Eleven Hundred Sand Dunes

by Helena Phillips

  “It’s complicated. And not all your fault either.”

  I pull out of her hold a little and attempt to speak the thoughts I’ve been chewing over since she told me off. “It feels so right to want to dance around.”

  “It is. I would hate to see you stop being yourself.”

  “Then, how can I be myself without the others getting angry with each other and making me feel guilty?”

  “You just need to attend to your duties and take your turn at the hard jobs. Don’t use your attractiveness to avoid wrestling with Sandro’s challenges and doubts. It’s all part of loving.”

  “I want to spend time with Torrenclar.”

  “Good. He would miss you if you stopped. But balance is the key. And another thing,” she becomes grave, “be careful not to play with his feelings for you! Take it seriously. It’s not a game. Both of you could get very hurt.” She’s right. I have a sense of danger with him. “He loves you, but he must also challenge you, and you need to watch for those moments and take them seriously. Respond quickly. Don’t draw it out for the kicks.” I blush because she’s right. I do, do that.

  Then I tuck my body into hers and she plays with my hair tugging on it gently and running her fingers through it to disentangle the curls. When she finishes with it, I snuggle my head between her breasts and she kisses it. She’s never in a hurry. Just takes her time to give my body what it needs/wants. I’m not sure which, but I’m going to miss this too much. It comes to an end and I can feel it. As I begin to pull up out of her lap she turns me slightly and slaps my bum hard, three times. I gasp with the shock. “That’s for being a coward yesterday and not facing me.” She’s a tricky one. You have to be prepared for anything.

  Resolving things with Homarta is one thing. Resolving anything with Sandro’s another thing entirely. We just can’t seem to communicate these days. The next morning he struggles into his wetsuit inside the tent. It’s impossible for me to fathom why he doesn’t just go out and ask for help. I would have. We are all up here for his sake, to help him. From guilt, and a little bit of fear of Homarta, I push myself to sit up and offer assistance. He snarls at me. This makes me so angry. It isn’t my problem he can’t do things. I’m trying to help. The others are all waiting for him when he leaves the tent trying to pull it up with his sore arm. They say nothing.

  None of the Caretakers attempt to rescue him. They just watch respectfully while he struggles, and then everyone turns to the path. The swims are strengthening his muscles, and each day he’s able to walk further and return less gutted by the exercise. But his moods are unbearable. Do I really want to be stuck with this man for the rest of my life? Not if he’s like this.

  After they leave, I approach Homarta with some trepidation, but she smiles. Squatting down in front of her I lean in for a kiss, and great longings just to be held sweep over me. Instead of copping out, I set off for my jog. This is gradually increasing. Fitness not being my specialty, runs drop back into walks and then, when I get my breath back, rev up again. The best part’s being outside pretty well all the time here, even though it’s winter.

  In every direction, water, broken up by small islands and sand dunes and bars, refreshes the senses. There’s a most unusual collection and combination of foliage making it such an enticing picture. Some of it’s t-tree. There are large, thick, heavy leafed bushes, oleanders I think, and magnificent trees of diverse species, like she-oak. The bird life’s overwhelming, from tiny homebody finches, to water birds with wing spans which could travel across oceans. When the sun comes out and warms the cool air, my face lifts towards it, feeling it soak into my skin.

  The Source comes to walk beside me. The visit begins in a slight change in pace, as a run drops into a walk, making me aware of the atmosphere around me changing subtly. The light breeze becomes sweeter and makes me slow down eager to pick up the scent; although it’s also scary. Shame about my behaviour and not being sure how to change anything makes me wary. And the fact that the whole place and company are such an incredible blessing only makes me certain of how much there is to learn. My focus always seems to be on what works for me. But the Source hasn’t caught up with any of that, because the opening conversation goes like this:

  “And how are you Bridey, my darling, on this magical morning? Your running is getting stronger.”

  Your running is getting stronger! Doesn’t ku know what a mess I’ve got going on with Sandro?

  “How are you managing the invalid these days?”

  This brings heat into my face. “Badly.”

  “How can I help?”

  “I dunno.” This is a bit of a wail. “He’s just so annoying.” The words tumble out without much preparation. “He wants to do everything for himself, and then he gets angry with me because I’m not helping enough.” Is this really the point? My thoughts stray back to my encounter with Homarta, but there’s no need to bring up that stuff.

  “Apart from Sandro, you are having a good time?”

  “This place is fantastic. And the Caretakers are the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “Perhaps that’s a problem for him, do you think?”

  Well, there’s no avoiding the obvious. Why is ku bringing it up at all? “Oh no.” The words, seriously, pop out all by themselves. “He’s okay about it. He loves them too.”

  It shows a serious lack of intelligence. Maybe, ku believes there’s no point in trying to explain it to me, because what comes next is, “Well, it’s good to hear that’s going well for him.” If a hole would only open up, I’d be grateful for it not to swallow me, although it would be quite justified. How to face Homarta now?

  The conversation comes to an abrupt end, as it usually does, leaving behind a sense of loss and some lingering sweetness which remains for hours. If it had continued, it would have been possible to change what I’d said, maybe, but of course ku is gone.

  “Homarta, I think I’ve just lied to the Source.”

  “Well, hopefully ku didn’t notice,” she says airily.

  “What would happen if the Source did?”

  “If it’s a problem, you’ll know about it.”

  After that, it vanishes from my mind amongst some serious attempts, coupled with gruelling efforts, to improve our relationship. Later in the day, Torrenclar asks me to go for a walk, and I decline. Sandro’s on the camp chair staring off into space. The sacrifice doesn’t help. His look becomes darker.

  “Homarta, Sandro is making me very angry.” She’s alone, eyes closed and obviously far off with some meditation or other, but it can’t be helped. Her eyes open, and it takes her a moment to return from her wanderings. “Have you tried asking him about his feelings; what’s going on inside him?” Then she closes her eyes again and goes back to wherever she’d been.

  Well, no. Why? There seems to be no answer to that question. Simply put, it has never occurred to me. Stunned by this, the next thought is maybe that’s why others’ feelings don’t seem to matter to me. With renewed determination, I set off again to tackle Sandro, still angry, but now with more purpose.

  “Can we go somewhere and just talk some things out?” He seems unhappy with the idea, and as I’m just about to turn away in disgust it occurs to me he might be in pain. When that’s put to him, he shrugs. “Well, let’s go and lie in the tent then.” This meets with a better response. Talking at this stage is imperative, so lying in the tent is a poor option when we’re not close and Sandro’s feeling, whatever he’s feeling. He immediately tries to grab my boob. Bad plan. “Sandro. This is about talking. If we can’t talk to each other, that’s not going to work.” He lies back and looks stony.

  “Tell me what you’re feeling.” He then has one of his brain lapses, and the words won’t come out. Walking with Torrenclar is looking like paradise in comparison. “It’s not all my fault, Sandro.”

  “You’re going off me. You don’t like cripples very much, do you?”

  This antagonises me. What a horrible thing to say. A
s if I think of him as a cripple. He’s just stubborn and frustrating. “Why won’t you let Homarta help you?”

  “What, so she can fix me up, back to your standard?”

  At this point, it seems like a good idea to leave the tent before we have a major row. Not knowing what to do with myself, I head towards the point hoping the view might help. Before long, he calls out to me. While waiting for him to catch up, the sight of his dragging leg after all the morning’s exercise is not fun to watch. Maybe he’s right. Cripples aren’t my favourite thing. I just want my beautiful lover back.

  The look on his face is sad rather than angry. When he reaches me, he walks right into me and wraps his arms around me tight. My groan and the way my arms cling to him tell him more than all the words might have. He buries his face in my hair. My hands grab the back of his head and push it into me. The longing’s overwhelming. We’re standing thigh to thigh.

  “Why won’t you let me touch you, Bridey? It’s killing me?”

  My surprise comes out angry. “What are you talking about?”

  With his usual determination, which has been missing for a few weeks now, he pulls me back towards him. “Every time I touch you, you tell me it’s not the right time, or you’re tired, or you just don’t feel like it.”

  “Ugh!” He’s so frustrating. “You don’t get it. It’s not that. It’s the way you do it, and the way you sulk so much. It’s a real turn off.” Now my arms tighten when he pulls away, angry. “No. We’re having this out now. It’s just not sexy when you sulk, and the way you grab my boobs like they belong to you. You used to treat me like someone you wanted to seduce. Now, it feels as though you’re using sex to fix something.”

  “Well, you’re not doing so great yourself.” He’s always angry. That, or sorry.

  “I know,” the words choke in the back of my throat, “but I don’t know what to do.” This makes me cry, and we stand there, me snuffling into his chest, everything still unresolved. Why can’t we just make it work? He pulls me off the track and down the grassy bank towards the water. There we lie back looking at the sky, trying to think of something to help.

  “Why won’t you let Homarta help you?”

  “It’s her body. She’s great, but it’s the whole breast thing in my face.”

  This comes as a big surprise. It shouldn’t have. It was the same for me at the beginning. But now, it seems fantastic and so different. “Maybe it’s because she’s a woman.” That sounds silly seeing he’s into women.

  “Maybe. Why can’t she just work on my leg or my arm? Why does it have to be the whole deal?”

  Rolling onto my side, a surge of something starts up and is instantly wrecked when he says, “Now don’t go feeling sorry for me.”

  Things are quiet while thoughts swirl around in my head. “You know, Sandro. You were completely on the wrong track there. That’s not what was on my mind at all.”

  He tries to roll onto his left side but can’t take the weight on his elbow, so he pulls at me until I’m lying on top of him. “Oh, that feels good.” He takes a breath. “I’m sorry, Bridey. We’re constantly on different tracks these days. What were you thinking?”

  How to put it into words. “Just loving you, that’s all.” Tears spring up again, and are swallowed down. “And missing you.”

  His arms come around me, but his head isn’t engaged in the same way. “I can’t do it Bridey.”

  Something horrible thrashes through me. Is this the end? “Can’t do what?”

  “Make love to you. It’s not working. My head, or something, keeps getting in the way. I don’t think I’ve been such a clumsy lover since I was fifteen.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”It’s a desperate question.

  “You can try not to criticise me when I’m giving it a go.”

  “Well, when you grab my boob to try to get something going, it just turns me off. If I don’t tell you, you’ll just keep doing it, and then I’m lying there hating it.”

  “It wasn’t always like this. We used to just go on fire without having to think about it.”

  My voice softens. “Do you think it’ll be like this forever, now?”

  “No way,” he says grimly. “I couldn’t hack it.”

  Terrified of losing him, I roll to his good side and pull him into me kissing him gently, and because he’s on the same page, he begins to remember some technique. But, we don’t let it go much further than that because we’re out in the open, and we’re scared of each other.

  ***

  “It’s horrible when Sandro and Bridey fight, Flagran.” Josh was looking for shellfish out on the rocks, Flagran assisting by pointing them out. Each time he put his hand into the water it would sizzle. He was full of life and power these days, but he preferred to be warm and had his heat turned up.

  “Yep. It’s not that easy for me to watch either.”

  “Are they gonna to break up?”

  “Dunno, mate. It happens.”

  “If Ruby was here, there’s no way we’d be fighting. What a waste!”

  Flagran sighed. “It does seem that way, Josh. But lots of couples fight. When you first get together it’s great, and it seems like you could never be angry, but then the rot sets in.”

  “What rot?”

  Flagran grinned at his charge and reaching over tousled his hair. “What rot indeed?”

  “No, I mean what’s going on for them? Why are they so horrible to each other?”

  “Because there’s not enough understanding between them. They’re not talking enough, and when they do, it all goes sour.”

  “It’s never going to be like that for me.”

  Flagran looked at him. “Perhaps it won’t. But that might not be so good either.”

  Josh abandoned his search, the rock oysters in a pile in front of them. He sat down beside the Caretaker staring out to the sea ahead. “What does that mean?”

  “You’re a gentle soul. Not good to let people walk all over you though, is it?”

  “Am I?”

  Flagran laughed. “You’re tough when you face up to bad people and stuff, but when you love, it’s a different matter.”

  Josh had no idea, but he absorbed the words chewing on them while they sat staring out over the sea. When the wind chill made it unpleasant, they headed back to the camp to put the oysters on ice. There, they were confronted with an unpleasant scene.

  Torrenclar was towering, strong and forbidding, over two figures whose presence was clearly not to his liking. Bridey and Sandro had obviously arrived before them and stood tense and curious, their arms around each other, a welcome sight.

  “What on earth brings you two here?” Flagran’s voice was irate. “You are not welcome. Be off!”

  It was clear from Torrenclar’s face he was on the same track. Homarta was absent. “The Source asked me to bring Irri-tat here. Part of the time we’ll spend with some spirits around the place.” Ravesh’s face was triumphant. Neither Caretaker questioned this statement. If Ravesh had the courage to make it, indeed she must have received direct orders. There was no other way she would have been allowed to interrupt their work like this. The two Caretakers, each in their own way, groaned, and Flagran placed a protective hand on Josh’s shoulder.

  “Well. What are you planning?” The low voice was at odds with the grim look.

  “We are going over to the islands,” Ravesh said, her voice cold and silky. “We will be no bother to you at all.” This was unlikely. “If you had been more welcoming, we might have been able to add something to your little gathering here, but not if you’re determined to be hostile.”

  “And just what might that have been?” Torrenclar’s stony gaze left no room for illusion.

  “Well, clearly you are having some difficulties here otherwise the Source wouldn’t have insisted we come.”

  Torrenclar was affronted and determined to seek me out as soon as they went about their business. There was something fishy about this, and he was keen to discover its root
s.

  “How are you Sandro?” Irri-tat asked. “I haven’t seen you since the hospital.”

  No, and that’s exactly how I like it. But something about Irri-tat always stirred his compassion, and he gave her a slight smile in response. “Still wrestling with the body.”

  Ravesh stepped in. “Why on earth would he be still struggling with that?” The attention not on her, she questioned the two Caretakers, puzzled.

  “Sandro’s doing regular rehabilitation here and going quite well, Ravesh. No need for your concern.” Torrenclar was uneasy, although the words were calm.

  “Where’s Homarta?” Irri-tat missed her first mentor and had been looking forward to spending time with her. A voice behind her made her jump.

  “I’m right here, Irri. Welcome. I hope you find all you need amongst the lovely spirits of this place. They can teach you much about Caretaking.”

  Irri-tat’s expression was pleading, and Bridey, on whom this was not lost, experienced a wave of jealousy. Go away! I am not sharing her with you. The two glared at each other. Ravesh gathered up her charge and vanished without another word.

  Torrenclar considered the small group. “I’m calling a meeting soon folks. We need to arm ourselves against this invasion. But first, I intend to talk with the Source about kus plans. In the meantime, you guys need to be thinking about the challenges we may have ahead of us.”

  He disappeared from their sight leaving them uncomfortable. Flagran’s hand tightened on Josh’s shoulder suggesting that the shellfish needed attention, and Josh left to attend to them. Then, he turned to the couple before him. “Sandro, I want to see you for a while, mate. It’s time we had a chat.”

  Surprised, because he’d been left largely to his own devices, and something had been missing between them, Sandro nodded. Turning to Bridey and, giving her a quick smile, he said, “Back soon.”

  The two vanished to the opposite side of the small hill separating the campsites and sat together; Sandro pleased to find he’d been transported. Flagran offered half a grin. “Your leg’s had about all it can take today, I think.”