‘Get out of the water, you bloody Aussie bastard!’ A British soldier waved his arms at him. ‘You’re all mad you lot — you know that, don’t you!’ he yelled. ‘Sergeant says he can’t do a thing with you lot, you’re so undisciplined!’ The soldier turned and laughed as though there was someone standing right next to him. ‘Let’s just hope we never get attacked at night, ’cause you’ll never get the Aussies out of their beds,’ he said to his invisible friend.
‘Top blokes during the day,’ the soldier answered himself.
‘Too right! Never said they weren’t. Just said at night the dead can’t wake ’em.’
Remembering Theo, he yelled, ‘You lot need to get out of the water! It’s contaminated, you blooming twit!’
But Theo didn’t listen. He was a survivor. A bit of water wasn’t going to do him in. He scrambled about like a pubescent boy in the Yarra. He thought the Turks were looking down on him from high up on the cliffs next to God. He forgot their trenches just feet away.
‘Anyway,’ he yelled to the soldier, ‘everyone knows you Poms are dirty bastards that never wash.’
Theo scrubbed at his chest with his knuckles until his skin was raw and bleeding. He’d get this place out of his system if it killed him.
The soldier watched him. ‘Your lips are turning blue. You’re going to catch pneumonia.’
Theo finally clambered out of the water onto some dry ground on the trench wall, huffing and heaving. He was closer to the British soldier now. He tried to dry himself with his wet greatcoat, then pulled on his wet shirt and put his hands in his shirt pocket. He pulled out a damp photograph. It was small and dog-eared.
‘My wife,’ he said, and held the photograph up for the British soldier to see.
‘How’d an ugly old codger like you get a sweet young thing like that? And who’s the sweet little lass beside her?’ the soldier said and Theo thought the soldier was looking straight through him as though he was a ghost
‘Stupid blighter, you shouldn’t have been in the water,’ said the soldier and then he was gone — poof. There was a noise and the bugger disappeared.
Monday, 20 December 1915, when the Turks turn a blind eye.
The pain ripped through Theo’s gut. It came without warning. It was so bad that Theo thought it must be a bullet, though he didn’t see how when he was inside the trench. He looked for blood, he slapped his hands all over his body. He checked to see if he still had all his limbs. Another razor-blade of pain coursed through his abdomen, splitting his stomach into shards. He crawled up the ladder and out of the narrow trench and collapsed onto the dusty ground. The pain ripped through his body again, it reached up to his brain and down to his toes, it was thorough and didn’t miss one bit of him and everything became a black nothing. When he opened his eyes, his eyelids hurt. His eyes were two peach stones stuck in his head, rough and stinging, his mouth was a raw gaping hole and his stomach chafed on rusty blades. He didn’t know where he was or how long he’d been there.
‘It’s all right, we’ll have you at a hospital soon,’ said a voice and he recognised the accent. Some Pommy bastard. For a moment Theo thought it was his Pommy bastard. The bastard who had stood on the top of the trench.
‘Who are you?’
‘Rose.’
‘Roses are for love,’ Theo said. ‘Didn’t work, though.’
‘Well, it’s Rosenberg, really. Reuben Rosenberg — but I don’t usually tell people that. Don’t know why I just told you, for that matter.’
‘Who are you?’ Theo asked again.
‘Royal Flying Corps.’
‘What’re you doing down here then? You should be off shooting those bloody Huns,’ he rasped.
‘We’re evacuating, remember — it’s all spare hands on deck. I land, fill up and fly off. I wait to my next shift, I can’t sleep so I see what I can do to help and I run into you, you silly bugger. You get to go first today, seeing you’re sick. I’ve called for the ambulance cart.’
Theo listened to the sounds around him. He could hear the noises of war, the guns pelting death, the screams of orders and fear. He felt so disappointed and cheated. For a moment he’d thought he was somewhere else. Then there was silence.
‘Blimey it’s cold.’ Theo felt his body begin to shiver. Just a little at first, but soon it became uncontrollable and rattled him as if he was a toy in a child’s hand.
‘Weather’s making things tough, that’s for sure,’ he heard the Pommy voice say somewhere off in the distance, ‘but we’ll have you out of here in no time.’ It was a soothing voice that lulled Theo into stillness. He was sure the war was just a dream inside his head and it had faded. It was an almighty relief. He was so happy it was over, he was sure he was making a fool of himself and crying. He felt extraordinarily tired. He wanted to sleep and not wake up till he was home. He could hear the lullaby of the surf in the distance and he suddenly felt that all he wanted was to fall asleep to its song.
He shut his eyes and murmured.
‘Who can you see?’ The voice was so gentle that Theo wanted to please it, so he took a deep breath and even though it was agony to speak he answered.
‘I know that if I could see her one more time I’d be all right.’ His voice was little more than a croak.
The far-off voice said, ‘What did he say? Sometimes I can’t understand you Aussies with your accents.’
Theo didn’t answer any more. The voice was no longer in his world.
Twenty-Nine
Reuben
When something important is lost.
Reuben Rosenberg had been in the prime of his
