Sugar Town

by Robert Nicholls

  “Waaa!” Asael whispered and fell silent.

  Instinctively, I touched his back – just to reassure him (and probably myself as well)! Ordinarily I get some kind of response when I do that, but this time there was totally nothing. I put my hand on his shoulder. Nothing. I jiggled. Nothing. I twitched a piece of his shirt to try to turn him. Nothing. And finally, I pulled his chin around so he’d have to look at me. The face came, but the eyes remained where they’d been.

  “As’?”

  His mouth was hinged open and he was trembling from top to bottom. Everything in him that could hum was humming – like a human tuning fork.

  “As’?”

  I squinted into his eyes, clearly visible in the dim light, and saw that they were blank – simply frozen in place on the glowing lantern thing.

  Oh crap, I thought! In the middle of a haunted cane paddock, in the black of night, with weird things going on all around, he’s having a seizure! Of course! What better time?

  Naturally, I immediately blamed Bridie who, for reasons way beyond me, had agreed to let him supervise his own medication routine. Despite the specialist’s warnings! He’ll continue to have them if he doesn’t take the pills, he’d said. If / when it happens, don’t panic! Panic will be no help! And suddenly I couldn’t remember if he’d told us what would be a help!

  It certainly wasn’t going to be Amalthea who, once she’d decided the man wasn’t about to explode, had started moving quietly about the area, fearlessly and, I thought a little recklessly, checking out his discarded clothes and bits of equipment. He took no notice of her at all; not even when she shifted the rifle out of his reach. No, his whole attention remained, weirdly, on me – still holding out the whatever-it-was in his hand. So the only one who had tuned in to Asa’s problem, aside from me – and who was going to be no help at all – was Rosemary, who seemed to be making some connection between his face and the lantern-thing that held his gaze. Seeing the wind, I supposed. Both of them! Maybe all three of them!

  I decided to try the bossy approach. “Asael! Look at me! Tell me you’re okay!”

  Almost inaudibly, he mumbled, “Key to what?”

  Ahh, I thought! Excellent! His eyes remained on the lantern but, in my experience, if he answered, he wasn’t entirely gone! I’d have been happier, of course, if he’d seemed to be answering me.

  “Not ‘key’, Asael! –kay! Oh-kay! Are you okay?”

  He turned his head then but, instead of looking at me, he peeped around me, at Amalthea. Then he turned back to the lantern. “I don’t think she can hear you. I’ll tell her, though. Is that okay?”

  And I was back to my ‘Oh crap!’ thought. Not good. Not good at all!

  * * *

  Amalthea, meantime, had finished her prowling and planted herself directly in front of the old man.

  “What have you got there, Isak?” I heard her say.

  And as soon as she said the name, I knew him. Isak! Isak Nucifora! Of course! Everyone knew Isak! Crazy old town drunk! We didn’t often see him in town and I made it a habit, when I did see him, to keep out of his way. Once, red-eyed, bawling and spraying spit, he’d cornered me against a shop in the main street, with a rambly story about life and death and my family’s history. Gramma Gracie and the Reverend and Rita and others who I didn’t even know! I’d pretended to listen, until his grip slackened; then I’d broken free and ran. When I told Bridie, she’d said, “Everyone has their ghosts, Ruthie. Thank God ours are at peace.”

  * * *

  “What have you got there, Isak?” She tapped his hand with a finger, but he stayed mute, still looking past her, at me. She turned the beam of her torch onto his palm, across at me, then directly onto his face. His lips were crusted and clumps of soil clung to his cheek. She flicked some away with her nails and he barely flinched.

  This time, Asa’s voice was quite clear. “He’s the key,” he said. Thea, Rosemary and I all turned to look at him.

  “Asa?” I was fully relieved, but no less confused. “You’re back! You’re okay! Are you okay?” I don’t know why I kept asking him that. In his mind, he’d never been okay; he’d been decaying since the day he was born!

  “He’s the key,” he repeated. “That’s what she said. He’s the key. Don’t let them forget. I said I’d tell you.” He was looking at Amalthea.

  She shook her head and looked to me for explanation. I shrugged my confusion.

  “Who ya talking about, As’?” I asked him gently.

  “Umm. Mum! I think. She said he’s the key. She said don’t let them forget. That’s what she said. Just now! She was talking to you, Amalthea, but you were busy. So I said I’d tell you.”

  The thing with Asael is that sometimes, if you get really angry with him, you can make him change his stories – get him to admit that they’re only delusions. Cruel to be kind, sort of thing – keep him as grounded as possible.

  “Asael! How many times have I told you, you idiot? It’s not mum! It’s your imagination – a dream! ‘Cause your brain’s broken! That’s why you have to remember to take your medication! So you . . . !”

  “To me?” Amalthea interrupted. “Someone spoke to me? Your mum spoke to me? And I didn’t hear?”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. Was she taking him seriously! At face value? Surely not! And then I thought, ‘Of course she is! She’s the one who’s ‘lived many lives’! Ghostly messages must be mother’s milk to her!’

  “And you’re sure it was your mother?” she was saying. She and Rosemary exchanged disappointed glances. “Not Garlic?” They both sighed. And the next words were clearly for Rosemary. “We thought we were here for him, didn’t we, Baby? But we’re not! We’re here for . . . something else!”

  She looked at old Isak, passing the torchlight over his naked form from top to bottom, and I looked away; partly because I was so crapped off; partly because he wasn’t a pretty sight and partly because his eyes were still on me and that extended hand, with the glint of something in it, was creeping me out.

  If Amalthea had taken my hint and accepted that Asa’ was merely hallucinating, things might have turned out differently. But she didn’t. She kept at it, prodding it into reality.

  “Who did she mean, Asa’? Isak? Is Isak the key? The key to what?”

  In her hands, the torch swung wildly back and forth, between catatonic man and delusional boy. One part of me wanted to shout at her to let it go. But another, slightly larger, much less responsible part wanted to know just where this whole ridiculous path was headed.

  Asael shrugged.

  “And don’t let them forget?” Amalthea demanded again.

  “Yeah. Don’t let them forget.”

  “Forget what, Asael?” She was nothing if not tenacious. “Don’t let them forget what? Don’t let who forget? Listen, are you sure this message was for me?”

  He nodded extravagantly and she sniffed the air, as though an elusive thought had passed wind in the neighbourhood.

  “Your mum’s been gone for . . . ?”

  From my point of view, the conversation was as surreal as the setting. For the sake of nothing better than curiosity, I’d let it run, but I did then finally remember the one piece of advice the specialist had given us about delusions. Don’t validate them!

  ‘The patient needs to learn to differentiate,’ he’d said, ‘between the real and the seems real. That’s where you come in.”

  “Rita died ten years ago,” I told Amalthea, in hopes it would take her out of the conversation. “Asa’, listen to me! Remember what the specialist said? Sometimes, what you think you see and hear . . . it isn’t real! It’s just chemicals in your head! You know . . . like in your books! Hormones and enzymes and stuff! Okay?”

  “Ten years!” Amalthea exclaimed. A fire had begun to burn in her eyes. “That explains it then!”

  I gave her a seriously scornful.

  “No it doesn’t! He hasn’t been taking his drugs, that’s what explains it!”
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  She just ignored me. “Truth and order!” she declared and Asael, his face alight, repeated the words as a question.

  “Truth and order?”

  “Okay!” I demanded, not willing to accept that my demands meant nothing to either of them. “That’s enough! No more! It’s seriously weird and no fun and not right! So let’s stop it right now!”

  It was like the dam had an arm-sized hole in it and I only had a thumb to fill it with.

  “The cosmic battle against disorder!” Amalthea raved. “Don’t you see? Spirits must be allowed to unite with their guardians! If they’re left to wander, disorder wins! And the battle is lost!”

  “It is?” squeaked Asael.

  “What battle?” squeaked me. “There’s no battle! Forget about battles!”

  You know what it’s like when you come across a pretty little billabong and you’re kind of casually interested in it but suddenly you realise that there are fish in it? Really big fish? And you have to stop and wait and watch really carefully because you suspect there’s something even stranger that you haven’t spotted yet? Like maybe a platypus or an eel? Or a crocodile? That’s how I felt. I wanted really badly to get myself and Asa’ out of there; but couldn’t because the strangeness wouldn’t let me!

  Old Isak and the lantern thing were the centre of the strangeness of course, but Amalthea had become the lens through which we must see it. Sorting it all in her mind, she walked in small circles around the two of them, studying them and the situation from all sides. She sucked the end of her finger, scratched her head and peeped again into Isak’s outstretched hand. She bent over and, through her clothing, clutched the under-wires of her bra, waggling her chest mightily to resettle her breasts. Then she clapped her hands once.

  “Okay!” she exclaimed, as though whatever process she had just worked through should be obvious to us all. “Good! Now listen, guys! It’s obvious to me that we’ve been called here . . . by forces presently on the other side! I still feel . . .” she waggled her fingers like a happy hold-up victim, “. . . Garlic . . . somewhere nearby. And if your mother . . . Rita . . . is also here, that can mean only one thing! Something in our world is holding them! Something remains unfinished! Our help is being sought! You understand?”

  Asael and Rosemary, I noticed, both nodded and I wished that Bridie or Kevin or maybe even Johnathon Cranna was there – someone sensible – to join me in shaking mine!

  * * *

  Though I actually did perk up my ears at one thing she said. ‘Something remains unfinished’. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I had some sudden revelation that this trek into the cane and finding The Thing and Isak Nucifora and Asael’s vision of Rita were in any way related to that unfinished ‘something’. But the Terrible Deed hung in the back of my mind like a stranger’s suit, discovered in my closet. And there was Bessie, with her ‘something’ from the past! And her reading of my palm that promised unavoidable trouble. It was Harvest Festival Weekend and, like the Suttons stumbling onto the gourd in a remote paddock, I felt that maybe something had been waiting for me.

  And so, without my permission, my head-shake morphed into a shallow nod.

  * * *

  Things began to happen then, as though in recognition of our new-found accord. Isak Nucifora snuffled, grunted and leaned forward, extending his arm even further in my direction. Amalthea turned the torch’s beam on him. His eyes were barely visible in the folds of flesh, but they had a kind of pleading steadiness about them.

  She gestured at the hand. “This is where we begin then. This seems to be for you, Ruth.”

  I stepped forward, surprised at my courage, and plucked a ring from his palm. It was gold but plain and unadorned. I examined it briefly and put it in my pocket, whereupon Isak’s arm lowered, at last, to his side.

  Amalthea began speaking to him.

  “Isak? It’s me . . . Thea. Amalthea Byerson. Are you alright?” No response. “Look. I’ve gathered up your clothes for you! Can I help you put them on?” Still no response. “No? Well . . . we’re a bit worried about you, Isak . . . out here, alone, in the night. You know? We’d like to help you. Is that okay? I’m just going to take your hand now, alright? See who’s here with me? It’s Asael and Ruth! You know them, don’t you?”

  If he heard any of what she was saying, he didn’t let it show. We pulled him onto his feet and coaxed his pants back onto him. We tried to get him to walk but it seemed beyond his comprehension. In the end, in desperation, Amalthea staggered out of the cane, bent almost double, carrying him pick-a-back. Asael went before, doing his best to make an opening, and I went behind, holding the old man in place, trying to keep him from toppling backwards. Out in the headland, Amalthea tipped him into my arms and, together, we lowered him into the wheelbarrow.

  He got his first actual words out then. They were faint and I’m sure if I hadn’t been holding his head, I wouldn’t have heard them at all. He was looking straight at me.

  “Who else, Gracie?” And then, a breath later, “Am I too late?”

  “Did you catch that?” asked Amalthea, still panting for breath. I told her.

  “And who’s Gracie again?”

  I told her that as well and she nodded, remembering, filing it away.

  We arranged Isak as best we could in the wheelbarrow and he didn’t make any sign of complaint. Not about the cold metal against his back or about the fact that his legs hung out between the handles or that his clothes pillowed his neck so poorly.

  “What’s happened to him?” Asael asked.

  I didn’t want him dwelling on it. Especially if Isak was in the process of dying, as seemed very likely. I pulled his head against me and roughed up his hair.

  “I don’t know, As’. He’s an old man! I think maybe strange stuff happens to old men!”

  “Hmm,” he said, organising that thought into something he could deal with. “Some strange stuff . . . just doesn’t seem as normal as other strange stuff, does it?”

  That would’ve been a good last word, but Amalthea topped it. Her breathing still laboured from carrying Isak, she puffed, “Normal’s just what we’re used to, As’. New normals are around every corner, waiting to get to know us.”

  * * *

  I volunteered to push the barrow. For his own comfort, I’m sure, Asael wanted to keep control of the torch. And Amalthea was happy enough just catching her breath. We hadn’t gone half a dozen steps though, before we came to a halt. Where was Rosemary?

  We found her standing at the wall of cane, staring back into the space from which we’d exited. And that made us all think of The Thing, now alone there, where it had come to rest. Not that ‘alone’ was actually the appropriate word! It had been left, that was all. Someone would come for it and take it away. It was a Thing, after all. Not a person. And there was still that light, faint and eerie. It would be easy enough to find again.

  Nonetheless, we gathered around Rosemary and watched, as though waiting for a last member of our group to squeeze out into the headland. It was oddly mesmerising. The light, as faint as it was, began to oscillate and dislocate. Colours like you see behind your eyes on a pitch-black night. As though someone was shuffling through them, looking for the appropriate one. Then it stabilised at a deep and barely visible purple.

  A silence of listening followed, though who was listening to who was difficult to say. Then Thea raised her voice.

  “Thank you!” she called. “Rest now. All will be well!”

  Oh for cryin’ out loud, I thought to myself.

  But Asael gasped – a quick intake of breath. “What was that? Did you hear that?” And the light went out.

  The dark slammed in on us. The beam from the torch in Asael’s hand was suddenly puny and inadequate as he swung it frantically from one face to the next. When Rosemary sidled amongst us, Amalthea bent to finger the lettering on the goat’s banner. LET IT GATHER IN YOU.

  “Yes,” she said. “I think you might be right!”


  Chapter 5 – Hospital Visit

  At a point, Asael’s torch became redundant. We were beneath street lights which, though they’d earlier been off, were now most certainly on – making my ‘possum in the works’ theory seem all the more likely. Amalthea and I had taken turns pushing the barrow, Asael finding himself not to be strong enough. Mine was the last shift, through a part of town that was as quiet as a parked ambulance and exhaustion had shrunk my focus until there was nothing but the crunch of tire, the click of goat hoof and my own laboured breathing. It took all three of us to get Isak and the barrow up the little incline to the hospital’s emergency entry and only then, when Amalthea pushed the buzzer, did I dare to lift my head.

  * * *

  Voices behind the door, a brilliant shaft of light, a pair of young nurses. I bent, hands on knees, marvelling at the agony of the spikes that had been driven through my shoulders.

  “Sternocleidomastoid,” Asael said sympathetically, touching the back of my neck.

  We watched the nurses hoist scrawny old Isak out of the barrow and place him on a gurney; so limp, I thought he might be dead.

  “Dead drunk, maybe,” laughed one of the nurses and Isak gave a sudden snort – the sound of a man asleep.

  When I looked up again, the gurney, Amalthea and one of the nurses had all been swallowed up by the antiseptic light. The second nurse, Dana Goodrich, leaned in the doorway, smiling. They all knew us. Most especially, they knew Asael, he being a frequent visitor at the hospital, brought in by Bridie at his own insistence to quiet his midnight symptoms. I staggered off to the edge of the garden and sat on a rock ledge, unsure whether I was going to puke or pass out.

  “Nice wheel, Asa’!” I could hear the smirk in Dana’s voice. “Hey! Your other big sister might still be here! Maybe you could give her a ride home in your little barrow! Her being the new queen of the Harvest Festival ‘n’ all! Shouldn’ have to walk the streets when there’s a grand carriage like this parked right outside, should she! Is your siren working?”

  Asa’ went into immediate panic mode. “Bridie’s here? What for? Is she . . . ?” He came to a panicked halt, suddenly sounding more out-of-breath than I was.