Lina at the Games (6 page)

T
HAT
night, after dinner, Lina made her father his coffee, just the way he liked it, and pulled up a chair near him at the table to look over the day's papers. Even before she read the headline, she saw the photograph: a man in swimming shorts and cap, blood streaming down his face from a gash above his eye. ‘
Vicious fighting in the Hungary versus Russian water polo yesterday afternoon shattered the 1956 Games peace
,' Lina read aloud. ‘Oh, Papa. Did you see this?'

Lina's father nodded, staring down at the shocking photograph and trying to decipher some of the English words for himself. ‘Keep reading,' he said, solemnly.

Lina skimmed through the article. ‘One of the Russian water polo players hit the Hungarian player during the match!' Lina gasped. ‘There was almost a riot in the Swimming Centre. The police had to stop the game.'

Lina's father took her hand and pressed it to his forehead. ‘
Mio Dio!
I can only thank God you were in that swimming centre today, not yesterday! How on earth did the Olympic Committee think it would be a good idea to let the Russians and the Hungarians into a pool together? They're at war!'

‘But this is the Olympics!' Lina protested, thinking of her conversation with John. ‘There shouldn't be any fighting in the Olympics – it's about sport, not war!'

‘Lina, I couldn't agree with you more,' her father sighed. ‘But imagine that you were a Hungarian athlete. You have had no contact with your family since you arrived in Australia for the Games and every day you read in the papers about all the people being killed in your home town. Wouldn't you feel angry towards the Russians?'

‘But you always told me nothing is gained by violence.You always told me that!'

‘I know,' Lina's father said, ‘I wish it wasn't this way,
mia cara
. I really do. My friends in Italy and I used to write about this kind of thing in our newspaper all the time. I felt the same way as you do, believe me. It made me so angry.'

‘Why don't you write something for the newspapers here then?' Lina said, hopefully. ‘I'll translate it for you. Go on, Papa.'

Lina's father shook his head and turned the pages of the paper. ‘No, no, I can't do that,' he said. ‘I already told you, Lina. We had to leave our country because of what I wrote. I promised your ma that I would never write these kinds of things again. I just want a quiet life now, Lina. I have no more fight in me.'

Lina felt frustration bubble up inside her. This is not what we came to Australia for, she thought, angrily. This isn't right! My father may have promised never to write about these things but that doesn't mean I can't. And, at that moment, Lina knew what she would write about for the school magazine. Dawn Fraser was a hero and everybody loved her, but Sarah could write the cover story about Dawn. Lina had something else in mind. Something much more personal.

All that night, Lina wrote. This time she didn't disguise the facts in a story of make-believe characters; this time she wrote her family's story as truthfully and honestly as she could. Finally, when the moon was high in the sky and even the neighbours had fallen quiet, Lina put down her pen. Beside her, Nonna snored loudly. Lina gently pulled the scarf off her lamp to let more light spill across her page and read the first few lines of what she had written:

I am an Australian Girl. Just because my parents were born in Italy and we speak Italian at home doesn't mean I am not as Australian as Dawn Fraser or Betty Cuthbert or any of our other Olympic heroes. When they run or swim I cheer for them as loudly as anyone else in the audience . . .

Lina read it right through. When she was finished, she closed her notebook, feeling satisfied. The story contained everything she wanted to say. Now all she needed to do was type it up on Sister Rosemary's typewriter. She hoped so much they would like it.

The following Monday, Lina met Sarah and Sister Rosemary in the library at lunchtime to fit the final stories into the magazine.

‘So, do I need to read both your Dawn Fraser articles to decide which one is going on the cover?' Sister Rosemary said mischievously.

‘No,' Lina said quickly, before Sarah could boast about her private interview. ‘I decided not to write about Dawn after all. Sarah's story can go on the cover. I've written a different story.  We can fit mine on another page.'

Both Sister Rosemary and Sarah looked at Lina curiously.

‘Well, all right,' Sister Rosemary said. ‘I'll look forward to reading your new story then.'

‘Me too!' said Sarah.

Lina knew they were surprised that she had let the front cover story go so easily, but it didn't feel important anymore. She had written the story she wanted to write. Now all that remained to be seen was how the girls at St Brigid's responded to it. Lina felt nervous at the thought. They all liked the story about my family in assembly, she assured herself. This one is not so different from that.

Within a couple of days the magazine was ready to hand to the Mother Superior for printing. A buzz of anticipation swept through the school and when Lina crossed the courtyard, she could hear the girls chatting about it.

‘I wonder what it's going to look like?'

‘I have a story in it!'

‘I can't wait to see my drawings.'

‘Look, that's Lina. She's one of the editors.'

Lina felt herself fill with pride. It had been such a huge job, and she and Sarah had worked so hard for such a long time. Fingers crossed the students would be happy with the end result.

W
HEN
Lina arrived home from school that afternoon she was surprised to see her mother was already back from work. Not only that, but she and Lina's grandmother were all dressed up as if they were going to church – Lina's mother in a frilly floral dress and her grandmother bursting at the seams of her best black skirt and blouse.

‘What's going on?' Lina asked, worried she had forgotten something important.

Lina's mother smiled. ‘I know you would have liked your father or me to go and see some of the Olympics with you but we couldn't because we were working. So, I thought we could watch the Closing Ceremony together. I came home early especially.'

‘Really?' Lina gasped. ‘At the MCG?'

Lina's mother looked at Nonna, who grinned cheekily. ‘No, no, that was booked out ages ago,' she said. ‘We're going to watch it on
television
!'

Lina's face crumpled in confusion. ‘What are you talking about? Who do we know who owns a television?'

‘Myer!' both the women said at once and clutched each other, shaking with laughter.

‘The Myer windows are full of them,' Lina's mother explained when she had stopped laughing. ‘Your nonna was in town today and she said that there were crowds of people in front of them watching the Olympics. So we thought we'd go tonight.  To watch the Closing Ceremony.'

‘And take a picnic,' Nonna said, pointing to an overflowing basket on the bench. Poking out from under a starched white cloth, Lina spied a crusty loaf of bread and a bottle of wine.

‘Your father's coming, too,' Lina's mother said, ‘he's gone to ask the Campilleris if we can borrow their folding chairs.'

Just then Enzo came running out of his bedroom in his Sunday best.

‘You're coming too, Bean Sprout?' Lina swung him up into her arms and squeezed him tight.

‘And Bruno! And Rino!' Enzo squealed. ‘And Zio!'

‘The whole family,' said Lina's mother, patting her daughter's cheek tenderly. ‘It was a surprise. For you,
mia cara
. For working so hard on that school magazine.' She looked away shyly. ‘It was your father's idea, actually. He's very proud of you and that magazine, you know. He talks about it all the time.'

‘All the time,' Nonna chimed in, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. ‘
Mama mia
!'

Lina was surprised. She'd thought it was just a little secret between her and her father – she hadn't realised he'd been telling everyone about it. It felt nice that her father was proud.

‘Go on, then. Get changed,' Lina's mother urged. ‘There's a dress on your wardrobe.'

Lina dropped Enzo to the floor and dashed into her bedroom. There, hanging on a wire hanger hooked to the front of the wardrobe, was the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. She gasped.

‘It's not new,' her mother apologised, sidling up beside Lina and stretching out her fingers to caress the pale green material. ‘It was Mrs Portello's daughter's. But she only wore it once or twice . . .'

‘It's beautiful, Mama!' Lina whispered, unhooking the dress and holding the cool silky material to her cheek. ‘Thank you
so
much.' She looked up at her mother, overcome with emotion.

Her mother looked away, embarrassed. ‘Can you be ready in twenty minutes?' she said briskly.

‘Of course,' said Lina, fastening her eyes back onto her beautiful new dress. The moment her mother closed the door, she slipped out of her uniform and slid it over her head. It fit perfectly. Lina spun around in the mirror and the chiffon skirt floated about her like emerald clouds.

If only those girls at school could see me now, she thought, her heart bursting with pride. She had never felt more beautiful.

Lina's family stepped off the tram, picnic chairs and baskets tucked under their arms, and wound their way through the crowds along Bourke Street. Everyone in the city was dressed in their best clothes, and the mood was joyful. People smiled at Lina in her pretty green dress and she even noticed a group of teenage boys look her up and down. Lina felt herself blush and she grasped onto Enzo's small hand even tighter to pull him along behind her.

‘
Scusi
!
Scusi
!' Lina's nonna called bossily, jostling her way through the mob of people stationed in front of the Myer windows. As the Closing Ceremony hadn't started yet, most people were still milling about and Nonna was able to clear a small space for their chairs right in front of the glass. Lina's mother laid out a picnic rug and her brothers sat down with the baskets on their laps. Lina went to sit beside them, but her father pulled out a picnic chair and bowed theatrically. ‘Not in a dress like that,' he said, smiling.

Lina grinned and sat on the canvas chair, crossing her ankles daintily. Her father folded his long legs and sat on the rug beside her. ‘A little
vino
?' he whispered, passing her an empty glass. ‘To celebrate?'

‘Papa! I'm only twelve!' Lina said.

Her father smiled ‘A little wine mixed with water won't hurt.'

‘Your father was drinking alcohol in primary school!' Lina's mother teased.

Lina looked at her father, who shrugged. ‘My grandmother would give me a shot of
Marsala
mixed with coffee and a raw egg yolk each morning before school. She thought it would help me concentrate.'

Lina grimaced. ‘Ew!'

‘What?' said Lina's father, pretending to look insulted. ‘Everyone did it!'

Lina's mother rolled her eyes. ‘Your poor teachers!'

Nonna unpacked the baskets and passed around food. Lina placed a cotton napkin on her lap so she wouldn't dirty her dress, and helped herself to a chunk of crusty bread and a stick of salted cucumber. Her father rubbed some slices of ripe tomato onto her bread, and Lina ate it with a leaf of basil. Picnics were her favourite meals. Lina remembered the fancy, pretty meals Mary's mother used to prepare, many of the ingredients from tins and boxes. Their food may be fashionable, but I prefer my family's Italian cooking any day, she thought.

‘Look!' Bruno said, pointing to one of the televisions. ‘It's about to start.'

Lina brushed the crumbs off her hands and skirt, and stood up to get a better view. Her mother and father crowded in beside her and many others pushed in closer, too. There was lots of loud cheering and clapping as the first little figures appeared on the television screens.

‘My goodness!' said her father. ‘I've never heard of that happening before.'

‘What?' asked Lina, shading her eyes from the slanting sunlight and peering in through the glass.

‘Look!' he said pointing to the small black and white screen. Lina looked at what her father was pointing at. At first she didn't understand. All she saw was a winding train of athletes in their regular clothes, pouring into the stadium, some of them waving at the cameras.

‘Well, I never!' said a stout man on Lina's left.

‘Who would have thought?' said the woman beside him.

‘Turn the radio up!' someone called out.

From close behind Lina, the crackly sound of a newsreader's voice came over the radio. Everybody quieted down to listen: ‘For the first time in Olympic history, athletes participate in the Closing Day Ceremony. A local Chinese boy made the suggestion, the IOF approved, and thus began an innovation for the Olympics. Indians alongside Americans, German with French, Australian with Orientals, Occidental with European, the Forward March imbued with common ideals . . .'

‘A new Closing Ceremony!' exclaimed the woman on her right.

‘Suggested by a local boy,' cried out another.

‘I wonder who he is?'

‘Yes, who could he be?' the crowd wondered aloud.

Lina covered her mouth to hide her smile. She couldn't believe it. They had read John's letter! And used his idea!

Where are you now? Lina wondered, looking up into the vast Melbourne sky, turning pink as the sun slid towards the horizon. In the distance the faintest stars were beginning to appear. John Ian Wing you are
famous
. Have you seen this? Do you know?

Lina couldn't wait to find out.

The next morning, Lina woke up feeling like her world had shifted. Everything that had once seemed so gloomy floated out of her like specks of dust lit up by the sunshine, floating, spinning away from her and out the bedroom window. She felt bright and clear and strong. The magazine was finished and, just as she'd secretly hoped, her father was proud of all the work she'd done. On her grandmother's cupboard the green dress shimmered like an exotic beetle. Suddenly, her room no longer looked small and dingy and crowded with her grandmother's musty old things. Now it was interesting and colourful and full of treasures.

Lina couldn't
wait
to see John again on the bus to find out if he knew how his letter had changed the Games. It was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. She knew someone
famous.
Someone whose words had made a difference, and he had only just turned seventeen! Lina was desperate to tell someone. Anyone.

She thought about Sarah. Maybe she could tell Sarah? Only Sarah – and then make her
swear
to secrecy? Lina knew that Sarah would be impressed. Mary wasn't interested in the importance of words but Sarah was. Lina didn't even need to tell Sarah who he was, just what he'd done.

Lina imagined what Sarah might say. She'd be surprised. She might not even believe Lina at first, but when Lina told her all the details, Sarah would definitely want to know more. After all, what was the fun in knowing someone famous if you couldn't tell a friend?

But
is
Sarah my friend? she wondered. We did that whole magazine together, she told herself sternly. Of course we're friends. And maybe . . . maybe she'd even want to come back to my house? Maybe once she meets my family, and sees how lovely they all are, she'll understand that just because we speak Italian doesn't mean we're not hard-working or clever.

Lina's daydreaming lingered all morning through breakfast and her chores, and even made her miss the early bus to school. Arriving just in time, she ran through the gates, past the library and straight to the lockers, where she knew she would find who she was looking for. Lina caught a glimpse of Sarah's swinging blonde ponytail down the hall and jogged to catch up with her.

But just as she rounded the corner, Lina caught a glimpse of Mary, coming straight towards them. Lina slipped back behind the wall to wait until Mary had passed. She certainly didn't want
Mary
eavesdropping on her exciting news. To her surprise, instead of walking straight past Sarah like she normally did, Mary stopped.

‘So,' Lina heard Mary say in a cool voice. ‘Looks like you've got a new best friend, Sarah?'

Lina heard Sarah snigger. Her stomach dropped and she listened closer.

‘Who,
Lina
?' Sarah said. ‘Are you kidding? Just because we're working on the magazine together doesn't mean we're
friends,
Mary. She's a wog! How can I be friends with a
wog
? Could you imagine what my
father
would say?'