Hunger Town (44 page)

Her metaphor, although apt, disturbed me. That Harry should be completely subjugated by a set of ideas frightened me. How could one fight ideas?

But Miss Marie must have spoken with Harry, although how she managed not to upset him was a mystery to me. The tension eased between us, helped, I suppose, by my quiet resolution neither to join the Party nor to be defensive nor apologetic about it. For a time we tacitly accepted our differences and sometimes the old Harry would sing softly to me
What'll I do when skies are blue and you're not here, what'll I do?
And I was so grateful to reclaim something of his former self that I didn't tell him it made me sad.

It was strange but as the international situation worsened we grew closer. I came to accept his total commitment to the Communist Party as the only way he could see to combat Hitler's terrible fascism and he came to accept that my way of protesting was to draw cartoons that alerted people. We were both, he told me one night, happily heading in the same direction and as I curled up comfortably against him in our warm bed he held me fiercely, almost as if he feared to let me go.

Workers' Weekly
and
Imprecor
regularly reported the news from Spain. The right-wing government now in power would soon be hand in glove with Hitler. Spanish workers lived in terror. The band of socialist youth were preparing for bloody revolution. Harry avidly followed the news. Because he had been such a dedicated leader in the Communist Youth League he had a fellow feeling, he told me, for our young Spanish brothers, as he called them.

He now fervently argued with Miss Marie that the anarchists were splitting the left with their different aims. With some asperity she pointed out that it was the Spanish anarchists, not the communists, who had tried to set up a truly libertarian society. And it was the anarchists who had been slaughtered by the military at the hands of the great Republican Government while it had lasted, and the communists had been a part of it. I listened to both their arguments and was troubled because in my work I had to try to make a judgement, not in political but in human terms. I searched the daily papers for any news of Europe but it was mostly the
Workers' Weekly
,
Spearhead
,
Daily Herald
and
Imprecor
that reported events.

So for want of certainty I stopped doing cartoons about Europe and concentrated on the events in Australia. Harry was disgusted. ‘You've lost your fire, Jude,' he reproached me. ‘How can you do such pussy cartoons when such huge events need comment?'

In one regard he was correct. I couldn't ignore the threat of fascism. Hitler's regime was becoming a monstrosity. But after several cartoons about him I had no fresh ideas.

‘I don't know what is happening in Spain, Harry. It's such a mixed-up picture.'

‘It's not, Jude. You only have to read the
Weekly
. That gives you all you need to know.'

I had wrestled with the problem of whether I should take my opinions from the
Weekly
and decided not to. ‘No,' I said wearily, ‘it doesn't. And in any case no one here wants a cartoon about Spain. It's miles away and is not alarming like what's happening in Germany. Everyone has heard of Hitler.'

‘Not alarming? Spain is the melting pot of the future. If fascism takes root in Spain we'll all be ruined.'

So once again, we started to argue. Now my cartoons really did lack fire. I worked doggedly but without inspiration. What had been an exciting challenge now became drudgery. I felt listless, bone weary, from what seemed to be years of political fighting, drained by never winning.

We were both unhappy. Harry was so miserable that my heart went out to him. It was a special sort of pain, knowing how he felt but being helpless to solve whatever was troubling him. I didn't even know what it was. And if I had known I wondered whether I would have the energy to deal with it.

Did he want to leave me? Probably. I felt ill at such a thought. But when he caught me studying him in bafflement, he assured me that he loved me. I had to cling to the hope that something else bothered him and made him so distant.

At night I cuddled up to him but he was restless and held me absently. When I sang his favourite song ‘What'll I do when you're far away' he responded quite violently. ‘Don't, Jude. I'm tired. I've got a lot on my mind.'

Hurt I pulled away and turned my back. I knew he didn't sleep. I heard him tossing and turning for much of the night. But I was damned if I'd ask him what the matter was. If he told me it was a Party matter I mightn't be able to stop myself screaming at him.

The coolness between us seemed to go on and on. Harry avoided looking at me and I tried falsely to be as cheerful as possible.

Finally, one evening after dinner, one of the rare evenings he was home, he remained seated at the table. ‘Jude,' he said, ‘I need to talk to you.'

‘Yes?' I was uninviting.

‘Please sit down.'

I went on scraping the dishes and assembling them on the sink.

‘For God's sake, Jude, sit down. I need to talk to you.'

I turned to face him. ‘Is that so, Harry? A bit late isn't it?'

He flushed and I saw him grit his teeth. ‘Please,' he said quietly, and there was something so urgent in his tone that I left the sink and sat down.

‘Well?'

He took a deep breath. ‘I want to go to Spain.'

All the air in my body left me in a great gasp and I seemed to float dizzily. It was both a shock and a huge relief, a bit like finding out that he'd only wanted to go to Mildura and not Russia. He only wanted to go to Spain, I thought hysterically. He didn't want to leave me. Well, for a short time, I supposed, but not forever.

Overcome with relief, I jumped up, ran around the table and hugged him. ‘Oh, Harry, thank you.' I sat down again and burst into tears.

Bemused by my reaction, he stared at me. He had returned my hug but was now silent. ‘It'll only be for a few weeks, Jude. Just to talk to the communist blokes there. To get some first-hand knowledge, a grasp of it all, to pass on to the Party members here.'

‘Yes,' I said, gulping back my tears, ‘yes, of course.'

‘You don't mind?'

‘Not so much,' I replied.

‘Not so much?'

‘Not as much as …'

‘Jude, you make no sense.'

‘No,' I said, ‘but Spain's OK.'

‘It's OK for me to go to Spain? You don't mind?'

I beamed at him. ‘No. It'll be a wonderful adventure. Much better than Mildura. I've never been overseas. When do we leave?' Then I stopped. If I hadn't been so euphoric with relief I might have thought more clearly about practical matters. ‘How do we pay for it, Harry? It'll be very costly.'

I raced into the bedroom and snatched our bank book out of the bedroom drawer. We had some savings, so that eventually we could buy a home. Oh, well, I dismissed that future. We could begin again. I could work harder. My work was now accepted.

‘We've got enough, Harry. Plenty.'

I put the bank book in front of him and eagerly kissed the top of his head. He took it up but didn't look at it. The old misery was back in his face.

‘Jude,' he said quietly, ‘I'm going with Nathan.'

‘Yes. Well, we did in Mildura. I more or less expected that.'

‘No, Jude, just Nathan. The Spanish Communist Party has invited us and the Party is paying.'

‘Well, that'll be a help. We only need to find my fares. I'll come home with lots of ideas for cartoons. I need the stimulation. I've been feeling dull lately. Maybe I'll even be able to do some that satisfy Nathan and the Communist Party.'

I laughed, but he didn't join me. Why was I so dense, so uncomprehending? I thought afterwards.

‘Jude,' he pleaded, ‘please understand. This is a Party matter. You can't come with us. You're not a paid-up member of the Communist Party. The Spanish communists haven't invited you.'

If he'd chucked a bucket of ice water over me I couldn't have felt colder. All the joy drained out of me and I sat looking at him in frozen silence. Finally I stammered, ‘You're going without me?'

‘Yes.' He looked mulish.

‘With Nathan?'

‘Yes. I told you.' He was defensive.

‘For the Party?'

‘Yes.'

‘Without me?'

‘For God's sake, Jude, don't look like that. You said Spain would be OK.'

‘Yes,' I said, and I was afraid to say anything more. I mightn't be able to stop.

I got up, filled the sink with water, and began the washing up.

He grabbed a tea towel to help me. Neither of us spoke. When he had put the dishes away he put on his hat and coat, said he had a meeting and might be late home, and left.

I sank onto the kitchen chair in the empty kitchen and hated Nathan, the Communist Party and Harry.

Part 4
A Separation

I STOPPED WORKING. There didn't seem to be much point in it. This is the end, I thought. Why should I struggle to support us? I may as well use up our savings, and I started to withdraw, bit by bit, from our account for household expenses. It was restful, not having to drive myself to a routine every day. Requests from newspapers for my work I threw in the dustbin.

Harry found them. He was horrified. ‘Jude, what is this?'

I shrugged. ‘None of your business.'

‘None of my business? Aren't we married?'

‘Are we?' I was scornful.

‘Jude,' he appealed, ‘why are you doing this?'

I shrugged again.

‘But it's your career.'

I was silent.

‘It's Spain, isn't it? You don't want me to go? It's not forever. Just a few weeks and then we'll be back together again. I'll be quite safe.'

‘Quite safe?' I mocked. ‘Spain is in a state of insurrection. This much I know. Haven't you been reading the
Workers' Weekly
?'

He ignored my jibe and repeated, ‘I'll be quite safe. Nathan has contact with Party members there. They're going to supply an interpreter. It's all arranged. I'll be safe as houses.'

I was cynical. ‘Safe with Nathan? You're a fool, Harry. Nathan will be as useless as always. They'll probably murder you in Spain. Why is it, do you think, that Nathan has never been beaten up in any of our demonstrations? And no one has ever wondered about this. Somehow no one expects that Nathan will ever get hurt. It wouldn't do for the big Party intellectual to show a few bruises. But the rest of us, the poor foot soldiers, we can get injured—you can nearly get
killed
in Victoria Square—but Nathan, he was OK. He didn't even lose his glasses.'

And I recalled how even in my dazed state of terror I had seen the light reflect off his perfect spectacles still on his nose and quite unharmed. At the time I had been grateful to see him. I had never dreamed then that he would become the Mephistopheles in my life.

‘You go to Spain with Nathan. By all means go. But if there's any trouble you'll be on your own. Look at Mildura. He would have hung Jock out to dry with his damned street meeting. But Jock's tougher than you. Jock can tell the Party to get fucked. But not you.'

So I berated him. He didn't respond and when he had left I tormented myself with both loving and hating him. Sometimes his dedication appeared strength. At other times I believed that it was the weakness of an impressionable man tossed this way and that by anyone stronger. And beneath it all were the unworthy thoughts that I was ashamed of: that it was my work that paid for our life together, our meals, our rent, our gas and electricity bills. But now I was the one to be left at home to keep working while Harry had the overseas adventure—with Nathan, of all people.

Harry was attacked from all sides. If my thoughts about him hadn't been so painful I would have pitied him. My mother reproached him for deserting me. ‘I'm disappointed in you, Harry. I wouldn't have expected it of you.'

My father scowled, ‘Much better to see the world before you marry, not after.'

‘I'm not going to Spain to see the world, sir.' Harry was defensive.

‘Nobler purpose, eh?' my father scoffed. ‘And don't call me sir. Communist, aren't you? All men equal and that sort of fantasy? Niels's my name, as you very well know, Harry. You're being irresponsible.'

Miss Marie refused to succumb to his cajoling to sing with him while he played the piano. ‘No, Harry,' she said, ‘I'm not in the mood. I don't care for what you are doing. You won't find your ideals amongst the Spanish communists. Better if you continue to search for them here.'

‘I'm not searching for ideals,' he denied.

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

Accustomed to her usual merry, light-hearted responses to him, he looked confused.

‘I didn't expect …' he stumbled.

‘Expect what?' She was cold.

‘That you'd take it all so seriously.'

She laughed shortly. ‘Then you don't know me well, Harry.'

I looked at her sharply. There was an unusual bitterness in her voice but she only laughed awkwardly, as if caught out expressing some intimate knowledge.

To Harry's dismay she turned her back on him.

Winnie had heard and rushed around to see us. She screeched at him, ‘Going to Spain with that horrible man with the huge glasses? The one that looks like a dumb owl? Just as well you're not taking Judith.'

At her apt description of Nathan I choked with laughter and Harry looked daggers at me. But Winnie hadn't finished. ‘And who's going to look after Auntie May, your mother, while you're away?'

‘She manages quite well on her own and I won't be gone long. Everyone seems to think that I plan to leave for a lifetime.'

‘She only manages,' Winnie shouted at him, ‘because I call in all the time and do her shopping and Judith helps. What do you do?'

Guilt, I thought, doubtless fuelled Harry's anger and Winnie's reproaches were the last straw. He turned on her. ‘Well, you can keep on doing it, can't you? You lead a pretty frippery useless life. Good for you to do something useful.'

Winnie spat at him, ‘What a rotten rat you are. Swanning off to Europe and leaving Judith destitute. You don't care for Judith, your mother or me. Just your stupid old Communist Party.'

Enraged, she threw her cup of tea at him, cup, saucer and liquid. The tea spilled down his shirt front, an ugly, brown dribbling stain. The cup and saucer smashed on the floor scattering bits of broken crockery.

He was so furious that I thought for a moment he might strike her. But he stormed out of the room. I heard him crashing open drawers as he looked for a clean shirt and then he was gone, slamming the front door behind him.

Winnie giggled. ‘Sorry, Judith. I'll replace your cup and saucer. Was it a valuable one?'

I picked up the pieces. ‘No, just for the kitchen. But really, Winnie, you went a bit too far.'

‘Not at all. He deserved it.'

She took the mop from me and made a sketchy job of cleaning up the mess. ‘Harry always had a quick temper.'

‘I've never seen it.'

‘Really?' She opened her eyes wide. ‘Never?'

‘No, never.'

‘My,' she grinned, ‘you must have him tamed.'

‘That, or I don't torment him, as you do.'

She chuckled irritatingly. ‘Don't know about that, Jude. I'd think that at the minute anything I dished out would be mild in comparison with what he's getting from you: the terrible silent reproach and withdrawal. He wouldn't know how to cope with that. It's too subterranean. With Harry, everything's on the surface. I don't mean he's shallow. It's just that … Well … Hard to explain. Any more tea in the pot?'

She helped herself to a clean cup.

‘And he really is leaving you for Spain?'

‘Don't put it that way, Winnie. He's not leaving me. Just going away for a short time.'

‘Well,' she said, in disgust, ‘I hope for your sake he comes back.'

Amused, despite myself, I replied, ‘For my sake and his.' As she left she gave me a smacking kiss.

It was odd, but Winnie had done what I secretly longed to do—throw something at Harry and feel the release of some violent physical action; something simpler than our obscure changes of mood and carefully guarded words; something clear and in the open. I couldn't have thrown anything at Harry but Winnie had done it for me. She felt no guilt and I felt none on her behalf and as I went around the house doing a few chores I found myself singing to the tune of ‘If you knew Susie' the words
If you knew Winnie like I know Winnie, oh,oh,oh, what a girl.

Maybe Winnie's action also cleared the air for Harry. He could be angry with her in a way he couldn't with me. I said I was sorry that Winnie had been like that and ruined his shirt. He replied, ‘No matter. She'd always had a quick temper. She'll get over it.'

So we reached a sort of truce and managed again to talk to each other, even laugh occasionally, and if I pretended not to be sad while we made love I don't think he noticed or if he noticed he didn't say.

Nathan who had often come to meetings at our house now never came and that was a relief. My tolerance could only stretch so far. I had started working again and Harry was careful not to criticise my cartoons although I knew that they had lost their political bite. I abstained from critical comments about the Communist Party. Neither of us discussed Spain and what was happening there, although when I had the house to myself I read the
Workers' Weekly
,
Spearhead
and
Imprecor
gleaning what I could. None of the news from Spain cheered me and when Harry was not around I sometimes succumbed to despair and fear for his safety. At those times, if I were working, I would lay down my pen and just sit staring at nothing in particular, unable to concentrate or think.

Harry and Nathan sailed on the new P&O liner
Oronsay
, which docked at Outer Harbor. We all went to see them off—my parents, Winnie, Miss Marie, Jock, Frank, Pat and Nathan's sisters. I kissed him goodbye, struggled not to cry and failed. He held me fiercely. ‘I'll write, Jude. I'll be back soon. Please don't worry.'

What stupid advice, I thought.

Winnie wept. ‘Oh you, Harry … You always do these things. I don't know why.' And these things must have filled her memory to the brim.

He hugged her. ‘Take care of Jude for me, Winnie.'

He kissed my mother, who was also tearful, and shook my father's cool hand. ‘Take care, boy,' he growled.

We threw streamers from the dock to the ship but as the tug began to tow her from the wharf the streamers broke and strands of abandoned coloured paper fluttered into the sea. The band played ‘Waltzing Matilda', the ship turned and we could no longer see Harry. We watched for a long while, and then, desolate, turned to leave.

My mother spoke kindly to Nathan's sisters who had stood apart from us. ‘They are distressed,' she said, ‘poor things. An only brother. But they wouldn't come back with us.'

My mother and father took me home that night and I lay on my narrow bunk even more lonely than I might have been at home, where at least Harry's presence was all about me. I thought of the night before he left. He had held me passionately.

‘Don't pull away, Jude, please. I know you are hating me and I can't bear it.'

Overcome with pity at the misery I was causing him, and his anguish, I returned his kisses with equal fervour and loved him. And if he detected how much our love making now saddened me, he gave no sign of it.

Afterwards, as we lay in the dark, with his hand resting across my breast, he said, ‘I know you think that I believe utterly in the Communist Party, but it's not so, Jude. Somehow I couldn't tell you before. It sounded like giving in.'

‘To me?'

‘No, not you. To all the vitriolic attacks on us that seem to come from every quarter. If I disagree it can't appear to be because I have succumbed to all this external hatred of us. I'm hoping Spain will clear my head. That I can see whether international communism has any hope. Whether people who have achieved power and lost it are good people. Whether we are fantasising about the whole thing and so much more.'

He laughed uncertainly. ‘Even whether communism will pay me to dance. I don't know what I expect to find but perhaps …' He stopped. ‘But that's enough for tonight. I just wanted you to know.'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘Thank you, Harry. It helps.'

The first few days were the worst. Stupidly, I rushed to the mailbox every morning but, of course, there were no letters. I shouldn't have expected any. Peter, in the Post Office, had told me that even if Harry wrote from Perth I couldn't expect anything for up to a fortnight and if he wrote from foreign ports then the time the mail took was in the lap of the gods, or the lap of foreign postal services, and that was more unpredictable and unreliable than the gods.

I didn't seem able to curb my agitation and took to going for long walks to exhaust myself so that I would sleep at night. Even then I woke frequently and reached out for Harry and finding him not there lay miserably alone until light crept through the curtains. Then for some reason I felt peaceful again and returned to sleep.

Mind you, I was not alone. In fact, I scarcely had a daytime moment to myself to think or to mourn. Most days Winnie called in, telling me bluntly that it was to cheer me up. Her assumption, that I must always be down in the dumps, and her harping on how thoughtless Harry was to so desert me, eventually became more annoying than consoling.

‘Shut up, Winnie,' I said in exasperation. ‘For heaven's sake give it a rest. He's only gone for a few weeks. That's all there is to it. He'll be back.'

But then her eyes filled with tears and she hugged me. ‘I know how you must feel, Jude. You're just being as brave as you always are. I wish I could be as understanding. I think he's mean and I'm scared he'll die there and we'll never see him again.' And she sobbed so hard that I ended up comforting her.

‘He's my favourite cousin,' she hiccuped.

‘Have you any others?' I was diverted.

‘No, only Harry.'

‘Then how can he be your favourite?'

‘And why not?'

‘You have no others to compare him with.'

‘This is a stupid conversation, Jude.' She was grumpy. ‘You know what I mean.'

And for the first time in several weeks I laughed. ‘Oh. Winnie,' I chuckled, ‘you're such a card.'

‘And you're a card, too, Jude. Harry always says that about you.'

‘Yes, I know. How sweet he is, Winnie.'

She blew her nose but continued to sniffle. ‘Are you afraid for him?'