by Inia Jardine
Copyright © 2015 [Sonja Inia Jardine]. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the permission, in writing, of the author.
Dedicated to my daughter Izzi.
In memory of my amazing & beloved pets, those still with me and those who have already crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. We will be together again one day.
Without your love I am nothing.
To the one who has taught me a lot - Odabo.
Inia.
Note from the author
All places, persons and events in this book are drawn from my imagination, places where I go in my dreams, people I meet in my dreams, things that happen in my dreams. If they resemble real places, persons and events it is purely coincidental. Jamaica, South Africa, the United Kingdom and other localities are used in a fictional manner.
Because of my love of beautiful 'older' music and poetry, I have included references to some. Our daily lives are enriched by these creative people and their amazing works, don’t forget them. All links are available from the author.
Lastly, as English is not the language in which I was raised and educated, please excuse any artistic liberties I have taken with the language. Any and all mistakes (or faux pas) are mine.
Inia
Prologue
Arumvale: United Kingdom
There is blood everywhere and women screaming,
screaming, why don’t they stop…
I have done an unspeakable thing
…but I was given no alternative.
Holy s h i t e, what have I done?
Lilia
It is so tranquil here on the river bank, I would like to stay forever. Only the hypnotic murmuring of the gently flowing stream breaks the absolute quiet. It is a wonderful kind of silence, not a quiet stillness but the silence of Mother Nature. I can hear the rumbling of an ocean in the distance. An absence of all noise generated by people with only soft background sounds of serenity creating a peaceful ambience.
There is a slight rustle of a breeze through the tall palm trees. I can very faintly hear birds twitter and various kinds of frogs ribbiting. I am relaxing under a huge willow tree on the edge of the stream, with my butt on the clean white sand and my feet in the water. The long willow branches are trailing in the water. I have a sensation of total peace. The clicking of the little stream frogs soothes my soul.
The sky is a soft pastel blue, with some fluffy white clouds scattered around and there is the smell of possible rain in the air. I feel gently warmed by the sun. In the partial shade of the drooping willow branches it is the perfect temperature for me, not too hot, not too cold. Just right. The frogs must sense the coming rain as their sounds are getting louder and more intense by the minute.
I pull my long cotton dress up a bit and wriggle my lavender painted toes deeper into the water as a brilliant golden fish glides elegantly past my feet, then another, and another. They are not taking any notice of me, they seem to be taking life at the same pace that I am today. Totally relaxed - mañana mañana. Tomorrow is another day and there is no need to do anything urgent at the moment. There is an empty cocktail glass next to me so maybe I have wandered away from a picnic.
On a flat rock in the middle of the stream, surrounded by huge lily pads with dark pink blooms - lotus flowers, sits a fat greyish spotted frog. From my position he appears to be a raucous toad. I like to study the habits of our indigenous frogs, and this kind always appear and do their boisterous singing a few days before it rains. I have always loved frogs, all kinds big and small, from the tiny little arum lily frog to the Giant African Bullfrog. Just as I have always loved rain. I am a pluviophile…
They go together, rain and frogs. They are such amazing creatures; the bullfrog male even cares for the tadpoles by digging trenches to get them to puddles of water. Animals are amazing. This frog is quiet though and all alone like me, so still like a little statue. Is he a real frog or an ornament? I wonder if he will turn into a prince if I catch and kiss him. No, no sudden moves to disturb the peace. It is all so restful. Anyway, no princes. Human males are conceited. Stay away from them if you want to be happy. They are always looking over your shoulder for someone better.
I look up and see gently swaying palm trees, lush tree ferns, ruby red anthirium flowers, huge delicious monster plants with their shiny green leaves. Butterflies are flitting amongst jasmine and gardenia flowers, the fragrance in the air redolent of paradise. Drooping fuchsia and wisteria bushes are heavy with perfect blooms of lilac and pink. There are white azaleas, purple, blue and white brunfelsia. Hibiscus trees with giant blooms of all colours - and tiny hummingbirds.
I look towards a copse of birch trees with their elegant patterned white trunks on the other side of the stream. Why are there birch trees in the jungle? With tiny little pink and purple fluorescent mushrooms everywhere under them? It’s nice, I like this jungle. It is alive, diverse and a bit unreal. It sure has all my favourite trees and shrubs.
It is a veritable tropical Eden, if I designed this garden I am damn good. It has all the elements I would have included in my perfect paradise garden but we don’t have the climate for it here in Cape Town. Then it must be in a protected environment, possibly a conservatory. So why did I fall asleep in it? Hmm. Strange.
You know, this place reminds me a bit of Pandora. I must have nodded off and I am surely day dreaming. I like to escape into a fantasy world nowadays, my own life is such a bore. Get yourself together Lilia.
I hope I am not lazing about fantasizing whilst landscaping one of my gardens, what will the clients think of me? Maybe I am dead and in the afterlife because I feel no fear at all while being so obviously alone. Fear is something I live with every day in this city.
This is definitely what my heaven would look like if I could design it. It resembles a scene on Bali Hai or Tahiti, somewhere in the South Pacific or West Indies. I am forever watching old movies of faraway islands because I am too much of a homebody to travel. Am I on holiday?
Suddenly I notice a change in my immediate environment. A subtle darkening of the skies. Fireflies are darting around and there is no sign of the butterflies any more. Maybe a storm is brewing? I hope it is not a bad one, the atmosphere changed so quickly. I love rain but being soaked now might just ruin my extreme comfort level… so I stretch like a cat and gently unfold myself. I pick up the glass and slowly turn around in a circle, trying to hear ‘people sounds’ to go towards.
Where to now for shelter? Under that big old gnarled forest giant? It looks like a yellow wood, almost exactly like the Big Tree – the centuries old tree at the National Park on the Garden Route. I had better get going. I do so love storms. Thunder and lightning. All those ions jumping around creating a spectacle.
Just then I catch a flash of something red from the corner of my eye, could it have been a Knysna lourie in flight? I don’t hear the distinctive call of those gorgeous birds though. They have such a harsh call, similar to that of baboons.They are a brilliant green but with big red patches under their wings and you notice that only when they are in flight.
What now appears to be a red arrow blinks on the horizon. A spooky voice coming from the bushes unexpectedly announces ‘please follow directional arrow to exit’.
Say what? Excuse me? Non capisco? Whaat?
I follow the flashing arrow to a door, a door in the jungle? I must be nuts.
What is this, Narnia? Or a door to another dimension maybe. I squeeze my eyes tightly and open them again. I have been watching too many paranormal documentaries lately.
As I go through the door I find a la
dy in a flowing white robe, who bows deeply. ‘We hope you have enjoyed your interlude, please come again’ she says in that same spooky voice I heard inside.
Totally gob-smacked and still too confused to utter a word I glance outward into a cavernous space. Trying to orient myself I turn back and notice a discreet sign on the wall above the nondescript door - ‘Xanadu P.R.R’ and under it ‘By appointment only.’
Around me I observe the concrete area and recognise it now as an almost empty underground parking lot.
It is all coming back to me now. I have just visited the latest in relaxation therapy, an indoor oasis for rejuvenation of the body, mind and spirit. It worked, I feel as free as a bird and as relaxed as a sleeping cat. It was better than flotation or massage therapy. They must somehow temporarily erase your short term memory in order to recharge you with positivity. Hmm…that cocktail glass. It must have had something interesting in it. It worked though, recharged my mojo.
The best part of this experience as I recall it now, is that you can customize it to include your favourite things. It must have some sort of hologram component but I am not technologically advanced enough to even begin to understand how they do it. Damn and blast - I can't believe that I forgot to program in my dream guy! I must have been really tired to leave him out of my programmed fantasy. Then I remember my latest no-men rule. Just pure innocent relaxation for poor poor pitiful me.
What a revolutionary concept this Personal Relaxation Room is. I have to toil in the hot African sun designing gardens, day in and day out with no hope of ever getting rich. This was my temporary diversion, my gift to myself.
I walk away feeling like a floating cloud of calm. Revived and rejuvenated. If only I could feel this way permanently.
A smartly dressed valet stops in front of me in what I now recognise as my trusty old car. ‘Thanks for your patronage Ma'am and happy birthday again’ he says as he jumps out swiftly, bows courteously and holds open the car door for me. ‘A nice clean car from me to you. With my compliments.’
Reality check! I am a ma'am, not a mademoiselle. An old cow. I have conveniently forgotten for a moment. ‘Thank you, kind Sir’ I reply graciously and dig around in my bag for a suitable gratuity before driving away. Outside the sun is bright and there is no sign of rain. Bummer...
I could get used to escaping from my reality completely, like we all do sometimes. Either we read an absorbing book where the characters become like friends you miss when the book is finished, or we become our online personas on the internet. But then, real life always intrudes at some stage.
I have just celebrated my forty-fifth birthday alone in my fantasy setting. My Xanadu. It reminds me of the poem ‘...In Xanadu lives Kublai Kahn…’ written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He wrote it after a dream, telling the story of the fantastic, holy and enchanted walled city of gardens and forests, hills and streams flowing over dancing rocks. 'The pleasure dome floating on the waves'…yes, yes, yes.
This Xanadu is like the one in the poem, whoever created this place did an excellent job. I am impressed.
I live in my dreams too, sometimes.
But back to work I go! Gardens to be designed, bills to pay.
I am after all just Lilia Lamonte the landscaper from South Africa.
Boring old Lilia. Down-to-earth Lilia. Practical Lilia. Been hurt and cheated on too much Lilia.
But let me get on with it, I am late for my belly dancing class.
...Later at home, online
‘If you could choose, would you live by the ocean, the forest or the mountains?’ Italiano asks me.
‘Hmm that’s a no brainer for me, definitely the ocean’ I answer. 'But I am greedy, how about all three? Even though I absolutely love the ocean, if I can choose, it will include mountains and forests as those are where frogs and chameleons live, with waterfalls and streams. Sadly, there are no frogs or chameleons in the sea. So it will have to be an island then. And you?’
‘The ocean for me. I am not fond of frogs or any animals. That is why I live in Santorini. We have ocean and mountains and many buildings with people, it is very special here. What is it with you and frogs anyway?’
‘The sound of frogs singing is the most peaceful, comforting sound, well that and my three cats purring. And the sound of rain on the roof, pat-pattering on the plants outside your window.’ Yes, there is a special feeling when two or more of those three are combined. But my dream place will always be a veritable paradise within four high walls. I love nature but I want to build very high walls around it and me.
Where all I love can be safe.
Where no bad people can intrude.
No people to steal my stuff, to cut down the trees or hurt the animals.
No cars to kill my cats. I lost my beloved Misty cat due to a stupid inconsiderate driver. He broke my heart. I don’t want to lose my other cats.
I have been burglarised so many times that I have nightmares. Been through too many veld fires. Seen too much pain and suffering. I crave safety, privacy and quiet.
‘I want to hear no sounds at all except those of nature. Green nature where no fires can burn. It won’t hurt if my paradise contains a mountain or two and is surrounded by the ocean - an impenetrable atoll of coral reefs!’
‘You are so boring Lilia. I’m sure you are eighty and not forty something. When are you going to email me a photo of you? Do you have grey hair or glasses? Are you fat?'
'Never, no photo. Anyway, what is wrong with being fat or having glasses or grey hair?'
'Are you that ugly or old?'
'Just see me as my purple haired avatar okay?'
'Merda! You are cazzo rompicapo. Are you at least going out for your birthday? I believe where there are people there is fun.’
‘With who? You? I bet you just called me a bad name, it sounds bad. Anyway you are so far away I will most probably never even meet you. But I’m not over the hill yet, even though sometimes I feel a hundred years old. Maybe I will surprise you one day and arrive on your doorstep. I can be impulsive and fun but I have just had too much of stress, struggling with money issues, stupid racist people, noisy machines and obnoxious children. My neighbours from hell are always shouting and being naughty. I need time out.'
‘Have you ever been really happy amore? Really, really, happy?’ The question hangs in the air for a few micro breaths awaiting a profound reply from me. Or shall I say - hangs in cyber space - as we are on the private chat forum of my favourite online game, Myst.
My answer comes winged and straight, without being able to lie to impress. ‘No. Never, really’.
The sadness, perhaps ‘patheticness’ of this, after living for forty-five years without encountering real happiness – it successfully eluding me all the time - strikes me hard. This terrible admittance of failure. Blooming hell I am not even capable of being happy? What is wrong with me?
Unexpected - even though I have thought about it privately many times before, comes the realisation that I am definitely ‘contemptibly inadequate.’ That is what pathetic means according to the thesaurus.
Is that the sum of me? If I die today, tomorrow, what do I have to show the universe? A life wasted, a life not lived to the full? Will I get another chance in the next life if I waste this one?
‘The cards I have been dealt, they were not good, I tried to make the best of situations thrown at me by life. I did not choose to be unhappy.’
‘Excuses, excuses. It sounds like you have not had the easiest of time but could you perhaps try a bit harder? Maybe get out of the house and interact a bit more? Go dancing, you love it so much.’
Though the sentiment expressed by my new online boyfriend as he calls himself is true and valid, I shrink back.
‘Get out? No! With whom? Anyway I don’t like people. I hate noise. And crowds. And smoke. I can't breathe in a pub. Can’t think of anything worse. And nobody will dance with me, I am too old.' Yet in the eighties I did all of that and enjoyed it tremendously. But that's over for me n
ow.
'Why do you think I play Myst Online with you?'
Since reading a thriller a couple of years back in which the computer game Myst was mentioned, I have become addicted to playing it. It is a time consuming and distracting game but set in an absolutely stunning alternate world where you can be whomever you want. You create your avatar as you see yourself away from mirrors. I am lovely and I have purple hair, I run fast and jump high.
