Homarta was gradually recovering her powers and Wednesday she began to talk with me again. I expected anger and would have accepted it. She had been compliant and focussed and didn’t need reminding about her rebellion. But she didn’t raise it with me. Her thoughts were focussed on Bridey’s misery. “What can we do for her, Love?” Homarta was not usually caught up in an individual’s pain, but Bridey’s sweetness had crept inside her taking up residence there.
“They both need more time” I told her. “Sandro in particular needs some shaking up.”
“What do you want from me here, now?”
I felt a surge of delight. This was the first time in months she had considered asking.
“Just keep challenging her to think.” Not a comprehensive reply, but Homarta would now do what I asked. “It’s good to have you back Homarta.” I blew sweet breath on her, and she opened to receive it. “If you wouldn’t mind too much, I would like you to stay here for a while.” It was a query, but she showed no signs of resentment.
“I’m glad,” she returned simply. I bent to kiss her, and she lifted up her face for it.
***
It was well past midnight when the three made their way to the Bay. The night was becoming restless. Dark clouds swept quickly across the sky threatening rain. Sandro was tired and no longer in the mood for a swim. The cold wind slapped up against his ears. Formidable weather was filled with challenges. When put to him, the manner of travel was not really to his liking. The two Caretakers wanted to swim out in the deep waters outside the heads, very rough indeed, and this meant long distances, too many hours in human terms, so the two proposed to carry him. Sandro never gave over the wheel to another driver if he had any control over the situation. He loved flying and had spent many years travelling the world, but this wasn’t quite the same proposition.
Resistance against any suggestion to which Flagran was committed led nowhere. Torrenclar at least listened to the idea that they take a quick dip in the Bay, but he seemed to see this as such a lame alternative Sandro gave up, not wanting to look like a wimp.
He was offered the choice of backs to ride on and chose Flagran’s because he felt safer, having spent more time with him, and also been knocked to the floor and sat on, by him; an experience which had had a unifying effect. Flagran bent his back and took Sandro’s arms around his neck. He lifted off the ground outside the unit with all the ease of a water bird, winging around the sky in circles until Sandro thumped him on the back of the head. They caught up with Torrenclar over the Bay. Sandro’s anxiety rose as he stared down into the dark water. If someone had suggested the plane in which he was travelling was going down over deep water, he would not have been happy. To do this without the plane seemed much less attractive.
They reached a point where Flagran suggested, “You might want to take a deep breath about now” and Sandro, grateful for the warning, was just about to do so when the dive from the sky sucked out everything from his lungs and they hit the water. His mount enjoyed a deep dive, and by the time they surfaced Sandro had died a small death. Torrenclar was waiting for him as he struggled to breathe rolling off the Caretaker convinced he was safer in the water on his own. It took him minutes to control his breathing to the point where he could get his mouth shut before the next wave. Terror struck as he surfaced for the third time and found himself alone in the middle of the ocean.
He forced himself to relax and focus. He was a strong swimmer. He could do this.
Rolling onto his back helped, and he allowed the water to lift him high and then low while he thought about his situation. He had no natural trust in the benevolence of the spirits. Perhaps they had brought him out here to get rid of him, to remove him from Bridey’s life. The dark clouds overhead loomed. Waves were increasingly high and unpredictable in the extreme. The light of the early evening had disappeared into an inky blackness.
Torrenclar had been taking a long dive way down into the deeps. He surfaced beside Sandro in a fountain of water, exhilarated and alive. The shock of being joined by something from the deep caused Sandro to turn onto his stomach and start swimming valiantly in no particular direction. Torrenclar headed him off as a whale would swim close to her offspring. In the same way, he invited Sandro to play with him.
This was not so much an invitation as an imperative because the two Caretakers thought of play as lifting Sandro and tossing him from one to the other, in the manner of volley ball pros. The worst of it was they were too good, never dropping him but rather bouncing him from one to the other in an endless volley. At first he was jolted, terrified, furious, hating every throw. The experience represented everything he had ever attempted to cut from his life. Relaxing in trust exercises was never something Sandro participated in at business courses. He simply refused to take part.
It took some time for him to arrive at the discovery he was enjoying the experience. He began to allow the sensation of flying through the air, although each and every time he wished to be caught rather than re- tossed. It must be something like the experience of a flying fish, he thought. Soon enough he was hoping for them to toss him higher, and they, quickly sensing the change, began to oblige. Eventually it came to an end as all things must, and they let him know by simply dropping him in the water. On resurfacing, it seemed it was time for free play. Flagran had a habit of bouncing up wherever he decided spraying water over Sandro’s face.
After half an hour or so, a potentially dangerous time span for a human without a wet suit swimming in freezing waters, Sandro began to tire. Fear drains energy more rapidly than exercise alone. He became very aware of the creeping cold. His movements slowed. He spent more time on his back.
None too soon Flagran indicated he was to climb aboard again. Reluctantly Sandro did so, letting his body settle as he realised Flagran’s fire had not been extinguished in the water. In fact he had turned up the temperature. The warmth seeped into his cooling core, and he lowered his face against Flagran’s shoulder, exhausted.
Apparently they were returning by water. Sandro made himself a small air hole beneath his own armpit, where the spray was less present. It was like lying on a jet-ski skimming over the sea. Even in his current state, the experience was exhilarating. By the time they reached Melbourne and made their way up the mouth of the Yarra, weaving between ships and boats of all sizes, he was asleep, lost in a cosy, wonder filled dream of flying. He did not wake as they left the water and began to fly again. It was only as Flagran dropped him unceremoniously onto the pavers of his own terrace that he came back to reality.
***
Bridey
I was going crazy watching every car, listening for knocks, startling at doors opening in the house, but he didn’t come, and there was no sign of him anywhere. The Caretakers stopped mentioned him to me. Even to hear someone use his name would have helped. The time over those two weeks dragged until I thought I would crack open. Over all the years of my life, I had never felt so desperate to see anyone. The crazy bit seemed to me to be feeling like this over someone I hardly knew. A few days, and now I couldn’t bear the pain of not seeing him.
Then, at the beginning of the second week, I was walking along a road in Carlton searching for some distraction which didn’t require money, and there he was. He was walking ahead of me. I quickened my pace to catch up with him but then slowed it again after remembering I had no idea what to do if I did catch him. Instead, I sat at an outside table of a coffee shop hoping he might come back that way, and after ten minutes he came walking towards me.
He was staring straight at me, his expression impossible to read. He was about twenty or thirty steps away when he suddenly turned around and went back the way he’d come. Complete shock kept me in my seat, feeling nothing, until I began to contemplate living my whole life without ever finding out what I most needed to know. The pain was excruciating; something like when Homarta broke my foot, but inside. It was crippling. I attempted to stand up, but my feet wouldn’t move and I had to sit again. A wait
er came and had asked me twice if I wanted anything before I was aware he was speaking. Yes, I wanted Sandro. Also to get drunk, but I had no money. I shook my head, and after he went away I tried again to stand. My bike was over at the Uni, but I couldn’t ride. It was a very long way home.
At some point I climbed on the bike and attempted to ride, but it wobbled all over the road and as it was peak hour, even on a Tuesday that was extremely dangerous. I couldn’t remember the way. I couldn’t think of anything. By the time I’d staggered up my short driveway, I had seriously frightened myself. Instead of going inside, I went around to Homarta through the side gate. She took one look and ran to catch me before I fell to the ground on top of her silver beet, but she missed, and I fell between the two rows of vegetables. It was horrifying. Why was I doing this? I’m not the hysterical type. Homarta lay beside me on the ground. Do you know, that’s a strange experience? People never lie down on the ground with you when you’ve collapsed. They usually panic and start running around looking for something, but Homarta just lay beside me, and I could feel the warmth of her body against mine. This time it felt good.
It was a long while before I could explain anything, and she didn’t seem to mind waiting. When it came out that Sandro had walked away, she said, “Oh, the poor darling!”
I sat up. At first thought she seemed to have been talking about me, but on replay I heard the extra word. She was feeling for Sandro.
We needed one of the other Caretakers who knew Sandro’s address. Both of us determined it should be Flagran. While we waited for him to come, Homarta took both my hands between hers. “You can’t go round there now, darling,” she said.
“But I have to Homarta. I have to tell him, it’s okay. Now.” I was so distraught I couldn’t think of anything practical, but she talked me through it step by step.
“If you go now, the only way you can travel is by bike. You are clearly in no state to do that.”
“No,” I said. “I can’t wait. I have to get there somehow.” Maybe Flagran would take me, but she said it wasn’t possible. It would be against the guidelines. My mind blocked her as she tried to explain it to me. The words just didn’t make any sense.
When he came, Flagran was also uncertain whether he should give me Sandro’s address. Apparently, it was becoming clearer, Caretakers were not allowed to interfere in relationships between humans. It was a trap, and there was no way out. Why hadn’t I let things go along until I knew where he lived? Then I could just get there myself. Flagran was nearly as distressed as me, and it took all my self-control to let go the idea of going to Sandro’s house. Instead, we went inside, and he watched me make myself some dinner. Homarta had never been inside and didn’t seem to be in any hurry to do so.
Once I’d eaten, Flagran insisted on a shower and told me to get ready for bed. At first I thought he was doing this to make sure I wouldn’t wander the streets after he left, which he was clearly keen to do because he wanted to check on Sandro, but then it dawned on me it was because he wanted to tuck me in and turn out the light.
I tossed and turned thinking about what to do. It had seemed so clear outside with Homarta. Everything seemed so straightforward with her. But the doubts about my reception began to take over. Perhaps he didn’t want to see me. Confusion swamped me, and tiredness made it harder to think straight. Eventually, a disturbed and restless sleep gave way to sleeping for twelve hours straight.
Wednesday morning, all the energy had nowhere to go.
When the plumbers appeared, it occurred to me one of them might know my landlord’s contact details. I spent some time inventing an elaborate story about knowing the landlord but, having damaged my phone in the earthquake, I couldn’t retrieve his phone number. “That’s fine,” the boss plumber said taking out his phone and looking it up. My excitement rose when he rang and asked if it was alright for the young woman who lived in his house to have his phone number.
I began to feel nauseous. But, rather than this leading to a resolution, it soon became clear he was only talking to Sandro’s answering machine. The disappointment was intense but followed by the plumber assuring me that if the landlord rang back, he would come and let me know.
The rest of Wednesday was spent hanging around, in and outside the house, hoping for the plumber to come and find me. Twice I checked, but he was certain nothing had come through at his end. He asked me if there was anything he could do to help me.
“Nothing. But thank you.”
Wednesday night meant work and leaving home around four o’clock which was agonising. What if I missed something? My job on Reception required answering the phone constantly. I know it makes no sense at all, but every time I picked up the phone I truly thought it might be Sandro. Honestly, it was like having a severe mental illness where logic has absolutely no impact on the mind. Several times, instead of putting on my cheery voice to welcome a caller whose problem was of absolutely no interest to me, I forgot and even sounded quite breathless once. My counterpart at the other end of Reception looked across at me, and I had to lie and say it must be my asthma. That may sound funny now, but I can assure you it was no joke at the time.
Later, I dragged myself home and into bed so worked up it was hours before sleep caught me. Despite all the last two days had brought, I woke Thursday morning feeling wretched but still believing something good might happen today. It didn’t. Absolutely nothing of any interest took place anywhere that day.
***
Tuesday night, Sandro had allowed Flagran to bully him into playing a game with him on his Ipad against the Caretaker on the computer. His total lack of concentration eventually convinced the Caretaker to leave him be. When he took himself off to bed, Flagran posted himself, complete with Ipad, outside his door and didn’t move until the next morning when he heard him get up to go for his run. The offer of company was refused abruptly, but Flagran took no notice and trotted along behind his friend without him being aware of it until he came home again exhausted.
Wednesday was an auction day for Sandro, and he attended willing it to take his mind off the image of Bridey sitting in Lygon St looking up at him from her seat. On her face there was a completely unreadable expression which he replayed over and over trying to change this but to no avail. His mind moved backwards and forwards between her hair shining in the sun, her little red cardigan against the black dress, and her bare legs shivering in the slight breeze. The crash and burn part was when he came up against the picture of him spinning on his heel and walking away.
His shower ended before he even began to feel fresh, and breakfast passed without him being sure he had eaten anything. He picked up his keys and wallet and left his phone on the bench where he’d made breakfast. It was lunchtime before he noticed it missing. He simply shrugged and tried to attend to the papers he’d gathered about the afternoon’s auction. Before he had been there an hour that morning, he had firmly resolved not to purchase. Anything could happen if he raised his hand at an auction today, he decided.
Tired and dispirited, he decided not to go home but to visit his mother. She wasn’t there, and he spent an uncomfortable half hour with his stepfather, who really was a nice man, but Sandro couldn’t concentrate enough to ask any questions, and the conversation between them gradually petered out as they stared at the television together.
When he finally arrived back at the unit he picked up his phone, took a quick glance, recognised the plumber’s number but couldn’t be bothered listening to his messages. He went to bed longing for Bridey.
The following day the plumbers let Sandro know they’d finished, but neither remembered the message.
***
9
Bridey
Friday afternoon, before I went to work, I came to a clear decision that life as it was could not continue on. It was completely unbearable, and only I had the power to get rid of the pain. You’re thinking suicide? The pain was excruciating, but at least I was alive. Having the Caretakers in my life made it almost bearable
. It was difficult to imagine them not being around. But life without Sandro was not an option. At the very least his distance was a puzzle which demanded an answer. Some risks in rescuing affairs from where they stood had now become vital whilst two images flashed back and forth repeatedly like a neon sign. The first was me turning away and shutting down when he confessed to being my landlord. It was my reaction which had caused all this. Weeks of misery. The second picture only made sense when you put it together with the first. Sandro had had no inkling that I’d been sitting there in Lygon St waiting for him. To him, it would have been a chance meeting. He had no idea I was longing to see him.
Flagran wouldn’t tell me where he lived. It was Fitzroy, but there were thousands of homes in Fitzroy, and it wasn’t much use thinking about door knocking the whole area. Desperation was one thing, but stalking was still unacceptable. For some reason, Sandro hadn’t offered his phone number through the plumbers. His answering machine had definitely picked up the message. Determination only takes us so far. A little luck, or whatever that is, has to fill in the gaps sometimes. Homarta had attempted to pass on her understanding about the Source, how she had been reduced to a shadow of herself because she’d interfered by stopping time. It was a puzzle that she wasn’t angry. She seemed contented now. I asked how it works between her and the Source. Remember I had been raised with a strict ban on religious thinking.
Fantasies such as religion were matters of shame in our house. “For goodness sake Bridey,” I could hear my Mum saying. “Have a little sense!” Sense was highly valued in our house and spoken about all the time. I’m surprised we didn’t have a mantra over dinner, to replace grace, going something like this “Oh great gift sense! Make us more devoted to you!” Elaine had been in touch with me once since Homarta had put her in her place. My mother was worried I had become part of a cult. Oh for a cult, I thought; something to make sense of things. So now I wanted to know about what made Homarta and the others do what they did. It still didn’t have much meaning that they were spirits, but I could clearly see they were happy, beautiful and very committed to their jobs. Whenever I questioned them about this, they always took me back to the Source, the beginning of all things.
Reluctant Activists Page 13
