Chapter 5

Early – mid December 1964

We could not talk about Mr Franks on the tram; instead, we sat in strained silence as the tram rattled up Lutwyche Road towards Kedron. Mutti’s frown told me she was angry with me for suggesting to Mr Franks that I could do his bidding. But my fear that Mr Franks would abandon us, or worse, trumped Mutti’s anger. If we didn’t help, he’d leave us exposed. Mutti couldn’t do it. That left me. The idea frightened me, but my father’s agents arriving to kill us scared me more.

Leaving the tram, we walked home in a silence that deepened with Mutti’s frown. Her footsteps on the pavement sounded heavier, harsher, pushing her anger towards me. She unlocked the front door and the day’s heat poured out.

“Don’t open the windows on that side of the house, Kal.” Mutti gestured towards the Greco’s’ house.

“Why?”

“Just don’t, Kal.” She snapped and relented with a sigh. “We don’t want to be overheard.” She was almost whispering, but I could hear the tension in her voice.

I unlatched and opened the windows on the other side.

Mutti turned on the radio, retrieved a jug of cold water from the fridge and put two glasses on the table. I sat, watching Mutti pour us a cold drink. As she sat down, her conflicting emotions ran across her face.

“Co...” She almost used my real name. “Kal, what were you thinking, making that suggestion to ... him?”

Mutti was being careful – in England we had been circumspect in our conversations, trying to hide behind careful allusion. We’d need to do that if I got involved with Mr Franks. Who knows what ears might be listening.

I tried to stay calm by taking a sip of water. Thinking about Mr Franks’ threat pushed my fear towards panic. I took a deep breath and gripped the table to help steady myself.

“If we don’t help him, he’s going to...” I paused, swallowing at what the withdrawal of protection could mean, “ ... make life difficult for us.” I screwed my face up at how ridiculous that sounded given the reality of the danger.

Mutti’s voice softened and she reached across to hold my hand. “He could be bluffing.” She didn’t sound convincing.

I snatched my hand away. “Why would he bluff? We can’t risk him making good on the threat.” I could hear the tension in my throat.

“Kal, I know it’s difficult, but we must stay calm or we can’t think.” She reached her hand across the table, trying to reassure me. When I took it, she gave me a comforting squeeze. I took a steadying breath, willing myself to relax.

Mutti’s face was thoughtful. “What if we tried to get in contact with ... the lady that slapped you?”

Contact Mrs Henderson?

“How?”

Mutti raised an eyebrow. “Well, I still have ... the number they gave me.”

Oh yes – the number for Mr Watling, her contact. “Can we dial that from here?”

Mutti shook her head. “I don’t know ... but someone at McDonnell & East must know how to do it as they buy stock from England.”

“Won’t that sound odd, asking about that?”

“No, I don’t think so. After all, we’re from England and it’s perfectly reasonable that we might need to contact someone in England.” Mutti thought for a moment or two. “I’ll ask Mr Chapman about it tomorrow.”

“Okay – but we don’t have much time.”

Mutti had a determined expression on her face. “It’s going to be okay, Kal. If that doesn’t work, I’ve different cards to play.” She gave me a confident smile. “Have a shower ... I’d make you a hot chocolate if we were in England.”

After my shower, I lay in bed, thinking about Mr Franks. I yearned to talk with Willi about this, to feel his reassuring arms around me and hear ideas from his unique perspective. Finally, I turned on my side, hugging my pillow instead.

Mr Franks and the threat he posed was top of my thoughts on waking, a choppy swell on the dark sea of gloom about Willi. I ate breakfast with Mutti in a restless silence.

She gave me a fierce hug as she left. “It’s going to work out, Kal.”

Mutti seemed confident this morning, but her lift in mood left me flat. To keep myself occupied, I resumed my study habits based on my Canterbury timetable, a time and place that now seemed almost fantasy.

Studying had been enjoyable shared with Willi and Lili; alone, it took my mind off our troubles – French irregular verbs and Cartesian geometry require concentration. After a morning’s working with my schoolbooks, I set off for a swim in the early afternoon.

I wanted to do something for Mutti to thank her for ... well, being Mutti. I pondered this on the tram into the city: the German bakery in Woolloongabba. I detoured there to pick up some of Mutti’s favourite Schwarzbrot as a treat. It would go well with tonight’s cold meat, cheese and salad. The bakery was out of the way and I couldn’t afford to go there often as the tram fares were as much as the bread, but this was a treat for Mutti. With the bread wrapped and in my duffel bag, I set off to the Valley pool. I stepped off the tram, anticipating a cooling swim. The day was building towards a thunderstorm, but my mind needed the rhythm of exercise to soothe my troubles. I changed and went to sit and wait for the schools to leave.

As soon they announced general swimming, I was into a lane and pushed down the first length, full of nervous energy. I schooled myself to slow down over the second length and swam sensibly for another fifteen minutes before pulling myself out for a break. As always, the discipline and rhythm of swimming lengths settled my emotions, but sitting watching people swim allowed my mind to wander, inevitably, to Mr Franks.

Mutti might reach Mrs Henderson – but there was no guarantee that she would – or could – tell Mr Franks to stop. She might well think that Mr Franks was correct to use the tools to hand to further the needs of national security. Mrs Henderson had no compunction about using us for her purposes, which is why we ended up here.

“Hello.”

My rising agitation was such I hadn’t noticed a girl sit beside me and I jumped. Turning, I saw a girl with blond hair tied up in plaits on her head. She was about my age, still wet from the pool with a towel draped over her shoulders.

“Sorry – I’m Elizabeth – Lizzie. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh...” I wondered what she wanted. “I’m Kal – Karlota.”

“Pleased to meet you, Kal.” She smiled, holding out her hand.

Somewhat bemused, I shook it.

“I’ve watched you swimming here. You swim well.”

“Thank you.” I gave her a half-smile.

“Would you be interested in a race? My mum says I’m lazy and don’t push myself if I’m not competing.”

My mind was still half on Mr Franks; I blinked, replaying what she’d said. “Well, I don’t know that I’m competitive; I swim for exercise.”

I could see questions in her eyes, but she suppressed them. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

It was about time for me to go in for another set of lengths, anyway. “Okay.”

Lizzie’s face almost glowed with the smile she gave me.

I stood up and she impulsively grabbed my hand, pulling me along the row of seats. “Come on.”

We walked down to the pool from where I had been sitting in the stands.

Lizzie shrugged the towel from her shoulders, draping it over the railing behind which two middle-aged women sat, chatting. “You can leave your towel with my mother.”

I pulled the towel from my shoulders and left it beside Lizzie’s. One of the elegantly dressed women peered up at me from beneath her wide-brimmed hat.

I smiled and shrugged as Lizzie grabbed my hand again and pulled me away. She dragged me to the end of the pool where there were two adjacent empty lanes.

“One length or two?” Lizzie was almost fizzing with energy.

I thought for a moment. “I think two.”

We took our positions at the pool’s edge. “On the count of three?”

“OK.”

“One ... two ... three ... Go.”

I started with my usual dive and, as I surfaced into my stroke, I could see Lizzie was already ahead of me. I pushed harder, but Lizzie slowly pulled away from me, tumble turning as I arrived at the far wall. By the time I turned, I could see the splash of her feet ahead of me. I dug deeper to stay with her.

Lizzie clung to the wall, pulling in deep breaths, as was I. After regaining our breath, she smiled across at me. “Oh, that was great, Kal. You pushed me on the second length.”

We pulled ourselves out and walked round to where we left our towels.

The lady beneath the straw hat captured Lizzie’s eyes. “Elizabeth, please introduce us to your friend.”

The cool tone didn’t seem to touch Lizzie. She gave me a quick glance, briefly raising her eyebrows. “Yes mummy. This is Karlota – Kal.”

Lizzie’s mother swept her eyes over me. “I’m pleased to meet you, Karlota. I’m Mrs Robinson.” She indicated the lady beside her. “This is my friend, Mrs Kaufman.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs Robinson, Mrs Kaufman.”

“Can we get an ice cream, please mummy.” Lizzie became a younger girl as she wheedled her mother.

“Yes, dear.” Mrs Robinson’s voice sounded exasperated. “But you and your friend will need to swim afterwards. You must be careful of your figure if you are to attract a suitable man.”

She produced a pair of shilling bits from a leather purse, handing them to her daughter.

“Thanks, mummy.” Lizzie rolled her eyes at me once we had turned away. “Come on, Kal.” And she was off at a trot to the kiosk. Lizzie was in almost continuous motion.

“D’you like Eskimo pies?”

“What’s an Eskimo Pie?”

“Don’t you know what an Eskimo Pie is?” Her face showed amazement at my lack of knowledge.

I gave her a blank look and Lizzie pointed to a picture on the side of the kiosk.

“Oh – that’s a Choc Ice.” I laughed.

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Okay – but it’s an Eskimo Pie here in Australia.” She turned to the man in the kiosk. “Two Eskimo Pies, please.”

“Right you are. Lizzie, coming up.”

My friend was well known here, it seemed.

“That’ll be one and sixpence, please.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Lizzie paid and handed an ice cream to me and we peeled off their cover.

“Come and sit in the shade.” Lizzie led me to a low wall shaded by the building behind it.

We sat quietly for a while, licking our ice creams and trying to catch the chocolate covering as it cracked off. This was the least motion I had seen in Lizzie.

“Where are you from, Kal?”

“I’m from England.”

“Well, your English is excellent, but I can hear ... something in your voice – and you didn’t know what an Eskimo Pie was...” She regarded me speculatively. “You’re a New Australian, but not Greek or Italian...?” Her voice trailed off in a question.

I smiled at her and repeated. “I’m English.”

Lizzie’s eyes assessed me, not believing me what I had said. “But there’s something else.” She insisted.

I laughed. “I’m half German. My mother’s German but my father’s English. Or was.” I let my face and voice drop a touch, something I’d practiced in front of my mirror.

Lizzie’s face fell. “Oh, Kal. I’m sorry. What happened?” Then she realised she was being impolite. “Sorry, Kal, I didn’t mean to pry.”

I put my hand on her arm. “It’s okay, Lizzie.” I took a deep breath. “My dad was in the Army and met Mutti in Germany. He took us to England when I was two.” I paused for a moment. “He died in an accident at work earlier this year.”

Lizzie gave me a compassionate smile. “Mummy says I’m impulsive and need to stop and think before I blurt things out.”

“It’s okay, Lizzie,” I smiled. “Your mother’s friend – Mrs Kaufman – that’s a German name.” I was worried about meeting any Germans and having our deception revealed.

“Is it? Her family’s been here practically since the First Fleet. Her husband owns a vineyard on the Granite Belt. It’s been in his family since before the first war.” I saw a flicker of anxiety in her eyes at the mention of the war. “We have visited. One winter there was snow there. Can you believe it?” Her voice showed a tinge of awe at snow in tropical Queensland.

Willi had always been careful to avoid talk of the wars and it seemed people here were careful about mentioning Germany’s defeats to me as well. From the sound of it, meeting Mrs Kaufman would not present a problem, as the connection with Germany was distant. Anyway, I couldn’t be expected to remember anything about Frankfurt; we’d left it when I was tiny, I reminded myself. I heard an echo of Willi’s recital of those lines from the Scottish poem – this dissembling made me uneasy.

“Where d’you go to school, Kal?”

I blinked – I’d got lost in my thoughts for a moment.

“Ummm ... at the moment, I don’t.” I explained about the difference in school years.

“Oh ... you lucky thing.”

I pulled a face. “Mutti insists I study from my English textbooks. I was studying all morning.”

With our ice creams finished in companionable silence, Lizzie jumped off the wall. “Come on, let’s have another race.”

“Okay – but let’s make this one four lengths.” I might overhaul her in a longer race.

Lizzie gave me a speculative glance. “Four lengths?”

“But let’s warm up first.”

Lizzie cocked an eyebrow at me. “Hmmm ... are you trying to wear me out?”

I awarded her an enigmatic smile.

We got to the pool, but as there weren’t two adjacent lanes free, we sat and waited.

“Where do you live, Kal?”

“In Kedron – north of the city. What about you?”

“We live in Hamilton.” Something about her tone of voice suggested that she thought this was special.

I laughed. “I’ve no idea where that is.”

Lizzie scrutinised my face as if she didn’t believe me. “How long have you been in Brisbane?”

“About six weeks.”

Lizzie’s face relaxed. “Well, no wonder you don’t know your way around yet. Hamilton’s on a hill north of the river. It gets lovely sea breezes in the afternoons.” Lizzie scanned the sky at a distant rumble. “It sounds as if this afternoon’s storm is arriving. We’d better delay the next race. Mummy will want to get home before it breaks.”

“Okay.”

“Will you be coming here tomorrow?” Lizzie asked hopefully.

“I can’t until Monday afternoon, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” I heard the disappointment in her voice. “Well – I’ll have to come then too.” She gave me a smile. “Date?”

I smiled in return. “Date.”

We went and grabbed our towels and headed for the changing room. When we came out, Lizzie’s mother and her friend were waiting for us.

“See you on Monday, Kal.”

“Bye, Lizzie. Bye Mrs Robinson, Mrs Kaufman.” I waved as I set off for the tram.

As it rattled north, I watched the storm approach, its dark clouds tinged with green. It arrived with a tram-shuddering blast of wind. The gusts filled with sheets of billowing rain and I dashed from the tram into the open shelter at my stop, chased by the blowing rain. Our house was a ten-minute walk: I’d have to run for it. I was close to home, splashing through the pouring rain when the hail began.

“Ow.”

A cherry-sized stone hit the top of my head. I lifted my duffel bag and rested it on my head as I ran. Now, some stones reached the size of ping-pong balls, smacking into the pavement and shattering. I slipped into the limited shelter of a tree. Hail was ripping leaves and twigs off and I sheltered as best I could against the trunk, the duffel bag over my head. The hail and rain were intense, the noise incredible, punctuated by lightning and crackling thunder. The wind slapped my soaked dress around my legs and I was feeling cold.

I thought I heard someone shouting and peered around the trunk to see Mrs Greco on her front veranda, waving me towards her house. The hail was not as big or frequent. I ran along a pavement that had become a rushing stream pebbled with shattered hail stones, up the front steps and into the shelter of the Greco’s’ veranda.

Rain and hail hammered on the corrugated iron roof, making it difficult to talk. Mrs Greco disappeared into her house and reappeared with some towels. She draped one round my shoulders as I was shivering. I used the other to dry my hair and neck. Mrs Greco saw my shivers and started rubbing my shoulders with the towel to warm and dry them.

The thunder and hammering of rain on the roof lessened as the wind gusts lost some of their fury. I saw two sets of eyes peering at us through the screen door.

Now the noise was less scary, Cal crept out on to the veranda with Giorgio in tow. “You’re wet.”

I smiled down at her, shivering. “Yes, I am.” I was standing in a puddle where water was dripping off me.

Mrs Greco rubbed my shoulders and arms vigorously, trying to warm me up. “You cold... Stai tremando. Vieni dentro per un caffè.”

I smiled – I had no idea what she was saying.

Mrs Greco put her hand on Cal’s shoulder. “Cal, dille quello che ho detto.”

Cal’s voice was serious. “Mamma says you are shivering and to come inside for coffee.”

I glanced across to my house – the hail had mostly stopped and the rain was hard but no longer torrential. I wanted to get out of my drenched clothes and into a hot bath. If I ran home, I wasn’t going to get any wetter than I already was.

I smiled at Mrs Greco and crouched down beside Cal. “Please tell your mother thank you, but I will run home and have a hot bath.”

Cal’s wide eyes stared at me. I smiled, gesturing to her mother.

Cal turned to her mother. “Mamma, dice grazie ma torna a casa per un bagno.”

Mrs Greco smiled at me. “Ah ... hot...” She hugged her arms around herself.

“Yes.” I said, handing her the towels. “Thank you for your help, Cal.”

I smiled at Mrs Greco. “Thank you ... er... grazie?”

Mrs Greco waved. “Arrivederci.”

“Bye – and thank you again.”

I trotted down the steps and sprinted across to my house through the rain. Our floors were lino, which didn’t mind me dripping on it. I dripped my way into the kitchen.

The bread...

I rather gingerly opened the duffel bag, expecting to find a soggy mess of rye bread, but it was barely damp at one end. It seemed my swimming towel had soaked up any rain that got in. I put the bread on the side in the kitchen and went along to the bathroom and started a hot bath. Pulling off my wet clothes was difficult as they clung rather transparently to my clammy skin.

Even though the bath was far from full, I got in, splashing myself in the shallow hot water as it deepened around me. I stayed in, my worried thoughts cycling between Mr Franks and Willi, until the cooling water pushed me out. Once I was dry, I padded into my bedroom and dressed in a sarong, listening to the storm grumble away into the distance.

I hung my wet clothes and swimming things up on the veranda and suspended my duffel bag upside down to dry from a convenient hook. By the time Mutti arrived home I had tea ready – but I had hidden the Schwarzbrot in the bread crock.

I met her on the veranda and she spied the things on the line. “Did you get caught in the storm?”

“Yes – but how did you get on phoning England?”

Mutti’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s go inside, shall we?”

I frowned in frustration.

Be more careful about what you say and where I say it, Col.

Mutti turned on the radio, pulled the jug of cold water from the fridge and poured us both glasses. “Wait a moment.” She stood up and opened her bag, retrieving two lemon-sized fruits – but they were a rich green. “These are limes.” She cut one into quarters and passed a quarter to me. Sitting down, she squeezed the juice into her water and slid the squashed segment into her glass.

“Try it, Kal.”

I followed her lead and took a sip. The lime juice made the cold water deliciously refreshing. “Mmm ... that’s better than plain water.”

Mutti took an appreciative sip, her eyes holding mine over the rim of her glass. “Mr Chapman was most kind and helped me book a call to England. I must ring the international operator from the phone box at seven o’clock. I’ve shilling bits to pay for the call.

“And if we don’t get through to her – or if she refuses to help?

“We’ll see. But let’s leave that for now and have tea.”

I retrieved the salad, meats and cheese from the fridge, trying to quell my unease.

Mutti surveyed the table. “No bread?”

I smiled. “I’ll get it.” I pulled the breadboard out and retrieved the Schwarzbrot from the crock, shielding everything with my body.

I turned round. “Ta da.”

Mutti’s eyes widened. “Is that Schwarzbrot?”

I handed her the bread-knife and she cut a slice, inspecting the texture and savouring the aroma. She broke off a piece and popped it into her mouth – and her head lifted and her eyelids drooped.

“Mm...” She smiled across at me. “Where did you get this?”

“It’s from a German bakery in Woolloongabba. I found it when we were still at Yungaba.” Mutti cut two slices and handed one to me.

“I found a German butcher too. They have a great selection of Würste.”

Mutti smiled. The Schwarzbrot made the meal almost a traditional Abendbrot. The familiarity helped me forget about Mr Franks for a while as we chatted about her day at work. After we cleaned up, we sat down at the table. Mutti got me to tell her about the storm – and I told her about Lizzie. At a quarter to seven, we headed off to the phone box in Leckie Road.

Mutti told me to stand beside her to hear what was being said and dialled the operator. After a brief discussion, Mutti fed five shillings into the phone.

There was a series of clicks and burrs followed by beeping.

“I’m sorry, caller, but that number is unobtainable.”

Mutti’s eyes flicked sideways to me. “What does that mean?” She asked the operator.

“It means that the number is no longer connected. You have the correct number?”

“Oh ... yes ... er ... thank you.”

“Can I try another number for you, caller?”

“Um ... No thank you.” Mutti hung up and the phone clunked, returning her shilling bits.

We were on our own and my stomach sank. We walked back to our house in silence.

Once we’d opened the windows and Mutti had the radio on, I asked. “Now what?”

She leant forward, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin on her hands. “I don’t want you doing that man’s bidding.”

“I can’t see what else we can do. If you try to do something, we’ll be exposed and if we do nothing, we’ll be exposed.”

“And what would you do?” I could hear the frustration in her voice, but I knew it wasn’t aimed at me.

“I thought I’d use my interest in languages to get into the Polish Club.”

“What do you mean?” I could hear the scepticism in Mutti’s voice.

“Well, I don’t have a Polish textbook – we were using one that Lili’s mother found us. The library told me that the Polish club had its own library. I was going to visit there and see if I could find something to help.”

“And?”

“Well, I thought that might get me accepted and I could work from there.”

“And what about the German and Russian Clubs?” Mutti asked.

“Well, neither of us can admit to speaking Russian. I won’t be trying there.” I paused – because this was touchy. “I thought of a way that I might approach the German Club without involving you.”

“Go on.”

Mutti was coming round to my ideas. “I thought I could tell them my mother insisted we integrate into Australia and would not let me speak or read German at home. But I want to maintain my heritage...” I was watching Mutti’s face and saw her wince. She loved the German language and culture; she would never do something like that.

Mutti sat for a while. I started feeling uncomfortable and shifted in my chair.

Mutti nodded. “That’s quite clever. I suspect that there are many Germans in Australia who are trying to put our disastrous past behind them by walking away from their heritage.”

“Will you let me try?”

Mutti’s chest rose as she took a deep breath. “Because of my experiences in the prisons and camps, I know how to conduct myself and be someone else, the person I need to be for that man.” Her eyes wandered into her memories for a moment. “Staying safe from the SS guards and manipulating them when I could taught me useful skills.” She sighed. “But I can’t do what we need.” She gave me a speculative look. “But ... you can do it by being you — a curious girl.” She paused again. “Of course, I’ll help.”

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Through different Eyes

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Robert Hart

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