Where the Fruit Falls

by Karen Wyld

  He stopped suddenly, and gazed into the fire. Bethel looked up from her sewing. Putting down the sock she was darning, she reached over and touched Omer gently on the arm. He turned towards her. After a few seconds, the clouds shifted from his eyes and he patted her hand and smiled. Bethel returned to her sewing, and Omer continued the story.

  ‘The excitement of travelling to a new continent was quickly gone. I found scarce moments to myself, as there was so much work to be done on that overcrowded ship. I began to crave solitude, so I sought out places where I could sit and think for just a bit. Such a place was one of the small wooden rowboats. These were only in case of emergencies at sea, so people had no need to venture inside them. They had tarps on top of them, to prevent them filling up with rain and sea water, which made them perfect nests for hiding. I would climb up into a boat and write poetry in my mind. It wasn’t good poetry, I’d be the first to admit that, but it helped to calm my thoughts. One day, after climbing into my sanctuary, I was surprised to see a little sparrow had got there before me. My sudden appearance frightened the sparrow, so I sat quietly, giving her time to become accustomed to my presence. As we sat near each other in the dark, I could sense the sparrow was broken. Feeling a wave of pain, my heart grew heavy with sadness. Having seen this type of injury too many times, I resolved to help this little sparrow to fly again.’

  Brigid stirred as a log rolled nosily out of the fire and onto the hearth. Omer kicked the smouldering log gently with the tip of his boot, returning it to the fire. Reassuring herself that the girls were safe in front of the fireplace, Brigid settled again. She glanced at Bethel and saw a tear on her cheek. Brigid watched her as she stooped over the darning; this woman seemed to cry often. Absurdly, Brigid noticed sparrow-like features in the older woman. And she was reminded of her beloved grandmother and her treasure trove of tales, which were mostly of plants and birds from a different country. She missed her granny deeply and had a sudden yearning to be someone’s Birdie again. And then it dawned on Brigid. That sparrow, the broken sparrow Omer talked of, was Bethel. The older woman looked up, with the contented smile of knowing what it was to be someone’s birdie.

  Omer continued his tale of how he’d befriended Bethel during that long sea journey. The more time they spent together, hidden in their wooden nest, the more Omer’s desire for belonging grew. His quest to help her soon turned into a self-realisation – it was he who needed to be helped. For the first time in his life, he wondered what it would be like to love and to be loved in return. Bethel appeared to enjoy his company but did not respond to any hints of affection Omer dared to show. Always, at some point, the blossoming camaraderie would be abruptly shut down by Bethel. And she would make her escape as tears fell silently down her cheek.

  One afternoon, Omer had slipped into the boat and found Bethel already there. From the way she sat slumped over, the slight heaving of her shoulders, he guessed she was silently sobbing. He moved towards her, and quietly made his presence known. He sat there, in silence, while she cried. Eventually, he felt a light touch on the back of his hand. Looking up, Omer saw Bethel wipe the tears from her cheeks with her other hand. She smiled just a whisper of a smile as she perched on the rowboat’s bench. Omer had turned over his hand, and gently squeezed hers.

  ‘Even before the ship landed, I’d finally found where I belonged – by Bethel’s side,’ he declared.

  Maggie asked, ‘How did you get here, though? This is the furthest you can be from the sea.’

  Omer smiled. ‘Not as far as you’d think.’

  Bethel saw the sparkle of mischief in her husband’s eye and smiled.

  ‘There’s no sea around here,’ said Victoria. ‘You’re being tricky!’

  ‘Oh, there is, little miss,’ he replied. ‘You are, in fact, right now sitting quite close to its shore. If you want I can show you tomorrow. After you’ve helped me milk the goats.’

  Brigid frowned. ‘A sea, here? How is that even possible?’

  Omer replied, ‘A long time ago, there was an inland sea here. There’s no water any more, just an impression of that ancient sea in the dirt. It’s why this area is so rich in opals. Opalised fossils of gigantic aquatic beasts have even been unearthed where this sea once existed.’

  Brigid made an unusual noise, like a worried cry.

  ‘Nothing to worry about, dear,’ said Bethel gently. ‘Those beasts are long dead.’

  Brigid replied, ‘Someone told me about an inland sea, many years ago. Before the girls were born. I’ve been looking for this sea ever since, and had almost given up ever finding it.’

  Omer said, ‘Well, you’ve found it. If you don’t mind me asking, why is it so important that you find this sea?’

  Brigid stared into the fire, as if she’d not even heard Omer.

  Bethel sighed, ‘Not now, Omer. Everyone is tired. Look, the little ones can hardly keep their eyes open.’

  Brigid hadn’t heard. She still had that faraway look in her eyes.

  Bethel stood. ‘Come, girls, let me show you to the guest room.’

  Victoria got up, followed by Maggie. Eager for sleep, they waited for their mother to make a move.

  Brigid finally noticed their presence. ‘Yes, it’s time we were in bed.’

  She followed Bethel out of the room then, pausing in the doorway, turned back to Omer. ‘I’d like to hear more tomorrow, Omer. And perhaps you can show me where this sea once was.’

  Omer nodded. ‘Of course. Until then, sleep well.’

  As Bethel led the stumbling half-asleep girls to the spare bedroom, where a warm bed was waiting, Omer reached for his pipe. Once Bethel had bid Brigid and her girls goodnight, she returned to sit beside her husband.

  ‘It’s not right,’ remarked Omer. ‘Something’s not right.’

  ‘What, dear?’

  ‘Why is a young woman out here, in the middle of nowhere, with just those little girls for company?’

  Bethel picked up her sewing. ‘Have you become so settled that you’ve forgotten?’

  ‘Forgotten?’

  ‘Yes. Failed to remember there are many sorrows that can push a person onto an unexpected road.’

  Omer grunted. ‘No, I can never forget. Not sure what our past has to do with this young woman, though. There are no wars here, nothing to push one from the safety of one’s own home onto the road of despair. So why is she wandering?’

  ‘War comes in many forms. Man’s inhumanity towards man wears many cloaks. You have seen for yourself how her people are still engaged in a combat of sorts. The way they’re treated, pushed off their lands by wave after wave of settlers, not even counted as citizens of the Federation.’

  ‘Indeed. And it irks me so. Even here, in a town of migrants from many nations, the first people are treated with disdain. You’d think that having seen up close the impact of irrational hate, our neighbours would be less inclined to judge others based on the race they were born into.’

  ‘Sadly, too many have forgotten the impetus of those not-so-distant horrors. However, in this instance, I think it is the aftermath of abandonment Brigid is fighting. There is something in her eyes I can relate to.’

  Omer reached for a twig from the fire, and reignited his pipe. ‘Perhaps you are right. Brigid does have the look of someone who has experienced a loss. She may find some comfort in finally reaching the inland sea, but I cannot see what importance that could hold.’

  ‘We all seek something, my love. And it rarely makes sense to outsiders.’

  Omer chuckled. ‘Ah, my little sparrow, so wise as usual.’

  ‘Finish your pipe, old man. It’s late, and there is much to do tomorrow.’

  Brigid and the girls awoke to enticing smells that pulled them from their bed, and down the corridor towards the warmth of the kitchen. Bethel had already stocked the wood stove and prepared breakfast, even though the sun hadn’t been up for long. She showed the girls where they could wash, while Brigid cut and buttered slices of freshly baked bread.
r />   ‘I like mine extra thick,’ announced Omer as he walked into the kitchen.

  ‘Any thicker and you’ll get stuck in a mineshaft,’ laughed his wife, returning with the girls.

  Omer winked. ‘I’m not thick. There’s just more of me to cuddle.’

  Bethel laughed again as she set the table. They all sat down to eat, along with much talking and more laughter. Soon their bellies were full and their cheeks glowing from the warmth of the wood stove. While the women cleaned the dishes, the girls followed Omer eagerly outside. As promised the night before, they were going to meet the goats, and Omer would show them how to milk them. By the time they returned, Brigid had their luggage by the door.

  Omer walked in, noticed the suitcases and shook his head. ‘You can’t leave, not yet.’

  Brigid insisted, ‘We must.’

  ‘You can’t. One of you still owes me a story. A promise is a promise,’ Omer said firmly.

  Bethel smiled, knowing her husband was having a bit of fun, but also hoping their visitors would stay a bit longer.

  ‘Well, we can tell you one now and then be on our way,’ answered Brigid briskly.

  Omer thought for a while, then replied, ‘No, that won’t do. I have work to do now. And after that, I have an ancient sea to show you.’

  Brigid stopped protesting. ‘Can we see it now?’

  Omer shook his head. ‘Work comes first. You’ll have to wait until this afternoon.’

  ‘Well, point the way and I’ll get myself there.’

  ‘It’s hard to find. Just wait. I promise you’ll get to see it today.’

  Bethel picked up a battered metal lunchbox, and handed it to Omer. ‘Can you stop by the Panagopoulos’s place on the way home? Aspasia made feta and has offered us some.’

  ‘Certainly,’ he said, patting his stomach. ‘Aspasia makes the best cheese, because we give her milk from the happiest of goats.’

  ‘Oh, off with you,’ laughed Bethel as she planted a kiss on the cheek he offered.

  As Omer shut the door, she turned to Brigid. ‘If you don’t mind, I could do with some help with the washing. My back isn’t what it once was, and damp sheets are so heavy. Some days it’s a struggle to hang them on the line.’

  Resigned to having to wait just a bit longer to see the inland sea, Brigid asked the girls to return their cases to the back bedroom. She then followed Bethel to the laundry behind the house. Victoria and Maggie hugged each other and danced around the guest room, glad to be staying another day.

  The day passed quickly for the girls, and slowly for their mother. Brigid was imagining the moment she’d finally see that inland sea. She thought of Danny, and their last days together. In her heart, she believed that Danny would be there, at the inland sea. He would be pleased to see her; and overjoyed to meet the children he knew nothing of. Her mind, however, told her not to be so silly, running through a list of contradictions to her heart. And then an image of Danny, in that moment he’d walked out the door in search of the inland sea, flashed before her eyes. Brigid began to worry; even if he was there, he’d not be pleased to see her. Not after what she’d said to him.

  As the sun began to set, Omer finally arrived home and the girls ran out to greet him. He patted them both on the head and walked inside, where he immediately saw Brigid standing at the kitchen door.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘Old Panagopoulos needed help to fix his truck. It took us hours to get it going again. Then I rushed back here, hoping to still keep my promise to you. Sadly, it’s too late to go today.’

  ‘Is it really too late? The sun hasn’t quite set.’

  Omer scratched his head. ‘You won’t see anything once we get out there. It will be dark by then.’

  He noticed her forlorn expression. Bethel stood in the doorway, behind Brigid. He walked towards them, and handed his wife the cheese he’d brought home from the Panagopoulos’s.

  ‘Your dinner will need reheating,’ she remarked.

  Sighing, he looked at Brigid. ‘Come on then. Grab a coat, it’s a bit cold out there.’

  Victoria asked, ‘Us too?’

  Brigid shook her head. ‘Maybe tomorrow. Your dinner is ready, so you’d best eat it now.’

  While Brigid and Omer headed towards the car, the girls followed Bethel to the kitchen. The thought of warm food was much more appealing than another outdoor adventure. Shortly after leaving, Brigid looked anxiously at the sinking sun. She was now doubting she’d be able to see anything. Even worse, she was nervous of what she would, or wouldn’t, find by the sea. Omer drove in silence, sensing that she’d rather be left to her thoughts. After a while, he turned onto what was little more than a narrow dirt track. As the sun disappeared, Brigid saw a campfire a short distance from the track. They drove past slowly, and she saw a handful of dogs run towards the car.

  She heard the shouts before she saw the man. He was waving his arms, indicating the direction they’d just come from, and shouting words that were quickly taken by the wind. A silhouette of a woman rose from beside the fire. Omer slowed the car to pass some large rocks on the track, giving Brigid a chance to look more closely at the woman. She was calling the dogs back. They came reluctantly to her side. Then the woman uttered something to the agitated man. He threw an arm in the air as he turned, and walked back to the campfire.

  The car continued along the track, in the now-darkness. Then it stopped abruptly.

  ‘This is it,’ said Omer.

  Brigid looked around, seeing nothing but darkness.

  Omer suggested, ‘It’s too dark now. I’ll bring you back in the morning.’

  He began to reverse the car but stopped when Brigid asked him to. She got out and walked tentatively into the night.

  ‘Are we in the right spot?’ she asked as Omer got out and stood beside her.

  ‘Yes, the ancient sea is right in front of you. It stretches further than the eye can see. We are standing on its shore.’

  Brigid saw nothing. Just blackness.

  ‘The people back there, do you know them?’ she asked.

  ‘Some. They’re mostly Isabelle’s family.’

  ‘Why was that young man shouting at us?’

  Omer observed, ‘I guess he’s protecting this place. I’ve heard it’s an important part of their Country. Also, sometimes townsfolk drive in, looking to start trouble.’

  Brigid was quiet for a while, then said softly, ‘That woman, Isabelle, she seemed okay with us being here. Was she?’

  ‘I guess so. Come on, let’s go home. Try again tomorrow.’

  They returned to the car and drove back down the track. As they approached the campfire, which still burned brightly, someone suddenly appeared beside the track.

  ‘It’s Isabelle,’ Omer remarked. ‘I wonder what she wants.’

  Omer braked. The woman nodded at him, then walked in front of the car towards the passenger door. Brigid wound down the window. Isabelle moved so close that Brigid could feel the warmth of her breath.

  ‘You came back,’ Isabelle declared.

  Omer remarked, ‘No other way back from the sea, Isabelle.’

  She ignored Omer, instead focusing on Brigid. ‘You. You came back.’

  Brigid said, confused, ‘I’ve never been here before.’

  ‘You have. In his dreams.’

  ‘Whose?’

  The woman thumped the side of the car. ‘It’s late now. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, we talk.’

  As the woman walked away, Omer drove off. Brigid turned her head, watching Isabelle make her way back to the camp. A small group of dogs ran towards her, barking as she called out to them.

  Back at the house, Brigid and Omer ate the dinner that Bethel had kept warm. Then, with hot drinks nestled in their hands, they joined the girls by the fireside.

  ‘Right, then,’ said Omer. ‘Where is this story that is owed to me? You do remember our deal, don’t you?’

  The young girls nodded and Victoria quickly offered to tell a story. When she had finished, Ome
r sat wordless, tapping his empty pipe on his knee. She watched him expectantly, concerned her narration was not up to his standard.

  He stopped tapping and, gazing into the fireplace, remarked, ‘A most satisfying story. Yes, it will more than do. It’s not often that I get to swap a yarn with such a talented teller of tales.’

  Victoria smiled, and jumped up to hug Omer. This surprised Brigid, as it was a behaviour most uncharacteristic of Victoria. Omer grinned at his wife, over Victoria’s shoulder. Brigid glanced at the older woman and noticed yet another tear rolling down her cheek.

  She then looked at her daughter. ‘Did you make that story up?’

  Victoria shook her head. ‘Nana Vic told me.’

  ‘You remember her?’

  ‘Yes. And Grandfather Albert. He didn’t tell us stories, though. Nana told us lots and lots of stories. She whispered them in our ears as we fell asleep.’

  ‘Even scary ones,’ added Maggie. ‘I didn’t like those ones.’

  Her mother smiled. ‘Knowing you, I’d expect not. I’m surprised you both remember Nana Vic and Grandfather Albert. Let alone stories. It’s only been about two years since we left them, but you were so little. Toddlers, almost.’

  Victoria admitted, ‘I miss them. Can we visit them soon?’

  ‘Maybe one day.’

  ‘Perhaps Omer could drive us. I like his car. I don’t like walking,’ moaned Maggie.

  ‘It’s much too far. And Omer is a busy man. We can’t expect him to be driving us around.’

  Omer said, ‘I’ve always wanted to see more of this big country. So maybe one day I could drive you there.’

  Bethel laughed. ‘As if that old car would make it out of town before breaking down.’

  ‘It might look a bit rough, but it’s as sturdy as I am,’ he replied with a grin.

  Bethel grinned back. She stood, gathered their cups and went to the kitchen. When Brigid walked in, Bethel was pouring warm water from the kettle into the sink.