The Penance Room

by Carol Coffey

  “What about some curls?” she asks as she brandishes an unusual electric rod at Penelope who jumps back slightly. She is always frightened by anything new.

  “Oh no, Daddy doesn’t like silliness,” she says nervously.

  Greta is not deterred easily and moves closer to whisper into Penelope’s ear.

  “But Daddy’s not ’ere, is he?” she smiles mischievously.

  “Not yet,” Penelope says in her army voice, “but he’s coming today and we need to be shipshape.”

  Greta looks sadly at Penelope and touches her arm. “It’s Henry who’s coming today, Penelope – your nephew – and I’m sure he’d love to see your hair done nicely.”

  Penelope starts talking to herself and Greta admits defeat.

  “Okay, love, not to worry. Maybe next time?”

  Penelope nods and checks her appearance in the mirror. She is wearing her usual blue floral dress that makes her look older than her years, and her hair which is almost grey is cut in an awkward bob. A long string of worn pearls hang loosely over her thin frame. She straightens her dress out and Greta looks at her long thin fingers.

  “You’d have made a good piano player.”

  “I played the piano in the evening for Daddy,” she says flatly.

  “Did you enjoy it?” Greta asks. “I’d love to be able to play.”

  “I wanted to play different music,” she says with dull eyes.

  “What kind of music?”

  Penelope flushes and looks around her as if her father is listening. She giggles suddenly like a young girl and puts her hand over her mouth. Greta instantly reaches forward and gently moves Penelope’s hand down.

  “There’s no need to be afraid. You can say anything to me.”

  I watch Penelope look closely at Greta as though she is deciding if she can trust her.

  “You won’t tell Daddy or the other servants? They do tell on me, you know.”

  “I won’t tell,” Greta promises.

  “Jazz,” she giggles.

  Greta laughs loudly. “I can think of worse. I don’t like to consider myself out of touch but you should hear the stuff the kids listen to these days. You know, we could get you some jazz music.”

  Penelope shakes her head. She has been in trouble for this before. “My brother brought me some music sheets from London but Daddy found them and made Henry take them back. He threw poor Henry out even though it was raining and he wouldn’t let our driver take him to the station.”

  Greta smiles sadly. “That was a long time ago, Penelope, when you were a girl. You are a woman now and you make your own decisions.”

  Penelope doesn’t answer.

  “Have you ever played Emma’s old piano in the dining room?”

  Penelope shakes her head.

  “Well, we shall have to see to that,” Greta says. “Now, let’s go downstairs. Your handsome nephew will be here soon.”

  I follow the women downstairs and I can see my father talking with Wilfred in the garden. My mother’s new dog is sitting beside them and it has taken a dislike to me. My mother once said that dogs sense your fear so you have to show them that you are not afraid, but even thinking about this makes me scared so, while I decide to follow them out, I sit on my swing at the side of the garden and watch them talk. Today is my father’s day off and I know he wishes my mother didn’t have to work last night and could spend the day with him. When I read their lips I realise that they are talking about Steve.

  Wilfred is shaking his head and my father is leaning in towards him.

  “I never tell anyone what happened, Andy. Never. No one would want to hear my story, believe me.”

  “I know you, Wilfred, and I have no doubt that you were as much a victim as Mina. I know you lost as much as she did.”

  Wilfred shakes his head. “Her country didn’t start the war.”

  “I know, but you said you never wanted to be a soldier so this will give you a chance to tell people what happened.”

  Wilfred looks at the ground and I am afraid I will not be able to read his reply. He is the person I most want to save. He is the person who needs to tell his story most. But he raises his head suddenly and looks my father in the eye.

  “Andy, you are my friend and I always thank you but you don’t know who I am or what I have done. I cannot say it.”

  My father nods and looks toward the sky. He knows it is best to change the subject.

  “Looks like another hot one. Fancy a beer?”

  Wilfred nods. “Your wife, she must be sleeping!” he jokes.

  “Yes, but my sister-in-law is here and she’s worse. I’ll have to sneak in,” my father replies laughing.

  The dog takes an interest in me and starts to growl as my father passes so I slink back and follow him inside. Iren’s sedative has not worked and she is shouting so loud that Henry Miller, who has just arrived, cannot hear his aunts talking to him. Greta approaches her and gently raises her to her feet and coaxes her to the kitchen. Mina is seated at the large wooden table and is reading through the pastry books that Li uses and is tut-tutting. Greta looks at Li who raises her eyes briefly up to heaven but smiles anyway. She is determined to get on with Mina.

  “Just getting Iren a coffee,” Greta explains to Li but Mina thinks she is talking to her.

  “Yes, that’s fine. I’m not busy right now,” she replies.

  Iren sits and the coffee and cake in front of her quietens her for a while. Mr Berman will visit tomorrow but today she will have no visitors so the staff know that it will be a long day for both themselves and her.

  “What’s for lunch today, ladies?” Greta asks but the two begin to speak together and Li stops to give Mina the floor.

  “I decided on chicken with roast vegetables followed by my own recipe for chocolate cake and ice cream.”

  “Delicious!” Greta replies, looking at Li who is not sure how to handle the situation.

  “Are you making it all yourself?” Greta asks her.

  Mina purses her lips for a moment. “No. I am the baker but the other cook is better at the food,” she acknowledges.

  “The other cook?” Greta asks mischievously.

  “Yes,” Mina replies. “This is Li and she says she is not from Japan.”

  Greta smiles broadly at Li who is pretending to look for something in the cupboard. I can see a smile in the corner of her mouth and know that she feels things are moving in the right direction.

  “And even if she were Japanese, it wouldn’t be a bad thing,” Greta says but Mina ignores her and flips over a page, peering closely at a picture of a cake.

  When I leave the kitchen, I notice that Aishling is up and although she is not working today, she is sitting in the Penance Room looking at Father Hayes who is smiling back at her.

  “Kora?” she says to my aunt who is staring out the window, watching my father and Wilfred drinking beer. “I was just thinking, poor Father Hayes wouldn’t be able to tell Steve his life story. You know, how he came to be here. But I wrote recently to the family of this Deirdre that he talks about to see if they can tell us what happened. It would be great if they replied now. She might be still alive.”

  “How did you know how to find her family?” Kora asks.

  “I know the village he’s from. She seems to have been from the same place. Her last name was McGonigle I think though I couldn’t get him to confirm that. I hope its right.”

  Aishling stands up and moves closer to Father Hayes until she is only inches away from his face. His eyesight is poor and his hearing is not good.

  “Father Hayes. Was it Deirdre McGonigle from Mount Tubber?”

  A huge smile spreads across the priest’s face and he nods.

  “Deirdre, a stór,” he says, smiling at Aishling.

  Aishling kisses him on the cheek and he grins like a sheepish schoolboy. I wonder if this is what I looked like to her when she kissed me one day after I fell off the swing. I was only five then so if I did smile like that, she wouldn’t h
old it against me now.

  As Aishling returns to her seat, Kora decides to ask her about her date. I want to leave the room but I am stuck to the chair.

  “Well, how was it?”

  Aishling smiles and raises her thick eyebrows. “He’s different, you know, not like other men. It’s hard to put words to it but it’s like . . . it’s like he sees right through you and accepts you as you are . . . you know?”

  Kora nods and is showing her white teeth through one of her rare smiles. I decide I have heard enough and jump off my chair, making it bang hard off the wall and startling the love-struck women who are old enough to know better. I open the screen door and peer around to make sure the dog is not around. I look down the street. It is twelve o’clock and not the right time of day to go outside but I am bored and lunch will not be ready for ages.

  I walk down the street and make my way to Maria’s house. I want to cross the tracks to build up my courage but at the last minute I walk straight across the highway junction and take the long way there. There is no one around and everywhere blinds and shutters are pulled to block out the midday sun. I look at my arms and notice that they are unusually pale. I was lucky to inherit my mother’s skin which tans easily and not my dad’s Scottish skin which burns and peels even on a sunny winter’s day. I squint at the heat rising up off the tarmac and push forward towards my only friend’s house.

  When I get there Maria is not sitting on the corner but is seated at the back of her house in the shade of the garden. There are two smaller children playing in a sandpit with a green awning protecting them from the sun.

  “Who are they?” I ask her.

  “My brothers,” she says without looking up.

  I sit down beside her and wipe the sweat off my forehead. I decide not to take my shoes off as I don’t want Maria’s family looking at my half foot.

  “I didn’t know you had any brothers. Why don’t you want to live with them?” I ask.

  Maria has her usual sad expression and I wonder if she ever really smiles.

  “I wanted to stay here with my pop,” she says.

  I don’t need to hear the tone of her voice to know that she doesn’t want me to ask any more questions.

  I also decide not to ask where her grandfather will be moving to. I can see people moving in the kitchen, a tall dark-haired man and woman speaking fast and waving their hands around much like Tina who is also Italian. I can smell food being cooked and my mouth waters. The screen door opens and Mrs Moretti storms out of the back door with two small ice lollies for her two younger children. She leaves them on a plate and walks back inside. Maria’s head lowers and she scowls. I wonder if she doesn’t like her mother but I am afraid to ask.

  We walk together to the park where we will find shade in the bandstand. I tell Maria about my conversation with Martin last night but not using my voice as I don’t like to do that for very long. I have taught her to understand a few signs but mostly I write her notes. I tell her how I think I am saving Martin from becoming an unhappy ghost when he dies but Maria crosses her arms and says she doesn’t want to talk about ghosts, so I change the subject and tell her about Steve and the good he is doing in the nursing home. I leave out the part about him asking Aishling out on a date as I know my face will blush and I don’t want this. When the heat gets the better of us we take off our shoes and paddle in the pond. There is no one around so I am free to bare my stump and enjoy the feel of the cool water moving back and forward over my swollen feet. I notice that Maria’s feet are tiny and that she has pretty nail varnish on her tanned toes. I think about kissing her and although I know my face is red, I lean in and move my lips towards hers. I don’t close my eyes because I depend on my sight to tell me what is going on. She folds her arms again and frowns at me.

  “I’ll kiss you if you never mention ghosts to me again,” she says with a tight mouth.

  I agree and wonder if she is worried about what will happen to her when her grandfather dies or if it’s because she is a Catholic. I know that they are not supposed to believe in such things. I lean towards her again and she closes her eyes. I can see her long dark eyelashes fluttering on her olive skin and think she is even more beautiful than Aishling right now. When our lips meet she moves away quickly so my first real kiss is over before I have a chance to remember what it was like. She stands up and pats her feet dry on the grass. I follow her through the park and think of asking about her parents. I take out my writing pad.

  “You look like your mother,” I write, trying to introduce the subject but she shrugs and keeps walking.

  “She’s pretty – I mean, for an old woman I guess,” I write. I know I am not doing a good job of this and consider changing the subject. I start a new page and begin to scribble when she touches my arm to make me look at her.

  “She’s not old. She might be having another baby. I heard them talking,” she says. She turns away from me quickly but I can see tears in her eyes.

  “Don’t you want another brother or sister?” I write.

  “I don’t want a sister. I am here and they might forget me if they have a girl.”

  “They won’t forget you. They still come here, don’t they? And, you could always go and stay with them even though I wouldn’t like it. I wouldn’t like to be so far from you . . .”

  “I want them to come back here and build a house where our old house used to be. They – they’re trying to talk Pop into going to Sydney so they can care for him . . . they were fighting about it.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said no. He said he couldn’t leave Broken Hill. He said since he left his village in Italy, he never lived anywhere except here.”

  “Why can’t they come back here?”

  Maria kicks some sand and shrugs her shoulders. “My dad said there are too many bad memories here.”

  “Like what?” I write quickly.

  “Do you have to ask so many questions with that stupid notebook?” she says. She moves towards me and rips the sheet of paper from my hand, tearing it into tiny shreds and throwing it on the grass beneath us.

  I have never seen her angry before and I can feel tears in my eyes. Maria is my only friend now and I cannot afford to lose her.

  “I’m sorry,” I sign and for the first time she signs back. She doesn’t look directly at me but her large brown eyes sneak a quick, guilty glance my way.

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry for shouting and, Christopher, you don’t need your notebook. I understand everything you say.”

  “You can understand sign?” I ask and she nods.

  I want to ask her how, and why she hadn’t told me before, but it suddenly doesn’t seem to matter.

  “Come on,” she says. “My grandfather will be worried about me.”

  I follow her and by the time we arrive at her house, her parents’ car is gone and her grandfather is sitting outside the closed shop alone, peering into the distance. She stops and looks at me. I can see the disappointment in her face.

  “They’ll be back in a few weeks when the shop sells,” she says as she walks away.

  When I finally move down her street, I see her standing beside her grandfather, patting his arm. He doesn’t look at her but instead gazes at the empty space across the road, lost in his thoughts. I know she is speaking Italian because I cannot read what her lips are saying. I walk towards home and hope that I am not too late for lunch.

  Chapter 15

  The following morning, Steve arrives early and I can see that he is disappointed that Aishling has already gone to bed. I feel a little satisfied by this but instantly feel guilty. My mother has tried to teach me what her father taught her but I fear that most of it is wasted on me. I have not read much of the Bible and prefer books on history, which my mother said only teaches me about the world’s mistakes.

  We are all surprised when Jimmy insists that he is next to tell his story and shouts that his story is as good as any foreigner’s. I can see Kora sitting on the other side of t
he room with pursed lips. She is close to Iren who spent the whole night shouting for her husband. I am a little disappointed as I was hoping that Wilfred would tell his story, which might release him from the awful memories he lives with, memories that I know often keep him from his dreams. Jana Soldo is here as her daughter is back at work and will collect her mother after four o’clock. We will not be hearing Jana’s story as her daughter has refused her consent. Dora believes that it will do no good to raise a past that her mother tried hard to leave behind. Martin asks to return to his room. He doesn’t want to listen to Jimmy but my mother pleads with him to stay and gives him the newspaper to read in the corner.

  Steve turns the tape recorder on and Jimmy starts to speak. Like Mina, he has never done this before and thinks he has to lean forward so that the machine can record his voice. I know that he is worried about his slurred speech and that he hopes Steve will understand him.

  “My name’s James Young and I was born in the outback in 1902. That would make me . . . em . . . I’m seventy years old now and I’ve lived longer than I ever expected to.”

  Jimmy looks expectantly up at Steve. He is unsure what to say next. He doesn’t have any stories of long journeys to this land but I am sure his story will surprise us. Everybody’s story does. Steve nods at him to continue.

  “My family originally came from England. My great-great-grandfather, Thomas Chapman, was sent out here from Liverpool on a convict ship for stealing food to feed his widowed mother and sisters.”

  I look at Martin who is suddenly interested. He puts his newspaper down and looks in Jimmy’s direction. While Martin’s direct ancestors came to Australia as free labour, I once saw him talk about a great-uncle who was also transported to Australia for stealing food. I can see Steve look at my mother and I know that he doesn’t understand much of what Jimmy is saying. My mother gives him a look and somehow he understands that he should not mention this. My mother can listen to the tape later and help Steve write down Jimmy’s words. However, when Jimmy speaks again he is making a big effort not to slur his words.