by Sue Saliba
‘what will your role be in all this?’ simon said.
‘i’m not sure. at first i thought i could help with the law case, as you know. and, well, that wasn’t really for me. and then the raid, i thought maybe i could go with samantha and the others but…’
‘but what?’
‘but… it wasn’t me. you know that, simon. i found it too confronting, in an action kind of way.’
‘you’re brave, esma.’
‘brave?’ she said, half-suspecting he might be making a joke of her.
‘yes, really. to say no, and to wait for what is right. to act from your own place, even when you’re not sure exactly what that is yet.’
‘or if i ever will.’
‘you will,’ simon said and there was certainty in his voice, and he looked at her such a long long time and so intently that she felt her hands and feet grow cold and ice-like as all the blood fled into her heart.
she was right to feel fearful. she was right to feel excited.
there was anticipation in esma ever since she’d decided to ride her bike to samantha’s that morning, and, yes, ever since she’d seen simon sitting there on the verandah, behind the wet vines.
he was waiting, that was certain. and the energy of that waiting found its way into esma.
it was later that night, after they’d left the verandah, that they fed the animals together. there was jasper, the one-eyed pomeranian, and amanda, the ginger cat. there was the tiny kitten esma had seen in the box that afternoon samantha had taken her through the hallway. there were chickens who ate their dinner of pellets on the kitchen steps, two sheep who appeared out of the long grass in the backyard, three more cats, and an elderly dog called russell. there was even a family of seagulls who mysteriously seemed at home although they must have known they were a long way from sea.
‘don’t forget cassandra,’ simon said. and he led esma to the bathroom where a tiny turtle rested beside a dish of water. she had a broken shell and esma saw that someone had delicately mended it with thread and wire. ‘she likes bread best,’ simon said. but neither of them moved. they both watched cassandra, safe, rescued, happy inside her patched-up home.
‘we should cook something for ourselves,’ esma said at last.
they were covered in dark now, surrounded by the breathing and the shiftings of the animals throughout the house as all the creatures settled down to sleep.
‘we could just rest,’ simon said. ‘wait.’
they went into the lounge room then. simon nestled into the tattered armchair in the corner and esma sat amongst the blankets and cushions on the couch. she curled up. they waited.
they might have stayed like that forever – surrounded by a dozen creature hearts – if samantha hadn’t come home unexpectedly.
the hallway light flickered on and then she was in the lounge room.
‘things haven’t worked out as planned,’ she said. she didn’t seem surprised to find esma and simon sitting silent in the dark.
‘the bastard had moved every one of them,’ she went on. ‘well almost.’
alain came in then with a blanket and something weighted inside.
‘the place was abandoned,’ he said, ‘except for this one, left for dead on a wet concrete floor.’
esma expected to see a tiny pup. she crept closer.
‘better close the lounge doors, so the other dogs don’t come in,’ samantha said. ‘she’s terrifed. looks like she’s been attacked, no doubt because there wasn’t enough bloody food.’
samantha was full of rage. esma had never seen her that way. simon got up to make everyone cups of tea.
samantha followed him. alain put the blanket on the floor, and esma moved closer.
‘she isn’t a pup at all,’ esma said, gently pulling the blanket back.
‘no, she’s fully grown, and then more.’
‘why was she left?’
‘she was useless to cassar. she’s had her last litter.’
esma stayed very still and watched the dog, a mother, looking up at her. the dog was so scared esma could see the whites of her eyes as the dog stared in fear at her. she could see the dog retreating into itself, trying to get further and further into the floor.
‘better be careful, she’s probably spent her whole life inside a wire pen,’ alain said as esma reached out her hand.
‘do you think that’s true?’ esma said, looking at him.
and she felt her eyes fill with tears. ‘do you think she’s never been free?’
samantha came back into the room with simon then, between them carrying seven cups of tea. there were three other housemates at the front of the house,
unloading blankets and equipment they hadn’t ended up using onto the verandah.
‘here, alain,’ samantha said. ‘this will make you feel better. you must be all stiff and cramped after that ride back.’
she turned to simon and said, ‘alain nursed the dog all the way back on his lap. she wouldn’t leave him.’
that was when the other housemates came into the lounge room, cold and looking exhausted, and the conversation turned to what had happened that night and how they felt and what on earth they could do next. but esma wasn’t listening to the story and possible strategies, at least not yet. she was sitting beside the mother dog, wanting to hold her, and watching alain, who was quiet and still, and immensely alive.
it was when samantha sat on the couch and stared hard at the air in front of her that esma’s attention moved back to the room. ‘there must be a way,’ samantha said. and then her shoulders dropped and she looked to the floor and shook her head. ‘or maybe not. maybe this guy will just keep outsmarting us all the time.’
‘no, he won’t.’
it was simon. he was sitting beside samantha now and brushing the hair from her face. it wasn’t guilt about telling his father, esma knew that straight away. it was something else.
‘no, samantha, i’ll find out where he’s taken them and we’ll go there. i’ll come with you. we’ll all go together, and this time we’ll get the dogs, i promise.’
the others looked puzzled but esma saw simon and she knew what had happened. he’d made a choice – the choice – right there when the time was right. and when the waiting had finished, and the fear and excitement he’d aroused in her about her own decisions made sense, she hoped that she could do the same.
‘i want to take the dog home with me,’ she said. everyone looked at her. ‘i mean, she can’t stay here with you because of the other dogs… she’ll be scared of them, won’t she?’ and then she began again, not cancelling what she’d said but moving closer to what she’d meant to say, to what she really felt. ‘i want to take her with me because i want to care for her. i want to give her a home.’
alain nodded. she would have seen him if she’d looked up but she was watching the dog, her hesitant breathing, her broken front paw that left a stain of blood on the carpet every time she moved it.
‘i think it’s a great idea,’ he said.
and as it got gradually lighter and the others grew wearier and eventually headed off to bed, alain said, ‘i can give you a lift home with the dog if you like.’
of course he knew exactly the best way to get to starling street. esma was quiet as she sat beside him with the dog in her lap. it felt the most natural way to be. she felt peaceful. alain was quiet too. he was often quiet, self-contained and still, and yet somehow always present. she looked over her shoulder at the back seat – a guitar case, rascas’s blanket, and an array of books. ‘you must be studying literature,’ she said to him, ‘or maybe philosophy.’ it occurred to esma that she had never known, that she had never wondered what alain was studying.
‘no,’ he said. ‘i’m just curious about lots of things, i guess. no, i’m studying community development.’
‘community development?’
‘yeah, i’d really like to work with kids.’
esma was surprised, but then she wasn’t.
&nbs
p; and he went on: ‘i’m working on a project this semester for kids who have a difficult time, abused mostly. we get them to work with injured wildlife – joeys who’ve lost their mothers, baby possums, koalas who’ve been saved from bushfire areas – they love it, the kids just absolutely love it. it’s wonderful to see them transformed, and of course to see the animals healed and released back into the wild.’
esma looked at him. why hadn’t she noticed alain before?
she felt she wanted to say something, to give something, since it struck her that she had sat silently, observing, listening, yet seemingly offering nothing of herself.
‘i’m studying english,’ she said, ‘and poetry.’ it was the only thing she could think to say.
‘i know,’ he answered. ‘and i’ve heard you love pessoa, the portuguese poet. what was it he said… “each of us is more than one person, many people, a proliferation of our one self”.’
‘yes,’ esma said. it was enough. she hugged the dog tighter and simply watched the road. they’d be there soon. home. they’d be at 22 starling street. the place she’d come and gone from in so many moods, and as so many people.
when they pulled over at the kerb, she saw the curtain of the room upstairs – kara’s room – fall back into place.
she might have stopped at another time. she might have simply taken the dog inside and waved alain a polite goodbye. certainly she still felt that person inside her, but now she looked at him across the front seat of the car and she said, ‘come inside.’ and he did.
they travelled down the hallway and into the kitchen where alain placed the dog at esma’s feet on its blanket. ‘we deserve something special,’ she said, and she stood up and went to her cupboard in the kitchen. she put her hand right to the back and she pulled out a jar of deep, rich jam. it was alaskan. blueberry, hand-made, hand-picked. it was from jen. she’d never opened it before. ‘you’ll like this,’ she said. and they made toast and layered it with the jam and drank strong black coffee from esma’s favourite blue mugs.
‘we did good work today,’ alain said.
it could have sounded boastful, but it didn’t. it just sounded honest.
‘yes,’ esma said. ‘and i’m going to support samantha in saving the rest of those dogs.’
alain lifted his coffee and toasted esma’s resolve. and then they were silent.
until alain looked at esma again, and said, ‘you know, esma, you looked great that night of kara’s birthday – in that red dress.’
she blushed. she looked down at the floor, at the dog.
she didn’t want him to go, but he stood up to leave.
‘i should head home,’ he said. ‘get some sleep.’
she looked at him. ‘thank you for bringing the dog back, for letting me take her. i mean… you seem so good with animals, maybe you could help me with her, give me some tips.’
‘well,’ he said. ‘maybe we should start with a name for her. something we both know she’ll like.’
‘yes,’ esma said. ‘a name.’
and she stood up and walked alain to the door and said goodbye and waited a moment before she turned back to the house.
the house was quiet and still. there was an air of expectancy to it. she took the dog to her room upstairs and made a nest of warm cloth – her favourite green woollen cape, various winter scarves, the patchwork rug jen had once knitted for minou. she lay the dog in it and watched her slowly sink into warmth, slowly close her eyes for longer and longer, slowly drift into sleep.
and that was when esma stepped out and investigated the house. the door to chloe’s little room was open and the room was completely bare. there was silence, of course, from simon’s room below. and kara, it seemed to esma, was present behind her bedroom door, palpable. but silent.
she went downstairs, curious, as if she were another person observing her life, or the things of her life.
and before she reached the hallway, she heard the footsteps of kara on the stairs behind her.
‘esma, i didn’t know you were home.’
she didn’t turn.
‘esma, how about some peppermint tea? i’ve got the pot up in my room. i can just go and get it.’
kara came down and set to warming and boiling the water, measuring the peppermint tea. esma saw her as if from a distance. she heard her say that chloe had left the house: ‘i guess you saw she’s gone.’
‘yes,’ esma said.
‘well, it’s probably for the best,’ kara went on. ‘i mean she and i are so different… and living together, well, it’s so hard, isn’t it? i mean, you have to really understand each other and appreciate each other and, i don’t know, have that special bond.’ she shrugged slightly. ‘maybe a spiritual bond… like you and me, esma.’
esma felt her detachment lessen. she wanted – if only for a moment – to reach out to kara, to touch her. to feel again – just to remember – that space of security, of strange comfort where she and kara existed away from the rest of the world.
‘it’s nice to be home,’ she said.
kara smiled.
and then she remembered the dog. ‘come with me,’
esma said. ‘i have something special i want to share with you.’
she took kara by the wrist and led her up the stairs.
she’d never done that before – led kara to a space of her own.
she pushed open the door of her bedroom.
‘look,’ she said.
the dog was sleeping, restful. esma noticed for the first time that she had the most striking near-red coat.
‘she’s beautiful,’ kara said, and she took a step towards her.
‘yes, i hadn’t seen her in the sunlight before,’ esma said.
kara bent down and touched the dog’s left ear with the back of her hand. ‘she’s so soft.’
‘yes.’
they watched the dog together for a time. it was clear she was simply exhausted.
‘do you think she’ll ever wake up?’ kara said, half-joking.
‘when she’s ready,’ esma said.
they didn’t talk about where the dog had come from. perhaps kara assumed she was a stray. it seemed, for the time at least, everyone simply wanted to rest.
‘it’s very cosy in here, isn’t it?’ kara said at last. esma and kara were sitting on the floor now, beside the dog.
‘it’s kind of closed in,’ esma said. she was looking at the ivy still against the window that she had promised herself she would cut with spring.
‘it’s peaceful,’ kara said. she was resting with her head against the mattress now.
esma decided not to resist. ‘yes, it is,’ she said. and she put her head beside the dog and lay down on the floor ready to fall asleep, but not before she’d pulled a blanket from her bed and covered kara with it.
‘sleep,’ she said. ‘rest.’
and that was how they stayed. kara and the dog slept, and esma tried but she couldn’t. she lay there instead, watching. she watched over kara and she watched over the dog and she thought.
she thought of many things, but most overwhelmingly she thought of home. where it might be, after all. a moment within her, or some place touchable only by love. inextinguishable, creatable. a place where she could feel her own breath and her own heartbeat in their imperfect exact form.
she saw the poems of rumi, the pictures of a deer in the snow, blessed gold paper. all the things she had stuck to her walls to try to invite home into her bedroom, but the effect was patch-like, she thought now, looking at them. behind them, after all, were four solid walls, four particular walls that she had walked into seven months ago.
it should have disturbed them, that telephone in the hallway ringing and ringing, but it didn’t. kara continued to sleep and so did the dog. and esma heard the sound but had the feeling she might stay in the room with kara and the dog just a little while longer. watching, thinking, being in some suspended state before the next thing occurred.
perhaps if she were
to look back later, when she knew who was calling and why, she would have answered it herself. but then perhaps not.
it was in the afternoon, when they had all woken and gone downstairs, that kara picked up the phone. the beeping would have told her there was a message. she pressed the buttons to listen.
and her face changed.
‘it’s for you.’ she pressed the button so the message could be repeated.
esma took the phone and listened.
‘hi esma, it’s alain. just wanted to ring and see how our little rescued canine friend has settled in. and, of course, to say hi – it was great talking to you this morning. thanks so much for giving the dog a home.
it’s so kind of you. i’m looking forward to seeing you both again. oh, and i’ve thought of a name she might like. see you, bye.’
kara was staring at the kitchen floor. esma could see her jaw was tight, her face was set.
‘i thought you said you weren’t helping with that stupid dog farm thing any more.’
‘i said i wasn’t helping simon try to build a legal case against it. i didn’t say i wouldn’t be involved any more.’
‘well, that’s not the impression you gave me.’
‘i’m sorry if you got the wrong impression.’ but there was nothing sorry or apologetic at all about esma or her tone.
‘so that dog up there is from the farm. you stole her.’
‘i didn’t steal her.’
‘you broke in and took her.’
‘no, actually, i didn’t break in and take her. samantha and others did – and i think they did a great thing, a courageous thing. as for me, i’ve brought her home.’
kara shook her head.
‘i can’t believe i trusted you. i’ve given you everything, everything of me, esma. i’ve confided in you so often, i’ve shared emotional intimacies with you that i haven’t with anyone else. i’ve really opened myself up to you and worked hard to make this house a home for all of us, especially you.’
esma stopped herself. she stopped both of them. she knew it had gone far enough, at least for now.