Man and War

By Nadia Eskander

It was a perfect autumn afternoon for a drive.
The sun filtered through hazy clouds, softly touching the hilltops
and spreading that special autumnal shimmer, which could only be
detected by autumn-lovers, over the vast expanse of the bushland.
Overpowering, gigantic eucalyptuses stood confidently against the
sky as if making a statement that the ruler of the autumn landscape
in the land of eucalyptus was evergreen, like the hues of orange, red
and yellow in the foreign lands of the maple. The air was still and
sweet, filled with a strong essence of eucalyptus oil, enhanced by a
quick downpour of rain overnight, a slight smell of wettish grass and
a weak but still detectable whiff of exhaust gases, that constant presence
of an industrial city from which there was no escape even in the
most remote suburbs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadOnTime BV
• Release date: Jul 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781742841632

Nadia Eskander

Nadia was born in 1946 on the outskirts of a small Ukrainian country-town, Pereyaslav-Khmelnitsky, approximately 90km from the capital of Ukraine, Kiev, into a family of farmers.She studied Ichthyology (Marine Biology) at the Astrakhan University of Technology and Fishing Industry and worked as a Grade One researcher in the field of fish-farming at the Astrakhan Scientific Research Institute. It was during this time that she met her first husband, an exchange student from Egypt studying Engineering.In 1970 she relocated to Egypt (a shift through marriage) and subsequently to Australia in 1983 (a shift through immigration).Upon arrival in Australia Nadia spent four years developing her English language skills, followed by a six year degree in Social Studies (social work) and seven years in the workforce as a Social Worker.In 1998 she was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, requiring her to quit the workforce. This presented her with the opportunity to embark on the unfulfilled life-long dream of writing a book. Nadia has been twice married, twice divorced and has a daughter from her first marriage. She is now happily single living with her best ever companion, Audrey the cat, in Adelaide Australia, and working on her second book Master and the Cat.

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1

It was a perfect autumn afternoon for a drive.

The sun filtered through hazy clouds, softly touching the hilltops and spreading that special autumnal shimmer, which could only be detected by autumn-lovers, over the vast expanse of the bushland. Overpowering, gigantic eucalyptuses stood confidently against the sky as if making a statement that the ruler of the autumn landscape in the land of eucalyptus was evergreen, like the hues of orange, red and yellow in the foreign lands of the maple. The air was still and sweet, filled with a strong essence of eucalyptus oil, enhanced by a quick downpour of rain overnight, a slight smell of wettish grass and a weak but still detectable whiff of exhaust gases, that constant presence of an industrial city from which there was no escape even in the most remote suburbs.

Absentmindedly, Lena searched for colourful patches of adopted European trees and bushes, scattered randomly in the vast open spaces of this miscellaneous landscape, but her search was suddenly stolen by a protective barrier, which shifted her attention to Marina’s incessant chatter.

‘And finally she arrived just to find that her husband-to-be was dead. His relatives were waiting for her in the airport to break the news after which she was left to her own devices to work out the next step. And what do you think her next step was? Of course, to find another husband, which, I give her credit for, she did in no time, and a wealthy one, I must say. Still, can you imagine being in that situation?’

Marina’s eyes were rolling wildly behind thick lenses but there was no compassion in them for the poor woman’s predicament, only curiosity and gloating. She loved to wallow in other people’s troubles, not so much out of ill will towards her fellow creatures as to find some compensation for her own, real or perceived, inconveniences and misfires in life.

‘But,’ she continued after a brief stop for air, ‘you should have seen how prickly she turned when somebody in her presence threw in a joke about Russian Natashas being gold diggers. You see, she is not one of those Natashas, she is above those Natashas, she is a special Natasha who wouldn’t stoop to anything below her highly practised ethics and morals, only wearing a pair of shabby shorts to social functions to attract sympathy and a dollar from here and there, meanwhile looking for a suitable new husband and concealing a sizeable stash of cash under her mattress. Taking the way she reacted, one would think she was no less than royalty. Well …’ Marina stopped for a moment again, contemplating the royalty in question. ‘Don’t they also employ the same tactics as our lady under scrutiny in her torn-to-shreds shorts? I hear some would regally travel hundreds of miles just to get a free lunch. They love free lunches, you know. Anyway, the whole story couldn’t be more hilarious.’

‘For God’s sake, Marina. Stop gossiping!’ broke in Ridge without turning his head. Driving up the hill along a steep cliff required an extra-attentive eye. ‘It’s high time you learned to give other people a chance to utter a word.’ Ridge’s voice was stern and didactic: a parent teaching his mischievous child good manners. During the twenty years of their marriage he had found this most effective way to bridle his young wife’s talkative, prone-to-gossip nature when he thought it necessary.

Taking no offence, Marina gave Lena a wink and before falling silent added stubbornly, with a defiant shrug of her shoulder, ‘She has a lover too. Gossip or no gossip, what does that make her old, never mind rich, husband? I will tell you what: nothing more than a cuckold. Fool!’

Having imposed the supremacy of her last word, she leaned back in her seat, took a magazine out of her oversized handbag and immersed herself in perusing the glamorous lives of Hollywood stars. She felt it incumbent on her, though, to explain to Lena how she had come to be in the possession of such a shallow read. ‘Oh no, I wouldn’t buy this. It comes from a doctor’s surgery.’

Silence fell and Lena slid back into her scattered, irritated state of mind. It’s so obvious what these two are trying to do, she thought. No doubt it was all Marina’s idea, but what about her principled husband? She must’ve had Ridge’s at least tacit consent, otherwise we wouldn’t be rolling up the road right now like three idiots. So much for his high principles.

A sudden depression in the road gave the solid Mazda a jerky jolt; Lena heard Ridge curse under his breath—something colourful about the irresponsibility of those who are supposed to be taking care of the damn roads. She momentarily felt the urge to elaborate on his muffled remark—she always enjoyed a conversation with Ridge—but the persistent thought that it was wrong for her to be here had no intention of releasing its grip. The urge to talk passed. Saying nothing, Lena welcomed the uncomfortable silence introduced by Marina who was now dozing off, or rather pretending to. Twenty years hadn’t passed in vain for her either: by Ridge’s mood she could determine with precision the boundaries within which it was safe to operate and the manoeuvring to take. This moment certainly wasn’t the one to overstep those invisible but very real barriers, which on most other occasions Ridge would allow his loquacious wife to trash.

The principled husband doesn’t seem to be comfortable with this either, thought Lena, sensing Ridge’s inner smouldering. It must be his sacrificed ethics and morals rubbing his guilty conscience. The thought gave her a degree of satisfaction as Ridge had a compulsive tendency to flaunt his high principles, the very same principles he himself followed only at his pleasure. Everybody seems to know exactly what these two words mean when they are applied to others, she thought, but the substance of their meaning evaporates, or at least changes its composition, when it comes to precious me—ME in capital letters. We always manage to find justifiable excuses for ourselves. Although—she eyed Ridge from the back—with regard to this absolutely misplaced arrangement, I don’t think that he can find enough excuses to satisfy his conscience. Principles, ethics, morals, a shaky, ugly skeleton crying out for the lost substance, the substance that has been gambled away with the determination of the people for whom there is no tomorrow. A few of us are still desperately trying to collect some shreds of what was meant to be the very essence of humanity and glue them back to the groaning bones deprived of muscles, which the smart human race has successfully managed to dispose of, replacing it with some new product which can only attract and hold corruption, hypocrisy, dishonesty and lies.

Lena felt a hot wave of emotion rushing through her chest and breaking out in the form of red patches and tiny beads of perspiration on her neck, cheeks and forehead: her usual reaction to any kind of falsehood—only this time the falsehood was of her own creation.

Since accepting Marina’s seemingly spontaneous invitation to a dinner held by a wealthy, eligible bachelor, Lena had been playing down her awareness of the matchmaking actively taking place. She listened and absorbed everything Marina had to offer with regard to broadening her social life, yet refused to even consider such a preposterous proposition, not because she had anything against matchmaking as a concept, but because it wasn’t for her … it wasn’t her. The word matchmaking, however, was never mentioned and to Lena’s surprise, after her abrupt refusal, Marina suddenly, most likely under pressure from Ridge, had changed her tactic. ‘If you reconsider, let us know,’ she had said, struggling to conceal her annoyance. It was a while until she mentioned the subject again, making certain that Ridge wasn’t around. This time, to Marina’s surprise, Lena had agreed, cursing herself as the words of acceptance escaped her. The week leading to the dinner, she had changed her mind at least twice daily, but finally convinced herself that a drive through the hills at this time of the year was too good an opportunity to refuse since she wouldn’t dream of driving through those winding and nauseatingly steep roads by herself. But when the day came and Ridge had started the car, her innocent resolution no longer seemed innocent and the real motive behind her acceptance of the invitation showed its unenviable face. The truth was that she wanted to be at this dinner, she wanted to meet the host, and she hated the lurking judge in her mind who reminded her of the true meaning of ethics and morality with his ugly insolent smile, as much as she hated Ridge and Marina for meddling in her personal affairs. But most of all she hated herself for breaking her own rules, of which she was always so self-righteously proud, and putting on a charade that made her feel demeaned.

‘Is it my imagination or are the roads getting longer?’ grumbled Ridge, steering his Mazda to the kerb. He put the brakes on and sat there for a short while before switching it off. Despite his unusual fitness for seventy-eight, it was becoming more difficult for him, particularly of late, to handle long distances driving and he needed a few moments to recuperate.

Lena heard the rustle of Marina’s pleated skirt. With a curt, ‘Here we are,’ she was already opening the door, obviously glad that the silence could finally be broken. Marina didn’t forget, though, to steal a quick glance in her little mirror to make sure that her lips remained bright orange and her chestnut curls were tidy. Lena knew that the thing her friend dreaded most was to appear before company looking less than perfect. She smiled. Marina … total absorption in self, nothing else matters. Even her constant fuss around other people is self-serving, driven either by curiosity or envy or the downfall of another woman or a potential chance to find a richer husband. I wonder what needs of hers are to be met tonight.

Lena’s thoughts, however, were benevolent: she couldn’t feel any hostility towards everybody’s best buddy who wouldn’t help a dying man but neither would she add to his sufferings. She gave herself a few moments of recuperation (similar to Ridge’s, but different in nature) as her embarrassment had by now reached its peak. But realising that Marina had already disappeared around the lush bushes of the closest corner of the winding, uphill driveway and that the distance between her and Ridge was getting bigger, she quickly stepped out of the car. Instantly, her high heel stuck between the bricks. In an attempt to release it, she lost her balance, crashing to the ground. Damn it. Why didn’t he drive in? she cursed silently. Ridge, not aware of the crash, slowly continued his waddling. Still on her knees, Lena weighed up whether to put the shoe back on and run the risk of another fall or take both off and walk up barefoot. She noticed a deep scratch on the heel. It seems to be predestined that I walk my way up barefoot, she thought with annoyance. I wonder how it’s going to be on the way down.

‘A little accident?’ A deep, magnetic voice with affectionate undertones came somewhere from above. A witness to her mishap added to Lena’s embarrassment as she turned to face the owner of the magnetic voice that had instantly enchanted her.

She looked up, straight into his blue, slightly slanting eyes. The enchantment was gone. Lena didn’t like the man in front of her. In his mid-seventies, he was tall and fair, with straight thin hair and arrogantly protruding lips, and had that self-assured air about him she had often observed in people who act to impress, concealing the real person behind an artificially pumped-up, ostentatious confidence. She maintained eye contact for an instant longer, searching for the mocking spark in his steady gaze, but all she could detect was admiration: pure, genuine, sincere admiration. A frown of annoyance crossed her face, which he must have been very quick to notice, as when she met his eyes again, after managing to manoeuvre herself into a vertical position with his unobtrusive help, the rapt look had disappeared together with the air of over-confidence.

‘I am Robert and you must be Lena,’ the man said in a simple, unaffected manner, putting his hand out and pressing hers just enough to be felt. ‘Are you alright?’

Dear God, I must be imagining things, groaned Lena inwardly, nodding her head. Jumping at people for no apparent reason … I definitely have been out of social scenes for too long. And I suppose stress doesn’t help either. At the word stress, she suddenly felt overcome with indifference about how things might go for the rest of the afternoon. The dreaded moment of facing this man for the first time, topped with the embarrassment of falling at his feet, was finally over and she couldn’t possibly imagine anything more happening. Besides, Lena didn’t like the man.

‘… but my architect convinced me to keep the driveway in its original form. He reckons that it enhances the authenticity of the place. What do you think?’ The question brought her back. She looked at Robert, who was gazing at her with a merry spark in his blue eyes, evidently having fun. Without bothering to work out the nature of his merriment, Lena produced a response, which she hoped was connected to his idle talk about some architectural details—an area far from the area of her expertise or particularly keen interest.

‘Unfortunately, no concrete opinion comes to my mind right now. I haven’t seen the place yet,’ she replied indifferently, trying not to be too obvious, though.

‘Silly me,’ exclaimed Robert, giving his forehead a slight smack. ‘We have some work to do here. May I?’ And taking hold of Lena’s arm under her elbow, which for a moment awoke a pleasant reminiscence of her youth (a typical old-Russian way to escort a woman), he took charge of leading the way. Making cautious steps, she leaned on his arm more than necessary, to her amusement, actually enjoying the gentle strength of his hold. It made her realise how much she had missed a strong, directive man’s hand in her life. In a few moments, they joined Ridge and Marina who were waiting for them in front of the host’s imposing house.

2

Without opening her eyes, Lena turned away from the rays of an early sun that had found their way through a slot between the blind and wall of her bedroom window and caressingly landed on her cheek. She didn’t know what time it was, but by the position of the sun it would be at least two hours beyond her usual waking time. Lena wasn’t in the habit of indulging herself in two hours of extra sleep, even on Sundays—she couldn’t afford such an indulgence. She never thought of her life in Australia as hard or difficult and if she were asked to describe it, her description most likely would be ‘busy and enriching’. The truth, however, was that the past fifteen years in a foreign country felt like ploughing virgin soil every day. The pleasure of having time for herself was something from a very remote past, something she had dreamt about once. Her days were calculated down to the last minute, her nights turned into an extension of her days, and an occasional five-hour sleep became the greatest luxury there was.

An accomplished biochemist from Moscow and in her late thirties on arrival in Australia, Lena had courageously faced the challenges of a new life, equally embracing pleasant surprises and bitter disappointments. Fifteen years later, looking back, she was proud of her achievements. But they hadn’t come to her easily. Unremitting financial difficulties, a sweating effort to conquer the English language, a superhuman effort to complete a university degree while still profoundly limping in the language area, raising a child on her own, the humiliation of being on the dole (even though it was called Austudy) and the realisation that even if her efforts were eventually crowned with success, there would be very limited time to secure a comfortable retirement at her age were just a few challenges after reality had sunk in. But the biggest and most unexpected challenge of all was the loss of her social status. Sensing subtle, unwelcoming vibrations (in an otherwise welcoming country), Lena continued to bemoan those familiar and comfortable parameters of the scientific field back in Moscow which endorsed her social standing, providing a niche of security and acceptance, and that powerful sense of belonging: the belonging which could only be fully understood when it was lost. The undertaking of university studies, however, was not for the sole purpose of elevating her social position: she was adamant to provide a good education for her thirteen-year-old daughter Lili, who (to add irony to Lena’s efforts) had grown up and graduated from The University of Ausport before she herself had completed her studies and was now working as an interior designer in London. The sensitive issue of social status had resolved itself in the most unexpected and peculiar way, though: over time, it simply dissolved itself in its importance, becoming totally unimportant.

For the past few years, Lena had been working as a social worker at a multicultural services agency located in the heart of Ausport. She could now afford, financially and socially, to loosen the rigid boundaries of her cocoon (a subject of friendly mockery to those who knew her), yet the vacuum she felt at her settlement in Australia was still fresh in her mind and she was afraid to lose the protective walls of her tight but reassuring world. There was no need for any change, at least not yet.

Lena curled up under her military blanket (given to her by a charity organisation when she was still a student struggling to make ends meet on the miserly student subsidy, and which she hadn’t yet brought herself to replace with something more luxurious—not necessarily with a duck-down, box-stitched European sort encased in silky satin, but something simpler of domestic production), fighting the desire to indulge in another hour of sleep. But sleep wasn’t forthcoming. Instead she found herself reciting under her breath, ‘Nourishment and pampering of one’s body, soul and mind is a successful recipe for a long, happy life. Robert—’ Through her tightly closed eyes, she could clearly see the playful smile on his pouting lips. ‘Almost ugly … but intelligent, versatile, comfortable, only … only somewhat elusive.’ In a flash, Lena was back in his family room.

‘I don’t believe it. You have actually finished the restorations,’ exclaimed Ridge, not even trying to hide his excitement, totally out of character for the slow-paced, reserved Englishman. ‘And, gods in heaven, you have managed the project in such an amazingly short time. Wait a minute … when did we last visit you? Five, six months ago; I am positive it was no longer than that. You were still in the process of refining your plan. Unbelievable! And what a transformation!’

Robert listened to the torrent of appreciation with a perceptibly pleased smile as everybody who knew Ridge knew how difficult he was to impress.

‘It must’ve cost you a fortune, Robert, to elevate your already comfortable throne this way. Unless of course your throne is high enough to qualify for the taxpayers’ money for this comfort. Do you qualify?’ A cooing injection from Marina cooled Ridge’s enthusiasm. ‘We aren’t counting other people’s money, are we, Marina?’ He sharply stopped his wife from expressing her financial observations, which undoubtedly would’ve produced the exact figure of expenses.

Lena felt embarrassed. He could’ve at least tried to be more tactful with his wife in company. She glanced at Robert, meeting his silent burst of eye-flickering sparks, reassuring her that all was entirely normal between those two. Things are what they are, but they aren’t as bad as they look, she further read into his frolicsome response. And no, his throne doesn’t qualify for the free taxpayers’ money!

Slightly discouraged, but not in the least offended by her husband’s remark, Marina grabbed Lena by the hand, dragging her away from the male company and completely ignoring Ridge’s parting comment: ‘By the law of the land, my dear, the taxpayers’ money can only be utilised for the comfort of Caesar, his relatives and his friends. Anything different would be seen as perverting the nation.’

‘I want to show you something,’ she whispered, stopping in front of an ornate marble fireplace and checking that the distance from where Ridge was still presenting a very animated figure was safe. She waved her little index finger carrying a large diamond ring at the ceiling. ‘Have a look at these cornices. Have a good look at the colours. Do you see what I mean? She paused, but receiving no immediate answer from her bewildered friend continued in a tongue-twisting manner. ‘It’s a combination, you see. The combination of colours. I have seen similar cornices before … normally they would be painted in gold and beige; I suppose it’s some kind of a classic combination, but these are in gold and pink. Fancy that! Pink … a real piquancy next to gold. You can almost taste it.’ But before Lena could grasp the technicalities of the colour combination in question, Marina lost interest in the subject of her raptures. Taking a few steps towards a sliding door, she positioned herself even further away from the male company (no doubt to eliminate any possibility of being overheard) and furtively beckoned her friend.

‘What do you think of him? Isn’t he a catch?’ she breathed out with passion. But sensing that the forthcoming answer might not be to her liking and not wanting her opinion tarnished in any way, she waved her hands. ‘Don’t even try to deny it. Of course he is! And educated: Master’s degree in mechanical engineering. Education—isn’t that what you value most in people? Brilliant career, intelligent, available and most importantly, as far as I am concerned, wealthy. The man is rich and the man is available, and from what I can see, the man likes you. Not to mention that the man is extremely generous. All you have to do is be responsive, throwing a hint here and there, and you will get what you want. I know that you might see this kind of strategy as—how shall I put it—below your principles, but trust me it isn’t obvious to most people, especially if we coat them with the right coating. The bottom line is you can manipulate him without undermining your value as a woman of high ethical principles. After all, a subtle hint is not an abuse of one’s generosity, is it? Of course it’s not,’ she concluded confidently, at the same time clearing her throat as the passion and the effort she put into her mission began to choke her voice.

Lena gave her friend a firm pat on the back, casting a covert glance towards the entrance hall where they had left Ridge and Robert, hoping to pass her friend over to them, but the two men had disappeared. Marina intercepted her glance and smiled, evidently attaching her own meaning to Lena’s glance, but made no comment. She was too preoccupied with striking while the iron was hot to allow herself to get distracted. Having cleared her vocal cords, she continued in a slightly husky, more composed tone. ‘I never told anyone … but at one point I had—as funny as you might find it—thrown a net at Robert myself. Unfortunately, my net wasn’t strong enough—he fell through. It still disturbs me when I think about it. Loyalty …’ She sniffed scornfully. ‘Stupid, unnecessary loyalty. The word should be eliminated from all dictionaries and vocabularies. If it wasn’t for that word, I would’ve been the lady of this grand residence a long time ago living my fairytale life.’ Her gaze travelled slowly around the room, imbibing every single detail of the luxury that surrounded them. For a few brief moments, Marina languished in her dream.

This unexpected revelation made Lena shrivel inside. The fact that Marina spoke so openly about her previous plans for Robert in the midst of her matchmaking, and with a woman whom she was introducing to the subject of her dreams, could only mean one thing: not only had she no regard for the concept of ethical behaviour, but she didn’t believe that such a concept (or people with true ethical values) ever existed and Lena, who despite her very early embracement of Socrates’ philosophy not to appeal to what other people think, found Marina’s unequivocal display of cynicism disturbingly unpleasant as she knew that at that very moment, in the corner of Robert’s luxurious family room, her ethics presented a miserable sight. Even to Marina.

‘I wish you would change the subject,’ she implored, feeling a swift rise of heat in her chest. ‘It isn’t what you might think.’

‘What I might think!’ jumped Marina in a fit of renewed passion. ‘What I might think is what everybody else thinks and that, my dear friend, would be … Tell me, and be honest: what are the chances for a migrant woman at your age establishing a decent life in a society where forty is too old? I assure you, there is only one answer to this question and we both know what that answer is. I just don’t want to spell it out for you all over again. Too depressing. And you know the state of affairs anyway without having me chew it into a puree form for you. In your place, I would be thanking my lucky stars for this chance. You may never get it again. Decent life; isn’t that what everybody is after? Isn’t that the purpose of life? Grab it while you can.’

‘It depends on how we define ‘decent life’. Decency has got nothing to do with material abundance,’ said Lena with a little smile hovering between her slightly quivering lips, which Marina undoubtedly noticed and understood. She cast a close look at her friend, a look saturated with pity for Lena’s naivety. But to prevent a stalling point for the progress made so far, she decided to curb the excessive ardour with which she was approaching her mission.

‘You are talking about the principled side of life, aren’t you?’ Marina winced at the sound of the word principled as if she had just swallowed a bitter pill. ‘Principles don’t give you the power and freedom to play with decency and morality at your whim, to turn indecent and immoral into decent and moral, and of course vice versa. Money does—and if the money decides that whatever it might be should be made decent and moral then decent and moral it becomes. By all means,’ she continued in a deliberately softer tone, spreading wise undertones throughout the grand residence, which in their softness and insinuation could awaken the dead, ‘by all means, have your principles but make them work for you, otherwise what do you need them for? You know, the world isn’t interested in that crap as such, only in what you do with it. Learn from our Russian Natasha in the torn-to-shreds shorts. It’s all Christian Dior now, you know.’

Promotion of this kind of ethical egoism was becoming overwhelmingly too much to bear for Lena. In desperation, she cast a searching eye over her shoulder again, praying for the men to appear, but they were nowhere to be seen and nothing went unnoticed by Marina today.

‘I know that it’s not what you want to hear,’ she said, her voice ringing conciliation. ‘And I know that it’s not what your Grandma taught you from the cradle. Neither did mine, by the way. But those were different times. Somebody has to be cruel to be kind for your own good, because somehow you manage to be your own worst enemy—I don’t know how. Look at your life,’ she spat the word out with a scornful sniff. ‘If you ask me, you have no life. As far as I am concerned, you have had no life since the first day you set foot on our shores. Yes, you finally have a job and yes, you are finally earning a living and yet you are still stuck in a dingy flat with no prospect of change. You work in a place managed by a petty tyrant who is running rampant with no prospect of change there either. What a wonderful life! I promise you, my principled friend, an early grave is assured for your kind. Believe me, I know. I had your life once …’ At this point, Marina stumbled over her words and swiftly averted her eyes.

It cannot be, thought Lena in shocked astonishment. I must be having an optical illusion. It cannot be that this shameless woman who continuously boasts about her talent for dealing with life’s ruffles without a wink, can actually feel some sort of emotional pain. But the pain was evidently there in her voice, in her averted eyes and in her slumped (even though just for a brief moment) shoulders.

‘However, this isn’t about me.’ The flash of white teeth between perfectly painted bright-orange lips removed all signs of her ‘temporary weakness’, a definition which Marina, a slave to contemporary cultural attitudes, had dutifully attached to this kind of display of emotions. The old Marina resumed centre stage once again. ‘I have given you my advice and my advice is, take it.’

By this time, Lena was thoroughly desolate: the walls of this grand residence (furnished with the best of Italian furniture as far as she could judge by the room she was in), exuded no warmth, only a snobbish wealth, a late dinner was undoubtedly set to disturb her sleep tonight, Marina’s friendly but intrusive fire felt unsettling to the fundamentals of her character, and she knew that her badly scratched shoe-heel would cost her at least ten dollars to repair. Her only wish was to be returned as soon as possible to the safety of her little, dingy flat. The situation, as it appeared to her, was awkward if not hideous, accentuated by the fact that she knew that she had only herself to blame. Marina, having completed her ‘duty’ and assuming her usual carefree airs, shifted her attention to the golden tassels on the green velvet curtains which adorned all the windows including the huge sliding door, obviously a new addition to the structure, as somehow it didn’t quite complement the authentic Tudor-style features. Lena understood little in architectural styles and features: it simply didn’t feel right.

‘This place is full of taste; golden, expensive taste,’ drawled Marina with a sigh, breathing in the golden taste which, by the expression on her face, she could actually taste. ‘Don’t misunderstand me, there was nothing wrong with the house before the renovations, but now … now it’s a real gem. You see, green and gold is a classic combination of an expensive taste. Wait a minute.’ Marina stopped. A deep frown swelled between her brows as she stood confronted by a sudden puzzle. ‘How would it work with pink and gold?’ she mused, showing all the signs of a mental struggle to make the connection. The orange lips parted, the large hazel eyes behind the thick prescription lenses became larger and the strain, due to the ‘unravelling combination of colours’, surfaced by means of a dismissive and slightly frustrated wave of a sleek hand. ‘Oh well, I suppose interior designers know what they do. Strange though—’ The complex puzzle-solving process was interrupted by the sound of hasty steps behind them. Lena heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of the reappearing men.

‘Ladies, I am so sorry. I really am sorry,’ exclaimed Robert apologetically, rushing towards them with outstretched arms and a somewhat guilty expression on his face. ‘My friend here wanted to know everything and see everything. There was no chance to escape from showing him a few brief sketches. No, no, no,’ he laughed wholeheartedly, noticing a reproachful question in Marina’s large hazel eyes. ‘My fair ladies haven’t been forgotten. You will be taken on the grand tour in due course. I pledge my word. But now, I think we are all ready for that drink. I have a splendid sparkling burgundy. It’s something special.’

Robert’s eyes were fixed on Lena as he spoke and she knew that the emphasis on the word special was deliberate. Normally she would find this manner of intent vulgar, but right now, having survived Marina’s forceful sermon on life and her own personal life in particular, she wisely decided not to pass any judgements for the remainder of the evening. And she saw vulgarity neither in Robert’s intent look, nor the playful modulations of his voice.

He opened the sliding door and with an inviting gesture of his hand ushered the female guests onto a spacious verandah where a large round table, covered with a meticulously pressed white tablecloth, had been laid for four. A freshly cut bunch of asters in a crystal vase, centred in the middle of the table, attracted Lena’s attention. Her favourite flowers. She gently touched the pink tops, soft-looking yet firm to the touch, each displaying a large yolk centre; she resisted the temptation to breathe in that never-forgotten and so painfully missed grassy smell—lest she should have another accident, this time knocking the expensive vase over onto the expensive tablecloth: the shoe incident was still fresh in her mind. She wasn’t generally accident-prone but today was obviously one of ‘those days’ where she couldn’t trust herself with anything. Lena left the asters alone and took a seat at the table without waiting for a formal invitation from the host who was peremptorily detained by Marina in front of an exotic pot plant in the far corner of the verandah, demanding all there was to know about the purple ‘monster’ in the pot.

‘I give you my word, Marina—no, even better—I promise on oath that by the end of the evening you will have enough information about this man-eater to write a thesis,’ pledged Robert laughingly, trying to divert her from the object of that momentary obsession.

‘Does it …?’

‘Oh yes,’ he confirmed, casting a merry wink at Lena. ‘It swallows the homo sapiens whole without chewing. And the dead, as you know, don’t come back.’

‘But they do.’ This came from Ridge who had finally caught up with the group, exhibiting his usual laissez-faire manner. ‘They do it all the time in Marina’s world of The Bold and the Beautiful. Dead dozens of times before they actually die. I wonder what happens to one’s IQ in those circumstances.’

‘The human brain needs nine days a year of full relaxation,’ said Marina, attaching didactic undertones to her voice. ‘Can you suggest a better way to protect it from wear and tear?’ she asked playfully. And turning to Robert, she hastened to put one particular fact straight. ‘I might be leaking sensitive family information here, but it is actually Ridge who never misses the program.’

‘Now that made me think, my accomplice in crime, but I can’t. I am currently on the program,’ replied Ridge to Marina’s question, but deliberately ignoring her last comment. His initial excitement had settled and the reserved Englishman full of boundless self-respect was back. ‘What happened to that promised drink?’ he asked, gazing up at Robert while lazily accommodating himself on a chair. ‘My IQ is on its deathbed. Do you need any help?’

‘The drinks are coming and no, I don’t need any help,’ replied Robert briskly, an indulgent smile still playing on his pouting lips. The smile that, as Lena later learned, he applied to everything that Marina did or said. He went back into the house.

‘By the way,’ called Ridge after him. ‘It isn’t true what Marina is claiming regarding her program. I watch it only when I am caught on a plane and there is nothing else to watch. You know, it’s like our ministers: they read the important cables only when they are caught on a plane and there is nothing else to read.’

Lena couldn’t remember when she had last had an equally delightful and unusually surprising evening. Robert turned out to be not only a well-grounded and entertaining host, but also a person of great tact and sharp perception. Having keenly sensed her inner ripples, he made it his mission to make her feel welcomed and comfortable, keeping a healthy balance between his obvious keen interest in her and respect for her boundaries. And she, sensing his pleasure to be her knight for the evening and appreciating his tact, moved her first impression of him aside and opened herself to their unexpected mutual understanding, which she found profoundly satisfying.

Their conversation went in a pleasant flow, discounting one or two occasions when heat on the part of the composed Englishman threatened to take the group over the fine line that separated civilisation from primitivism. It was always the case when Ridge was present and politics were discussed and it was always the case that politics were discussed when Ridge was present. He had an unshakeable opinion on every political issue and no tolerance for the views of others if those views happened to be different from his.

From early adolescence, following his family-tradition, Ridge’s sympathies firmly rested with the Labor ideology and he later became a staunch supporter of the Labor Party. But he took that well-remembered Labor waltz on the stage (spontaneously performed by Paul Keating in the glory of his win over Bob Hawke) as an arrogant mockery of the mob, which, according to his conviction, only the Liberals were capable of, and radically changed his political stance. He began to vote with blank ballot papers and soon developed new interests, namely writing memoirs and, to the amazement of everyone who knew him, bushwalking. But these newly found substitutes weren’t meant to last. The emergence of One Nation swept him back into the political arena; this time right into the middle of the volatile controversy surrounding the politically incorrect founder and her policies. At first, Ridge felt undecided about his place in the new political landscape (at one point seriously considering to remain neutral), but as neutrality was never part of his make-up and the bushwalking was quickly becoming a bore, he tossed his coin and proclaimed himself an inveterate anti-One Nation for one reason and one reason only, as he confessed to Marina in a gust of physical passion: ‘Silly heads, they must be out of their minds to name things by their real names, that is, if you want to survive. Human civilisation hasn’t yet progressed that far. By all means go for the waltz if you must, but call it a tango.’

‘It’s a national disgrace which should have never happened,’ he said, emphatically winding up his prolonged tirade borrowed word-for-word from the loud propaganda at the time. Everybody smiled at Ridge’s always loudly proclaimed individuality, which, as strong as it was, still succumbed to the politics of the day. Having immediately grasped the meaning of the smiles, the Brit counteracted them with a superior smile of his own and attacked the smoked oysters before him, washing them down with burgundy. The fact was that he no longer had his previous passion for politics—except for a passionate disappointment—but from force of habit still had the need for political belonging and the occasional surge of adrenaline.

‘The issue isn’t black-and-white,’ said Robert after a moment’s silence, carefully selecting his words. ‘Substantiated opinions, I think, can be found in the grey area—’

‘People only say that,’ interrupted Ridge with a hint of condescension at his friend’s non-commitment, ‘when they don’t have any substantiated opinions or they don’t want to commit themselves to any.’

‘So, if I understand it correctly, Robert,’ murmured Marina under her breath, ‘you have committed yourself to an opinion that these aren’t smoked oysters we are consuming but hippopotamus, or whatever becomes of them when tossed into the grey area.’

‘Very funny, very funny, Marina.’ Ridge benevolently patted his wife on the shoulder and turning to Robert demanded, ‘But really, without beating about the bush, what’s your opinion?’

‘It’s not just my opinion. It’s an historic fact. It wasn’t the cooking pots containing lead that brought down the Roman Empire. The culprit was integration of the Germanic tribes,’ stated Robert in a matter-of-fact voice.

‘So, you do have a black-and-white opinion, my friend. What happened to your grey-area theory?’ asked Ridge, raising his brows at his friend’s surprising stance on the topic. ‘Because let me remind you, it’s also an historic fact that integration was the Empire’s very own creation, created by the Empire’s rampant axe across the globe. Wanting it all: that’s what consumed the Roman Empire.’

‘The grey area, as I understand it, is just an inverted extension of black-and-white meeting at the centre. The three cannot be separated and it’s the dynamics of the past and the present at the centre and how we handle them that determine our present and our future,’ replied Robert, glad to oblige.