The proxy bride, p.14
The Proxy Bride, page 14
‘Delicious, Ma,’ Frank said around a mouthful, looking over with satisfaction to Sam and Lena busy chewing. ‘Elena’s missing a good feed.’
I straightened. ‘Do you miss her, Uncle Frank?’ It felt right being on Mum’s side.
Connie stifled a chuckle and turned to Nonna. ‘Ma’s cooking her usual riso di Natale for Christmas Day,’ she said of her mother’s rice dish. ‘You’ll make your baccalà for Christmas Eve?’
‘I’ll do turkey in wine again for Christmas Day,’ jumped in Frank, ignoring my comment. ‘Bird in a big pot covered in a couple of bottles of red – after a few hours of cooking, as tender as.’
‘A man cooking …’ Nonna sighed. ‘Your father would never have cooked a thing for Christmas but I suppose all things happen these days.’ Her attention turned to Lena and Sam. ‘You two haven’t eaten enough. Don’t you love your nonna? I got some cannoli for dessert.’
After we finished helping Connie with the dishes, Lena tugged at my arm. ‘Let’s go to your room.’ She turned to Sam. ‘Not you.’
‘As if I care.’ He flicked Zucchero’s tail, making him dart off to the laundry.
Lena launched herself on my bed and straightaway asked, ‘Can I listen to your Walkman?’
‘Pick three songs.’ I sat cross-legged on the floor filing my nails as Lena read through each song list on the back of the tapes, determined not to miss an opportunity.
At least my bag with the chocolates in it was tucked safely back in the wardrobe.
The bedroom door was ajar and Frank’s voice drifted from out in the lounge room as he sat down. ‘I don’t see why Tim couldn’t keep doing the mowing. Saved me having to.’
‘It is better you do it,’ Nonna said, then, ‘Shush now, I want to see that singing show.’
The television was clicked on at the high volume it usually was.
I was sure I’d heard Nonna tell Tim that Frank preferred to do the mowing. Frowning, I looked over to Lena but she had the headphones on while reading another tape cover. Part of me wanted to call Nonna out on it but for the time being it seemed better not to say a word.
I got out my writing paper. That morning, when I’d gone with Nonna Gia up the street to get groceries, I’d looked across and seen that the hotel had a private letterbox near the side gate. There was no way I’d ring Tim, not yet, especially if Nonna might overhear me. I looked at my writing paper edged in tiny stars. Maybe he’d think it childish. I liked stars, Mel flowers – but it was different writing to a boy, especially one slightly older. I could hear Nonna out at the laundry tubs so I tore off a page from a spiral notebook by the telephone. Better it looked to Tim that I hadn’t gone to too much trouble anyway. I put away my writing paper thinking I hadn’t written a letter back to Mel. But there just wasn’t enough to say to her yet.
I chewed on the end of a pen. I didn’t want to sound too keen. Dear Tim? No. Best to keep it casual. I wrote, Hi Tim. I chewed the pen more. I hang out at the old train platform sometimes and listen to music. Some good views up there. You should bring your drawing stuff. I’ll be there on Friday at about three anyway. The pen went back in my mouth. Should I add, if you happen to be free? Or, if you’re not working? Just to cover myself if he didn’t show, or … Stop it, I told myself. Il troppo stroppia. Too much is too much, as Nonna would say. Just sign off. I put an S, rather than my whole name, just in case someone else saw it.
‘Nonna, I’m just going up to the newsagents to buy some chewing gum.’
She looked over from the tubs, up to her elbows in suds. ‘Why do you want to chew like that on a piece of rubber for? Like a cow? Plenty of good food here.’
‘I won’t be long.’
And I wasn’t. I don’t think I’d ever walked so fast past the pub. But I did manage to flick the envelope into the letterbox as I went by. Now it was up to Tim.
Luckily, Nonna was roasting capsicums on Friday afternoon so I could easily get away on my own for a walk just before three. ‘I promise I won’t go near the park,’ I told her. It was true.
At the railway platform’s far end where I waited on a bench, a hedge hid the road so I couldn’t see if Tim was approaching. Or not. I didn’t want it to appear I was looking out for him, so I sat side-on, feet on the seat, facing the hills. I’d feel silly if he didn’t turn up. It was quarter past three. I put on my Walkman as if just hanging out, not waiting, but kept it low.
‘I guess you must be S.’ Tim gently flicked my ponytail. ‘I’m T, just behind you.’
I laughed a little, though if Uncle Frank had said that as a joke, I would’ve rolled my eyes. ‘You got my note? I mean, I realise you did get it but did your mum or dad see it first?’
‘Mum saw the envelope but I said it was from a mate, about cricket.’ He sat down and I shifted my legs at the same time. ‘I take it your grandma isn’t too keen that you see me.’
‘Oh, any boy, I think. Especially if they’re not Italian.’ It came out automatically and I’d long believed that, but since learning about her and Keith, I wasn’t sure I was being fair.
‘Hey, if we’re meeting secretly, maybe I need a fake black moustache?’
I gave him a look but kept smiling. I’d had two boyfriends, both Australian, neither of whom Nonna knew about, and I’d learnt sometimes the Italian difference could get in the way. I could be going along thinking all was well and then … Like when my first boyfriend said, ‘Gee, you’ve got lots of hair, hey? I mean, on your head but your arms too, not like a bloke but more than other girls.’ I was fourteen and that summer Mum worried that I kept wearing long sleeves. Though, if I thought back, Nonna was pleased that I wasn’t risking pneumonia.
The following year, after I’d realised my arms were no different to Mel’s or my other female friends’, I had a new boyfriend who I naively thought I’d end up marrying. I couldn’t come to a party the Easter weekend as I had to be with the family at Stanthorpe and he’d said ‘Oh, the Greek thing’. I’d thought he was joking. ‘You mean Italian.’ He’d frowned. ‘Same diff, isn’t it?’ It occurred to me that he also called people from any part of Asia Chinese. Eventually it petered out between us. He wasn’t an unkind person, I guess he just didn’t think much about other cultures. But right then, breathing Tim’s crisp scent beside me, it was easier to let such things go. And I felt it would be different this time. Besides, inside I was singing.
‘You’re right, the view isn’t bad from up here. I’d forgotten.’ He gazed around.
‘So, what do you do at the pub?’
‘Oh, general dogsbody really.’ He laughed. ‘Bring in kegs. Restock the bottle-o. Help Mum carry meals out from the kitchen if Fred’s flat out. Make beds. Clean the urinal.’ Seeing my crinkled nose, he laughed again. ‘Not posh enough for you, principessa?’
I hit his arm. But as he got out his sketchbook and a pencil, I was thinking I would convince him to go to art school, one day. He started making rough strokes on the page. I peered over and saw he wasn’t drawing the hills but rather the little timber station building.
I hesitated. ‘I wasn’t joking about my nonna. She can’t yet know I’m seeing you.’
‘Relax, it’s not like I’m putting you in the picture.’ Tim fixed those eyes on me. ‘Not on paper anyway.’ And he touched the tip of my nose, the ski-jump bit, and I didn’t protest.
I watched him draw, wanting to stay for ages but on edge, careful of how long I was gone. That Nonna had been trusting me with her private past made me uneasy at not being truthful back. Yet somehow those old secrets didn’t feel quite as crucial as her stopping me seeing Tim if she knew, and her not wanting him to mow made me think that would happen.
‘So,’ Tim kept drawing, ‘what do you want to do when you finish school next year?’
‘Me?’ I sort of laughed and blushed. ‘I don’t really know yet.’
If I was honest, the one burning thing I wanted to do was find out about my father, as though I couldn’t think about the next part of my life as an adult until that was resolved. However, there was no way I was going to bring that up and have Tim thinking I was some type of crazy. I mean, who didn’t know much about their own father? My cheeks stayed hot.
He went on sketching and we talked about music. Time rushed by. The tracking sun told me I should get back before Nonna began telephoning Italians all over Stanthorpe, who’d be looking out their windows to report to her if I passed by. Just thinking of it, I couldn’t help checking our surrounds but the platform was out of direct view for the closest houses.
‘I’d better be going in a minute.’
Tim glanced to his watch. ‘Yep, me too. Just a sec.’ He did a bit more shading and then tilted the finished picture towards me to see.
‘It’s good. It looks exactly like it.’
‘Ha, don’t look too close. Keep it if you want.’ He tore out the page. ‘Then you don’t have to worry who might see it and the invisible couple there too.’ He met my eyes, teasing.
‘Yeah, right.’ My smile was wry. But he’d said couple. ‘Thank you.’ I didn’t have any pockets so I folded it and put it inside my Walkman, flat against the tape. ‘I really better go.’
‘I’ll stay a bit so no-one sees us leaving together if you like.’
I smiled again, and as I got up he caught my hand and pulled me close. His lips suddenly met mine, once, twice, and then his breath warm against my cheek.
‘Same time on Tuesday maybe?’
‘Okay.’ And then I was walking along the platform, feeling him watching me, and when I turned to go, I saw he was. I waved and he did too.
Heading back with ‘Soul Kind of Feeling’ in my ears, it was as if my feet barely touched the footpath. By Nonna’s street I almost waved to the old man sitting out on his verandah, but of course I didn’t. Inside, the house smelt of roasted capsicum and Nonna Gia was at the table putting each one, still hot, in plastic bags to sweat as that helped remove their blackened skins.
‘You hungry?’
‘No.’ I went to the sink for some water. ‘You want help getting the skins off, Nonna?’
She looked up, surprised. ‘Okay. That would be good.’
‘I’ll just put this away.’ I held up the Walkman and went to my room.
I took out the sketch inside and hid it with the chocolates in the bottom of my bag. My fingertips brushed the foil and paper wrapper of a KitKat and I realised I actually was hungry, but I didn’t feel like I needed one of the chocolates. I touched my lips and smiled.
‘Sofia?’
I came back out, patted Zucchero, then washed my hands before Nonna could remind me. She eyed me as I sat down. I didn’t even say a word about her soppy Dean Martin record.
Within the Fray
The women all sat on the big sofas in Edie’s lounge room. Vilma smoked a cigarette, ashtray perched on the sofa arm. Outwardly, her injuries had healed, and what anguish and shame she was forced to carry she stifled and tightly withheld, deflecting any attempts at sympathy. As Edie foresaw, Vilma wanted no police to know, no chance of Carmelo finding out. Holding Vince on her lap, Josie kept peering dubiously at the art materials on the verandah. Gia waited until Edie handed Serena a glass of water and then went back to broaching her plan.
‘Between us, I think we can do it. First we prune my farm and make any mistakes there.’ Gia could just imagine if Taddeo was hearing this. ‘Then Serena’s and Josie’s farms, but I think that’s all we can manage.’ She glanced a little self-consciously at Edie then Vilma.
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Vilma. ‘I care as much about Carmelo’s trees as he does.’
‘I think it’s a good idea, Gia.’ Edie nodded. ‘And with Keith gone I’ve been promised a couple of girls from the Women’s Land Army to help here.’
‘See?’ Gia turned to the others. ‘Other women are having to do such work too.’
‘It’s because of food shortages,’ Edie added. ‘With so many farmers away in uniform, or … well, Australia still needs food for us all and our soldiers overseas, as well as the visiting American army. I read in the paper we even send food back to Britain to help them too.’
‘So, we should always have a market to sell to.’ Gia gave Edie a grateful look.
‘But we don’t know what to do with the trees.’ Josie hoisted Vince back as he squirmed. ‘And how can Serena work in her condition?’
‘I know a bit, and Serena can do lighter work.’ Gia remained stubborn. ‘Besides, do we have a choice? Once last summer’s money runs out, we won’t even be able to buy flour.’
It was cold up a stepladder, secateurs in hand, feeling the same southern airstream that made the naked peach branchlets stir in shivers. Feeling the chill stiffen her hands, Gia understood why Taddeo had hung the little brazier from a ladder rung to occasionally thaw his fingers. She hadn’t forgotten his words to her in the orchard that last day just before he was taken away. When pruning, there is always a choice. Immediate gain. Or for a tree to have a long life and produce quality. Better to neglect them late than to overbear a tree too early.
The trees must be still young, she thought, for she knew Taddeo had spent time up in north Queensland cutting cane and then laboured on other farms before he could afford the deposit on his own. And after that he’d cleared his land and planted the trees himself. If there was one thing that she might get right for him in his absence, it was to honour his orchard.
Gia called over to Josie at the next tree. ‘Prune back a bit harder, to the next nub.’
Josie frowned. ‘Won’t we get less peaches doing that?’
‘We can’t be greedy and overburden the trees or we’ll pay for it next year.’
‘Next year?’ Serena looked up, not having really thought about how long Pino might be gone. She bit her lip and with Vince kept picking up cuttings for stacking and burning.
From over to the side, Vilma half-heartedly added to the pile and examined a nail.
Gia got down and awkwardly moved the stepladder to the next tree. The wooden ladder was heavier than she’d expected it to be, especially with her wrist and hand already getting sore and blistered, being unaccustomed to the secateurs. She looked to the dozens upon dozens of trees yet to prune, took a deep breath, and climbed the ladder once more.
The further she got into the orchard, the more Gia began to realise that each tree was different with its individual characteristics, history and strengths, as well as weaknesses. And she was learning herself that one needed the temperament for pruning, an instinct for it, and that Josie had a temperament more for ploughing and its straightforward satisfaction. With this, Gia hid her own fatigue, knowing that any sign of her own reticence risked Josie becoming mutinous.
Edie kept to her house, but around midmorning she came over carrying baked scones, still warm and wrapped in a small tablecloth, along with a jar of homemade peach jam. They sat amid the trees and ate, grateful for the heat of the scones and what little warmth the sun gave. Only Vince stayed on his feet, eating fast and wanting to run off as Josie beckoned him back.
‘Can you just picture if the men could see us?’ Serena said, but she was smiling.
Vilma left most of her scone and lit a cigarette. ‘A lot can go wrong between now and harvest. Why not just leave the trees as they are and get what fruit we can off them?’
Standing up, Gia brushed crumbs from her dress. ‘I want to do this right, for Taddeo.’
She didn’t mean to, but her eyes met Edie’s then and while neither said anything they understood each other, and, for the time being, each kept the other’s secrets.
When they got to Josie’s orchard, having done Serena’s in between, Gia was starting to hit her stride. She had to be faster, for September’s impending spring warmth, and growth, meant the time for pruning had almost passed. With less to eat and much work, her dress hung looser, except in the sleeves, as her arm muscles had grown stronger. The women first pruned the orchard behind the house then moved to the front where trees grew right up to the road.
It was quiet but for Josie and Serena softly singing. Vince napped curled in a rug and Vilma, her eyes cynical, kept silent as Gia urged them on. As they pruned, it occurred to Gia that each tree was shaped not just by the pruning then or of the year before, but of the years before that. And it affected all those after. Perhaps, in some way, it was the same for them all.
They heard a vehicle coming down the road, gunning and skidding a little on the dirt, its kicked-up dust billowing over the trees, and looked at each other. Rarely did anyone come down the lonely dead-end road without a purpose. Their eyes followed the dust. A utility came into view, two men riding in the back and a couple more inside. They pulled up, laughing and raucous among themselves as they got out. Gia and Josie came down from the ladders.
The driver slammed the door and came closer, the other men shadowing him.
‘Well, we had to see it for ourselves, didn’t we, lads?’ Jack Armstrong folded his arms. ‘Bloody dago women thinking they can do men’s work.’
Serena and Josie rushed to crouch protectively near Vince, while Gia stepped forward.
She grasped the locked secateurs like a knife in her right hand. ‘What do you want?’
‘You bloody eyeties think you can compete with our farms?’ Another man glared.
Jack laughed. ‘Look at them. I don’t reckon they know what they’re doing.’
The women remained still and quiet. Gia stood her ground, aware of Vilma just off to the side of her doing the same.
Another bloke sneered. ‘They’d never get a spot at the siding anyway.’
‘At least our CWA women are helping the war effort and calling for dago women to be interned too.’ Jack mockingly doffed his hat to them and moved to go. ‘Nice day for it.’
‘Nasi in culo,’ Vilma suddenly called out, as if in agreement, but while the other men appeared to think she was responding nice and cool in her Italian accent, Jack clearly realised she was taunting, even if he couldn’t know that in a way she’d told them they had their noses up their arses.
