The Secrets that We Keep

Sunday at last! I followed the light from under the blinds, as it cast a weird shadow across the blue crochet duvet. I stretched until my fingertips touched the edge of the velvet bedhead, careful not to knock the ginger cat off the bed. She yawned and rolled over ignoring the rude interruption. It’s nice watching the cat as her ears flick back and forth, her thick tail, woven around her warm body. I thought this week would never end. School seemed to drag on forever. Mrs Bryant must have had her period. One minute she was fine and the next she was screeching when her gold hoop earring rolled down the sink as we washed our paintbrushes. Even my best friend Julie Hannah-bags got on the wrong side of Mrs Bryant and Julie never gets in trouble for anything. She’s such a goody-two-shoes.

The radio came to life as ‘Wake me up before you go-go’ sprang from the speaker. If I wanted to make it over to Julie’s by ten, I’d better hurry. I heard the coffee grinder,  Mama must be awake and knowing her, she’ll make me do some stupid chore before letting me go. I have my outfit already planned. Bright blue glitter shorts, my favourite Duran Duran t-shirt and blue knee-high socks to go with my Barbie Roller skates. Julie has exactly the same pair of shorts, but in hot pink. I remember seeing them in Best & Less and pleading with Mama to buy them, because Julie’s mum had gotten hers the day before and Julie and I always tried to co-ordinate our outfits, because we were best friends and best friends, like twins, always wear the same clothes.

I am known to wear ice blue and Julie is always in hot pink. Julie loves Madonna, so she would most probably be wearing her black cut off Madonna t-shirt. I don’t think it goes with the hot pink shorts, but if I say anything, she might get upset, so I better not. I try and skate down the hall but the ugly mustard carpet slows me down. Mama sits at the kitchen counter, still in her floral dressing gown, which is unusual considering Gladys next door was watering her Irises and has a clear view of the kitchen window.

‘Zsofi, where are you going?’ she asks.
‘To Julie’s.’
‘On those things?’
‘Yes, we’re playing today.’
‘Well, you know what time to come home, yes? But you need to get the ladder out of the shed first,’ looking towards the back door, ‘and then you need to eat breakfast and make sure you come home for lunch.’
I managed to escape down the driveway after dumping the ladder on the verandah. I was careful not to get my brand new wheels wet jumping over the thin river streaming from under the fence and as I looked back, I see Mama in the window standing behind the sheer curtain. Another one of those strange days, which were becoming more frequent as she got older.

The steam rose from the asphalt and it’s hard to see the end of the street. The cicadas are really loud this morning. I’ll hear them again in the afternoon, probably at five. Like the streetlights, which always come on at five. It’s so bad in the summer months when there is still so much sunshine, especially at eight-thirty, however those streetlights are the law. Once they start to flicker, you know you have to fast track it home. And too bad if you’re in the next street or the next suburb, if you don’t make it to your front door in due time, then there would be hell to pay once you got past the Jacaranda Tree. With my skates on, I figure I can at least shave off a good 15 minutes tonight, especially if I speed skate.

I love it when all the shops are closed, the car park turns into your private huge playground. The concrete is so smooth, its like skating on ice. Cutting across the car park means I don’t have to skate along the main road, lately there’s been way too many hit and runs. The only car in the car park is a pale green panel van. I wonder how long it’s been there? All night, I imagine. Boy will he be pissed if he can’t get past the boom gate, which I bet is locked. I think there’s someone in the drivers seat… I’ve got to get to Julie’s, otherwise, she’ll think I’m not coming out to play. The deserted streets leading  towards the bridge at the train station gives me a short cut over to the north side where Julie lives. I take a left turn around the fish and chip shop where you get the best scallops for 40 cents and down past the swimming pools. Once I get to the park with the rocket ship slippery slide, I’m only another five blocks away.
‘Wow, is that the same green panel van? He’s lucky to have gotten out. The boom gate must have been open after all.’

At Julie’s we love to play Skate Hide and Seek and if we all have our roller skates, we can play in teams, otherwise someone is going to have to be ‘bar’, which I hate the most. The rule is you need to stick to a six-block radius and even if you see someone two blocks away and they turn down a side street, you have to skate right up to them to be able to tip them, which means then, they are ‘it.’ Julie Hannah is the best at Skate Hide and Seek as she knows where all the back laneways are. Once I found her hiding behind the Thompson family’s Mulberry tree. She got a slap across the head when her mother saw the ink stains all over her Cyndi Lauper jumper. I knew I shouldn’t have laughed, but Julie laughed the same way when I went for a sixer over the security rail at Grace Bros.

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Zsofi left while the percolator bubbled and the blond haired weatherman on Channel seven said that by 6pm tonight, we could expect a thunderstorm. As I peer through the small kitchen window, the sky is a radiant blue, but if it will rain, I would need to wash the lace curtains before lunch. I may as well wash the windows at the same time, inside and out. It would be shame to waste this wonderful sunshine so early in the day. I’ll have to tell the Zsofi to bring the ladder from the shed before she races off. Where was the address of that family she always goes to? I see the old lady is watering her flowers again, I told Sandor to say something to her, she’s planted them too close to the fence, now every time she turns on the hose, I get sludge across the driveway which ends up in the house. How I detest this black and white linoleum floor. I wished we’d purchased the lovely terracotta tile with the wildflower pattern that matched the lavender ceramic plates on the wall. It reminded me of home. This is not home. Sandor had said our new life would be wonderful, repeating the promise as we wandered through the darkness that night. He had a habit of panicking He always panics and now here I am in this unforgiving heat. My brother Jancsi had pleaded with him not to run when he knew of his plan.

‘Don’t worry Sandor, they didn’t see our faces,’Jancsi kept reassuring him. ‘They would never know it was us.’ I remembered it was from the cornfield that we saw the tanks slowly creeping around the winding road. I had just come in from feeding the hens when the rumble of the diesel engines startled the geese, they gaggled loudly in unison. Jancsi was tending to the pregnant sow.

‘Just get to the other end of the lake’ my mother always whispered. She had heard the rumours about the impending army and was fearful for her brood. Papa had instructed Jancsi which of the forest paths to take. The woodland would offer us a good hiding place. Jancsi and I were the first to run across the paddock to the far gate. The security of the forest was just beyond the lake. My sisters streamed out via the furnace room and were not far behind. By now, the Russian entourage edged closer, the first sighting of the foot soldiers in the distance. The fresh snow beneath our feet crunched on the tall grass as we ran, we were trying to be so quite but they had seen us and were soon in pursuit. As we approached the frozen lake I could hear the uneasy panting of the soldier, his breath leaving a trail of white smoke as he ran.
He had easily caught up to me, arms outstretched, ready to tug on the end of my coat. As I turned my head back to see, I tripped on the edge of the ice, smashed my head and slid across the cold surface on my back. Blood flowed, leaving a trail like a slaughtered seal. The soldier had grabbed hard on my ankle pulling me towards him, pistol in the other hand.
‘Just kick as hard as you can,’ my mother would say. ‘If anyone dares touch you, just kick them, and scream for help.’
Jancsi had heard my screams when I kicked the soldier square in the face. The weight of his artillery caused him to fall backwards, a gunshot had pierced the frozen floor and water spurt up like a blowhole. A loud crack under his heavy body forced apart the frozen plane and sucked the soldier under the icy plate. The last image we saw were the tips of his black army boots. The oncoming group fired more shots, barley missing us. Jancsi pulled me to my feet and we somehow made it across the ice, the roaring sounds of a foreign language haunted the quietness of dawn. ‘Don’t look back,’ Jancsi had said, ‘otherwise they’ll recognise us.’ We ran for the safety of the canopy.

It was soon after the revolution when we first encountered the tall Russian. Word had spread throughout the village that he was looking for a lost soldier and that any information would come with a high reward. The interrogation on everyone’s doorstep frightened Sandor so much that one night soon after, he made me pack our bags and we sneaked off across the paddock to the gate at the far end of the field.

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My roller skates only buckled twice throughout the whole day, but they never caught me, well, nearly never caught. Jason was a block away and I was sure he would catch me in time before I reached ‘bar’, but I made it. Lucky a green panel van was parked in front of Julie’s drive way, I managed to skate around it while Jason, hot on my trail, barley made it without pulling off the side mirror. We had just caught our breath when the streetlights started to flicker.
‘Oh no! I’m going to cop it. No way will I make it home in time, see you tomorrow at school Julie, if I’m still alive,’ laughing, as I race off.

I’m lucky as the trip home is practically downhill most of the way. I speed along the road where the orange coloured apartments have been built. I figure the new road ends in a cul-de-sac, but I remember there is a grassed laneway that separates the two blocks of units. If I cut across, I can get home the back way. The buzz of the cicadas warns me my time is running out. The crimson clouds morph into twilight.
‘Crimson clouds means that tomorrow is going to be windy followed by rain.’ Mama always says.
‘Holy shit where did he come from?’ concentrating on the impending nightfall, I don’t see the green panel van parked a metre from the laneway. ‘I’m not going to have time to brake and turn back, I’ll have to skate faster if I’m going to make the jump, the grass is only going to slow me right down.’ I speed on. ‘Oh my God, if I don’t make it home, I’m going to be in so much trouble. Mama will kill me.’ I see a figure jump out of the car, leaving the door wide open and run towards the laneway.
‘Where are you going?’ he asks, holding a cigarette. The stench of cigarettes and beer oozed from the unrecognisable stranger blocking my way. He is tall and skinny, with an earring in his left ear. I remember Julie telling me that an earring in your left ear meant that you were a Fag. He must be a Fag.
‘Fuck off, none of your business.’
‘Hmm, such nice language for such a young girl.’
‘Listen Fag, don’t touch me!’ He stepped closer.
‘Awh, come on, I just want to talk.’
‘Well it ain’t happening today.’ I’m starting to freak out. He pinches my skin with his grip.
‘Ouch, you’re hurting me dickhead!’ I try and wriggle free, but he keeps a firm grasp on my shoulders all the while pushing me back towards the open door of the back seat, his smirk revealing yellowed teeth.
‘Come on, be a good girl and let’s talk.’
‘What the hell!’ I scream. ‘What are you doing?’ frantically looking around if anyone was about. He grabs my left arm and twists it behind my back and at the same time I taste the bleach on the wet cloth.
‘Just relax’ he says, ‘there’s no use fighting it, just let it go.’
The bile slowly rises up to the back of my throat and my roller skates feel like they’ve been replaced with lead boots. I remember the video we watched last term, at the time we thought it was funny, but I remembered one key thing to do. I take a deep breath and pray to God that I make contact while I swing my head back and crack him straight in the face. Momentarily he lets go of his grip and drops the cloth as I grab the cigarette still dangling from his fingertips and push it hard into his leg. He screams out in pain before I knee him in the groin.
‘Take that you prick!’ and I bolt down the small patch of grass. My t-shirt is ripped and I can smell the cigarette smoke in my hair.
At the front gate I fling off my roller skates and go through the back door into the quiet house. Mama is not in the kitchen although I can smell the Chicken Paprikas bubbling over the gas stove, the hum of The Price is Right on the TV from the living room.

‘Mama, I’m home.’ I call out. I’m careful to conceal my bleeding arm as my grandmother emerges from the laundry while wiping her hands on her well-worn apron.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ she shrills, at which I jump back startled.
‘Not a word from you all day, I thought you were coming home for lunch? Why so late? You could be dead and I wouldn’t know, except when the police arrive at my door! And then it’s too late to be crying when you’re dead!’ She paused, looking at me through slits for eyes.
‘What’s wrong with you? Why are your clothes torn and you look like a mess! Shame! Is that how people saw you today? You know what time we expect you. How many times do I have to tell you?’ flicking the dishcloth on the side of the bench. ‘Now go have a bath and clean yourself up and come and eat and don’t let your grandfather see you in this state, I’m sure everyone thinks you’ve been raised in a tent! Shame on you for putting me through this!’
I can’t bring myself to tell her what happened for she’d say ‘I told you so.’ I just have to take it and let her rant. Please God don’t let her say I can’t go out next weekend.
‘After dinner, you’ll need to shell those string beans,’ she hissed, pointing to the large hessian sack under the kitchen table.
‘But, why can’t Papa do that, he usually does.’ The pain throbbing from the back of my head.
‘Because I’m telling you to do it and as your punishment for coming home in the middle of the night,’ she yells. ‘Shame on you’ she mutters, as she watches me walk away, passing my grandfather who’s snoring lightly on the chaise lounge.

Photo: thephotonews