Lap of Luxury

by Lisa-Ann Carey

  “Is it starting to cool down over there?”

  “Yes the babies are getting little goose bumps all over their tender flesh as we speak.”

  “They are millennium babies they are strong.”

  A scratchy sound came down the line then the telephone suddenly clicked off.

  A thunderstorm in Singapore was the reason the telephone call had been cut off, LisaAnn had heard over the radio after she placed the receiver back on its cradle. She gathered it was just a social call so she had no reason to worry.

  John raced back in through the door and began packing the babies mini backpacks with disposable nappies, baby wipes, bunny rugs etc and the carry pouches he carried to the car.

  “What’s all this?” she queried.

  “Look, princess, you didn’t uncomfortably carry two little human beings inside your sweet little tummy for nine months, go through an excruciating twenty hour labour, intensely study mothering skills with everybody’s views shoved in your face, just to have some savage beast break in whilst I’m at work and murder you all. No way, my three little stars of the stage are coming with their daddy.”

  Round rump close to the unseen stars, tail strong and tapering and wagging like a flying flag as seen from behind, from the front each paw tucked under its well-muscled chest, teeth locked onto a well worn ankle, James’s face blanched and a gleam of sweat beads broke just below his hairline, “What a voracious shark you are Hiawatha, you have the greediest appetite.” He yapped as James patted his head. “Are you trying to tell me your plans for the day?” asked James, but before he knew it, the dog fled through the garden, under the flowering arch, across the dusty road towards the nucleus of the rainforest in pursuit of furry platypi.

  Under the water dived the dacksy scooping a struggling duckbill out onto the cool rocks, eggs slipping out of its end and rolling down the curved rocks back into the water and having no teeth the platypus couldn’t bite back. Its paddle shaped tail flipped and flipped as it was carried by the hunter to the doorstep where he laid it at James’s feet.

  “Oh! Look at its little fur coat all soaking wet, quick bring a towel little Rachel and pat it dry,” he called to the toddler.

  She ran inside and brought out a towel and lifted the platypus and dried him. She cackled as it kept digging its webbed claws across her skin, one last egg plopping into Rachel’s palm.

  “She’s hatching Uncle James.”

  “Hold her close, nurse her until she stops shivering with fright, you play mommy baby girl.”

  “Yes, I will be here for the furry one, the doggy won’t eat it, I’ll teach it to suck Hiawatha up with her skin-covered bill.”

  The dachshund was locked in its kennel, the platypus with the eggs carefully placed back in the rock pool after Rachel kissed it better.

  She dusted her hands off against each and proudly announced, “Another rescue story with a happy ending, just like Uncle John rescued LisaAnn when she was taken away by that naughty dark man, he lit the torch in the dark and found her when she was lost.”

  “Yes angel baby, we make a clever team, thank you for your powerful prayers, it was you who moved the heavens until the healing waters washed her onto the shore,” John explained, his heart bubbling over with love, tears welling up in LisaAnn’s eyes.

  “I’m your friend as long as the waters fall, that’s how long daddy told me to be friendly for.”

  “We will live long in this land with your lovely ways Rachel!” James wiped his moist cheeks with the backs of his hands, thankful for the brush with babyhood.

  Sitting in the car LisaAnn realized where she had come from she did not want to go back to. What she went through could have destroyed her completely, both body and soul, if not for the amazing healing qualities in the man she idolized. The birth of her babies assured her of a promising future. She knew, he knew, they had nothing to worry about. The last thing she needed was uncertainty. The man she loved dearly, never drank too much, never worked so hard that he did not have time for her and their family, and he never locked himself in his study spending oodles of time on selfish projects, he included her in everything to do with the running of the Hospital and outpatients clinic.

  Together they kept their business affairs up to date, they sat side by side helping those who could not help themselves. There were no doubts that the crop of St. John’s Syrup would always be a reliable source of income for their family. The Wright fortune would always be top deck, always be there.

  John never wanted his own way all he wanted to do was to serve the person whose hand he took in his to guide through life and to glide through life. He renewed her spirit and those others who hurt so deeply as well. Her mind he refreshed, blowing apart the crumbs and dust from her demolished mind and filling the empty room upstairs with uplifting inspirations that helped her relax and drift away on a tranquil sea of Euphoria about twenty-five beautiful moments each day.

  “You are like a father with a heart overflowing with diamonds, a girl’s best friend she could always enjoy coming home to whether she’s out with you on the job or lost out there in the wilderness. Your heart, my home, is the absolute lap of luxury. I feel rich, I feel comfortable, you found me and directed my life,” her eyes sparkled, her troubles thrown to the wind. He was much bigger than any tiny problem she had ever experienced. Although at the time her problems were huge and difficult to deal with, he crushed them one by one in his mighty hand of goodness.

  “I will always feed you with wisdom, I will always supply your needs, I will nurture you and our babies for a lifetime. A lifetime is never too long.”

  His finest rule was that no expense was to be spared defending her, guarding her, rescuing her, sustaining her. Every day was her special day, every day a brilliant occasion on the most beautiful island, from season to season, she his finest before everyone’s eyes.

  The clothes he chose for her, he designed for her, he created for her on an old singer treddle machine that was a treasured gift from her mother’s glorybox, in time he made especially for this activity. Everywhere she went with him the sound of his music followed her, meals she ate with him at home he lovingly prepared, sometimes standing on his feet for hours after work, just so she could have what she never enjoyed during the hard times with her mean father.

  In his mind he constantly ticked off each and every stage of his wonderful plan for her on a day to day basis and every thing he did for her she lovingly stored in a well of words in her diary so she could reflect and rebuild her life piece by glorious piece.

  Every square inch of her home she dusted and polished alongside him. “Togetherness is the key to happiness,” he would tell her. His anchor was his team of medical miracle men who gathered and greeted one another at the entrance to the clinic, they brought life back to the community’s mentally disabled, and those lives would go on forever. The Hospital blazed with companionship for the young and the old, they had come for their specialist who was, literally, their reason for living. A loyal friend, a father-figure who never gave up, and Pastor Amos a spiritual brother who helped them march through the dust bowl to the enjoyment of a seaside stroll of refreshment and Doctor LisaAnn Wright for a kind heart of support.

  They took them on worthwhile walks to create a strong sense of happiness and harmony amongst them. In the flower garden around the Hospital every flower had its special gift. Chrysanthemums for great length of life, Daffodils for simple heartedness, delight and mirth, Daisies for freedom and gladness, Irises for lusty indulgence, Lilies for excellence, Lilies Of The Valley for the season of the year when plants begin to grow, Marigolds for delight and great length of life, Roses for affection, Sunflowers for the best, Tulips for animation, Violets for compassion, and they painted them all in their own special style and hung them on the Hospital walls to brighten their stay and for an effectual visual display for the Doctors and themselves to delight in. By the end of that day the patients were a picture of health.

  Afterward, the Doctors would h
old that fulfilled dream in their memory forever.

  “The retrospective mind is like a mirror, it reflects what the dreamer dreams into it,” LisaAnn told them all. They signalled for humble pizza and more of those inspiring lines they could model their lives upon for it took the Hospital by storm and would soon take the world by storm in a book called RETROSPECT penned by the dreamer herself.

  That evening, late, the best of lovers would each share a silver bowl of mixed berries and apricot brandy from the centre of their bedside tables setting aflame passion with a dash. The silver seahorse candles brightly blazed, their lives glittered with an even more sumptuous bedtime experience than the last.

  Fretful eyes searched fearful faces as fussy noses breathed smoky air. The burning crop of St. John’s Herb could be seen from the master bedroom. The red flames spurted high with fury. Pleasure in LisaAnn’s mother’s eyes in the photograph beside the bed soon turned to displeasure in her daughter’s eyes as her sunken pervasive gaze crept over the blaze.

  “The only way to solve this dilemma is to roll up our sleeves, get out the hose and dive right in,” John carried the message to the entire household as he raced around in his glossy black G-strings at the ungodly hour of four a.m. It was dark out there, the amplified cry of FIRE, FIRE, FIRE, ON LAMB ISLAND trailed through the air. They worked tirelessly for a solid three hours beating back the roaring flames that started sometime in the night by some hell-bent mongrel.

  Jayne cuddled the twins after they awoke to their father’s screech both howling to be fed. But LisaAnn was busy watering the burning bush near the side of the house, staring in hypnotic trance at the aftermath a while later. Nothing but ash, useless, lifeless ash.

  Every herb bushel was consumed in the hungry fire.

  What could they do now? There was no way they could see the seeds of healing sprouts sown ever again.

  “There goes our livelihood down the gurgler,” cried John. He analysed the situation until it nearly ruined him, observed his sweetheart crying out her blame on God and came to the conclusion it wasn’t worth crying over spilt milk. But, this was no accident John thought to himself, this was very deliberate. He had his suspicions as to who it was who lit the torch of destruction.

  James dusted particles of ash off John’s jelly wobbling bum, mentioning in a homely voice, “Violet we could never call you Pansy!” That hurt heaps. John pushed him away.

  They all looked down at the soil and prayed God Almighty would somehow restore their crop to its thriving beginnings. There was shame in every boring expression as they were unsure how long the current supplies would last.

  LisaAnn was every bit as beautiful and intelligent as her dear mother had been, suggesting how they would need to work even more closely with the patients until the supply could be replenished. It would take a miracle. But they believed it would happen some day.

  It was a dry start to winter. For two months, not one drop of living water fell from the heavens. When they truly started forgiving God and themselves, down it came for a solid two weeks.

  Rachel had been playing around the burned scene, one day in late August, picking what she understood to be little ferns. She had carried them in her frock and placed them around the outside of her miniature indoor playhouse at the Wright’s home, when suddenly Eunice, who was staying the weekend became intensely interested in what she was doing.

  “Where did you uproot those little plants from Rachel?”

  She pointed out of the bedroom window. “Over there.”

  “John, John come quick. LisaAnn, look what our tiny Rachel has discovered!”

  Soon company followed a walk in the woods. There it was, a tiny patch of the herb. “Fantastic!” they all yelped. “Saved again, Rachel you’re a little champ,” Peter cheered, kissing her on the cheek.

  She clapped, they all clapped, thanking God in praise:

  “In our silence we thank thee

  for sowing up the tattered threads of barrenness.

  Once black, now green,

  we trust, even though we could not see

  your wonderous works from the start.

  We are pleased you met our matters of the heart.”

  A peace dove stayed a while, spoke its peace then flapped heavenward. Every day the plants were watered they grew little by little, until they were a full life-giving crop once again, and once again the patients were restored to good health following temporal setbacks.

  Conversation was interesting throughout the ward, somehow this crop held even more curative powers than before, as Vaardii had noticed. It did honour to its title: THE SYRUP OF THE SAINTS. The strong message Pastor Amos gave on God’s gift-giving Spirit won many a heart. Just as the Doctor had suspected, the culprit – Bostin Bardot had absconded from Psychiatric care that frightful night, and once found, was placed in maximum security until under control.

  The family grew very close, even closer than before.

  Bostin Bardot burning St. John’s herb crop

  Chapter Six

  A wash of boggy memories menaced her mind like a troublemaker. The confused little girl inside of her struggled to keep up the phrenetic pace of her domineering father. She often wondered where his selfish heart would take her. Her little feet stewed inside her shabby shoes of roasty rubber. The way her father treated her was just as shabby, upsetting her until she almost toppled over from shaky shock. No dolls or teddy bears, no nursery rhymes, no games, grow up! These were her father’s cruel orders.

  He carted her farther and farther away from her mother and her home, often deliberately leaving behind her security blanket, her special friend she called FLUFFY. There wasn’t anyone home to look after her bed-ridden mother. She would have to drag her weak body down the many steps and the long hall to the bathroom and kitchen and back up to the bedroom again.

  On weekends, LisaAnn’s father took her miles away to a farm for some fresh, wholesome food in the fresh mountain air he’d tell her at a far away hideaway, hidden in Mount Sylvia, past Black Duck Creek not far from a place called Gatton. Along the way, with every snack came a smack, and every time she’d cry and tear her hair out. Then…he’d down more rum. Her bottom was black and blue he’d made it this way so she couldn’t sit down for a week.

  “I’ll make your backside so colourful people will pay to see it,” he’d say, just prior to pulling down her panties and striking her with his belt and buckle, until red stripes trimmed her bruises. He was the boss and she was his apprentice, he’d tell her. She was too little and too nervous to understand.

  The weekends were no holiday, just weekends of torture and hard, hard work and often the same meal of Octopus with Lamb’s Brains heaped on top. It was hell trying to keep the junk in her tiny stomach.

  A sharp whistle from the postman shattered the soul-destroying daydream and the twins communicated to her with their smiles and she helped them wave to the uniformed man on pushbike who stopped outside their home on his weekly visit to deliver the mail.

  “The big barge brought him over the choppy seas,” she chatted to them, bouncing them on her knees on the front porch. She knew that babies who were talked to often in a high-pitched sing-song voice would, in the future speak more fluently and read earlier than those who were stripped of racing speech. For many years in her early adulthood she had suffered with stammering and stuttering because in her early childhood she was often ignored and spoken to only by the thundering voice of her father. Her soft gentle mother’s voice LisaAnn clung to the few times she’d heard it.

  “Bet you were jumpin’ with joy the minute they were laid in your arms by the nurse at the Hospital eh Doctor Wright?”

  asked the postie as LisaAnn edged closer to him holding the collection.

  “I had a home birth. My husband did all the tests with special equipment we had right here. At first I studied them for any missing toes or fingers. A feeling of uneasiness flashed through my mind, wondering if they were heavy enough on the scales. I worried that they might hav
e some hidden imperfecttions, problems we couldn’t see.”

  He handed her a big parcel and a few window boxed envelopes then remarked on their fine form, “With everything routine, they’ll turn out regular folk.” The twins teased each other, pulling faces until they fretted as the postman pulled away and peddled towards the barge, she drolled a quaint, “Catch up with you soon”, and went inside.

  The two Doctors were enjoying the afternoon off. Ewan arrived to join Jayne for the long weekend.

  “Do you know Ewan, our younger patients co-act better when their parents aren’t in the way, our job is much easier,” John described.

  “They probably trust you both and feel undamaged dispatching their fears, because of your efficiency and preciseness.” Ewan understood that many of their patient’s emotions would have been badly bruised resulting in longlasting injury, non-visable.

  “Worst of all they fear people who are unfamiliar to them.

  When we first began treatment with them they were difficult to comfort. For a while we were getting down on ourselves thinking our failure had much to do with our ability to be credit-worthy and dutiful specialists in the field of Psychiatry.”

  Pastor Amos entered the living room singing the Hallelujah Chorus with such might it startled the little ones, their entire bodies stiffening in fright.

  “Hey you gospel go-go man, look at my babies legs,” John lifted them trying to bend them at the knees but wouldn’t budge, “All rigid.”

  The look Pastor Amos gave was a dewy one, “Their little legs are all stiff, look they are like telegraph poles,” he mentioned.

  “Try not to astound them or they may….” LisaAnn beckoned. Their eyes bugged open like cups on saucers at the grizzly look on Pastor Amos’s face surprising them further and causing them to screech.

  LisaAnn handed the crying babies over to their father for comfort, while she carried the package and business envelopes upstairs to her bedroom, passing Tim on the way.

  “Hey that parcel has American stamps on it. Got a secret admirer you haven’t told us about hey babe?”