Eleven Hundred Sand Dunes

by Helena Phillips

  When she retreats to wherever unwelcome nurses go, I sit stroking his leg while he repeats “Josh! Josh! Josh!” It must be intensely frustrating not being able to tell me what he wants, but when I try, “It’s okay Sandro, Flagran’s with him,” he relaxes and goes to sleep without another word.

  This world is almost unmanageable. Not knowing what’s going on, or what has taken place with Josh leaves me scattered and unsure of my next move. The idea of a walk returns from where it’s been buried in distress and confusion. It would have been good to meet them somewhere on my path, but they’ve vanished. As I walk, Gabriella rings, and we talk it through. This helps, as she assures me it will all become clear if we just wait, and she’s a convincing talker. She’s coming in later this afternoon. “Bridey, I’d like you to come home with me tonight,” she says. “The girls are cooking for us. It’ll do you good to eat at home and be normal.” When I hesitate, she ups the ante. “I’m going to ask Sandro if he thinks it’s a good idea,” the smile in her voice is almost visible. “I’d like you stay the night, so we should go past your place and collect some things for you.”

  Part of me really wants to go to their place tonight. With Sandro on her side, there’s no way I’m going to upset him by refusing, and she knows that. She’s a wily woman.

  ***

  The boy was struggling to control himself. “I didn’t hurt him, Flagran,” he protested.

  “Of course, you didn’t,” the Caretaker offered comfortably. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing! I just told you!” Flagran had counted on the flash of anger to put him more in charge so he was able to recount what had happened. “It was Sandro…he kept saying stupid stuff.”

  “Hey, that’s a good sign.”

  Josh was lost. “No, it isn’t.”

  “Well, if he kept saying stuff that means he’s getting his words back. That’s great.”

  Josh thought about it. “Well, he actually didn’t say much,” this was confusing. He had no idea how to talk about this with Flagran.

  “What exactly did he say, Josh?”

  Acutely uncomfortable he wanted to run away, but there was never anywhere to run with Flagran. He chewed over their encounter attempting to put it into words that Flagran could understand. Obviously, he wouldn’t get it.

  Flagran’s patience, never his strongest point, ran out. “Come on. Spit it out.”

  Josh shook his head and tried speeding up their walking pace, which mistake resulted in the spirit halting. Hands on the boy’s shoulders, he insisted. “You’ve been holding onto this shit for too long. Get it out!”

  “You won’t understand,” Josh said, despairing.

  Flagran smiled, “No, I think it’s you who doesn’t understand.”

  So full he could barely speak, he stood trembling while Flagran’s grip held him.

  “He said he was sorry.” The boy pushed his head forward for emphasis, and spit sizzled as it made contact with hot skin. “I tried to tell him that it was me, but he just got really upset, and I couldn’t make him see.”

  Flagran steered him to a patch of grass under a tree and pushed heavily on one shoulder until he had no choice but to collapse to the ground. After giving him a minute to collect himself, he asked the question he’d been waiting to have answered for over a week now. “Just how was this your fault, Josh? Explain it to me.”

  Gritting his teeth to hold it together, the boy stared up into the sky. “You should know,” he said contradicting his own words. “You found me in St Kilda. You know what I’ve done.”

  “And, what is that?” Flagran, seated now, leant back against the tree. “I only know what has been done to you.”

  “That bad spirit knew. She was saying I should keep away from you all before I do more damage.” Flagran swore and roughly grabbed at the boy who had been trying to escape. Josh cowered throwing up an arm in self-defense. Recovering quickly, the Caretaker shifted his hold and lowered the heat speaking softly until Josh lowered his arm. “Sorry mate. That was not meant for you. For her. Did I hurt you?” The hand now lay warm and comfortable on Josh’s arm.

  “You lost it because I was in St Kilda. You’ve told me lots of times not to go there.” It all came streaming out. “I’m bad stuff, Flagran. It hangs around me. Sandro was trying to help me. Bridey let me stay at her place. You keep having to sort me out.” His agitation growing, he began to thrash against the arm which felt like a handcuff. “I have to go now. Let me go! Let me go!” People passing stopped to watch. Rather than playing it off, Josh settled back to the ground and tried to look happy.

  “The only reason for you to stay clear of places is because you’re vulnerable to thinking and hearing bad things about yourself there. It’s not because you’re bad. You are not! If you were,” he added ruefully, “you would have served me up to those people who’ve still got their eyes on us.” Startled, Josh sucked in his breath to hold back tears. When he decided he could speak without breaking down, his voice had a curious wobble.

  “What makes people bad, Flagran?” he sniffled. “I don’t get it.”

  “You and the rest of the human race, Joshie.”

  “Well, you know. Tell me.”

  “It’s not that easy. Lots of things. Mostly, it’s about making decisions that are the not in the Source’s way of doing things.”

  “Like what?”

  Flagran groaned. He hated this stuff. Everything threatened to make the boy more anxious about getting it right, and that would do him more harm than good.

  “Why can’t you tell me? Aren’t I good enough to understand?”

  The Caretaker dislodged himself and pulled the boy up to face him. Taking his arms in his hands and fixing him in the eye, he spoke with a quiver which set Josh on edge. “You are one of the best seventeen year olds I know; have ever known. You do more good in one day than most people do in a lifetime.”

  The boy was stunned. “Then, why are you talking funny?”

  “Oh, Josh.” The Caretaker lay himself down on the grass. “I wish you could feel it as I feel it. You have no idea how much you have eaten into me since I’ve known you.”

  Absorbing the trembling lips and watering eyes, he was so shaken by what he saw there that he lay back into Flagran’s lap. Then, he started to speak staring up at the wintry blue sky above them. “I don’t get why you like me, Flagran. You catch me stealing. You’re always having to fish me out of something. Not facing up to Sandro, and you had to chase me all over the place.” This was a big speech for Josh. He took some deep breaths. “And today, when you were walking up here, you were sad. That was me. I’m shit.” He stole a look at Flagran who was barely hanging on to himself. Instead of pulling away, he took one of the Caretaker’s hands and held it with both of his own to his chest. They lay together like this for a few minutes, then Flagran jumped to his feet throwing off Josh as he did so.

  “You know that beating I’ve promised you numerous times. Now, you’re in for it.”

  Alarmed, Josh shrank back, but Flagran bent and poked him with his fist. “Come on bro. Get up, and take it like a man.” Josh rolled quickly to one side and sprang to his feet running behind the tree and poking his head around to sneer at the Caretaker, alight with the glow of battle.

  “You’re so tough,” he said. “Try taking me on without your powers!”

  “You’re on.”

  Strong and lithe, he led Flagran quite a dance from tree to tree even climbing up one and threatening to spit on him from above. Bridey, coming to find them, watched as they chased each other in short sprints all around the park, wishing they had a ball and she could join in. Spotting her, Josh ran to use her as a shield. Flagran, outraged, ducked and weaved, but the boy was too quick and Bridey protective. “He’s trying to beat me because I upset Sandro,” Josh told her. Bridey gave this some thought. “Well, you deserve it,” she said stepping aside and letting Flagran have him.

  The Caretaker grabbed him and threw him to the ground sitting on him and slappin
g at him, enough to make the boy wince and decide that hadn’t been a good move. The Caretaker kept it up wrestling and rolling until Bridey called it quits. “Enough, Flagran.” She decided. “That’ll teach him not to lie.”

  “That’s doubtful.” The spirit sprang off his prey and pulling him to his feet grabbed him for hug. “You alright now, Joshie?” he asked, his chin digging into Josh’s head. The boy grinned.

  “You alright, Flagran?”

  Five

  Bridey

  The idea of going home with Sandro’s Mum is exciting. We get to talk about all sorts of things. Now that Gabriella knows about the Caretakers, we can speak of Flagran and Josh while we collect clothes and my toilet bag. She has a rich spiritual life which was clear to me when we first met, even though I knew nothing about that sort of thing then. There’s just something about her! She knew instantly that Flagran was spirit, but their conversation she kept to herself. She’s telling me of times when they first came to Australia where her contact with the Source had been the only way she’d held life together for herself and Sandro. Ku had sent constant blessings during this time, some in spirit form. She promises to tell me all about them one day. It gives me a thrill to think I might be in Gabriella’s life long enough to have these conversations with her. It doesn’t surprise me that she has a close relationship with the Source. You can see it in her; feel it in everything she says and does. But she never preaches. That’s not her way.

  While I gather stuff to take for the night, Gabriella does my dishes which might have been embarrassing if she wasn’t raving about the garden and how beautiful it is looking out the window into it and losing herself in a few peaceful moments “before the chaos at home”. When I come out into the kitchen, she isn’t there. She’s wandered outside and is found strolling through the garden beds. We chat about various gardening matters, and this results in the determination to not only keep up with my dishes but also to do regular gardening. Homarta’s gone. While there’s still a lovely sense of her around the place, especially in the herb garden, she herself is missing. Gabriella makes it possible to go out there and walk around and decide to garden. Without her being there, it would have been tempting to avoid both the garden and Homarta’s absence.

  There’s a section towards the rear of the long backyard which has been taken over for our bonfires. Moving towards there brings back a flood of feelings. Here, Torrenclar, Flagran and Elaris have danced and sung. Standing here with Gabriella, it seems unlikely they will ever be here in quite the same way as before.

  “Do you think things will ever be like that again, Gabriella?”

  She shakes her head. “Who knows what the future will bring, Bridey?”

  “Those times were special.” Perhaps she can’t picture it, but she says something else which is helpful, although unwelcome.

  “Things change. Things always change. It’s a killer at the time, but as we move on, we then cling to the next bit and the next good, on and on.” She smiles wistfully, “I thought I would never recover from the loss of Sandro’s Dad. It was devastating and unbearably lonely. With no family to support me, no long standing friends who knew my history, nobody on my side, I just wanted to die. Sandro was a monster because he couldn’t have his Dad. He kept yelling at me and hitting me and telling me to go back and get him. It was awful. There was no one to help me with him. At times I thought he was horrible, and I hated him. Every day I had to face the dread, the confrontations, the loneliness and the awful, awful loss. It’s amazing I survived.” She’s standing here talking about it, and it’s hard to believe she’s talking about the same person. Imagining myself in the same position is impossible.

  “You must find it very difficult to imagine hating Sandro,” she smiles a sad, questioning smile. “What awful person hates their child?”

  “No, actually I don’t. When I first met him, he was throwing a tantrum. I instantly detested him.”

  “Tell me,” she’s delighted. “What was happening?”

  So we talk about that first meeting, and the subsequent ones. When she hears about the trip out to the country for manure, she stops me. “He came to me that day,” she says. “He was agitated, and I was delighted he’d found someone who could knock him off his perch like that.”

  “Then, he just decided he had to take me to meet his mother; the day after we’d patched things up. I was furious with him.”

  Gabriella draws my hand through her arm and pats it. “I’m very glad he did.”

  We set off for Nunawading to catch up with Joanne and Carmel and Jarrod who have together put on quite a feast. Jarrod’s doing the barbeque on the back veranda which is closed off against the winter cold with awnings through which you can see out into the garden. He’s lit the gas fire and it’s surprisingly cosy when I go out to say hello. He gives me a light kiss on the cheek and quietly asks how I’m coping. He’s a likeable, calm, comfortable and reliable man, and he’s been supportive for the past ten days. He turns the prawns repeatedly to catch them before they overcook and then pops them into a large Pyrex baking dish with the Morton Bay bugs he’s cut in half.

  “They’re ugly looking things,” I say when he tells me what they were. “Are you sure you should eat them?”

  “Bridey, you’ll taste them, and then you’ll long for that taste for the rest of your life,” which is a bit of an exaggeration, but they are delicious.

  Carmel and Joanne have made a warm salad of thinly sliced vegetables with a tangy sauce, and for dessert we have elaborate individual berry soufflés with cream. The food’s delicious, but the company’s the best. After the meal, we sit around playing cards. A fierce competitive side comes out in Jarrod and the girls. It must be hereditary. Staying the night turns out to be an excellent plan. Because it’s Saturday the next day, and no one has to work, we stay up for hours, falling into bed exhausted, content, and eager to see Sandro tomorrow and check out how many words he can manage. I imagine him beside me in the big, warm, comfortable bed. Maybe he’s on his way back.

  ***

  Meanwhile Ravesh and Irri-tat were getting to know each other.

  Irri-tat was experiencing some uncomfortable jolts to her planned repose. The first was the discovery that she had been deserted by Homarta. Unwilling to return to the lake in the mountains after the brief sojourn in Melbourne, she was frightened of all the constant stimulation of sights, sounds, smells and most disconcerting, wafts of the presence of other spirits. She felt lost and more alone than she had at the lake. Part of her craved company, but much more she dreaded it. This prevented her from seeking out answers to some pressing questions.

  Where was Homarta? Why hadn’t she sought Irri-tat? What had become of Sandro? Why had Torrenclar and Flagran just lost touch with her?

  She missed the comings and goings at Bridey’s garden. Several times over the past few days, she had visited only to find it abandoned. In true Irri-tat style, she lost no time in worrying about what anyone else might have been going through after Sandro’s accident. The sense of life had gone from the place. No more singing in a choir of many parts. No sense of being held within the group, even though she had always kept her distance.

  Events had precipitated her attack on Bridey, and since then she had been in limbo. At first, her disgrace had been clear. The Source had spoken with her so gravely and with such firm disapproval, she thought she might never recover her equilibrium. Now, she saw that worse things can happen. It can all go silent. There were no requests for her help, no demands to take chances and grow, no being in the company of a vibrant group which provided all the necessary stimulation and entertainment. Yes, she had been abandoned completely. That much was clear. She was unable to discern any path for herself.

  Into this fertile ground stepped Ravesh, the pretender, freshly wounded from her encounter with Flagran and Josh. This life she had been given offered no pleasure. Flagran’s dismissal, so cold, had stabbed at her memory of warm, playful jousts with him, joint projects where they had each u
sed their different talents to influence many situations over centuries. Now, he had turned from her with not even the slightest recognition of their history. She was convinced her encounter with Josh had been a happy accident, thinking herself hardly used.

  Now, determined to focus on the task she had been given, she sought out Irri-tat with an attitude of hurt disdain for the lowliness of the task, coupled with frustration. Not only was the work not at all to her taste, but she howled inside for the loss of her connection with the wind. Whenever she tried to draw it to herself, the wind also refused to acknowledge her.

  Declining the usual niceties between spirits, Ravesh appeared at the Quarry and settled herself beside her project, the latter not only startled, but dismayed. They had not previously met.

  “Well my dear,” her opening words causing Irri-tat to freeze, “you and I have a mission.”

  The young spirit was dismayed at the thought of being teamed with one whose force field felt dominating and powerful. Homarta had strength, but it was combined with patience. Ravesh, on the other hand, dreamt of manipulating the encounter to suit her own desires. Irri-tat gasped when her new best friend said in a firm but measured voice, “You and I are going to visit Sandro in hospital and keep him entertained during his convalescence.”

  “Oh no! No, that’s a bad idea,” the protest rushed out. “He doesn’t like me.”

  It was dismissed with an airy wave. “Nonsense! Sandro would love you. He likes little sweet things. And anyway, he likes me.” Her confidence was unshakeable.