by Di Morrissey
He peered into one of the empty cabins and suddenly thought the simplicity and romance of it was appealing. With the right person it would be fun. Dina would hate it. He sighed and sat in the cane lounge chair on the cabin verandah. When he first met Dina she had been fun, rich and sexy and she offered him a life of hedonism, far removed from the hardworking country life he’d grown up with. Little had changed in their relationship over the years. Dina was still the same: self-centred, indulged by her wealthy father, demanding, wilful, sometimes playful but these days more often pouty. But Colin was bored with her. Her frivolous attitude to life irritated him. They had no close friends, in Europe their acquaintances were jaded cynical sybarites; and being back home, the uncomplicated wholesomeness of Australians jarred in contrast. Colin wanted a new life. And he meant to get it.
Despite his bitter thoughts, he couldn’t help but be lulled by the tranquillity of the place. He walked to the back of the main building and on to the top of the terraced hillside. The winding orange dirt road was fringed in coiling vines of wild passionfruit, the deep red flowers attracting bees and birds. Here and there, pushing its way through the scrub, was voracious lantana where the native environment had taken over. Little landscaping had been done about the place, though he suspected that was due to lack of funds. Lawns were still struggling beside neat brick paths that went from door to door, to office, to dining room, like a join-the-dots game. The top of the hill was flat with sweeping vistas over to the coast and hadn’t yet been cleared, so rearing above the tangle of shrubs were old eucalypts and tall palms.
Colin sat on a boulder under a tree and pulled out a notebook from his hip pocket and started making notes. Engrossed in his work he didn’t hear the alarm calls from the birds in the trees around him.
‘You’ve found the best spot on the place. Peaceful, isn’t it?’
Colin looked up in surprise, he’d been so absorbed he hadn’t heard the other man approach. Standing before him was a man about his own age, dressed in shorts and a torn T-shirt and carrying a batik shoulder bag. He was muscular, tanned and had a bushy dark beard. A ragged straw hat shaded his face which was open, friendly and honest.
‘Yeah, it’s certainly peaceful. I didn’t hear you coming I was so busy writing.’
‘You should have been tuned in to the birds. They announced me,’ he said, looking up to the leafy canopy and the big flock of lorikeets eyeing them curiously. He returned his attention to Colin. ‘This is the place to be creative all right. There’s good energy coming out of this hill and valley. Reckon it’s something to do with the alignment of the peaks of the ranges over there, this hilltop and the headland of the coast out there. The crystals from round here are very powerful. Everything is in harmony with everything else. Makes for good thoughts.’
Colin looked at him, thinking the man must be a complete fruitcake and trying to conceal his utter amazement at the theory. ‘I wasn’t writing anything creative in that sense. I mean not poetry or anything, more a business brief,’ he said, hopeful of getting the conversation on to a plane he was more familiar with.
‘Doesn’t mean to say it can’t be creative. Go with the flow up here, you might be surprised with what you come up with. You staying here?’
‘No, just visiting for the day. Are you a guest?’
‘Mind if I sit down? Nope. I work here. I’m the gardener.’ He dipped a hand into his cotton shoulder bag. ‘Here, have a mango. Trees are full of them.’ He handed Colin a fat ripe mango and pulled a penknife from his pocket and started peeling one for himself. ‘My name’s Bruce Gaden, by the way.’
‘I’m Colin Hanlon.’ Colin watched him carefully as he peeled the mango in case this strange fellow suddenly attacked him with the penknife. ‘How long have you been working here?’
‘Oh, since the place opened eighteen months ago. Before that I was a marketing and advertising executive.’
Colin gave him a surprised look. ‘Dropped out, huh?’
‘I think it’s more a case of getting into it. I get a lot more satisfaction out of life doing this. I start the day with a bit of a walk through the gardens, have a chat to my special plants, listen to the birds while I’m watering. No more rushing off in a suit to flog stuff people don’t want or need.’
A bit off the planet, thought Colin, but the old hippie could be useful. ‘You make a decent living doing this? Or are you still living off your savings?’
‘I was dreadfully overpaid, I grant you that. It’s out of whack, the sort of money advertising people and unnecessary consultants get paid. I used up a lot of my savings but we live pretty simply.’
‘Do you work here all the time?’
‘Yes, I’m here every day, though the owner can only afford to pay me for a couple of hours. The rest of the time I wander around and make myself useful — might fix anything I can or take guests, when we have any, through the rainforest if they’re interested. Tell ’em about the flora and fauna and if I think they’re receptive or need to hear it, talk about ecosystems and give them a lecture about saving the planet.’ He laughed and sucked on his mango. ‘What do you do?’
‘Um, bit of this and that. Actually, the bloke I work for is considering buying this place and putting me in as manager.’
‘You’re joking. We knew the place was up for sale, poor bugger couldn’t make a go of it here. Too far out, doesn’t offer enough, nobody’s heard of it.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Colin.
‘What would you do with it, not turn it into some mega development, I hope. Or condominiums — there was a rumour it was going to be built up and stuffed full of weekenders for the Gold Coast groupies.’
That would probably be more profitable, thought Colin, but hedged, ‘Well, nothing is finalised yet. What would you do with this place?’ asked Colin, thinking this man might have some ideas he could use.
‘Are you asking the marketing man or the happy man?’
‘Both, I guess,’ grinned Colin, wiping the mango juice off his lips with the back of his hand.
Bruce considered Colin for a moment. ‘I can see you’re a businessman and you probably aren’t into anything alternative . . . for want of a better word — I tend to like the word harmonious — but it seems to me our society and our lifestyle have been geared to greed, materialism and achievement. But what do we really want or need in this world? Somewhere to live where you feel good, the freedom to enjoy life, to be at peace with yourself, and to share these things. We’ve been taught that money gives you freedom. Not so. I knew a lot of people that “had it all” and they were bloody miserable.’
Ha, scoffed Colin to himself. He knew you couldn’t live without money, that was what kept him with Dina. Until he had a large amount of money of his own, he was trapped. Money was freedom all right.
‘And I tell you,’ Bruce went on, ‘if the little folk as well as the big corporations and governments keep chasing the almighty dollar, it’s going to push us all off the face of this earth quicker than any one could believe. If we don’t poison ourselves and the world first, or kill ourselves with wars and plagues, or just stop breathing when the lungs of the world collapse along with the depletion of the rainforest. It’s a matter of balance; we have to balance all these things and it seems to me a good way to start is with ourselves, learning to love us as well as our world. The kids are getting the message, but it might be too late in another generation or so. Anyway, what’s this all to do with Harmony Hill I hear you ask . . .’
‘Harmony what?’ interrupted Colin, only half listening to the speech he had dubbed the Sermon on the Mount.
‘Hill. That’s just our name for this place. No, what we need are more places where people can learn all these things, learn to get in touch with themselves and the real world. Even if only for a week or so. I’d like this place to be a sort of teaching centre.’
Colin figured he might as well hear this guy out. ‘What would you do to achieve that?’ he asked.
Bruce sucked on hi
s mango and looked around. ‘I know what I’d build here — a large yurt to use as a convention centre or therapy and exercise studio, with smaller yurts radiating from it which could be used for meditation, private massages, float tanks or one-on-one sessions of healing, health and stress management.’
Colin was highly sceptical about this new age, self-awareness bullshit, it was a philosophy that was alien to him. But he knew it was big business in America. ‘It would have to be marketed properly,’ said Colin slowly. ‘It would have to be advertised as a holiday for the body, mind, and spirit and not perceived as some hippie commune. Clients have to see it as a fun place that does them good.’ Colin smiled inwardly. Hell, even he could get into the jargon and the spirit of the concept. ‘You got any other ideas for this place?’ he asked, figuring he might as well pick Bruce’s brains.
‘Yeah. If you’re agreeable, I’d like to sit under a tree and have a yarn.’ Bruce settled himself more comfortably. ‘Y’know, Colin, I once suggested to that big deal company I worked for that we have conferences and board meetings outside under a tree in the garden and not in the plush-plush conference room. Bullshit evaporates more quickly in fresh air.’
‘Did they?’
‘Nah. It was just considered another one of Bruce’s mad ideas and not taken seriously. No one ever listened to what I was really saying. One of the reasons I left. I’d rather talk to the plants,’ he chuckled and pushed his hat back and looked up into the trees.
‘I’d like to listen to your ideas, Bruce. First let me tell you what I have in mind.’
Colin, in his silk shirt, Valentino pants and Bally shoes sat beside Bruce in his faded shorts, torn T-shirt and leather sandals and they talked together for the next few hours. Bruce did most of the talking and while Colin decided he probably wasn’t mad after all, he certainly wasn’t on the same wavelength. He half listened as Bruce rambled on, but the question uppermost in Colin’s mind was not how to find inner peace but how to unstitch Queenie. More and more he saw that she held the key to his future. Wrest the assets away from her which were due him, and he would be home free.
Chapter Ten
Saskia marched into TR’s room with a bunch of Australian native flowers. ‘Hey, TR. How goes it? Ready to play footy yet?’ She put the flowers on his chest. ‘A bit of the bush to cheer you up.’
He looked pleased to see her. ‘Hi Saskia. Thanks for the gift. I can sit up by myself, lift a few weights and get around in the wheelchair. That’s doing pretty damned well Jenni tells me.’
‘Wow. That’s fantastic,’ she enthused. ‘Three cheers for Jenni the slave-driver.’
‘Yeah. I couldn’t do it without her.’
‘I also brought you a custard apple — you like them a lot.’
He laughed. ‘Well I’ll have to eat it now, won’t I? That’s thoughtful of you.’
‘I’ll go and get a vase and some water for the flowers. Shall I get us a cup of tea while I’m out there?’
‘That’d be nice.’
Saskia left the room and TR picked up the bunch of flowers. His right arm was now out of its bandages and able to function again, albeit with stiffness and some pain. He snapped off a small pink gumtip and rubbed the leaf between his fingers and held it to his nose, inhaling deeply. When he looked up, Saskia was standing in the doorway holding two cups of tea and watching him.
‘Remind you of anything?’
‘Yeah, hospital disinfectant.’ They both laughed.
While they drank their tea, they talked about his exercise programme and Saskia told him of her plans to spend the weekend in Surfers Paradise with her flatmates Sherry and Julie and of her increasing frustration with her studies. ‘I’m seriously considering walking out on the whole thing. I just don’t think I can get through the rest of the course. And I don’t see the point as I think I’ve definitely decided against being a vet.’
‘Mmm. Seems a pity to throw all that effort and time away when you’re so close. What else would you do?’
‘Something with horses. They really are my first love.’
‘I suppose you’ve always had horses, this isn’t a romantic girlish notion?’
‘TR, please! I outgrew that when I was eleven. I mean I want to get into serious horse stuff.’
‘Hadn’t you better talk to Tango? He’s the one who is in the serious business of horses.’
‘I thought about it but I know he’ll just say I have to stick with it. Especially for Mum’s sake.’
‘Have you talked about this to your mother?’ Saskia bit her lip. ‘Yes. It didn’t go down very well.’
TR looked sympathetic. ‘It’s probably not good timing. I suppose you can blame me for that.’
‘Oh, not at all TR! Everyone says I should at least graduate and I can see that, but I just know I don’t want to be a vet so it seems a waste of time.’
‘Listen, go off and have fun with your mates this weekend and put it out of your mind. Maybe you’ll look at things differently in a week or so.’ TR gave her a smile which was swiftly replaced by a flash of pain. He grimaced and Saskia grabbed his empty cup from him.
‘You all right, TR?’
‘Yes thanks. I get these spasms every so often. Not very pleasant. I’d better rest for a bit. Thanks for coming in to see me, Saskia.’
‘Mum sends her love. Said she’ll be in soon. She’s planning to go over to Cricklewood for a bit. That’s our other property with the stud cattle.’
‘Yeah, I’ve got the picture; not that it means anything much,’ he said with a touch of irritation. ‘I’m sort of concentrating on my own little deal here.’
Saskia nodded, feeling slightly hurt on her mother’s behalf. TR saw the pained expression in her eyes but while he enjoyed the company of this breezy young woman, Queenie made him uncomfortable. The deep love in her eyes and the fact she was beautiful and sexy, but a stranger, unnerved him.
Saskia drove south down the expressway to Surfers Paradise and along Main Beach until she found the Sunray Motel. The manager gave her a key to their shared room. Already it had the over-occupied look of girls on holiday. Clothes, towels, hair dryers, bags with cosmetics, magazines and hairbrushes covered the beds, table and benchtop in the kitchen. A note stuck to the bathroom mirror told Saskia they’d gone to check out the beach. Saskia pulled on her swimsuit, wrapped a sarong around her waist and headed across the road to the beach. It was hot and the wind whipped the breakers into an unpleasant choppy surf. She didn’t feel like swimming in this and she knew sunbaking would mean being assaulted by stinging windblown volleys of sand.
Everywhere along the beach people were enjoying themselves despite the conditions. A Japanese tour bus waited at yet another photo stop as the passengers picked their way onto the sand in dresses, long pants and shoes to take the group shot on the beach. Saskia wondered why the cameraman kept his back to the sea, posing the group against a backdrop of skyscrapers.
Further along, a beach inspector sped past her in a colourful dune buggy emblazoned with the name of a suntan lotion. Saskia realised she wasn’t wearing a hat or sunscreen and was annoyed with herself. She was about to turn around and cross back over to the street of shops, when she saw the other girls coming towards her, waving in greeting.
‘You got here. Did you get into the room okay? How’s TR?’ asked Julie excitedly.
‘Fine. In fact he seems much stronger.’
‘No memory yet?’
Saskia shook her head. ‘What are you doing? I’m burning. I’ll have to go to a shop, I forgot to bring a hat.’
‘We were just going over to get something to eat,’ said Sherry, ‘and then we’re going to look around the shops. Let’s go.’
After lunch they wandered around the shops near the beach in their sarongs and swimsuits. They joked about the casual clothes, souvenirs, novelty gifts, sandals, and beach accessories and tried on T-shirts and silly hats. The three girls bought straw hats, fifties-style sunglasses that curved in cats’ eyes studded with fake
rhinestones, and ate wildly flavoured ice creams.
‘How can you eat bubble-gum ice cream? You have no class, Sherry.’
‘It’s no worse than the licorice and guava you’re eating, Jules.’
‘Let’s go down to Cavill Avenue and look at the posh shops.’
‘Not dressed like this!’ exclaimed Sherry.
‘Of course we can. Anything goes here,’ said Saskia.
Sherry looked doubtful. ‘We can’t afford them. They’re all European designers for the Japanese tourists.’
‘We can look,’ said Julie.
‘Later, later. Let’s go take a siesta,’ suggested Saskia.
They flaked out across the beds in their room with the door open allowing the wind to cool them, and gossiped. Saskia was tempted to share her misgivings about her career choice, but decided not to get heavy. Besides, the times when she had mentioned her dissatisfaction to her friends they’d all declared it was normal, everyone went through that stage.
They opened a packet of biscuits bought at the motel store, boiled the electric jug and made tea and coffee with the instant packets provided, and began to primp, shower and change for the evening. The plan was a Mexican meal, a band at the Beachfront Hotel beer garden, then on to one of the discos with the hope of meeting some attractive guys.
It was a weekend when a lot of young people had a similar idea and the three attractive girls quickly met up with four boys at the Beachfront Hotel — two brothers from a property near Winton and two mates on holiday from Cairns. They’d avoided the southern slickers and found these boys good company. They headed for the disco and danced there for a while, then someone suggested they go to the casino.
