Reluctant Activists

by Helena Phillips

  At the end of it Sandro said, “If I’d known about that, I would have come round last night.”

  “Yes. But I was still pissed off with you. And besides, there’s been no down time for ages. Before you all turned up, there was often too much time. It was lonely.”

  Flagran knew all about Homarta’s past, but he was still touched by her distress. This made him share experiences of being in the cold over the years, and how he still finds it difficult to include the Source in his plans. I got that. It had only been an afterthought to stop on the way over and tune in. “When my Core is with me,” he said, “I’m on fire. It doesn’t make any sense to me why I don’t go there all the time. It never has.” He brought up Josh. Sandro had purchased a laptop which they’d searched out together. When Josh had seen the prices, he’d tried to pick something cheap, but Sandro talked him out of it. “Get something that does everything you want and has room for what you need,” he’d told him. They’d returned carrying a student discounted Apple Mac because Josh had enrolled in a ‘Get back to study’ course at TAFE which started in the middle of July and ran two days a week for six weeks. He’d been informed there were many people doing the course who hadn’t studied for years, and this helped. Sandro had been clear that if he pulled out after the census date, he would expect to be repaid. “If you don’t work, you’re responsible for the cost. If you do, and you fail, well that’s life!” Josh had been happy with these conditions. Of course, if he discovered reality was different from his imagination, there loomed the problem of how. But, in Josh’s cheerful way, these difficulties could easily be faced when, and if, they arrived.

  It seemed to suit me to have Josh keep his stuff at my place. Sandro’s concern that Josh might steal from me was realistic, but there wasn’t much besides food he might want which would be all that upsetting to lose; especially now he had a computer. Also, it was hard to imagine Josh stealing from people he trusted. At my place, he was free to come and go as he pleased. We never spoke about him living with me. After all, it was a squat. Sandro was searching for a bike for him so there would be no excuse to miss classes.

  Leaving my bike in Fitzroy, we drove home to find Homarta subdued and Irri-tat missing. Sandro stood speaking with her while I grabbed some things. There was a knock at the front door. It was my mother. We stood staring at each other speculatively. It had been almost two months since we’d met. She’d never answered my text message, and there hadn’t been any response to my conversation with Dad. Now, here she was standing there, expecting something.

  It was time she met Sandro properly; that much was clear so it was good timing, but much hinged on how they would behave. A strong impulse to leave them to thrash it out together was attractive but unhelpful. This had to be faced along with all the rest of the challenges lately.

  She sat at the kitchen table waiting for the kettle to boil and talking about nothing much when suddenly she said, “Your father says we are to meet this man’s parents.”

  What a way with words, she had.

  “What do you think of that idea, Mum?”

  “How serious is this?”

  Good question. It was early days. While it felt serious now, who knew what the future might hold. There flashed a sudden cold dread at the thought of possibly losing him. “Well. We’re serious now, so if you want to meet with his parents, they’d like to invite you for dinner.”

  She was uncertain about this, but as she was considering her next move, Sandro came in from the garden. There was a small silence, and then he spoke first. “Hello Elaine.”

  He paused searching for the right words. “I owe you an apology.” Don’t apologise, that will just give her power. “I was rude to you the first time we met, and I’m sorry. Bridey and I had just been through weeks of misunderstandings, and you walked in right in the middle of the reunion. That’s no excuse; just an explanation of my behaviour.”

  It was a handsome piece of work. He was really good at this. Mum regarded him coldly, but there was nothing unusual about that. “Bridey tells me your parents want to meet us.” Well that was something like what I’d suggested. He didn’t falter.

  “Yes. Are you doing anything next Friday?”

  She was staggered. The feeling was mutual. Of course, he was doing his usual thing of making plans for his mother without asking her.

  “Sandro! Ask your mother first.” My look meant this is not a suggestion.

  “Are you free Elaine?”

  She was thinking. “Well, I suppose we could be available.”

  “I’ll pop outside and give Mum a ring.” He left to sit on the back step with his coffee, after accepting a piece of cake from Elaine who had brought me a peace offering. He’d just finished lunch.

  She regarded me intently. “Well, perhaps he has some good points. What are you doing with yourself these days?” Today’s trip gave us a chance to talk about safe subjects, but in a hurry. Elaine’s idea of the project went something like: me doing a kindness to people less fortunate than myself who hadn’t a hope of fitting in with real Australians no matter how long they stayed here. The irritation she triggered with this sort of talk was certainly not conducive to us reconnecting. But then my expectations were very low.

  Sandro joined us again, asked for another piece of cake and blithely informed us it was all settled. Here was another horrible event to look forward to. It occurred to me he might be paying me back for insisting on the search for his father. Elaine stayed another ten minutes, then we were facing each other across the table.

  “What did you do that for?”

  “I thought you wanted to get them together.”

  “You did not!”

  “We have to have them as part of our lives, so we may as well get on with it?”

  “I hate it when you don’t consult me. What am I? Your commodity you can just put wherever you like?”

  “Oh, come on Bridey. You know this is something to get over and done with.”

  “Whether it is or isn’t, is not the point. Don’t make plans without asking me. Especially when it involves my parents. You know how hard it’s going to be for me.” It dawned on me that he probably didn’t have any idea. Well, this would certainly give him a clearer picture.

  I was furious. “Life’s full enough already. I’ve had this. It all just keeps rolling from one bad thing to another.” Perhaps that wasn’t completely true. But the feeling was the same as if it was.

  The timing of this argument was really off. Well, it wasn’t my fault. This time Sandro could fix it if he wanted to sleep with me tonight.

  “Bridey, I don’t do these things to upset you. It’s just the way my mind works.”

  “Hasn’t any other woman in your life ever challenged the way you do that?”

  He thought about this then grinned ruefully. “Yes and no.”

  My choices were to fret and fume over how frustrating he was, and then go to Dandenong with him quiet and sulky, or to get over it. The second option had more going for it. I shook myself and taking him by the shoulders tried to do the same to him, but he of course won. We headed off to the Centre for Multi-Cultural Services.

  There were many people willing to meet with us that day. Two hours, and we hadn’t spoken to half of them. Most wanted the chance to tell their stories. A list of names and follow up contacts began to develop. Meanwhile, Sandro was deep in conversation with a man from Syria. His ability to speak other languages had never occurred to me; although it should have been obvious. Apparently, he spoke fluent Arabic, and being a natural charmer, he had a little group around him. Those who approached me were mainly women wanting to talk about family, those with them here in Australia and those who’d been left behind. It was important to be introduced to families where some members had been here in Australia long enough to meet and marry. Some had been able to bring out family from their home countries before the immigration laws had tightened to strangling point. Many asked me to visit their homes. The logistics of this were going to be inte
resting, but I was excited. It seemed to have been such a long time since I’d first envisioned the project in its different forms, and now here I was with a developing list of interested participants. Maybe taking my bike on the train would work. I was keen to begin immediately, so I made appointments with three people for the following week, the one which was now going to end with a meeting between our parents!

  Some of the two hours I spent sitting with Sandro listening to him talking. It was like being with a stranger. We still had important stuff to achieve, and I knew Sandro would put it off if I didn’t insist we catch up with the Iranian couple. His excuses were weak, and I pointed out that they would be disappointed if we cancelled. Thank goodness he accepted the inevitable.

  Out in the car, we checked the map while Sandro regarded the peak hour traffic ruefully. Since the house we were visiting was only two streets away, it was easy to insist we hang around in Dandenong rather than sit in traffic for the next hour and a half.

  “Come on Sandro. Walking’s good for you.” He gave me the look, the one he used on his sisters when he was trying to frighten them. “Let’s go,” I said.

  The elderly couple were waiting for us with dinner ready. This was embarrassing. I read it that we must have intruded on their evening meal, but Sandro explained they would have fed us no matter what time of the day we’d arrived. He found the prospect of real, home cooked Iranian food exciting. I smiled a lot. Sandro could speak Fasi/Persian too, but they scattered it with bits of other languages which made the conversation less fluent for him. Fortunately food is a universal language. We ate at a table made of dark timber with matching chairs. Much of the furniture looked antique. But the remainder of the room was small and a trifle shabby. We ate delicious yeast bread which our host Behnam (meaning reputable) had cooked outside on hot stones in a little oven which he’d taken us outside to see. He’d built this himself. Their backyard was filled with growing vegetables, herbs and flowers. They had an apricot tree, which of course was dormant.

  The bread accompanied a rice dish filled with flavours of nuts and fruit and herbs and was absolutely to die for. We drank Doogh, yoghurt with minted water and salt. Strange, but I could get used to it. The exotic side of Sandro was at the forefront, and he was in his element piecing together bits of conversation and translating for me whenever he remembered. The word Sohrab kept popping up. Sandro told me this was his father and the name meant “bright, shining”. A range of emotions flashed across his face so fast my need to know what he was learning made me impatient to leave.

  When the meal was coming to an end, our hostess Parand (meaning silk) went to a drawer in a dresser across the room and took out some photos. Sandro stiffened. He had no choice but to look. His father’s image was there sometimes in their backyard and sometimes in places they visited together like Gumbaya Park where he was captured feeding kangaroos. There was one out at the beach, apparently Frankston, and another with a group of people, but no one explained to me who they were. He looked thin and aged although he would only have been in his early fifties. His face was hidden in shadows much of the time. This was disappointing. I tried to find pieces of Sandro in him, but all that was there was an unhappy old man.

  Towards eight o’clock, it became apparent the old couple were flagging, and it was time to leave. Only then Sandro asked where they thought his father had gone. No one had raised this. Parand returned to the drawer and drew out a package of letters. There were probably a dozen of these, with the odd greeting card amongst them. She gave them to him and he took them gingerly. But he also gave her a hug. Apparently, she told him he could keep them. This was a great gift because they were obviously very fond of Sohrab and missed him. Sandro told them he would try to find his father and would keep in touch. They were delighted. He asked them not to tell his father (if they heard from him) about our visit just in case that made him run again. As we walked back to the car, I was wondering if he would withdraw again. But he put his arm around my waist.

  As we drove, he gradually told me the story.

  Sohrab had escaped from Baxter and made his way out across the deserts of South Australia up to Birdsville and then gradually down towards Melbourne. Along the way, he’d met up with people who helped him; other adventurous men. It was from Birdsville he’d written his last letters. Sandro had needed answers to two questions. What made his father leave Dandenong to go back to Birdsville? And why hadn’t he made efforts to contact his son? Many times Sandro had placed ads in papers and even sent people to try to discover his father. Sohrab had been restless and unhappy in Dandenong. He wanted to be out in the desert. The second answer was extremely painful.

  Apparently Sohrab knew where his son lived. He also was familiar with how he made his living and that he was a success. It was the fear of shaming him which prevented him from making contact. He’d often told the story of how his son had visited him in the detention centre, and how he’d been ashamed of his father.

  ***

  Irri-tat was back Friday morning. She was standing on the veranda waiting for me looking apprehensive. It seemed like an important thing to do to encourage her if she’d come to apologise. She shook her head when I beckoned her to come inside. Probably it was a good thing she wasn’t keen to enter houses. In Homarta’s case this was because she much preferred to be outdoors, but with Irri-tat it could have been anything.

  The morning was gloomy. Rain threatened as usual. The wind was harsh and unfriendly, but I stepped outside to have the conversation. Josh had stayed the night and appeared in the kitchen just as the door swung to behind me. Somehow, his presence made me feel safer. Perhaps he could run for help or something. Then I remembered the Source’s promise to look after me.

  “Hello Irri-tat.”

  “Hi.” She always said this with a tone about it, like Hi-e.

  “Are you waiting for me?”

  She shrugged. “If you want me to apologise, I will.” Perhaps it was the best she could do.

  “Well, it does seem like a good idea. You did nearly kill me.”

  “You started it by telling me off when it’s none of your business.”

  My sigh made her flash with anger. But she was, for whatever reason, determined to get on with it. “I’m sorry I hurt you, and I promise it will never happen again.” She was so childlike.

  Shaking hands seemed like a better option than offering a hug, and she took my hand softly in hers. Like a bird really. You have to coax them to trust.

  She was pleased with herself. For me, the important thing was it was over. Josh had been watching from the kitchen window. While I made breakfast, he asked me what that was about, and was told we’d had a disagreement and we’d made up. His thoughtful look reminded me he’d come in on the end of it that day. Oh well. It wasn’t up to me to tell him all the details. Breakfast was ready, and he sat and ate with me. That was one of the last really pleasurable interludes for a long time after.

  Writing up the next steps of the project and entering some data filled in enough of the day to justify it. Too tired to focus, attempts to curl up with my kindle failed. I was exhausted. But of course we’d invited everyone around that night to tell them about yesterday. Actually, that’s unclear. Maybe they invited themselves. They’d been in on this since the beginning. What it was the beginning of, was a good question. It’d been such a journey. Sandro was bringing food for me and Josh. It seemed very likely Irri-tat would now be joining us after all. I shopped for basics, cleaned up a little, did the dishes. An afternoon sleep stole the last hour, and when I woke it was to a groggy and grumpy mood.

  Around seven o’clock, Torrenclar arrived and came in to sit with me while I had a glass of wine in the hope it might cheer me up. He was subdued and distant; not at all like his usual affectionate self, although he had kissed me and held on to me longer than usual. When Sandro and Flagran arrived, he headed out to talk with Homarta. I watched him from the window, puzzled and sad.

  Flagran also appeared uptight. Maybe they w
ere worried about us going to look for Sandro’s father. Maybe they thought it wasn’t a good idea. Something was unsettling them. Sandro was locked in his own thoughts, and didn’t seem to notice anything strange. Flagran was particularly affectionate towards him, throwing his arm around his shoulder, standing close, that sort of thing. A horrible thought occurred. Maybe they were leaving us. How unbearable would that be? Even with Sandro close, the loss of these guys would be disastrous. Josh picked up on the general mood and began to be uneasy. Whenever he felt out of his comfort zone, he always reacted by stirring Sandro, and this night it was a big mistake. Sandro had enough on his mind.

  We ate. The fire was particularly welcome because the night was cold, and the rain was just holding off. Wind whipped at us as we huddled close to the warmth.

  “Well. Here we go guys.” Sandro began to outline a plan. “We found a lead to my father yesterday. It appears he lived in Dandenong for a number of years. His neighbours told us a lot about him. When I asked why he hadn’t contacted me, they told me he didn’t want to shame me, so he just used to ferret out info on what I was up to and tell them about it.” The Caretakers, each in their own way, conveyed sympathy and understanding, and Sandro looked stony but determined. “Anyway,” he said. “Bridey and I would like to try to find him again. Apparently, he writes letters to his neighbours every six months or so, from Birdsville mainly. The best time to go there would be September, so that’s coming up soon. Bridey can take some time off Uni.” His eyes took in the group’s reactions. Homarta’s were fixed on something in her lap. Irri-tat looked fascinated. “Would you help us do that?” The question didn’t appear to be a problem, but something was wrong. “We would love to have you journey with us.”

  Josh said, “What about me? Am I allowed to go?”