White Gardenia

by Belinda Alexandra

  Irina had been asleep when I returned from my shower, and I was relieved that I didn’t have to face her until I had a chance to compose myself. I had promised myself that I would never complain to her about Australia. She would blame herself for making me come, although it had been my choice. I thought of Dmitri in America and my spine prickled. But to my surprise I didn’t focus too long on him before my thoughts started shifting to Ivan. What would he have made of all this?

  A man in army uniform entered the hall and made his way past the tables to the podium. He climbed up the step and waited for us to fall silent, clasping a swatch of cardboard sheets to his side and coughing once into his fist. It was only when he had the attention of every person in the room that he began to speak.

  ‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Australia,’ he said. ‘My name is Colonel Brighton. I am the camp director.’ He put the sheets of cardboard down on the podium and picked up the first sign, holding it up so that everyone could see. It had his name written on it in large letters so neatly printed that they could have been typed.

  ‘I hope that those of you who can speak English will translate what I have to say for your friends,’ he continued. ‘Unfortunately, my translators are busy with something else this morning.’ He smiled at us from beneath his dark moustache. His uniform was too tight and made him look like a little boy who had been tucked firmly into his bed.

  Until the Colonel addressed us, my arrival in Australia had seemed like a dream. But when he started talking about our work contracts with the Commonwealth Employment Service and how we must be prepared to do any sort of work, even if we considered it beneath us, to pay back our passages to Australia, the magnitude of what Irina and I had done hit me. I glanced around at the sea of anxious faces and wondered whether the announcement was worse for those who couldn’t understand English or whether it was affording them the luxury of a few more minutes’ reprieve from reality?

  I dug my fingers into my palms and tried to follow the Colonel’s lecture on the Australian currency, the state and federal political systems, and the relationship to the British monarchy. For each new subject he held up a card to illustrate the main points and ended his talk with, ‘And I implore you all, both young and old, to learn as much English as you possibly can while you are here. Your success in Australia will depend on it.’

  There wasn’t a sound in the room when Colonel Brighton finished speaking, but he simply grinned at us like Father Christmas. ‘Oh, by the way, there is someone I need to see,’ he said, glancing at his notebook. ‘Can Anya Kozlova please come forward?’

  I was startled by the mention of my name. Why was I being singled out from three hundred new arrivals? I made my way through the tables to the Colonel, tucking my hair behind my ears and wondering if something had happened to Irina. A crowd of people had gathered around him to ask questions. ‘But we don’t want to live in countryside. In city,’ a man with a patch on his eye was insisting.

  No, I told myself, Irina is safe. I wondered if maybe Ivan had heard we were in Australia and was trying to contact us. I dismissed that thought too. Ivan’s ship was bound for Sydney, but he had told us he intended to go straight to Melbourne by train. He had enough funds to stay out of a camp.

  ‘Ah, you’re Anya?’ said the Colonel, when he saw me waiting. ‘Come with me, please.’

  Colonel Brighton marched at a sprightly pace towards the administrative area and I had to almost skip to keep up with him. We passed more rows of barracks, kitchens and laundries and a post office, and I began to appreciate the size of the camp. The Colonel told me that the camp used to belong to the army and that a lot of ex-army barracks were being turned into migrant accommodation all over the country. Although I was anxious to know why he wanted to see me, his small talk assured me that it wasn’t anything too serious.

  ‘So you’re Russian, Anya. Where from?’

  ‘I was born in Harbin in China. I’ve never been to Russia. But I spent a lot of time in Shanghai.’

  He tucked his cardboard signs further under his arm and frowned at a broken window in one of the huts. ‘Report that to the maintenance office,’ he told a man sitting on the steps, before turning back to me. ‘My wife is English. Rose has read a lot of books about Russia. She reads a lot of books in general. So where were you born? Moscow?’

  I didn’t take the Colonel’s lack of concentration to heart. He was shorter than me with deep-set eyes and a receding hairline. The lines on his forehead and his button nose made his face seem comical, although his upright posture and his manner of speaking were serious. There was something likeable about him, he was efficient without being cold. The Colonel had mentioned that there were over three thousand people in the camp. How could he remember us all?

  Colonel Brighton’s office was a wooden hut not far from the cinema hall. He pushed open the door and ushered me inside. A woman with red hair and horn-rimmed glasses glanced up from her desk, her fingers perched over a typewriter.

  ‘This is my secretary, Dorothy,’ the Colonel said.

  The woman smoothed the folds of her floral dress and pinched her lips into a smile.

  ‘I am pleased to meet you,’ I said. ‘I am Anya Kozlova.’

  Dorothy glanced over me before deciding to fix her gaze on my straggly hair. I blushed and looked away. Behind her were two unoccupied desks, and another desk from which a bald man in a fawncoloured shirt and tie smiled at us. ‘And this is the welfare officer,’ the Colonel said, indicating the man. ‘Ernie Howard.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Ernie said, getting up from his seat and shaking my hand.

  ‘Anya’s from Russia. She arrived last night,’ the Colonel said.

  ‘Russia? Probably China,’ said Ernie, releasing my hand. ‘We have a few people from Tubabao here.’

  Colonel Brighton didn’t notice the correction. He flipped through some files on Ernie’s desk, picked one up and indicated a door at the end of the room. ‘Come this way, Anya,’ he said.

  I followed the Colonel into his office. The sun through the windows was brilliant and the room was hot. The Colonel opened the slats on the windows and turned on a fan. I sat in the chair opposite his desk and found that I was facing not only Colonel Brighton but the long, sour face of the British King, whose portrait hung on a wall behind him. The Colonel’s office was orderly, with files and books packed neatly along the sides of the walls and a framed map of Australia in the far corner. But his desk was in chaos. It was overloaded with files and looked in danger of collapse. The Colonel placed the file he was carrying on top of the others and opened it.

  ‘Anya, I have a letter here from Captain Connor of the IRO saying that you worked for him. That you speak good English, which is obvious, and can type.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  Colonel Brighton sighed and leaned back into his chair. He considered me for a long time. I shifted in my seat, wishing he would say something. Finally, he did.

  ‘Can I persuade you to work for me for a month or two?’ he asked. ‘Until they send me more staff from Sydney. We are in rather a mess. This camp is not at all what it should be, especially not for women. And there will be another thousand people arriving here over the next fortnight.’

  The Colonel’s admission that the camp conditions weren’t acceptable was a relief. I thought we might have been expected to live with them.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked.

  ‘I need someone who can help me, Dorothy and Ernie. We urgently need to do something about the cleanliness of the camp, so I want you to take over the filing and other general duties. I can pay you above the allowance and will give the employment officer a special recommendation for you when you finish.’

  The Colonel’s offer took me by surprise. I hadn’t known what to expect from him, but I certainly hadn’t been expecting that he would offer me a job on my first day at the camp. I had only one American dollar left from Tubabao and I couldn’t sell the jewels I had brought from Shanghai
until I got to Sydney. Some extra money was just what I needed.

  The Colonel’s honesty gave me confidence to tell him that I thought the toilets and food were serious problems, and that we were in danger of an epidemic.

  He nodded. ‘Until yesterday’s intake we were just managing. This morning I organised for the Sanipan company to come three times a day, and Dorothy is assembling new teams for the kitchens right now. There’s no time for mucking about. As soon as I see a problem, I do my best to fix it. The only difficulty is that I have far too many problems to fix quickly.’ He pointed to the files on his desk.

  I wondered if I should accept the job and go, as he had a lot to do, but he seemed to enjoy talking to me so I asked him why the Australian government was bringing so many people into the country if it couldn’t provide adequate places for them to live.

  Colonel Brighton’s eyes lit up and I realised he had been waiting for me to ask that question. He strode over to the map and picked up the pointer. I had to pinch my lips together to stop myself from laughing.

  ‘The government has decided on a policy of populate or perish,’ he said, indicating the Australian coast with the pointer. ‘We were nearly invaded by the Japanese because there weren’t enough people to guard our shores. The government is bringing thousands of people into the country to build the nation up. But until we build the economy, no one is going to have a decent place to live.’ He walked over to the window and leaned against the frame. If he had been someone else, the way he stood with his feet apart and his chin thrust into the air would have seemed overdramatic, but it fitted so well with his character that I stopped wanting to laugh and found myself listening to him attentively.

  ‘All I can say to apologise is that there are plenty of native-born Australians living in packing crates.’

  The Colonel returned to his desk; his whole face was red with excitement and he spread his hands over the files in front of him. ‘You. Me. Everyone here, we are part of a grand social experiment,’ he said. ‘We are going to become a new nation and we are either going to sink or swim. I’d like to do my best to see us swim. I think you would like to see us do the same.’

  Colonel Brighton’s words were like a drug; I could feel the blood begin to rush through my veins and had to remind myself to stay calm or else I’d get swept up in what he was saying. The Colonel made living in a shabby, depressing camp sound almost exciting. He may not have been a good listener but he was obviously a passionate and enthusiastic man. I was sure I wanted to work with him, if only for the fun of seeing him every day.

  ‘When would you like me to start?’ I asked.

  He rushed towards me and shook my hand. ‘This afternoon,’ he said, glancing back at the files on his desk. ‘Straight after lunch.’

  TWELVE

  Wildflowers

  After my meeting with Colonel Brightong I hurried back to the hut with a pitcher of water and a glass from the kitchen. I was surprised to find Irina sitting up in bed, talking with Aimka Berczi.

  ‘Here’s your friend,’ said Aimka, standing up to greet me. She was wearing a bottle-green dress and holding an orange in one of her delicate hands. I assumed she had brought it for Irina. Neither the deep tone of her dress nor the colour of the orange brought any life to her face. In the daylight her skin seemed as unearthly as it had the night before.

  ‘I’m glad,’ said Irina, her voice croaking. ‘I’m dying of thirst.’

  I balanced the pitcher on the upturned box near her bed and poured her a glass of water. I put my palm to her forehead. Her temperature was gone but she was still pale.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Yesterday I thought I was dying. Now I just feel sick.’

  ‘I thought Irina might still be ill this morning,’ said Aimka, ‘so I brought her the employment and English class registration forms.’

  ‘The questions are all in English,’ Irina said, taking a sip of water and grimacing. I wondered if the tea had tasted bad this morning because of the water.

  ‘Never mind, once you’ve finished the English course you’ll be able to complete them,’ I said.

  We all laughed and the mirth brought a spot of colour to Aimka’s face.

  ‘Aimka speaks six languages fluently,’ said Irina. ‘Now she’s teaching herself Serbian.’

  ‘Goodness,’ I said, ‘what a talent for languages you have!’

  Aimka brought one of her lovely hands to her throat and lowered her eyes. ‘I came from a family of diplomats,’ she said. ‘And there are plenty of Yugoslavians here to practise with.’

  ‘I imagine you would have to be a good diplomat to be a block supervisor,’ I said. ‘Do you know about Elsa?’

  Aimka dropped her hands to her lap. I found it hard to keep my eyes off them, they were like two lilies against the green of her dress. ‘It seems we have all the tensions of Europe in this camp,’ she said. ‘People argue over border towns as fiercely as if they were still living in them.’

  ‘Do you think there is something we can do for Elsa?’ Irina asked.

  Aimka shook her head. ‘I’ve always had trouble with her,’ she said. ‘Elsa’s never happy wherever I put her and she doesn’t make an effort to be friendly with the others. In another hut I have a German and Jewish girl together who can’t do enough to help each other. But then they are young, and Elsa is old and set in her ways.’

  ‘Russians say that as long as you have good food no one will argue,’ I told her. ‘If the peasants had been well fed there wouldn’t have been a revolution. Perhaps people wouldn’t be so tense if the food was better. Whatever we had for breakfast this morning was barely edible.’

  ‘Yes, I hear endless complaints about the food,’ Aimka replied. ‘It seems that the Australians are fond of over-cooking their vegetables. And of course there is too much mutton. But during the siege of Budapest I was boiling my shoes to eat, so I don’t find much to complain about here.’

  I blushed. I should have known better than to be so flippant.

  ‘What have you been doing this morning, Anya?’ Irina asked, coming to my rescue.

  I told them about my job with Colonel Brighton and about his passion for ‘populate or perish’.

  Irina rolled her eyes and Aimka laughed. ‘Yes, he’s a character, Colonel Brighton,’ Aimka said. ‘Sometimes I think he’s quite mad, but he has a good heart. You’ll do well to work for him. I will see if I can get Irina a job at the crèche, anything to save her from the stupid employment officer.’

  ‘He was trying to give Aimka work as a domestic,’ Irina explained.

  ‘Really?’

  Aimka rubbed her hands together. ‘I told him that I spoke six languages and he told me that was a useless skill in Australia, except for the English. He said that there were no jobs for interpreters and I was too old to get any other kind of work.’

  ‘That’s crazy,’ I said. ‘Look at all the people in this camp. And Colonel Brighton told me this morning that there are more camps just like it all over Australia.’

  Aimka snorted. ‘That’s the problem. New Australians, indeed. They want us all to be British. I went to Colonel Brighton and told him that I spoke six languages. He almost jumped out of his chair to kiss me. He put me to work straightaway as an English teacher and a block supervisor. Every time I see him now he says, “Aimka, I need twenty more of you.” So, for all his faults, he has my admiration.’

  Irina shuddered and coughed. She pulled a handkerchief from under her pillow and blew her nose. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I think this means I’m getting over it.’

  ‘We’d better go to the Red Cross tent,’ I said.

  Irina shook her head. ‘I just want to sleep. But you should go and ask them about your mother.’

  Aimka glanced at us curiously and I told her briefly about my mother.

  ‘The Red Cross here won’t be able to help you, Anya,’ she said. ‘It’s just a medical unit. You’ll need to see someone at the headquarters in Sydney.’

&nbs
p; ‘Oh,’ I said, disappointed.

  Aimka patted Irina’s leg and put the orange on the box next to the pitcher. ‘I’d better get going,’ she said.

  After Aimka left, Irina turned to me and whispered, ‘She was a concert pianist in Budapest. Her parents were shot by the Nazis for hiding Jews.’

  ‘God,’ I said, ‘there are three thousand tragic stories in this tiny place.’

  After Irina had fallen asleep again, I gathered our clothes and rushed to the laundry, which consisted of four cement tubs and a boiler. I scrubbed the dresses and blouses with my last bar of soap. After hanging them out to dry, I went to the supply office where the clerk, a Polish man, kept glancing from my throat to my breasts.

  ‘All I can offer you is ex-army shoes, ex-army coats or an ex-army hat. If you would like any of those.’ He pointed to an elderly couple trying on odd pairs of boots. The old man’s legs trembled and he leaned on his wife’s shoulder for support. The sight of them broke my heart. I thought old people should be enjoying the fruits of their labour, not starting over again.

  ‘No soap?’ I asked. ‘No towels?’

  The store clerk shrugged. ‘This isn’t the Paris Ritz.’

  I bit my lip. Shampoo and scented soap would have to wait until payday. At least our clothes were clean. Perhaps Aimka would lend us something and we could pay her back.

  Lunch was announced over a loudspeaker hooked to the wall of the supply hut, first in English and then in German. I saw the old woman flinch at the sound of ‘Achtung!’

  ‘Why do they announce things in German?’ I asked the store clerk.

  ‘Sensitive, isn’t it?’ he said, smiling from the corner of his mouth. ‘They figure that thanks to the Nazis we all understand orders in German.’

  I dragged my feet to the dining hut, dreading another unpalatable meal. Most people were already seated when I arrived but the atmosphere in the room had transformed since the morning. The diners were smiling. The brown paper was gone and each table had been decorated with jars of blue flowers. A man walked by with a bowl of soup and a piece of brown bread. Whatever was in the bowl smelled mouth-watering, and familiar. I glanced at the crimson soup and thought I must be dreaming. Borscht. I picked up a bowl from a pile on a table and stood in line in front of the servery window. I almost jumped for joy when I found myself face to face with Mariya and Natasha from Tubabao.