bob loved eating in his little restaurant that was frequented by a regular band of good-hu-moured Italians, mostly workers from the wharves at Woolloomooloo, who would sit all evening drinking coffee as though they had no other place to go.

  Patricia would work for Madelaine during the day and at three in the afternoon would leave to walk down Crown Street and over Oxford Street, to help Pasquale with his restaurant. She had negotiated a higher wage along with fewer hours with Madelaine and dedicated most of her time to designing and directing the younger seamstresses. Madelaine now had a
staff of ten, and although she would still not let Patricia deal with the clients, there was little else in which Madelaine did not involve her.

  Between the extra income she was now bringing in from Madelaine and her husband’s increasingly profitable restaurant, Patricia and Pasquale were able to afford a modest little house in East Sydney, near the restaurant. Finally Patricia had a home of her own, something she would never have dreamed of if she had not met and agreed to marry Pasquale.

  “I got what most girls dream of — a husband and a home — but I do not have what most girls take for granted: a family,” she told Bob one day. Now, instead of lying on the bed they sat talking; they sat at Patricia’s kitchen table and confided in each other.

  It was after Patricia became pregnant with her first child that she answered a knock on the door to find Daisy standing before her, in expensive clothes and with two large suitcases in her hands.

  “I have nowhere else to go,” she said. “And if you ask me where I’ve been I’ll leave now and never come back.”

  Bob warned Patricia to be careful.

  “How can you say such things? She’s my sister. Our sister.”

  “You do not even know where she has been all these years, what she has been up to, what she has done, who she’s been with.”

  “She’ll tell me when she’s ready. We can’t know what she suffered in the home.”

  “I was there too, remember.”

  “I know. I remember,” she said, patting his arm. “But you are much stronger than she is.”

  Before he could interject Patricia continued: “Bob, I’m so happy she’s here. I’ve missed her so much and here she is, back again, and me about to have a baby. It’s just as though we are going to start to be a family again.”