There was not a sound from the kitchen. Liam had retreated, leaving the dinner to simmer on the stove as he stepped back into another part of the house, wanting to remove himself from any potential conflict.
‘I have joined a faith.’ Caitlin’s words were calm in the silence. They did not, she felt, adequately explain the true breadth and depth of her decision, but she could think of no other way to articulate what it was that she had become a part of. Because it was more than just a faith, but there was no simple way to say this. She had gone to a place that was completely removed from the life she had been leading. That was the truth, but it was a truth that escaped the reach of her entire vocabulary, a reach that she had always found to be impossibly inadequate.
For a moment, Sharn said nothing. In the rapidly descending darkness, they just looked at each other.
‘A faith.’ Her repetition of Caitlin’s explanation was enough, and Caitlin waited, one hand on the railing, for what would follow.
‘And what do they want from you? Because you have no money to give them. Although I’m sure they’ll find some way of making you work for them.’
Aware of Liam’s presence behind her now, Caitlin turned, and as he touched her shoulder she knew he was trying to indicate he was there for her, that he would not desert her, despite his aversion to conflict.
‘And even if you don’t have to hand over a pay cheque, they’ll have you serving some con-artist’s every whim.’
Sharn was standing now, looking directly into Caitlin’s eyes.
Caitlin’s gaze did not flinch. ‘They don’t want anything from me,’ and as she spoke, Liam took a step forward, trying to reach for Sharn, to calm her.
‘It didn’t sound that bad to me,’ Liam said.
Sharn recoiled. ‘You knew about this?’
Liam nodded.
‘And you didn’t tell me?’
‘I made him promise not to.’ Caitlin stood between them, wanting only to prevent Sharn’s wrath from turning on Liam, because this was not the point, it was just a useless flurry of anger that would not get any of them closer to understanding.
‘Well, you can’t stay here,’ and even in the darkness, Caitlin could see the fury in Sharn’s face. ‘I’m not going to add some crazed despot guru to the list of people I have to support.’ She moved to push past them both, but Caitlin did not step aside.
‘I’m going to leave, anyway.’ There was no anger in her words.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Liam said to Caitlin as he tried to hold Sharn still. ‘Of course you can stay.’ He lifted his hand from Sharn’s arm to place it on Caitlin’s shoulder.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ve arranged to go and live at the house. I’ll be there until I can join the others up north. Truly, it’s all right.’ She had not wanted to leave like this. She did not want Sharn to feel guilty once she had gone. It was not what she had intended, and she needed this to be clear, to be understood by all of them.
But it was too late. When Sharn chose a path, she chose, like her daughter, to follow it to its conclusion, and it was rupture that she wanted, anger and hurt, and she looked at Liam now.
‘How could you have not told me?’ Her words were sharp in aim and brutal in impact. ‘You are not even her father,’ and Sharn turned and walked back down the stairs, down to the darkness of the garden, the gate that led onto the street slamming shut behind her as she headed out to the road and away from both of them.
SOMETIMES, SHARN WOULD TRY TO ADMIT to her failings, to articulate them out loud. Tentatively, she would begin to describe her inadequacies, perhaps to Lou after work, sometimes to Liam, only to have them dismissed by the person to whom she was talking.
‘But we’re all bloody hopeless,’ Lou would say.
She would stop speaking then, knowing it was not as simple as Lou would like to believe. Because Sharn did not see her own failings as ordinary human errors. They were something darker, they were much more shameful, and she could not accept such easy words of forgiveness.
She knew she was not kind, she was not good at listening, she was sharp; and that was the worst part: to know, yet to continue being that way.
She had never been good at any of it, at being with Caitlin or Liam, or even herself. Caitlin learnt very young not to need her. To survive, she had to be self-sufficient. In that shack by the river, Sharn let her cry. Sometimes she sat outside, wanting only to get away from her. When she came back in, she did not talk to her or comfort her or hold her. She kept her clean. She kept her fed. And she could do no more.
She wondered what Lou would really think if she knew how little she had been able to give, and her own awareness of this darkness made it impossible to listen to kind words from others, to forgive herself.
When Sharn fell in love with Liam, she wanted to change the way she and Caitlin were with each other. But too much had been set in stone, and Sharn could not bring Caitlin back; Caitlin just kept her distance, polite, good, and completely remote.
But, still …
‘Caitlin,’ she often wants to say. ‘It’s me. Please, Caitlin.’ But, if the truth be known, Sharn is scared of her. Caitlin has every reason to hate her.
Once when she was a child, Caitlin wrote a story for school. ‘When I grow up’. I will not be my mother, she wrote. And worse still, it was not written from spite or anger, it was simply her seeing how wrong Sharn had always been, how inadequate.
Liam used to show Sharn the films he had made. Him, Caitlin and her. Reel after reel, and although she would sit and watch, ostensibly enjoying the images of their life, there were times when she wanted to say, but can’t you see, that’s not how it is?
‘Look.’ He would point towards the screen, delighting in a smile from Caitlin as she got off her toy truck and ran to Sharn.
‘This is the bit,’ and he would lean forward as Sharn grinned at the camera, a larger-than-life image of her holding Caitlin in her arms, the sunlight clean and clear around them.
They were doing as Liam instructed. Humouring him. That was all it was. And yet, he could never see it.
‘I am sorry,’ Sharn whispers, but each time she says that word out loud, it seems that he is asleep.
She wishes that it were different, and she tells him, knowing he cannot hear her. But it is not, and it never can be, and she is sorry for that, she truly is.
IN THE HOUSE, Caitlin slept in the room that she used to go to when Fraser was there. It was not her room, there was no such space, but it was where she could stay until she was moved somewhere else, either in the same house, or to another.
Her duties were simple. For the first few days she helped Laura with publications. They sat at an old office desk in a small room off the kitchen and proofread. Initially, she was given pamphlets for weekend courses, fliers advertising evening readings, and an abridged version of Satya Deva’s teachings. Soon the material changed. She read glossy brochures offering reproduction artworks for sale, or discounted encyclopaedias, atlases and classics, all with mail-order forms. She did not ask what these were for, she was not even curious. Her role was not to question, but simply to absorb through observation, and she obediently marked up errors in the manner that Laura had demonstrated to her.
On the fourth day, this work came to an end, and she was told to help Jacinta in the kitchen. Side by side they prepared dishes, and Caitlin did as she was instructed, chopping vegetables or preparing and freezing soups. She did not know for whom the food was intended. She had been put on a fast, and for three days she made countless meals without touching one herself.
At the end of the first week, she came back to the room where she slept to find a man, whom she had met some time ago, lying on the mattress. She backed away from the door, believing she was meant to move elsewhere, but he stopped her.
‘The house is full, and we are sharing,’ he told her.
‘I am Damon,’ he reminded her, and she said that, yes, she knew his name, she was sorry if she appeared confused.
He had been working, he explained, bringing in money for the community. He was only stopping here for a few days and then he was going south. He sold a food substitute. ‘A health drink,’ he said. ‘The money helps fund a couple of our houses.’
They slept side by side under the thin flannel sheet, their limbs not touching.
When Caitlin woke in the morning, he was already up and gone, only his bag giving any indication that he had actually been present in the room. But the next night he was there again, coming back when she was almost asleep.
‘I am sorry,’ he whispered, ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’
And again they slept on the same mattress, both taking care to avoid any physical contact.
The next evening, before he left, he gave the reading, followed by a brief testimonial to his own liberation through Satya Deva.
‘I was married,’ he said, ‘with three children. I loved my wife and I loved my kids, but I did not love the life we were leading. We both worked two jobs. We never saw each other. And still we did not have enough money to cover our mortgage. We were drowning in a struggle to try and attain something that was never going to be reached. It was crazy. I was depressed and angry all the time,’ and as he looked out to the devotees, he clenched his fists at the memory. ‘I didn’t even believe in what we were trying to achieve. I didn’t believe in any of the promises the world was holding out as possible. I didn’t believe in anything. Until I discovered Satya Deva, and then I felt as though a door had opened for me, a way in which I could turn my back on all that was false and walk towards truth.
‘I wanted my family to come with me. I wanted them to share in what I had found. But they wouldn’t. And leaving them was hard.
‘Walking away becomes easier when you realise you have been clinging to an illusion. That is what Satya Deva taught me. And that is what I had to do.’
Caitlin listened. Later, as he packed his bag in their room, she asked him if he still missed his family. He did not answer straight away. Struggling with the zip, he swore under his breath, finally freeing the canvas that had caught in the teeth. She thought that he had perhaps forgotten her question, that it may have been inappropriate, and she did not ask it again, but as he slung his bag over his shoulder, he told her that no, he no longer missed them.
‘Not even your kids?’ she asked.
‘There are things that you have to renounce,’ he said. ‘It is essential to spiritual growth.’ He did not look at her as he spoke, but as he opened the door, he turned back to her, and she wondered for a moment whether his eyes were shining from tears or joy.
‘This is my family,’ he said, and his words were certain. ‘This is where I belong.’
At the end of the week, Caitlin caught the bus home, picking a time when she knew that Sharn would be at work. She had called the flat twice, leaving messages to let them know that she was fine and promising that she would come and see them soon. But she was not ready to see Sharn yet, even though that meant she would also miss Liam. She would just take the last of her clothes, leave a note and go. Another time, she told herself. The dust would settle. It had to.
When she got off at her street, a slight breeze shook the bottlebrush that grew along the edge of the road, lifting discarded rubbish and sending it scuttling along the pavement. Nothing had changed; there were still the same flats, the same scruffy strips of dry grass, even the same drunk on the corner leaning back against the wall of a run-down backpacker hostel, asleep with his pants around his ankles. But it all seemed alien to Caitlin, an environment that she felt she had never known.
As she crossed the road, she noticed Caroline, a girl who had been in her year at school and who lived only a few doors down. She was in her sports uniform, a windcheater tied low on her hips.
‘Hi.’ Caroline’s hand was raised in greeting, which surprised Caitlin. In all the years they had caught the same bus home together, they had never really spoken.
‘How are you?’
Caitlin told her she was fine, good, in fact, and Caroline grinned.
‘So, you dropped out,’ she said. ‘Last thing I would have expected from you,’ and she looked slyly at Caitlin as she said that Christina had mentioned some ‘cult’. She waited for Caitlin to elaborate, to confirm the numerous rumours that had, no doubt, raced across the schoolyard – she’s found some crazy guru, some loony sect.
‘Don’t you have to wear a uniform, robes and stuff?’ Caroline’s quick glance had taken in Caitlin’s ordinary jeans and T-shirt.
‘Not really,’ Caitlin told her, ‘not unless you go and live on the community land.’
‘So, what’s it like? The Hare Krishnas or something?’ The desire for salacious detail was sharp on Caroline’s face. She wanted bizarre rituals, orgies, anything to take back to the others and further fan the gossip, and for a moment Caitlin was tempted to satisfy her, because she had never particularly liked Caroline.
‘I don’t know what the Hare Krishnas are like.’ She resisted any inclination to lie.
‘Well, what do you do? What do you believe in?’ Caroline took a cigarette from her bag and lit it, blowing the smoke out in a thin stream as she grinned.
‘Come and see for yourself.’ Caitlin smiled. ‘Everyone’s welcome.’
Caroline laughed. ‘Not likely.’
‘Why?’ And Caitlin’s gaze was direct. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
‘It’s not fear.’ Caroline took another long drag on her cigarette. ‘I just couldn’t think of anything worse than obeying some tripped-out guru. I mean, they fucking brainwash you.’
They were outside Liam and Sharn’s flat. Caitlin saw the front door was open. Liam always left it like this, oblivious to any possibility of being robbed, just propping it open so that the air could flow into what would otherwise have been a stifling four rooms.
She glanced across at Caroline, and told her that she had to get home, that it had been good seeing her again.
Caroline just looked at her.
‘You know,’ she eventually said, and then paused.
‘What?’
And Caroline exhaled another thin stream of smoke. ‘He tried to chat me up.’
‘Who?’
‘That guy. The one on the bus.’
It was a moment before Caitlin realised she was referring to Fraser, and she was dismayed to feel herself blushing.
‘Even gave me his crazy book. Fuck, he was a nutcase.’
Caitlin said nothing.
‘But not bad looking,’ and Caroline turned, raising a hand in farewell as she did so. ‘See you round, I guess.’
Caitlin did not move. Leaning against the letterbox, she watched Caroline walk up the street, surprised at the momentary disturbance she had felt. It didn’t matter, she told herself. It didn’t matter in the slightest, and she called out to Liam as she walked in through the front door, glad at the prospect of seeing him again.
But it was Sharn who answered, Sharn who was there on her rostered day off, and Caitlin stopped at the entrance to the lounge room. She could see the shock on her mother’s face and she knew that her own expression was not dissimilar.
‘Caitlin.’
They looked at each other, and neither of them knew what to say.
‘How are you?’ It was Sharn who spoke first.
‘I’m okay,’ and Caitlin could hear the nervousness in her voice. Unable to either retreat or step forward, she just stood, perfectly still.
Standing up from the couch, Sharn asked Caitlin if she wanted anything to eat, anything to drink, and then she stopped herself. ‘You know where everything is,’ and she waved her hand in the direction of the kitchen.
‘I am okay,’ Caitlin told her once again, ‘and they do feed me.’
‘Spiritual crap?’
Caitlin did not respond.
Sharn put down the book she had been reading, and Caitlin looked at the title: How to Invest in Property.
Sharn grimaced. ‘Michael at work le
nt it to me. Says he’s about to buy his third house.’
Caitlin shrugged her shoulders. ‘Why would anyone want three houses?’
Sharn smiled. ‘One would suit me fine.’
‘We’ve got one,’ Caitlin said.
Sharn did not shift her gaze. ‘No, we don’t,’ and she reached to open the window a little further. ‘We’re renters.’ The breeze lifted the pages of the book, her place now lost. She picked it up and closed it.
‘So, you’re back,’ and she put the book down, her words still floating in the air.
Confused, Caitlin told her that she wasn’t. ‘Back, that is.’
The window came loose, the frame clattering against the brick wall as it swung in the breeze.
‘Why?’ Sharn did not reach to close it, she just let it bang. ‘I don’t understand,’ and she seemed to be speaking to herself.
Caitlin looked at the ground.
‘School, the chance of a good job, of earning money, of all those things …’ her voice trailed off. ‘They shouldn’t be taken lightly, they really shouldn’t.’
Caitlin didn’t want to fight. Not again. She told Sharn that she was just there to get the last of her things and then she would go.
Sharn reached to re-clip the window onto the frame. She wiped at a strand of hair that hung in her eyes.
Caitlin looked at her. ‘Please,’ and her step towards her mother was hesitant, unsure, one hand reaching out for her in a gesture that felt so awkward she did not know if she could finish it.
But Sharn only moved away. ‘It’s easy to do things when you are young without thinking of the consequences.’ She was twisting the silver ring that Margot had made for her, the skin whitening beneath the metal. ‘And then you are left wishing you had never made the mistakes you made, but not being able to do anything about it.’
Her hand still held out, Caitlin could not stop the words before she spoke them. Later, she would remember the smart of Sharn backing away from her, of standing with one arm out towards her mother, and she would feel the rejection that made her speak. ‘Like having me?’ Words that were uttered without thought, words that were bound to have consequences and that came from a place she had always done her best to ignore.
Names for Nothingness Page 8