Four Fires (22 page)

'Deception?' Sarah asks.

'Ja, a deception, so za people will not know what is happening, sometimes they use this ambulance to put people in who are very sick, then they are driving away and the Jews who have just come think they are going to za hospital, but inside the ambulance is a gas chamber.

'In two years with his cane Mengele is sending four hundred thousand people to the right, to the gas chambers. One time in the

children's block we are going to select some children for experiments. So he draws a line on the wall, 156 centimetres.' Morrie stops and

works it out for us, 'Is about five feet. Then the children come to stand against that wall. If their heads don't come to the line or maybe higher, they are sent to the gas chamber.'

Morrie stops and puts his head in his hands and his shoulders begin to shake.

'It's all right, Morrie, no more, love,' Nancy says.

Morrie looks up, I think for a moment he doesn't know where he is, his eyes have a sort of far-off look. I can see he can't cry, there are no tears left to use. Then he says, 'No, excuse please, Nancy, I must tell. It is not confession, Sophie and me, we have a goet purpose to tell you this story. Mengele he wants always I must assist him in the operation theatre, then one day is coming two Gypsy children, twins also, and we must sew them together and take the organs from one and connect to the other. I cannot do this and I go to the washroom behind the theatre and I cut so my wrists.'

Morrie now turns his arms inwards and we see the long white scars running down the centre of each wrist, one scar cutting through the number tattooed on his inner arm.

'But Mengele himself he find me on the floor, "Kill me now, Herr Doktor, please!" I beg him. But he laughs, "You are too valuable and I cannot kill a member of my own profession."

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'When I am better he put me in his special pathology laboratory.

"Now they are already dead, Doktor Zukfizzleski, your delicate Jewish conscience is clear." Here I must dissect the children he has killed and write up the notes he wants.

'One night he comes himself with fourteen pairs of Gypsy twins. He put them on the long dissecting table, the little nude bodies lying sides by sides, then he is injecting them in the heart with chloroform so they die instantly. All night he is dissecting them. In the morning he says to me, "A good night's work, you must clean up now, throw them in the ovens, Zukfizzleski, Gypsies love to be around a fire." There is all over the floor and the table the parts of twins, like a butcher shop in hell. The blood trays are full and spilling over on the floor with this innocent blood.'

'It is enough, Moshe,' Sophie says quietly. 'You see, I am also married with children, twins, Eva and Bernard. They took my babies away, maybe to send to Auschwitz or maybe to kill in that gas showers

in Buchenwald.'

Nancy and Sarah are crying and I wish Sophie wouldn't go on, Morrie has said enough for a lifetime and then more.

Sophie turns to Sarah, 'Sarah, I am telling a lie about the Kommandant when I say to you I am working in his house as a servant girl. The truth, I am put in a brothel for German soldiers and I am coming pregnant. If you are pregnant, they kill you in that place. So I steal from the German woman who is superintendent of this brothel a knitting needle and I try to make finish what is inside me, how you say, make abortion, with that knitting needle.'

'She is making a uterine perforation with that needle and bacteria is coming in the peritoneal cavity,' Morrie explains. 'In that place she will die of peritonitis, she cannot be saved.'

'But only in two days is coming the Americans,' Sophie now continues. 'If I know this before I would wait of course! But I don't know. They put me in the hospital but also they give me hysterectomy.' Sophie looks up and there is a long silence with Sarah crying softly. Then Sophie says quietly, 'Please, Sarah, more than my life I want the baby you are having inside you. Morris says it is four months, maybe more, it has hands and feet and everything is formed and the tiny heart is beating.' She starts to cry, 'There has been too much death, too many babies killed.

Please, I beg you, let us have your baby!' And Sophie begins to sob uncontrollably, her head in her arms and her shoulders jerking and all of us crying as well.

chapter seven

Well, Christmas Day comes and as usual it is no big deal with us. Little Colleen gets some ribbons and Nancy a box of Yardley's face powder with its own powder puff inside and we have roast lamb and gravy, though Sarah makes mint sauce for Mike and Nancy, roast potatoes, which is real beaut, and baked pumpkin, which isn't. Then there's plum pudding with the cream old Alf Darby, who keeps a few cows on the edge of town, leaves for us twice a year at Christmas and Easter. But -I must say, in the long run Christmas only means one thing in the Maloney family; there's almost twice as much garbage to collect on Boxing Day. And also, we have to go to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, though none of us can take communion because we haven't been to confession but there's also another reason Father Crosby gives us a filthy look and doesn't wish us a happy Christmas afterwards.

By this time Sarah is beginning to show and Nancy thinks it might be a good idea for her to stay at home, but Sarah won't.

'Mum, they all know already and the gossipmongers will talk all the more if I'm not there with you,' she protests. And so Nancy agrees and says that she wasn't ashamed when she carried us, so
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Sarah need not be. We all know it's not the same, that she never expected herself to amount to anything, but Sarah's different, all Nancy's hopes were pinned on her eldest daughter and she's pretty shattered but trying not to show it.

Father Crosby, who can sniff out a rumour faster than a ferret can shoot down a rabbit hole, has already been to see us. He came a few days before Christmas. We seen him coming down the road on his bicycle heading for the front gate and the five Bitzers go leaping out but don't bark because Bozo calls to them not to.

'Hello, here's trouble,' Mike says and yells out to Nancy that the priest is on his way.

Nancy's at the front door with her arms crossed and her chin stuck out by the time Father Crosby has taken off his bicycle clips and is lumbering up the front path with the Bitzers all sniffing and jumping around the hem of his soutane, tongues lolling, thinking he must be a good bloke because Bozo's banned a bark.

The town priest is very red in the face when he gets off his bicycle. He's got a bit of a stomach on him and his florid complexion may be due to the exertion on a hot day, though it's all downhill from St Stephen's and he's known to be bit fond of the altar wine or anything else in a bottle he can get his sainted hands on.

'You'll not be lookin'at me like that, Nancy Maloney' he says, even before he gets to the front door. 'It's the same old story now, is it?'

'Don't know what you mean?' Nancy says, tight-lipped, knowing exactly what he means.

'Well, I'd have hoped for better, a lot better, that's a fine young daughter you had and all.' He shakes his head, 'Such a pity, such a terrible waste.'

'Sarah's still a fine young daughter and we don't need your pity,' Nancy says, real pugnacious.

'You're stubborn, Nancy Maloney, stubborn as a mule. You'll need to ask forgiveness from the Lord and we'll need to make arrangements.' The priest has come up to the door and is wiping his face with his linen handkerchief, the two of them are standing face to face, almost chin to chin.

'You'd better come in then,' Nancy says, not calling him 'Father' right off like she should.

Turning her head in the direction of the kitchen, she calls out, 'Sarah, a cup of tea for the good priest.' She turns back to Father Crosby, 'I'm sorry we don't have anything stronger to celebrate the occasion of your visit, Father.'

Father Crosby knows this is a deliberate insult but he chooses to ignore it. 'It's strong words that will be needed and a cup of tea will be fine then, two sugars,' he replies. Him and Nancy are old opponents and he knows his turn will come.

Nancy leads him out to the back verandah and, as they go through the kitchen, Father Crosby stops, 'We've not seen you at Mass, Sarah. I'd like to see you there, that is after you've been to confession, where I don't believe you've been in some time, is that right then, my girl?'

'Yes, Father,' Sarah says, suddenly scarlet in the face. She's turned and done a little curtsy.

So, there it is, Crosby payback. Like I said, it don't take too long.

Well, it doesn't take Father Crosby too long to come to the point either. 'Nancy Maloney, this time you must listen to me. Times have changed, my dear. You have a daughter who they tell me is the dux of the school, even though she has not had the benefit of a good Catholic education.'

'Hmph! The convent? You call that an education, with the nuns chattering on like a cage of budgies about the children being born out of wedlock. No thank you very much,' Nancy says, clearly annoyed at the way Father Crosby has taken advantage of Sarah.

'There's none better, my girl, and perhaps if she'd attended St Stephen's she may have been safe from the clutches of the Protestants, from the Templeton boy.'

So Father Crosby knows everything. We should have known. There's not a lot you can keep from a priest in a small town. He's been waiting for Nancy to come around to the church and
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confess all to him. When she hasn't, he's come to see her himself.

'And what may I ask are these arrangements you've come to make, Father?'

'Well, as you well enough know, Nancy Maloney, we've got good Catholic couples the Lord has not blessed with offspring, barren couples who will give a child born out of wedlock their name, love, security and all the privileges of a family life with none of the shame and the stigma.'

'If the Lord has not blessed them with offspring, then perhaps He doesn't want them to have children?' Nancy says. You can tell she's

panicking, it's not much of an argument and not up to her usual standard. You can see she knows it won't hold water for long. She's feeling pretty intimidated and the fight is going out of her.

Deep down, the fear of the Holy Roman Church is still in her.

'On the contrary,' Father Crosby says, smiling, 'These are the couples God, in His infinite mercy, has set aside to repair the mistakes young, misguided Catholic girls make from time to time.'

Nancy's usual booming voice has been brought almost to silence as she says very quietly, 'Well, misguided or not, my answer is the same as last time when it was one of my own precious children in my womb, Father. Sarah is not giving her baby away to a stranger.'

Father Crosby suddenly loses his patience, 'Look at you! For God's sake, Nancy Maloney. Your husband, Tommy Maloney, is a thief and a drunkard and you and your family of ragamuffins collect the town garbage! You Maloneys have been a thorn in the side of the Church for five generations! You've never amounted to an ounce of good, the lot of yer!' \Then he corrects himself, 'Except for the sainted Charlotte Maloney who, may I remind you, was not a Maloney by birth or blood!' He points a finger at Nancy, 'You've a fine daughter and now you're to ruin her life as well! You'll burn in Hell for this, Nancy Maloney!'

Nancy starts to weep, she's a strong woman but the Church inside her is even stronger, 'We've promised Sarah's baby to someone else, we've made other arrangements, Father.'

'Other arrangements? Without first consulting me?' Father Crosby can't believe his ears.

'Yes,' Nancy sniffs, her voice now barely above a whisper, 'Good arrangements. Like you said, a couple who God intends to bless.'

'A Catholic couple?'

'No, Father, they are Jews,' Nancy says, her voice almost down to nothing.

'Jews!' Father Crosby is truly flabbergasted. 'Don't talk blasphemy, girl! You've given God's child to the Christ-killers! How dare you take it upon yourself to decide! The Church, through the Holy Father in Rome, will decide for you. As His priest in Yankalillee, it is for me to decide!

You hear? Me! I will decide what's best for your daughter! Giving her child to the Jews is sacrilege and I forbid it! Do you hear me, girl?'

Nancy looks up at him, Father Crosby has gone too far this time. Maybe the Church is stronger than she is, but Father Crosby isn't. Now it's his will against hers. By nominating himself as the decision-maker he's eliminated both God and the Pope from the contest, it's local priest against local Maloney and I don't like his chances one bit. She knuckles the tears from her eyes, which are suddenly blazing with indignation. 'Go to hell, Father, you're not getting Sarah's baby!'

Father Crosby's face has gone bright red! His jowls wobble like a turkey's wattle and I think he's going to have kittens on the spot. But Nancy is back in control. 'Sometimes God speaks directly to a person and this time I think He has, Father. I am sure, and so is Sarah, that we are doing the right thing and that God will forgive us when the time comes.'

Father Crosby is too dumbfounded to speak. But it isn't a comfortable silence, it's as if the air above his head is about to be torn to shreds at any minute. You can see he's cross with himself and knows he shouldn't have had that last outburst and threatened Nancy personally. He had the Church and the Pope as the seconds in his corner and had her on the ropes hanging on for dear life and now he's copped an uppercut and lost the fight on a t.k.o.

'Right,' he says after a while. 'If you refuse to obey the directions of the Church, I shall have to
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take this up with the Bishop.' He looks up at Nancy and, rising, points a finger at her. 'You've not heard the end of this by a long shot, Nancy Maloney!'

Nancy's chin is back sticking out. 'Ain't that the truth, Father. This godforsaken little town won't let us forget and no doubt you'll do your bit to add fuel to the fires as well.'

'It's the fires of Hell you should concern yourself about, Nancy Maloney! You have blasphemed and gone against the Church! You have delivered your offspring to the murderers of the Son of God!' He crosses himself, 'Only He can forgive you! I will pray to the Almighty for your redemption!'

It's all pretty scary stuff and you can see that he doesn't hold out too much hope for his personal prayers of intercession either. Sarah is quaking beside us, biting her nails, eyes downcast. We've all been in the kitchen listening to the goings on and now Father Crosby brushes past us with a grunt and is out the front door, his arms pumping and his priest's robes flapping every which way. Bozo's Bitzers meet him at the door and escort him to the front gate. I reckon we must be about the most collapsed Catholics in the world at that very moment. It's hard fighting the Church because there's just you, and they've got God and the power to turn you into a sinner any time they like and heaps of money. You can tell just by looking at the bicycle Father Crosby rides, it's a Malvern Star 5 Star and costs heaps.

We go to Nancy who, now the priest has gone, has lost all her bravado and has dissolved into tears and is wailing on the old wicker couch. 'It's all so hard,' she sobs. 'It's all so bloody hard!

Oh, God! What am I to do?'

Then, as I said, Christmas comes and after Midnight Mass we are all a little surprised (a lot actually) when Father Crosby only gives us a dirty look and ignores us but doesn't kick us out of his church, like excommunicate us in front of everyone. There are even some who come up to Nancy and wish us happy Christmas and thank us for services rendered over the year and say there'll be a bottle of milk stout next to the garbage can next time we come down their street.

Nancy can generally count on two months' supply of stout as a Christmas box. Sometimes there's shortbread baked for us as well.

Then, when we get home from church on Christmas Day, there's Tommy large as life. He's got presents for everyone. A big bottle of Lily of the Valley perfume for Nancy and a manicure set in this pink leather case for Sarah, a doll with long blonde hair that shuts its eyes and ' makes a baby noise when you turn it upside down for little Colleen, a pocket knife in a leather pouch that fits onto your belt for me, a pair of Stamina boxing gloves for Bozo, and a set of pencils, a sketchpad and a box of Windsor & Newton watercolours and brushes for Mike so he can do his fashion designs. It's the biggest nice surprise we've had since winning at the Melbourne Show and we don't ask him where he's found the money. Nancy says later that we should let sleeping dogs lie and that he's probably left his fingerprints all over the scene of the crime and you can be sure Sergeant Donovan will be round sooner or later. What's more, Tommy is stone-cold sober and it's Christmas Day with the whole town pissed!

I'm a bit suspicious about the pocket knife though, it's like the one he's got on his own belt and I can see the words 'going bush' invisibly written all over it.

Well, I wasn't wrong. First Saturday after Christmas he's standing shaking me awake in my bunk at dawn. 'Mum, I'm sick!' I mumble, thinking it's Sarah come to wake us up for garbage. It's what I say every morning and Nancy takes no notice because you've got to be dying or have one leg chopped off for her to let you stay home. Then, remembering it's Saturday, I groan

'Whassamatta?', opening my eyes for the first time and there's Tommy. 'Shit!' I say, sitting up.

'There's a scrub fire up near Silver Creek, let's get going, Mole.'

'Whajamean?' I'm still half asleep, 'I ain't in the brigade?'

'Gotta start sometime, now's good as ever.'

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'What about Bozo and Mike?' I protest, now fully awake.

"You're the chosen one, Mole.'

'That's not fair, you didn't keep our deal, I'm off the hook, like we agreed.'

'That was going bush, this is fighting fire, that's different. C'mon, hurry, there's people outside waiting.'

'Kids don't fight fires,' I say, I'm only twelve!'

Tommy laughs, 'This Maloney kid does. I've got permission from the CFA. Put on a long-sleeved cotton shirt.'

I get dressed and, I can tell you, I'm not that happy. 'You got a woollen jumper?'Tommy then asks.

'Whaffor, it's summer?'

'Bring the jumper and your beanie,' he says, not explaining. I have trouble finding my beanie, which I only wear in winter. Tommy's wearing a pair of overalls and an old felt hat I've seen when he's gone out before, but he's got a knitted jumper under his arm. Like mine, it's old with holes in the elbows, only his is blue and mine is red. 'Good colour,' he notes, 'See your whereabouts in that. Where's your gumboots?'