by Sue Saliba
‘chloe’s just so smart. she got the highest mark for chemistry last semester. those students will be so lucky to have her.’ and esma agreed.
and then this: ‘you know, it’s so cold in that little room, esma. i’ve asked chloe to come and sleep in my bed, with me.’ and esma thought desperately of the book of sparks but just couldn’t cancel an awful feeling arising in her.
‘i don’t know why i didn’t think of it sooner, esma.
it’s so warm and cosy in my room.’
where was the book of sparks now? esma shifted her eyes to a vacant part of the kitchen floor but she couldn’t summon its image in her mind. she told her hands to feel its uneven cover but they were simply numb with bloodlessness. she even went upstairs with an excuse of study and stared hard at the book on her desk. but nothing of its power could penetrate her. the book of sparks was dead, or so it seemed.
and all through the night, through the darkness, she stayed blank and stiff, constricted in the emptiness of her room. perhaps the ivy grew further across the window. perhaps the possum returned to visit the site of her fallen child. whatever may have occurred remained lost to esma, except for the time just before the light made the sky morning when she heard a sound. a whisper.
‘wake up, chlo. come and see before they disappear.’
it was kara.
if esma had felt any love for herself right then she might have blocked her ears to stop out the sound, but she was wretched and destructive and so she listened closer.
the lifting of the window that led to the balcony from kara’s room, the clutching of arms against cold, four bare feet. kara and chloe were watching from the balcony and esma was sick with the imaginings of their delight.
‘look at them, aren’t they wonderful?’ kara was saying. ‘i promised myself i’d show them to you as soon as i could. i’ve always wanted to get up early, and watch them with someone special, and now i have.’
and esma remembered the three times she’d suggested to kara they could watch the bats together as the creatures returned from the night. bats crossing the sky of the gardens. you had to wake early to catch their eerie migration.
‘i’ve always wanted to see them return,’ kara said,
‘to see them like a family coming back to their trees, to their homes. isn’t it wonderful, chloe, to return to a home?’
and then esma heard something she hadn’t expected, that didn’t ring true to the story.
‘kara,’ chloe said, ‘they’re just bats. can i get some more sleep? i’m feeling really tired.’
and the lowering of the window, the sound of speechless bodies lying down in bed.
and sleep.
sleep filling every part of esma’s mind so that she drifted and dreamed of nothing but peace.
because peace was what she wanted beneath all the scramblings for meaning, understandings and words. they were avenues, she realised, passageways and sometimes blockages to what was really beneath. but words, in the end, did not touch the everything of what she felt when she thought of the gardens, when she heard the possum, when she remembered rascas by the duck pond that night. instead the words gave her a ground under her feet, a kind of false knowing that stopped her stepping out into the reality of things, the truth of things where there were no words, after all. they were a false protection and they were a weapon, and she felt them flood her when she saw chloe the next morning.
esma should have been at ease, it was true, with her secret knowledge of the younger sister’s indifference to kara’s enthusiasm, but instead the mere sight of chloe, feet on the kitchen chair, resplendent in kara’s dressing gown, made her stiff and constricted, wronged.
‘that’s kara’s teacup,’ esma said, pointing at the japanese glass in chloe’s hand.
‘i know,’ chloe said. ‘i gave it to her last christmas.’
‘actually… she doesn’t like anyone else using it.’
‘it’s okay,’ chloe said, ‘we’re sisters.’ and she kept her feet on the chair in front of her.
‘chloe,’ esma said, ‘i know how kara likes our home to run.’
chloe curled her toes inwards. her feet stayed on the chair.
‘you have a sister, don’t you, esma?’
‘yeah.’
‘well, aren’t there things that she would do for you that she wouldn’t do for anyone else, for friends, housemates? isn’t there a special bond…?’
‘that’s not how it runs here,’ esma said. ‘this is a home where everyone’s rights are respected.’
‘you sound like kara,’ chloe laughed, ‘when she’s saying things she doesn’t believe. what about your sister, if you went and stayed with her?’
‘i wouldn’t expect any special favours from her.’
‘they’re not favours. they’re just expressions of something special between us.’
‘something special between you?’ esma said. and she stopped herself from saying any more, but inwardly she thought: like what, like you were born from the same mother? there are more special things than that. there are deeper things, other things that bond people, and she thought in a satisfied way of the bats, those blind creatures that both she and kara loved, but her satisfaction disappeared when she saw chloe’s face. it had stopped still as if it had heard enough, as if it were the mistress of some secret knowledge it might choose to use – or not, in its own time and way.
and esma might have gone on seeing that face over and over and cursing herself for saying too much, treading on fear and wishing she could withdraw the part of herself she’d left vulnerable to defeat,
if it hadn’t been for the bird.
she found it on the footpath, legs to the sky and struggling, when she took out the rubbish.
it should have been dead since a bird without flight is useless, but it stared into her when she bent her head to it, with a life that refused to leave. i can’t just abandon it, she thought in the gap before action and she gathered it up in her palm and held her fingers around it. the bird was larger than she thought, heavier, and it would survive the journey to the vet if she hurried.
she did. between running and stopping to calm its anxious shivering, she made it to the reception desk of the surgery. bells and collars, the snare of cages beside them.
it should have been a relief to reach help, professional help. the clinic in elgin street had always seemed reliable with its blue light and cartoon pictures of smiling cats and dogs on its windows. an oasis of trust, the assurance of antiseptic. but the bird was a pest, she was told.
‘if it’s a native bird we must treat it, but an introduced species, no…’
‘but it’s a bird,’ esma said.
‘no, sorry. it’s an intruder, it doesn’t belong.’
‘but it’s alive. maybe it can be saved.’
‘you could put it back where you found it, maybe it will survive. or we can euthanise it,’ the nurse said.
‘is there no other way?’
the nurse looked at the keys of the cash register.
‘not unless it’s your pet…?’
‘well… yeah, okay… it is.’
‘it’ll cost you the consultation fee, and more if it needs treatment.’
‘okay.’
‘forty dollars, sixty then. we don’t send bills. we’ll call you when we’ve had time to look at it.’
and esma went home with her hands still warm to wait for the call. and chloe’s face left her mind – actually it had left it in that moment by the rubbish bin, that moment when something – what was it? – took over. some feeling for the bird that obliterated everything else, that filled her with an urgency, a hope, purpose. a connection with something else and a feeling that she was needed and strong. and that the survival of something precious and vulnerable depended on her strength, not her weakness.
it was odd that she should find it now, the rest of the quote she’d found near simon’s doorway. but there it was poking from the hem of her skirt, crumpled beside the bed.
she opened it as she crouched on the eiderdown, just enough sunlight through the ivy of the window.
‘there is nothing enlightened about shrinking… as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.’ (m. williamson)
she couldn’t help reaching for the book of sparks. within arm’s length but buried under a pile of half-used paper – thoughts begun and left – she’d almost forgotten it. and so, by a magazine picture of an arctic fox, she copied the entire quote. and with each minute, before the telephone rang, she believed more and more that the bird would recover. the bird would survive and she’d bring it home to live with her.
and it was as she folded the page of the quote that she saw, for the first time, something written on the other side. to simon, it said, please don’t turn away from your strength. cruelty is such an awful thing, and they’re so vulnerable. you can really help. with love, samantha xxx
esma smiled. she held the note close to her, then went down the stairs and placed it back where she had found it, just inside simon’s doorway. it was a gift to him, that’s how she imagined it. a gift, if you could return something to its owner and call it that.
in her room she thought again about the bird. how she would make a nest for it in the corner, beside the bed, and carry it food and care for it. she’d become its mother and the bird would flourish.
and it supposedly did, although not with esma.
by the time the phone had rung and the vet had left her message (a message, since chloe was making an ‘urgent’ call at the time) esma had converted a shoebox to a home. winter tights and the fake fur trim from the neck of her op shop cardigan. it was soft and it would fit perfectly between wall and mattress. she practised laying the bird in it, a ball of socks as its body.
‘hello, it’s doctor travis from carlton veterinary clinic. esma, i’ve looked at the bird. it was fine when i got to it, upright on its legs. seems there was nothing wrong with it. maybe just fell out of a tree, or from the roof. in any case, i took it out the back and let it go. it disappeared in the direction of the city. i guess we won’t be seeing it again.’
and that was it. silence. a click at the end of the line. and the bird was gone.
she should have been happy. the bird hadn’t died, the bird hadn’t needed surgery, the bird was free. but she had to admit disappointment. the box with its makeshift bedding was useless and soon the memory of chloe’s face would pervade her.
and it did. four p.m, and chloe standing, towel around her naked body, turned to esma and said, ‘sorry, we’re using the bathroom. maybe you can wash your hands in the laundry sink.’ perhaps it was foolish, esma trying to push past chloe as she stood in the bathroom door but she’d convinced herself she had every right.
‘esma, we’re colouring our hair,’ kara said. ‘it’s a practice run for my birthday. we can’t leave the tiled floor.’ and as esma turned away suddenly desperate to wash her hands of the bird, she heard the sisters giggling, at her being sent downstairs or at the sight of each other’s whitened heads, she couldn’t tell.
all the same as she rinsed her hands in the kitchen sink, she imagined kara and chloe massaging deep reds and browns into each other’s hair and talking excitedly about what they’d wear on saturday night and who kara had invited to the afghan restaurant and what boys chloe might like there and how they intended to let themselves party unrestricted.
if she could have escaped the event, esma told herself, she would have, but how could she when kara had said so many times, ‘esma, i can’t wait for you to come to my birthday. it’ll make it really special.’ well, that was what kara had said and that was what esma convinced herself stopped her from making some excuse to not go along, but the truth was less noble.
chloe was going and, difficult as it was, esma would be there to make sure the younger sister did not outshine her.
and shining was something esma felt, when at last the night arrived and she emerged from her room after eight complete changes of clothes, and simon, dashing from the bathroom, towel around him, stopped and said, ‘esma, you look beautiful.’
‘thanks,’ she said. ‘i’ve always loved red.’
it was true, she had, but she’d somehow never felt the courage to wear it. it attracted attention and expectations and she’d never felt right.
‘i won’t be long,’ simon called as he rushed down the stairs to his bedroom. ‘we’ll go in ten minutes?’
‘okay,’ esma called to his naked back. ‘i’ll wait in the kitchen.’
it was quiet in the house since kara, being the host, had gone early, and chloe had gone with her to keep her company. esma didn’t mind. she told herself she’d surprise kara with her special red dress that she’d never worn before, that she’d bought in chapel street two years ago on a whim.
she sat in the kitchen feeling the beauty of the dress as she waited for simon. it was simple, a long, fitted red dress, satin or silk she wasn’t sure, but it reminded her of a fairytale. that’s why she’d bought it. perhaps two years ago she knew she’d find a use for it, and now that use had come.
‘i’m ready,’ simon called from the hallway. ‘let’s go.’ they were walking together to the restaurant in brunswick street, just the two of them, since samantha couldn’t make it. she was busy holding a meeting about the puppy farm and didn’t know what time it would end.
‘the puppy farm,’ esma said as simon closed the front gate behind her. ‘what’s happening with it?’
‘well, they’ve tried talking to the council and the government department, like the letter you wrote to the local minister, but it seems they’re all turning a blind eye.’
‘what about legal action?’ esma said.
‘it’s still a possibility.’
‘are you…?’ esma was tentative with her question, afraid she might spoil the night.
‘you know, that dress just shines so bright,’ simon said as they came under a street light. ‘you know what, it reminds me of… courage.’
‘simon, are you going to help build a legal case against the puppy farm owner?’
‘you don’t give up, do you? i like that about you, esma.
when you feel something strongly, you don’t give up on it.’
‘perhaps sometimes i should.’
‘no. you’re right just the way you are.’
esma wasn’t sure she could believe this about herself, but she did know simon meant it. he was kind. he was a friend. she knew she could trust him.
‘simon, how can i help you do what you want to do?’
‘what do you mean?’
‘you want to stop the cruelty to those dogs. you want to work on a legal case that will stop cassar operating that puppy farm.’
they were nearing brunswick street now with its busy bars and restaurants and it would have been easy to get lost in the noise and bustle but simon stopped in the last quiet doorway and said, ‘esma, you could help me go through the previous legal cases. we could see if we could find a legal precedent. you’d be great at it, esma. we could work together.’
and esma felt her heart lift, just as she had when she’d held the bird, when she’d imagined the bird recovering and she nurturing it and making something live.
‘i’d love to, simon. let’s start as soon as we can.’
and he smiled and held out his hand and esma took it and they shook firmly and laughed.
‘better get to the restaurant,’ simon said. ‘kara will be waiting.’
by the time they arrived, it wasn’t kara who was waiting, but chloe. esma felt it as soon as she walked through the door. there was a table of twenty or so with kara at the head, and from the other end chloe looked up and raised her hand to her mouth when she saw esma. she seemed to giggle and she looked at the table as if she had to steady herself from the outlandish sight. it was true, everyone else was dressed in casual clothes and esma’s overdressing was obvious. she slinked into the only possible chair after simon had sat at another par
t of the table opposite jonathan and alain. it was next to chloe.
‘it’s a very bright dress,’ chloe said. ‘at least the waiters won’t miss our table.’
esma looked up to see alain watching her. he smiled and poured a glass of wine that he passed to her down the table.
‘what’s on the menu?’ esma said, grateful it was sitting in front of her.
‘didn’t simon tell you? i’m sure he remembers from two years ago… or perhaps he remembers other things.’
‘what are you talking about, chloe?’ esma suddenly felt as she had in the kitchen, strong, radiant, powerful in her red fairytale dress.
‘ah… just,’ and she laughed again. ‘god, kara said you were naïve but i’ve never seen anyone so blind.’
esma was silent.
‘kara and simon, the vibe between them, their history.
what happens some nights when you’re tucked away in your little bedroom, dreaming your little dreams.’
there was nothing but stillness, blankness in esma until she knew she could get away, get to some place where it was safe to feel, where she could hear the words again and let them rip her apart.
‘it all began here two years ago,’ chloe said.
and if she could have grown wings, esma would have.
she would have been that bird suddenly startled into flight, disappearing across sky and city streets to leave nothing of herself to hold. but she was grounded and stuck, wedged between chloe and a jutting-out section of wall that blocked her from all the other guests on her side of the table.
‘to my lovely and brilliant sister,’ chloe said, raising her glass in the air. ‘and to all her special friends.’ and glasses clinked and someone cheered and kara beamed at chloe from the other end of the table.
‘ah, thank you…’ kara said, and then told everyone,
‘this has to be my best birthday ever. to have chloe here with me in melbourne. and, of course, our lovely home…’ she reached across and touched simon’s arm and everyone looked at him. ‘what about us?’ one of the boys, already drunk, called. ‘yes, and of course all my wonderful, wonderful friends at med school.’ there were cheers. ‘to kara,’ someone called.