Hunger Town (48 page)

‘We'll see. Miss Marie is a marvel at extracting information.'

‘Even Marie might fail.'

‘Have you ever known anyone deny her?'

‘But even so, if there's nothing he can tell us …'

‘There'll be something. Now you're to lie down and rest and I'll come and sit with you. Maybe you'll be able to sleep a bit. I'll wake you when Marie comes.'

‘I'm so worried, Winnie. He might be … He might be …'

‘Yes, Jude. He might be dead.' Her voice shook but she controlled herself. ‘But it's no good dwelling on what might be. Harry always dared to climb the tallest tree but he always managed to clamber down again. Have some faith in his toughness. I've seen plenty of it.'

So I allowed her to tuck me up in bed as if I were some distressed child and with her hand in mine I fell asleep.

It was dusk when Winnie woke me. The clock said nearly six o'clock. Miss Marie was in the kitchen drinking tea. She jumped up, hugged me, and looked me over critically.

‘You have done a grand job, Winnie. Jock told me she was quite done in.'

Winnie flushed with pleasure. Everyone revelled in Miss Marie's praise.

‘She was quite done in but our Judith is tough.'

‘And Winnie's tough, too, Marie. She hasn't cried once.'

Winnie reproached me. ‘I never cry when things are really serious, Jude. You should know that.'

I didn't but I smiled at her. ‘Of course, but you know if I hadn't forgotten that I might have been really frightened by your composure.'

She chortled. ‘It's such a relief to have the old sharp Judith back again, Marie. I thought for a bit she'd lost her fighting spirit.'

‘Never,' Miss Marie said. ‘That indeed would be a tragic day.'

I knew all this cheerful play-acting was for my benefit but I went along with it and found it comforting. Neither of my friends seemed to be plunged in the bleak pessimism that afflicted me.

‘Could Nathan tell you anything more?' I asked Miss Marie.

She grimaced. ‘That man is a master of obfuscation. He dodged and feinted and side-stepped like some mediocre boxer but eventually I pinned him down. Of course, he feels guilty as hell. I'd say he rushed out of Spain in a fit of rage. Oh, yes, he experiences a lot of repressed anger. He tries to hide it but I saw it at once.

‘Of course, having started on the homeward journey he couldn't return. He must have been tortured by what he had done. Even Nathan has some realisation of what others might think of him.' She added cynically, ‘Some sense of obligation.'

‘So his sisters didn't shut the door on you?'

‘No,
ma pauvre
, of course not. People don't usually shut the door on me. I never let them do that. Besides Miss Adelaide knew me from the meeting and I felt she had some hope that I might make things easier for her as I did then. They are guilty, Judith, and ashamed and very frightened.'

‘They're frightened?' I was outraged and scornful. ‘That's rich.'

‘Oh, yes, Judith.
Mon Dieu
. Harry is dearly loved around the Port. Everyone recalls his brightness and kindness. While Nathan and his sisters just hang on to the edge of acceptance. This could topple them off completely. And what a fall that would be: to face the opprobrium of the entire community. It would be unbearable for them.'

‘Serves them right,' Winnie spat viciously. ‘I hope to see them driven out of town.'

Winnie, I knew, would have no hesitation in blackening Nathan's name. She hated him.

Miss Marie was more diplomatic. ‘Careful,
ma chere
. We may yet need some help from him. He still has connections. Do not sink the goose with the golden egg.'

‘Kill the goose,' Winnie automatically corrected. And then laughed as she caught Miss Marie's twinkling eyes. ‘I'll be good but not too kind. Under the circumstances that would be quite impossible.'

‘Then,
ma chere
, we must not ask the impossible. Only a little discretion.'

‘So,' I said, interrupting them impatiently and accepting the second cup of tea Winnie put in front of me, ‘what did you manage to get out of Nathan?'

‘Well, Judith, as you probably know, Harry went to the Asturias with a Spaniard he met in Madrid. Nathan swears the Spaniard belonged to the Anarcho-Syndicalists and that he did his best to talk Harry out of getting embroiled with him. But Harry would not listen.'

‘Sounds frighteningly like Harry,' I said bitterly.

Miss Marie continued, ‘This Spaniard's home village is in the Asturias and Harry was “hell-bent”—Nathan's phrase, not mine—on discovering how these anarchists planned to set up a workers' commune. At this point in our discussion, I think Nathan could barely contain his anger at the memory. And really in telling the whole incident he went livid and his hands shook.

‘He said the communists had rejected the anarchists and thrown them out because they were just a leaderless rabble who wanted to conduct a private revolution on their own terms. I'm afraid that this made me a little angry, too. And I said, rather sharply, “You mean they rejected communist leadership and instructions from the USSR?”

‘It was unwise of me. One of those moments when unfortunately I lost control of myself. Luckily Miss Adelaide came to my rescue: “Calm yourself, Nathan,” she ordered. “Miss Marie isn't here for a political argument. She just wants any information you can give her about Mr Grenville.”

‘I must admit that I found it odd to hear Harry referred to as Mr Genville. It was as if he was some stranger to them but afterwards I realised that it was a form of self-protection aimed at distancing themselves from him. How strange people are, Judith, in the way they use words to protect themselves.'

Winnie snorted in disgust.

‘As Miss Adelaide had calmed Nathan I asked him if the anarchist had a name. At first he said he didn't know, couldn't remember, but I persisted and eventually he said he thought it was Garcia. He only knew that people spoke of him as Garcia from Sama in the Asturias. Sama, he thought, was a village not far from Oviedo, the provincial capital. He had no desire to go there and Harry should have taken his advice.'

Miss Marie looked resigned. ‘He was quite petulant, considerably sorry for himself, and full of self-justification, and that's all I could get out of him.'

‘It's more than I did,' I said quietly.

‘Yes,
chérie
, at least we have the name of the Spaniard he went with and the name of the village where perhaps he went. It's a good start for our search.'

I looked at her hopelessly. ‘But where to start? Who to contact? I've not heard from Harry for weeks. Nathan took maybe six weeks to get home. What has happened in that time?'

‘No, Judith. Nathan managed to get home in three weeks. Miss Adelaide told me. He got on board a British patrol boat in the Mediterranean and when it docked briefly in the Suez Canal he boarded a P&O liner from Port Said. At Perth he took the train to Adelaide. It's only three weeks since he left Spain. So his news of Harry is relatively recent.'

‘Recent, but not better. The miners' strike in Asturia must have taken place in those three weeks. We've all heard of the slaughter there. What can any of us do from here? The last letter I had from Harry was posted in England. I've not even received a letter from France.' I choked at the memory of that letter. ‘He wrote that he was learning French phrases to help him find a post office or buy a stamp when he got to France. Oh, Marie, what am I going to do?'

‘You're going to come to Spain with me. That's what we're going to do.'

I gaped at her. ‘Spain? With you?'

Winnie squeaked, ‘Spain? Oh, no. Haven't we had enough of Spain?'

‘I have no money for that, Marie. Only a little in our bank account. So much went on my mother's medical expenses. It would barely get me to Sydney or Melbourne. Europe's out of the question.'

‘Not at all. I have money.'

‘No,' I said abruptly. ‘I can't take your money. Can't involve you in this. You've done enough.'

‘No, Judith, not enough. You think about it. If you don't hear from Harry shortly then we should go and look for him. And I don't think we should let too much time elapse.'

I was speechless. Winnie's eyes fixed on Marie were wide and scared. ‘Please,' she whispered, ‘please don't take Judith to Spain. She might never come back.'

‘Nonsense, Winnie. Of course I'll bring her back and we'll find Harry and bring him back, too. Courage my friends.
Le diable est mort
. I've been to Europe. It's not such a big thing. Not at all.'

There was no way I could keep the distressing news about Harry from my mother. If Mrs Danley hadn't rushed already to tell her, it would only be a matter of time. Gossip spread like wildfire in the Port. Far better, I thought, if I were the bearer of bad tidings because then my mother could see immediately how I was taking it. I knew her concern for me would equal her concern for Harry.

So I rode my bike to the hulk and wheeled it carefully up the gangplank. Our little banana boat bobbed up and down on its mooring rope and I recalled Harry hauling me out of the river while I shrieked in terror at the thought of a shark. My soaked clothes had clung to me and when he clutched me against him I smelled the damp sweetness of his body. We had both laughed in embarrassment when he released me, hiding from each other what we had discovered about desire.

I found my father in the galley where surprisingly he had taken to cooking. When I had showed my amazement he reproved me. ‘And, Judith, how do you think boys like me survived in Iceland? There were no la-di-da servants to cook for us. If we didn't make our meals we starved. I learned very early to not only catch fish but how to prepare and fry them.

‘Frying fish became my speciality,' he added, his eyes twinkling with pride. ‘It hasn't been difficult to progress from there. Cooking is just a matter of following the rules. Any fool can do that.'

I didn't laugh at him. It would have hurt his feelings and it was endearing to watch him pore over a cookery book, carefully following the instructions and snorting with disgust if they were not exact. ‘Such haphazardness at sea would get us all ship wrecked. What do they mean here, by half a teaspoon of spice? Or cook for an hour to an hour and a half? No teaspoon has exactly the same measurement.' And he would go on grumbling. Then he would grin and say, ‘The greatest difficulty, Judith, has been chasing your mother out of the galley. She still doesn't think I'm competent and keeps sneaking in on any feeble excuse to check what's on the stove.'

Today he was making scones. He looked up as I entered. ‘You look very tired, Judith,' he said. ‘Been working late?'

‘Yes, Dad,' I answered. ‘I am tired. But no, I've not been working late.' I hesitated and he looked at me searchingly.

‘Something troubling you, girlie?'

‘Yes, Dad. Something serious. And I don't know how to tell Mum—or even if I ought to. But if I don't someone else will.'

He was quick. ‘It's Harry?'

‘Yes.'

‘Very serious?'

‘I think it may be.'

‘He's not hurt?'

‘I don't know. And you may as well ask, Dad, and not pussyfoot around. He's not dead, as far as we know.'

‘As far as you know? What do you know? Sit down. Far better you tell me first. Your mother is having a nap. We can decide what and how much to tell her between us.'

He poured me a strong cup of tea from the pot, which now always rested on the side of the stove. The tea, which brewed there all day, was a dark bitter tannin, but it represented to me a happier change in our circumstances. I could never stomach weak tea and shuddered to remember those desperate poverty-stricken years when my mother dried the used tea-leaves and re-used them until the tea became no more than a pale wash. We still needed to be frugal but my father now managed to find occasional work on the river. I gratefully sipped my tea and told him.

‘And this Nathan bastard left him in Spain?'

‘Yes.'

‘Because he didn't return at the exact time decided on?'

‘Apparently.'

‘What sort of no-good idiot bastard does that?'

‘Nathan, it seems.'

‘And wasn't there anyone else in Spain to stop him?'

‘I don't know, Dad. All Nathan's mates, if you could call them that—colleagues, acquaintances—were communists. If Harry went off with someone reputed to be an anarchist …' I looked at my father hopelessly.

He exploded. ‘Bloody reckless fool. Hasn't he any political nous? What fool tinkers with political factions in a country like Spain?'

‘Dad,' I said wearily, ‘don't go on about Harry. It doesn't help. Don't you think I, too, have cursed his foolishness?'

‘Yes, yes.' Admonished, he stopped. ‘And now what to tell your mother?'

My mother spoke from the doorway. ‘Yes?' she invited. ‘What is it that you both need to tell me?'

She came and sat at the table. ‘Don't leave those scones too long, Niels. They'll dry out. Scones should go into a hot oven as soon as you've made them.' Then she looked from him to me. ‘Pour me a cuppa, please, Niels. And since I suppose it's Judith's news I need to hear, what is it, darling?'

She was smiling at me and I dithered. ‘I don't want to worry you, Mum. It's difficult. I don't want to alarm you.'

‘For heaven's sake, Judith.' She was impatient. ‘Just tell me. All this shillyshallying is making me more anxious than your news probably will.'

‘Yes,' I said, a little uncertainly. ‘Imagination does make cowards of us all.'

Briefly I remembered how Harry and I had walked home together from the hulk in the soft comfortable darkness, his arm about me. What had we discussed? I thought it must have had something to do with conscience because I had paraphrased the Shakespearean phrase
Conscience doth make cowards of us all
.