“Go live with Bridey,” he was instructed to the delight of the audience. “Go to classes. Study.” After this mammoth effort, Sandro collapsed feeling the blood drain from his face. He sipped at the coffee thankful to hold it to his own lips, and when Flagran bent over him to say goodbye, he hadn’t the energy to protest a second time. Bridey followed soon after.
***
The Source
On his return journey to Melbourne, Torrenclar was shaking. The flight was rough, the landing awkward and his balance had caused him to stray almost as far as New Zealand. It was with supreme effort he righted his position landing in the Bay and circling under the water in an attempt to stabilise. He surfaced startled to find he was again confronted with an apparition he had imagined would be some way off in time. “Don’t do this, Love,” he groaned. But, that had never influenced my determination to get through to him in the past, and it was brushed aside like a salted drop of spray.
“This can’t be left, Torrenclar. You will torture yourself into a dead place where we will not be able to meet. The loss would be intolerable for us both.” His confusion spread, and with it, dread. “My message about you offering me guilt, my dear, was clear enough.”
He winced. “I lost my temper, and I am sorry for it.”
“You can do that without locking yourself into guilt. It serves no purpose. Once you have it clear where you have floundered then you must return to me. It is simple yet you resist its ease.” He had hardly registered the emotion let alone dwelt on it consciously. To him, the struggle with travel was a consequence of bad behaviour rather than being off centre. It seemed an unimportant distinction, but the results were vastly disparate.
It was important to continue along this path until he could get his bearings. We were in the middle of the ocean, Torrenclar’s favourite place. What happened next he had never considered possible. He was drawn from the sea and placed on dry land. If I had had a whip and flogged him with it, I could not have caused him more pain than banning him from water. “Until you get your guilt in hand and can face me with clear descriptions of your activities regularly, without shame, fear or guilt, you cannot return to the water in any form, Torrenclar.” This was like saying to a goldfish, “From now on you will function on dry land.”
His expression was disbelief, and a cold cloud settled over him as the rage grew to icy pain. He stood, lost. “You know I am unable to do this, Lord,” he said coldly. “You are playing with me a dangerous game.”
But, his anger would prevent him from feeling guilty, and he would certainly not be feeling shame when he was convinced I was entirely unreasonable. How could he serve such a tyrant? As he stared at me, I held my gaze while his expression hardened when he saw I would not relent. He turned on his heel and went to find Bridey. That action lacked planning.
***
Bridey
This afternoon, I’m doing an early shift after swapping with a friend. Being at work is great. All through, I smile at customers while sorting their requests, change bookings without the slightest impatience, give a few discounts without much cause, promise everyone a late checkout and send champagne to two rooms where it hasn’t been ordered. Fortunately, I’m the person in charge of reception, and there’s no one to question my decisions. When two different women complain I’m flirting with their husbands, I smirk at them thinking Bite your bum! If you can’t keep his eyes off me, then suffer!
The shift eventually ends, and I pull the bike out onto the street only to be startled by a figure appearing at my side saying, “Don’t get on Bridey, I want to walk with you.”
“Torrenclar,” I exclaim with delight, memories flooding back. “Sandro is saying whole sentences.”
A moment or two later, it becomes clear he’s maintaining a broody silence. Heavens! Not tonight Torrenclar. Happiness is so fleeting. “What is it?”
But instead of answering, he takes the bike in one hand and puts his arm around me as we walk, pulling me to him. Maybe he’s making up for something. He stops in the middle of the path and bends his head to kiss me on the lips. This does not feel good. I am acutely uncomfortable. It’s too different from his usual affection; a deep, sensuous kiss and frightening. I jerk away as soon as I can free myself. He seems to realise his mistake stepping away and saying with an attempt at lightness, “Just happy for you, Bridey.”
But that isn’t it. That isn’t it at all. Something is very wrong here.
“Would you like to go sit somewhere and talk, Torrenclar,” I ask him, hoping he’ll say no, and he shakes his head. “How about we go down to the beach?”
I’m thinking it might dispel any mood he’s in. It’s apparently the worst thing to say because he swears. Shocked, I draw back further, not because he shouldn’t swear, who cares, but because he never uses foul language. He’s always the perfect gentleman. Confused and afraid, I begin to dread something’s about to happen that will ruin everything. He’s just standing there looking, wanting something. That would be a very bad thing. Please no. Please don’t let him spoil it. The plea is aimed at the Source. He disappears without another word. I turn my bike back towards home, trying to make some sense of it that isn’t gross. My afternoon is ruined.
***
The Source
“What was that?” I asked him angrily.
He simply turned on his heel, so I put out a hand spinning him back towards me. “You were asked a question.” When he failed to answer, I upped the ante. “Either you reply, or you will be banned for longer. Your choice.”
His rage replaced the embarrassment he’d been feeling at being called to account for such behaviour. “You told me not to feel guilty about her. It was an experiment. If you’d allowed me more time, it would no doubt have developed into something useful for practicing. It had been my plan to return with the results for you.” His snort was half disgust and half triumph.
“But, it was Bridey who called for help.”
That threw him. He filled his lungs with air and blew it out, his anger evaporating, and then, just before he slipped into self-disgust, he caught it. “Okay. No way through in that direction.” He faced me whimsically. “How does it work Love? What do I have to do?”
“If you can come up with the answer from amongst all we have spoken of together, Torrenclar, I would be more satisfied than if I had to explain it again; as though my words have no meaning to you.”
He paused, thoughtful. Then he switched again, behaving completely out of character. He attempted bargaining. “If I can do that to your satisfaction, will you remove the ban?” His eyes were hard and challenging.
The silence between us sat more comfortably than the recent standoffs we had suffered. But, I was not prepared to let him off so easily. “You told me you hated me.”
He flushed, and I waited. Rather than become apologetic and self-abasing, he said, “You deserved it.”
“Did I?”
“You did,” he said firmly. “You still do.”
“Deserve your hatred?” If he backed down now, he would lose the right to have the ban lifted. In fact, I would add to its length.
“You know I don’t hate you,” he said. “But…” he wavered, “I could still cheerfully punch you if it would not result in disaster for me.”
“What would be disaster for you, Torrenclar?”
He stood thinking, and at no time did he weaken, but he thought carefully before he spoke, and then in a stiff voice, he said, “My Lord, if you withdrew yourself from me that would be unbearable. But, please, give me back the water, or I will have to fight you for it.”
It was unclear what he thought he could do. Without my permission, he was helpless. But when I invited him to punch me, he hesitated. Then, he stepped forward, drew his arm all the way back and slapped my face, a full blow, before he could consider. The shock caused me to reel back from him, containing the flare of anger before I could open my eyes. His face registered its own shock and what I saw there was regret, not fear or guilt.
> “Lord,” he said. “Forgive me. You did not deserve that.”
“Are you sure? Not long ago you were convinced I was doing this to play with you?”
“No Lord, he said. “You were doing it to teach me, but it felt like I was a child who can’t remember spelling words and was being hit over the knuckles with a ruler each time I made an error.”
I cringed to hear him describing it this way. “You do know this, Torrenclar. But you are so much in the habit of thinking the way you do that you allow yourself to go there without much attempt to pull out of it. That’s what frustrates me.” Inside, the slap reverberated through our friendship. It hurt me more than I would ever let him know.
He was silent gathering his thoughts. “You are right, Lord,” he said after a time. “It is masochistic isn’t it?”
I agreed. “Torrenclar, if you call me Lord again today, I will hit you back.” My smile was grim because it would take some time for the blow to fade, but the other, I would not bear. He stepped forward then and covering my burning cheek with the hand which had slapped me, held it there while he spoke. “Even now, you will have me call you Love?”
“What else is there to call me, dear friend?”
He stepped back in mock anger. “If you ban me from water, there are many things I would be tempted to call you.”
“Is that a threat?” My voice was quiet, and he halted.
“Enough,” he said. “The point is clear. How long am I to stay away from my desire?”
“Which one?” I asked him.
“You, I could bear no time at all,” he said, and those words did much to salve my wound. We shared a smile. “Bridey. That needs repairing immediately.” I agreed it would be wise. “Bridey is too fragile for you to bounce off, my friend. It could send her over the edge.”
He hung his head for a moment. “I should know that.” But then he lifted his eyes to meet mine. “And water, well it will still be there when you’ve had your fun with me.”
“All is well, dear friend,” I told him. “Go and cool off in the sea.”
He stepped towards me again. “Will you come and play with me a while?” A moment’s hesitation made him draw in a breath because my first thought had been to pull back and recover alone, but he’d had enough punishment today. Holding back from him now would mean guilt at the results of his temper. He took my hand and drew me to him kissing my face and laying his cheek against mine where the flame had not diminished. “Please,” he begged.
There are many deep caverns below the sandy floor of the sea. Places where humans are unable venture without equipment. It was the intricacies of the smallest living beings, at the furthest away places, which captured exactly that which described our connection. Nothing breaks the chain if creation itself is allowed to remain connected to its source. A light show was what was needed. Only a journey through deep dark places could take us to such a display as this one. He followed me as I led him onwards. Without warning, dazzling brightness exploded when we rounded a cavern’s murky stillness through dark, dark, depths and made our way into the path of the Atolla, a deep sea jelly fish. When attacked, this creature sets off a brilliant light display that could be seen all around us for hundreds of metres. Such life puts the small human struggle into some perspective. Even my Caretakers can benefit from perspective.
Seven
Bridey
It’s time for a fire, Bridey.” Flagran, Josh and I are heading out from Sandro’s bedside, me to go home and plan my day at the Migrant Resource Centre on Thursday, Josh to see Juliana and tell her where he was going. Flagran’s looking lost and tired. His hair lacks bounce a lot lately. Something’s worrying him. It definitely isn’t Sandro or Josh. So, I leap at the idea of a fire at my place. A creepy feeling sends a shiver through my neck and one shoulder. It’s only slight, but it shouldn’t be my response to the thought of Torrenclar. Before the others notice my hesitation, Josh surprises us. “Could I bring a friend, Bridey?” He looks embarrassed and turns away to hide his blush. Josh never blushes, unless he’s caught stealing, and that’s more of a hot flush.
“Who is it?” I ask, curious.
“Just a girl I met at Juliana’s place. It’s her sister.”
“How old is she?”
“Sixteen.”
“Will she be allowed to come do you think?” This seems unlikely. Who would allow a sixteen year old girl to go to a complete stranger’s house with Josh, a homeless teenager? Josh, ever the optimist, insists that she would be allowed.
“Remember how you were keen for Juliana to think I was a pimp?” Flagran reminds him. “Now you’ve got yourself a problem because I’ll be here.” He has a point. Josh looks glum.
“Perhaps you could bring her around during the day some time, and I could meet her,” I suggest.
His disappointment’s extreme. He must have caught it bad. Then it becomes an issue of whether he’ll come himself or not. In the end, he decides to split the time between the fire and Ruby; that’s her name. Most of anything he owns has gradually made its way into my spare room where he sleep on a pile of bedding and other soft stuff. Sandro had offered to find a second hand bed for him, but he liked to sleep rough, he said. “That way, when I have to sleep out all night, which is most nights, I don’t get too soft.” This makes sense. We leave him to manage in his own way which is a key factor in Josh trusting us. The new laptop lies in a corner of the room utterly neglected since the accident. Before that night, Sandro had been teaching him various things about the Mac, and he was a fast learner.
Flagran seems to enjoy pulling in as much burnable junk as he can to the backyard during the afternoon. He’d normally have roped in Sandro to bring the trailer out (parked permanently here) to scavenge for rubbish, but now he has to do it alone and on foot. There are some huge holes in the planned party. Elaris has vanished, and no one speaks of her anymore. Homarta’s on furlough. Sandro’s in hospital. And Torrenclar’s acting strange. There’s not much to look forward to, but at least there are three. It’s a shame about Ruby. She would have been a reason to make an effort with the food. With just me, it seems pointless. Fortunately, I have a good appetite. The shop I’d done with Gabriella’s help won’t last long now that Josh has decided to make his stays more regular. Maybe Ruby has something to do with that too. Having a home would do much to help his image. But, how to explain the Caretakers! It’s just not going to work.
I put together some vegies to roast knowing Flagran will get a kick out of cooking them. There’s plenty of rice, so to entertain myself and fill in the afternoon without doing either homework or housework, I make a mixture of black and red rice, filling it with nuts and seeds, adding herbs and spices and deciding to put it into the oven a bit later so it can be eaten warm. Then, it seems like a good idea to cook soup. This means doing the dishes. Although there’s not been much time to make many, except for today’s cooking effort, one of the disadvantages of my kitchen is having no room to work. By the time they’re finished, I’m ecstatic. The place looks so much better. Which is good, because a visitor arrives.
Of course, it isn’t my mother this time because Elaine never arrives after the dishes had been done. I wish it had been Gabriella because she would have liked to see my kitchen in its current state, soup bubbling on the stove, rice dish and vegetables set out just as though I’m a competent adult having a dinner party. But no. It’s Torrenclar.
Rather than knocking at the back door in his usual style, he comes to the front, so I don’t know who it it’s going to be and can’t practice my reaction.
“May I come in, Bridey?” He’s never asked permission before.
“Of course,” I stammer, blushing, furious with him. Oh, he’s so frustrating. Why did he have to go and spoil things? We sit at the kitchen table uncomfortable with each other. If making tea or coffee had been appropriate that would have given me something to do.
“Bridey,” he begins. Don’t. Please don’t say anything embarrassing. “Yesterday…when I
came to see you…I was in a bad place…in the middle of a… big argument with the Source… all over the shop.” His smile is weak, and it’s easy to tell he’s had a bad time of it. “You won’t forget it, I know, but can we put it aside and move on, please?”
“Of course,” I say it like it’s that easy. But he’s miserable. I put my hand over his on the table and pat it gently. If he does anything weird, I’m going to… I don’t know what I’m going to do. But he doesn’t. He just looks at me lovingly, and I decide to get over it. Torrenclar’s not a sleaze. He just acted strange for a brief moment. Who am I to criticise? Only days ago he was making me work. Now, the Source is pushing him. It makes sense, and I don’t want our friendship to be ruined.
He leaves it at that. Normally, he would have held out his arms. I would have sat on his knee. It will come back, I tell myself. I certainly hope so.
“How’s Sandro?” He breaks into my thoughts sending them in a different direction. What would Sandro think about him acting like that? It’s an easy decision not to tell anyone, ever. No one needs to know.
“He’s starting to say little sentences.” In my desperation to think of something funny that might loosen up the conversation the thought of Sandro’s reactions to having a male nurse pops into my head. That was funny. Torrenclar gets it. He’s interested in Josh’s new friend. He starts to laugh when he hears about Flagran being a pimp.
“Serves Josh right.” He stands up. “I’m off now,” he says. “I’ll be back tonight.” He hesitates. “I could do with a hug.” He looks lonely, and he’s owed many hugs. We meet half way, and I put my arms around him. When he keeps his at his side, I pick them up mumbling “Don’t be weird. It’s alright,” and pull them around me. He holds me then exactly like he always has. With a quick squeeze, he says, “‘til tonight,” and walks out the back door.
A cup of tea’s in order. That was hard. But it’s over.
Flagran comes in, and I hadn’t been aware of him being around. “What’s up with Torrenclar?”
Eleven Hundred Sand Dunes Page 9