Kal

From stage actor and international television star to blockbuster, best-selling author, Judy Nunn's career has been meteoric.

Her first forays into adult fiction resulted in what she describes as her ‘entertainment set'.
The Glitter Game
,
Centre Stage
and
Araluen
, three novels set in the worlds of television, theatre and film respectively, each became an instant bestseller.

Next came her ‘city set'.
Kal
, a fiercely passionate novel about men and mining set in Kalgoorlie;
Beneath the Southern Cross
, a mammoth achievement chronicling the story of Sydney since first European settlement; and
Territory
, a tale of love, family and retribution set in Darwin.
Territory
took Australia by storm, making Judy one of the nation's top-selling fiction writers, and her following novel,
Pacific
, set principally in Vanuatu, met with equal success.

Her next work,
Heritage
, a thriller based in the 1950s and set in the Snowies during the construction of the massive Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme, embraces post-war immigration and the birth of multiculturalism. The resounding critical and commercial success of
Heritage
has consolidated Judy's position as one of this country's leading fiction writers.
Floodtide
, Judy's ninth novel, is set in the ‘Iron Ore State', Western Australia, and reveals, through three decades, the loss of innocence of a population caught up in the greed and avarice of the mining boom.

Judy Nunn's fame as a novelist is spreading rapidly. Her books are now published throughout Europe in English, German, French, Dutch and Czech.

Judy lives with her husband, actor-author Bruce Venables, on the Central Coast of New South Wales.

Cover

About the author

By the same author

Title Page

Copyright

Imprint Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

BOOK ONE: The Migrants 1892

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

BOOK TWO: The Miners 1900

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

BOOK THREE: The Soldiers 1914

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

BENEATH THE SOUTHERN CROSS: Bonus Chapter Sampler

MORE By the same author

‘Vide 'o mare quant'e bello
,

Spira tantu sentimento
,

Comme tu a chi tiene mente
,

Ca scetato 'o faie sunna
.'

A light snowfall started to blanket the earth as the men's voices rang out across the mountainside. The men ignored the snow as they squatted around the open fire, clutching their mugs of red wine, their coat collars raised, their woollen caps pulled down over their ears.

‘
Guarda, gua', chistu ciardino
;

Siente, sie' sti sciure arance
…'

Giovanni's voice was raised above the others'. Although the youngest worker at the camp, he was the only one who could play the concertina and he always led the evening song. Besides, he had by far the finest voice. At least that's what Rico thought as he glanced fondly at his younger brother as they sang the haunting ‘Torna a Surriento'. Several of the dozen or so men sang well, and all were of robust voice, but Giovanni, with his fine natural tenor, was a joy to the ear.

Half an hour later the men acknowledged defeat—the snowfall had all but extinguished the fire—and, with mugs freshly refilled, they retreated to their tents. But, from Giovanni and Rico's tent, the concertina played on.

‘‘Vide 'o mare quant'e bello
…'

Gradually, the men joined in and, from tent to tent, their voices once more rang out until the wine was finished and it was time to sleep.

 

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
it was Rico who first saw the four figures trudging up the mountain track, their bulky wool-clad bodies black against the snow.

They looked tiny in the distance. Four dark dots. But then everything looked tiny in the Alps. Even the fir trees, thirty, forty feet high and shaggy with snow, were dwarfed by the landscape. And in the summer months, free of their white disguise, the massive grey boulders, some of which were as large as the village church, looked like pebbles on the side of the mountain.

But amongst the magnitude of nature's architecture it was the village itself that looked tiniest of all. Nestled in the valley far below and built of rock quarried from the very mountains which dwarfed it, the village looked defiant. Its church bell rang importantly on Sundays, its stone chimneypots puffed busy smoke into the Alpine air, and its people lived their lives ignoring nature's surrounding statement that human existence might not be of vast importance in the ultimate scheme of things. Against the backdrop of the mountain splendour, the village and its people were a testament to the wonderful audacity of man.

That it was Rico who first saw the girls was no accident—he'd been watching for Teresa since the dawn light first cut the icy air. While the men scraped clear the small stone fireplace and fetched dry wood from their tents to boil their mugs of thick, black coffee, Rico stood stamping his heavy work boots in the snow, his black eyes searching the track to the village for the first sign of the girls.

‘She is coming,' he said to Giovanni as his brother handed him a tin mug of scalding coffee, so hot he could
feel the warmth of the metal through his thick leather working gloves. ‘See? There.' He pointed. ‘She is coming.'

It wasn't long before the other men noticed the girls and gathered to whistle and heckle as they passed by.

There were always girls climbing the mountain at this time of the year, peasant girls from nearby villages and farms, crossing the Alps to work in the chalets during the heavy tourist season when extra chambermaids and serving girls were required. The workers always whistled and heckled—but nothing more. They themselves were peasants, employed by the government to work in the stone quarries, or to chop the timber for railway sleepers, or to dig the railroad tunnels and service the tracks through and over the Alps. They came from similar farms and villages and they knew the girls to be good Italian virgins, just like their sisters. They would never dream of accosting them.

For the most part the girls enjoyed the flirtation. Some pretended they didn't and marched past with their noses in the air but, more often than not, they smiled saucily at the men and called out their own cheeky responses as they walked on.

This morning, though, was different. This morning the girls stopped.

‘Teresa!' Rico ran to the tallest of the group. He took her in his arms, lifted her into the air and kissed her passionately. She returned his kiss with equal ardour and the heckling died away as the men watched in envy. The couple's lips finally parted and, arm in arm, they walked several paces away where, oblivious to their onlookers, they again fell into each other's embrace.

Giovanni was the first to initiate a conversation with one of the other girls. She had been standing
closest to Teresa as the couple kissed and had stared with open-mouthed fascination at their passion.

Teresa and the other two girls wore heavy skirts hitched up at the waist with twine to prevent the hems from dragging in the snow. However, the raised hemlines revealed no tempting display of ankle, just heavy walking shoes and thick woven leggings. They wore bulky overcoats and large woollen shawls draped over their heads and shoulders.

The girl who attracted Giovanni's attention was different. She wore men's trousers, far too big for her, tied at the waist with a length of rope. Through the open front of her coat the swell of her breasts was visible beneath the coarse fabric of her shirt. A long woollen scarf was woven around her head and neck in the style that many men adopted when they worked in the bitter cold.

Giovanni walked over to her. ‘You look like a boy.'

She glanced down at the trousers. ‘They are my brother's,' she answered. ‘I did not want my skirt to be ruined.'

Each of the girls was carrying a knapsack, on which was tied a pair of snowshoes. As several of the men drifted over, they put their bundles down and prepared to stop for a chat. Giovanni was determined to keep his girl to himself and as she eased her knapsack from her back, he took it from her.

‘Let me help you,' he said, managing to edge her to one side. ‘My name is Giovanni.' The girl gave him a friendly smile and her blue eyes danced, but she did not offer her own name in reply. Her skin was milky white and Giovanni noticed that a wayward auburn curl had escaped the confines of her scarf.

‘Where have you come from?' he asked, fascinated. She was beautiful.

‘My family has a farm near Ridanna.'

‘Ah,' he nodded. ‘So how do you know Teresa and the other girls? They come from Santa Lena.'

‘I do not know them,' she answered. ‘My father made enquiries. There were no girls from Ridanna climbing the mountain and he did not want me to walk on my own, so he took me to Santa Lena.' She gave him a cheeky smile. ‘I do not know why Papa did not want me to walk alone—perhaps he worried about the railroad workers.' Again the blue eyes danced. Laughter bubbled beneath the surface of her beauty.

Giovanni knew she was joking but he was defensive nevertheless. ‘Oh we mean no harm, we are no danger—'

‘I know,' she laughed. The young man was so serious, she should not make fun of him. ‘I know you are not.' She cast a glance in Teresa's direction. The lovers were still in a deep embrace. Rico had taken off his gloves and Teresa's shawl lay unheeded on the snow as he raked his fingers through her dishevelled hair. A handsome woman with a strong-boned face and wild black tresses, Teresa clung fiercely to Rico's body as his mouth left her lips and started to travel down her neck. She appeared transported, her mouth open, her eyes closed.

The girl watched, shocked but fascinated. They were so blatant they might as well have been naked, she thought. They were making love, fully clothed, out here on the snowy mountainside for all to see.

She was suddenly aware that Giovanni was watching her with as much interest as she was watching Teresa and she averted her eyes, embarrassed.

Giovanni himself was a little embarrassed by his brother's behaviour and felt he owed some explanation. ‘Rico is my brother,' he said. ‘We also come from Santa Lena. He and Teresa have known each other for a long time, they are bound to marry some day.'

The girl's momentary confusion was over and her
smile was warm. Genuine. ‘They love each other very much. That is good.'

Then as quickly as Teresa had fallen into Rico's arms, she thrust him away from her. ‘Enough, Rico, leave me alone,' she cried laughingly. ‘It is a full day's walk to Steinach and we must get there before dark.' He tried to embrace her again but she pushed him away. ‘I will see you in four months,' she said, picking up her knapsack. She started up the track, turning to wave every few steps, and the other girls followed.

‘Goodbye,' the girl said to Giovanni.

‘Goodbye.' He watched the four of them as they trudged on up the track but he was really only looking at the girl.

 

T
HE FIRST HOUR
wasn't heavy going. The track wound gently around the base of the mountain and there was not much climbing. The girls chattered and breathed puffs of white steam as they walked. It was cold but there was little breeze and the sun's rays would soon warm the air. It was going to be a fine day.

The girls were excited, undaunted by the eight-hour trek to Steinach, the little Austrian village on the other side of the mountain where a sleigh would be waiting to take them to the ski resort.

Teresa and her two friends had worked in chalets for the past two seasons. As they compared notes and giggled at stories about the incompetence of tourist skiers, the girl studied Teresa. Tall, handsome, strong, she wore her woman's sexuality like a badge of honour. The image of the lovers and their unashamed passion was still fresh in the girl's mind.

Caterina had never seen people kiss like that. She had just turned eighteen and she had kissed several boys over the past two years, one of them a number of times. She had even parted her lips for Roberto and
once his hand had brushed her breast as if by accident. Her heart had pumped wildly at the time but she had suffered terrible pangs of guilt until confession the following Sunday. After that, she avoided Roberto, but she could not keep at bay the memory of his moist lips and the tantalising touch of his hand on her breast.

And now there was the image of Teresa and Rico. Rico had been strong, virile. He had lifted Teresa from her feet when he had embraced her. Caterina wondered momentarily what it might be like to kiss Rico's brother, the serious young man, the one who'd said his name was Giovanni. He was certainly very handsome. But she breathed a sigh of frustration and forced the images from her mind. It was not only sinful, it was foolish to torment herself like this. Determined to concentrate instead on the exciting new world that lay ahead, she tuned into the girls' chatter.

They were agreeing that it was wise to be especially nice to the Americans—they invariably tipped. The Italians, Austrians, Swiss and Germans rarely did, the English only sparingly and the French never. No, definitely the Americans, they said, and Caterina thought they were very sophisticated.

They were not. Of course, the girls liked to think they were. Each year they came back over the mountain with fresh tales of what was happening in the outside world. ‘An Italian opera called
La Tosca
is famous throughout Europe,' they would boast. Or ‘There is a famine in Russia and hundreds are dying.' But they did not really understand what they were saying. The farms and villages nestled in the Alpine valleys were rarely affected by the dramas of their far distant neighbours.

Next the girls gave Caterina an English lesson. It was the most useful language by far, they told her. Americans did not speak anything else.

All four of them were panting by now as the walk
grew more strenuous, but still they talked. Caterina learned ‘good morning', ‘good afternoon', ‘good evening' and ‘thank you'. One of the girls had a favourite phrase, ‘I do beg your pardon', which she had learned from a very nice English woman the previous season, and they all agreed it seemed a very complicated way of saying
‘scusi'
.

Gradually the track became steeper and the girls' conversation finally dwindled as they conserved their energy for the climb ahead.

 

A
S THE MEN
gathered their tools and prepared for the day's digging, Giovanni nudged Rico and signalled him to wait until the two workers who shared their tent had gone.

The workers' camp was comprised of four tents, the larger one a communal mess and the other three sleeping accommodation for between four to six men. Supplied by the company and constructed of strong canvas with solid wood supports, the tents were designed to withstand the harsh winter. A new tunnel was being built through the Alps and the men were contracted to dig and remove debris after the blastings.

‘You are a fool, Rico,' Giovanni said when they were alone. ‘Being so open with Teresa. If her father finds out he will kill you.'

But Rico only laughed. ‘You worry too much.'

He looked like their father, Salvatore, when he laughed, Giovanni thought. Strong and confident, his sturdy body constantly poised as if to charge, Rico seemed afraid of nothing and Giovanni often envied him.

‘There is no one here at the camp who comes from Santa Lena,' Rico continued. ‘There is no one who knows Teresa or her father, so who is going to tell him?'

‘What about her friends?'

‘Girls never tell, Gio. They band together and keep
their secrets to themselves. You think Teresa is the only girl in Santa Lena who is no longer a virgin?'

Giovanni felt irritated. It was always annoying when Rico patronised him. At twenty-two, his brother was only two years older than he was, so what right did he have to act as though he knew so much more of the world? ‘You are so clever,' Giovanni said, ‘but what happens if you get her with child, eh? What happens then?'