That Stranger Next Door. Goldie Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ I couldn't help it. 'Guess not.'

      'After school,' he decided. 'Best learn on grass. You got a park near your place?'

      'We're close to Blessington Gardens in St Kilda.'

      'Okay. Meet you there straight after school. What's a good day for you?'

      I bit my lip. Most days I looked after Leon until Mamma found time to come from the shop. The only exception was Tuesday as I usually stayed back for extra sport. 'How about next Tuesday?'

      He frowned. 'Why only Tuesday?'

      I wished for some way to explain my constricted life without sounding like the Prisoner of Zenda. 'It's the only time I can get away,' I mumbled as an apology.

      'Right.' He stood up. After a moment, so did I.

      'Those gardens are big,' I remembered. 'Where will you be?'

      'Name a place.'

      I tried to recall somewhere easy to find. 'How about the Rose Garden?'

      'See you there then. Make sure you turn up, or else…' he said in a mock-threatening voice, while his expression said quite the opposite.

      'I will, promise.'

      What I didn't say was that wild horses wouldn't keep me away.

      That night, daydreaming more than usual, I managed to almost ignore Zeida who spent the meal scowling at both his grandchildren. When I asked Papa how busy the shop had been today, Zeida turned on me. 'Ruth, who asked you to speak?' Back to Papa, 'At the dinner table, children should be seen and not heard.'

      I waited for Papa to defend me, as he usually does from Zeida's harsh comments, or Mamma's high expectations. In a way Zeida was lucky in that he had a weak heart, too weak to look for any paid work. But it also gave him an excuse to hang around the flat where he could boss me around and make it obvious Leon was his favourite grandchild.

      But tonight Papa was deep into his own thoughts. He hardly said a word except to scold Leon for messing around with his vegetables. While Mamma and I tackled the dishes, Mamma washing, me wiping and stowing crockery and cutlery away, Papa settled into his armchair and hid behind the afternoon Herald. But later, I was in bed, when I heard voices from the living room: '…someone prowling around the shop that looked like a detective. What if they're from ASIO?'

      Mamma's murmur was too low to hear, so I jumped up to listen behind their door.

      Papa said, 'Petrov has documents that tell of Soviet spying in this country. He is also naming anyone connected with the Communist Party, though the newspapers say they're only in code.'

      Again Mamma's voice was too soft to hear.

      Papa's on the other hand, rose in volume. '…back in thirty-four, Egon Kisch came to warn us of the rise of fascism. He was refused entry as a communist. They've always been frightened of communists.'

      'I know, I know,' Mamma said, clearly this time. 'When they wouldn't let him off the ship, he jumped onto the wharf and broke a leg. All he was trying to do was warn them about Hitler.'

      'They wouldn't listen.'

      'But he still managed to tip people off about the rise of the Nazis and how they persecute minority groups.'

      'Uh, uh,' said Papa. 'So we have the same situation again. Not even a world war where so many millions died will persuade governments how important free speech is.'

      'I'm sure Menzies will use this incident to recreate a communist devil. Very useful as a way of attracting votes.'

      'And for that they need victims,' Mamma said. 'Anyone ever connected even in the most tenuous way to the Australian Communist Party.'

      'He must be convinced Evatt will win the next election. It's his way of making sure the Liberal-Country Party gets back in.'

      'This Petrov case has really fallen into his lap.'

      There was a long silence before Papa said, 'Esther, you must stop worrying about Ruth. Growing up in a country where everything is open and free, of course our Ruthele's a little rebellious. It's perfectly natural for our clever girl to sometimes want her own way.'

      'Yes, but maybe she's too clever for her own good. This idea of her studying medicine is ridiculous. How can we afford to pay those gigantic university fees? Besides, even if she wins a scholarship, who will then marry her? We'll end up with an old maid on our hands.'

      Papa muttered something I couldn't hear, but his tone was intended to sooth Mamma's fears. Though I listened and listened, their voices trailed away.

      CHAPTER 7

       Ruth

      All weekend I nursed my secret, so I suppose I was dreamier than usual. 'Ruth, what's wrong with you?' Mamma cried after I forgot to unpeg the laundry and bring the basket upstairs. 'Why so vague?'

      'Too much homework,' I muttered.

      'Really?'

      What if I told her the truth? What if I told her that I was meeting this gorgeous Catholic boy called Patrick Sean O'Sullivan who was about to show me how to ride a bike.

      What would she do then? I knew her reaction. She'd take me aside and I'd get an endless lecture on the dangers of mixing with boys from other religions. She'd say, 'We were only saved by a miracle to come to this country. You should know by now not to trust anyone who isn't Jewish. If you mix with gentile boys, you will only bring trouble on our heads. You know enough about what happened in Europe to be aware that even those who didn't remember that they were Jewish, were sent to the gas chambers. It didn't do them any good whatsoever moving outside their community.

      'As for riding a bike, how can you even think of something so dangerous? What if you fall and hurt yourself or fall under a car? Ruth, it's time you grew up and took more responsibility…' and so on and so on; she'd never stop!

      I would then have to promise to never see Patrick again. If I refused, I'd never be allowed to go anywhere except school and back. Possibly forever. As for the bike, I'd get a another lecture to never, ever attempt to ride in streets crowded with dangerous cars, trucks and trams and how, if I was to fall off, I'd be sure to break a leg or an arm and end up in hospital, and how much this would inconvenience the family, and how I never think about anyone else but myself.

      The trouble was that she had a sixth sense for lies.

      'Homework. Is that all?'

      'Yes,' I muttered. 'We get much too much.'

      She didn't believe me. 'Ruth,' she said sternly. 'I know how confusing growing up can be, I'm not so old I can't remember what it's like being fifteen. So I ask you not to indulge in so much daydreaming. Once you are older, you will need every bit of self-control to make a successful marriage. Please try to control your enthusiasms.'

      I felt my face grow hot. It seemed stupid to worry about 'making a successful marriage' when I was only fifteen. She knew I was thinking this, because she reminded me that she was barely eighteen when she met Papa, 'Only three years older than you are now.'

      But СКАЧАТЬ