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Another Throw of The Dice

Page 26

by Mary Clare Morganti


  He thought of making a phone call to Min but because there was nothing he could do what was the point? He would at least try to keep track of what was happening. While he was living in his special island he knew that cyclones were a potential danger to the fragile land masses dotted around the vast ocean; but he also knew that their relative size reduced the risk from these perennial furies. He had even been told that collective prayer had once deflected an approaching cyclone and he wondered if the devout were being rallied to action this time. He hoped so and wished that he could be there with his friends. If only he could believe in prayer…

  The general bustle in the communal kitchen was in full swing so he lay down on his bunk to wait for a gap in proceedings. He stared at the whitish ceiling and found himself on a dazzling white staircase which stretched upwards as far as his eye could see. He was slowly and arduously climbing with groups of what looked like pilgrims because of their heavy all-enveloping cloaks. They, unlike him, had stout staffs to support them and he felt denied entitlement. Each time he looked up there was no end in sight and it felt as if this journey was endless. An awful heat emanated from the staircase itself but there was no sun - only stars pricking a black void overhead. The feeling of interminable trudging in increasing heat reached a point where he screamed, begging for relief…

  He woke himself up and noticed that it was dark and quiet; he wondered if anybody had heard him yell so he waited a while. When there was no reaction he got up to get some cheese and cracker biscuits in what was a clean orderly kitchen. The dream - or nightmare - had disturbed him but he was rested and thought he’d go for a walk in the quiet sleeping city. Even the everlastingly clanging trams were silent.

  To his surprise, a few blocks away there were lights on in the porch and front room of a tiny house behind an iron fretwork and he could see people sitting sedately at tables. There was a strong odour of coffee which was impossible to resist. He tried the front door, found it unlocked and so stepped inside and was confronted by a young woman with an apron around her waist.

  ‘Are you open?’ he asked fatuously and looked apologetic. He had no idea of the time.

  ‘Sure,’ she said breezily for what seemed like the middle of the night.

  ‘What would you like sir?’

  He sat down to the best cup of coffee since Gerard’s brew and several delicious little biscotti. It seemed as if he had stumbled on a surreal oasis of light in a black landscape and he was comforted by the ordinariness of the surroundings. When he was asked if he wanted more coffee he told the young woman that this unexpected fortune might be a hallucination. She laughed and explained simply that the rooms were part of her house and she usually stayed open as long as she had customers.

  She would never know of course what a blessing she had bestowed on this discalced stranger wandering among the elect without a wedding garment. Reluctantly, he stood up and walked into the night.

  Chapter 78

  For several days, all the talk in the town had been about a cyclone hovering in the vicinity of the islands but the weather was heavy and still. Eturasi was trying to keep up to date by calling the weather bureau in Fiji but they were unable to predict with any certainty what the trajectory of the weather pattern would be. As soon as the most likely one emerged they would put out a more specific warning.

  It crossed Eturasi’s mind to book a flight for New Zealand for the family but his misgivings about that course of action included a sense of responsibility to ride out any untoward event in a spirit of collective endurance. There was an element of curiosity in his decision to stay behind also as his only memory of a cyclone was of the divine hand deflecting the storm when he was a small boy. He could remember how his parents gave thanks and he thought then, that all future calamities could be avoided by prayer. Not so now, unfortunately.

  Robert, left behind to attend to his last business matters was smitten with foreboding at what he was sure was inevitable. He wished Dinah were still with him with her indomitable optimism which, he had to admit had started to wear thin in the days before she left. Perhaps optimists were that way because they were blessed with good timing, he mused. There had been an uncharacteristic outburst when she had found that one of her suitcase locks had rusted in the humidity and wouldn’t open. He, a recent convert to zen-like acceptance of what was to him a minor problem, had held Dinah’s wrists while she had screeched like a banshee saying she’d never get away. He said CRC would fix the problem but she yelled,

  ‘And where the fuck do we find such a thing in this godforsaken dump at this time of night?’

  The soul of tranquillity calmly told her that she was panicking and that would solve nothing. He would go to his office and he was sure he’d find something there. He told her to sit down and he’d make her a cup of tea.

  ‘Anyway, I bet Jim’s got something - Americans are usually armed to the teeth for every contingency. I bet you a bottle of plonk that I come back with the solution. Ha Ha.’

  There was nothing in the office and Jim regretted fulsomely that he wasn’t a handyman. When Polly heard what the problem was she offered to swap one of her valises and they’d sort out the lock later. So Robert, Polly and Jim armed with the bottle of plonk (also borrowed from Jim) and a newish suitcase, turned up at Dinah’s about an hour later. She was surrounded by what she called a mountain of stuff and when she saw Polly’s valise she said it was quite wrong to exchange it for her much travelled thing. She was finally talked round by Polly who said that at least she’d look like a seasoned traveller with Dinah’s valise.

  As they drank a glass of wine and in Polly’s case, some soda pop, Dinah made them laugh by describing the transformation in Robert’s personality.

  ‘I think he’s ready now for anything that this place can throw at him,’

  she joked.

  ‘I had a vision of a sleeping man dead to the world and it changed my life,’ he said with his eyes closed.

  Later when he had dropped the saviours back home, Polly said to Jim that she wasn’t sure how to take Robert.

  ‘It’s that deadpan humour - it takes a bit of getting used to,’ Jim had explained.

  Now however, Dinah was safely installed at her sister’s place in Queensland and Robert found himself faced with several more mountains of stuff. The updates of the cyclone’s path were not encouraging so Min suggested that he move into her place until the coast was clear. It made sense too with only one car.

  The staff at the college were not particularly worried about the cyclone and one of the male staff who intended to enter the priesthood, cited the powerful effect of a population united in supplication; when Min conveyed this news to Robert he asked if there was any scientific evidence for collective prayer influencing meteorological phenomena. Together they mocked and adopted the position of Wait and See.

  They didn’t have to wait long. The next afternoon while Min was cleaning Robert’s house and he was packing the car, the news came over the car radio that the cyclone was going to make landfall during the night at around 3 a.m. The supermarkets had sold out of bread, milk and eggs but fortunately Min and Robert between them had supplies for several days. Robert rang Dinah who said she felt guilty for having left Robert.

  ‘Come off it old girl. It’s good you got away and it might not be too severe. Keep in touch.’ He thought it was less complicated if he didn’t go into detail about his accommodation until after it was all over.

  Min wished she could contact Michael and they both wondered if he knew about the emergency. When she spoke to her parents however, they had their ears close to the radio and sounded very anxious.

  ‘Have you got anyone to turn to Min?’ She reassured them by saying that her friends were rallying round. Her mother would not have been reassured if she’d been more precise about her living arrangements. Cohabiting could never be justified in her book as Min told Robert who had been quite specific to his mother and whose reaction had been quite the opposite.

/>   Gerard came around to see Min and was surprised to find Robert there. He had brought some coffee which they shared like condemned men, he joked. Robert said afterwards that gallic humour and gallows humour seemed to have something in common.

  Chapter 79

  Min was woken in the middle of the night by a loud roar and her first thought was that she was on the flight path of a low-flying jet. Then she remembered and lay motionless clutching her top sheet and listening. The roar became a deafening whine and rain was driving through the louvres which they had left open to reduce resistance to pressure. She called out to Robert but there was no answer. Would she go and wake him? The poor man was exhausted and she preferred to let him remain oblivious for as long as possible. There would be time enough to share the fury of the weather. She reminded herself of all the storms and tornadoes that she had read about or seen films of (they went back as far as The Wizard of Oz which had linked a tornado with fantastic excitement in her small brain) and now she was in the thick of it and feeling scared. She thought about all the times this elemental fury must have lashed these little islands over the millennia. It was a relief to know that a lot of people had hedged their bets and stocked up, judging by the empty shop shelves.

  There was a horrible crash against the roof of the house and she knew it was the papaya tree where the topmost fruit was annoyingly out of reach. Perhaps now it would be all over the ground and turned to mush, she thought ruefully. She heard Robert call so she got out of bed and went to his room where the rain had come through the louvres and drenched his sheet. Even his hair was wet and he asked her to get him a towel while he moved his bed to the other side of the room. She found him a dry sheet and under blanket and went to heat water for some tea. All the while the wind howled and the rain pounded deafeningly and the kitchen was awash from the open windows. They went through the house closing every louvre and putting towels where the deluge had started and afterwards they sat in the middle of the living room on the dry pandanus mats, sipping blessed tea. There was no point in speaking and Min was thinking of the villages with their traditional houses whose design was adapted to the climate of sultry days and pleasant trade winds in season. How would they survive the present onslaught? Perhaps the solid concrete government houses and the open-sided fales were the best places to be.

  When Min got up to refill their teacups and passed the telephone she lifted the receiver to see if the line was still connected; hearing nothing, she shook her head rather mournfully at Robert.

  ‘Thank God you’re here,’ she mouthed through the hammering tumult and he smiled wanly and gave her the thumbs up. Her atavistic reference to God made her smile as well as reminding herself of small mercies. There might come a time to catalogue these later.

  When inevitable daylight penetrated the gloom she wondered when the outside world would get the news of the cyclone’s arrival. New Zealand would be the first country to know thanks to the time zone and there would be widespread worry because so many local expatriates lived there and would fear for their families. What about those villages around the coast at sea level where swells would be threatening their existence? As these thoughts occupied Min’s mind Robert sat speechless and motionless, staring into the space around him in a trance.

  Suddenly there was a tearing sound and he jerked his head upwards to the ceiling. Then he looked at Min who bit her lower lip.

  ‘The roof!’ he bellowed tonelessly.

  ‘What shall we do?’ she yelled back at which he started to laugh maniacally.

  ‘Do?’ he shrieked in a weird falsetto. ‘Go down with the ship of course! Be a hero!’

  Min looked at him in amazement. Cooped up with someone who had lost their cool was worse than being alone, she revised. Perhaps it was just his way of dealing with something out of all control. She stood up and went over and slapped his face. She looked fixedly into his staring eyes which seemed to be wired up to a different part of his brain. She waited. Then she spoke his name quietly until she saw a light flicker behind his eyes as if he were switching channels. At least that’s how she described it much later to Polly who seemed to understand.

  The roofing iron was rising and falling with a grinding sound at the behest of the relentless gale. How long would it be before it was swept from its moorings and sail off on a destructive path? Min dwelt on the existential isolation of this personal apocalypse when you were totally alone with your own problem of survival. Time didn’t exist because only the enduring present counted while you witnessed sheer destruction of planetary origin. Suddenly the tumult altered as if an orchestra had been joined by yet more percussion and Min realised that the roof was being torn and was struggling to separate into pieces. She saw a large sheet fly over the grass and land on the trees in the property which joined hers, before it danced drunkenly and moved on. Further visibility was restricted by the volume of water driven horizontally by the storm.

  Robert got up and went to the bedroom where he lay on his side with his head under the pillow. Min followed him and sat on the end of his bed with her elbows on her knees and her hands over her ears. After a while she began to shake uncontrollably and was unable to stand up and go to her own room. Robert, feeling the bed shaking got up and knelt behind her to put his arms around her and control the movement. When her teeth finally stopped chattering and her breathing slowed she leaned back with her head on his shoulder and murmured ‘Sorry’ into the dreadful din.

  Chapter 80

  Min’s parents were frantic with anxiety as they listened to the news reports of the cyclone’s widespread damage. They had rung and rung hoping each time that the phone would be answered but the line was dead. They rang the newspaper office but could find out nothing more than was coming over the wires. Min’s mother rushed to the church to pray and while she was there she asked the parish priest to offer his prayers also. Along with bland assurances that God would look after his own, he said he would try and contact the local parish and find out how Min was faring. (Oh Father if you only knew!)

  In the meantime Min and Robert had to decide what to do. The daylight had presented them with a wasteland of downed trees and slabs of roofing lying all over the place. The holes in the roof had created huge damp patches on the pinex ceiling which had dripped into puddles on the concrete floor; the electricity had finally gone in the kitchen and the wind was still raging in high-pitched gusts which were nerve-shattering after so many hours. They were worried about their friends as well as thinking how helpless their parents at home would feel. Robert was incredulous that he hadn’t thought to set up a battery radio when they were preparing for the onslaught.

  Min had slept for most of the night exhausted by her shock reaction and little sleep the previous night. Robert however had lain awake for what seemed like hours tortured by the all-encompassing fury and listening closely for any reduction in its vehemence. He had recovered from his own shock reaction and was anxious to contact the world outside their embattled domain. What wholesale damage would they find when at last they could venture out? He kept thinking what an inhospitable planet they inhabited and how human endeavour was in the end powerless.

  As soon as he noticed a semblance of dawn he made some sandwiches with the miscellaneous food they had stockpiled from their joint refrigerators which had now defrosted and added to the volume of water everywhere. The bottled water was warm and in short supply. (The water in the taps was full of foreign bodies and Min said it was just as well to be reminded that it could not to be drunk without boiling and once the bottled water ran out they would have to resort to milk which might be on the turn. ‘Ugh.’)

  As they sat on Min’s bed munching away on their sandwiches, she remembered that Robert had wriggled out of any self revelations when they were marooned on the Big Island. She had an idea.

  ‘Look - why don’t you tell me the whole immigration saga from go to woe because I’ve heard only bits of it and it’ll help to make it stick in your memory. Spare no detail including your most wic
ked thoughts.’ Robert munched silently for a while and said, his voice raised, ‘I’d rather forget the whole thing actually and I can’t be bothered trying to talk through this bloody racket.’

  ‘Are you furious that you didn’t get away in time?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘You must be missing Dinah.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  This was getting tedious thought Min and she tried hard to think of how to pass the time marooned as they were in the maelstrom. The rain was coming in squalls now and the wind was more like storm force. Although she wasn’t tired she lay down to try and doze the time away. She picked up the book she had been reading - one of George Gissing’s, which Michael had left behind for her. (A taste for nineteenth English literature was something else they both shared. They both came from towns with a strong Victorian heritage even though it clashed with the Irish presence in each place. They were a couple of colonial hybrids, he had once told her.)

  It was impossible to concentrate on another world in the middle of this elemental raging but she tried to read the words while her mind was divided between her own near despair and concern for Robert’s misery. She felt sorry for him without Dinah who by now would be worrying about him all alone and surrounded by the mountain of stuff.

  She was losing track of time and when she woke from a doze she couldn’t remember what day it was. They had been corralled in the wet depressing house for what seemed like a week. Her watch had stopped. She got up to go to the bathroom and attend to her “toilette” - as her grandmother used to say - and she looked into Robert’s room to see if he was asleep. It seemed so.

 

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