‘People don’t always tell the whole truth.’

  ‘Is that experience talking?’

  ‘Oh, well. Perhaps,’ I say. She is watching me closely now. Somehow or other, it’s turned into me who’s being exposed.

  I am suddenly too aware of my thin cotton nightdress. My hair is an old woman’s hair at this unspeakable hour; the daylight hides that fact, perversely. And I’m bruised and stiff and quite possibly hysterical. She is still watching me. I have a dreadful feeling that Jim isn’t a pathological liar after all, a scheming no-good snake, out to destroy Francesca and me. I’ve probably come out of the closet as the bewildered, weary, stumbling-through-life individual that I am, and always have been. Though it seems I’m the last person to find out about it.

  Romanzo

  ‘You are English?’ Sonia said.

  He sat back down on the kitchen chair. ‘Yes, Signora.’

  His skin was contrarily bloodless under the weathering it had taken. And his eyes were shadowed with purple stains.

  ‘What happened to your leg? Is there a wound?’

  ‘I broke my ankle, Signora. My shoes.’ He hinged his wrists together and flapped his hands open and shut. ‘I banged my knee when I fell. I went down a cliff. About two hundred yards.’

  ‘Have you seen a doctor?’ She left Berta at the doorway and walked over to the table.

  ‘No. I couldn’t risk it, and then it seemed to mend. I use the bandage to support it.’

  ‘Mama,’ Gianni said. ‘This is the American. I told you the Americans were here. He’s my friend, he and the other one with the yellow hair.’

  She looked at the man’s face. He didn’t understand what Gianni was saying, she could see that. She said to him, ‘Are there two of you?’

  ‘No. Only one. I’m alone.’

  She gestured to Gianni. He walked over to her, and she turned him to face the man. The boy reluctantly allowed his mother to fold her arm about his shoulder. He said, ‘I found him.’ He gazed around at her and said, ‘Out there.’

  She said, ‘My son says there are two of you.’

  The man looked at the boy. She thought he did not know how to answer her. She held Gianni tighter against her. She threw a look at Alphonso, who sensed her sudden unease. He wandered slowly over to the back door.

  ‘No, Signora. I’ve been alone for many weeks. Oh, of course!’ He slapped his good knee. ‘We’ve met before, your son and I. Another fellow was with me then. When I fell and couldn’t go on, I told him to leave. There was no point in his getting caught.’

  ‘A dark-haired man?’ she asked. She reached her arm right across the boy’s front.

  ‘Sandy? No, fair. Fair skin, fair hair.’ He sat back against the chair and had a good look into her face. ‘Is that what the boy told you?’

  She nodded. She smiled now. She released her son. ‘Yes. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure.’

  Gianni immediately dragged a chair from the table and sat on it, next to the American. Sonia nodded to Alphonso, who limped across to the man, patted his shoulder again, and also sat. Berta came up behind her. ‘Who is he?’ she said. Sonia replied, ‘An Englishman. He hurt his leg and had to stay behind.’

  ‘Oh, poveretto,’ Berta said. ‘Does he want something to eat?’ She bent over from the waist, put her hand up to her mouth and mimed her question for him.

  The Englishman grinned. ‘Yes, Signora, please. I’m very hungry.’ He looked back to Sonia. ‘If you can spare it. I know times are hard.’

  She said, ‘We started off with more than others. So we have a little more left.’

  He thought she was more beautiful this close, more translucent, more open, not like a sunflower, no, but an orchid perhaps. When she spoke English, along with the fluency of her words, her whole self delivered itself to him. He said, directly to her, ‘How do you speak English so well?’

  ‘My father had me tutored in it since I was about six.’

  ‘You are from one of the old families around here,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she said. She saw that he was looking at her hands, for a ring, perhaps, a wedding ring, a family ring. ‘My father is a businessman. I am a Jew,’ she said. She did not know why she said that. Or why so baldly.

  He raised his eyes. ‘Then perhaps it’s good that I’m here.’

  She was intrigued by his eyes. They were completely open to her. She had never experienced such a directness before, except when the infant Gianni had gazed up at her. It made her forget that there were others in the room. And he had just said a curious thing. She said, ‘Why?’

  ‘I can protect you,’ he said.

  She felt herself rise and fall on the waves of her breath. He was relaxed now, too, watching her face. She realised she could hear the tick-tocking of the clock through the house.

  Gianni tapped the man’s arm. ‘Signore,’ he said. ‘The Americans come?’ He held his hands as if he were holding a rifle. ‘Pow, pow.’

  ‘Soon,’ the man said. He leaned forward in his chair and rubbed the boy’s head. The black curls flopped between his fingers.

  ‘Yes?’ Gianni said.

  Sonia said to him, ‘He said they won’t be long, darling. A few weeks, perhaps.’

  ‘Is he the scout, Mama?’

  Alphonso said, ‘Gianni knows more about it than any of us.’

  ‘It’s the movies,’ Sonia said. ‘The westerns. We saw one about Indian scouts a few months ago.’

  ‘Yes, but Mama, they have scouts in the war, too. I know more about it than you, don’t I, Alphonso?’

  Sonia looked back to the man. ‘He thinks you’re on a scouting mission.’

  The man shifted his leg. The bandage he’d wound about his ankle was filthy. ‘Oh,’ he sighed quietly. She stepped towards him. Berta suddenly flurried into life, and opened the pantry door. ‘Poor boy,’ she said. ‘Starving.’

  He said, ‘I presume you realise I’m an escaped prisoner. If I put you in danger, you must tell me now.’

  ‘I heard they were letting prisoners go,’ Sonia said. ‘Opening the gates and looking the other way.’

  ‘Yes, I heard that, too. But we were in the North. A lot of our poor beggars were shunted off to Germany. A few of us managed to get away.’

  Sonia looked across to Alphonso and told him what the man had said. She said to Alphonso, ‘Will I ask him about Jacob?’

  Alphonso said, ‘He won’t know anything about that. How could he?’

  ‘No, but he might have heard what is happening to people up there.’

  Alphonso looked her in the eye. Then he shrugged.

  She said to the man. ‘My brother was in Milan. He was arrested.’ She followed the narrowing of his eyes. ‘My father went up to try and find him.’

  ‘And did he?’

  ‘No. He stayed for a few days the first time, and now he’s gone up again. And he won’t come home. He says he’ll stay there till he gets him back.’

  The man looked at his knees.

  Sonia said, ‘What do you think they did with him?’

  ‘Germans?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  The man turned his head just a little towards Alphonso, who was looking straight at him. The man said, ‘I don’t know, Signora. But it might be safer for your father to stay away from the Germans.’

  Sonia was silent for a moment. ‘Because he’s a Jew,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I read his book, you know, Hitler’s. When I was up at university. It doesn’t do to underestimate things.’

  ‘My father says there are always rumours in a time of confusion. Nothing’s ever that bad when the dust has settled.’

  The man did not seem to want to look at her. Instead, he became interested in Berta, who was pouring water in to a bowl of cornmeal. He said, ‘Who knows? Your father may be right.’

  Alphonso said to Sonia, ‘Tell him the Germans were here a few days ago.’ His eyes met hers and he jerked his thumb towards the Englishman.

  She said, ‘Alphonso says to warn you that some Germans were here a few days ago.’

  ‘In this house?’ He pointed to the table.

  Gianni said, mistaking the gesture, ‘No, no, Signore. We didn’t give them any food. My mother told them to go away, and one of them got killed. I saw it.’

  ‘Ssh,’ Sonia said. ‘I thought I told you never to mention that.’

  ‘But he’s an American. We can tell him. I can show him where it happened.’

  ‘Ssh,’ she said again. She smoothed his dark hair back. It sprang forward. She said to the Englishman, ‘There were three officers and a number of trucks and outriders. They were here for only a few hours. They were in a hurry to go south.’

  Alphonso stood up. He said to Berta, ‘I’ll get a bed ready for him in the stable.’

  Berta looked at him. She said, quietly, ‘Are you sure there’s not more of them outside?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, he was left on his own.’

  The old woman used her finger as a spatula to clean the wooden spoon. Damp yellow meal fell to the baking tray. She said, ‘Just be careful.’ He nodded.

  The Englishman turned his head as the man went out the back door. Then he looked again to the Signora and said, ‘Do you know where they were going?’

  ‘Rome,’ she said.

  ‘Have you seen any others?’

  ‘No. But neighbours have seen them.’

  ‘What’s the news? Are they fighting in the city?’

  ‘There’s no one to fight, Signore,’ she said. ‘The Allies are still in the South.’

  ‘The Germans have Rome?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was using both hands now to knead Gianni’s fresh-skinned forehead. The curls were ironed flat as she brushed them back. He was settled against her, mesmerised by her movements.

  ‘Ah,’ the man said. He put his elbows on the table and leaned over it. His fingers scratched at his head. She could not see his face. ‘Too late,’ she heard him say.

  Her hands stopped, clamped on her son’s head. ‘Too late?’ she said.

  The man widened the gap between his hands and looked at her. ‘How will I get through?’ He leaned back against the chair. ‘I thought I had a bit of time.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear? Italy has signed an Armistice with the Allies. A week or more ago.’

  ‘I see.’ He nodded. He stared at her honey-coloured hands on the boy’s dark hair. ‘When my leg was good enough to walk on I left...’ he looked at her eyes, ‘...where I was. I’ve been living in the woods for a fortnight or so. Haven’t seen anyone.’

  She smiled at him. That he would not tell her who had taken him in promised her own security.

  ‘I saw a German convoy on the road I’d intended to follow. I cut back this way. I remembered your son.’ He tried to smile at the boy. ‘I hoped I’d be able to get across to the coast.’

  ‘Alphonso will know,’ she said. She intimated with her head that she meant the old man who’d gone outside. Then she said shyly, and the shy duck of her head shot to his heart, ‘I don’t know your name.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said. He stood. ‘Hugo Kemp, sergeant. I’m called Jack.’

  ‘Jack,’ she said. She thought it funny to have two names.

  ‘And may I ask?’ Jack said, formally.

  ‘Signora Sonia da Fogliano. My son Gianni. Berta. And the man who was here is Alphonso Sabatini, Berta’s husband.’

  Berta turned her head. She was bent over, her beam large and bulbous as she slid the tray inside the oven. Jack said, ‘Signora Sabatini,’ and her face creased. She said, ‘I’ll have something hot for you soon, poor thing. Tell him to sit down and rest that leg.’

  ‘She says to sit down and rest.’

  He put out his hand to her. Sonia released one of hers from Gianni and gave it to him. He bent and kissed it and said, ‘Signora.’

  She saw the matt his dark hair had become. The back of his neck was reddened by the sun. The collar of his shirt fell away from the bony beginning of his spine. She astonished herself by a wish to slide her hand under the shirt, down his back, to feel the sharp bump of his shoulder blades. ‘You’re thin,’ she said, softly.

  He straightened up. He still held her hand. He said, ‘I saw you before.’

  He felt her hand begin to withdraw. He tightened his grip. ‘When I was here the first time. You were standing in the doorway. At the side of the house.’ Her hand was like a bird. His fingers could feel the pulsebeat at her wrist.

  ‘Oh?’ she said. She looked at her hand. At his hand.

  ‘You looked very sad. I thought you looked sad.’

  She raised her eyes. ‘I’ve been ... sad,’ she said.

  ‘Did something happen?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Nothing has happened.’ He felt her thumb, velvet, slide a little up his wrist. She did not seem to notice that she’d done it.

  New South Wales, late 1943

  ‘She’s in her room, Mick. She got a letter.’

  ‘From Bernard?’

  ‘I think it’s upset her a little.’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong, is it?’

  ‘I don’t think so, love. It’s just upsetting for her, you know. She’s been lying down for over an hour.’

  ‘Maybe you should go in. Why don’t you make her a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, I was going to do that. Maybe a nice sandwich. But you know what she’s like. She’s just as likely to hide the letter and not say a word about it. She’s got that from you.’

  ‘What? What have I got?’

  ‘You wouldn’t let your right hand know what your left hand is doing, Mick Ferguson. She’s just as bad. Secretive.’

  ‘I don’t know any secrets, woman. I don’t know what you’re gabbing about.’

  ‘I only asked you this morning what you thought of your daughter-in-law sending young Leo to boarding school and you didn’t answer me. Just...’ and Lilian’s mother shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Who? Noeleen? I didn’t tell you what I thought because I didn’t think anything. Why should we care where she bloomin’ sends him. A school’s a school, isn’t it?’

  ‘He’s your darn grandson. And his father’s away in the war.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sakes, don’t start, Viv. Leave the poor girl alone. She’s doing the best she can with the boy.’

  ‘She’s a snob, Mick, and you know it. We said that when they married.’

  ‘You said it.’

  ‘Yes, and you agreed with me,’ she said.

  ‘No, I didn’t. What’s all this rewriting of history? You said this, you said that. I never said a bloomin’ thing.’

  ‘Ah, you wouldn’t remember. It was eleven years ago.’

  ‘And you would remember. What I said.’

  ‘Yes, I would. I’m the only one around here who seems interested in this family. If I left it up to you, the whole pack of them would drift off and we’d never see them again.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sakes.’ He shook out his newspaper and opened it to the centre pages. He disappeared behind it. ‘I’m only the one who slaved six days a week to feed the whole blinkin’ lot of yez. And educate them. And put a few rags on their backs.’

  ‘There now, that’s her going out the front door! She probably heard you, Mick! My goodness, I wish you’d be more careful with what you say.’ Viv put her hands on the brass window lifts and shoved upwards. She put her knee on the kitchen bench and pushed her forehead against the flyscreen. ‘I can’t see her. I wonder which way she went?’

  Mick Ferguson stood up. His chair chalked against the linoleum floor. ‘I’ll be down the back,’ he said and the screen door banged after him.

  Viv peered out the window. It overlooked the shaded side footpath and the wild clumps of damp Boston fern which erupted against the paling fence here and there. She said, ‘Noeleen never wanted that child in the first place.’

  Lilian climbed out of Mr Harrison’s open-backed truck. Along the sides of the truck he’d painted: HARRISON’S DRAPERS – WE DRESS THE BEST IN THE WEST. The sockets of Mr Harrison’s eyes were craters. His cheekbones stretched the skin. He hadn’t missed one day’s work since the telegraph arrived about Billy the Coot, saying he was missing presumed dead in a jungle in New Guinea.

  ‘Thanks, Mr Harrison,’ Lilian said. She slammed the door.

  ‘Sure I can’t take you down to the house, um...?’ His hand gripped the brake. He almost pushed it before she’d stepped back from the open window. He couldn’t even remember her name. He couldn’t remember anyone’s name these days. No one seemed to mind. They all just went in to his shop, or passed him in the street, and answered to whatever name sprang to his lips.

  ‘I’d like the walk, really,’ she was saying as he drove off. The four wheels exploded tiny dust storms which gradually gathered into one long, white veil. He beeped his horn a hundred yards up the road, suddenly recalling her presence.

  The house was a mile along the avenue. The two huge cross-beamed gates were wide open, pinned back on the grass by wooden stakes. She was wearing sandals. Red dust began to coat her heels and the narrow ridge of bone which ran up behind her ankles. The strap of her sandals rubbed her skin. She plodded along under the hot sun for half a mile before she bent over and unbuckled them. The roadway was smooth, almost stoneless. She hooked two fingers through the sandals so they dangled at her side as she climbed the slight rise. The cicadas were going mad in the hot grey trees. She barely heard them, so much a part of the summer silence, and when a bluebottle fly buzzed at her head and she fanned at it, she differentiated its sound from the constancy of the others only for a moment. It was the bush itself, the tough spareness of the grass and the sharp life lived down there, light cutting on the spin and bob of the leaves, a startling bird playing hide-and-seek among the trees, and quite possibly the pulsing irradiance of the small yellow sun, too high and too secretly alive to gaze on, that spoke into her ears and lulled her. Her skin began to ooze sweat. She felt the red heat on her paleness.

  The road dipped. She could see the sprawl of the house and to one side of it the small tin-roofed cottage of her marriage. Two hundred yards away on the other side were the men’s quarters, a white L-shaped building, long, narrow; grass grew in the cool, south-facing join. Someone had long ago erected a couple of wooden benches there, so the men could enjoy the shade and the breeze as they contemplated their lives in the evenings, smoked their rolled tobacco, filled their heads with the seductive whiff of hops.

 

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