Reluctant Activists

by Helena Phillips

  And so, the evening wore on. There was a point where Homarta rose and walked slowly away. My stolen surreptitious glances were missed as she stared up into the stars. She was the Caretaker for earth. Not the Earth. She was far off, deep in her thoughts. Her improvement was encouraging. Having a guest lying around helpless in your backyard was uncomfortable. After an extended period, during which Elaris had been singing to us accompanied by Torrenclar’s baritone and Flagran, who was a beautiful tenor, Homarta returned and joined in.

  As the song slowly wound to a stop, she said, “I’d like to discuss the job of making this backyard a more what it should be.” We gazed around at the clear spaces now visible after the bonfire had done its work. Pieces of tin still graced the corner I’d come to see as Homarta’s hut. It was an ugly sight really, but now the yard looked so much better. None of the others agreed with me. Perhaps my taste was questionable.

  Sandro seemed to be sulking after his hissy fit over being asked to tell his story. He had joined in the singing, but now his scowl had come slinking back. Perhaps, he thought he would be expected to do something practical for a change. It wasn’t up to me to judge though. In two years of living here not much had been achieved by me. Well, actually, nothing. Could it become the sort of backyard people would want to come and party in?

  The rain had helped. My one tree was pretty scrawny, but it had survived and was now looking cheered. Along the fence lines (straight high new fencing for the town houses on either side) were piles of clay dug up and left behind by the enemy, progress. People just leave behind their mess for someone else to clean up, which I clearly hadn’t. This had never occurred to me before.

  Sandro didn’t look like the type of person who would interest himself in prettying up someone else’s backyard. But, he was still hanging around not taking part in much of the discussion, just brooding. Maybe, he was thinking about Elaris. Torrenclar poked at him a few times that night. He just didn’t seem to get the need to not stir him up. Now he said, looking grave “Well Sandro. What do you think?”

  Sandro glared at him, like there was something going on between them. “Whatever!” was his only response. It made him look foolish and petulant.

  Torrenclar pressed him. “Don’t you think it’s the landlord’s job? If you buy and sell Real Estate, you must know about this stuff.” Sandro looked frightened. He cast a furtive glance across at Elaris and glared at Flagran like a deer in a spotlight. They returned his gaze.

  Caught, he changed directions. “I reckon it needs a rotary hoe.” It was surprising he even knew what one was, and I looked so astounded he snapped at me. “What? I used to work for a landscaper!”

  “That’s great Sandro,” Homarta said, encouraging again. “You will be invaluable to the project.” But, Torrenclar seemed to have something up his nose and pressed in again for the attack.

  “You’re not too surprised by the state of this place, Sandro. It’s not up to your usual standards, I expect, yet you lie low on this one.” At this, Sandro picked up his Esky and walked out of the party.

  We stared after him, shocked. Well, I was. The others. Who knows? There were a range of things going on which made little sense. Torrenclar looked grave. Elaris was shaking her head moodily. Homarta seemed to have missed the whole thing because she began to talk about her plans. Flagran was clearly unsure what he should do. In the end, he went after him.

  Confused and trying to work out what came next, I looked around at them. Torrenclar held out his arms, an invitation which was difficult to resist. He pulled me on to his knee and wrapped his arms around me. We sat listening to Homarta making her plans.

  ***

  The car squealed away from the curb splitting the quiet with its angry voice. As it charged down the still street, speed humps banged against the wheels daring the shock absorbers to complain. It was a bright, red Ferrari and Sandro’s baby. He tore into the road ahead and shot up to the lights, banging both hands on the steering wheel until they were bruised, because the lights were red. Fortunately, they changed quickly, and he was tearing along Hoddle Street at dangerous speeds oblivious to other motorists who might have been hoping to survive the night. Behind him, Flagran ran lightly, keeping up but out of sight. When it seemed clear Sandro was heading for home, he slipped away taking the easy route. Nothing frightened Flagran, but he intended to lie low that night because, despite his lively nature, he knew when someone was ready to blow.

  The car slid into its parking spot with great relief, and its owner left it in peace making his way into the unit. Inside, he went to open a bottle of scotch but thought better of it. There had been too many days when that path hadn’t worked for him. He paced instead. Up and down the large, open living room he strode until, exhausted, he sank into a comfortable leather recliner pushed it back with his feet and clasped his hands behind his head.

  What was happening to him? Why should he care about any of these people? They had invaded his life.

  There was something about it though, which he just couldn’t let go. Torrenclar was clearly having a go at him, and the impulse to do something about it was strong despite his anger. The thought that he might be attempting to please the Caretaker bothered him greatly. Why should he? Something in the atmosphere, he decided. Something urging him to be a part of the group. Although, he’d acted like an outsider and went off like an idiot, part of him couldn’t leave it there.

  When Flagran slipped in quietly an hour later, he found Sandro asleep in the chair and left him there.

  ***

  The Source

  Elaris attempted several flights to the mountains, each time coming up against the invisible barrier I had put there for her. I was annoyed that she saw my interventions as a ‘blast of the Breath’, which is how she referred to my instructions in her own mind. Talking with her clearly served no purpose. It was a matter of waiting it out and hoping she would join the others in sharing responsibility. Unfortunately, her idea of her part in the difficulties, and mine, were quite disparate. When she spoke to me of her desire for freedom and flight, my response was firm. “I am Desire itself.”

  Rather than help Homarta in her lonely hours, Elaris hardened herself against her friend. She was determined to blame. Blame was not part of the curriculum. It served no purpose. Only connection with each other would serve to right the flow.

  ***

  Bridey

  Monday morning, I woke convinced we were having another earthquake. It had been going on for a long time, but consciousness was elusive. The roaring sound drew closer; it was too machine-like…I leapt out of bed (for the first time in many years).

  Creeping to the kitchen and standing at the edge of the window where my underwear and singlet top were not visible, Sandro could be seen digging up my backyard with what must have been a rotary hoe. Homarta was leaning against one of the makeshift seats they’d rigged up last night, and she had a very contented look about her. She’d gained weight overnight; she was definitely more solid looking this morning.

  The hope had been to shower without danger from the backyard, but no sooner had the plan formed in my head than the hoe shuddered to a stop. Literally two seconds later, the door flew open, and Sandro came in. He caught me between the bathroom and kitchen. He was one of those men who look you up and down, rather than one who might have apologised and quickly vacated the area.

  “Lovely!” he said.

  With my nose in the air, I stalked out of the room. How dare they just take over my house? This was getting past a joke. Determined to have a shower and after dragging on my trackies and a windcheater and drawing myself up to my full height, I marched back to the kitchen. Sandro had been going through my cupboards. “What are you doing?” It was a screech. “You can’t just walk into my house and start eating my food!”

  He grinned. “That would be difficult Bridey. You don’t have any food.”

  “Well, that’s my business.” It sounded firm and strong, not hungry and desperate. Something had to be d
one about that. “And anyway, not to be ungrateful, because you are fixing up my backyard, but you can’t just make yourself at home in my house.” The words were reasonable and dignified. He just grinned again.

  “Look Bridey, I’ve been up since six, and it’s time for morning tea. If I don’t eat, I die.”

  “How long have you been here?” The sleep-in must have wended its way through many hours of the morning. My tute started at eleven. Nooo!! What time was it? My life was falling apart.

  “Look, I’ll run up and get us some coffees,” he offered. “What do you fancy for breakfast?” He could have had a kiss for that if he was more likeable. What would be reasonable? Hang on a minute, who’s paying? There were less than five dollars in my purse. “No worries,” he said, “I’ll think of something.”

  I ran after him as he headed out the front door and stopped him. “Look Sandro. I need a shower. I’m going to have to heat water and run backwards and forwards, so it would be much appreciated if you’d knock before you charge in.” He gave me that cheeky grin again and said, “I’ll hurry back!”

  The door shut behind him, and my only hope was that the shop was busy and he thought to go somewhere far away and find me something very substantial to eat. My stomach was growling, and nausea threatened. The clock on the microwave showed ten thirty. While this was not a tute to miss, it was impossible to go without a shower and some food. After that, it would be too late. Oh well. Some things just can’t be helped.

  The bucket of cold water had me staggering from the bath to the kitchen and then spending considerable time in front of the kettle trying to work out how to go about this. There seemed to be no other way but to get some containers and spread them out. Now that wasn’t as easy as it sounds. My container cupboard was a bit bare, and nothing was likely to hold more than a few cups. Figuring out things like which ones would be too heavy to hold over my head (my hair desperately needed a wash) and how much hot water it was possible to carry all fought with this strong urge to get going, faster. The kettle was almost boiling when Flagran appeared on the other side of the window.

  Beckoning to him, he cocked his head on one side looking puzzled. I mouthed “Can you come in here?” He put his hand to his ear and mouthed “What did you say?” This became increasingly frustrating. Why couldn’t he just hurry? Eventually he stole over to the back door and knocked. Why on earth do people knock when you don’t want them to, and just charge in when you did? He bounced in full of beans giving me a brotherly kiss on the cheek. How quickly we had become friends. “I need your help.”

  “At your ladyship’s service,” he said.

  “Can you heat the water in this bucket for a shower?”

  He was in a particularly silly mood this morning. “How are you going to get it into the shower head?”

  My swipe at him missed. “Come on Flagran. We have to do this in a hurry!”

  “Oh! Where are you off to today?”

  A perfectly reasonable question but awkward. “Nowhere. I’ve already missed my tute.”

  “Well, why are you in a hurry then?” It suddenly occurred to me that he may have run into Sandro on his way out.

  “Just heat the water for me,” I snapped, “unless you can’t?”

  That pulled him out of whatever game he was playing. He plunged one arm up to the elbow into the bucket of water. In two seconds it was boiling. I looked at it, and looked at my array of containers, and looked at Flagran, furious with him.

  The best thing would be to keep my cool, and so I asked sweetly, “Can you please carry that into the bathroom for me, Flagran dear?”

  “How could I resist such a lovely plea?” He picked up the bucket carried it into the bathroom, depositing it in the middle of the floor.

  “Flagran!” The words were louder than they should have been. “Can you please put it into the shower?” If I’d had a brother, it would probably have been normal, but it was so frustrating rage and helplessness were threatening to bring me to tears. “Please can you help me and be nice?”

  He began to notice my fragile state, so this time he carried the bucket into the shower. He went back to the kitchen and put the boiled water into two of my largest containers. Together we filled some with cold water, standing them all around the shower. I was heading down to the bedroom to collect some clean clothes when there was a knock at the door. Thinking it was Sandro, the sense of helplessness became overwhelming, but it was one of the workmen dealing with the plumbing. He made a move to come in saying, “Sorry Miss. Just need to check that you have clean water now.” An unaccustomed urge to kill kept growing.

  “No, there’s no clean water.” Thoughts of the bath, Flagran and the buckets and everything made me panic. How could it all be explained?

  “Well, can I come into your kitchen and let the water run for a minute or two?”

  It seemed like a reasonable request. There was no choice but to let him in. My house was filling with unwelcome men, and the longing for a shower and something to eat almost buckled my knees.

  Mike, that was his name, followed me back. Flagran had disappeared for the moment. Mike turned on the kitchen tap and a stream of rich brown water flowed into the sink. Well actually it was yellow and rusty looking. Mike was puzzled. “That’s funny,” he said. “The people on either side of you have clean water. Must be your pipes.” It was said with such a calm air. “You’ll need to speak to your landlord about it.” Tears began prickling at the back of my eyes. He was staring out the window at the rotary hoe when a brain wave hit him. “I reckon that lot must have dug something up that they shouldn’t have.”

  I began manoeuvring him towards the front door thinking “They better not have!” The need to get him and everyone else out of the house was becoming urgent. If tears started, they wouldn’t stop in a hurry. The door slammed behind Mike. It wasn’t really his fault.

  Grabbing clean clothes, clean towels (thanks to Mum) and bits and pieces which threatened to fall out of the pile, I rushed back to the bathroom and shut the door. After pulling off my clothes leaving only my singlet top and underwear, which had been just about to come off, Flagran appeared. He’d been hiding in there. This gave me quite a fright, and rage took over. Not wanting to listen to his story of waiting for me to get into the shower so he could slip away, I was trying to shove him out when Sandro came into the kitchen.

  “I knocked. But nobody answered,” he was saying cheerfully when he caught sight of Flagran over my shoulder, and the scowl returned. This definitely was not the time. Pushing Flagran, I heaved at the door and banged it behind both of them. The problem with this set up was that the noise of sobbing in the shower is usually muffled by water running, but in this case there was only a trickle. Things outside went very quiet. There was a scuffle starting, and then the back door slammed. The pleasure of washing my hair was ruined by having to deal with snot falling all over my face and suds refusing to wash away. In the end, the final jug of cold water gave me a much needed shock, and the tears stopped. Outside, Sandro was shouting and Flagran was winding him up further.

  Clean skin and hair helped. A rich aroma of coffee and the smell of bacon filled the kitchen. Both the muffins and the latte were too cool, but the microwave at least was functioning. Just as the food disappeared down my throat, the door opened, and I quickly turned my back on whatever this was.

  “Hello there!”

  It was Torrenclar’s voice. I spun around forgetting what a mess I was in. It was so good to see him. He stood regarding me thoughtfully then came and put his hands on my waist lifting me to sit on the table. He ran a hand over my left foot presenting me with his diagnosis. “Well it’s not this that’s made you cry.” New tears fell down my cheeks, and he wiped them away with his thumbs. “My guess is, it’s those two clowns out there.” He jerked a hand in the direction of the window, and I shook my head. No words would come. He just pulled me to his shoulder and let me cry. In the background, the noise of the rotary hoe started up again.

&nbs
p; When my breath returned, forcing its way through shudders and hiccups, the tale of the shower, and how long everything took, and how hungry I’d been, and how the man, Mike, had said there was a problem with my plumbing and how I needed to call the landlord, fell out. It was ages before it all stopped, and Torrenclar was in no hurry. His strong arms and sturdy shoulder made me feel safe. The complete lack of fuss was the best. No questions and no attempts to fix me. He waited until I was ready to stop. It was very satisfying. The waste of water troubled me though.

  He kissed me softly on the lips, and I smiled and said thank you. Being Torrenclar, he headed out the front door.

  6

  The Source

  He had begun his morning with me at St Kilda beach. He loved to stand by the sea watching the sun make its steady progress into the sky. This particular Monday morning was fine and clear. Light streamed across the water accentuating the ripples of the calm sea. But, Torrenclar was anything but calm. He had been wrestling with his thoughts all through the night. His anguish, wave like, had circulated in an endless loop.

  But we began with Sandro and his troubles. Although Torrenclar had been challenging, the results had been more than positive. He was concerned about Elaris who seemed to be slipping away. We spoke of ways of enticing her to return to her self. He told me of Bridey and his affection for her, and I was delighted. Bridey had had to manage without much affection for the greater part of her life. There had been times when she’d had friends who loved her, and boyfriends who played with her, but mostly, she had been alone. An only child, there’d been no one to turn to growing up, or later. While the current drama was developing, she would need to have her wits about her.

  Then, we entered the marshy ground of the distance developing between us.

  It is a common, erroneous, human belief that angels and the heavens contain only delights where all is well. This is not so. Spirits, similar to humans, have their struggles, and these manifest in all relationships but especially in their connection with me. Here was one of my closest friends, and yet there was discord. The look which had passed between us when I had made my pronouncement on the four Caretakers had contained a world of meaning only the two of us could appreciate. It had been full of reproach on my side, and this had carved a deep hole inside him. He felt empty.