Parallel Lives Read online

  Wandering back outside, she began to plan where she would plant trees to shade the pram. This is what I’m looking for, my very own paradise. Hopefully, Peter will join me here when he returns from Vietnam.

  Natalie made her way back to the real estate agency. She hoped it wouldn’t be a problem being only eighteen and unemployed but there were no awkward questions. She was told to come back in three days’ time to sign the lease and pay the bond and two weeks rent. They’re probably glad to be rid of the place.

  Everything went smoothly and she was soon moving into her new home. She had just given the flat a good scrub and put away most of her things when she heard a knock at the door.

  A woman with wild, grey hair and a dull coloured cardigan, hanging loosely over nondescript shirt and pants, smiled at her from a wrinkled face. “I’m Margaret. I live in the front flat. I thought you might like to come in for a cup of tea after all your hard work.”

  “How do you know I’ve been working hard?”

  “You’ll soon discover the walls between the flats are like cardboard. We’re all pretty quiet though.”

  Margaret led Natalie around the side of the house. “I’m a widow, on my own. My daughter’s moved to Queensland with her husband and the grandchildren so I’m always glad of a bit of company. Come over any time for a chat. In the other flat at the front is an Asian man who’s also on his own, except he has his two, little girls stay over every second weekend.”

  Margaret opened the door and showed her into a nicely decorated flat. Light came in through Venetian blinds, revealing furniture of much better quality than hers. “Their mother’s Australian so you can only guess what went wrong there.”

  “Is this your own furniture?”

  Margaret nodded as she turned on the kettle. “Your flat’s the only one that’s furnished. It’s also the only one that’s got a bathroom. The rest of us share the shower room at the back of your place. I don’t think the men spend a lot of time there. Anyway, as I was saying, the Asian man seems to have put all his love into his precious, green car. He spends every weekend polishing it. I’ve never seen such a shiny car. Then, upstairs there’re two men. They’re friendly enough. They both work at the morgue at Prince Henry’s, doing something with the bodies. I don’t know what.”

  “That sounds like an interesting mix.”

  Margaret passed Natalie a mug of tea and they sat down on the couch together. “We all keep pretty much to ourselves. I’m glad to have another woman around, just the same. Do you work?”

  “I’ve just finished my first year at uni. I’m hoping to find a job over the long vacation.”

  Margaret grabbed a newspaper lying on the coffee table and flicked through it until she found the page she was after. “Here, Woolworths are advertising for casual staff.”

  Natalie read the ad. “That sounds like what I am looking for.”

  “Take the paper. I’ve finished with it.”

  Natalie was successful in getting a job at Woolworths in Maroubra. It’ll see me through financially for the time being anyway. Just the excuse I need to avoid going home for Christmas.

  Chapter 15

  After the exhaustion of patrol, Peter was relieved to be back at Nui Dat. He collected his mail and made his way to his tent with its iron bed, sheets and coarse, grey blanket. A bed at last! He stripped off his filthy uniform, boots and socks. His feet were a mess after all the walking – peeling skin, half-healed blisters and the scars of leech bites. He looked down at his chest. Every rib protruded like photos of starving Biafrans. Knowing there’d be a queue for a hot shower, Peter lay on the bed to check his mail first – two letters from Natalie, one from his parents and one from Colin. He opened the letters from Natalie first, relieved to see she was managing well and appeared happy. The other two letters, though not so special, were cheery, with pleasant reminders of home.

  Peter cleaned his rifle, tidied away his ammunition and finally luxuriated in a hot shower, washing away the grease and grime from his hair, not washed for weeks. My long hair and beard would have been impossible here. Catching a whiff of onions, he hurried to the barbeque area. Returned soldiers were crowded around, struggling to converse over loud music. Proper food at last! He sunk his teeth into steak and salad. And I can eat as much as I like. The beer was good too but Peter had no interest in getting drunk, like many of the men. I don’t need a bad head tomorrow. All he wanted was to savour the relief of still being alive and imagine his future with Natalie.

  All too soon he was back on patrol, this time in the local area. He’d already had enough but there was no choice. He tagged along behind other soldiers through the jungle, scanning the dense undergrowth for black-clad figures, for signs of movement, damage to trees or even the smell of the fish paste they cooked with. The constant fear the enemy might see him before he saw them had him on tender-hooks. He looked up, afraid a Vietcong might leap out of a tree at him. You never know what to expect. There aren’t any rules here. He could feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck. Looking to the left, through the thick foliage, he saw a Vietcong soldier. He pointed his rifle at him, his finger on the trigger, and froze.

  *

  Natalie went to the letterbox when she heard the postman’s bike but still nothing from Peter. There were often delays with mail from Vietnam but she had a feeling something was wrong. It’s not normal to hear nothing for so long. With a heavy heart, she dug out the phone number for Peter’s parents and proceeded to the public phone at Prince Henry Hospital.

  His mother answered.

  “Have you heard from Peter lately?”

  There was silence followed by a drawing in of breath. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I thought you’d know. He was killed in action. We had the funeral last Saturday. I tried to contact you at the college but they said you’d moved out and didn’t know where you’d gone.”

  “Thanks.”

  Natalie quietly replaced the receiver and walked in a daze through the hospital grounds towards the beach. On reaching the top of the cliff she looked down at the deep, blue ocean stretching to the horizon. The water seemed to part as it came toward the shore, with waves lashing the rocks on either side. She made her way down the path to the sheltered, little beach. Ignoring people swimming or lazing there, she continued across soft sand and paddled through the cool water to reach the seclusion of the rock platform beyond. The path took her beneath a rock overhang, where swirling patterns of browns and white reflected the past motion of waves. She could hear the surf crashing against rocks. White spray leapt into the air as fierce waves met the challenge of a menacing assortment of boulders. As she continued along the path she noticed some of the waves, having lost their force, crept across the rock platform, leaving behind a series of pools. Not bothering to inspect them, she climbed onto a raised rock platform to make her way towards the edge. A flock of seagulls flew off as she approached. Fishermen were perched precariously on rocky outcrops, their lines dangling into the swirling waters below. Natalie immersed herself, watching the swell, now light aqua in colour with its foaming, white heads, as waves crashed against one rock before rushing off in another direction, only to hit against another, to change direction once more. The whole effect was a series of whirlpools, rising and falling with each oncoming wave. The fury of the waves crashing against the rocks created a roaring sound. Natalie sat down, mesmerised by the power of it all, the force of the stoic strength of age-old rocks pitted against the energy of the rushing ocean.

  Only then did she feel safe to draw her attention back to Peter. Tears ran down her cheeks as she visualised his face, once more with its scruffy beard and straggly hair. She saw his long, scrawny body and his willingness to help her in everything she did. Poor sweet Peter. Her memories drifted back to the times they’d shared. What a waste of alife! God, why did you have to take him away from me? Their dreams of a future together were gone forever.

  Natalie stretched her stiff limbs and hauled herself up. Like a zombie, she staggered back
through the hospital and along the road until she reached home. Inside, she lay on the bed, looking alternatively at the ceiling and the view through the window they’d never share. A kick inside her belly brought a new wave of tears. My baby will never have a daddy. She wept inconsolably. Peter was no longer there to comfort her and never would be again.

  Hearing a knock at the door, she dragged herself off the bed and opened it.

  Margaret stood there. “What’s up, pet?”

  “Come in. I’ll make us a cuppa.”

  Margaret sat down on one of the uncomfortable, blue timber chairs while Natalie made the tea. She put the two mugs on the table and sat down beside Margaret. Between her sobs, she managed to relay the news. “I’ve just heard my boyfriend was killed in Vietnam.”

  Margaret drew her chair over and put her arms around Natalie, cushioning her against her ample bosom, rocking her gently. Natalie pulled back, looking up into the soft, grey eyes. “What’s more, I’m pregnant.”

  Margaret gasped. “Try not to worry. You’re not alone. I’ll help you with the baby. We’ll manage between us.”

  When Margaret left, Natalie returned to bed where exhausted from weeping, she slept.

  On waking, Natalie felt a gloom in the room that had nothing to do with the amount of light coming through the window. As she recalled the news it seemed like a great, dark cloud engulfed her, so she could hardly breathe or see through the shadows that took over the room. She lay there, helpless. There’s no purpose any more. The sadness was overwhelming. She turned over and went back to sleep.

  After that, Natalie’s life continued in slow motion. She did little, other than going to work, forcing herself through each day, hiding behind a mask of socially appropriate behaviour. She told no one else her news. At home she slumped on the bed, eating little, going nowhere. Though the television was on, she ignored it. The washing up built up as did the mess on the unmade bed. She hardly even had the energy to lift herself into and out of the bath. All she wanted was the oblivion of sleep. Except for the occasional cup of tea with Margaret, nobody bothered her and that suited her. Hearing the postman hurt the most, knowing there’d be no letters from Peter, ever again. She hardly noticed her swelling belly as she dragged herself through the monotony of each day. It felt like the daily routine of her work at Woolworths was the only thing keeping her sane.

  When she received a letter from the university with the timetable for the coming academic year, now closely approaching, she was jolted back to reality. Needing space to think, she locked the door and drove to La Perouse, where she parked the car beside the beach. She walked down the hill and across the layer of drift-wood and debris to the firmer, golden sand. The ocean washed against her legs as she made her way along the beach. A cool breeze swept back her hair, easing the sun’s penetrating heat. With no interest in the family groups and topless sunbathers, she clambered over the rocks at the end of the beach, ignoring the sound of a plane flying overhead. Beckoned by the need for privacy, she struggled up the sand dune through the scrub to the summit where she caught a glimpse of the next beach. Still puffing slightly, she settled in a spot where she could watch the waves, gently caressing the beach. Only a couple of naked men were lying on the sand. Natalie turned her attention away from them.

  She prayed to God and spoke to Peter of her love for him and her sadness at his loss but heard no reply. Natalie thought about Peter and his constant goodness and kindness. She’d always treated him as if he were a bit ordinary but she realised now how special his gentle spirit had been. Without him, her life had changed irrevocably. She’d become isolated in her own world, alienated from all around her. A sudden movement within her reminded Natalie of the impending responsibility she would soon have for another human being. It’s time to grow up and face reality. I’ve already made too many mistakes.

  Natalie continued down to the beach and stripped off her clothes before throwing herself into the clear ocean. Floating about in the waves, she enjoyed the sensuality of the water against her naked body. Feeling cleansed, she determined to face the world.

  Natalie returned home to write a letter to her parents, telling them of Peter’s loss.

  Chapter 16

  1971

  In her second year, classes were smaller, being limited to social work students. Though the faces were familiar, she remained detached. An invisible barrier separated her from others. Despite her efforts, she felt like an outsider looking in, no longer part of normal life. Sadness hung over her, draining her energy. It was all she could do to attend lectures, complete her assignments and maintain the part-time job at Woolworths.

  Despite the attempt to hide it, her bulge was becoming more obvious. Finally, one of the students approached her, demurely asking, “When are you due?”

  “July.”

  “Congratulations.”

  That’s not the response I expected. Other students swarmed around her, smiling, eager to hear how she was managing the pregnancy. Some even offered to baby-sit once the baby was born. This is so different from how Mum and Dad reacted. Maybe I’m not such a bad person after all. No one asked about the father and she volunteered no information. But the ice was broken and Natalie began sharing lunch-breaks with other students. Occasionally, she’d receive a gift of baby clothes or some other pretty item. Then, when she returned home, she’d rush around to Margaret’s flat to share her delight. It was starting to feel real.

  Margaret joined her in trips to Maroubra shopping centre. Nurseryland, with its beautiful display of baby items, mesmerised her. She imagined her new life with the baby. A bright yellow carrycot in a mobile stand caught her eye. “That’s so much better than a big pram. I can push the baby around or belt her into the back seat of the car in that. It’s cheaper too.”

  “They’ll see you coming, that’s for sure,” Margaret remarked.

  “I don’t care. I like it.”

  She pushed it along the aisles, piling a mauve, plastic bath with matching nappy bucket on top. After paying at the checkout, she looked around for Margaret, who was nowhere to be seen. Finally, she arrived, carrying two dozen towelling nappies. “You’ll need these.” She pulled money out of her wallet and paid for them.

  Natalie thought of her parents, the baby’s grandparents. Though she wrote to them from time to time, the replies were infrequent and expressed no interest in her pregnancy. Mostly they described Karen’s success in her last year at school. At least they’ve got one daughter to be proud of.

  Natalie spent hours in front of the television, knitting baby’s clothes in soft pastel colours of neutral shades, imagining the child and the fun they’d have together. Alternatively, she read literature on child-rearing. This child’s not going to suffer the way I did, always having to toe the line. No, my child will connect with her inner spirit and truly express the person she is. I’ll be an enabler, not a dictator. She became impatient for the birth, envisaging the baby clinging to her breast and suckling her life sustenance from her. Soon I’ll have someone to love with all my heart.

  Towards the end of the pregnancy, Natalie became heavy and uncomfortable. The head engaged four weeks before she was due. “Expect the baby any day now,” the doctor told her. Time dragged after that. She became fed up with people she’d never met asking her when she was due, growing to hate the supermarket with its constant barrage of questions. Everyone wanted to know if she wanted a boy or a girl. What a ridiculous question! As if I have any choice.

  When she was two weeks’ overdue, she was admitted to Prince Henry Hospital to be induced. There, she was led to a dark, gloomy room, lacking decoration and empty of other patients. No matter how much she tried to relax in the hard, narrow bed, she couldn’t get comfortable. Presently a nurse came into her room, donned plastic gloves and undertook an internal examination.

  Natalie gasped. “That hurts.”

  “That’ll get you started.”

  Without ceremony her pubic hair was shaved and worst of all, she was given an
enema that sent her rushing to the toilet. It’s all so clinical and impersonal. Niggly pains kept her awake all night. The real labour pains started at six-thirty in the morning, a minute or two apart. She was taken to the labour ward, where she found herself in an even more barren room, with no window or natural light. Nurses and students crowded around the end of the bed, all trying to see what was happening, taking notes and discussing her progress amongst themselves. The pains were all-consuming, like nothing she’d ever imagined. She screamed and fought against them for all her worth. The midwife gave her painkillers and oxygen but they didn’t help. She got wilder with the excruciating pain. People spoke sternly to her but she was beyond listening.

  Finally, it was all over and Chris was born. He was wrapped in a tiny sheet and placed in her arms. Natalie looked down at her little darling, noticing the dry, peeling skin around his fingers. She gently caressed the soft, blonde down on his round little head as she looked into his trusting, blue eyes. She loved him so much but she was incredibly tired. Why does everything look so hazy? Before long she was wheeled to a room where she joined three other new mums. Chris was placed in a cot beside her bed. Too exhausted to engage in conversation with the women, she turned away to catch up on the lost night’s sleep. Why do they keep chattering? When she finally dozed off, Chris woke her with his grizzling.

  Natalie soon realised things weren’t going to be as easy as she’d envisaged. Chris was very much his own person, right from the start. Not only did he constantly wake her for attention, but he’d be asleep whenever she was awake and wanted to cuddle and play with him. At first, he refused to suckle, which naturally made her anxious. Then when he did, he made her nipples raw and sore. He vomited up his milk, all over himself and her. Bathing him, without dropping his slippery little body in the water, especially with his continuous howling, was no easy task. He communicated his needs loudly, though she had no idea what he wanted. She’d thought it would all come naturally, but it didn’t. I’m hopeless. Maybe he’ll settle down when we get home.