STEPS

CHAPTER SIX More Secrets

My father failed me again a second time, when I was ten. The first house our family rented after many months sharing with other migrant families. Months where I had to walk my brother to his day-care then get myself to school, repeating the process at the end of each week-day. Ten years old, walking several kilometres back and forth - his little hand in mine as we crossed busy roads.

We moved into a corner house divided into two; at the back the landlord and his wife, two daughters in their late twenties. Both daughters still unmarried, still living at home, which was unusual at the time. He was much older than my father this new man-devil.

The Primary School only up the road, I'd walk home with my five year old brother, hand in hand. One day, some coins shone in the afternoon sun. I bent and picked them up, marvelling at my luck, rushing with him to the local milk bar to buy some lollies. A few days later, more coins, a handful this time. I shrieked, spent every afternoon inspecting the grass alongside the footpath on the short walk home. Sometimes I noticed the landlord standing on the corner; maybe I even nodded a hello.

One day he came into our kitchen, through the unlocked back door. He saw me surprised, frozen in place, cheese sandwiches waiting to be cut on the square Formica table. Our parents were working and not due home for a couple of hours. My brother was in the lounge out front, watching cartoons; I could hear the sounds from the squat black and white TV.

The old man drew closer; I felt his heat, heard the panting breath, like he'd been running. He asked if I'd found any coins today. How did he know?

I shook my head. "No."

"If you kiss me, if you are good to me from now on, maybe you will find more," he said, his smile encouraging, supportive.

I shook my head again, tried to back away but the stove was behind me. I was trapped.

He bent down to reach my face and I bent too, his wet lips the last sight before I shut my eyes tight. I felt his lips on my mouth as he lifted my face, the slick wetness taking me back to that other time. I knew somehow this was wrong too. My mind struggled to stay away from those memories and yet had to deal with these additional ones forming. I felt crazy in my head. This couldn't be happening again. Not again!

His hand crept off my shoulder towards my front. He fondled my immature breasts. I wriggled, trying to escape. My face wet all over, his lips suckling on my flesh. His hand strong, forcing my hand down till I was once again touching there, between his legs, the same hardness I remembered. I couldn't scream, his other hand clamping down over my mouth. I was there but I was coexisting in the other place, reliving those events also.

Breathing became impossible. I believed I would die right there because I could not take another breath. His palm clamping down, his body towering. Motionless because I held no knowledge of escape, no perception of inflicting pain in him to save myself. No understanding of how to deal with this new horror. Succumbing again, as hands and mouth groped and guzzled my body. Stuck. Bulky stove behind me, bulky human mass in front.

I pictured without warning the small wild rabbits caught in my father's headlights during our last holiday: Frozen in place, two small bright spots helplessly run over, the slight bump and my turning around to see their dark splayed corpses. Only I held darker spots in my eyes, growing, growing.

I heard his wife's voice in the backyard. "Jimmy, Jimmy, where are you?"

He pulled away, hearing her call. Adjusted his clothes, ran a hand through his hair. He motioned me to be quiet, finger on tight-drawn lips. His eyes shooting out a menacing warning: My being a bad girl again, the one who would be in trouble.