A life completely unexpected

A life completely unexpected 

The hedgerows and fields were a seductive green with the occasional bended heads of the wheat fields as I looked out of the train window trundling its way North. I had been away for four years living with a group of aboriginals people south of Ayers Rock, not far from Alice Springs. It delighted me to see the English countryside livestock, enjoying the lush spring grass. They seemed docile and tranquil, so different, from the scorched barren lands of central Australia inhabited by wild animals.

I was going home to see my mother, if I could call it that, as my home was now with a community of Aboriginals. She was living alone in the house where she had been born. I was anxious about facing a woman having difficulties with accepting old age. In her last letter she complained about aches and pains, and a deep feeling of loneliness. She also wrote to me about the absence of not having the presence of young people around her. 

She had had a difficult life dominated by two tragedies. Mum always told me that her adult life started out with such a promise of happiness. She married a local boy, and they founded a family of two boys, me and my brother. Five years after our births dad died of cancer. This inevitably created financial problems as our father only left her with a modest amount of money destined for their boy's education. Mother soon realized that keeping two boys fed, clothed and schooled would mean going back to her previous job before her marriage as secretary to the owner of a large local building contractor. Apparently the owner was delighted. 

The next tragedy was that at 18 years old my brother was killed in an auto-mobile accident. At the time he was not driving but out with friends at one of the local parties. Five teenagers died in the accident. Drugs were the cause.

After university my plan was to go, with a friend, and live in Australia. My mother, bless her, never understood my reason. She would, no doubt, be waiting at the station full of love and sorrow; such difficult partners.

As the train drew in I saw her through the window. At first sight I was shocked to see a head of white hair perfectly groomed on a smartly dressed woman. I realized she must be over seventy years old. Gone were the days of her youthful profile, but nevertheless she stood erect without the use of a walking stick. As I stepped from the train she rushed forward to hug me. I sensed an outpouring of love and deep hidden emotions. She then stood back and just looked at me. I noticed small drops of tears in her eyes

“You look so brown, so strong, so handsome. It’s been so long, you will never realize how I miss you.” All I could do was to turn my head away to hide the tears that were starting to swell up. She took my hand and said.“Let's go home.”

Over lunch we let our conversation wander down memory lane. Often our eyes just gazed at each other. I asked her if she was still working. She told me her boss and her are like two old boxers in their last round of life’s fight. He goes into his office twice a week and insists that I come with him. He sends me a car for the occasion. He has been very kind to me. We then talked about the family, our neighbors and friends. Finally I asked how is Emma?

“Oh! she waited for you. She was often around here asking for your news. The poor girl…….. how she loved you. Your news never came until a year and a half after you left. I think waiting for news from you for over a year made her realize you might never come back. Emma was so desperate to have a child. Finally she married a local school teacher. He is a pleasant man, quiet, with good manners. So far they have no children. I know about all this as Emma pops in occasionally. You will meet them when you accompany me to church on Sunday.”

“Mum I realize communicating with you has been difficult but you must understand the Aboriginal people don’t have a fixed address they spend their time wandering about their lands. This means you have to arrange a box office number at the post office in a nearby town, but nearby might mean hundreds of miles.”

“One afternoon you must sit down with me and explain in detail your life in Australia, where you live and with whom. But now I am too tired and need a rest.”

Sunday came. The church was pleasantly full. There was Emma standing beside her husband looking like she did over four years ago. In her case it seemed time had stopped. She was a very attractive woman with a facial profile that showed a tender and kind spirit. One was immediately drawn to her. Long fair hair extended down her back in curly waves. The man beside her, no doubt, her husband was tall and projected a sense of being a serious, cultured individual. Before I took my seat I stood there in the aisle and just looked at her, she looked at me as though I was a ghost. In that fraction of a second I saw in her blue eyes that her love for me had never been completely distinguished. I saw her husband bend down towards her to ask a question. As she turned to him, I quickly took my place. 

After the service my mum and I waited for Emma and her husband. Emma hugged my mother while she did so her eyes were focused on me. 

She turned to me, she said. “What a surprise, don't they say all bad pennies turn up one day. It looks as if you have just walked off a film set. Let me introduce you to my husband. Daniel, meet an old friend, Mrs Hawkins' son. The son that left us for a life in Australia.”

We shook hands and nodded our welcome. The hand was indeed the hand of a teacher, warm and gentle, quite the opposite to the Aboriginal hands, hard and strong from working. As they started to step away Emma turned back and discretely asked me. “Would you and your mother come for lunch on Tuesday at midday? Your mother knows where we live.” She did not wait for the reply and hurried to catch up with her husband. 

“What was all that about?” asked my mother.

“We are invited to lunch Tuesday.” 

Tuesday was a splendid spring day, cloudless skies, a gentle wind blowing from the south. Emma lived in a charming old cottage with a small terrace at the back extending onto a lawn enclosed by several herbaceous borders. It was the dawning of the spring and borders were showing the signs of life. Emma told us lunch would be another half hour in the meantime she suggested we go and sit on the terrace. My mother declined saying. “It was not warm enough for her but you young things go ahead as I am sure you have a lot to catch up on.” 

For a few minutes we sat there just looking at each other. She was dressed in a pretty spring cotton shirt-waster. Hair perfectly groomed, eyes made up, skin lightly powdered, no lipstick. She could have been a model for a photograph of country life. 

“I am not sure I want to hear about your life in Australia and why you went there. I waited for over a year for news. The news never came. My body ached to have your arms around me and for me to give you a child. This sensation I could not bear any longer, so without any hope of seeing you again I married a very decent man. It is not my dream of a love match but totally acceptable. Unfortunately our marriage has one enormous problem. After extensive efforts and many doctor consultations my husband seems incapable of giving me a child. The doctors have concluded my husband is probably sterile. Before I go in to finish the lunch I have one incredibly delicate question to ask you.” She paused her eyes looking deep into mine. “Would you try and give me a baby? Of course it would be kept a closely guarded secret between us.”

I sat there stunned not quite knowing how to reply, given the circumstances it was an extraordinary request, bold and in some ways charming.

“Do you intend to use me as a sperm bank?” 

“Well, yes, but to be truthful I have never stopped loving you. I know you will return to Australia and overtime the past will be overtaken by the present and I will be lost in the mists of your memory. In some strange and warped way if we have a child I will feel always connected to you”

“You know I am returning to Australia in four weeks time.”

“No I didn’t, but next weekend would be perfect as my husband is away on a conference. Also it’s that time of the month.”

“Tell me, have you been contemplating a plan of this nature for a while when you knew I would be visiting my mother?”

“No, not at all. It came to me when I saw you on Sunday in the Church. All those years ago when you held me in your arms came flooding into my mind. I am haunted by a burning desire to have a child. It suddenly occurred to me that I might have found the answer. It is a known fact that supposedly infertile males can suddenly become fertile.” 

“Let me think about it.” 

There was an aspect I thought interesting , but there was also a side that could result in permanent emotional anxiety. Could I accept knowing I have a son or daughter who I am estranged to.

“Next week-end we could go to Skegness. I have an aunt living there which gives me a good excuse”. 

“I see you are quite determined to try and persuade me.” 

She left me sitting there deep in thought as she went to finish preparing the lunch. I thought about my life and the people that had helped me and influenced me. It is true before and while at the university I had a deep affection for Emma , was it love, I am not sure. But what I was sure about was that I did not want to settle down living a small town existence, babies and weekly visits to the parents. That lifestyle was not for me. I needed space and to live, close to nature, away from the crowds. Away from the telephones, the new papers, the television , the ridiculous continual advertising of the beautiful world full of beautiful people, the crowds, the stress of work in a capitalistic system where a person's word was never trusted unless a lawyer was involved. This was not for me. 

I knew if I had gotten seriously involved with Emma she would drag me into a world I detested. It was when a friend I met at university invited me to go with him to Australia. The fulfillment of my dreams was at hand. 

His name was Mark Harrison but he told me his name in a Aboriginal community was Jiemba. 

He was a delightful individual with a fascinating background. I met him because I was fortunate to receive a scholarship to Oxford’s Rushkin school of art. We instantly became friends. I was attracted to his views and philosophy on life. His deep understanding of nature and man’s position in the world. He was an extremely talented painter and was most patient in helping me to improve my technique. We shared a room together. 

One night over a few beers he told me his life’s history. He was born to the only daughter of a wealthy farmer from the Darwin region. His father was an aboriginal senior member of his community. He occasionally worked on the farm. My father got his daughter pregnant. The scandal, if known, would have been catastrophic for the farmer’s family. The pregnancy was quickly covered up by the daughter being forced to marry a son of a nearby farmer. In a further move to cover up the scandale the baby was declared dead at birth to the outside world. The child’s aboriginal father signed a paper for complete secrecy by accepting a handsome amount of money and the agreement that he would never contact the farmer’s daughter again. He was given the child in a hushed secret meeting. 

As an infant he was raised in his father's community. At the age of fourteen his mother came to collect him and employed him on the farm as a house boy. Her husband and her father had died a few years earlier. My mother remarried but that did not last long. The time he arrived at the farm she was single. She immediately saw that he had a special talent in the artistic world. Mark was her only child she had. When not attending to her fortune and farm she spent time with him. She was determined he should go to a European university. Her choice was Rushkin, Oxford, England. Mark believed with a handsome endowment and his talent he was accepted. 

We spent four happy years together enjoying all the privileges and entertainment of the university. Occasional I went up north to see my mother and on three occasions took Mark. I remember my mother treated him like her lost son. When I introduced him to Emma he told me he was quite taken with her beauty and gentleness of spirit. She came up to Oxford a few times. The highlight of her visits was the commemoration ball. She made me extremely proud to escort her. At that time Mark was attached to a French art student. We represented two good looking couples. 

My thoughts were broken by the call to lunch. 

As my mother and I were leaving after enjoying an excellent meal I took Emma aside and quietly told her I was in agreement for Skegness on condition that if the result of our weekend were positive she would appoint my mother as the child’s Godmother and she would treat her like a Grandmother. 

We went to Skegness. At first both of us were a little shy and nervous. Emma was amazed how brown and muscular my body was. I complimented her on how well she was looking after herself. Slowly with great tenderness we fell into many satisfying love making sessions. The few times we took to go and eat in a restaurant we discussed our thoughts about the future and my life in Australia. Emma’s future lay in having a child, living close to her parents and the place she has always known as home. Her marriage to a gentle and kind man that respected her completed her vision of their future. With a touch of sadness I told her it was the complete opposite of how I saw in my future. 

My four weeks' visit passed as quickly as a summer storm. I saw Emma a few times at church and my mother invited her and her husband for dinner. It was a pleasant evening and I was delighted to find out Emma’s husband was the man she described to me. 

My mother drove me to the train station holding back tears of sadness, we hugged, I waved goodbye. That morning I had called Emma with the wish that a memorable weekend in Skegness would result in her happiness. 

Sometime I was in Alice Springs to pick up my post. My mother's letter was full of Emma and her baby girl. She was now a Godmother. Two years later she came out to Australia to visit me full of her responsibilities of being treated as a Grandmother. Unhappy while with me she suffered a heart attack . She was buried in Alice Springs surrendered by the aboriginal community that was my home

Many years later an extremely attractive young woman walked into a Mayfair art gallery specializing in Aboriginal and Australian art. She was greeted by an older, well dressed, handsome man. She took a long, careful look at him. In a clear slightly emotional voice said. “You are my father, my mother sends her love.”

David Nutt                                                                                        October 2024