Free Araluen by Judy Nunn

him a strength and a charm that hadn't been there before. Or maybe it had been and Franklin hadn't noticed. Whatever it was, Franklin thought as he held out his glass, there was something eminently likeable about Solly Mankowski.
    Solly could feel the young man relax. Good, he thought. This is what Mr Ross needs. A night of vodka and talk and camaraderie. Soon we will be friends. He needs friends. He is too stern for one so young.
    ‘Yes,’ Solly heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair. ‘A boy I was. Just a boy. Not much younger than you, Mr Ross.’
    Franklin sensed a question. He didn't mind. ‘I'm twenty-five,’ he answered.
    ‘And I shall be forty in one month.’ Solly's grinwas triumphantly boyish. ‘I do not look forty, hey?’
    Franklin laughed and shook his head. It seemed the right thing to do.
    The grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared and Solly leaned forward in his chair. ‘I have saved, Mr Ross. Since my ruin I have worked hard. When you start your business, you think of Solly, hey? I would make good partner.’
    Franklin downed his drink, held his glass out for another and only vaguely questioned why teaming up with Solly seemed like quite a good idea.
    They drank the second bottle of vodka and talked until three o'clock in the morning. Franklin told Solly of his love for the vines.
    ‘They're timeless, Solly. They're young and they're old. They're the past and the future. When you stand among them, you could be anywhere. In any place. In any civilisation.’ Franklin had never talked like this in his life before. He was enjoying it.
    ‘Rows and rows of them,’ he said, seeing them in his mind, ‘stretching across the hills and the valleys — and what do they symbolise, Solly? Tell me, what do they symbolise?’ Solly shook his head and waited for the answer. He didn't want to break the mood; it was good to see Mr Ross so freed of his inhibitions. ‘Harmony,’ Franklin announced. ‘Harmony, friendship, conviviality ... and I'll tell you why.’
    There was no stopping Franklin now. He desperately wanted Solly to understand, he needed to explain. ‘They're not cultivated for survival, you see? They're not wheat grown for bread or cattleraised for beef. The vines are grown to make wine. Wine for men to share at their table — they're the bond between us all.’ He downed his vodka. ‘There can be no war among men who share a love of the vines,’ he concluded.
    Solly waited a full thirty seconds before he replied. He wanted to be sure Mr Ross had finished. Then he nodded gravely. ‘You must travel, Mr Ross,’ he said. And, in Franklin's eyes, a fresh dimension was added to the man's strength and charm — Solly was wise. ‘You're right,’ he said, ‘You're right.’
    Then Solly talked about Poland. It had been twenty years since he'd left, but he thought of her daily. His Poland. His beautiful Poland.
    Solly didn't actually think of Poland daily but, when he was drunk, he could swear he did. And it was true he did love his motherland. He had blocked out the harsh reality of his childhood and remembered only the good parts. He communicated regularly with several of his brothers and sisters and always planned one day to go back.
    ‘I worry, Mr Ross. I worry. This Austrian with his National Socialist Party, this Hitler — oh sure, he is doing good things for Germany, but he is greedy. Just like the landlords, you know? He will want more, only a matter of time. And Poland will be first. Always she is. Always, Poland is the sandwich.’ Solly drained the last of the bottle and then noticed that Franklin had passed out.
    ‘It was a good night, Mr Ross,’ Solly said the next morning. He was fully aware that Franklin'sreserve was back in place. No matter, the breakthrough had been made. There would be other times. ‘You remember what I say.’ He nodded conspiratorially. ‘When you are ready to do business, we talk, hey? You ask around Surry Hills. The people, they tell you I am a