standing still, a silent pull

within every artist

there is a deep ache.

though within we’re tipped and torn

we move through each day

standing still,

a silent pull

of every mistake

resounding.

never advancing,

there is a deep ache.

there is a deep ache.

She could still remember the uneven, powdery streets of the wintery Hungarian town with detailed intricacy. Flowing through the scratching pencil onto the pages of her little black book were the memories of home - the dusty stratosphere unencumbered by powerlines or city skylines, where squirrels still roamed free and her grandmother’s garden lay bare, ready bloom in Spring. Kata recalled every nuance, conveying even the unseen through her art so that if one were to peak over her shoulder on the city bus, they would somehow feel the crisp wind and taste the goulash in the air, steadily wafting from her grandmother’s kitchen. And if that person were to stop Kata’s process and ask to flick through the pages, they would not only survey a technically skilled artist, but feel the longing ache of nostalgia and the essence of home on every fine line.

But there was no person peering over Kata’s shoulder, and nobody would see Kata’s art, (except maybe her dog Zigi). In Kata’s solitary journey from the bookstore on the edge of city, she penned and processed her thoughts and ideas, translating moments of time into stunning scenes and simple poetry. It was a therapeutic time for her, yet at the end of each day Kata would remark quietly to herself that circumstances remained the same, and the dull monotony of those days would roll onward indefinitely. Zigi would enjoy the same kibble every night; Kata’s daughter would still be four thousand kilometres away; the grizzled, short-tempered owner of the bookstore Kata manned daily would remain grizzled and short-tempered, and when she got home there would be no mail in the letterbox or voicemails on the answering machine. Kata would mark another line on the side of her fridge to signify yet another day sober, with a terrible bitterness building within her.

These moments of expression through her fingertips were sacred to Kata, for it was the only time to communicate the torrid tension in her spirit. For the simple and sweet scenes of yesteryear were not really special in any way - she could just as easily draw the sights of today in her journal. Yet there was a tender innocence within these etchings, as though the hopefulness of her youth could somehow be accessed mystically through these pages. Perhaps one day she would draw these days instead, looking back with the same pain and longing - using her pencil to mark the exact lines of Zigi lying beside her mat instead of on it, by the window where dragonflies danced on the glass. Or maybe she would sketch the telephone by the bookshelf, with deep lines instead of soft strokes, imparting all the days of waiting onto the page, all the days leading to the day the phone actually rang.

The bus stopped in front of Kata’s home. She stepped off clutching her black book, and suddenly was pulled out of her trance. Her heart felt as though she skipped a step coming off the bus, but she was now standing on solid pavement. For a moment Kata paused, unsure of her senses. Then, she was pulled swiftly down the walkway, unlocking the front door, chasing the sound of the ringing telephone.

Kata finally burst through the doorway and fumbled with the light switch while Zigi jumped excitedly on her, saying hello. Kata pushed her dog aside and rushed with her mouth wide open, reaching for the phone.

“Rozi?!” Kata yelled into the mouthpiece.

There was a pause on the other end, and Kata was compelled by the sheer emotion of this moment, producing a loud sob.

“Hello… This is Istvan Toth from Hungarian Consule…” a voice replied in broken English.

Kata blinked back her tears and her mouth fell open again in shock, though this time it was from the whiplash of sudden disappointment. Kata was not listening anymore and her grip on the phone slackened for a moment. As she began to regain her composure, Kata heard the words “will and testament” being spoken through the earpiece.

“Um, sorry, could you please repeat what you just said?” Kata asked, clearing her throat.

There was a sigh, and Mr Toth asked Kata if she spoke Hungarian.

“Yes, of course,” Kata replied in her native tongue. Mr Toth explained to Kata that her uncle had passed away three days ago and left everything to Kata’s parents. It had taken those three days for representatives to know that Kata’s parents were themselves deceased, so efforts had been made to contact Kata all day. Kata vaguely observed the blinking light on the answering machine. Mr Toth continued to explain to Kata that a cheque would be arriving soon in the mail. He apologised for her loss.

Kata simply replied asking how much would be arriving.

“4,521,087 forint… in Australian dollar, around $20,000.”

Kata’s emotions turned again, her heart spinning with elation, her mind racing with the possibilities of what she could do with that money. She hung up the phone feeling a high no substance could bring - hope.

Nothing practical came to mind, such as investing the money or using a portion on upcoming bills. No, there was a wildness about her, a frantic spirit. She skipped through ideas like sending some money to her daughter, or buying her something special - that way, for once, Kata would be the hero instead of the villain. It would make up for the lost years and everything would be fine again. Or perhaps she could buy some real art supplies, new clothes. Or she could leave her job, start a business, buy a car so she didn’t have to take the bus everyday…

Then Kata gasped. She swept Zigi up and danced with her dog, realising this money could be used on what she longed for every day.

Kata sped to her computer, firing it up for the first time in months. It took too long, buzzing and whirring to life while Kata impatiently fidgeted and spun on her chair. She sang to her dog - “Mummy’s going home, mummy’s going home…”

But then, those words inspired guilt, a strike of pain going through her chest, as Kata remembered once again her daughter on the other side of the country. So when the computer finished waking up, Kata checked flights going to Perth instead of Hungary.

Kata pondered her options, pursing her lips and thinking carefully. Flights were only $500 (the cost of rent and food to feed herself and her dog for the next week, though of course this did not cross her mind), and she was getting $20,000. It wouldn’t hurt to just see how much flights to Hungary would be… Flights one way averaged around $3000. So Kata could have it all. She could go and see Rozika, and then visit home…

But imagine… Kata had enough for flights to Perth, and to take two people to Hungary…

Zigi pawed at Kata.

“Hold on, Zigi,” Kata said impatiently.

She went to the telephone for the second time today as the house slowly grew darker, ignoring her dog’s whining for dinner. Kata dialled in the only number she knew by heart, and waited, confident, ready. If she could visit home with her daughter, it would be a warm embrace of the past, giving meaning to the escape of communist state with her parents so long ago. It would bring redemption of the lost years since then, the time brutally murdered by addiction and broken marriage. It would mend the relationship between mother and daughter. Kata was pulled out of her imaginations of the places she would show Rozi and the heroic fortune it would be, by the gentle voice speaking through the phone line.

“Hello, this is Gordon speaking.”

“Gordon. It’s me. Kata.”

There was a silence, and Kata knew Gordon would be frozen in shock, perhaps even disgust, at the sound of her voice. She held her breath as she waited for his response.

“Oh, um, hi,” he said awkwardly. “Uh… what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I b-” Kata cut herself off, deeply wanting this to go well, “I’m fine. I’m great actually. Can I please speak to our daughter?”

Kata heard her ex-husband struggle to find words, until he eventually said slowly, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” He said quieter, “I thought we agreed to re-establish custody after you’re clean.”

“I am clean,” Kata said quickly. “It’s been a year and two months today.”

“Oh. That’s great, I’m glad. Uh, congratulations… I still… I dunno, Roz is doing great and I just…”

“She’s my daughter, too.” Kata firmly said. Her argumentative spirit seemed to break through without her permission. Regretting that she quickly added, “Gordon, I just want to see her. I’m clean, and I have money now! I can come and fly over, or I can drive and bring Zigi… Zigi misses Rozi too! Doesn’t Rozi want to see her dog?”

Gordon sighed, sounding tired. “Please don’t do that guilt trip thing. I’ll… I’ll talk to her, okay?”

“Can you talk to her now? I can be there soon! As soon as I can, you just say the word and I’ll be there!”

“She’s doing her homework… I…” Gordon swore. “Okay, I’ll go and ask her now.”

It was a few minutes while the phone was silent and Kata waited anxiously while Zigi panted and pawed the ground with similar emotion. Suddenly it seemed ridiculous to ask permission to take her daughter overseas after all this time. Kata felt hard done by, cheated by this unexpected cash that at first seemed to grant her with immunity from past mistakes, yet actually made no difference after all. The artist in her had been so quick to fantasise a perfect future, but as she realised there was no such thing as a magic wand, she felt beaten by a bitter sadness.

“Kata,” Gordon said on his return. “Rozi needs time to think about this. It’s kind of all just sprung on her, and…” he spoke quieter again, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear him. “I’m sorry, but she doesn’t really seem excited by the news. I don’t know what to tell you..”

Suddenly, Gordon sounded deadly serious. “But Kata, I swear, if you tell her you’re coming, and don’t show up, it will disappoint her. That would be it for her and you.”

“I understand,” Kata said. “I… I’ll talk to you later, Gordon. Thank you.”

She hung up the phone, feeling deflated… heavy.


Zigi had had enough of waiting by this point, and began to bark at her owner. Kata sighed and got up, taking with her a bubble of dreams and ideas. As she fed her dog the computer stayed on the screen with the $3000 flights, the living room lit up with its fluorescent glow…

It was a week before the cheque arrived in the mail and it had been a week of deep brooding. Slowly Kata became more and more bitter about the phone call between Gordon and herself. At the bookstore Kata was distant and slow. Customers sent in complaints, at which her cranky boss became even crankier. This made Kata’s attitude even worse, so for two days she didn’t even bother going to work.

Kata’s black book had been untouched since the day of the phone-calls. Time became still and stagnant as she retreated deeper into her mind than ever. She would mutter to herself, walking around the house all fidgety, or staring out the window for hours just becoming more agitated and frustrated with time. Zigi kept her distance, sensing her owner’s decline in stability.

The only sound was Kata’s words spoken to nobody, just time and space itself.

“My daughter doesn’t want to see me.”

“She doesn’t care about me.”

“This could be the holiday of her dreams, but she doesn’t care.”

“It’s her father turning her against me…”

“Why do I even bother?”

Kata was home when the postman arrived, and with her wallet in her pocket she walked outside for the first time in days. Although she barely felt anything while looking at the sum of money on the piece of paper, she followed the momentum of even just being outside, and walked what felt aimlessly to the nearest bank. Kata barely noticed her surroundings as she walked, oblivious to the cars on the street, the radiant blue sky and friendly passerby a blur in her peripheral vision. The only thing that stopped Kata in her tracks on the twenty minute journey was a familiar smell wafting across the road… She turned, surveying the place where she had spent so much of her time and money… Where there were always people like her there… Where she was never kicked out for being “too drunk”… Where she could forget.

Kata quickened her pace to the bank, and skipped the line to deposit her inheritance.

At home, the computer still buzzed, tabs open with cheap flights ready to be purchased.

But those were not the kind of tabs on Kata’s mind anymore, as she skipped out of the bank with a new energy, renewed purpose. Her debit card shone with new glory and it was time to celebrate.

Leaving the broken dreams of the past in the wind behind her, Kata traced her way back to the sounds of clinking glass, poker machines and roaring drunk laughter over football games. She ran up the stairs of the pub, ready the christen her glorious riches with as many drinks that $20,000 could buy.