Eleven Hundred Sand Dunes

by Helena Phillips

  “Flagran, you knew it was going to happen.”

  He turns to stare, surprised. “What makes you think that?”

  “You all went quiet that night. Something was up. You were going away…or trouble was coming or something.” The cold sand presses into me, stiffening my back against the slight breeze as I remember leaving my coat at the hospital.

  “Bridey, we knew as much as you did.” My head shakes from side to side, but he insists, “You guys told us the Source at the waterfall had forewarned of something coming which would make you turn away.”

  Pouring into my head come surges of love for the Source there and in the garden. It’s all such a mess. “But you were really affectionate with Sandro that night. And sad.”

  Flagran pulls a face. “We’re just more used to the way the Source communicates things and what those warnings might mean. It’s as much guess work to us as it is to you most of the time. Occasionally we’re told the future, but that’s not usually kus way.”

  “Does that mean you don’t know what’s going on with Sandro?” It’s difficult to believe.

  “When I touched him this afternoon, Bridey, he wasn’t there.”

  A huge icicle snaps off and drops into my heart. The dread which has been looming covers me in darkness. Up ‘til now, I’d been sure Sandro would wake up. The sea is flat and dark as the evening draws us in. We sit in silence until I’m so stiff with cold uncontrollable shivers take over, and Flagran moves his body closer to share the warmth.

  “Do you remember, Bridey, the Source telling Sandro they would be spending a great deal of time together soon? Well, we don’t know what that means, do we?” Many thoughts flash through my mind. He probably won’t want to come back. I wouldn’t.

  “If Sandro doesn’t come back,” the words stumble out, “doesn’t that mean he would be one of you spirits?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Well then, why are you so sad? You’ll get to see him all the time.”

  His smile is wan, and he stares far away. “It’s not like that, Bridey. Firstly, I’m sad at all the distance this awful thing has created for you and me and Gabriella and Josh and the others; even Irri-tat.” After a pause, he continues. “Then, if Sandro doesn’t come back, you’ll be devastated for a long time, and all we have planned will change.” His hair lies flat against his ears and touches the side of my face. “Also, Sandro being only spirit doesn’t mean we’d get to be close. The Source will have plans. We never stop growing, and that means many different places, over all the years.” He sighs, “That’s the way of it.”

  “No! It can’t be like that!”

  “Oh, but it is.” He smiles gently, “and the thing is, we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “That makes no sense at all.” How could you be close to a Source who does that with lives? Although ku seems good, it’s got to be false. There’s no way a good creator would want to cause all that suffering.

  “Bridey,” Flagran draws me back, “can we talk about something else?”

  “Why?”

  “There’s something I’ve wanted to bring up with you for a while now.”

  More trouble. “Oh, Flagran, I’ve had enough. It’s exhausting.”

  But he does and says what he wants. “You often decide we’re cross with you, and you are usually, not always, wrong.”

  This is nothing like what I was expecting. “When?” “After Irri-tat’s attack is a good example.”

  “But you go so quiet.”

  “When someone’s thoughtful and withdrawn, does it always have to mean they’re angry with you?” Sitting here on the beach attached to Flagran’s side, it seems unlikely. But when things happen, that’s the way I think. “You need to trust us more.” That’s easy for him to say. The conversation continues until Flagran suggests food. We make our way up to a strip of restaurants and cafes where some Spanish pancakes settle my stomach growls as we head for a tram.

  ***

  Light footsteps were soundless on the pavements of the neatly laid out streets. In well-fitting jeans and a dark windcheater, he looked like any other man with a purpose, making his way, head down, oblivious of surroundings. Red hair hung limp around his ears. Late morning, the winter gloom had settled on his shoulders like a heavy mantle of carpet. If it had been possible for him to feel it, he would have been hunching against the cold. His mission led him to a small back lane in the centre of the CBD where, behind a set of large green rubbish bins, he came upon his quarry.

  The seventeen year old boy was seated on the ground, eyes closed and head dipped between his knees. Without looking up, he muttered, “Piss off Flagran. There’s no point going on at me.”

  With his usual disregard for all resistance, Flagran settled down beside him imposing his hand on the boy’s knee and taking a firm grip against efforts to shrug it off. When he answered, he kept his voice light. “Well Josh. Tell me the point of sitting here, day after day, brooding.”

  “I’m over it all, Flagran. Sick of life. Sick of all the shit you have to go through.”

  The pause was long while Flagran assessed the ground in front of them. “You need a break from hating yourself” he said. The conversation, and others like it, had been progressing nowhere for three days now. “There are two things to do, Joshie.”

  “What? I’m not interested in your plans.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m interested in you.” Josh began to move away, but Flagran held him down. “How long is it since you’ve eaten?” A grey pallor suggested it’d been some time. “Come on! We need to scavenge you some food.” He jumped lightly to his feet holding out his hand. Lacking the energy for argument, his hostage struggled to rise, stretching cramped muscles and wincing against the blood forcing itself through locked veins. It was two or three minutes before he could take a step, despite being held firmly by an elbow, shuffling along like a penguin in sand. They made their way to the rear of an Italian restaurant where the smells of food cooking made him retch into the gutter and passing wanderers stared at him in distaste. It went unremarked by the two as Flagran knocked, and when the door opened, his smile flashed for the woman who appeared. Only those who knew him well would have seen anything amiss in it. They also would have known she didn’t have a chance. “This kid hasn’t eaten in a couple of days. Could you give him something to fill the gap? In this state he won’t be able to walk to a refuge.” Josh gave her a suitably wretched look.

  At first her stare was suspicious, but there was something about this man with the red hair. Without a word, she disappeared, returning with a bowl of tortellini and winning herself another quick, bright smile. The two watched as Josh sat again on the uneven flagstones and attempted to force down some food. “Drugs?” she asked Flagran, who shook his head. “What then?”

  “Grief.”

  This worked magic. She squatted in front of the boy peering into his face. While he scarcely raised his head, she thought she could see sadness and desperation. Jumping to her feet again, she disappeared again, returning with a cold drink and a chair. Josh raised his eyes. This woman was young, probably in her late twenties. He regarded her intently for a moment or two before refusing the chair but accepting the drink, and forcing down another two pieces.

  “Where are you going to take him? My name’s Juliana, by the way.”

  “Thank you, Juliana. You’ve been very kind. It works better than food sometimes.” She repeated her question, and Flagran shook his head. “I’d like to take him to a hospital.” At this, Josh became agitated, putting down the bowl and dropping the cap of his drink into it as he attempted to get his feet under him. “I’m not going in there! I’ve told you, Flagran. You can’t make me.”

  “It’s okay, Joshie. Don’t fuss. We won’t do anything you don’t want. Not until you are well enough anyway.”

  “Is it a mental hospital?” Juliana whispered, as though he couldn’t hear.

  Josh smirked shooting Flagran half a grin. “Perhaps that’s where you should ta
ke me, Flagran. Put me away for a few years.” This appealed so much to the boy’s sense of humour, he ate another three pieces of tortellini while considering the idea. His face turned from grey to white. “I’m gonna throw up.” The food catapulted from his mouth before he could move dripping down his clothes and into one shoe. Groaning, he fell onto his side throwing one arm over his head as if to ward off blows. Both his companions squatted beside him, Juliana distressed and uncomfortable, Flagran quiet.

  “Who are you?” Juliana turned to him, suddenly thinking she should check out this strange man who seemed to be looking after the boy, but maybe wasn’t. Where was he trying to take him? “There’s something odd going on here.”

  Josh peered out from under his arm while he considered the possibilities this presented. “Yeah Flagran,” he decided, “I told you to piss off and leave me alone. It’s your fault I’m in this mess.”

  That did the trick. Clearly the boy was in danger, and duty demanded she intervene between him and this odd man with the magnetic, seductive personality. “How about I take you to the doctor’s Josh? That’s your name?

  “Yeah, that could work,” Josh agreed, looking needy and helpless.

  “And what then, Josh?” Unfazed by developing events, the Caretaker stared down at his protégée with a grimace. “Where will you go after you’re fixed up?”

  So that was it, Juliana thought. This man with the intense red hair had some sort of hold over him because he had nowhere to go. She began to dislike him. “We’ll deal with that when we need to,” she said, running her mind through various relatives and friends who might take in a sick young man for a few days until he was well enough to be settled somewhere. The expected protest from Flagran was entirely absent in his satisfied nod and the suggestion Josh would need a taxi or something. When she turned to him enquiringly, he raised his hands in a ‘don’t look at me for money’ way which only confirmed her suspicions. “Come on Josh, we’ll get a taxi from Collin’s Street.”

  “Bye then,” Flagran said bending forward and grasping the young man by the shoulder. “Looks like you’re in good hands. I’ll be catching up with you as soon as you’re back on your feet.”

  “Not if I have anything to do with it,” muttered Juliana after his retreating back.

  Two

  Sandro

  Thoughts flashed at him through the crazed pain in his head, but he couldn’t reach them. Loud clinks, metal against metal. Intrusive beeps; voices shouting. His eyes were closed, and the light was still intense. He was feeling for a memory. Something vital. Flickers of other stuff. Flashes of places he wanted but couldn’t grasp. Pain shot through his entire body tormenting him. How could he come back to this? Why would he want to? Surely there was a choice to stay where he’d been. And over the top of it all, this memory of doing something terrible. Grasping at it only made it slip away. He was going to court. How could he go without knowing what he’d done? If only he could stay where it was safe, but he wasn’t welcome there. They were pushing him away, kicking him out. Unworthy. Whispers of sweetness washed over him, and he tried to catch them, but they turned into nothing. Someone was near, coming closer. Terrified, he pulled back, but found he couldn’t move. Not even to open his eyes. He began to sense a body bending towards him, closer now and peering into his face. He could feel the breath against his mouth and smell cornflakes. The pain disappeared, and so did he.

  Conversations seemed real, but the most important pieces were missing. When he tried to catch them, the pain returned. He remembered asking a question. The answer was there, but it eluded him. He became aware of the room. Too quiet now. Maybe he was dead. He certainly couldn’t open his eyes. His mind wrestled between this essential task, and the search for the answer. Each time it arose from the dense marsh, he reached for it, but it floated away, and there seemed to be no possibility of chasing it without falling in. The idea of falling into darkness filled him with dread. Then, terrible loss rose to the surface of his mind swamping him, pulling him down.

  “Go back and find your father!” The sweet voice instructed. He shot out a hand and clutched at it, ignoring the words.

  “Did you make me have this accident?” he asked.

  “No Sandro. I did not. It is not my way to hurt people.”

  “Well, why did it happen,” he tried.

  “You ran across the road in front of a car.”

  That wasn’t enough. Silly thoughts. It wasn’t about the accident. There were far more important things to remember. The court case was looming, and he had no clothes. No shoes. He couldn’t go to court in bare feet. He wasn’t ready. Pain stabbed. Thinking made it worse. But if he didn’t prepare, how could he put his case? What was his case? There was no excuse for his behaviour. It was the clearest thought he’d had. He was guilty. That was certain. Perhaps the only hope was to remember the extenuating circumstances. Every attempt to chase this further increased his terror. What was the charge? He had no clothes. Can’t go naked. The courthouse was white with pillars and tiers of steps. He’d begun to mount these when he remembered he had no clothes. Must go back and dress.

  His first attempt to return to his body was unsuccessful. The relief of drifting away again made him want to cry, but nothing came. The second attempt felt more real. His eyes opened. Just like that. It was dark, and he was alone. Coming back to get his clothes he remembered. But his head wouldn’t turn to search for them. He was going to be late. Now there was no hope. A groan escaped. The nurse tried to speak to him, but he wasn’t interested. It was too late. She did something, and he disappeared again.

  He could see what was going on around the room when he returned the third time. Bridey was there, but she seemed different. She couldn’t see him; like they were in separate rooms. She was trying to find him, but it wasn’t possible to help her. He could make out his mother on a nearby chair. Or, was that another time? She spoke to him, and he could hear her talking but not make out what she was saying. It was comforting knowing she would wait. It seemed to be difficult to get back. There was little point really.

  ***

  In a cosy flat in Collingwood, Josh lay staring at the ceiling in much the same way as Sandro. Juliana had made him as comfortable as she could, and after locking up a few valuables, set out for work as usual. He was contemplating how long he would need to stay there in order to get his strength back, and also how he could use Juliana’s mistrust of Flagran to his advantage in keeping the Caretaker at bay. Many times he thought of Bridey with self-disgust. While he was at Juliana’s place, there was no way of knowing what was happening with Sandro.

  ***

  The Source

  Homarta was in her garden. Since the accident, she had continued tending the rejuvenated, previously poisoned and barren backyard of Bridey’s rental. The project since their meeting, under her nurturing care it now retained no trace of its earlier condition but had become a haven of plants, trees and vegetables, despite the season. Winter was in full control here, and the sky brooded. She looked up from her position on her knees amongst the cabbage plants as she sensed my presence, her smile weak but welcoming.

  “What is it, my Eagle?” she asked me.

  “How about finding Irri-tat and sorting her out for me?” Teasing her was one way of dancing through the struggles in our immediate past and her glum response reproved me. We were old friends Homarta and I. It took great force to keep her down, but she was suffering here and not in the mood for play.

  “Sandro is awake,” I told her.

  Her face lit as her huge bulk rolled to stand up with me, unwilling to entirely commit to excitement.

  “Homarta, you know I will not tell you the future.”

  Her eyes closed, shutting me out. While awaiting her attention, because it was not my way to be manipulated, I regarded her with affection. Her face glowed in the winter cold. Toes, elongated in the manner of roots, dug into the soft earth at my feet. Although her clothes were human in kind, they spoke of attachment to her body in t
he way leaves decorate trees, or bark clings to a trunk. When she opened her large brown eyes once more, I cocked my head to one side marking the moment with slight displeasure, but, as it had arisen from her affection for Sandro, it was softened with a smile. “There will be a few more days before the situation clarifies.”

  She nodded. “I don’t want this task, to go after Irri-tat.” An abrupt but not unexpected response. “Unlikeable and unmanageable. I don’t have the heart for it. Please pass her over to someone else?” Refusing a request of mine was a big statement from a Caretaker of Homarta’s ilk. Her next words were pleading. “Give me leave to go off, Love. I’ve had enough of this work.” We stood confronting each other while I contemplated her request and thought of all it would mean to give her leave. “Please, Love?” she begged. “I need to bury myself in rich earth, collect herbs, play with animals. I don’t even like her enough to be in her company.” Silence wafted around us, listening for my answer. She was a magnificent example of the feminine. In human form, as she stood before me now, she was large, with enormous feet and breasts. Her hips spoke of deep recesses, and a massive belly and bottom defined her nature. It was not stubbornness on her face but hunger for things of her kind.

  “Come and sit with me, my Homarta.”

  She came to the long bench constructed by Torrenclar his first day at Bridey’s house. There she sat on my knee folding a huge arm around my neck and pressing her face against my head. “Go with my blessing, of course,” I told her. “Take a long break, and come to me when you’re ready. I’ll keep in touch about Sandro.”

  She peered into my eyes. “Can’t you tell me if it will be alright with him?” she begged. “It will be impossible to leave without knowing.”

  “Yes, of course I can,” I replied with a grin, “but then I’d have to kill you.” She bent to kiss me, drawing back to plead with me as a child does with a parent who finds it hard to resist. So I told her where events were leading, what my plans were with Irri-tat, and asked her to prepare to join us in Mallacoota at the beginning of August.