Eleven Hundred Sand Dunes

by Helena Phillips

  There were long minutes while she considered my offer, moving between requests, assessing which might be the best one to bring up with me. “Complicated, isn’t it?” I said. “Keep in mind you can ask me many times for most things. This isn’t a one off offer.” Her mind cleared.

  “When I’m feeling angry and confused, could you help me to understand what’s going on?” At first I didn’t respond to this.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to make Sandro well?”

  “Yes.” She responded promptly. “I do. But he will get well, won’t he?” I agreed. “Then he needs to sort out how he’s going about it, doesn’t he?”

  “He does. Yes. Clever of you to recognise that. But. Work on you. Not him. Is that clear?”

  Things were good between us. She began to walk on with little skips of joy.

  “There’s more, Bridey.” She held her breath waiting, interested and no longer afraid. “I need to explain something to you, and it’s important you take it seriously.” She became still. “I want you to understand an essential difference.” There was no doubt I had her full attention, but whether she would understand was a different matter. “You may take what you want from Homarta and ask her for whatever you want. If you annoy her, and she decides to show you how she feels about that, you are in no danger from her slaps. Enjoy. I have no problem with that.” She was blushing and uncomfortable, waiting for the rest with mounting unease. “But a whipping from Torrenclar is an entirely different matter.” I waited while she absorbed this and dealt with her discomfort in the topic.

  “How?”

  “Torrenclar is going through a major change at present. When these stages occur, for both spirits and humans, they become unstable for a time until it all settles.” Again, she waited with eagerness to grasp what I was telling her. “I have never known Torrenclar to pick up a potential whip.” This is almost too much for her, and her embarrassment overwhelms her. When I have her full attention again, I deliver the rest. “If he were to whip you, I would have to immediately remove him, and you would never see him again.”

  This is an enormous threat to her. “Why? I don’t get the difference.” The words tumble out because the idea of losing him is unthinkable.

  “Because it is not part of his nature and would be a sign of him breaking down; a sign that your relationship is too much for him to manage. That is not an acceptable risk for a Caretaker.”

  “It’s my fault for pushing him.”

  “I know. That’s the reason for this conversation.” She takes this in accepting it and beginning to adjust her thoughts along the lines I am hoping for.

  “I don’t quite understand why it would be alright for Homarta and not for Torrenclar.”

  “I would not be happy with Homarta beating you either. She is very aware of that and seems to feel no desire to shift from nurturing and challenging you, to violence. As it stands, it’s good for you, and I’m happy with that.”

  “I think I get it.”

  “Be careful, Bridey. Spirits are not playthings.” She nods. “I want you to ask me for help, often. Every time you feel confused, angry or disorientated seek my assistance. Don’t treat me as distant or uncaring. That is an insult to me and a huge disadvantage to you. Go now. I have work to do.” She turned back but made her way slowly while she absorbed our conversation.

  ***

  As the sun rose, I stretched out my arms and followed it into the morning. Pale light leaking across the east coast became tinged with orange, and deepened into a brilliant spotlight on the blue sky which lost the dark and came to sing with me. Torrenclar heard the song and joined it, his deep baritone softened by sadness. We sang in the morning until the light was bright, and he remembered the way ahead. I stood beside him radiating affection which overwhelmed and enchanted him.

  “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “At least I passed another obstacle.”

  “I told her I would take you away if you lose it with her.”

  He nodded. “And I would deserve it.”

  “That’s not what this is about, my friend.” If the morning could enchant him enough to see him through, I would have been happy, but it scarcely made an impression. I could not lose him to the darkness. Such loss was not to be borne. We had travelled long distances this beautiful spirit and I. “If you were not here to sing in the morning with me, Torrenclar, I would be bereft.”

  He turned to face me then, an enigmatic expression filling me with hope. “You are my first and only love,” he said. Without you, I would be nothing. How could I love her if it meant giving up the source of all love? It’s not possible. I remember the past.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “You can protect me against myself.” His face fell, and his shoulders shook, but I did not touch him. “Thank you for talking to her. Perhaps she will love me now without torturing me.”

  “No. I fear not. She is unable to balance her love for you with that of Sandro and must choose him while battling her desire for you.”

  He groaned.

  “She will bring you to the edge again, and you must hold firm, or I will have to remove you much as it would break you.”

  “I know.” Drawing in a deep breath, he said, “Give me strength.” Flashing me a sad smile he threw himself into the ocean disappearing below its foaming surface and failing to return to escort them home.

  Thirteen

  The Source

  Flagran returned to transport Sandro home where he spent his first night alone in many weeks. The Caretaker had no wish to stay. Once he had withdrawn from the group, he found the challenge of returning more than he could manage. He also did not return to me. This was a familiar pattern but, rather than call him to have the needed conversation, I left him to battle his resistance, spoiling days of his leave. Eventually, he presented himself, and was greeted with a grim look.

  He smiled a Flagran smile, and my heart turned over. “I ask forgiveness, Love.”

  These carefully chosen words and calling me Love (which he did rarely) were a peace offering. My exasperated sigh was nothing surprising. “Your visit is long overdue, Flagran.”

  He flopped to the smooth floor of the pinnacle’s crest crossing his legs and leaning forward over them. “This is the worst,” he said with conviction. There was nothing to say to it. It was indeed grueling for him. “The truth is I want you to rattle me for my absence, then let me go again.”

  Deep silence settled over us. Clouds above his head travelled the sky oblivious to our struggles. Tension returned to his face as my crisp voice broke through the peace. “How do I make it difficult for you to come to me?”

  He turned his head towards me, helpless. The expression was filled with frustrated anguish. “You don’t. Where you made your mistake was in creating me like this.” His attempt at humour brought a faint smile to my face, although, he genuinely believed it a mistake.

  “What can I do with you?” The rueful words lacked threat. “Flagran, you have been working hard for me with little break for many weeks now. You serve me well, and I am truly grateful to you for all you have done.”

  He peered up at me from his position on the floor offering me a tentative smile. “Don’t be nice to me,” he said, “I nearly lost it with Bridey, and if I’d hit her, it would have done considerable damage. I barely managed to refrain from slapping Sandro’s face several times. And not once did I ask for help although it came into my head at all the key moments; just kept rushing straight through. I’ll never understand why you put up with me.” He rolled onto his back allowing the rock to support him while he stared up into the sky above. “I’m quite mad you know,” he told me as though this was news. “The fire and I, we screamed at each other, and it felt natural and satisfying.” He glanced across to check how the confession was going. “Send me back. Let me run around yelling and engaging in crazy behaviour. It’s my nature.” For one who truly believed this, he was extremely forlorn.

  I stood and mo
ved towards him noting the way he refused to cower at my approach. Squatting beside him, I took an ear lobe between my thumb and forefinger caressing it. He groaned leaning his head towards my fingers as I gently stroked the warm soft skin of his ear. I began to pull on it insistently, until he rose enough for me to get my arms under him. I carried him then to the large rock against which I’d been sitting, arranging him to my own satisfaction (if not to his), between my legs, holding him in place against my chest. He ducked the affection attempting to scramble from my hold, but I held him firm. “You are under advisement, my very dear friend,” I told him. “You will come to me every day now and lie here where I can feel you close and safe.”

  He shook his head, and, helpless to prevent them, the unwelcome tears fell. He was where he wanted to be. Both of us knew that, but he continually resisted it for no reason he could adequately fathom or define. “What will happen if I can’t manage it,” he asked.

  “You will manage it.” My voice was firm and my heart allowed no room for doubt. “If you attempt to miss a day, I will seek you out and …”

  “And what?” he asked, curious now.

  “There is no end to my creativity, Flagran dear one, nor my patience. But there will come an end to your resistance. You love me, and I never doubt it. But, you must learn to use your resources. The time has come to put an end to waiting for you. For many, many days you will come against your will because I will fetch you from wherever you are. When the time is up, you will be filled with such a longing for me you will be unable to settle. And each day, the yearning will be intense enough to torture you. In this way, you will discover you cannot operate effectively without me. Only then will I release you, and you will mourn the loss.”

  A curious expression spread across his face, not rebellion, nor fear, nor resentment; relief perhaps; capitulation certainly. I closed my legs and arms around him and filled him with my love and longing. He turned and buried himself inside me satisfied with the plan.

  ***

  Bridey

  Driving lessons were frightening.

  The school has booked me in for seven before we leave for the desert. It’s been three weeks now and I’ve only spent the odd night at my little blue house. There was the week in Mallacoota, then the two weeks I volunteered to live with Sandro while he struggles with stairs and just wants me there. The instructor from the Driving School picked me up at Fitzroy and on the first one, drove to a quiet area where we could focus on basics. This lesson went okay. It seems learning the parts of the car and what they’re supposed to do and how to make it move forward and backwards are all within my range. (It is of course manual for the desert trip specifically, although it’s Sandro’s belief that an automatic license is not a real one.) But when it came to driving anywhere, I was petrified of making a fool of myself and banging into something. It was uncomfortable, to put it mildly, the way the car would leap forward when that was not my plan.

  All this was made worse by the instructor treating me like a little girl and also trying to be over friendly. When Sandro and I discussed this, he was keen for me to change driving schools, but I wanted to handle it rather than run away. I could be tough when necessary. The second lesson began with him putting his hand over mine as I went to change gear. He tried to make it sound like this was part of the lesson, but that changed quickly when I turned and stared at him and then at my hand, and he pulled his head in. After that he became a better teacher, and I was chuffed.

  Apparently, Jeff thought I was ready for the road, and I thought I wasn’t. In this case, he won and the car shot forward, but the space ahead was empty and nothing terrible happened. Then we pulled out onto Nicholson Street which was nasty. Jeff kept telling me he had a brake on his side, and I kept saying I wasn’t ready for this, and by the time the hour was over, although we’d driven around Carlton and returned without me hitting anything, when I stepped out of the car my legs were trembling. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was needed as a driver for the trip, and also that Josh was having lessons and boasting about his prowess, I would’ve postponed the rest of the lessons to some time in the distant future.

  Lesson four and five, Jeff decided I could drive to Dandenong for my interviews and he would take care of some private business over there while I was busy. Then I could drive back. It was peak hour. This was scary and expensive because we took so long to get home, but when the traffic is going slowly, it’s not so bad. Everyone creeps forward together. Massive clutch practice. It would have been good if the car was an automatic, but I need to learn to drive the four wheel drive and that certainly isn’t. Nothing terrible happened except for the fact that life was too stuffed with challenges.

  At least Sandro and I are enjoying each other.

  Our mattress on the floor in the living room feels like camping, and we make the most of the privacy and lack of interference from anyone to spend considerable time getting to know each other again. We play a lot and enjoyed the tender, gentle spirit which had been missing lately. Something’s going on in Sandro’s head, literally, and orgasm for him is a bit hit and miss. While it obviously bothers him a lot, for me the time we spend being in that bed on the floor is satisfying enough, for the moment. When he begins to get agitated about what’s happening for him, I keep reminding him it’s early days, and we have the rest of our lives to sort it out. Often, he’s able to manage himself emotionally and definitely meets my needs, so we’re close. He can be a great lover when he doesn’t think about it too much.

  We’re lying together on the mattress when we decide it’s time to invite Jarrod and Gabriella around for a meal. They were away when we arrived back from Mallacoota, and we miss them. The plan is to buy some good food from local restaurants and also do some cooking ourselves; so it can be special but not too much work. Sandro has been deep in catching up with his business, and I’m flat out with everything on my plate which of course includes work. Yuk!

  The other business which is moving forward is making transcripts of my interviews.

  Some themes are emerging: loss of culture; inability to contain adolescent children in the way it would have worked in the Middle Eastern countries; loss of friends; the terrible tearing grief of not having close contact with ageing relatives back home. Also, fear is an issue for many families who experience racial slights and even threatened attacks for being different, looking different and wanting to enjoy different ways of living. Gradually, the content of my thesis is coming together in my mind. Although he never states it, Sandro is both excited to be going on the search for his dad and also terrified at what might eventuate. Transcribing the interviews for me brings it constantly to the front of his mind. Working on the details of our trip is an escape from the emotional turmoil for him, as well as giving him a sense of doing something about it. The thesis is supposed to be focusing on patterns of cultural change in multi- generational families of migrants. I certainly have the right cohort.

  Gabriella is delighted with our invitation. Friday afternoon, after swapping work for Sunday, Sandro and I go for a walk together into Brunswick Street. He’s kept up his exercise regime walking daily and swimming most days at the pool. The Caretakers said affectionate farewells once we arrived back in Melbourne and all three have taken off to have some down time before we begin travelling together. Homarta’s plan had been to visit the garden in my backyard for a day or two. Now she’s gone. All that’s required if we need them is to think about the need. It’s good to have the break. Mallacoota was fantastic, but whenever they’re around, big things seem to happen, and now we can have some normality; or so we hope.

  Sandro arranged for work to be done on the little blue house while I’m living with him temporarily. This mainly involves small handyman jobs such as reattaching door knobs and making drawers pull out the way they should, fixing the lock on the front door so it opens smoothly and attaching a spring to the back fly wire door to stop it banging into the house every time someone opens it and the wind is around.


  Josh went to Juliana’s place the first night and was allowed to stay for two more as long as he promised to behave himself with Ruby, who of course had her own home to go back to and school to attend. He then returned to my place to keep an eye on things for me and seems content to leave us to ourselves. Although I think of him often, it’s good for us to be alone; gives us the chance to battle things out if we’re struggling without young ears getting distressed and interfering or blocking out. Sandro has had the four wheel drive delivered to Clifton Hill and parked off the back lane behind the garden shed.

  There’s something about walking down the street with Sandro, despite the limp and the boot he always wears if we’re going any distance, which feels so free. I love it and love that we are entertaining his parents tonight like normal couples. Since the accident, and come to think of it, the weeks before, nothing has been normal for us. It’s beginning to feel like we will make it.

  Coffee in Brunswick Street with your lover, who’s a bit of a charmer, can turn into an all afternoon event. While we sit talking, Sandro begins to share his fears about meeting his father.

  “It’s like he’s a total stranger who I don’t feel at all attracted to and would never willingly make an acquaintance if he wasn’t attached to me in this strange way. Yet, I can’t let it go, Bridey. Every time I tell myself it’s not worth all the effort, visions of him when he was young and free and full of life return. They make me ache.”

  There’s nothing I can do to help him with this but just stare at him sympathetically. My father is someone I rarely think about. I long for father stuff, but it isn’t him.

  “We need to do something about your parents, Bridey.”

  I nod. “But, let’s keep putting it off; at least not spoil the idea of tonight by bringing my folks into the picture. Do you know, I haven’t spoken to my mother since she was so useless when you were unconscious? I’ll never forget Gabriella’s face. Even she didn’t want anything to do with her.”