Reluctant Activists

by Helena Phillips

  “What does that matter?”

  “For me it matters that I can control myself. And it matters that we do this in a way we will always remember. Not slipping up against mouldy tiles with guests outside imagining things.”

  “I get that Sandro. Obviously not tonight, but a week!!!!” I slipped down the side of the bed in my underwear feeling so aroused nothing would help. He picked up my t-shirt and slipped it over my head, then my woolly jumper for outside. He knelt in front of me and pulled my jeans over my feet and insisted I stood up. When he reached my hips he just left the jeans there and began kissing me again. This time it was me who pushed away, angrily.

  “Don’t do that! You’re undoing all the good work we just did.” I zipped up my jeans and sat to pull on my socks. He squatted with his legs either side of mine and forced me to look at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You make the call. If you want it to be tonight, there’s nothing stopping us. Once this party’s over…” He looked guilty and distressed and aroused. I forgave him for being so exciting.

  “It’s alright. I’m okay. I love you Sandro.” He groaned and pulled me onto the floor with him. We wrapped our legs around each other and the heat was intense, but then we sat up and dressed, and went out to our party in the cold night air, which, after about half an hour, helped.

  Everyone stared as we came out the back door, and the dark covered the rush of embarrassment. Homarta was sitting in front of the raging fire staring into it when I went over. Fires always make me want to warm up my back in front of them. Gradually my legs stopped trembling, and my heart settled into a slower pace. The atmosphere was welcoming in a way that’s difficult to describe. Everyone was cheerful, and as Flagran had obviously taken the food I’d prepared earlier outside with him, smells were wafting up which distracted me from other hungers. I felt fresh and alive and starving. Sandro came over. “God, you smell so good, Bridey.” He kissed the top of my head, and we smiled at each other tenderly. “So does the grub!”

  Flagran brought us a corn cob each which was devoured in an instant. There were cheeses and breads and carrot sticks and some crunchy oven roasted flat bread covered in lemon pepper seasoning. All this food devoured rapidly was threatening to give me a pain, but I didn’t care. It was only as the last sausage slipped down that the thought of Homarta’s guest returned. I stared down at her.

  “Well! Where is she?”

  “Hiding behind the tin at the back there.”

  “No! Homarta. We got distracted.” I felt terrible. This was important for her and my thoughts had been everywhere else.

  “Of course you did,” she smiled. “How could you not when you have the attention of that gorgeous hunk of manhood over there.” He was lovely. My thoughts drifted off again to various parts of my body, until I shook it vigorously and turned my attention elsewhere. He was deep in conversation with Torrenclar, and our guest was being completely ignored.

  Puzzled, I searched the dark around Homarta’s humpy. “What’s she doing?”

  “Being terrified of you all.”

  “What shall we do? We can’t just leave her there.”

  “We can. She can see you all and check out how you behave with each other until she feels safer.” Homarta appeared content with this. Was she was little frustrated with her protégée’s withdrawal?

  Meal over, Flagran was ready to play. He attempted to teach Sandro to eat fire. Sandro, never one to knock back a challenge, had several attempts during which Flagran alternated between giving him encouraging hints and jeering at his efforts. Torrenclar stood by with a bucket of water. It seemed that this was in case of accident, but later events proved me wrong.

  When Torrenclar began to let go his serious and sensible ways, he showed parts of his character which were extraordinarily different. At one point, he put down the bucket of water and began jabbing at Flagran with a fiery stick which, the more it was waved around the air, became fully charged. His opponent danced with expert ease circling the fire endlessly, spinning on one foot and turning to take him on with another stick thicker than Sandro’s hand. Speaking of which, Sandro, not wanting to be left out of the fray, made it a threesome. The difficulty was he had nowhere near the speed or agility of the other two and kept getting caught between them. Several times I cried out terrified they would accidentally burn him. In the excitement and anxiety I could no longer contain, I picked up the bucket of water, holding it by the handle with one hand and the base in my other hand and threw it over the three of them. Of course the only one who found that particularly unpleasant was Sandro, but while he was spluttering and coughing, Flagran grabbed me round the waist with one arm and tipped me upside down. He was sizzling. I screamed for Sandro. But the danger was averted when Irri-tat ran out from behind her safety barrier and leapt to my defense.

  “No, no. Don’t hurt her,” she shouted at Flagran, flapping at him ineffectually with hands which he batted away like butterflies. Sandro grabbed at me, but Flagran would not let go, and Irri-tat, convinced I was in grave danger, which I’m not sure I wasn’t and from whom was also uncertain, began to get extremely distressed. At this point Homarta stepped up and said sternly, “Put her down, both of you. You should be ashamed of yourselves, frightening your guest like that.”

  Flagran, keen not to give me to Sandro, who had stepped back in consternation, was about to continue when Torrenclar called him to order. Irri-tat was hesitating unable to withdraw while she thought I was in danger, and wanting very much to disappear before things became too unpleasant with the other two Caretakers. She began to cry piteously. At this, I broke out of Flagran’s grasp and ran to her. “No, no. Don’t cry. I’m alright. He wouldn’t hurt me. He was just pretending.” Sandro gave me a look which clearly said ‘wait ‘til later’, but I shook my head and ignored him. “Don’t go again, Irri-tat,” I said, “we’ve finished, and we’ll be singing now.” I cast a look at the others, “Won’t we?” Of course they pretended to ignore my challenge, and things took a while to settle, but the ice had been broken and Irri eventually joined us around the fire. Sandro was freezing and was turning round and round, like a lamb on a spit. Flagran offered to warm him up, but Sandro dared him to try. Homarta began to speak firmly when they began sparring again. All in all, it was an exciting introduction to our company.

  Eventually, Torrenclar began to sing for us. His rich baritone filled the air and quiet settled over the group. It took a while for Sandro to join in, and I watched him warily as his clothes gave off steam. Flagran, taking pity on him, decided to be gentle and sent a hot breeze his way which did the trick rapidly. Once he was warm, he relaxed enough to take on a part in the song coming over and pinching my seat and pulling me onto his lap for warmth. My whispered apology made him shoot me another ‘you just wait’ look, but I put my arms around his neck and snuggled into him.

  13

  The Source

  I listened as Elaris brooded on her complaints and wrongs. All around, the stillness obsessed her until she could bear it no longer. She set up a wail of protest screaming out her fury with me. For the sake of life in the mountains, I had made her barriers soundproof unwilling for the little creatures to be distressed. It was my will that they scurry about their business as always without being bothered by her ravings. Unaware of this, Elaris addressed them all seeking their support in her case against me. When this was exhausted, she addressed me directly.

  Two aspects about this were distressing. The first was her calling me Breath despite her fury. It pulled me towards her with an ache every time she referred to me thus. “How can you keep putting it out there that you are a loving and kind being, Breath, when you treat me this way? You know I hate to be restricted yet you insisted on it even when I couldn’t cope with it.” Deep misery was locked into these words. She was right of course. It would be intolerable for her, and yet I had insisted. “If I had known you were so into control, I never would have become close to you,” she mourned. “It is unfair. You are suppos
ed to love me. Nothing,” she paused, thinking, “should keep us apart, but that is another lie you put about.” She was tired now, and her voice drifted into muttering something unintelligible, which sounded like “a great big fake.....no sense of humour.... just want to be in charge and lord it over us all...I’m going to die now,” she ended tragically and faded out.

  She couldn’t discern me, although once she would have felt my presence beyond any barrier, but she heard me groan aloud. “Is that you, Breath?” Her voice was soft still a trace of love for me. It wasn’t only in the name.

  “Yes, Elaris, I am here.”

  “Hold me please,” she begged. “It’s very lonely in here.” I went in to her then and picked her up to cradle her in my arms. She leant into me as a baby suckling and took all she needed. When she pulled back to look into my face, she was triumphant. “Now you see it was not me but you who withdrew.” She had no pity for me, but only glee in her madness. Tightening my arms around her, I whispered.

  “Elaris my darling, you will need to stay here for a while longer. When you are ready for me, call and I will come.” She cried out in anger and protest clinging to me, but I tore myself away and went to a quiet place to nurse my pain alone.

  ***

  Bridey

  My text to Mum went like this: HI Mum, sorry to be out of touch. Luv to catch up. Ring me I’m out of credit. This was sent after pushing from Sandro. I checked with Torrenclar to see what he thought. Instead of giving advice, he asked me what I wanted from her. Good question. What seemed to be natural with other mothers had always been complicated for us. Sometimes, it seemed she hated me. Torrenclar assured me this was unlikely, but he didn’t know Elaine. “I can’t just stop seeing her altogether,” I wailed.

  “Who’s suggesting that?” he asked.

  “I dunno, Torrenclar, sometimes it would be easier, but it leaves me feeling strange when we haven’t had contact for a long time; like something’s missing.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Maybe,” I said slowly, “maybe I miss her interest in me, or something like that.”

  “She would be one of those who would know the most about you, wouldn’t she?”

  “In one way, yes. But in another, she knows so little about me. She mostly makes up things.”

  “It’s hard for anyone else to tell you what to do about her, but the best thing would be to make it work, wouldn’t it? That way you don’t have to always feel something is missing. Not having any family would be a big loss, don’t you think?”

  “You all feel like more of a family to me than mine ever has.”

  “Yes,” Torrenclar said. “Everyone expects families to naturally love each other. But no family at all, that’s another thing entirely.”

  He was right. Somewhere deep inside I knew that. I sent the text. Sandro had coached me to put it back on Mum, and I’m sure he was right. It didn’t do to tread too carefully around her. Then she just took over.

  We went out about five o’clock to visit Gabriella. This was our fourth meeting, including once when she was shopping in Brunswick St., and she’d popped into Sandro’s. She seemed to like me. My outfit was new. The creamy top had a scooped neck and was all patterned in lace with long sleeves. I wore it tucked into a skirt with scalloped edges and circles and embroidered holes all over it. Because winter had arrived, I bought a coat to go over the top. This was red and soft so the sleeves bunched up and looked a bit like a cardigan with black buttons down the front. The whole thing was gorgeous. I felt great.

  We were in a hurry. I ran outside to the car after Sandro had texted me. I slipped into his Ferrari rejoicing that he didn’t drive the old Camry, because of ruining my skirt before we got there. Sandro was frowning.

  “You look stunning,” he said.

  “Why is that a problem?”

  “It isn’t. I’m just stumped by my luck sometimes. I was thinking about when I first met you.” He laughed. “You were filthy. Your hair was covered in dust and your face all grimy. It took days to sort you out. Can you please wear that next weekend?” It would need to be worn every weekend and every special occasion for about six months to justify the money I’d spent on it. When I thought how difficult it had been to buy food, and the water being off, and my broken foot, life was certainly looking up. “You’re a lovely person, and sometimes I can’t see what you are attracted to in me. Grumpy, controlling, obsessed with stuff, moody. Why would you put up with me?”

  This was heavy, so I said, “It’s the Ferrari!”

  The family were all there together. Carmel also had her boyfriend with her. He seemed friendly enough, but he’d been around for a while so he may as well have been part of the family when it came to being my ally. He walked over to the fridge, grabbed himself a beer, pinched food off the table and then went and sat with Jarrod and watched the footy. Sandro disappeared with Joanne to look at her car which was making a funny noise leaving me with his mother in the kitchen. She set me chopping parsley for garnish.

  “Lovely outfit, Bridey,” she said. “You’ve got great taste.”

  It was huge to hear that from a mother figure. My mother would probably have told me there was no need to wear my skirts that short, or it was not a good colour and I’d probably end up with a stain on it. Gabriella was wearing a soft pastel blue jumper with leggings and boots. She had flour scattered over her from the pastry she was rolling out and where she had leant against the table. I found myself thinking she should have been wearing an apron. My thoughts do that. Come up with some random thought from Mum’s storehouse. Thank goodness they don’t just pop out.

  “How’s the study going? I hope that idle son of mine isn’t distracting you too much.”

  She was very fond of Sandro, but she didn’t have him on a pedestal. She frequently pulled him up when he was going on about something, or when he was grumpy and obnoxious.

  Talking about my thesis always brought out the best in me, and Gabriella was an intelligent listener. She was still working as a secondary school teacher but mostly on special projects, and only when she was looking for stimulation. Otherwise, she had a wide circle of friends and involved herself in multiple activities.

  “Well, the study part needs shaping as soon as possible. First there’s a questionnaire to rough out. My literature review was accepted. That’s one big hurdle over.”

  “Tell me again what the study covers.”

  “It’s about migrants and their stories. As the generations settle in a new country their past shapes how they make a place for themselves and also how communities develop around that. Then the next generations build on those stories. I’m also looking at how their stories might bind or clash, where people from two different cultures set up families in Australia.”

  “Like us you mean.”

  “Yes,” I grinned at her. “I’m using Sandro as a study case.”

  “That’s why you’re with me,” he said from the door. “There had to be a motive somewhere in there.” It didn’t appear to faze him.

  “Sandro and I are going out to Dandenong next week to search out subjects for my interviews.”

  “Are we?”

  “Yes, we are.”

  He’d been avoiding this, and now I regretted saying anything, but instead of putting the shutters up, he offered me some wine and sat down beside me at the table.

  “Mum, you’re a grub!”

  She didn’t turn a hair. “Well clean me up then! Don’t just sit there.”

  He found a towel and wet a corner of it like he’d done this a thousand times before. She put her face up for him to wipe off the flour, and he kissed her damp cheek before he sat down again.

  “How many people are you going to interview?”

  “I’m not sure yet. This is a preliminary visit with a contact at the Migrant Resource Centre, and then we’ll, I mean I, will sort it out from there. Sandro has to come with me so I don’t get lost. Catching the train and then wandering the streets of Dandenong trying to f
ind the place would be horrible.”

  “Will you go in with her?” his mother asked, curious.

  “If she lets me.” We’d had a few attempts to talk about following up on Sandro’s Dad. He seemed to be avoiding it now, where once he’d been totally obsessed.

  “Ideally, I’d like to conduct at least twenty interviews, and then put them through a program to analyse the data.”

  “When’s it due in?”

  “November. This is my second year, and I’m running behind. My first plan was a project about youth mental health and the importance of culture and place in a modern world for young aboriginal people. But I had to change it all around because contacts kept disappearing. It still interests me. Eventually it’d be good to work in this field in some way”

  “Flagran asked me to help out a young man the other day.”

  “What a strange name,” Gabriella said. Sandro had forgotten not to mention the Caretakers with his mother. I wondered what she would make of them if she knew.

  “Who is it?”

  “His name’s Josh. Flagran met him on the streets. He’s been out of home for about eighteen months; needs a computer to study.”

  “Where does the name Flagran come from?” his mother asked.

  “Fire,” Sandro didn’t seem fazed by her questions.

  “But how did he get it?”

  “When he was named it was just obvious what he should be called,” Sandro breezed. “If you met him, you’d understand.” I supported this, and thankfully the conversation moved on.

  “Hey Mum.” Sandro was keen to put me in the soup now, “What would you think about meeting Bridey’s parents?”

  Gabriella looked pleased. She was probably thinking this sounded serious. It certainly felt serious.

  “They can be difficult,” I warned, squirming, “not very friendly.”

  “Well, that’s not a problem,” she said. Yes it certainly is! “We’ll have to put them at their ease.” Of course, why didn’t I think of that?