Thought Crimes (29 page)

It's hard to remember what life was like before the internet. In May 1997, my handwritten letter to Aachen told Hana how much we were looking forward to her exchange, and listed all the things she could do in Melbourne. Her reply was the first email I received on my new lap-top computer.

Two years older than me, Hana described herself as a ‘statuesque Aryan' with long, blonde hair. Having spent two years in Chicago with her parents – both architects – she spoke perfect English, as well as French, Dutch and a little Flemish. She thought it better that we write in English. I could practise my German when she was in Melbourne.

During the next four months, we exchanged a dozen emails. Hana said Aachen was heaven for beer and chocolate lovers, blessed with suburbs that spread into Belgium and Holland. She described her favourite clubs and bars, and wanted to hear about Melbourne's nightlife. Just sixteen, I could only tell her about the one Brighton club I'd snuck into. The rest came from guidebooks.

Having a German friend was such an adventure that I never questioned whether we'd get along. We both loved dogs. Her three wolfhounds had noble, Russian names, while our dog, Mickey, was a black kelpie-collie cross who understood everything. When we spoke, the hair on Mick's ears twitched like tiny antennas. Being a horse-lover, I knew Aachen as a major equine centre, but my one mention of eventing brought a reply that seems terser now than it did at the time. ‘Don't ask about horses. The girls in my class are horse-crazy … I can think of better things to jiggle up and down on.'

As her visit approached, Hana said how excited she was, and spoke of the great times us two girls would have together. I paid little attention to the sentence that said her boyfriend, Udo, would be in Melbourne at the same time.

In the one photo I'd been sent, Hana was formally dressed. While you couldn't call her pretty, she had a nice smile. Her chestnut eyes were too small for her full cheeks. But flesh-and-blood Hana was nothing like the girl we'd expected to exit customs.

Statuesque wasn't the half of it. I am average height. She was thirty centimetres taller than me, and must have weighed one hundred kilos. A loose sweater made it look like she was smuggling melons, and Dad whispered that she could play full-back for Melbourne. She hugged us, and said how happy she was to be here, but Hana looked exhausted. When I asked in German what the flight was like, she answered in English.

‘It was a nightmare. Squashed into a tiny seat for twenty-five hours.'

We made mistakes that didn't help. Even though Hana was too tired to speak, Dad insisted on taking the tourist route through the city and explaining the history of every building. Mum reminds him that Melbourne is more subtle than many cities, and only reveals its virtues to those who are patient and open-minded, but he expects visitors to instantly recognise Melbourne as the best city on earth. When we arrived home, Hana had to be woken up, and she was still woozy when Mickey saw her and started barking.

‘Get it away from me!' she screamed.

‘Don't worry, that's Mick. He's nervous with strangers.'

‘Keep it away. It's savage.'

Hana spoke German to me only when she wanted to complain. At home, she had a double bed, and she didn't see how she could possibly sleep in my absent sister's large single. Air-conditioning gave her conjunctivitis, and our house was completely wrong. It had no sense of cohesion. The two things she approved of were our new refrigerator and the television, which had an unusually large screen.

I said nothing to my parents, who had no inkling that their taste was so poor.

Whenever I spoke German, Hana answered in English. ‘Don't speak German to me. You can't speak it well enough.'

We all recall the heaviness of Hana's feet. With every move, she sent shudders through the house.

‘Get a nice, long rest,' Mum told her. ‘Tomorrow we'll give you a proper introduction to the city.'

Hana didn't wake till midday, by which stage rain squalls had arrived with the southerly change. She wasn't bothered when Mum asked if we could postpone the orientation trip till the following day.

‘What do you most want to see?' Mum asked.

‘Nothing in particular.'

‘Are you more interested in seeing animals and natural landmarks, or doing cultural things?'

‘Whatever you want,' Hana said, as she slumped in Dad's television chair with the packet of chocolate biscuits she'd taken from the fridge.

‘I was thinking of a roast for tea tonight. Do you like lamb?'

‘If that suits you,' Hana said, as she flicked through the stations on the cable network.

‘Lamb it is,' Mum said, already guessing that these six weeks might not pass as quickly as she'd hoped they would.

Just before dinner, Hana asked if she could use the phone, and then took the hands-free to the lounge. Although I couldn't make out what was said, she spoke German in a tone that was much gentler than anything I'd heard before. Fifteen minutes later, she found Mum in the kitchen.

‘My boyfriend wants to meet me in Carlton. Is that easy to get to from here?'

‘After dinner?'

‘Udo will meet me in Carlton at seven.'

I'd seen Mum in stare-downs with my older sister, Rosey, and she'd never come close to losing one.

‘I know nothing about Udo, but he's welcome to dine here if he can find his way to Black Rock by seven.'

Hana looked like she'd been slapped across the face.

‘We know you're an adult, Hana. But while you're here, you're under our care.'

Snatching the phone from its cradle, Hana stormed into the lounge. Her brief conversation with Udo was loud enough for all to hear, but one of the few words I could translate was the German term for convicts. She brought a sarcastic smile back into the kitchen.

‘Udo has better things to do.'

That marked the start of the silent treatment. When Dad asked about Aachen, her school, parents, and her plans for university, she dead-batted him with
it's not like heres
, and
who knows?
Afterwards, Hana's thanks were marinated in bitter irony. ‘That was a notable family dinner, thank you.'

Next morning, after sleeping in till eleven, she snorted when told that the best way in to the city centre was by bus and train. Having been advised to wear comfortable shoes, she chose two-inch heels that she was extremely awkward in. When I appeared, dressed in a pale-green sloppy joe, jeans and sneakers, she said no respectable German girl would be seen in public like that.

Mum says that city tour was like a day in the dentist's chair. Hana went out of her way to show no interest. Indifferent to landmarks, she sneered her way through the shopping arcades. Asked if she'd like to visit the gallery, she said native art made no sense and shouldn't be called culture. Mum and I were about to raise the white flag when she showed her first hint of enthusiasm.

‘Maybe Julia could take me to Brunswick Street. I've heard they have great Thai food there.'

Without asking if I wanted to spend more time with Hana, Mum found eighty dollars, slapped it into Hana's hand and insisted we be home by ten.

If I'd hoped that being alone together might expose a more tender side of Hana's personality, I was severely disappointed.

‘Your mother speaks like a duck. Is English her first language?'

‘Country people have strong accents,' I said.

‘The schools must be primitive.'

I wanted to kick the heels out from under her. This cow on stilts was taking a shot at one of the kindest people in the world. But I had the Rotary president's speech locked in my mind. No matter what differences we had with our guest, we should behave like diplomats, and say nothing that would reflect poorly on our country.

‘Where is Udo staying?' I asked.

‘In a hostel in North Melbourne.'

‘Is he here on exchange?'

‘Udo's not a boy. He works with my father.'

‘Have you been with him long?'

‘Do you people know how to mind your own business?'

When Hana asked the best way to get to Errol Street in North Melbourne, I said we'd told Mum we'd be eating in Fitzroy.

‘You're sixteen and you still tell her everything?'

I could have left her then, but I'd begun to enjoy the pain Hana's feet were putting her through. I was curious to meet the man who thought Hana worth following to the underside of the world.

Waiting at the bar was a stout, dark man whose head barely reached Hana's huge chest. Roughly my dad's age, Udo's cheeks shone like tomatoes, and his fly was at half-mast. Hana greeted him with a greedy kiss on the lips, and when I was introduced, Udo looked me up and down before apologising for having no English.

Without asking what I'd do for money, Hana told me to see a movie. She'd meet me at Flinders Street station at twelve and we'd share a cab home.

I didn't know what to do. If I'd told her to get a cab to Black Rock whenever she chose, she might not have come home.

After Udo stroked my cheek, I left them to it. I ate tea at Maccas and saw an awful Adam Sandler film. By eleven, it was freezing cold. I knew Mum would be pumping messages onto my mobile's answer-service, and my one idea was to say that we'd been given free tickets for the movie, and had forgotten to switch the phone on afterwards. Scared to stay in one place for fear of drug-peddlers and madmen, I walked laps around the big city blocks.

Near quarter to one, I was ready to catch a cab home and face the music by myself when Hana's taxi pulled up in Flinders Street. She stank of alcohol, and looked like death. Twigs and bits of grass were knotted through her hair.

‘Are you all right? … Where were you?'

‘At a club.'

‘Mum and Dad will kill us.'

‘Just say we met one of your friends and she invited us back to her place.'

‘They'll know it's a lie. And they'll smell you.'

Then Hana muttered something in German that I took to mean, ‘Keep your mouth shut, or you're dead.'

‘What happened?'

‘Udo and his friend Manny took me to a park and raped me.'

I asked if she was serious. When she said nothing, I said we had to go to the police.

‘No! He's my father's friend,' Hana said, as if that made sense of things. ‘Shut up, or something bad will happen. They know where you live.'

My head was spinning. I didn't know what to believe. Though she looked ready to throw up, she spoke so calmly. Maybe it was shock. When I helped comb the muck from Hana's hair, the Iranian driver said we'd pay extra for messing his cab.

Just after one-thirty, Mum and Dad met us at the front gate.

Not even the darkness could mask Mum's fury.

‘Are you all right?' she asked.

I said we were.

‘Go to bed now. But you'll hear about this in the morning.'