by Carol Coffey
“The German man. He is not here?”
My father moves forward and stands in front of my mother, anxious to prevent her from telling David what has happened.
“Wilfred’s gone away for a while. We expect him back soon,” he says.
I can see my mother’s forehead crease behind him and know she is annoyed that Father is lying.
Mr Berman looks both relieved and disappointed. He nods and moves to the door. He starts to say something but changes his mind. My father thinks that Mr Berman is looking for Wilfred. I watch as he moves his mouth, trying to form his words before he says it out loud. There is something that he has to ask.
“David, what camp were you at?”
Mr Berman freezes at the mention of the word “camp”. He licks his lips again, takes a deep breath and drops his head.
“I was at Sachsenhausen.”
“So you knew Wilfred there. You saw him there?” he asks.
“Yes,” he says through tightly closed teeth.
“And you didn’t say anything? You’ve been coming here for years and you kept silent?”
“As I said, I learnt much from Aron and Iren. I remember him. He was not a bad man. Just young. Very young. And I was just a boy.” He opens the door and ushers his wife out in front of him. He closes the door quickly to prevent my mother or father asking him more questions about a time in his life that he has worked hard to forget.
I watch him from the Penance Room window as he stands on our porch and places his black hat on his head. His wife touches his face gently. I can see his chin quivering as he takes her arm and walks slowly out our gate and onto the street. He turns left and I can no longer see his face. He quickens his step and they climb the street until they are almost at the top of the hill. I watch him stop abruptly. His wife turns to him and places her hands on his shoulders. He leans on a fence and she moves her arms around him. I know by the movement of his shoulders that he is crying and that the loss of Aron and Iren is for him like losing his parents all over again. I move back from the window and I know that it will be too painful for him ever to come back here and that I will never see him again.
I sit down on a pew and watch the remaining residents. The rain stops suddenly and the sun throws brilliant rays of light through the stained glass. I watch as it shimmers across the wooden floor. Penelope is reading her music sheets although she has not touched the piano since the party. Victoria is reading a romance novel and Mina is rereading the letter Hope sent her. I notice that each time she finishes reading the letter, she looks closely at the photo of Hope’s daughter Mina and then reads the letter again. Kai comes in and asks for her help making some pastry and she rises happily. I watch as he moves her frame around to help her. She smiles appreciatively.
My mother says, “Good boy. Kai, you’re a real gentleman,” and I feel slightly jealous at the attention she is giving him.
Father Hayes is praying again and I realise that it will only be a few weeks before his old love arrives from America. Martin is reading a newspaper. He is seated beside Jimmy and everybody has noticed how close the two are becoming. Kora is standing at the door with Jeff. They are going for a walk before Kora starts her evening shift with my mother. Jimmy murmurs something and Jeff looks in but he doesn’t understand what his father said.
“Christ,” Martin says, annoyed, “don’t know why you don’t bloody understand him. It’s plain as day, mate. He said, ‘Bye, Kora’.”
My mother looks crossly at Martin. She doesn’t like people taking God’s name in vain. Jeff smiles and tips his hat at his father. Jimmy nods. It is the best he can do for now.
Martin laughs and says, “Good on ya, mate! Ya made that boy of yours smile, sour puss that he is an’ all!” which finally makes Jimmy laugh also. Later, I watch my mother telling Greta about Jimmy’s attempts to be polite to Kora. Greta laughs and throws her head back, revealing even more gold teeth than I had previously noticed. They are sitting together in the dining room having a coffee. The babies are either asleep or staring into space and the other residents are as usual sitting in the Penance Room.
“How’d you ever come to be sisters? I assume one of you is adopted” Greta asks, laughing.
I can see why Penelope and Victoria get on so well with her. Greta makes a joke out of everything which puts the other person at ease. My mother sighs and runs her finger around the top of her coffee cup.
“My father was working as a minister at the orphanage Kora was in. She was one of the thousands of mixed race and full-blood Aboriginals taken from their parents at that time. Anyway, all Father found out about Kora was that her father was a white drifter from England and there was no information about her mother. No name, no address. Kora was only about three when she was taken there so she had no memory of where she lived or what her mother’s name was. When I was around eight, Father got another transfer and he decided to take Kora with us. We had become good friends and he wanted to give her a normal life. She – she resents this. She doesn’t say much but I know she didn’t want to go, that she thought she was being taken just as a playmate for me, but that wasn’t true. My mother couldn’t have any more children after I was born so I was an only child, but it wasn’t that. My parents really did love Kora. I don’t blame her thinking that though. She asked me once how I would feel walking around with blackfella parents and a black sister. I never saw it that way. I never saw her skin colour. She was just my sister. She said that she wished we had left her there where there were other Aboriginal kids. She felt she belonged with them, that they were her people and that at least her mother would know where to find her.
“When she was a teenager, Father and Kora spent hours writing to government departments all over New South Wales trying to find out who she was but they never came up with anything. My father died regretting his work with the Aboriginal community. It took him years to realise that what they were doing was so wrong. Some of the kids were being neglected by their parents. That happens in any race so of course those kids needed to be taken into care but, for the majority of them, the reason for taking them was to make them like the rest of us and when my father was old, this haunted him and in his mind undid all the good he had done. I think it quickened his end. He saw Kora suffering so much. As a teenager she was defiant and yet at the same time lacked confidence. She was bright but wouldn’t go on further at school. She backed off as soon as anyone said anything bad to her.
“Well, you know she liked Jeff since they were teenagers but as soon as Jimmy put his foot down, Jeff crumbled and Kora ran for cover and that’s where she stayed. Till now, that is. I’m so glad she’s marrying Jeff. I just wish she could have been reunited with her mother. I doubt she’s still alive now. We have no idea how old she was when she had Kora, but believe me, we searched everywhere we could think of.” My mother takes another sip of her coffee and stares sadly across the dining table.
Greta looks up. “Maybe you weren’t looking in the right places?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you said your father and Kora wrote to government departments. Doesn’t sound like the sort of place someone like Kora’s mother would go for help. She’d have no reason to trust them. Not when it was them that took ’er daughter away.”
“Well, where else is there to go?” my mother asks, confused.
“What about the newspapers or local radio? You could put an ad in all the local papers – or, even better, in the national ones.”
My mother lets out an embarrassed laugh and puts her hands up to her cheeks. “Saying what – is this your long lost daughter? No – it seems – well, undignified. Kora would kill me. She’s very proud and . . . can be cranky . . .” My mother doesn’t like to say anything bad about people, especially her sister.
“It wouldn’t have to be like that. It could be small. Maybe you could give them a photo of Kora as a little girl. If you found Kora’s mother, wouldn’t it be worth her getting angry with you?”
My mot
her shakes her head. She thinks this conversation has gone too far.
Greta gets the message and changes the subject. She rises from the table and washes both cups, anxious not to annoy Mina who still hasn’t quite worked out that she is not in charge. As my mother goes about her duties, I can see she is thinking about what Greta has said. Later, I see her watching her sister through the window of the Penance Room. Kora has brought Aiden into the garden for some air. Kora smiles at the old priest as she lifts my mother’s pup up and places him in his lap. She sits beside him on the bench holding the other pup. She has started to bring her dog with her to work each day, leaving me to contend with not one but two dogs that are never happy to see me. When the pup squirms to get down, Kora’s smile fades. She glances at her engagement ring in the bright sunlight and that faraway look returns to her deep brown eyes. My mother opens the window.
“You coming in for dinner?” she asks.
Kora snaps back. “I’ll be there when I’m good and ready.”
My mother sighs as she closes the window. I move toward my mother to hug her. I don’t like to see anyone hurting her but she moves quickly from the window and goes into the kitchen to help Li.
I open the screen door just as Kora is coming in. The two dogs are chasing after her as she tries to help Aiden raise his foot over the threshold. The dogs stop in their tracks and start to growl at me. Kora shouts to quieten them and they sit down obediently, their long pink tongues hanging loosely over large teeth. I tense and inch by them towards the fence, opening the gate quickly and slamming it behind me. Kora looks away and the dogs come running to the gate, growling and barking until I am out of view.
I decide to take the route along the train line. It has been a while since I faced it and I am anxious to have something good to tell Maria. I cross the main line quickly and wipe the sweat from my forehead as I turn and make my way towards her grandfather’s house.
When I get there, I find Maria sitting on the back steps. She is playing with an old torn doll and even though I think she is far too old for such things, I say nothing and sit quietly beside her.
“I’m sorry about your face,” she says.
I instinctively put my hand to my face and feel along the scratch.
“It’s okay,” I sign.
“I like your voice,” she says but I don’t answer.
I feel she must be lying. I wonder whether to talk about my father’s truck and how it is not a fire engine but I decide to let sleeping dogs lie and hope we can have some fun together. It has been a hard day and I am not in the mood for arguing.
“Granddad was packing things and look!” she says, showing me the doll which I now notice has only one eye. “She was mine when I was really little and I loved her. Her name is Natalia. That was my grandmother’s name.”
I remain silent, anxious not to spoil her good mood.
“Do you want to see my other old toys?” she asks.
I agree and together we look through a box of toys and games. On one side of the box, someone has written in large black pen: “Maria’s toys. Don’t throw out.”
I point at it with my questioning face.
“My mother’s writing,” she says, smiling.
In the bottom of the box is another smaller box. Maria takes a deep breath in as though she never expected to see this. She opens it and gently lifts out white paper that appears to have something inside. She slowly unwraps it and reveals a crown of diamonds on a comb and I have no idea what it is.
“My First Holy Communion Crown,” she says. She looks at me and notices the confused expression on my face. “You’re not Catholic?”
I sign “No.”
“This is very important. I wore it on my Communion Day,” she says but her eyes look so sad that I am glad that I cannot hear her voice.
“It’s beautiful,” I write and she smiles through watery eyes.
“Thank you,” she signs back even though I can lip-read.
“You’re beautiful,” I finally write even though my heart is beating with fear.
“Sign it,” she asks, so I sign and she smiles again, a beautiful smile. She leans forward and kisses me on the mouth. My heart misses a beat. I put my arm around her and she leans against me as we sit together on the steps. After a while her grandfather wheels his wheelchair out. I feel the vibrations of his wheelchair above me although he cannot see us.
“Is he calling you?” I gesture.
“No. He’s calling the cat!” she replies, laughing. “Christopher, it must be awful to be deaf.”
“I don’t remember hearing,” I write and she leans back into me to think about this.
The light above goes on and she stands suddenly. It is getting dark.
“Oh oh, that’s my cue to come in,” she says so I stand and kiss her gently before making my way back to my house.
When I arrive home, my father is back having finished a late shift at the mine. He looks tired and I know he is not sleeping because he is worried about Wilfred. My mother is sitting in her office and when I sneak up behind her I see that she has already written five letters to regional newspapers. In each unsealed envelope she has placed a small photo of Kora in short dark plaits or pig-tails but each photo looks to have been taken when Kora was eight or nine so I am worried that her mother will not recognise her five or six years after she last saw her. When she finishes the last letter and seals them all, my mother stands but suddenly bends over and leans against the chair she has been sitting on. Her face goes red and she puts her hand over her mouth. “Andy!” she says.
I run from her office to get my father but he has heard her and almost stands on my bad foot as he rushes to help her. He sits her down and gets her a glass of water.
“I feel sick,” she says so he leads her to the bathroom at the end of the hall. It is the only bathroom on this floor.
“An en suite would come in handy now,” he jokes but I can see that he is worried. My mother is never sick.
When she has finished vomiting into the bowl, my father pulls back her hair and helps her into bed.
He half closes the door, leaving me outside. I move sideways and watch them through the small opening.
“I’m okay,” she says as he fusses about her.
“I’m getting Doctor Alder,” he says but she laughs and asks him to sit down.
“I don’t need a doctor,” she says. “I wasn’t going to tell you until after we found Wilfred, but I’m pregnant.”
My father’s mouth opens wide but not as wide as mine. A myriad of emotions surge through me and I now know how Maria feels about her mother’s expected baby.
“I’ve known a few days but there was never the right moment. What with Iren’s death and Kora’s announcement. I decided to wait for a while to say anything.”
“When?” father asks, smiling. There is something about his face that makes him look like a little boy.
“You figure it out, Birthday Boy!” she teases him and I feel my face redden with embarrassment. There are some conversations that I just should not see.
“Oh!” Father says, remembering his party. He kisses my mother passionately and she pushes him away.
“I’ve just been sick!” she laughs.
“I don’t care. You’re beautiful!”
“So you’re happy?” she asks but I can see the sudden sadness creep onto both their faces.
“Yes,” he says “and this time we’ll make sure you get all the rest you need. We don’t want you mis–”
Father stops talking. I know he is referring to the two miscarriages my mother had when I was still a toddler.
“It’s all right, love. I’m happy too. Our luck has to change sometime, doesn’t it?” Mother says.
I move back from the open doorway and go to my room. Deep down I am happy too. I am not completely like Maria. I am not angry. There will be room for me, even if it is a boy. So I sit at the side of my bed and I pray for a new son for my parents and more than anything else, I pray that he wi
ll not be deaf.
Chapter 27
Two weeks pass and my mother has not received any response to her advertisement looking for Kora’s mother and neither has my father heard anything from Wilfred. Bill called twice to say that he was doing everything he could and warned father that at this stage he should not expect Wilfred to be alive. Both my mother and father try to hide their disappointment by talking about the baby that my mother says will be born in less than seven months. She didn’t tell her sister or any of the staff the news as she doesn’t want to take any attention away from Kora’s wedding. Even though the atmosphere in the house is not as sad as normal, I spend my time walking through the park with Maria talking about our future which seems to makes her laugh.
“Christopher, you’re a funny boy!” she says whenever I tell her about my plans.
Even though we are getting on better, I know that there is something strange about Maria that I have not yet figured out.
She is smiling though and I think this because her grandfather has decided to stay in Broken Hill and has told his son and daughter-in-law that he will definitely not move to Sydney when the new owner arrives. I ask Maria if her mother has had her baby and she says, “Yes. A boy,” and adds nothing further but there is a smile on her face that tells me she is happy it was not a girl. I tell her my hopes for a brother who can hear and she looks at me with a look of disapproval. “Christopher, you are too kind,” she says and walks ahead of me. Before I leave, I ask her to be my date at my aunt’s wedding and she says “I’ll think about it” which I know means “Don’t ask me again – if I am going, I’ll just show up.”
When I arrive home shortly before lunch, Aishling is talking on the phone.
