Parallel Lives Page 5

  Her smiling face and pretty ways were all that had kept him going through the war. Yet now, increasingly he found her an irritation and a burden. The more loving she was, the more he experienced his own inadequacy in being unable to respond. He knew he should be grateful to her, to return the love she gave so readily, but it was so hard to pull himself out of the emotional void that seemed to be consuming him. He snapped at her and criticised her for the most minor of things. Then he felt guilty and ashamed, resenting her for being there, for being able to smile in her innocence, her ignorance.

  He began going down to the pub of an evening on a regular basis to share a pint or two with his friends. He didn’t talk to them about his concerns but he knew they understood what he was going through in a way Delyth never could. The inane chatter of the lads didn’t penetrate his shell. It was easy to pretend with them. The beer and cheery pub atmosphere gave him the relief he sought. He knew Delyth hated him leaving her behind. It was partly to punish her and partly to protect her.

  *

  Paul and Thomas were like two puppies following Gwyn around everywhere. The only consolation for Delyth was that they didn’t return from the pub in the same state as him. Sometimes Gwyn struggled to walk, staggering home and needing her support to climb the stairs. She got into the habit of leaving a bucket beside the bed. She hated the stench of him, the alcohol and the vomit. Though she always did her best to help him, he glared at her with disgust as if she were the one who’d done wrong. He’d fall asleep quickly in his drunken stupor but would awake during the night, screaming from nightmares. Delyth tried to comfort him but he pushed her away.

  She did her best to remain positive, like when he was away. Then, their letters had created an idealistic love. It was easy to be agreeable from afar. But it was harder now, with him here, but unreachable. She longed to be held by his strong arms and feel the sense of safety they used to provide. Alas, despite her efforts they were growing apart. Their expectations of each other no longer fitted. She struggled to avoid offending him but it was futile.

  One afternoon Delyth returned home late from a walk to discover Gwyn already at home, sitting alone in the parlour in the dark. She walked quietly towards him, sitting on the arm of the chair, and gently put her arms around his shoulders. When he looked up at her, she noticed tears in his eyes.

  “Delyth, it wasn’t easy being away fighting but we believed we were doing something worthwhile – protecting Britain, safeguarding the world from bullies. We believed we were fighting for freedom. Even though I was in the same boat as everyone else and scared a lot of the time, I felt valued, like my life had a purpose. Now I’m back, not only do I feel useless, but I feel like all those years were wasted. What were we fighting for? Now, we’re short on everything – not enough food or clothes to go round. I wanted to buy a motorbike and take you up in the hills of a summer’s day but there’s no petrol to be had. I feel exhausted with it all. I fought with every ounce of strength I had for six years. Now I don’t feel like there’s any energy left in me. Life’s just mere survival. The point of it’s gone. That’s why I go down the pub, to drown my sorrows, to escape the nightmares of the past and the emptiness of the future.”

  Delyth held her husband in her arms. She watched the tears trickle down his face. There was nothing she could think to say so she just stayed with him and shared his grief.

  The following night, Gwyn returned home and went straight to the pub as usual. Delyth bit her tongue and said nothing. Despite her efforts, she found her resentment building. What kind of life do I have now, servant to three men and never appreciated?

  “Why don’t you stay home with me tonight?” she asked Gwyn one evening.

  “Just to listen to you whine and complain?” He slammed the door as he walked out, leaving her wondering what’d happened to their love.

  At times Delyth looked at the boarders with their easy-going ways. What would it be like to be held by one of them? Oh no, I mustn’t think that way. Fortunately, both the boarders had too much loyalty to Gwyn to ever make a pass at her.

  Many of the neighbours were now starting families. She found herself giving them a wide berth. Without any love-making, there was no chance of her becoming pregnant. It’s not fair. Sometimes she’d imagine becoming a teacher and fulfilling herself that way. With Gwyn busy with other things, she’d walk alone along the canal or into the hills, sometimes recalling that special walk they’d taken together when he first returned home. What’s happened to our life? Will it ever be the same again? Surrounded by the majesty of the hills, she prayed for help, begging God with an earnestness that came from her inner being. One day she was surprised to hear a reply. You are much loved. Delyth looked around but nobody was there. The voice continued. Be patient. Give your love to Gwyn. He needs you. She felt an amazing sense of peace come over her. Is God actually talking to me? She returned home, slightly bewildered, but calmed by what she’d heard, determined to put her own needs aside and provide Gwyn with the love and understanding he deserved after all he’d been through.

  Chapter 9

  1970

  Natalie sat down beside Peter at breakfast. “Let’s go to Berrima this weekend. It’ll be great to get away from here for a while. Just what we both need.”

  “Sorry love, I really have to study for an exam next week.”

  Natalie put her hand on his arm, looking up into his eyes, a pleading expression on her face. “Please Peter, I really need a break from here. You’re being boring. Can’t you study in the evening instead? There’s a great big world out there waiting to be explored.”

  “All right, then.”

  On Saturday Natalie awoke early and, after a hurried breakfast, went to Peter’s room. He wasn’t there, obviously still in the shower. She dragged the tent and other camping gear out of his wardrobe and piled it on the floor. Peter returned, a towel around his waist, and dressed quickly. With arms laden, they walked across the quadrangle. Natalie glanced up at the windows of other residents. None of them even owned a car. They must be so jealous. The sky was clear with the exception of a few wispy clouds. She turned to Peter. “See, the weather’s perfect.” It didn’t take long to pack the vehicle and be on their way.

  Even that early in the morning the roads were congested. They manoeuvred their way along narrow streets between factories and built-up shopping areas, heaving with people. The traffic, the noise and the dirty, dilapidated buildings were depressing. Then they were free of it and cruising down the Hume Highway through the bush. Natalie sighed with relief, feeling the tension release from her shoulders. Once they reached Mittagong, the rolling, green hills of the Southern Highlands opened before them. Cattle grazed contentedly in the paddocks. Huge, old trees lined the road on either side as they approached their destination. A welcoming sign greeted them, ‘Historic Berrima 1831’.

  “Look at those old houses, Peter, with their big verandas and tin roofs. And aren’t the gardens gorgeous? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live down here, away from the rat-race?”

  Peter smiled across at her. “Let’s find the camping ground.”

  “Can’t we stop and look at the village first? We can get something to eat.”

  Peter pulled up in front of a charming, little tea-room and they made their way inside. Natalie went over to a table beside the window, with its old-fashioned panes and tie-back curtains, and sat down on a timber chair. The table had a white, linen table-cloth with a vase of colourful, freshly cut flowers in the middle. Peter sat down beside her. She looked briefly at the menu lying on the table before passing it to him. When the waitress came over, Natalie ordered a Devonshire tea. Peter said he’d have the same. While they waited to be served, she looked around the room at original paintings of the local area. “It would be lovely to have our own house so we could buy some paintings.” The scones were warm and fresh, with generous servings of freshly whipped cream and home-made strawberry jam. They tasted as delicious as they looked. Natalie took her time, savouring ever
y mouthful while Peter, finishing quickly, waited quietly.

  After their tea, Natalie ambled over to a nearby craft shop. Cane baskets of assorted shapes and sizes were propped against the doorway. “Mum used to send me to do messages with a basket like these.” As she entered the shop, the fragrance of soap created an intriguing atmosphere. Catching sight of a colourful display of chunky necklaces, Natalie stopped to try some on, looking at herself in the mirror. “Which one do you like?”

  Peter shrugged.

  She picked out an orange one with an unusual gold and crimson pattern that reminded her of silk-screen printing. There were hats, umbrellas and handbags. Natalie took a closer look at one cloth bag, only to replace it when she saw the price. Better stick to the necklace. Pretty country scenes on placemats and coasters caught her attention. Candles, jugs, teapots and dishes – all traditional and exquisite. It felt like being Alice in Wonderland, stepping into another place and time. Reaching the back of the shop, she discovered the toy section. What beautiful, cuddly teddies – all with their own expressions. “This one looks worried. I wonder what he’s thinking about.” She picked him up and put him under her arm with the dangling necklace. Peter followed her to the check-out and back to the car, the teddy’s nose poking out of her carry bag.

  After dropping the parcels in the boot, Natalie continued to lead the way. “The houses look lovely from the outside with their pretty gardens but those tiny pane-glass windows wouldn’t let in much light. They’re probably dark and pokey inside.” The aroma of pine reached them as they came to the crest of the hill, discovering the 1849 Holy Trinity Church. Constructed from large sandstone blocks, it had a cute, little steeple at the front that pointed sharply to heaven. Natalie tried the door but found it locked. As she made her way beside the church through the overgrown yard with its tufts of grass, she heard the sound of trickling water below. Clambering down the steep, bushy hillside, she came to a rock ledge that provided a wonderful view of the river cascading over rocks beneath a thickly wooded incline rising from the opposite bank. Birds twittered and white butterflies fluttered about. There was a good view of the river to the right. She was just in time to see three ducks take flight. Looking around, she realised Peter was no longer with her. That meant that she had to trudge back up the hill, instead of following the track along the river. What a pity.

  They crossed the highway to a big park surrounded by huge, old pines with their magnificently textured trunks. The high-spirited sound of children playing on equipment caught Natalie’s attention, making her smile. Passing the old Surveyor General Inn, they caught sight of the enormous sandstone prison walls built in 1866. There’d have been no escape from there. Nearby was the old, sandstone courthouse with its four columns at the front. It’s a shame it’d been allowed to get into such a dilapidated state.

  Returning to the car, they headed to the camping ground beside the Wingecarribee River. Though the area was overgrown and neglected, Natalie was intoxicated by its natural beauty. “It’s so peaceful here on our own, overlooking the river.”

  Before long the tent was up and they sat together in camping chairs with tea and barbequed sausages on fresh bread, watching the tree boughs swaying in the breeze and enjoying the filtered sunlight. Finishing her meal, Natalie went over to Peter, sat on his lap and put her arms around him. She kissed him warmly on the lips. They moved into the tent and cuddled up together. She felt so alive and exhilarated as she snuggled up to him. Tingling with excitement, she reached up to kiss Peter once more. Her hand caressed his back and then crept down his body, only to discover he was completely limp. Trying not to let it dampen her spirits while reminding herself of advice read in ‘Cleo’, she persisted in trying to arouse him, to no avail. Disappointed, she rolled over onto her back, becoming aware of the cold mountain air seeping into the tent. They got into their separate sleeping bags and lay alongside each other in silence.

  Next morning, they ambled along the river, passing lazy kangaroos, sunning themselves on the grass. Wallabies looked at them before jumping away. Natalie listened to the calls of different birds, trying to identify them as they flew about from one bush to another. From time to time she caught a glimpse of the river as it rippled over stones, temporarily drowning out the bird-sounds. Huge, old eucalypts with their twisted, broken branches rose high into the clear, blue sky. The peeling bark of varied hues reminded her of the wizened skin of old men, reflecting years of life experience. The tranquillity of the scenery soaked into her, connecting with a deep inner peace. She’d almost forgotten Peter until she picked up a fallen feather from a sulphur-crested galah, turning to give it to him. “This is for good luck.”

  He dropped it on the ground. “We’d better get back.” They hastened to the campground, packed the car and returned to college, a gloomy silence hanging over them.

  Chapter 10

  They saw less of each other the following week. Natalie found herself preoccupied with other things. Then one morning, walking into the dining hall with her breakfast tray, she noticed Peter sitting alone on the far side, looking dreadfully glum.

  She walked over and sat down beside him. “What’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t pass my exam. It means I’ve failed the subject. Now I have to inform the Department of National Service.”

  Natalie gasped. “Can’t you resit it?”

  “No. There isn’t any basis for arguing a case.”

  “Don’t tell them.”

  “I have to.”

  “They won’t make you go to Vietnam will they?”

  “Probably.”

  Natalie started to cry and Peter leant over and put his arm around her.

  “I don’t want to lose you. Can’t you become a conscientious objector?”

  “It’s too late for that now. Let’s see what happens. I could fail my medical.”

  Natalie looked at his blotchy face and crossed her fingers behind her back.

  *

  Alas, Peter passed his medical and was sent for recruitment training at Kapooka Army Barracks, near Wagga Wagga. One of the first challenges was the visit to the barber. He lined up with other recruits, watching the transformation, as wild-looking boys came away with short back and sides. Then it was his turn. He watched his long locks drift onto the floor, experiencing an unexpected feeling of lightness and relief as if a weight was being lifted off him. Despite receiving an extra short cut, it was good to be one of the boys again. The fellow next to him chuckled. “The old girl won’t recognise you.” No, Natalie wouldn’t like it, but for once, she didn’t have a say.

  He was given a bed in a long line in an igloo hut. The rules were strict. Recruits were reprimanded if their beds weren’t made to standard or things weren’t stored properly. Some of the blokes got mouthy over the rights and wrongs of this but it all went over Peter’s head. He was an expert at being ordered around. It wasn’t difficult for him to give them what they wanted. He sailed along without too much problem, even with the 5.30 starts and having to wash and iron his clothes until they were immaculate. The endless drills didn’t even bother him too much. With his tall, slim build he was a natural athlete and came to enjoy the activity and routines. The thing he liked most was rifle shooting. He soon became an accurate shot, winning respect all around.

  Peter initially received long letters from Natalie pouring out her heart and sharing all her woes about life on her own. His replies, though supportive, were necessarily shorter and to the point. After a time she seemed to move on with her life, writing about new friends and various activities she’d taken up. She’d joined the Aboriginal Land Rights Movement and was tutoring children at the aboriginal mission at La Perouse. It was good to hear she was finding new meaning in her life. He loved her but she could be a heavy burden with her self-absorption and waves of emotion.

  Peter received news that, following his ten weeks at Kapooka, he was being transferred, along with the other new recruits, to Canungra in the hinterland behind the Gold Coast for jungle trai
ning. Following the flight to Brisbane, they climbed aboard a troop carrier for the drive to their new base. Before long the vehicle was winding up a mountain road through thick, tropical vegetation interspersed with lantana. As the vehicle chugged up the road Peter wondered what lay in store for him as he caught glimpses of stunning scenery in the valley below. Natalie would have loved it here but he knew it wasn’t going to be a holiday.

  He soon discovered the demands in this camp were far more challenging, giving him a sense of what he was heading for in Vietnam. Long treks through steep hills, heavy undergrowth and freezing creeks helped to build his fitness. Recruits were drilled over and over in patrolling, tracking, searching out ambushes and shooting at targets suddenly coming into view until they learnt to react without thinking. The biggest challenge was the demanding assault course they had to repeat until they had it conquered. Fortunately, Peter, with his lanky build and new-found fitness, was able to cope with it adequately, even with thirty kilos of full battle gear on his back. Finally, after his experience of the mock, Vietnamese village with its tunnels, booby traps and mines, Peter was prepared and ready to go to Vietnam with the other recruits. For once he didn’t feel like the underdog.

  With a few days’ leave before flying to Saigon, he returned home to Palm Beach, where he was welcomed with open arms, home-cooking and the keys to the speedboat. Peter rang his old mate, Colin, and they were soon cruising around the Pittwater together, doing a spot of fishing.

  “How are things going with Natalie?” asked Colin.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve got the impression she’s moved on with her life. I’ve been bracing myself to give her a call.”

  “You’d better hurry up about it or it’ll be too late.”