The Enigma

The Enigma

Bella Waxman


GBP 15,80

Format: 13,5 x 21,5 cm
Number of Pages: 394
ISBN: 978-3-99048-298-8
Release Date: 04.08.2016

Reading:

The Enigma

While this story is essentially a work of fiction, characters and some events in the novel have been based to some extent upon those experienced by a number of women I have known and who have shared their stories with me. In many ways therefore, it is somewhat biographical. While I have obtained permission to use the experiences of others, I have been careful to change personal and place names. Nevertheless, many events portrayed in this novel tend to be based on true happenings.
I have relied also on my own experiences of places, individuals and events, especially with parents and siblings, to build up a story that is both factual and at the same time a work of fiction. Some events may have been related due to the detail being in the public domain, but others are imaginary even if they might bear the name of places which exist somewhere, on any continent. In such cases, a place name in this story may not bear any resemblance to the actual town or place which is so named.
Many of the stories attributed to the main character Claire Wilson, are based on her life experiences. The only friends, who know of her past apart from her family, are all supportive of her bravery to follow her dream. Toward the end of the book and into its sequel, The Nymph outlines colleagues who walked away from her to leave her almost destitute. As for her family, with only a few exceptions, they have discriminated against her. Of those around her today, no one knows of her past and as a result she lives a peaceful life. When Claire and I saw on ABC 7.30 (Australia) in February 2014 a program which outlined the life and struggles of Lieutenant Colonel Catherine (Cate) McGregor of the Australian Army, who had gone through a similar gender change, it was very painful for her. She realized that if someone was identified in the public media as a notable person in their own right, then a gender change was big news. For Claire, and many of those women and men who are simply ordinary folk who have undergone a similar change of gender, there is no publicity, no public acknowledgement of their struggles and they simply blend into society without “a bang or a whimper” (Victor Hugo).
It happened again when Claire watched Cate McGregor, now described as a transgendered RAAF Officer, address the National Press Club of Australia one lunchtime in April 2015. She had matured as a woman and spoke eloquently, though at times with obvious melancholy in her voice, but there was universal acceptance of those in her audience. She described how everyone, from the Prime Minister downward, had accepted her almost universally. Hearing this, Claire became somewhat morose, being so conscious of many in her family and former work colleagues, who opposed her. Claire has over the years had some family members, especially in the USA and the UK come out publicly to support her, but by and large she has found that when people know she was transgendered, the more they reject her, no matter how beautiful she might have become in the process.

Bella Waxman 2015


Prologue

2002
Claire and her fiancé Harvey had been to visit Sharon Nixon, a woman with whom she had previously shared what some might say was an intimate life. Harvey had suggested he meet Sharon after Claire had started to tell him her story. At first Harvey told her that he really didn’t want to know the gory details as he would make his own mind up, in his own time and in his own way. On that particular evening, at his home in Cleveland, just south of Brisbane, she had given him the bare essentials when he said: “Look Claire, I don’t really want to know any more. As far as I am concerned you are a woman whom I have fallen in love with and that is enough for me. To be quite honest, I wouldn’t have known anyway, so let’s leave it at that, shall we?” This from a man who, upon meeting her for the first time at a picnic shelter in Yamba, on the NSW Northern Coast, had presented her with his business card and a color photograph of himself wearing a dark blue blazer, shirt and tie. Claire was to discover later that this was an unusual way of dressing for Harvey, who normally passed his days in a Hawaiian brightly-colored shirt and a pair of pale colored shorts.
Now as they drove away from Sharon’s home in Elgindale in Harvey’s Mercedes, without turning to look at her he commented: “To be quite honest Claire, now that I have met Sharon face to face, I would have said that she is much older than you, not the other way around.” Claire had to smile to herself as Sharon was five years her junior and Harvey was also her junior too, by ten years. It seemed that at sixty-two Claire was constantly being told that she looked as though she was in her forties. Even friends in her local women’s service club took her for a much younger woman. It was assumed that she might have been perhaps a fan of the late Elvis Presley because of the age she was perceived to be. But Claire certainly wasn’t an Elvis fan and never had been. In actual fact she had been raised on the music of Victor Sylvester and his Ballroom Orchestra, as she loved ballroom dancing. In fact, at one stage in her teens she had been a member of a ballroom dancing group in the city of Aireborough in Yorkshire.
Harvey continued, “You know Claire, had I not known any different, I would have said that Sharon might have had a gender change as she has masculine qualities.” Claire was shocked, as she had known Sharon intimately. Harvey, with a broad smile spreading across his face, chuckled to himself. He did like to make outlandish statements. That was Harvey. On her part, she simply smiled to herself as she knew both her own story and Sharon’s too. But as Harvey was not really interested in any information that was in his own words “secret women’s business,” his brain turned off as Claire, his fiancée, opened her mouth to make comment. According to Harvey, she was supposed to take great interest in his “pastimes,” like his golfing, his fishing, his crabbing and his other interests, all his needs and desires. There was the time when they were traveling into Brisbane one morning, when he suddenly exclaimed: “Did you see that truck?”
“What truck darling?” Claire stared at Harvey as they drove along the highway in his Mercedes.
“The one we just passed. Don’t you ever take note of what we see?”
“Yes darling I do, but I am not interested in trucks.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m just not! Women tend not to look at things that men look at, just as you constantly remind me that certain things are in your own words, ‘secret women’s business’.”
“But this is different Claire. That is the model of truck I need to carry my golf clubs, my crab pots and my fishing rods. After we are married we can sell your Hyundai and we’ll then have enough money to buy a truck like that one we just passed.” Claire went hot and cold in rapid succession. There was no thought that Harvey might sell his Mercedes of course. No, that wouldn’t do. As they were engaged to be married, her needs had to become subservient to Harvey’s needs and desires.
“Oh so, it is my money you want, is it?”
“No! Don’t put it like that Claire.”
“What other way am I to put it. You want us to get married so you can sell my car which is bought and paid for, just so you can indulge in one of your cravings. No darling that is not going to happen. I am definitely not going to sell my yellow Hyundai. Perish the thought.”
Harvey went into a deep sulk, and did not come out of it for the rest of the day. Claire presumed that it had been his intention all along to indulge his cravings at her expense. So she had to put her foot down firmly, and now was the time.
Harvey had even gone to the extent of deciding where they were to be married. It was to be in Brisbane’s Anglican Cathedral and attended by his cronies in a movement he called the Knights of St Jerome in which he was apparently known as a squire, prior to becoming a full knight. He was going to ask the bishop to marry them too. Claire was not consulted. She was merely a woman and was obliged to follow the lead of the man in everything. That was what it so often said in the Bible, and that was Harvey’s belief. To her, such outdated beliefs stemmed from one disgruntled and extremely bigoted man called Sha’ul of Tarsus, known by Christians as St Paul. She found it difficult to believe that after almost two millennia, people believed such ancient garbage.
As for Harvey, it came to a head one day when, through her tears, Claire cried that he never took her anywhere, unless it was to a free luncheon. In fact the second time they had dated, it was at a small restaurant on Queensland’s Gold Coast, near Surfers’ Paradise, and he actually admitted, nudged by some pointed questions from her, that he had won two free tickets for a meal by answering a question on a local radio program. That was Harvey, anything for free. So this time he had promised to take Claire out to lunch, followed at her insistence that they go for a long walk on the beach. All was fixed for a particular day.
Claire had already booked an appointment at a beauty salon in Cleveland to have her usual three-weekly acrylic nail refill while Harvey admitted he had a meeting with his psychiatrist. Yes, she knew that alarm bells should have rung loudly in her head at this news but she supposed she must have had blinkers on at the time. She was certainly not aware that he consulted a psychiatrist. But don’t lots of folk have a psychiatrist, even if she didn’t? Well, perhaps Claire might have done a few years earlier, but that was for some other reason, which will be explained later as her story unfolds.
Claire had given Harvey a particular time to collect her from the salon but he turned up half an hour early expecting her to be waiting for him with shiny red nails. When the nail technician told him to come back in a half hour he sulked and told Claire to be at his Mercedes around the corner when the assistant had finished.
An hour and a half later, after she had been sitting in the hot sun near his car for at least an hour or more, he calmly strode up, unlocked the doors and climbed into the driver seat. His dearly beloved was expected to step forward, open the passenger door herself and sit down, close the door and act as though nothing untoward had happened. Harvey then sped off as though he was in an enormous hurry. They had only traveled about a kilometer when his mouth opened, “Oh by the way, I’m playing golf this afternoon.”
“But darling what about the magazines you were planning to take to the Seamen’s Mission, and then our lunch and walk on the beach?”
“What lunch and walk on the beach?”
“You said we would have a nice lunch out and then after dropping the magazines off at the mission, we would go for a stroll along the beach.”
“Did I?”
“Yes you did.”
“When was that?”
“Last evening after I complained you never took me anywhere and then again this morning before we drove off.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Well, you did, so there.”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind. I am playing golf this afternoon.”
Claire really didn’t know what to say as she was so shocked at his change of mind, ignoring what to her were the exciting plans they had made the previous evening.
They drove back to Harvey’s blond-brick residence in silence, Claire fuming inside, wondering if he could see the steam coming out of her ears, as her face slowly changed from normal to hot and flustered. Back at his house, trying to hide her anger, she asked, while trying desperately to keep a cool countenance: “Shall I make you some lunch darling?”
“No, don’t bother. I will get some lunch at the club.”
With that he went back into the garage, threw his golf clubs into the car’s trunk and reversed out of the driveway. The electrically operated garage doors slowly descended leaving Claire, his beloved future wife, staring into nothingness. All she had in front of her was a black fog, accompanied by a deepening silence.
Why was I putting up with this treatment? Claire had to ask herself. Was she so desperate for a guy like Harvey that she would put up with anything he verbally threw at her? They had previously split up for six months to see how they both felt. Claire had suggested the separation following her discovery that he was secretly dating oriental girls through the Internet, causing her to blow up over the issue. She had told him in no uncertain terms that if they were to be married, then she had to be the only one he was to date. So, after he departed for his golf club, Claire decided
to have a look on his computer to see if he still had photos of a selection of Chinese girls on his screen saver. Thankfully, he hadn’t, but she was still suspicious, so she looked through his folders. Ahah, you bastard, got you. She mouthed softly, but with venom in her voice. What he had done was to sideline the portraits which had previously been on his screen saver to store them in a new folder. So, Harvey was obviously still online dating. Hmm!
That does it, She said to herself, closing his machine down and then walking defiantly back into the kitchen. What was she to do? Moving into the bedroom she methodically packed her case and carried it to the front door in readiness for loading into the back of her bright yellow Hyundai. But then, turning sideways saw her car, still under the side awning of the house and the gates were locked. Harvey had driven her car in the previous evening prior to his intention to mow the grass at the front of the house, which as it happened, he then forgot to do, instead staying glued to the television, watching the cricket. Typical man, she thought.
Claire went into the garage and spying her blue metal tool box, which he had taken from her shed in Elgindale; she found what she had been advised was ‘a shifter’ and was able to undo the hex-headed screws on the gate lock. Yey! What a clever girl, Claire thought to herself. She drove out her car and replaced the screws on the lock, putting her case and the toolbox into the back of the Hyundai.
However, driving off in so much anger she had cleanly forgot to check the washing machine, to see if she had left any laundry behind. Crying all the way to Grafton, it was almost evening when she took a room in a cheap motel on Pacific Highway, bought a burger and fries from McDonald’s and cried herself to sleep. Clearly she had fallen for a nut case and no mistake. Or, was he typical of many men, full of their own importance and to Hell with interfering women?
Driving back up to the Tablelands the next morning, Claire decided that as she had already sold her beautiful pre-Federation cottage, she would find a new home on the coast as it was certainly cooler than in the New England during the summer months. How she arrived home she really didn’t know as she started thinking of her enigmatic and often traumatic past. Why had one particular guy told her that she was a parasite on society and should have been drowned at birth like an unwanted kitten? Why did people turn against her when they knew or had been told of her past? Certainly Claire had many friends whom she had not told and they remained loyal. Even a couple of her older friends, who had known her for many years, had stayed loyal. So why was she a victim of her birth? Why were some people, especially many of her relatives, so cruel and brutal in their condemnation of her? Claire appeared to be no different to other women, having the same physical and emotional characteristics, so why was she attacked from time to time by those who knew of her past? As she once again recalled her former life, so many events brought tears to her eyes, together with tremendous heartache and melancholy. But here, right now, her story begins again, so that folk might understand why women like her are sometimes victimized. Is it any wonder that Claire describes her life as an exploding enigma?


1940
Claire’s mother, Olivia Wilson (née Levine) had always imagined her first born would be a girl. Olivia’s sister-in-law, Deborah, who had married elder brother Jeremy, had given birth a few months earlier to June; the first girl of her Levine generation, and Olivia hoped with all her heart that she also might give birth to a girl. Her older sister Elaine had had a boy to Norrie Stevens, so Olivia thought it was definitely time for another girl to be born into the Levine clan.
On the other hand, Milton, Olivias husband, was expecting the new baby to be a boy. Kate, the wife of his older brother Clive, had given birth to Kirsty eight months earlier, and Daphne, the wife of Milton’s brother Sandy, had given birth to Coralee, about the same time. So the next generation of the Wilsons, should, by rights, be a boy one presumed. But Milt, as most people called him, not only presumed, but claimed that he, like many pseudo-macho misogynists, full of his own capabilities as a self-proclaimed full-bloodied male would have a son, and no mistake. ‘A man’s a man for a’ that’ the majestic Scots bard had written. Men who sired female babies, in Milt’s opinion were less than full-blown men – more on the side of the ‘poofters’ he detested, than real men like himself, although he did not exactly refer to his brothers in those terms. On Claire’s part, with a man like that as a father, she was to experience so much of his character growing up in Micklegate. Known as ‘Micky’ to most of its residents, it was an outer suburb of the city of Aireborough in Yorkshire.
So, Claire was born in the winter of 1940. In her later childhood and teenage years she always imagined it snowing on her birthday, whether this was wishful thinking on her part or not, she never could recall. You see, Claire certainly had no recollection as to whether it was snowing when she was born, irrespective of her feeling that it did. But no one ever told her, so maybe it was indeed a figment of what might later be described by some members of the family, as her wild romantic imagination. Nevertheless, as Claire grew up in ‘Micky’ she developed a fascination for the cold white stuff and would spend hours glued to the French door in the dining room looking up at the sky, as the flakes floated gently down to settle on the back garden. It was as though the sky was falling apart and covering the earth with its flakey residue. She was mesmerized.
Many years later, in fact, well into her womanhood Claire had been standing next to a window at Cousin Olivia’s house (yes she was named after Claire’s mother) in Detroit, Michigan, looking up at snowflakes falling when Olivia commented with a puzzled expression on her somewhat rotund face: “You really have a fascination for snow, don’t you, Claire?”
“I suppose I do really. As a little girl I was fascinated by the snow and spent hours staring at the sky, watching individual snowflakes to see where each one landed.” So, to some degree, the die had been set. Me and snow went together like crackers and cheese, or plums and custard, Claire presumed. It was a given.
But, like all babies upon being born, she supposed she might have slept most of the time, as it takes a lot out of a baby coming into the world. Although Claire was not to know it at the time, she was born a few months into the earth shattering event which was to be known as the Second World War, or World War II, depending on which side of the Atlantic Ocean one lived. All she had recollection of in her first few months was looking up out of her gorgeous soft-brown eyes at her mum, as she enjoyed refreshments every few hours between sleeps. One supposes like most babies she may have cried too, in fact it was most likely that she did. But Claire was to have no recollection of any of this and no one ever told her of anything that hinted at her being fond of crying. In all honesty, she could not remember her mum or anyone else for that matter, saying that she was a good or a bad baby. Not that it matters today in the 21st century, as she tried to recall how her life on this planet began, linking bits and pieces together as one might a 1000-piece ‘advanced-level’ jigsaw.
There were a few things Claire did remember though. For example she distinctly remembered sitting in her baby carriage, looking out over the cover which was navy blue, with a silver woven design running around the edge. She also remembered being in her cot looking through the white bars. Milton, her dad, was in the habit of telling folk that in order to go to sleep the child would ask him to: “holy hand!” – Her babyish way of asking him to hold her hand. As Claire grew up, she listened to this joke of his over and over again, which somehow made her feel inferior, portraying her as a somewhat effeminate character which her father despised in all males. But then lots of folk remember little things like this. So in that way Claire supposed she was no different to other kids. Or was she?

The Enigma

While this story is essentially a work of fiction, characters and some events in the novel have been based to some extent upon those experienced by a number of women I have known and who have shared their stories with me. In many ways therefore, it is somewhat biographical. While I have obtained permission to use the experiences of others, I have been careful to change personal and place names. Nevertheless, many events portrayed in this novel tend to be based on true happenings.
I have relied also on my own experiences of places, individuals and events, especially with parents and siblings, to build up a story that is both factual and at the same time a work of fiction. Some events may have been related due to the detail being in the public domain, but others are imaginary even if they might bear the name of places which exist somewhere, on any continent. In such cases, a place name in this story may not bear any resemblance to the actual town or place which is so named.
Many of the stories attributed to the main character Claire Wilson, are based on her life experiences. The only friends, who know of her past apart from her family, are all supportive of her bravery to follow her dream. Toward the end of the book and into its sequel, The Nymph outlines colleagues who walked away from her to leave her almost destitute. As for her family, with only a few exceptions, they have discriminated against her. Of those around her today, no one knows of her past and as a result she lives a peaceful life. When Claire and I saw on ABC 7.30 (Australia) in February 2014 a program which outlined the life and struggles of Lieutenant Colonel Catherine (Cate) McGregor of the Australian Army, who had gone through a similar gender change, it was very painful for her. She realized that if someone was identified in the public media as a notable person in their own right, then a gender change was big news. For Claire, and many of those women and men who are simply ordinary folk who have undergone a similar change of gender, there is no publicity, no public acknowledgement of their struggles and they simply blend into society without “a bang or a whimper” (Victor Hugo).
It happened again when Claire watched Cate McGregor, now described as a transgendered RAAF Officer, address the National Press Club of Australia one lunchtime in April 2015. She had matured as a woman and spoke eloquently, though at times with obvious melancholy in her voice, but there was universal acceptance of those in her audience. She described how everyone, from the Prime Minister downward, had accepted her almost universally. Hearing this, Claire became somewhat morose, being so conscious of many in her family and former work colleagues, who opposed her. Claire has over the years had some family members, especially in the USA and the UK come out publicly to support her, but by and large she has found that when people know she was transgendered, the more they reject her, no matter how beautiful she might have become in the process.

Bella Waxman 2015


Prologue

2002
Claire and her fiancé Harvey had been to visit Sharon Nixon, a woman with whom she had previously shared what some might say was an intimate life. Harvey had suggested he meet Sharon after Claire had started to tell him her story. At first Harvey told her that he really didn’t want to know the gory details as he would make his own mind up, in his own time and in his own way. On that particular evening, at his home in Cleveland, just south of Brisbane, she had given him the bare essentials when he said: “Look Claire, I don’t really want to know any more. As far as I am concerned you are a woman whom I have fallen in love with and that is enough for me. To be quite honest, I wouldn’t have known anyway, so let’s leave it at that, shall we?” This from a man who, upon meeting her for the first time at a picnic shelter in Yamba, on the NSW Northern Coast, had presented her with his business card and a color photograph of himself wearing a dark blue blazer, shirt and tie. Claire was to discover later that this was an unusual way of dressing for Harvey, who normally passed his days in a Hawaiian brightly-colored shirt and a pair of pale colored shorts.
Now as they drove away from Sharon’s home in Elgindale in Harvey’s Mercedes, without turning to look at her he commented: “To be quite honest Claire, now that I have met Sharon face to face, I would have said that she is much older than you, not the other way around.” Claire had to smile to herself as Sharon was five years her junior and Harvey was also her junior too, by ten years. It seemed that at sixty-two Claire was constantly being told that she looked as though she was in her forties. Even friends in her local women’s service club took her for a much younger woman. It was assumed that she might have been perhaps a fan of the late Elvis Presley because of the age she was perceived to be. But Claire certainly wasn’t an Elvis fan and never had been. In actual fact she had been raised on the music of Victor Sylvester and his Ballroom Orchestra, as she loved ballroom dancing. In fact, at one stage in her teens she had been a member of a ballroom dancing group in the city of Aireborough in Yorkshire.
Harvey continued, “You know Claire, had I not known any different, I would have said that Sharon might have had a gender change as she has masculine qualities.” Claire was shocked, as she had known Sharon intimately. Harvey, with a broad smile spreading across his face, chuckled to himself. He did like to make outlandish statements. That was Harvey. On her part, she simply smiled to herself as she knew both her own story and Sharon’s too. But as Harvey was not really interested in any information that was in his own words “secret women’s business,” his brain turned off as Claire, his fiancée, opened her mouth to make comment. According to Harvey, she was supposed to take great interest in his “pastimes,” like his golfing, his fishing, his crabbing and his other interests, all his needs and desires. There was the time when they were traveling into Brisbane one morning, when he suddenly exclaimed: “Did you see that truck?”
“What truck darling?” Claire stared at Harvey as they drove along the highway in his Mercedes.
“The one we just passed. Don’t you ever take note of what we see?”
“Yes darling I do, but I am not interested in trucks.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m just not! Women tend not to look at things that men look at, just as you constantly remind me that certain things are in your own words, ‘secret women’s business’.”
“But this is different Claire. That is the model of truck I need to carry my golf clubs, my crab pots and my fishing rods. After we are married we can sell your Hyundai and we’ll then have enough money to buy a truck like that one we just passed.” Claire went hot and cold in rapid succession. There was no thought that Harvey might sell his Mercedes of course. No, that wouldn’t do. As they were engaged to be married, her needs had to become subservient to Harvey’s needs and desires.
“Oh so, it is my money you want, is it?”
“No! Don’t put it like that Claire.”
“What other way am I to put it. You want us to get married so you can sell my car which is bought and paid for, just so you can indulge in one of your cravings. No darling that is not going to happen. I am definitely not going to sell my yellow Hyundai. Perish the thought.”
Harvey went into a deep sulk, and did not come out of it for the rest of the day. Claire presumed that it had been his intention all along to indulge his cravings at her expense. So she had to put her foot down firmly, and now was the time.
Harvey had even gone to the extent of deciding where they were to be married. It was to be in Brisbane’s Anglican Cathedral and attended by his cronies in a movement he called the Knights of St Jerome in which he was apparently known as a squire, prior to becoming a full knight. He was going to ask the bishop to marry them too. Claire was not consulted. She was merely a woman and was obliged to follow the lead of the man in everything. That was what it so often said in the Bible, and that was Harvey’s belief. To her, such outdated beliefs stemmed from one disgruntled and extremely bigoted man called Sha’ul of Tarsus, known by Christians as St Paul. She found it difficult to believe that after almost two millennia, people believed such ancient garbage.
As for Harvey, it came to a head one day when, through her tears, Claire cried that he never took her anywhere, unless it was to a free luncheon. In fact the second time they had dated, it was at a small restaurant on Queensland’s Gold Coast, near Surfers’ Paradise, and he actually admitted, nudged by some pointed questions from her, that he had won two free tickets for a meal by answering a question on a local radio program. That was Harvey, anything for free. So this time he had promised to take Claire out to lunch, followed at her insistence that they go for a long walk on the beach. All was fixed for a particular day.
Claire had already booked an appointment at a beauty salon in Cleveland to have her usual three-weekly acrylic nail refill while Harvey admitted he had a meeting with his psychiatrist. Yes, she knew that alarm bells should have rung loudly in her head at this news but she supposed she must have had blinkers on at the time. She was certainly not aware that he consulted a psychiatrist. But don’t lots of folk have a psychiatrist, even if she didn’t? Well, perhaps Claire might have done a few years earlier, but that was for some other reason, which will be explained later as her story unfolds.
Claire had given Harvey a particular time to collect her from the salon but he turned up half an hour early expecting her to be waiting for him with shiny red nails. When the nail technician told him to come back in a half hour he sulked and told Claire to be at his Mercedes around the corner when the assistant had finished.
An hour and a half later, after she had been sitting in the hot sun near his car for at least an hour or more, he calmly strode up, unlocked the doors and climbed into the driver seat. His dearly beloved was expected to step forward, open the passenger door herself and sit down, close the door and act as though nothing untoward had happened. Harvey then sped off as though he was in an enormous hurry. They had only traveled about a kilometer when his mouth opened, “Oh by the way, I’m playing golf this afternoon.”
“But darling what about the magazines you were planning to take to the Seamen’s Mission, and then our lunch and walk on the beach?”
“What lunch and walk on the beach?”
“You said we would have a nice lunch out and then after dropping the magazines off at the mission, we would go for a stroll along the beach.”
“Did I?”
“Yes you did.”
“When was that?”
“Last evening after I complained you never took me anywhere and then again this morning before we drove off.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Well, you did, so there.”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind. I am playing golf this afternoon.”
Claire really didn’t know what to say as she was so shocked at his change of mind, ignoring what to her were the exciting plans they had made the previous evening.
They drove back to Harvey’s blond-brick residence in silence, Claire fuming inside, wondering if he could see the steam coming out of her ears, as her face slowly changed from normal to hot and flustered. Back at his house, trying to hide her anger, she asked, while trying desperately to keep a cool countenance: “Shall I make you some lunch darling?”
“No, don’t bother. I will get some lunch at the club.”
With that he went back into the garage, threw his golf clubs into the car’s trunk and reversed out of the driveway. The electrically operated garage doors slowly descended leaving Claire, his beloved future wife, staring into nothingness. All she had in front of her was a black fog, accompanied by a deepening silence.
Why was I putting up with this treatment? Claire had to ask herself. Was she so desperate for a guy like Harvey that she would put up with anything he verbally threw at her? They had previously split up for six months to see how they both felt. Claire had suggested the separation following her discovery that he was secretly dating oriental girls through the Internet, causing her to blow up over the issue. She had told him in no uncertain terms that if they were to be married, then she had to be the only one he was to date. So, after he departed for his golf club, Claire decided
to have a look on his computer to see if he still had photos of a selection of Chinese girls on his screen saver. Thankfully, he hadn’t, but she was still suspicious, so she looked through his folders. Ahah, you bastard, got you. She mouthed softly, but with venom in her voice. What he had done was to sideline the portraits which had previously been on his screen saver to store them in a new folder. So, Harvey was obviously still online dating. Hmm!
That does it, She said to herself, closing his machine down and then walking defiantly back into the kitchen. What was she to do? Moving into the bedroom she methodically packed her case and carried it to the front door in readiness for loading into the back of her bright yellow Hyundai. But then, turning sideways saw her car, still under the side awning of the house and the gates were locked. Harvey had driven her car in the previous evening prior to his intention to mow the grass at the front of the house, which as it happened, he then forgot to do, instead staying glued to the television, watching the cricket. Typical man, she thought.
Claire went into the garage and spying her blue metal tool box, which he had taken from her shed in Elgindale; she found what she had been advised was ‘a shifter’ and was able to undo the hex-headed screws on the gate lock. Yey! What a clever girl, Claire thought to herself. She drove out her car and replaced the screws on the lock, putting her case and the toolbox into the back of the Hyundai.
However, driving off in so much anger she had cleanly forgot to check the washing machine, to see if she had left any laundry behind. Crying all the way to Grafton, it was almost evening when she took a room in a cheap motel on Pacific Highway, bought a burger and fries from McDonald’s and cried herself to sleep. Clearly she had fallen for a nut case and no mistake. Or, was he typical of many men, full of their own importance and to Hell with interfering women?
Driving back up to the Tablelands the next morning, Claire decided that as she had already sold her beautiful pre-Federation cottage, she would find a new home on the coast as it was certainly cooler than in the New England during the summer months. How she arrived home she really didn’t know as she started thinking of her enigmatic and often traumatic past. Why had one particular guy told her that she was a parasite on society and should have been drowned at birth like an unwanted kitten? Why did people turn against her when they knew or had been told of her past? Certainly Claire had many friends whom she had not told and they remained loyal. Even a couple of her older friends, who had known her for many years, had stayed loyal. So why was she a victim of her birth? Why were some people, especially many of her relatives, so cruel and brutal in their condemnation of her? Claire appeared to be no different to other women, having the same physical and emotional characteristics, so why was she attacked from time to time by those who knew of her past? As she once again recalled her former life, so many events brought tears to her eyes, together with tremendous heartache and melancholy. But here, right now, her story begins again, so that folk might understand why women like her are sometimes victimized. Is it any wonder that Claire describes her life as an exploding enigma?


1940
Claire’s mother, Olivia Wilson (née Levine) had always imagined her first born would be a girl. Olivia’s sister-in-law, Deborah, who had married elder brother Jeremy, had given birth a few months earlier to June; the first girl of her Levine generation, and Olivia hoped with all her heart that she also might give birth to a girl. Her older sister Elaine had had a boy to Norrie Stevens, so Olivia thought it was definitely time for another girl to be born into the Levine clan.
On the other hand, Milton, Olivias husband, was expecting the new baby to be a boy. Kate, the wife of his older brother Clive, had given birth to Kirsty eight months earlier, and Daphne, the wife of Milton’s brother Sandy, had given birth to Coralee, about the same time. So the next generation of the Wilsons, should, by rights, be a boy one presumed. But Milt, as most people called him, not only presumed, but claimed that he, like many pseudo-macho misogynists, full of his own capabilities as a self-proclaimed full-bloodied male would have a son, and no mistake. ‘A man’s a man for a’ that’ the majestic Scots bard had written. Men who sired female babies, in Milt’s opinion were less than full-blown men – more on the side of the ‘poofters’ he detested, than real men like himself, although he did not exactly refer to his brothers in those terms. On Claire’s part, with a man like that as a father, she was to experience so much of his character growing up in Micklegate. Known as ‘Micky’ to most of its residents, it was an outer suburb of the city of Aireborough in Yorkshire.
So, Claire was born in the winter of 1940. In her later childhood and teenage years she always imagined it snowing on her birthday, whether this was wishful thinking on her part or not, she never could recall. You see, Claire certainly had no recollection as to whether it was snowing when she was born, irrespective of her feeling that it did. But no one ever told her, so maybe it was indeed a figment of what might later be described by some members of the family, as her wild romantic imagination. Nevertheless, as Claire grew up in ‘Micky’ she developed a fascination for the cold white stuff and would spend hours glued to the French door in the dining room looking up at the sky, as the flakes floated gently down to settle on the back garden. It was as though the sky was falling apart and covering the earth with its flakey residue. She was mesmerized.
Many years later, in fact, well into her womanhood Claire had been standing next to a window at Cousin Olivia’s house (yes she was named after Claire’s mother) in Detroit, Michigan, looking up at snowflakes falling when Olivia commented with a puzzled expression on her somewhat rotund face: “You really have a fascination for snow, don’t you, Claire?”
“I suppose I do really. As a little girl I was fascinated by the snow and spent hours staring at the sky, watching individual snowflakes to see where each one landed.” So, to some degree, the die had been set. Me and snow went together like crackers and cheese, or plums and custard, Claire presumed. It was a given.
But, like all babies upon being born, she supposed she might have slept most of the time, as it takes a lot out of a baby coming into the world. Although Claire was not to know it at the time, she was born a few months into the earth shattering event which was to be known as the Second World War, or World War II, depending on which side of the Atlantic Ocean one lived. All she had recollection of in her first few months was looking up out of her gorgeous soft-brown eyes at her mum, as she enjoyed refreshments every few hours between sleeps. One supposes like most babies she may have cried too, in fact it was most likely that she did. But Claire was to have no recollection of any of this and no one ever told her of anything that hinted at her being fond of crying. In all honesty, she could not remember her mum or anyone else for that matter, saying that she was a good or a bad baby. Not that it matters today in the 21st century, as she tried to recall how her life on this planet began, linking bits and pieces together as one might a 1000-piece ‘advanced-level’ jigsaw.
There were a few things Claire did remember though. For example she distinctly remembered sitting in her baby carriage, looking out over the cover which was navy blue, with a silver woven design running around the edge. She also remembered being in her cot looking through the white bars. Milton, her dad, was in the habit of telling folk that in order to go to sleep the child would ask him to: “holy hand!” – Her babyish way of asking him to hold her hand. As Claire grew up, she listened to this joke of his over and over again, which somehow made her feel inferior, portraying her as a somewhat effeminate character which her father despised in all males. But then lots of folk remember little things like this. So in that way Claire supposed she was no different to other kids. Or was she?

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