India Dark (4 page)

The kitchen was quiet. Mumma was still in bed, nursing her bruised hand. There was no butter but I scraped a thick lump of dripping from the tin by the stove and spread it on yesterday's bread, set the kettle on the hob and measured tea-leaves into the old brown teapot.

Yada and Chooky sat either side of me and no one spoke. We were all listening to the house. It was as if last night's argument was still echoing around the kitchen. Finally, Yada said, ‘I hope you held your mother in your thoughts.'

Chooky nodded but I stirred my tea and listened to the chink of the spoon against the china. I'd been holding my family in my thoughts all my life but it hadn't saved my dad or healed my mumma's broken heart or stopped Yada's seizures.

Yada knew me too well. She knew the closed expression on my face. She took my hand and folded her fingers over mine.

‘Poesy,' she said, ‘remember when I took you on the tram into the city to hear Mrs Besant?'

I nodded, ashamed that I remembered the excitement of walking past all the theatres more than anything that was said in Mrs Besant's lecture.

‘There is no religion higher than truth,' said Yada. ‘That's what she told us. Your mother and I, we argue because we seek the truth. It is a fact that we would have more pennies if you sacrificed yourself to the dreadful match factory. But in truth it would not lead us closer to happiness.'

I took a sip of tea and tried to avoid meeting Yada's gaze.

‘But if there was some other way I could bring us pennies, everyone would be happier then, wouldn't they?'

‘Pennies can't make our happiness, child. Mrs Besant said the whole world, the whole universe, is only a Thought of God. Sometimes my thoughts overwhelm me but I am trying to treasure the strength of God to help me hold the right thought and discover the truth. If Adeline and all of us would simply hold the right thought, then we would defeat the forces that trouble us. Pennies won't solve our problems. Each of us makes our world through our thoughts.'

Yada spoke softly, as if afraid that Mumma would hear. Since Yada had converted to Theosophy there had been battles for my faith as well as my future.

It made my head hurt to think anyone could change the world through their thoughts. But I held the thought of the Lilliputians in my mind. I held the moment where I had stood singing in Balaclava Hall and tried to imagine it happening again. Perhaps it worked. Later that morning, Mrs Essie came to the door.

Mumma and Yada shook their heads in disbelief when Mrs Essie explained why she had come. I stood very still, like a deaf–mute, waiting for Yada to start an argument, but she was too shy of Mrs Essie. She listened with her head to one side, her expression horrified. After Mrs Essie had left them with some papers to sign, the fight began in earnest.

Yada took the papers by one corner and dropped them in the basket for fire waste, as if they were filthy rags fit only for burning.

‘Oh Mother, it's the stage or the match factory for her,' said Mumma. ‘Why can't you see that? The woman said thirty shillings a month. Thirty shillings! What would you have Poesy do here in Melbourne that would earn a fraction of that? And we'll be spared her board and lodging if she's away.'

‘Board and lodging! You talk as if she was a stranger, Adeline, not your own sweet child!'

Mother slumped in a chair and put her head in her hands.

‘More schooling for Poesy won't put bread on the table,' she said, ‘but if she takes to the stage she could save Chooky. Look at the boy. Look at him. What's his future? You worry about the girl, but Chooky will be a man and have no way of supporting himself. You talk as if Poesy will be able to provide for this family on a teacher's wage. What happens when she marries? But she can help us now. Thirty shillings a month for two years would mean Chooky could stay at school for as long as needs be.'

‘You'd sell your daughter for thirty pieces of silver!'

Mumma turned to me.

‘Poesy,' she said. ‘What do you want to do?'

I couldn't look at Yada. ‘I want to join the Lilliputians. I want to go to America.'

America, America, America
: the words ran around the inside of my head like music. Whenever I could cadge a penny I'd go down to Mr West's cinema and watch the American movies, and it seemed as if everything alive and exciting and worth living for was in that country. It's all I wanted, to feel more alive. I didn't understand what it meant to be ‘careful what you pray for'.

Early next morning, I took the billycan down to the fence and hung it from a nail by the front gate. The milkman would fill it in the dark early hours and lower it to the ground by its string. The street was quiet. I could smell the damp from the river and the fog rising. I tried to think about the power of thought, about making my future with my thoughts, but my mind felt blank. There wasn't a single thought I could hold that made me feel I had made the right choice.

I walked slowly up the path, tapping out a rhythm with my feet. In the still dawn, my voice sounded clean and sweet as I sang a little skipping rhyme I'd made for myself about the Lilliputians:
‘Tilly, Flora, Daisy. Ruby, Beryl, Pearl. Lulu, Iris,
Valentine, soon these girls will all be mine. Soon they'll be my
friends.'

On Monday, Mr Smith the milkman called with his account. He usually kept sugared almonds in his pocket, but that last Monday he had run out.

‘Next time, Poesy,' he said.

‘There might not be a next time,' I said, almost not believing my own words. ‘I'm leaving, Mr Smith. Going away with the Lilliputians. Right around the world!'

It wasn't until I said it out loud that I felt I understood what it might mean. But in truth, I understood even less than I imagined.

8

REHEARSING THE FUTURE

Poesy Swift

Tilly was always at Balaclava Hall ahead of me but I liked to take my time. I liked to stand at the top of the road and stare at the hazy blue Dandenong Ranges, dreaming about the future. And the other good thing, if I waited, was that I could walk with Charlie Byrne.

Every morning, Lionel and Charlie would step down from the tram at Darebin Road. Lionel was fourteen and one of the eldest Lilliputian boys, though he could pass for much younger, and showed no sign of whiskers or muscles or anything manly. He always pushed past me, he never wanted to talk to any of the new girls. Charlie was a year younger but he was happy to chat with me. In the beginning, I imagined that if he had been a girl he could have been my sister. I don't think I understood what it meant to have a sister.

We both knew that when we arrived at the hall, we wouldn't speak to each other again. As soon as the others came in sight, Charlie flapped his arms and ran at the boys. Then Lionel would go to hit him and they would tussle like two puppies. I suppose it kept them warm. It was icy in Thornbury on those winter mornings. I tucked my hands beneath my arms to stop them turning blue and watched the boys wrestle.

Mr Arthur hated it when the boys fought. It was the only time I saw him cross during those Melbourne days. Sometimes he'd send the stage manager, Mr Eddie, or the props master, Mr Jim, into the yard to sort them out. But no one took Mr Jim or Mr Eddie seriously because they looked so young. Mr Jim was only nineteen and Mr Eddie had been a Lilliputian only a few years ago, though now he was twenty-one and married with a baby. When they stepped between the boys, it looked as though they were simply playing along with them.

Mr Arthur hardly ever shouted at us girls. The only time you could tell he was angry was if he dropped his gaze and the cleft in his chin grew deeper as he gritted his teeth. It almost made him look even handsomer. The line of his jaw was so strong and sharp, it was as if a sculptor had carved it and chiselled his high cheekbones and smooth brow. But mostly he was jolly because we all wanted to please him. When he was directing the chorus line every girl sang as sweetly as she could, and when we danced for him it was as if we were floating on air.

In those winter months at Balaclava Hall, I remember Mr Arthur smiling all the time. Even his eyes grew smiley when he was pleased with our singing. When Mrs Essie called him ‘Baby', as she often did because once he'd been the youngest in the troupe, you could see the boy in him, even though now he was a proper grown-up man.

Perhaps that's why I found it easy to talk to him. I'd always been shy of talking to men and boys but Mr Arthur was different. So was Charlie Byrne.

The first time Charlie and I spoke, it was an accident. I was sitting in the big gum tree that grew beside the hall. Charlie came pelting outside as if his tail was on fire. He scrambled into the lower branches and was up next to the roofline before the other boys had even made it out the doorway. At first he didn't notice me sitting with my back against the trunk and my stockinged legs stretched along a branch. I gave a little cough so as not to startle him, but he nearly lost his balance when he saw me.

‘Sorry,' I said.

‘It's not the place you expect to find a girl,' he said.

‘Who are you hiding from?' I asked.

‘I'm not hiding. Not yet. Anyone can see us from the ground.'

I glanced down through the leaves. ‘What will they do if they spot us?'

‘They won't. Least they won't find me.' Then he stepped into a deep fork in the heart of the old tree. I hadn't noticed it before. He had to wriggle down to get inside the hollow.

I climbed across from my branch and peered into his hidey-hole. ‘I never thought of that. No one would know you're there.'

He turned his face upwards. His eyes were like green jewels, the way the sun lit them. He had a tiny pale scar above one eyebrow and a wide, soft mouth. It was like looking down into the face of an elf.

‘Is there room in there for me too?' I asked.

Even though there wasn't really any space left he said, ‘Yes. It fits two.' And then I slid down beside him, trying to hold my skirt in place as my body scraped against his. His face was only inches away. I kept my arms very still, pressed against my side, and we both held our breath and listened. We could hear the sound of footsteps, of the other boys pelting past the gum tree. I heard Freddie and Max Kreutz shouting and I shuddered a little. They were the biggest boys – a pair of tawny-haired twins with big fists like hams and long, meaty cheeks – and Tilly had warned me about them.

‘Why are they chasing you?' I whispered.

‘I foxed them with a bit of magic, and Kreutzes don't like being foxed. Freddie Kreutz, he's the boss of the boys.'

‘Why is he the boss? I thought your brother Lionel was the boss.'

‘Lionel?' I could feel his breath warm against my cheek as he sighed. ‘Never. The Kreutz twins have been on the stage since they were six. They've got two big brothers who were in the Lilliputians and now they're actors in London and San Francisco. Kreutzes reckon anything they don't know about theatre isn't worth tuppence.'

‘Tilly told me those Kreutzes won't be allowed to go on tour soon,' I confided, ‘because they're too interested in the girls. When Freddie caught Tilly all alone behind the hall, he tried to kiss her. And when Max watches you, it makes you want to pull your skirt down to your toes and fold your arms across your chest.'

Suddenly, I realised I was pressed up close to Charlie without a whisker of space between us. I sucked my tummy in and tried to make a little gap between him and me but it didn't work. I could feel his chest moving in and out as his breath quickened and our silence seemed to make the hollow even more snug.

‘You're not like the other boys,' I said. ‘They smell funny, like chalk and boy-sweat – sort of dusty and gritty and a little bit sour.'

‘You reckon I smell sour too?'

‘No,' I said softly. I rested my chin on Charlie's shoulder so my nose was almost touching his ear. I could feel the heat of him against my face. ‘You smell like matches and liquorice.'

He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me away, so at last there was a little sliver of space between us. ‘Maybe we should climb out now.'

From outside, we could hear the babble of girls talking as they left the hall and drifted into Darebin Road. ‘Not yet,' I said. ‘I want to wait a little longer. Just until Tilly has gone home.'

‘You don't like Tilly? I thought she was your friend.'

‘I do like Tilly. It's just that sometimes it's hard being a Lilliputian.'

‘You mean the routines? I can help you with those, if you like.'

‘No, it's not the dances or the songs that are hard. They're fun. The hard bit is trying to understand who you're meant to be friends with.'

Charlie furrowed his brow, as if he wasn't quite sure of what I meant.

‘You see, everyone likes Tilly,' I explained. ‘But she doesn't like everyone so I don't know who is safe to talk to. I thought I'd be friends with Valentine, but Tilly told me Valentine was
her
best friend and it wouldn't do for one of her second-best friends to try and steal her very best one away. Who
should
I like?'

Charlie didn't answer. He was listening to the voices outside, as if part of him was somewhere else, thinking about some other problem.

‘They're gone. Tilly and that lot,' he said.

‘Help me out then,' I said. ‘You'll have to give me a boost.'

He made a stirrup with his hands and when I put my foot in it, he laughed.

‘What?'

‘Your feet. They're so small. They're like tiny pinecones.'

I could feel the blush rising up right from the heel of my foot as he boosted me out of the hollow. We sat in the open branches and looked down into the yard. Most of the children had disappeared and only the grown-ups and a few older girls stood on the steps of Balaclava Hall.

‘Who is that one? The beautiful lady?' I asked, pointing at a girl with long, soft brown hair and skin like white satin touched with the softest pink. She stood beside Mr Arthur and when she laughed at something he'd said, her voice was like a lovely bird song.