What Love Is (11 page)

Sins of the Fathers

23 March

We had Nonna’s funeral today. Bevan was able to come down, but only for the day, and he had to return by six this evening or else he’d be in contravention of his home detention and would be arrested on his return. I can’t bear the thought of him being in prison, so I had to let him go after the service was over and not spend any time alone with him.

I didn’t know Nonna knew so many people, the church was half full and some of the staff from the rest home came too. They took turns holding Ata while I stood at the front and talked about Nonna.

I’d never done anything like that before and I was very nervous, but I wanted people to know where Nonna had come from. They didn’t need to know that her mother had been raped, but I told them how she had been born on 21 April 1945, the day that Bologna was liberated.

I read the Lord’s Prayer in Italian to honour her heritage – and mine too. From my position on the dais I could see Bevan smiling up at me. I smiled back at him once I had finished.

We buried Nonna in the cemetery alongside Hugo, the grandfather I had never known, but I knew that she loved him. I fingered the ring in my pocket, Nonna’s ring, as the coffin was lowered and Bevan held me close as I cried.

Later, in the hall where food was laid out, I found myself in a corner with Mark, who had brought Bevan down in his car. Bevan was on the other side of the room, holding Ata, showing her off to a few of Nonna’s friends. Even from this distance I could see the glow on his face as he talked. I knew he was missing her … and me.

“Thanks for coming down,” I said to Mark. “And for bringing Bevan down with you. Was it difficult to get permission from his parole officer?”

He winked. “I have powers of persuasion but I have to get him back by six or else they’ll be on his tail.” He looked at his watch. “We have some time yet.”

“Good, I think Bevan needs to stockpile on Ata love while he’s here.”

“He sure does. It was a lovely service. You’ve got to hand it to them, the Catholics sure know how to put in a show. They do a requiem mass so well.”

“It’s what Nonna wanted – it was in her will. We’ve already seen the lawyer about it. He tells us there’s an offer coming in on the unit so it’s like everything’s coming to an end at once.”

“I wish I could have met your grandmother. Sounds like she was an exceptional lady.”

“She was, but she lost it a bit in the end. She kept on going on about the sins of the fathers – that’s from the Bible isn’t it?”

“Exodus 34:7 He punishes the children and their children for the sin of their parents to the third and fourth generation.”

“Great, so Nonna was right. That’s why we’re all so messed up.” I did a quick calculation in my head. “Well, I’m the third and Ata is the fourth generation. There’s not much hope.”

“I believe that you and Bevan can turn that around. You just have to have faith.”

“Faith, hah! It’s Bevan that has the faith, not me.”

“But you used to.”

I remembered my confirmation.

“Once, yes, I did,” I said whimsically. “That was a long time ago. I’ve strayed a little since then.”

“You’ll find your way back,” he said with confidence. He left it at that, for which I was grateful. A cry behind Mark’s back warned us that Bevan was approaching. Ata was squirming in his arms, restless and cranky. I took her from him, but couldn’t undress in that place to feed her so I popped a dummy in her mouth and hoped she’d be quiet until Mum and I could get away back to the unit to feed her in private.

“I’ll leave you three alone for a while,” Mark said.

The people were starting to leave, saying goodbye to Mum as she stood in the doorway. With my free hand I took Nonna’s promise ring out of my pocket and pressed it into Bevan’s hand.

“Hold on to this for me,” I said.

“What is it?”

“It’s my grandmother’s ring. When I get back to Auckland you can ask me that question again.”

“What question?”

“You know …”

I saw his eyes widen as he looked down at the ring in his hand.

“With this?” he asked. “It’s rather small, I thought you wanted something big and flashy, lots of bling.”

I folded his hand over the small piece of jewellery. “No, this will do, and I have the wedding band to match it.”

He grinned before Mark tapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Bevan, got to get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”

“You’ll be home soon?” Bevan asked as he drew me close.

“Yes, I’ll be just a couple of days down here. There’s still Nonna’s things to sort out and there’s an offer coming in on the unit.” I looked over to where Mum was talking to the hospital manager from the rest home. “And I have things to sort out with Mum too.” I didn’t want to tell Bevan the details of our discussions, some of which had been really difficult, but I felt that I was growing closer to my mother in spite of all that she had done, or not done, in the past. I think that having a child of my own was helping me to understand my mother better.

“Well, you stay here until you’ve got it sorted, but I’ll miss you and Ata,” he said as he kissed me.

“I miss you too. I love you.”

25 April

I went to a dawn ANZAC service this morning. Bevan came with me and we took turns holding a restless Ata in our arms. I’d fed her before we left but she was still cranky.

I’d never been to a dawn service before, didn’t see the point in getting up early on a public holiday to stand in the cold and damp for people killed in a long-ago war.

But now I know different.

It was dark when we arrived, among several hundred who had decided to get up early to mark this event, moving silently in reverence, like dark ghosts come to honour companions. A few veterans sat in chairs at the front, bowed over, weighed down by the rows of medals on their chests, the last remnants of those that had fought and come back from the war when so many didn’t.

Grandpa Harry came back from the war, one of those who did. It wasn’t just soldiers who died, but civilians too, like those who were killed at Bardine, whose names aren’t on this memorial but who may have names on a memorial in their own country. I wish I could find out if they did. I thought of Lina’s family: Papa, Anna and Nico; I thought of the German soldier and his men killed by the partisans in a forest somewhere in Italy, probably lying in unmarked graves, I thought of the innocents killed in massacres in Italy, people I didn’t even know who had no connection to me. And finally I thought of Nonna, a child of war, conceived by rape – and yet she had survived and become my grandma, gave birth to my mum and then me and now Ata.

By the time the sun rose, pink and embracing, I was a mess, tears streaming down by face, and Bevan put his arm around me, holding me close as the service drew to a close. The sounding of the last post finished me off, and I stood wrapped in Bevan’s arms while I sobbed. I buried my face in his chest, Ata trapped between us but somehow silent as I cried, as if she knew that she needed to be quiet at this time.

People moved around us, the murmur of voices, the occasional enquiry, “Is she all right?” I felt Bevan nod each time. Then it was quiet.

I raised my head. The park was empty, the people dispersed, and it was just us standing before the cenotaph, the base of which was covered with wreaths and poppies.

I handed Ata to Bevan, took the poppy from my lapel and walked to the steps of the cenotaph, placing the poppy amongst the many there.

I wanted to say something, but there was too much to say and then I realized that what I wanted to say could not be summed up in words, there was too much heartache, too much sorrow, too much anguish to be described in words. In the end, the act of placing my poppy on those steps was all that was needed.

As I returned to Bevan and took Ata in my arms again, I promised myself that she, and any other children that we may have, would always know of the sacrifice that these people, most of them unknown to us, had made; that they would know of Lina’s family and what had happened in the war, and would come to understand what it meant to keep remembering them and why we have this public holiday. Not just another day off in which to sleep in.

Bevan returned from placing his poppy alongside mine. “For Haki,” he said. “Are you ready to go now?”

I knew that he was getting anxious – we had to be back home by seven a.m., that was all the time he was allowed. I hate living to these deadlines and I can’t wait until the anklet is removed in July. Then we can start living normal lives.

“Ready,” I said, and together we left the cenotaph with its plethora of floral tributes and headed home.

11 July

Tomorrow Bevan and I will be married. I’m nervous and excited, as I guess all brides should be the day before their wedding. It’s all been a bit of a rush, but Bevan and I didn’t want to waste any time so we set the date for the day after Bevan’s anklet came off. Some people were surprised that we’d want a winter wedding, but when I explained about the home detention they understood.

The anklet is now off, so tomorrow Bevan will be free to wait for me at the end of the aisle.

Of course Mark is marrying us in the church in which Bevan was baptized, so it’s not a Catholic wedding. I don’t mind and I don’t think Nonna would have either. I just wish she could be here to see me in my white dress. I don’t deserve white I guess, but so what?

Ata will look cute in her little tutu with the headband in her hair. However I don’t think it will stay in for long – she hates having things on her head.

But it will be a simple wedding and just a get-together at Bevan’s parents’ place afterwards. We didn’t want a full-on wedding reception, just something small and memorable, a little like Lina’s but without the Fascists in their black shirts and the partisans hiding in the church! It was good enough for her, it will be good enough for us. If only Nonna could be here to see me walking down the aisle. I think she would have approved; she’s probably watching from heaven, with Lina beside her. At least, that’s what I like to think. So am I breaking this so-called curse by marrying Bevan? Who knows. I’m marrying the man I love and that’s the main thing, and he also happens to be the father of my daughter. Whether Nonna was right or just being superstitious, we will never know for sure, but for once in my life it feels like I’m doing the right thing.

After we’re married we’ll be moving down to Nonna’s unit. The surprise there was that it was Bevan’s dad who bought it as a rental. He’s had the kitchen and bathroom renovated. We’ve furnished it with some of our own stuff and my room is now Ata’s nursery, but we kept a few things that belonged to Nonna so it’s like she’s still there in a way. We don’t get it for free, we have to pay rent, but it will be our own little place after spending so long with Bevan’s folks.

And Bevan has a job in Hamilton too – don’t ask me how many strings Mark pulled to get Bevan the position at the youth centre, after all, Bevan now has a criminal conviction on record so Mark would have had to use all his powers of persuasion. Somehow it worked.

Bevan wants me to translate Lina’s diary into English so that he can read it too. He also says that it may have historical value. I don’t know much about historical stuff but maybe he could be right. It’ll give me something to do I guess, when Bevan is working. But then Mum is thinking about taking a trip to Italy to visit the places that Lina mentions in her diary, and she says we should do it together as we have some money left over from the sale of the unit. I’ll have to think about it, as Bevan won’t be able to come with us since his criminal record prevents him from travelling without a great deal of hassle. It would be nice to see Italy though.

One thing is certain. I’m happy – happier than I’ve been in a long time. And I’ll be even happier when I see Bevan tomorrow at the church.

I’d best get some sleep now that Ata has finally settled down. It’s going to be a big day tomorrow and a brand new start for me, Bevan and little Ata. I can’t wait!

Acknowledgements

To the caregivers, nurses, support and administrative staff at Howick Baptist Healthcare Ltd - for all that you are and all that
you
do. Thank you for your loving care of Sean.

Thanks to Chris Smith for the loan of the reference books and to his son Harry for allowing me to borrow his name for use in this book.

What Love Is
was written during the month of November under NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month when writers undertake to write 50,000 words in 30 days, an average of 1,667 words a day. I wrote 40,000 words in 27 days which is when the story ran out and came to its natural conclusion, averaging about 1,500 words a day. I
have
since added 4,000 words to bring me up to 44,000 words. Thanks, guys, for the pep talks and the tips that kept me going and
for giving me the
liberty to just write the story without stopping to review, edit, correct or stall and for keeping me away from Facebook. And thanks also to
my writing buddy
Katie Furze for the
regular
look-ins to see how I was doing and for undertaking to be a beta reader.

For more information on NaNoWriMo go to:
https://nanowrimo.org