Heritage (46 page)

 

Lucky and Peggy stepped out of Prouds Jewellers shop into the Saturday bustle of Sydney's Pitt Street, but Peggy didn't notice the passers-by.

‘Look, Lucky,' she said as she held out the splayed fingers of her left hand. ‘It's even more beautiful in the sunlight.'

‘You should have let me buy you something flashier. People will think I'm a miser.'

‘No, they won't,' she smiled. ‘This is perfect. It's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen.'

It was a very pretty engagement ring – the diamond flawless, the setting delicate – but he'd wanted to buy her something more expensive.

‘I can afford it,' he'd insisted. ‘Go on, Peggy, get something you can really show off,' he urged.

She laughed at his boyishness, but she'd chosen the ring she'd genuinely wanted, and had not been dictated by thrift as he'd imagined.

‘I will not wear something gaudy in order for you to show off, my darling,' she'd said, and he'd had to give in. Peggy Minchin was not one to be dictated to.

‘Well, I'll have to find some other way to show off then,' he said as they walked hand in hand down Pitt Street. ‘Let's go shopping and I'll buy you a whole new wardrobe.'

‘Why don't we go down to the Quay and look at the harbour first?' she said. She didn't want a whole new wardrobe, she just wanted to walk through the streets of Sydney with her fiancé.

 

Pietro and Violet didn't go to the pictures that night. Pietro was tired, and even Violet felt that the drama of the day outweighed whatever
From Here to Eternity
might have had to offer.

They ate dinner with Maureen instead, gathered around the kitchen table, and Violet chatted endlessly, her lamb chops sitting untouched on her plate.

‘I wore it all over town, Auntie Maureen,' she said, waving her wedding ring under Maureen's nose, ‘and I showed everyone I saw. The whole of Cooma knows I'm married now.'

‘Well, that's one way to go about things, I suppose,' Maureen said dryly. She knew about Cam's visit to the house and the confrontation with Pietro. Her brother had stormed into the hospital.

She'd recognised his anger instantly and had refused to see him in private. She'd taken him to the canteen instead, knowing that Cam would never make a spectacle of himself with others around.

‘I hold you responsible for this, Maureen,' he'd hissed while they'd sat in a corner away from the several nurses present. ‘How could you stand by and let her marry the boy?'

‘Better she have some family support rather than run off and marry him on her own.' Maureen had kept calm, as she always did, and as always it had infuriated him further.

‘Why didn't you tell me, for God's sake!'

‘It was up to Violet to tell you. I urged her to, but she refused.' He'd been on the verge of explosion and about to interrupt, but she hadn't allowed him to. ‘I suggest you welcome the boy into the fold, Cam. You have no alternative. Either that or lose your daughter. And your grandchild,' she'd added. ‘Don't forget she's two and a half months pregnant.'

‘The Dago's a bloody lunatic! He attacked me!'

‘No doubt he had some provocation,' she'd coolly replied. ‘He's a very gentle young man under normal circumstances.' Then she'd risen from the table; it was time to get back to work. ‘I think you should go home now, Cam. Go home and cool off.' And she'd left him, fuming and helpless, the nurses at the other tables casting curious glances in his direction.

Maureen hadn't told Violet the details of what had transpired at the hospital.

‘Yes, I know,' she'd simply said when her niece had started to recount the events of the morning, ‘your dad popped in to see me.' And then she'd sat quietly eating her chops while Violet, still exuberant from the excitement of the afternoon, chatted on about the whole of Cooma now knowing she was married to a man with movie-star looks.

When her niece had finally run out of steam, Maureen returned to the topic of the morning's confrontation, and as she listened to Violet's version, she looked now and then to Pietro for verification.

He stayed silent for the most part, nodding occasionally, but Violet was unable to resist a little dramatic embellishment and eventually he interjected.

‘Dad was going to kill Pietro!' It was a direct accusation and Violet made it with force.

‘Is not so, Violetta,' he corrected her. ‘I attack Violetta's father,' he said to Maureen. ‘Violetta's father, he defend himself. He is not going to kill me.'

‘Well, I thought he was,' Violet insisted, ‘he looked mad enough. And then Pietro had a fit, Auntie Maureen. And I reckon that'd be Dad's fault, getting him all steamed up like he did.'

Maureen knew about Pietro's epilepsy – they had talked openly of it, the three of them. And they talked openly now as Pietro and Violet told her everything that had happened.

‘Is breakthrough, Maureen,' Pietro said. ‘The priest, he frightens me. But is good I remember, yes?'

‘Perhaps,' she replied cautiously.

Maureen was concerned. She could tell that Pietro was pleased with his progress, and she didn't wish to alarm him, but it seemed to her that he and Violet were treading a dangerous path. Any delving into the boy's traumatised past should be handled strictly professionally. Pietro was epileptic and he suffered long-term amnesia; their amateur meddling could have disastrous results.

‘But I really do think you should talk this over with your doctor, Pietro,' she said. ‘It is essential you seek professional advice.'

‘Yes,' Pietro obediently promised. Maureen was looking at him very seriously, and he respected her opinion. ‘Yes, I will do this.'

He would go to the doctor as Maureen advised, but not just yet, he decided. He must focus more on the priest first. If he could discover why it was he so feared the priest, then he was convinced he could discover his past.

Pietro and Violet retired early that night, and they did not make love as they usually did. Violet would very much have liked to, but she was sensitive to Pietro's physical state – he was exhausted. She cuddled up behind him instead, her body contoured to his, loving the curve of his back against her breasts, and the feel of their legs tucked together as one.

Pietro lay staring at the wall, still with the dull headache that had remained with him since his seizure. The priest was still heavily on his mind as he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

The dreams were not long in coming. At first the images were those he'd seen during his fit. The familiar house, and the steps, and the door. Then the floorboards and the shoes and the hem of the cassock. And finally the priest's eyes. Then the images became jumbled, first one, then the other, always ending in the priest's eyes.

The eyes devoured him with their malevolence as the dream became a nightmare. The priest was going to kill him – he had to get out of the house. Then he was running through a world of white, hearing his own frantic breathing and the crunch of his feet in the snow. But the world was no longer white, it had become blood-red. Everywhere he looked the snow had turned red – he was running through blood.

Then, as he felt he could run no longer, he was under the house, looking up at the floorboards. He was safe here. Here he was away from the blood. But he was not safe. The blood had followed him. It was pouring through the floorboards, drenching him, choking him, he was drowning in blood. And as he lay drowning he heard the priest's voice calling. ‘Pietro! Pietro!'

‘Pietro.' It was Violet's voice and he awoke with a start.

She was kneeling by the bed shaking him, her voice trembling with fear, and in the dim light of the moon through the window he could see that, in her hand, she held the piece of leather strap.

‘Is all right, Violetta,' he assured her. ‘Is a dream, that is all.' And he took the strap from her.

Violet could have wept with relief. He'd been making the most awful sounds, as if he were choking in his sleep; she'd been sure he was having a fit.

She got back into bed and as they sat cuddled up together he told her about his dream. Violet was horrified, but again Pietro saw it as a breakthrough.

‘Is no dream, Violetta,' he said, ‘is a memory. The priest, he has done something very bad. I feel his evil. If I find who is this priest, and if I find what is it this priest has done, I find who I am. This I know.'

Neither slept well that night. Pietro tossed fitfully, the images returning. And, beside him, Violet lay half awake, fearful that at any moment his nightmares would become a seizure. She was frightened. Unlike Pietro, she was no longer sure that today had been a breakthrough. She hated the priest.

As the train pulled away from the platform, Rob Harvey sat back and stared out the carriage window. His Saturday night excursion to Sydney had served its customary purpose: he'd picked up a girl in one of the classier bars and they'd gone to his hotel and had sex – it had been over four months since he'd slept with a woman. She'd been a nice girl: they'd had a laugh and they'd talked and, afterwards, she hadn't counted out the money when he'd given her the envelope. He'd enjoyed her company even more than the sex. But when she wrote down her telephone number and told him to contact her any time he was in Sydney, he'd decided he wouldn't. His intimacy with the girl had only served to remind him how lonely he was.

He wasn't thinking of the girl as he stared intently out of the window; nor was he paying any attention to the shunting yards as the train slid past, or the rows of shabby houses and the back yards of Sydney's poorer inner suburbs. He was trying to keep his eyes averted from the woman sitting opposite, and he was finding it difficult. There were just the two of them in the dogbox carriage, and he wished he'd bought a newspaper, or that there were others with whom he could strike up a conversation. It was going to be a long eight hours to Cooma, he thought.

He knew that the woman was travelling to Cooma – he'd heard her ask a porter on the platform. He'd already been seated in the carriage when he noticed her through the window – it was difficult not to. Perfectly proportioned, she carried herself proudly and her short-cropped fair hair framed a face that was strikingly handsome. She was possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

‘This
is
the train to Cooma, isn't it?' she'd asked.

‘That's right,' the porter had said, ‘leaves in three minutes,' and he'd opened the carriage door for her.

‘Allow me.' Rob had taken her case and lifted it up onto the overhead rack.

‘Thank you.' Her response had been polite, but she hadn't smiled. Then she'd sat, her hands folded in her lap, and stared out of the window, even though the train was still stationary. She hadn't initiated conversation and Rob had felt awkward, although he'd understood. Such a woman would invite the attention of men; she obviously considered it necessary to present an aloof exterior. But it was disconcerting nonetheless.

Now, as the train picked up speed, they both maintained their gaze through their respective windows, but Rob sensed that the woman, like him, was not really seeing the outside world. She was in a world of her own, he realised as he watched her in his peripheral vision. In fact, she was so lost in her thoughts that he was able to risk the odd glance before guiltily returning his eyes to the suburbs whizzing by.

Ruth wasn't being intentionally rude to the pleasant man who had helped her with her suitcase, but having now embarked on the final leg of her journey, she needed time to think. She concentrated her attention on the smudgy stain on the carriage window, thankful that the man respected her privacy and was not attempting conversation.

What would she do when she got to Cooma? She hadn't really made any plans beyond reaching the Snowy Mountains of Australia. She would try to find Samuel, yes, but he'd believed her dead for over eleven years. His life could have taken many a path – he may even have remarried, she told herself. Just as she was no longer the girl he'd once known, Samuel, too, would have changed.

Ruth had thought of her husband a great deal over the past three months since she'd discovered he was alive. She remembered the love that they'd shared, but she did not pin her hopes on that love's survival. She had become too practical, too hardened: life held no romantic miracles, and she expected none. But finding Samuel had given her fresh purpose – or perhaps simply something to do, she thought; ‘purpose' had become an empty word. Her search for Samuel had, however, brought her to a new country. Perhaps it was this country that held the answer. Who could tell?

Her attention was distracted beyond the carriage window's smudgy stain. They were out of the city now, they had been for some time, but she hadn't noticed. And the vista was breathtaking, rugged rocky ridges towering over huge valleys of native forest that stretched as far as the eye could see. Ruth thought she'd never seen a landscape so vast and majestic.

‘How beautiful,' she said, leaning forward in her seat to gaze out at the grandeur.

‘Yes, isn't it.' Rob was relieved that she'd spoken at last.

‘The trees almost look blue from here,' she marvelled.

‘It's the eucalypts,' he said. ‘The oil from their leaves lends a haze to the air, and from a distance the forests look blue.'

‘Eucalypts?'

‘Aussie gum trees, indigenous to this country. There're hundreds of varieties.'

‘And the oil from their leaves lends a haze to the air,' she said, thinking how pretty it sounded.

‘Yeah, so I believe, and in the right atmospheric conditions and from a distance it makes the trees look blue.' He felt himself relax. She wasn't really aloof at all, he told himself, and she couldn't help being beautiful. ‘You're going to Cooma, aren't you? I heard you ask the porter.'

‘Yes, I am.'

‘It's a beaut town, you'll like it.' He wondered why she was going to Cooma, but he didn't ask. Her reply had been pleasant enough, but he'd sensed that the walls had gone up again. ‘Of course there've been a lot of changes with the Snowy.' Eager to continue the conversation, he was about to explain the Scheme to her, but she nodded.

‘The Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme, yes, I know.' Ruth had made enquiries in Sydney about the Snowy Mountains. Thousands of migrants had been employed there, she'd been told. And Samuel would be one of them.

Rob felt like a bit of a dill. Of course she'd know about the Scheme, he thought, she probably had a job lined up through the SMA in Sydney; he was sure she was a migrant. Her English was perfect, but her accent was slightly stilted. He liked her voice.

‘You're going to work for the Snowy, are you?'

‘No, I hadn't planned to.' She'd planned nothing beyond her search for Samuel, but it occurred to her that it was a good idea. She would get herself settled first so that she wasn't a burden to him. ‘But I think perhaps I shall look for a job,' she said, ‘that is, if I can find one.'

‘Oh you won't have any trouble,' he said. ‘There are tons of jobs going around Cooma and the work camps. I'm Rob, by the way,' it was time for introductions, he thought, ‘Rob Harvey.'

‘Ruth Stein.' She offered her hand and they shook. She hadn't intended to get into conversation; she usually avoided situations like this. The icy reception she offered men who approached her always cut them off at the pass. But there was an engagingly genuine quality to Rob Harvey, and she was interested in learning about her destination.

‘So tell me about the Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme,' she said. ‘What exactly is it?'

‘It's the biggest engineering and construction feat this country's ever undertaken.' Rob was relieved to no longer feel like a dill. ‘A river's being diverted from its path to the sea and channelled through tunnels beneath a mountain range,' he said impressively.

‘Good heavens.' She was certainly as impressed as he'd intended her to be, but she was also a little mystified. ‘For what purpose?'

‘Irrigation of the dry interior,' he said, ‘and the harnessing of hydro-electric power.' Rob warmed to his theme as he described the principles of the dams and power stations. Her questions were perceptive and her interest rewarding. As they talked, he forgot to be in awe of her beauty. She was an intelligent woman whose conversation he was enjoying.

‘And I've heard that the Scheme employs principally migrant labour,' she said.

‘In the main, yes,' he replied. ‘There was a shortage of local labour after the war so the government brought out thousands of migrants.' He gave a laconic grin. ‘The Europeans outnumber the Aussies on the Snowy now, and it's the best thing that could have happened all round, I can tell you.'

‘Why is that?'

‘The Europeans have found a new life here, and we've found that ours isn't the only way to live. We can be a pretty parochial bunch, us Aussies.'

She found him a most interesting man. He looked and sounded like the quintessential Australian, or rather the way she'd pictured a quintessential Australian might look and sound. He was lean and fit with the weathered face of one who'd lived in the sun, and he spoke with a lazy drawl. Yet there was a worldliness about him. The contradiction was not unattractive, but there was a self-consciousness to it, as if he wished to disguise his obvious intellect beneath a casual masculinity. She wondered if other Australian men were like that; she hadn't really met any – in the few days she'd been in Sydney she'd kept to herself, wandering about the city, taking in the beauty of its harbour.

They were beyond the leafy Southern Highlands now and she looked out at the dry and rolling hills. The country itself seemed a series of contradictions.

‘What an ever-changing landscape,' she said, not realising that she'd voiced her thoughts out loud.

‘You wait till you get to the Snowies and the Monaro.' He was glad she was again inviting conversation; she'd gone silent for a while and he'd felt that he might have been talking too much. ‘You'll see more landscapes there than you can shake a stick at.'

She smiled at the quaintness of the expression.

It was the first time she'd smiled, and he was once more struck by her beauty. He wondered about her background. Where was she from? Why didn't she smile more often? But he asked no questions; it was obvious that she didn't want to talk about herself. So he talked about the countryside instead, finding a lyricism he hadn't known he possessed. He wasn't sure why; he wasn't trying consciously to impress her. Perhaps he simply wanted to welcome her; she was a newcomer to Australia, and she seemed to him very lonely.

Ruth liked the way he talked. He wanted to share his passion for his country, and she thought how good it was to hear someone speak about their country with a passion that was not possessive. They had spoken about Israel with passion, she remembered, but it was always accompanied by the rancour of ownership. ‘This land is ours and we will not share it,' they'd said. They'd killed those who had wished to share it.

Samuel had made a good choice, she thought as she listened to the Australian; he had been wise to come to this country. Rob Harvey had said the Europeans had found a new life here, and she hoped that had proved so for Samuel. She wondered if perhaps Rob Harvey knew him. It was quite possible – Rob worked for the Snowy, he was a site engineer, he'd said. But she would make no enquiries until she was settled. She would not intrude upon Samuel's new life until the time was right.

‘Well, that was a quick trip,' he said as the train pulled into Cooma. It was late afternoon and there were now others in the carriage, from various stops along the way, but he'd barely noticed them. He hefted her suitcase down from the overhead rack.

‘Thank you, Rob,' she said as they stepped out onto the platform. ‘I've enjoyed talking to you very much.'

Still no smile, but he could see that she was genuine. In fact, he wondered how he could have found her aloof – there was not a shred of artifice about her; she appeared quite unaware of her beauty.

‘Where are you staying?' he asked, signalling a taxi.

‘I don't know, I haven't booked in anywhere. I thought I'd just …'

‘I'll take you to Dodds Hotel. It isn't the classiest accommodation in town, but it's a family-run pub and they're nice people. They'll look after you there.'

The taxi pulled up and he piled her suitcase into the boot, along with his rucksack.

‘Really, it's not necessary …'

‘Course it is, I'm not leaving you here on your own. Besides, the train was early, I'm not being picked up for another half an hour yet.'

The train hadn't been early at all, and as he opened the taxi door for her he looked around for the Land Rover – it'd arrive any second. Lucky wouldn't be driving it as he usually did – he had taken a couple of days off to go to Sydney with Peggy and wouldn't be back until Tuesday – but Karl Heffner was due to collect him. Karl had spent the weekend in Cooma and was going to drive them back to the work camp.

The taxi pulled away from the kerb just as Rob saw the Land Rover turn into the station courtyard. Sorry, mate, he thought, you'll just have to wait.

He booked her into Dodds, personally introducing her to Rita and Bob, and as Bob Duncan carried her suitcase upstairs, he scribbled a couple of addresses on the notepad Rita had given him.

‘There you go,' he said, tearing off the page and handing it to her. ‘That's Kaiser's offices here in town and the other one's the Snowy Authority headquarters. Give them both a burl and mention my name – one of them's bound to come up with a job.'

‘Thank you, Rob, you've been very kind.'

‘No worries,' he said. ‘Well, I'll leave you to settle in.' As she started up the main staircase, he slung his rucksack over his shoulder. ‘Oh, by the way,' he added as if it were a casual afterthought, ‘I'm coming into town next weekend, meeting up with a mate for dinner here at Dodds.' It was a lie, but he wasn't sure if she'd agree to go out with him alone. ‘Perhaps you'd like to join us?'

She hesitated, and he realised that the invitation hadn't sounded right at all.

‘There'll be another lady present,' he hastily added, ‘my mate Lucky's just got himself engaged.'

She remained hesitant, and he thought that perhaps a cosy dinner with another couple had sounded a bit too intimate.

‘There's always a good crowd at Dodds on a Saturday,' he said hopefully, ‘I could introduce you around, you'd get to meet some of the locals.'