Lina's Many Lives

by Sally Rippin

  What is the Mother Superior going to tell him? Lina worried. I hope he won’t be too angry with me. She had a feeling the Mother Superior liked her and wanted the best for her, but Lina wasn’t foolish enough to believe that she wasn’t in deep trouble.

  As if he could hear her thoughts, Lina’s father put down the little cup on the worn kitchen table and rested his big hand on her hair. ‘Come along then, cara mia,’ he said softly. ‘Let’s go and see that Mother Superior of yours.’

  As they walked to the bus stop, Lina slipped her hand in his. It felt like a childish thing to do, but Lina knew her father wouldn’t mind. He gave her hand a squeeze and Lina felt all her love for him burst out of her heart and warm her soul.

  When the bus arrived Lina stepped in first and bought both their tickets. It was an automatic thing for her to do now. At home her parents wielded absolute power and authority, but out in the world they became almost like children, frightened and unsure, completely dependent on Lina and her brothers to translate everything for them and explain how things worked. It was one of the many reasons she had avoided having her parents come to her school. She hated the thought of them standing like baffled children amongst all the other St Brigid’s parents, who all seemed so confident and sure. Lina worried about how her father would manage in the Mother Superior’s office. As she gazed out the bus window, the worry curled up her stomach and nibbled her insides.

  ‘Hi, Lina,’ came a voice from behind.

  Lina turned around. It was the Chinese boy who was often on her bus in the mornings. Over the last six months they had shared less than half a dozen words, but Lina liked his smile and would always annoyingly feel her cheeks heat up whenever he walked past. All she knew about him was that his name was John and that he always sat at the back of the bus on his own.

  ‘Hi, John,’ Lina mumbled, embarrassed. As she had expected, the minute John had passed, her father nudged her in the ribs.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he grinned.

  ‘No one,’ Lina said gruffly.

  ‘You know his name.’

  ‘He’s no one, Papa. He just catches my bus sometimes.’

  ‘Is he your boyfriend?’ her father teased.

  ‘Papa!’ Lina said. ‘He’s not my boyfriend, okay? I don’t have a boyfriend! I don’t even want one!’

  ‘I should hope not!’ her father said, pretending to look horrified. ‘You’re only twelve!’

  Lina rolled her eyes.

  Her father grinned. ‘You know how old Nonna was when she met your nonno?’

  ‘No,’ Lina said, suddenly interested.

  ‘Thirteen.’ Her father raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Well, I’m not Nonna, okay? I don’t want a boyfriend until I’m much older. And besides, girls with boyfriends just get silly. You should see the girls in the years ahead of me. They just talk about boys all the time. It’s stupid.’

  ‘Good girl,’ Lina’s father said, patting her arm. ‘You just concentrate on your studies.’

  Lina turned her gaze back to the streets spinning past through the bus window. She was dreading the day ahead. Not only did she have to face the Mother Superior this morning but after that, she’d have to see Mary, who hadn’t spoken to her since their fight. It was going to be a long day.

  SITTING in a plush armchair in front of the Mother Superior’s enormous rosewood desk, Lina’s father looked small and worn and grubby. He’d changed out of his work clothes and put on his tired brown suit, but the deep lines in his hands were still black with factory grease. They lay in his lap, still as two fallen soldiers.

  For a split second Lina fantasised that maybe her father would understand none of what the Mother Superior said and she could translate it back to him however she wanted, shearing off the sharp edges to tell a softer version. Just as quickly, she told herself off for having such wicked thoughts. I’ve got myself into this horrible mess, she scolded, there’s no way out now. And mixed with the fear and dread she felt a sense of relief that her rapidly escalating snowball of  lies was finally going to be brought to a halt.

  ‘As you are undoubtedly aware,’ the Mother Superior began, ‘I have asked to see you this morning, Mr Gattuso, because some . . . issues have arisen of  late that concern your daughter.’

  Lina’s father nodded gravely. Lina hung her head. Her heart beat against the cage of her ribs like a frightened bird. He may not understand every word but he certainly understands the meaning, she thought.

  ‘Lina is an exceptionally bright girl, as you are also no doubt aware, so the aim of this meeting, I suppose, is to make sure she doesn’t – how should I put it? – squander her talents. Lina has obtained consistently good grades, particularly in English, and she has already proven herself to be a talented writer. We all enjoyed her colourful story in assembly the other week. It’s a shame you weren’t able to make it, Mr Gattuso. Lina received quite an ovation.’

  Lina cringed, hoping that this comment may have passed over her father’s head. It was her fault he hadn’t come, not his. She had told him it had been cancelled.

  ‘And I am sure Lina has told you about the school magazine she is putting together with a couple of classmates?’ the Mother Superior continued. ‘It’s really a splendid idea, I must say.’ Here, she smiled and waited for Lina’s father to respond, but he sat as still and silent as stone.

  Does he understand anything she’s saying? Lina worried. Is he waiting for me to translate? She began to shift uncomfortably in her seat and snuck another peek at her father, but his face remained unmoved. She swallowed a lump of worry and looked down at her hands.

  The Mother Superior pulled open her top drawer and pulled out Lina’s handwritten piece of forgery and lay it on the desk in front of Lina’s father. ‘However, Mr Gattuso, I think you would agree that this is not the best use of Lina’s writing skills.’

  Lina’s father picked up the pathetic-looking piece of paper and peered at it.

  How did I ever imagine it would fool them? Lina wondered. How could I have been so stupid? She waited for him to finally turn to face her but he simply laid it back on the desk. The Mother Superior sat, waiting for him to speak. Silence stretched between them.

  Finally her father cleared his throat. The English words stumbled and stuck on his lips, but he spoke clearly enough for them both to understand.

  ‘This my fault,’ he said quietly. ‘I no good father these days. I work too much, Lina’s mother sick . . .’

  ‘Papa!’ Lina objected, horrified that he would take the blame.

  ‘Lina, don’t interrupt me please,’ her father said in Italian, fixing her with a glare. He turned back to the Mother Superior. ‘I sorry for my daughter. This . . .’ he gestured towards the forged absentee note ‘. . . will no happen again.’

  The Mother Superior peered down her nose through the half-glasses balanced on the tip. ‘Very well,’ she said, levelly. ‘I will give you another chance then, Lina. However, I expect exemplary behaviour from you from now on. Is that clear? And the only reason I want to see you again in this office is to hand me your rough draft of the school magazine next week. I trust you are still capable of this?’

  ‘Yes, Sister,’ Lina promised.

  The Mother Superior stood up and Lina and her father did the same. ‘Thank you, Mr Gattuso,’ she said and nodded in his direction. ‘Lina, you may see your father out.’

  Lina walked through the quiet school corridors, her father close behind. Outside, she was relieved to see it was still early and none of the other St Brigid’s girls had started to arrive. If the bus came quickly, her father would be gone before the courtyard began to fill and she wouldn’t be left with the awkward situation of having to introduce him to everyone.

  ‘Well, that wasn’t so bad, I guess?’ Lina said hopefully, trotting along beside her father as he crossed the courtyard in long strides. At least she hadn’t been expelled from school!

  Her father stopped abruptly and turned to face her. In a millisecond, Lina glim
psed a rush of anger, hurt and disappointment flash across his face. She had spoken too soon.

  ‘Not so bad?’ he stammered. ‘Not so bad?’

  Lina felt her hope deflate. ‘I’m . . . I’m sorry, Papa,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Lina,’ he said in a pained voice. ‘Just because I don’t speak English well doesn’t mean I’m stupid.’

  Lina gasped. ‘Papa. What do you mean? I don’t think that!’

  ‘You are ashamed of me. You haven’t told me anything about what you have been doing at your school. About your writing. You haven’t told me anything about this magazine the Mother Superior speaks of.’

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ Lina stammered. ‘It’s not that. I’m not ashamed of you. It’s just . . . I thought you would be angry if I told you about wanting to be a writer.  You always say you want me to be a lawyer. Or a doctor.’

  Her father sighed. He kept walking until they reached the bus stop in front of the school and sat down on the bench, head in hands. When he looked up, his eyes were glistening. ‘Sit down,’ he said gently. ‘There are things you don’t know about me, Lina.’

  Lina sat close to her father, rigid in anticipation.

  ‘I was a writer, Lina,’ he said quietly. ‘A journalist, in fact. Just for a small newspaper, but it was considered very left-wing. Radical. We were against the Italian government’s involvement in the war and . . . we got into trouble for this. Lina, your mother had to give up everything for me. She loved her life in Italy. She had a job, family and friends. It was a simple life, but she was happy there. It was because of things I wrote, that we had to leave Italy. They took Mama’s job from her and they were going to put me in jail. Writing can be powerful, but it can also be dangerous, Lina. I wanted to protect you from that.

  ‘I knew you were intelligent, but I guess I hoped you would use your intelligence for something different from me. Something like law, yes, or medicine. Something where you can make a difference – without risking yourself or your family.’ He smiled, sadly, and ruffled Lina’s hair. ‘But I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?’

  Lina stared at her father trying to digest everything he was saying. A writer? Her father was a writer? ‘But why didn’t you tell me this before?’ she said, feeling stunned.

  Her father shrugged. ‘I guess I thought you were too young to understand. I probably would have told you one day. Maybe not. I don’t know.’ He sighed. ‘The longer I live here, the harder it is for me to remember that man I once was.’ He looked down at his oil-stained hands. ‘I used to want my children to be proud of me. Now all I want is for them to be safe.’

  Lina took her father’s hand in hers. She felt her throat tighten. ‘I am proud of you, Papa,’ she said, swallowing back her tears. And as she looked at her father, small and broken in the bus stop in the quiet, wide street, in a suburb of towering eucalypts and grand houses and fancy cars and televisions and pretty dresses, she knew that none of these things counted. Her father was a good man, a great man, and looking at him sitting there, her heart almost burst with pride.

  At that moment the bus swung around the corner. Lina’s father stood up, ready to board, patting down his hat as he did so.

  ‘Work hard today, mia cara,’ he said, smiling wistfully. ‘And if I can help you with the magazine, I will. You don’t want to let the Mother Superior down. She is counting on you to produce something great.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Lina said. ‘That would be wonderful, Papa.’

  As Lina stood up next to her father she glimpsed two girls from her Latin class about to get off the bus. They looked up and saw Lina, just as her father leaned in to kiss her goodbye. For a moment, Lina hesitated, mainly out of habit. She had once been so embarrassed by her father, but this time she leaned in towards him and let him kiss her on both her cheeks. Then she turned and walked back through the school gates, head held high. He may not be rich like your fathers, Lina thought, but he’s smart. My father is a writer.

  THAT day, Lina waltzed through school feeling lighter than she had in a long time. Mary was still not speaking to her, but Lina had decided that she would work hard with Sarah to get the magazine done – she wouldn’t let the Mother Superior down. She couldn’t let her down. One more wrong move and she could even lose her place at the school!

  But besides all this, now that Lina’s father knew about the magazine it was even more important to Lina that she do a good job of it. She wanted to prove to him that she could be a writer like he was. She would make him proud.

  Finally, Lina felt like things were looking up. It felt so good to have no more secrets between them. She couldn’t wait to get home from school to talk with him about her ideas. Walking back from the bus stop, Lina hummed a little tune to herself. The cherry trees had begun to blossom and Carlton was looking as pretty as it ever could. In Macarthur Square, a group of old men were playing bocce in the afternoon sun. Lina saw old Mr Spinelli who ran the grocery store and Mr Liebowitz who ran the pharmacy. They waved as Lina walked past and she smiled and waved back.

  Lina turned into the narrow alleyway where she lived. As there was no one around she let the tune in her head escape from her lips. It was a Dean Martin song her father liked to sing about being in love. When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie, that’s amore! Just then Lina felt a hand on her shoulder.

  She gasped and spun around.

  For a split second, Lina didn’t recognise the person in front of her.

  It was Bruno. He stood there in front of Lina, eyes wide, trembling, with blood pouring down his face. His left eye was swollen and his lip was split.

  ‘Oh, God! Bruno!’ Lina cried, her hand flying to her mouth. ‘What happened?’

  Bruno touched his swollen cheek, his eyes wincing with pain. ‘It was the Carlton Park gang,’ he murmured, his voice hoarse and breaking. ‘They got me, Lina. They got me.’

  My parents are from Adelaide. Soon after they married, my father’s job took them to Darwin, where I was born. Throughout my childhood we moved country almost every two years, but my parents made sure they came back to Australia for the birth of my two younger sisters. It was very important to them that despite having spent much of our childhood overseas, we were still able to call ourselves Australian.

  Since then, I’ve spent most of my adult life in Melbourne and my three sons were born here. Even though my older boys are half-French and my youngest is half-Italian, they consider themselves Australian. Not so much the blond-haired, surf-boarding Australian that we often see on postcards, but more a product of the rich multicultural mix that makes up this big country. To me, that is the Australian Girl I most identify with.

  I was born and grew up in Italy, a beautiful country to visit, but also a difficult country to live in for new generations.

  In 2006, I packed up my suitcase and I left Italy with the man I love. We bet on Australia. I didn’t know much about Australia before coming – I was just looking for new opportunities, I guess.

  And I liked it right from the beginning! Australian people are resourceful, open-minded and always with a smile on their faces. I think all Australians keep in their blood a bit of the pioneer heritage, regardless of their own birthplace.

  Here I began a new life and now I’m doing what I always dreamed of: I illustrate stories. Here is the place where I’d like to live and to grow up my children, in a country that doesn’t fear the future.

  The year 1956 was a big one for Melbourne, not only because it was the year of the Summer Olympics but also because it marked the arrival of television. In the early years, televisions were very expensive – hardly anyone had them and programs only ran for a few hours a day. However, television quickly became fashionable in Australia and by 1960 almost 70 per cent of households in Sydney and Melbourne owned one.

  Television changed our lives dramatically. Instead of going out at night, people stayed home to watch television, and cinemas and dance halls were forced to close. People began to eat their meals in
front of the television, so sofas were created with vinyl coverings to protect them from spills. Plastic crockery became popular, as well as recipes for meals that were quick to prepare so that housewives wouldn’t miss their favourite shows.

  Many of the programs Lina and her friends would have watched while growing up were from America or England. Quiz shows were popular, as were programs especially made for children, like The Mickey Mouse Club. These programs would have been in black and white, as colour television didn’t arrive in Australia until 1975.

  Television opened up the world in a way that radio had never been able to do. For the first time, we were able to see the way people lived all across this planet, and all from the comfort of our own homes.

  The Amazing Power of Television!

  When TV first came out, people made all sorts of claims and promises about its benefits. They said would it improve children’s behaviour, encourage them to do their homework and bring families together. Nowadays, people aren’t so sure that TV is all that good for us!

  Here’s a sneak peek at Meet Grace

  IT must be the longest day this winter, Grace thought, and all I’ve found are a few bits of coal and a piece of rope.

  Grace waded towards the riverbank, wiggling her toes into the mud, feeling for anything that had washed in with the tide or fallen from a boat or barge to put in her kettle. That was her job as a mudlark – to search the bottom of the Thames for things to sell. She shivered.

  A dirty fog hung over the water, draping everything in grey. The other mudlarks looked like shadows as they waded through the river. Grace felt the water cold against her legs – the tide was on its way in and her dress floated around her like a tent. She knew that soon she would have to get out of the river, but her kettle was only half full.