Closure, page 14
- I know you have and I appreciate it. But I can’t forget the things that have happened. I don’t want to forget.
- I’m not asking you to forget. That wouldn’t be right. But making a life for yourself is just as important, it’s what your parents would have wanted. To have expected you to do.
The edge of the table cloth refused to lay flat no matter how hard I tried. No words were needed, or expected, after his last statement. A good thing, none would have been possible.
- Come and grab some lunch and join me in the living room. The Carlton game starts soon.
- Lunch? What happened to breakfast?
- You slept through that.
***
- So cheers, young fella’. Happy Birthday.
- Thanks Bert.
Uncle Col had brought me to the Cricketers Arms for a birthday dinner. We were shown to our table in the lounge and I was pleasantly surprised to see Bert already seated. He was looking better than he had in a few weeks and feeling better too, I was soon to discover, judging by his appetite. Bert and Uncle Col ordered steaks with baked potatoes and green beans. Bert had polished off the steak in half the time it took Uncle Col. I ordered the usual - fish & chips.
Aunt Peg wasn’t feeling well so had stayed at home. She was leaving her bedroom less and less these days. Three years back she had been diagnosed with lung cancer. She quit smoking the same day. Talk about shutting the barn door after the horse has bolted. She was only given a year, but to everyone’s amazement, was still soldiering on. However, the time to place her in a hospice for around the clock care couldn’t be too far away. The doctors had been recommending this for months, but Uncle Col wouldn’t even consider the idea. I’m starting to think I’m not alone in wishing to be invisible when difficult situations arise.
After dinner we headed to the bar for a few drinks.
Darkie was there to greet us.
- So, twenty-one years old today. Congratulations!
- Thanks Dark. So I drink for free tonight, right?
- Well perhaps one or two.
Darkie joined us for a round and we all raised our glasses of Abbots lager.
- Cheers!
First rule I learnt drinking with these blokes - Abbots lager was, and always had been, their official beer. An unwritten rule said that it was to be mine also. Not sure why. You’d think they owned shares in the brewery.
Uncle Col turned to face me.
- So Dark, Bert and I went in together.
- Extortion it was.
Bert laughed and nodded his head in agreement to Darkie’s point.
- As I said, we all went in together to buy you a little gift.
- So does that mean the free beer offer is off the table?
Again, laughter all round.
- Don’t be such a bloody smart arse and open it.
Uncle Col handed me a letter sized envelope. I had no idea what it could be. I opened it and found a QANTAS ticket envelope inside.
- What’s this?
- Jeez. Might want to get your money back from that Uni.
- Shut up Bert. It’s a round trip ticket for use after you graduate.
- Where to?
My mind was working overtime with the possibilities. Uncle Col put his glass down on the beer mat and slid his thumb and index finger up and down the slick sides. I turned to Bert and he appeared to be counting the concentric circles of foam in his glass.
- Before you look. Hear me out. We’ve all put our heads together and thought this through. We all love you.
- Jeez, Uncle Col. You’ll make me cry in a minute.
I was joking, but had the feeling something very important was coming.
- We all love you and know you’ve had a tough time losing your parents, but it is time to find yourself. I don’t want to say grow up because you have grown into an intelligent young man. You’ll graduate University in a few months, hell, none of us even sniffed the front door of one. Bert can’t even spell it.
Bert raised his eyes to the ceiling and silently mouthed a few letters.
- He’s right you know.
- Fella’s please. Let me get this out. People deal with grief in different ways, but deal with it they do. You’re running away and that’s not dealing with it. This ticket is the first step.
His eyes now bored directly into mine and all sound and vision from the bar disappeared. Only his eyes and the sound of his voice remained.
- If you remember. We made a promise almost ten years ago to the day. Those loose ends need to be tied up.
Melbourne - 1980
The heart-rate monitor continued on with a steady beep … beep. The paper record it produced of Piotr’s existence extended to the floor and curled into a neat pile.
- So you see, it was because I took revenge on Dino Mitak that I caused the death of your mother.
I was speechless. Was it true? Would my mother still be alive if he hadn’t of killed Dino Mitak? Uncle Col was the first to speak.
- You can’t blame yourself. You thought you were doing the right thing. Well, not right, but what you thought had to be done. You couldn’t have foreseen the events that were to follow. Those people all made conscious decisions to kill.
- Did not I?
- Yes, but … Did it at least ease your mind?
Piotr breathed deeply and it was some time before he answered.
- I am sad to say, no. I found there is no victory in revenge. All my life I had a burning rage inside me to avenge the deaths in my family. Tucked away in a small section of my brain I knew that it would never happen, but I let it consume me all the same. Then I was given the chance to avenge at least one death and so I took it. The memories of my family are no stronger, no better, for it. I wasted forty years of my life living with the hatred. Always looking back, trying to rewrite history. All my life I thought I was looking for zakonczenie, how to say in English – closure. Instead I confused it with anger and thoughts of revenge. Now I also have the shame of my actions to live with.
Piotr paused, surveying the hospital room ceiling before continuing.
- I suspect you will now notify the police.
I turned quickly to Uncle Col, a look of dread on my face.
- No. No, don’t even worry about that right now. You need to concentrate on getting well.
- You are too kind. I am in no position to ask, but will you do me one other small favour?
- If we can.
***
Piotr passed away that next week. Late one night, as he lay in his hospital bed, his body surrendered to the inevitable. His weakened heart unable to repulse another attack from within. The nurse said that he died peacefully. I hoped it was true.
With no surviving relatives, Uncle Col was kind enough to pay for a small service, after which, as was Piotr’s wish, his body was cremated. I was surprised to see that the red-headed detective attended the service. At one point, Uncle Col and the detective stood alone and talked. I’m not sure what was said, but it appeared to put the policeman, still looking for answers to an unsolved murder, at ease.
I was surprised to learn a week later that Piotr had left me all his belongings. His estate was liquidated and the money placed in a trust for when I turned twenty-one. My second trust. And another that I would have gladly traded to have him and my mother back. I kept his books on Poland to remember him by.
One Saturday, towards the end of August, Uncle Col took me to see Fitzroy play Geelong at the Junction Oval. Fitzroy lost again but that didn’t explain our moods on the day. The events of the past month still weighed heavily on both of us. It was a delightfully warm day for so early in the spring, so Uncle Col thought a trip to Luna Park after the game would be just what I needed. I wasn’t really in the mood to ride the roller coaster and play the arcade games. We went for a walk along the esplanade instead.
We headed north along the St. Kilda foreshore back towards the City. The sun was low in the sky but hadn’t yet started to dip into the bay. A few brave souls were splashing around at the water’s edge. We talked about the game and about Carlton’s win that same day over St. Kilda. With one round left Carlton was on top of the ladder, yet the football season now held little interest for me.
As we reached the pier, we stepped off the path and walked over the sand and down to the water’s edge. I took off my shoes and socks, the sand was cool under foot. Seagulls circled overhead, occasionally diving for a scrap of food on the beach, or towards a minnow in the shallows. From the pier, fishermen cast their lines in hope.
- Would Piotr have sailed into the bay here when he arrived in Australia?
- Yes. He would have docked over there.
Uncle Col pointed towards the City.
- At the Port Melbourne docks.
- Do you think he was scared?
- Probably, a little, probably pretty excited also. He was starting a new life.
- Why do you think he never went back to Poland?
- I don’t know for sure. Of course with it being a communist country travelling there has been virtually impossible. And I think he felt nothing remained there for him. The country of his childhood, the home he remembered, was no longer the same.
As the sun began to set the breeze turned cooler. I looked out across the bay and shivered ever so slightly.
- Piotr told me once that he liked to come down here to the beach and stand in the shallows. He used to pretend that each time a wave broke on the shore it was bringing him news from home. He said the message was hidden in the foam. And that as the waves retreated they were dragging him home.
- I think he missed his home and family very much.
- Is that why he killed that man?
Uncle Col looked out across the bay before answering. Searching for the right words.
- Piotr was a good man, but he let his rage blind him. He hoped it would make the pain go away. You saw how it affected him though in his last days. If anything it made things worse.
- I don’t blame him for Mum’s ….
The rest of the sentence stuck in my throat.
- Good. And perhaps one day you can do that favour for him. Come on, let’s head home.
Uncle Col put his arm around my shoulder and we headed back to the esplanade.
I couldn’t hate Piotr, just as I couldn’t hate a stupid disease for choosing my Dad as the one in 50,000 to afflict. But it didn’t stop the hurt. Perhaps the waves were also trying to tell me something.
Were they dragging me away as well?
Melbourne - 1990
I found an open parking spot on Albert Street opposite St. Patrick’s Cathedral, then fed the meter until it was satiated and headed down Macarthur Street towards Collins Street. The days were passing in a blur. It was only four weeks until I left for Poland. My passport arrived in the mail the previous week and on this particular day I was heading in to the City to obtain my tourist visa.
It was a beautiful summer’s day, not too hot, around twenty-eight and with hardly a cloud in the sky. Bougainvillea bloomed from trellises in the Cathedral’s flower beds. Christmas lights had been hung from the trees lining the street and the three spires of the Cathedral stretched towards the heavens. The two shorter towers framed the entrance like gothic goal posts. Built back in the 1850s, St. Patrick’s is the seat of the Archbishop of the Catholic Church in Victoria and one of Melbourne’s oldest landmarks. Hard to believe in a few weeks I would be in a land with churches 1,300 years older than this.
The Polish consulate was on Collins Street just down from the Victoria Parliament building. Armed with my visa application that I’d filled out the night before, my passport and a pretty good dose of butterflies, I punched the up arrow to call for the lift. During the short ride I listened to the muzak butcher a Crowded House song. As the doors of the lift slid open, I found myself directly across from the Consulate entrance. I stepped forward, opened the door and entered. The gruff, elderly, lady that peered out from behind the glass partition asked for my passport and application form. Her thick tortoise shell glasses made her pupils look the size of marbles. The butterflies stayed with me.
The Berlin wall had fallen just a few years before, and with it almost fifty years of communist rule in Eastern Europe. The first free elections had been held in Poland less than a year previous, yet tourism to the old eastern-bloc countries still remained a rare occurrence. Many Poles had spent those fifty years trying to escape their Russian masters and were still taking the “wait and see” approach before heading back. What these Consular officials thought of a twenty-one-year-old Australian wanting to vacation there, I had no idea.
The waiting room was small with just two threadbare chairs and a small end table. Magazines in Polish covered its surface. Two framed posters adorned the walls. One of a government building in Warsaw, the other of a castle in Krakow.
After a twenty-minute wait a short, balding man reeking of cigarette smoke and cologne entered the waiting room and greeted me with a stern “follow me”. From a short distance, I could discern that the cologne was winning the olfactory war. He led me down a hallway to an interview room that was very small and furnished with only a small desk and three chairs. The walls were painted an egg-shell white. No alluring vacation posters in here. The consulate employee sat behind the desk and I took one of the remaining two chairs facing him. The desk was completely bare, other than for my passport and application. I glanced around the room, searching for listening devices and hidden cameras. Perhaps I’d read one too many spy novels.
- So why do you wish to visit Poland?
- I’ve just graduated University and I would like to visit a part of the world I haven’t seen.
Which was true in a sense. Of course I hadn’t seen any of the world further north than Canberra and, after Tasmania, there really isn’t much to see going south.
- Why Poland though?
The butterflies completed another lap around my stomach before I was able to answer.
- Well, an old friend of my family was from there and he had told me so much about the country that I thought I’d like to see it for myself.
- His name?
- Is that important?
- You tell me name and I decide?
Right about now, the Gold Coast was looking like a great plan B. I decided to plough ahead. What’s the worst that could happen?
- His name was Piotr Kowalcyzk and he arrived in Australia in 1945. He died in 1980. His parents died during WWII and I wanted to visit his home town that he had told me so much about.
- His home town?
- Yes. Jaroslaw. It is in the southeastern part of the country I believe.
- Jaroslaw you say?
His face softened and the beginnings of a smile broke out. The butterflies decided they’d had enough exercise for one day.
- I know it well. I myself am from Rzeszow.
I wasn’t exactly sure where that was but nodded in acknowledgment.
- And this is a noble endeavour you are undertaking. As you must know we have only just opened up our borders again and we are still very wary of people looking to take advantage of our country. You will find on your visit our people are also just beginning to, as you say, find their feet.
On my visit? It seems I’ve passed the interview. Now it was my turn to smile.
- I can’t wait to visit, I’ve heard such great things.
- Yes. Yes. Enjoy. One question. Do you speak Polish?
- No. Just a few words.
- Then I recommend a translator to travel with you. You will find that very few people speak English outside of Warsaw and Krakow.
This I had already thought about. Luckily, in the past year, my University had begun a reciprocal teaching agreement with the University of Krakow. I’d spoken to my economics advisor to see what could be arranged, and through this relationship they had found a student from Jaroslaw that was willing to act as interpreter.
- Thank you for the advice. I’ve looked into that and I have a guide meeting me at the Krakow airport. The guide lives in Jaroslaw and will be returning home for the school break at the same time.
- Excellent. I wish you well. Oh, one last thing. Remember to dress warm.
That’s right it will be winter there.
- No worries. I’ve got a warm jacket.
For some reason this elicited a huge laugh.
- Yes. Jacket. Good. Please wait with receptionist I will have your passport with visa back to you in just a few moments.
The Consulate official was still laughing as I headed back down the hallway to the receptionist.
***
- So your flight is tomorrow. Bet you’re excited. Where is it you’re going again?
I was already worried about Bert’s health, was his memory now heading south on him too? At least he remembered to show up at the Arms on the right night. It was a rare Tuesday night get together before my flight departed the following morning. And, as it turned out, it would be a double celebration. A few hours earlier, the Australian cricket team had drawn the third test in Sydney against England. Meaning with a 2-0 lead in the series, and with just two tests to play, we had retained the Ashes. Oh how we love to beat the English. It’s akin to a parent waking one day to find his juvenile delinquent child has grown into an adult and become his master. Next thing he knows he’s being called into the office and told to pack his things, his services no longer required.
- Poland, Bert.
- Yeah, I know that. I’m not a complete dunce. What city?
- Oh, sorry. Krakow.
- Right. Right. Beautiful place that. You know it was one of the few European cities not bombed during the war.
Sometimes the nuggets of knowledge that Bert came out with could astound you.
- Have you been there?
- Nah. Of course not. Never been much further north than Port Moresby. Just been reading. Here I got you something for the trip. Open it before your Uncle Col gets here.
