THOSE AWAKE... 

By Tessa Harvey

Drifting back in time, Imelda recalled a story her mother had told her.

    "My mother's dad was Italian and my mother was christened Stephanie Maria Carmella Carnivalli."

    Grayson tried not to smile, so as not to interrupt the flow of the story, but Imelda laughed aloud. "Yes, a bit of a mouthful, but they were very proud of their first child - and, as it turned out - their last."

    "Sylvie," as they called her for short remembers slipping out of her room at night. She would check on her little brother, sleeping diagonally opposite. The flyscreens were old and badly fitting. In this strange new city of Adelaide, the mosquitoes swarmed in every evening. For some reason they stayed motionless on the old ceiling far above Alfredo's bed

    Anxiously, Sylvie would try to stay awake to protect him from the threatening insects. But sometimes she removed the flimsy flyscreen and and crept outside, carefully replacing it as snugly as possible.

    She would sometimes walk as far as Colonel Light's statue overlooking Adelaide. The huge Moreton Bay figs seemed to protect her in the partial darkness. The city glowed like jewels below.

    Once or twice she went past her German teacher's house. The old lady had recognised here loneliness and often asked around for a cup of tea.

    Grayson was listening intently as darkness closed around them. He did not like to interrupt, sensing these memories were important to Imelda, giving her an insight into her mother's life as a migrant.

    Moving quietly, Gray lit some lamps before resuming his seat.

     Imelda kept re-living her mother's story. "The elderly teacher used to gently rebuke Sylvie for taking four spoonfuls of sugar in her tea. But she was there for her. One night a terrible thing happened." Imelda paused.