Beneath the Mother Tree

by D. M. Cameron

  When he told Ayla, she wasn’t surprised. ‘The eye of that dolphin, Aylee, it looked into my soul and pulled me out of my grief.’

  As quick as a fish on a hook, she’d said, ‘They could feel you were in pain, Grappa.’

  He loved that she had always understood. Until now.

  As he reached for the bottle, a sound startled him. He looked through the porthole. This time it wasn’t dolphins. It was Dora, sitting on Hibiscus Beach, hands cupped around her mouth. ‘Cooee.’

  He poked his head out of the cabin and waved. She signalled for him to come to shore. Not knowing if he was drunk or hungover, he held up five fingers then disappeared to squint at himself in his small square of a mirror, all whiskers and grime. He threw water on his face, changed his shirt then rowed in to be met by her grimness.

  ‘You been sick?’

  ‘Drunk.’ He flopped onto the sand beside her; the row in had made his head throb.

  ‘Drunk.’ She played with it like a new concept.

  The sun was so bright he rested an arm across his face. ‘According to Ayla, I’m nothing but a stupid old drunk.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re feeling sorry for yourself.’ She traced patterns in the sand with her finger.

  ‘Feeling sorry for Ayla. She has no idea what’s she’s got herself into, hangin’ out with those people who bought the old Johnston place.’

  ‘She’s a smart girl, your Ayla. She can take care of herself. Ants are going berserk. Must be big rains coming.’ They watched them scurry about.

  ‘Dora, the day after they moved to the island, I had a dream about that woman. Remember you told me about that dream you had when you were pregnant with Rayleen?’

  Dora stopped tracing in the sand and looked at him.

  ‘It was one of those dreams. Powerful. My Gran was in it. She told me I had to stop that woman.’

  ‘Stop her from what?’

  ‘That’s the thing. Don’t know. Can’t figure it out.’

  ‘So your Gran came to you trying to warn you about something. Doesn’t mean you go on a bender. What you’ve got to do is sit and watch. Watch how the island responds to this new degga. You’ll know soon enough what your dream meant.’

  ‘The island’s already responding. Have you noticed the birds are all over the place? And I haven’t seen the dolphins all week, have you?’

  ‘I meant the people, you bujin.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Them too.’

  She was shaking her head now. ‘You’re such a bujin sometimes.’

  ‘What exactly does that word translate to again?’

  ‘Old fart.’ She chuckled and put her arm around him.

  The tears rose from nowhere. He choked them back as her hug grew tighter.

  ‘You’re the only one who understands me. Know that?’ His voice betraying the depth of his emotion embarrassed him.

  ‘If you didn’t drink, she couldn’t call you a crazy old drunk, you know.’ She patted him on the back. ‘Could just call you crazy and old.’

  They both got the giggles then. By the time they saw Ayla running towards them, Grappa’s tears were flowing freely down his face.

  ‘Grappa, guess what?’ Ayla’s smile vanished when she saw him crying. ‘I’m sorry.’ She threw herself into him and he hugged her, squeezing out all the memories of all the hugs they had shared. She searched his face. ‘You alright?’

  ‘We were just having a bit of a laugh.’ Dora groaned as she stood up. ‘Sit down and have a yarn with your pop. He needs it.’

  Ayla grabbed his hand. ‘Far Dorocha has pitch-black hair, doesn’t he?’

  ‘As black as the starless night, Gran said.’

  ‘Then Riley can’t be your Far Dorocha. His hair isn’t pitch-black. Up close, you can see blonde hairs, white even.’

  Her little face was so full of hope, he lost his words.

  ‘See for yourself.’ She ran back up the beach, waving her arms.

  Dora looked quizzical. ‘What’s she on about? Black, white, what?’

  ‘Maybe I’ve made a mistake,’ he said as the young man stepped from the cottonwood trees. Ayla led him up the beach toward them. The sun went behind a cloud and the world seemed darker. ‘Or maybe she’s made a mistake,’ Grappa struggled to his feet, his heart feeling wonky, standing as tall as his seventy-seven years allowed. At least the creature was without his instrument this time.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Ayla asked the thing. It glanced at Grappa before kneeling and bowing its head. Ayla parted the hair, searching intently. Grappa summoned his courage and took a step forward to peer into the thick mass. He had never seen such black hair. Ayla’s eyes met his.

  ‘Wait,’ she said, looking to the sky. The sun came out from behind the cloud to illuminate two blonde hairs, glistening in among the black strands. They hadn’t been dyed, they were the real thing. ‘See.’ She was triumphant.

  ‘What’s the colour of this poor boy’s hair got to do with anything?’ Dora asked, confused.

  Grappa could feel Ayla waiting to see if he would explain. ‘Long story,’ he muttered.

  ‘Aunty Dora, this is Riley,’

  ‘Welcome, Riley. Hope your Mum isn’t finding that old house too gloomy.’

  Riley’s face filled with rage at the mention of his mother.

  ‘Who cares what she thinks? She needs her head checked.’

  So, the boy was against her, not with her.

  ‘Think I owe you an apology son. Mistook you for someone else.’ He shook Riley’s hand and felt the warmth of human blood in his grip. Relief surged through him, bringing with it the same hopeful anticipation he experienced pulling on the float of a heavy crab pot. Grappa treasured that moment of not yet knowing what lay at the end of the line.

  By the time Marlise returned from the mainland and paid for the bike, it was late afternoon. As she rode home, the vibration between her legs made her think of the curve of muscle below Josh’s hip line where his torso disappeared into his shorts. She stopped herself, disgusted, hating the uncontrollable desire that rose in her sometimes. She saw lust as her greatest weakness.

  She accelerated against a niggling growing fear. What if Ayla had found the box and showed Riley? If only she had remembered booking a cleaner, she would have moved the box. It was all that nasty dog owner’s fault, with his grubby threats. The stress of him was making her forgetful and careless. Descending Long Street, she braced herself to pass his house.

  He lurked in his doorway like a sun-glassed wraith. Being on the bike gave her courage. She forced her best sugar-coated smile and waved.

  He made no response.

  Around the corner, she pulled over, rage boiling through her. How dare he ignore her. He had humiliated her, made her feel pathetic for trying to be friendly. She would go back and abuse him. How dare he threaten her with his pathetic little notes?

  She revved the engine, torn as to what to do. Not wanting to give him the opportunity to see how his actions were upsetting her, it took all her strength to stop from turning around and confronting the greasy-haired creep.

  Riley’s mind kept racing towards the box hidden under his mother’s bed: letters from his father, photos of him, the new, shiny truth of it all. He wanted, beyond anything, to run home, but Ayla’s hand on his shoulder was enough to hold him. He looked at the old man and woman and felt like he was kneeling before the king and queen of the island, requesting entry into their kingdom.

  Then her grandfather was pulling him up, his face friendly now, leaning in so Riley couldn’t escape the fume of alcohol.

  ‘Maybe your mother’s from another realm, son.’

  Riley looked at Ayla for help.

  Embarrassed, she led him away, calling out. ‘Come for dinner tonight Grappa. Mum said to invite you. Bye, Aunty.’

  Riley started running. Why had his mother kept that box hidden from him? Maybe she was already home. This thought compressed his lungs, making him breathe faster, run harder.

  He unlocked the door with the
key from around his neck and called out. There was no answer.

  Ayla nodded. ‘Race you to it.’ They sprinted up the stairs as Riley’s head continued to flood with questions. Why did his father leave them if he ached to see him again? Was he still wandering the world in search of them?

  As they entered his mother’s bedroom, they heard the high-pitch of a bike motor. Riley crossed the hallway to the bathroom window. ‘It’s Mum.’ The front door opened. They darted into the lounge room. Ayla leapt on the couch to leaf through a Nature magazine while he put a record on. They could hear her walking up the stairs. Neil Young singing about creatures at play in a foreign land cut through the air. Riley sprang onto the couch beside Ayla, forcing himself to meet his mother’s smile.

  ‘Thought I heard a bike, Mum?’

  ‘I bought a scooter.’

  ‘A scooter?’

  They watched as she walked into the kitchen and placed bags of shopping on the bench. She opened her purse and came into the lounge room, impressed.

  ‘Well done. The house looks wonderful. How much do I owe you?’

  ‘You’ll have to pay Riley most of it. He hardly let me do anything.’

  Marlise made her way to the record player.

  Riley leapt up. ‘I’ll do it.’ She had no respect for David’s music, always careless with the needle on the vinyl.

  ‘Best to sort the money with Tilly.’ Ayla stood up.

  ‘Can’t I pay you directly?’

  ‘Tilly prefers to deal with the money. Thanks for a lovely day, Riley.’

  The music stopped.

  He caught Ayla’s eyes. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

  ‘Thanks again.’ His mother was still smiling. Why did she keep smiling like that?

  ‘Bye.’ Ayla looked so uncomfortable, he ushered her from the room.

  They walked in silence up the dirt road.

  ‘Sometimes I hate her.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ She took his hand. ‘She’s your Mum.’

  They stopped at the bend and he kicked his toes hard into the gravel. ‘That smile…she’s so fake.’

  ‘So are we. It felt wrong then, pretending. She’s going to think I’m a sneak.’ Doubt dominated her face. ‘She explicitly told me not to vacuum under the beds.’ Ayla started walking back towards the house. ‘This is silly. I’ll just explain I forgot. It was an accident. The letter jammed up the vacuum. Wasn’t like I was prying on purpose.’

  ‘No, please.’ She was going to ruin everything. He grabbed her. ‘Give me time to read those letters first.’

  ‘But surely if we’re honest –’

  ‘You think she’ll happily show me? You don’t know what she’s like.’

  Ayla shook her head and kept heading towards the house. ‘It feels wrong.’

  ‘The next time she goes out, I’ll look at it all. Then you can tell her, I promise. Please?’ He had to hold her tight, surprised at how determined she was.

  Her body collapsed into him. ‘Then I clear the air with her. I couldn’t stand it if your mother hated me.’ She held his head in her hands. ‘It would make it that much harder for us.’ The way she kissed him made him want to push her to the ground and climb on top of her. It took all his willpower for his body to obey his brain and wrench himself away.

  Bye. She mouthed the word.

  He watched her leave, trying to catch his breath, knowing she was the exact opposite to his mother. Ayla operated from a place of trust. The way she had assumed there was a soft way into his mother’s heart made him want to protect her. She was a sand faery who had lived her life in a place of light, unaware there were people like his mother in the world, so broken and damaged there was no way through to that tender place anymore.

  ‘Did you make mud cakes when you were a child, Mum?’ A flash of a memory from before Burrawang.

  ‘I was never a child,’ she had replied, pretending to eat his mud creation. He had only noticed her silent tears once the mud began to melt and run down her wrist.

  Ayla turned before the corner and they waved at each other.

  God help us if she does ever hate you, he thought.

  12.

  Marlise could hear something human moving through the mangroves. She crept onto the verandah and saw, between moon shadows, a figure sneaking toward the house. A man. The dog owner, wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night.

  How the hell can he see?

  She turned into a mosquito, flew down and landed on his arm.

  He looked at her as if she had spoken. ‘I can see. I know what you are, bitch.’ His hand came down hard as she woke in fright.

  That was the third nightmare since the note had been jammed under her door. A similar dream had woken her last night and early this morning, after which sleep became an enemy. She couldn’t continue to live in constant fear. Something must be done. She rolled onto her side. And then there was Riley, politely sullen for days and not leaving the house once. She assumed there had been a falling out with the girl, but when asked, he grunted. ‘Not at all.’

  The questions about his father infuriated her. The way he casually popped them into the middle of conversations, or from complete silence, flooring her until her brain formed a vague response. If Riley found those letters…the thought made her sick. Shaking, she reached under her bed and pulled out the box. Wrapping her satin dressing gown over her nakedness, she crept past a soundly sleeping Riley and stopped in the kitchen for a box of matches. At the bottom of the stairwell, she switched on the outdoor light and silently opened the door. The night was calm and still in the damp sulphur air rising from the mud. As the mosquitoes swarmed, she gathered sticks to build a small fire in the darkest point under the house where the dirt floor was black and powdery. She stared into the swamp and shivered, unable to shake the feeling of being watched.

  A huntsman ran along the ground toward the laundry. She jumped back, stifling a scream. For an entomologist, she had an irrational fear of spiders. With a deep breath, she lit a match and picked up a letter, his signature catching her eye. The round curve of the L and the flatness of the n. ‘Yours always, Lorcan.’ Her eyes moved further up the letter, picking out sentences. Love crept from between the lines and curled itself through her heart, releasing buried memories – the way he held her, their young naked bodies skin to skin in the middle of the night, the velvet lilt of his voice in her ear when the nightmares overwhelmed, the songs he wrote for her that made her cry.

  The match burning her fingertips pulled her back to the present. She sucked the pain away and heard Riley upstairs. She kicked the pile of sticks, scattering them over the dirt floor. Powdery dust covered her legs. A light came on, spilling through the cracks in the floorboards. She ran, searching for somewhere to hide the box. That spider was lurking in the laundry. The scooter? She lifted its padded seat. The box fitted so snugly into the compartment, she almost exclaimed out loud. She heard the toilet flush. As he made his way back to bed, she waited until the light flickered off before creeping upstairs to enter her lab. With adrenaline pumping through her body, it would be impossible to sleep. She decided to collate her test results for the upcoming community meeting. The chemical breakdown of the mud samples from the swamp had proved disappointing. Poetic licence would be needed to support her argument. Hopefully, her credentials would be enough to scare the local council into believing her claims. She stared out of the window into the shadowy mass of mangroves, wondering how far she could stretch the truth to save those poor darlings from being murdered. When that prickly feeling of being watched grew again, she thought she saw a glint of moonlight caught on a pair of sunglasses, and drew the curtains close on the night.

  Ayla stood on Mud Rock, surveying Hibiscus Beach, hand cupped above her eyes to block the dazzling sun and soften the sparks of light bouncing off the ocean. Still no sign of Riley, and now Grappa’s boat was gone from the bay. The wind hadn’t changed so there was no reason for him to have moved it.

  ‘What are you up to old man?�
� Her voice whisked away on the breeze. He had been suspiciously on his best behaviour last Friday night at dinner, arriving with a small packet of Smarties tucked behind his ear. When she was little, a packet of Smarties would magically appear on some part of him as a surprise gift. On this occasion, it had been a peace offering and all night he had behaved, resisting the inclination to become esoteric or drunk. Her mother hated it when he talked ‘gobbledegook’ and family gatherings degenerated into heated debates with her mother frustrated, Grappa hurt, and Ayla piggy in the middle. This time they had stayed up late playing Cluedo, merely content in each other’s company. But Ayla sensed Grappa had that air about him. He was on a secret mission involving a real-life game of Cluedo. She suspected it had something to do with Riley’s mother.

  The thought of her made Ayla’s heart slump, wondering for the zillionth time if Riley had examined the contents of the box yet. She took one last look up the beach then sat on the rock, hugging her knees to her chest, undecided. She hated being on this headland, but it was the only place that afforded a simultaneous view of Mud Rock Beach and Hibiscus Bay.

  A few days ago, aching to see Riley again, she had walked to his house, but at the sight of the scooter parked in the driveway, she turned away, knowing he needed time to sort things with his mother.

  She found a cockle shell on the cliff face and picked it up. Maybe he didn’t want to see her again? Those old feelings of insecurity and distrust she had felt with Harry came creeping back. Harry had been a shifty fox who played love as a game, continually changing the rules to keep the thrill of the chase alive. But Riley didn’t seem like a game player. When she was with him, the attraction felt utterly mutual, as natural and as simple as the cockle shell she held in her hand. She couldn’t help thinking about the last time they kissed, the intensity of it.