Prussian Blue

I nod, taking his outstretched hand. "That's me. And you're Edward Carroll, right?"

"Correct," he says with a smile. "Call me Ned, like the bushranger. And who's this, Matthew didn't tell me we'd be graced with the company of a beautiful young woman?"

"This is Gisela."

Gisela blushes and curtseys. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Gisela, and no need to call me sir, just Ned."

Gisela smiles and says, "Thank you, just Ned."

For a moment I wonder if she's committed an indiscretion, and the look on her face suggests she's worried too, but Ned laughs and says to me, "A woman of humour, I like it, you're a lucky fella, Alfie."

"Oh, we're not married..." When I say this Gisela blushes even more.

Ned raises his eyebrows and shrugs. "I won't hold it against you two, sometimes I wonder if it's best to stay that way. Anyhow, come in, you've had a long day."

We follow him through the house to the rear kitchen where a stout woman with grey hair in a bob and wearing an apron is sweating over the oven, and Ned declares, "Our guest have arrived, love. Matthew's soon-to-be brother-in-law Alfie and Gisela."

Her face is very red when she turns to greet us. "Oh, my, good afternoon and welcome. I'm Myrtle. Sorry about the state of the house."

"Lovely to meet you, Myrtle," I say.

Gisela's next to me and says, "Thank you for taking us in, Mrs Carroll."

"Matthew didn't say there's two of you, but either way, you can have his old bed."

I feel my face prickle and I see Gisela turning red. "Oh, we're not together..."

"They're not married, love," Ned says with a wink to his wife.

"Is that so?" Myrtle says, eying us for a moment. "I think one of you may have to sleep on the floor then. I'm sorry, but we only have one spare bed at the moment! Our second son, Luke, arrived back from Europe not long ago and he's taken over his and our third son's bedroom."

Turning to Gisela, I tell her, "Don't worry, I've slept in worse places than on floor boards. You take the bed."

"Such a fine gentleman," Ned says, grinning, and he winks at Gisela. "You've picked a fine companion for this journey to town, of which I have no idea of the nature of the business you're involved in except Matthew mentioned something about tracking down a mate's wife and child, right?"

I give him a smile, expecting Matthew to have informed his parents of why I required accommodation. "We're looking for Gisela's sister-in-law and nephew."

"Mary," Gisela says, practically spitting her name, "Ran away from our house after we found out my brother was killed in action."

"Oh, dearie," Myrtle says with sympathetic eyes, "I'm sorry for your loss, sweetheart."

I look from Gisela to Myrtle, then to Ned. "Gisela's brother was me best mate and we served together. I made a promise to see his wife."

"War is a terrible thing," Ned says, nodding. "All of our sons fought but luckily they all survived, but we know many families touched by the blasted thing, and, well, even those who've made it back aren't in great shape."

"It's horrible to think of what men do to one another," Myrtle says. "Such a waste, but I suppose in some way it was necessary."

A man limps into the room, a younger version of Ned, quite similar to Matthew. "You two talking about the war again?"

Myrtle frowns. "Luke, we have guests, Alfred and Gisela. It's Alfred's sister Priscilla who Matthew is to marry next year."

Luke stops and looks at us, then asks me, "You served?"

"Yep, and I hear you recently returned."

"What unit?"

"Forty-Second Battalion."

"I was with the Ninth Infantry. Wanted to join the light horse like Matt did but I missed out by a few months. Took a bloody German bullet to the leg at a place called Pozières in the Somme Valley. What about you, you made it through unscathed?"

"Sucked down a lung full of chlorine gas in Belgium."

"Terrible," Luke says with a knowing nod. "The Germans love their gas, bloody horrible bastards."

I shift awkwardly, glancing at Gisela next to me who's biting her lip. She stays silent and I say, "We gassed them too, so we're equally as bad."

Luke snorts. "Bloody shoulda gassed the whole lot of them."

"Luke," Ned warns his son, frowning. "I know it's tough but we have visitors, mate."

"Alfred here understands, I'm sure," Luke says, pulling a pipe from his top pocket.

"Are you going to join us for supper?" Myrtle asks her son.

"Sorry, Mum, but I'm headed to the pub." Luke turns to me again. "If you wanna come and drink with other diggers, you're welcome to join us."

"Maybe another time, mate," I say, shaking my head. "Absolutely knackered after our journey here."

"Suit yourself, cobber."

He leaves and is out the front door when Ned says, "I do apologise for Luke. He lost a few mates."

"We all lost mates," I say.

"Takes himself to the pub most evenings and doesn't come home till almost midnight."

Myrtle sighs, having stayed out of the conversation. "I wish they'd introduce six o'clock closing times for pubs up here like they did in the southern states. It'd stop boys like Luke drowning their nightmares each night."

With a nod I'm thinking of my cobber Mick, and then I think of Luke's brother Matthew, who also fought but by all accounts is a teetotaller. "Maybe get Matthew up here to have a talk with Luke."

Myrtle's face is red, either from cooking or embarrassment, or both. She nods, sucking in a deep breath but stays silent and Ned gestures towards the kitchen table. "Have a seat and we'll have food on your plates in a jiffy."

I move to pull a chair out for Gisela and when she sits I whisper, "Everything alright?"

"I'm fine," she whispers back, "Thank you."

Supper is a lamb stew with potato, carrots and peas, wonderfully hearty food after our long day's travel. Through the course of the evening Myrtle addresses Gisela, saying, "Gisela's such a pretty name, is it French?"

Gisela flicks me a look before she answers. "My name's German, Mrs Carroll."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise, and I don't think Luke would have said what he did about the Germans earlier if he knew."

If Gisela's embarrassed or annoyed she checks her emotions, speaking plainly. "I'm not embarrassed at all by my heritage, Mrs Carroll. My parents immigrated here thirty years ago and we're highly respected in our district. My sisters and I all consider ourselves Queensland Australians, as did my brother who fought and died like so many others."

"Quite right," Ned says. "And we're so sorry to hear of your loss. Before the stupid war German folk were considered the best kind of immigrants to these shores after the British of course, even more so than my own Irish parents, rest their souls."

"We don't mind where your family's from, Gisela, you're most welcome here."

Gisela gives me another look, bemusement or something else written on her face. Afterwards Ned shows us Matthew's old room which is an enclosed veranda with open casement windows to let the non-existent breeze flow through the house.

"Are you going to be comfortable on the floor?" Gisela asks.

"I'll be fine, don't you worry about me. Get ya self a good night's sleep."

She gives me a coy smile, pulling a light night gown from her leather satchel. "Do you mind giving me some privacy for a few moments?"

"Oh, of course not!"

Soon she's under her sheet in Matthew's childhood bed, and I'm on the floor with a blanket underneath for padding and a sheet over the top for modesty. The room is stifling and I could do away with the sheet, but lie there thinking about tomorrow, meeting up with Matthew's old police Sergeant from before the war.

Gisela tosses and turns a couple of times, possibly because there's possums growling at each other outside the windows, and eventually she whispers, "Alfie, are you awake?"

"Sure am," I answer, staring at the ceiling, dimly illuminated by the pale moon outside.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything."

"Was Wilhelm a good man in the war?"

"Of course, he was the best of us, why would you ask such a thing?"

She doesn't respond immediately, then avoids my question, asking another of her own. "Did you hate the Germans when you were over there?"

"Not at all, Gisa. Is this because of what Luke said earlier?"

"You don't hate them now, even after they gassed you and killed your mates?"

"I hate their leaders." After a moment's thought, I add, "And ours. My Dad said war is mostly about old men arguing over real estate and getting young men to do the fighting for them."

Gisela moves and I can see her silhouette lying on the edge of the bed, looking down at me, hair cascading over the side. "Papa told me he's aware if he and Mama didn't immigrate to Queensland last century Will would most likely have joined the Prussian Cavalry like Papa did, and his Papa and Papa's Papa, and he'd have fought for the Germans."

With a sigh I recall my similar conversation with Ludwig. I can barely make out Gisela's face in the dark, but look to where her eyes would be anyhow. "Will was an excellent soldier and maybe it was in his blood, like it will be in your blood too, of course. He was promoted to Corporal during our training and Sergeant at a place called Messines..."

"The battle where Mick O'Riordan was wounded, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I whisper. "And his brother, Francis...you know."

"Yes, it's awful...you were with them?"

"Yes, and so was Will."

She's silent again, rolling onto her back and no longer peering over the edge of the bed. Possum growls intrude through the window again, then they scuffle in the tree outside, screeching, before one must have chased the other off. After a while, Gisela whispers, "Did you meet German soldiers?"

"I did."

"In battle?"

I shift and toss the top sheet off, sticky hot. "We were picked to raid their trenches because Will spoke German and also because he was good at soldiering."

"You raided their trenches? How do you do that, walk across from your trench to theirs?"

"Yep, pretty much."

"And they didn't hear you coming?"

"We practiced moving silent so when we crossed no man's land we were like ghosts. We became very good at it, dropping into their trenches, where sometimes Will would pretend to be a German officer, other times we'd...nab 'em."

She shifts, her hand on the edge of the bed, close enough I could reach out and touch her. But of course I'm not going to. She whispers, "You nabbed them? What were they like?"

I'm grimacing in the dark, the face of a German around my age pictured in my mind, true fear in his eyes because he knows in this contest of kill or be killed, I've got him. "Like any young lad from here, men my age. More than a few times I realised they might be my friend if we met under different circumstances."

"But you..."

She doesn't complete her sentence but I know what she means. "We were at war with each other, there was no choice but to fight and...ah, use lethal force."

Again Gisela remains silent for some time, before she says, "You fought for your lives while back here people were being plain petty. Did you know my Father was ordered by the magistrate to report to your Father every day in the first few years of the war? Many Germans who'd immigrated here were ordered to, even if they were old. Some were even sent to camps!"

"I didn't know this, no."

"Your father is a good friend to Papa and he made sure to drop by the saddlery most mornings so Papa didn't have to embarrass himself by walking to the police station and sign in. But it didn't stop people insulting us and when news came of families losing their sons and husbands, and well, people hurled more than insults."

"Mick told me Ernie Brown tried to burn your father's business down."

"Yes, he did. Other's spat on us and someone threw a brick through the front window of our house late one night. This was when Mary was staying with us and the brick landed next to her bed, near Jack's cradle."

"Shit..."

"And when Elizabeth Lewis first spoke to Martha last month about making her wedding dress, Elizabeth's fiancé was hesitant because our family is German, but Martha told him we were Polish, not Germans. He was in the Army too and told Martha how much he hated Germans, right there in our house."

"Martha said he was Italian?"

"His parents are, I think. Lots of Italian immigrants grow sugar up and down the coast apparently."

"He should be careful, because if there's another war in Europe it might be the Italians we fight next time and he wouldn't want his family treated like yours were."

"Do you think there will be another war?"

"I hope not, and over in Britain everyone's saying ours was the war to end all wars. But you know what I said before about old men fighting over real estate, they're like the possums scrapping earlier, they'll forget the price paid soon enough and have another go, it's in our nature."

"I pray it was the war to end all wars. I can't bear to think of Jack having to fight when he grows up."

"Yeah," I whisper, thinking of reaching out to touch her hand, holding back. "Don't think of these things. You should try and sleep."

After a moment, she whispers, "I hope we find Mary and Jack tomorrow."

"We'll do our best because I don't plan to leave Brisbane until we've found them."

~0~

We call the Jerry The Pig, his snoring loud enough to hear from near our lines as we filter into no man's land. The ground is boot-sucking muddy with shell craters for cover. Archie leads the way, blending in with the ground and searching for a path through barbed wire, mines and unexploded ordnance. Back home many would have called him many derogatory names on account of him being Aboriginal, but he has become like a brother, equal to any man, and is a close cobber.

He signals to wait and Will creeps forward, where they confer with hand signals. There's a knot of tension in my chest as tight as my hand is around the grip of my Lewis machine gun, my eyes scanning the lip of the trench line ahead. Will carefully slings his rifle over his shoulder and pulls his trench club from his belt, the weapon looking like something I've seen in picture books about knights and men-at-arms from the middle ages, and he signals us forward, then drops in on the enemy, saying something like, "Wer ist denn dieser Mann der bei der pflicht schläft?", mimicking a German officer. "Und ihr spielt Karten?"

Confused and surprised voices reply but it's too late, our boys are among them, hands covering mouths before the enemy soldiers have a chance to grab their weapons, cards scattered on a wooden table in the cramped sandbagged dugout, a dim kerosene lantern lighting the space.

The sleeping man, who I guess is The Pig, is awake now, watching us from his bench as some of the lads tie his four comrade's wrists behind their backs and stuff rag gags in their mouths. He reaches into his belt, producing a Mauser pistol, but Will's watching like a hawk and without hesitation he swings his club into the man's temple with a cracking thud, dropping him instantly, a gooey eye spilling from its bloody socket.

I've seen death and I've seen Will shoot a man, but this is different, and I can't tear my eyes from the dead man with his skull caved in. Will taps me on the shoulder and points to the end of the trench and I move, taking up position while Will's urging the others, "Come on, boys, get a move on."

Archie takes up position behind me and when I check around the corner of the trench, the wall erupts with dirt, splattering it all over my face. Bullets are landing all around me, more dirt flying, the rifle shots close, yelling and screaming, my weapon at my shoulder, the enemy soldier lunging with his bayonet and rifle, Archie parrying, pushing the man off, the same man pushing past and thrusting his weapon at Will, and I scream his name, Will seeing the man and dodging at the last moment, but the long knife slices through his respirator bag into his chest.

The enemy's face disappears, Archie's rifle practically against the man's head, and the corpse falls at my side. But Will has survived, and there's no time to think, and I'm firing a burst down the trench into the enemy racing towards us, dropping to the floor while firing another burst, my Lewis gun jumping in my hands, loudly ringing in my ears.

There is more yelling and screaming and I'm coughing, my lungs burning, and someone's hand's on me, a woman's voice whispering, "Alfie, wake up, please."

"Where am I?"

There are other voices too, deeply muffled coming from somewhere, tense murmurs. Gisela leans over the bed, whispering, "We're in Brisbane, at the Carroll's house. You yelled out for Will and I think I hear someone coming up the back steps."

"Huh?" I'm coughing again and Gisela rubs my back, her hair falling about me, tickling my face.

"Listen."

Slowly acquiring my bearings in the dark, I can hear it now, footsteps, the sound of someone trying to insert a key in a door lock out back. "I'll check it out."

There are other footsteps from within the house, Ned, both of us arriving at the backdoor at the same time, moonlight streaming through the kitchen window. Ned nods and I hold back, letting him open the door and Luke practically falls into Ned's arms. Slurring, he says, "What a catch, eh, Dad..."

"Come on, Son," Ned whispers, "I'll get you to bed."

"Is this the bastard who wouldn't drink with me?" He's pointing at me. "Oh and here's his pretty missus, couldn't leave her for a few hours to come to the pub, could ya mate?"

Turning to glance behind me, Gisela stands in her night gown, and I wave her away but her stare is defiant.

"Shhhh, Son," Ned's saying, "Alfred is Matt's future brother-in-law, so he's sorta like family."

Luke meets my eyes. "Was it you I could hear coughing ya lungs up? Bloody Germans and their gas, eh. You know the cure are medicinal beers and whiskey and rum, fuckin' cures all, you should try them sometime."

"I'll think about it, mate," I say, hoping he'll forget.

"Come, now," Ned's whispering, trying to drag his son gently away.

Myrtle's in the doorway to the kitchen and when Luke notices his mother his demeanour relaxes somewhat. Finally he says, "I need some water first."

Ned nods and helps Luke sit at the kitchen table. When I turn, Gisela is still there, and Luke whispers, "Sit with me, cobber."

Catching Gisela's eyes, I shrug my shoulders thinking she should probably go back to bed, but I don't say so, turning to Luke and taking a seat at the table. Ned is decanting water from a pitcher into a glass and Myrtle watches. I swallow and ask, "What troubles ya, mate?"

He doesn't answer immediately, looking straight ahead at the back door, and Ned sets the glass on the table before joining us while Luke takes a long gulp of water. Myrtle moves out of the door and I hear Gisela shift behind me, so I assume she's decided to leave us in private.

Looking into my eyes in the moonlit dark, Luke finally mutters. "You know what it was like..."

"Yes, mate, I do."

He shakes his head. "Me best cobber was killed tryin' ta save me life, stupid bastard. One second he's there above me, tying a bandage about my leg and he gave me a smile and said to me I'm gonna be fine, next moment blood starts spraying from his neck and...now when I go and drink, I drink for him and all me other cobbers, poor bastards."

"I hear ya, mate..."

Ned looks to Luke, his mouth agape but he doesn't say a thing, and I reckon he's never heard his son's story. Luke takes another swig of water before continuing. "It's absolutely fucked, me leg was shot out from under me and was in a world of pain...stupid me shoulda kept me mouth shut but I called George over and he came even though the boys were attacking, but he shoulda stayed in formation like we were supposed to. Maybe he wouldn't've died if I didn't...if he ignored me whingin'..."