The Women in Black (8 page)

19

Fay, leaving Goode’s by the Staff Entrance on the Friday night before Christmas with her enlarged pay-packet in her handbag thought, I should buy something new to wear, it might cheer me up. She felt a dreadful lassitude which might, she thought, be merely the heat; but she could not remember the heat’s having so affected her before. I’m just a bit down in the dumps, she told herself. I’ll feel better after Christmas is over. And she caught herself thinking of Christmas as a trial, and she thought, what is the matter with me? And she tried to think of the Christmas before her as a pleasure, as something to look forward to—with Myra’s parents, and Myra’s brother and sister and their families all driving up from Penrith the one lot and Kurrajong the other—which was partly why the Parkers had decided on the Blue Mountains as a retirement home, to be near the grandchildren—on Christmas Day itself, and she thought, oh well, safety in numbers. And she cheered herself up a little more, by thinking of the trip back on The Fish. I should buy a new dress to wear on Christmas Day, she thought. That might cheer me up. But she wouldn’t really have time to have a good look around. I’ll skip it, she thought. I’ll save my money for the sales. The blue and white will do. That’s only last season’s.

Fay had done a remarkable thing: she had cried off all proposed engagements this weekend (the gold watch had asked her out, I know he only wants one thing, she had told Myra, and Myra herself had wanted her to go to a party) and she was going to do absolutely nothing. She was going to stay at home, do all her washing, clean the fl at, and wash and set her hair. She was going to read
The Women’s Weekly
and if she finished that, she could read a book. She had the book with her now; Lisa had lent it to her. Lisa had been reading it in the canteen, and Fay had said, is that a good book? And Lisa had said yes, it’s wonderful. I’m just finishing it. Would you like to borrow it? Well, okay, said Fay, to be polite. What’s it called? It’s called
Anna Karenina
, said Lisa, holding it up so that Fay could see the title printed on the cover.

20

‘Lisa,’ said Fay, ‘I think Magda wants to speak to you.’

Magda had indeed been making eloquent signals with her great eyes across the several yards of space which separated Model Gowns from Ladies’ Cocktail. Lisa looked across the chasm and Magda beckoned; the girl hurried across to her. Had she not completed her allotted task the day before? She did not like to think of the frost which would settle on Mrs Williams, if not also Miss Jacobs and even Miss Baines, were she to abandon them once more on this busiest of all mornings.

‘Lisa, my dear,’ said Magda, ‘I will not long detain you. I merely wish to invite you to luncheon today if you have nothing more amusing to do. I have so much described you to my husband who looks forward to meeting you, it will be very simple, we do not trouble with the
haute cuisine
on a Saturday—psssht!—it is the end of a long week—a piece of sausage, a glass of wine, a few cherries— please give us the pleasure of your company!’

Lisa was overwhelmed; she stuttered.

‘I’ll have to ask my mother,’ she said, ‘I mean, I’ll have to tell her.’

‘But
naturally
!’ cried Magda. ‘I have thought of that too! Here are four pennies, I keep some always in my bureau in case of need— run quickly to the public telephones there and call your mother and ask her permission, please. You know we live in Mosman, it will be quite easy for you to find your way home, no? It is not so far. Go quickly, they will not notice, the ladies, and tell me what your mother says. And give her first my respects, please.’

Fay watched, unable to hear, and wondered. That Magda, how intriguing she was, as well as frightful. But Lisa did not seem to find her frightful; fearsome, possibly, but not frightful. Lisa seemed to enjoy her time at Magda’s side: she would return from her stints at Model Gowns in a state of something like elation.

‘There are frocks from Paris in there,’ she had told them, ‘and London. Beautiful, the most beautiful frocks—you should go and see. Magda won’t mind.’

As if they would go and see!

‘I don’t want to see frocks from
Paris
and
London
,’ said Patty Williams. ‘I’ve got enough to do with frocks from
Sydney
and
Melbourne.

’ But Fay, silenced by this remark, thought to herself, geez. I’d love to look at those frocks. And perhaps I will, later; or some time.

She thought, perhaps they look like the frocks in magazines. Geez, think of that: fancy having a frock that was in a magazine.

‘We will jump onto a tram in Elizabeth Street and go quickly to the Quay,’ said Magda to Lisa as they walked forth from Goode’s at 12.35. ‘I am in no mood for a promenade. Come.’

Lisa had rarely had the occasion to travel by ferry and had entirely forgotten, if she had ever really known, the ravishing delight of the experience.

‘We will sit outside, of course,’ said Magda, running up the staircase and going out onto the upper deck, ‘here, with our backs to the sun. Ouf! What could be more glorious?’

She looked around at the Harbour, the sky, the Bridge, Pinch-gut, the fairyland foreshores, the entire glittering panorama.

Intoxicated by this spectacle and by the mad throbbing of the great engine and the strange allure of the smell of its oil, carried across the twinkling water on this comfortable wooden vessel with its cargo of fortunate passengers, the salty breeze in her hair, Lisa felt herself to be no longer on the threshold, but suddenly projected wholly into real life; to have left—at last—Lesley, that child, far behind.

‘Isn’t it lovely!’ she exclaimed. ‘Isn’t it glorious! I
am
happy!’

Magda turned and smiled at her brilliantly. ‘Good!’ she said.

‘Be happy—always!’

And she kissed Lisa on the cheek. Lisa smiled shyly at her. I’ve heard, she thought, that Continentals kiss each other much more than we do: it means nothing. They do it all the time, even the men. The men even kiss each other. But how strange I feel.

21

‘Here we are at last!’ exclaimed Magda, opening her front door; the remark might have been made for either Lisa’s benefit, or Stefan’s.

Lisa, after a short walk up from the wharf, now found herself entering a flat which occupied the upper floor of a sprawling Edwardian villa overlooking Mosman Bay. Light streamed through its great windows filling the large sitting room into which the door immediately opened; to the left could be seen a glimpse of kitchen, to the right, a half-open door revealed a small triangle of what might be a bedroom. Near to the kitchen she now saw a large round table covered with food and, standing next to it, a tall man with dark wavy hair and bright hazel eyes. This man was smiling at them broadly, and waved a hand over the table.

‘See what I have conjured up for you,’ he said, ‘by the exercise of my great powers!’

‘Never mind your great powers,’ said Magda, ‘come here and meet Lisa. Lisa, may I present my husband, Stefan Szombathelyi, who is a Hungarian but not, alas, a count. But you can’t have everything.’ Stefan, smiling at Lisa, drew himself up to his full height, clicked his heels, and bowed, taking Lisa’s hand the while which he then kissed.

‘I am enchanted to meet you,’ he told her. He released her hand; she was not perhaps blushing, but she seemed rather pink.

‘You must not mind, Lisa,’ said Magda. ‘I suppose you have heard that we Europeans are kissing people all the time.’

They all laughed, but Lisa most especially.

‘Now I will merely divest myself of this dreadful black,’ said Magda, ‘and we can eat. I am ravenous I must tell you. Excuse me very briefly. Stefan, give Lisa a glass of wine, please.’

Stefan smiled nicely at the girl. She wasn’t too bad: not pretty, but perhaps she had possibilities. She was very thin, but that was certainly better than being very fat.

‘Would you like some wine?’ he asked, ‘or would you prefer lemonade? I have bought some, just in case. Such an amusing drink, don’t you agree? But the wine is quite amusing too in its way. Tell me what you would like.’

‘I think,’ said Lisa, ‘I’d like some lemonade. I don’t usually drink wine.’

She had not in fact drunk so much as a drop of this liquid ever in her life.

‘Excellent,’ said Stefan. ‘I will fetch the lemonade, it is in the fridge. It is not amusing in the least when it is not cold.’

Magda re-entered the room as he departed; she was now clad in a becoming pair of red linen trousers.

‘Now for some food,’ she cried, rubbing her hands together as she approached the table. ‘What has he bought for us? Come Lisa and sit, and help yourself, please. I will cut some bread. Do you like rye bread? This is very good. Then you have what you like with it, cheese—various kinds all here on this plate, ham, yes, liverwurst, that sausage there is good or try this salami, then I see he has made us a salad as well—you must eat some of that, it is good for you.

Stefan, pour me a glass of wine, I beg you.’

Lisa, dazed by the exotic goodies set before her, began to help herself to minute quantities of this and that. No such food had ever before come her way, and she might happily have tasted each thing slowly and in private, but soon she was distracted from any such whole-hearted gluttony by her host.

‘Magda tells me you have just left school, Lisa,’ said Stefan.

‘Yes, I’ve just sat the Leaving Certificate,’ said Lisa.

‘Ah,’ exclaimed Stefan, ‘the Leaving! So you are clever!’

‘I don’t know yet,’ said Lisa, ‘I’m still waiting for the results.’

‘That is a clever answer,’ said Stefan, ‘so I think you may wait with some confidence. When will you have them?’

‘They come out in about three weeks’ time,’ said Lisa.

‘And then?’ said Stefan. ‘Will you go to the university?’

‘O-o-oh—I really don’t know,’ said Lisa, dreading at the contemplation of this question the possibility of not doing so. ‘I’m trying not to think about it until I know.’

‘This is quite correct,’ said Magda. ‘Do not make her think of imponderables, Stefan. She has plenty to think of straightaway. She has her job, she has still Christmas and the abominable sales before her. She lives in the moment.’

‘To be sure,’ said Stefan. ‘So tell me, do you like to read novels, Lisa?’

‘Oh
yes
,’ said she.

‘And what are you reading now?’ he asked.

‘I’ve just finished
Anna Karenina
,’ said Lisa. ‘I can’t decide what to read next; there are so many to choose from.’

‘How true,’ said Stefan, ‘and the number always grows, I assure you. It is a strange thing. But how did you like
Anna
?’

‘Oh, I loved it. It’s wonderful,’ said Lisa.

‘I agree that it is hard to think of what should follow it,’ said Stefan. ‘Perhaps it should be something quite different. Read about another woman, perhaps
Emma
. Have you read that yet?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Oh well that is settled then,’ said Stefan. ‘Jane Austen, I assure you, is as great a genius as Tolstoy, whatever they say. Let me have your opinion in due course.’

Lisa smiled happily. No one had talked to her in this fashion before.

‘Yes, I will,’ she replied.

Magda now broke in.

‘Have we no dessert?’ she asked. ‘Is there no fruit?’

‘Yes, I will get it,’ said Stefan.

‘And put on the coffee,’ said Magda.

‘That too,’ he replied.

He went to the kitchen and returned with a pineapple.

‘Ah, but this will be messy,’ said Magda. ‘Do you mind, Lisa?

Tuck your serviette under your chin, at any rate; the juice goes everywhere.’

Stefan carved the pineapple and as they all sat munching and dribbling companionably, the doorbell rang. Magda looked up, her great eyes wide.

‘That will be Rudi,’ she exclaimed. ‘He has such a sense of timing, like no one.’

22

Stefan opened the door and admitted the newcomer, and Lisa, turning, beheld a wiry and very handsome man of around thirty-five years of age.

‘Stefan, my old bean,’ cried he, ‘and Magda my young bean— but I hope I am not late. Or early! How are you both? I have brought you a cake.’ He handed a large flat box to Magda, and kissed her on both cheeks.

‘Now that is very nice,’ said Magda, ‘we are just wanting cake here, for the coffee must be ready. Have you had lunch, Rudi? There is plenty here left over. But forgive me, Lisa. Let me introduce Rudi Jánosi, who has just come to Sydney to live, though we don’t yet know precisely where. Rudi, this is my colleague Lisa Miles.’

‘How do you do,’ said Rudi politely.

‘Sit down here and eat if you wish,’ said Magda.

‘No, I have had a snack,’ said Rudi.

‘Then we will be comfortable over here,’ said Magda. ‘If you have finished with the pineapple, Lisa, let us sit on the sofa and have our coffee and some cake. Sit, sit everyone, ouf! I must have a cigarette above all.’

She opened a silver box and took a cigarette from it; Stefan, having entered with the coffee pot and some cups on a tray, set it down and lit Magda’s cigarette.

‘So Rudi,’ he said, ‘we have been discussing Jane Austen. Tell us what you think of her.’

‘My opinion has yet to be formed,’ said Rudi. ‘I have read not one word.’

‘Ah, a philistine,’ said Stefan. ‘I have always wanted to meet one.’

‘No, the truth is,’ said Rudi, ‘I am rather infatuated with Charles Dickens. Such horror! Such humour! You see, he is so much better in English than in Hungarian, so I am reading all over again what I read before so long ago. It is very amusing.’

‘Dickens in Serbo-Croat I never read,’ said Magda. ‘I suppose there is such a thing. In English, however, his books remain at any rate stupendously long. I have not the time.’

‘Magda prefers
Vogue
,’ said Stefan.

‘And Agatha Christie too,’ Magda added. ‘Tell us, Rudi, whether you have found a flat, or not?’

‘I have looked at several, but the chief problem is to decide between this side of the Harbour or the other. It is difficult when I don’t know where my girlfriend lives.’

‘Which girlfriend is this?’ asked Magda.

‘Well, as you see I have not yet met her,’ said Rudi, ‘but I very soon shall, and I would rather not live on the opposite side of the Harbour. That would be stupid, a waste of time. So you see the difficulty.’

‘In that case the sooner you meet her the better,’ said Stefan. ‘You cannot stay
chez
Benedek indefinitely.’

‘Perhaps we should have a party,’ said Magda. ‘New Year’s Eve. I have toyed with the idea. What do you think, Stefan?’

‘Oh certainly,’ said Stefan, ‘anything to accommodate Rudi with a girlfriend, therefore a flat—let us have a party.’

‘Not that we know so many girls,’ said Magda. ‘I will have to rack my brains. Lisa here is of course not only too young but too clever and too nice for you. But I hope she will come to the party nevertheless, if she is permitted.’

Lisa looked eager.

‘Oh, I’d love to,’ she said.

‘Do you like parties?’ asked Rudi. ‘I hope you will dance once at least with me, even if I am too old, too stupid and not nice enough.’

Lisa laughed and agreed. Oh, she thought, this was real life!

‘We have forgotten the cake!’ cried Magda. ‘Let us eat it, now.’

‘Give me your opinion of the cake, anyway,’ said Rudi to Lisa. ‘I must say that in Melbourne, where I have been living so miserably, there are at least many better cakeshops than here.’

‘In Melbourne they have more need of cake,’ said Stefan, ‘having more or less nothing else.’

‘This is true,’ said Rudi. ‘It is a sad town, not by the way a city as they choose to pretend, not that they can know the difference.

Sydney at any rate is undoubtedly a city, whereas Melbourne— well, there are of course some serious paintings in the Gallery, but nothing whatsoever more which pertains to a city; except of course for the cake.’

‘Meanwhile here not only is the cake inferior,’ said Stefan, ‘but the Art Gallery is a joke.’

‘Yes, but a joke in the most exquisite taste,’ said Rudi. ‘Do you not agree, Lisa?’

‘I’ve never been there,’ she replied.

‘You see my point,’ said Rudi to Stefan. ‘You might come there with me one day,’ said Rudi, ‘if you will do me the honour. It is certainly worth at least one visit.’

Magda now decided that Lisa’s head had been sufficiently turned by Rudi’s facile gallantries and jumped to her feet.

‘Come Lisa,’ she said, ‘let us leave these two to talk Hungarian together, poor things, and we will go for a walk which is advisable after all this cake, and then I must not keep you so long from your mother. We will first tidy ourselves a little. Come.’

And she led the way into the bedroom.

She sat down at a large old-fashioned looking dressing table with a triple mirror, and Lisa stood uncertainly behind her.

‘Sit here,’ said Magda, making room on the wide low stool,

‘there is plenty of room for us both. Use this comb, it is quite clean.’

Lisa began to comb her hair.

‘You know,’ said Magda, ‘I wonder how it would look to have the parting
here
,’ and she took the comb.

‘But take off your glasses, they are a little in my way.’

Lisa sat submissively, her glasses in her hand, while Magda drew a parting much farther to the side of her narrow forehead and combed out her hair.

‘I think that is extremely nice!’ said Magda. ‘Look!’ and Lisa stared into the mirror. ‘Can you see without your glasses?’ asked Magda.

‘Oh yes, I only need them really for reading,’ said Lisa.

‘Then why wear them always?’ asked Magda.

‘I suppose because I am always reading,’ said Lisa.

‘Well, we must find something else for you to do,’ said Magda.

‘In the meantime leave them off, it is a novelty for you. Look now and see how you like yourself.’

Lisa looked.

It was a strange but interesting sight; she smiled with embarrassment. ‘A little lipstick I think,’ said Magda, opening a drawer and rummaging, ‘your own has all worn off and you may like a different colour.’

For your own is not a good one, she thought to herself.

‘Here now,’ she said, ‘try this. A nice pink, suitable for a
jeune fille
. I cannot think what it is doing here, it is not the colour for me.’

Lisa applied the lipstick.

‘Blot it,’ commanded Magda, giving her a tissue.

She threw the tissue into a waste-basket and looked at Lisa’s refl ection.

‘We will experiment with the eye make-up another time perhaps,’ she said. ‘Your eyes are nice, an interesting colour.’

Lisa’s eyes could now easily be seen, their irises a greyish shade of blue, the whites nice and clear.

‘Stand back there,’ said Magda, waving her hand towards the bed, ‘and let me see the whole effect. Hmmm.’

Lisa was wearing one of her gathered skirts and a white lawn blouse. Her face certainly now looked both more alert and better defined.

‘You have so slim a figure,’ said Magda. ‘I envy you this so much. You might as well make the most of it and wear always a belt. I have so many—fat as I am—I may have something there you could wear. Have a look inside the door of that wardrobe. Go on, open it, there is no skeleton inside.’

Lisa opened the door and saw hanging from a rail a dozen or so belts. Magda watched her.

‘Try that tan leather,’ she said, ‘it will match your sandals.’

Lisa took the belt and put it on.

‘Tighter,’ said Magda, ‘use the last hole.’

‘I have,’ said Lisa.

‘We will make another then,’ said Magda. ‘Come here.’

She fished around and found a pair of nail scissors, and made another hole.

‘Now then,’ she said.

The belt, which was of course of superior quality, made the whole difference to Lisa’s appearance.

‘Ça va
,
’
said Magda, ‘
très bien.
I do not wear this belt often—you might as well keep it. It looks much better on you in any case. How wonderful, to have a twenty-two inch waist. And keep the lipstick also: it is the right colour for you. Throw away the other, nothing is more demoralising than a wrong colour. You look charming, with a bit more experience you will look enchanting; one needs all the weapons at one’s command to deal with the Rudis of this world, I can assure you, and you will have them thick and fast in the coming years.’

Lisa, delighted as she secretly felt at the alteration in her appearance, was in an agony of self-consciousness; she searched wildly in her mind for a new topic of conversation to deflect Magda’s attention from herself.

‘I thought,’ she said diffidently, ‘that you were Hungarian, but you speak about Hungarians as if you were not.’

‘I!’ exclaimed Magda. ‘I am
Slovene.

’ She enunciated this word with dramatic emphasis, opening her eyes very wide the while. ‘But I suppose you do not know what is
Slovene.
’ She began to comb her hair.

‘Oh yes,’ said Lisa, ‘I
do
. Slovenia is part of Yugoslavia.’

‘My God!’ cried Magda, ‘you are indeed a genius, to know this. I have not before met an Australian who has heard of the place.’

‘Oh, but we did the Balkans at school,’ said Lisa; ‘in the causes of the First World War, you know, in Modern History. Lots of us know about Slovenia, lots. There was a question in the exam paper, I did it.’

‘You amaze me utterly,’ said Magda. ‘I was right to give you my belt. So you know of Slovenia. Well, some time I may tell you more of it, but not now. We must have our walk, it is pretty around here, it will please you. We will just show ourselves to the Hungarians as we leave.’

The two women made their adieux and Lisa was gratified by Rudi’s reiterated invitation to her: ‘I will see you at the party which Magda and Stefan have so wisely decided to give in my honour,’ said he, ‘and we shall arrange our visit to the Art Gallery then, shall we not? I look forward to it. It is never too soon to begin to cultivate one’s sense of humour. If I can introduce you to the Art Gallery of New South Wales as it properly deserves, I shall not have lived in vain.’