The heavens are a huge upturned dish. Every single star shines clear and bright. The magnificence is overwhelming, and all I can do is think about what has happened, going over and over the last couple of days and making no progress towards peace. One thought stands out. For the first time in my life the chance to be surrounded by loving friends of great quality has happened to me, without anything I’ve done to deserve it. Every person here in this group has loved me in a way I’ve never experienced before. It’s been a flood of grace and blessing from the Source. My response has been pitiful, and I deserve for them all to put me down and walk away. While I stand out there, no Caretakers come, and I long desperately for comfort and support. It’s difficult to imagine they could do anything more than desert me.
At the edge of the campfire, I find a plate of food.
When I return to the tent, Sandro is gone.
***
Sandro
Although his eyes were shut no sleep was possible in the circumstances. For days, she had been a complete bitch. Part of him, the first night, wanted to fight for her and tell Homarta she didn’t mean her poor behaviour, but the feeling was lukewarm. They were all furious with her, but he mostly blamed himself. If his body had been functioning properly, and his words were flowing, it wouldn’t have led to this. Every time thoughts of what he could say or do to help came, no words would flow from his mouth. The days of sand dune driving had been extremely hard. Once his greatest pleasure, it had left him shaken, exhausted and frightened. Maybe his body was non-recoverable. Perhaps those days were over. Clearly, Bridey found him far less attractive now, and the more he tried to reach her, the more she’d distanced herself. Tonight, watching her sobbing had been the hardest thing to witness, but she didn’t come to him for comfort. He could only imagine what had happened between them. It was Torrenclar walking away that had made something inside him snap.
His leg was gradually strengthening. In the usual run of events it would have been possible to live a normal life, but, out here in the middle of the Simpson, all he’d had was weakness impossible to tolerate. Once he’d tackled the sand for fifteen minutes or so, the pain in his leg made him long for a walking frame. The crutches were in the car, but he couldn’t get them out. Too much of the time, practicalities of the camp site happened around him, and there was the odd time when he couldn’t get off the seat. At those moments, when Josh was busy with his studies, Bridey could have made all the difference. She was becoming increasingly intolerant of having to look after him. Tonight, she’d pitied him, and that was unacceptable. Any physical offering out of pity was unworthy of the love they’d had for each other. His mind flicked back to the days when she was besotted with him. Now, they were over, and he wasn’t even sure he wanted them back; certainly not after Homarta frightening her enough to pull her head in. He wasn’t interested in good behaviour. Only her love was acceptable. And, he certainly wasn’t taking Torrenclar’s leftovers.
She got up and left the tent, and the stupid part of him wanted to call her back and take her in his arms. Instead, he lay there thinking.
Seventeen
He was no longer in bed but outside, sitting on the top of a sand dune. The night was clear and the stars bright enough to light the dunes around him aided by the moon making her way up into the night sky casting her light as she went. Not a single sound broke into the majesty out here. Early evening breezes had swept the dunes clean for the following day. All was smooth around him contrasting heavily with the chaotic internal jumble. It was hard to believe they’d come to this. Bridey was his woman; the one for the rest of his life. Now, he wasn’t even sure he liked her.
“Give her another chance, Sandro.” The voice was sweet and gentle, soothing but definite. The Source had been all around. But now ku was sitting beside him. The words in his head wouldn’t materialise, and he tried to communicate without them, but that appeared to be unacceptable. The Source watched him, waiting, refusing to hear the inner voice. The struggle was painful, but as he focussed, clarity came.
“She’s hurt me continuously lately,” he said. “What if she is this hard and selfish? What if this is her real personality?”
The silence around them was enveloped in love. It was impossible to sit with the Source without being filled with possibility, hope, stupid ideas like it will be okay or she’s got a really loving nature underneath the shit, kept coming. The Source spoke again, and the voice was grave. “She brings out the best in you, Sandro. There must be something in that. You were not too generous yourself a while back.”
A wash of shame swept over him, but ku placed a hand on his arm and leant in closer. “Don’t go there. It won’t help. Just be your loving self. That’s where you’ll find the strength to connect with each other again.”
“I want to have sex with her desperately, Love.” For the first time, the last word had slipped out. Ku turned towards him, eyes bright with affection and something else he couldn’t quite discern; but the overall effect was for him to draw it in, drinking up everything on offer.
“What’s holding you back, Sandro?”
“I’m shitting myself. My body is awkward and won’t do what I want it to. If I try sex and it turns out I’m a dud at that too, she will give up on me. I know she will. Look how little tolerance she has for anybody’s needs these days.”
“I think you are right, my dear. If you fumble this, you could make it a bigger mess. But if you think about it, what seems to be working with her tonight?”
Sandro’s mind rushed around in a scattered way, but then it hit with the flash of a shooting star across the night sky. “You mean Homarta doing whatever she did?”
Ku smiled. “Let’s leave that sort of thing to Homarta. It’s the mother coming out. But there’s something in there you need to notice.”
Just tell me. I’m over guess work.
“Do you imagine Homarta asked her permission?”
The thought made him grin. Homarta was not into asking permission for much. He shuddered. “No. I don’t imagine she did.” That was it. What used to be his strength had recently taken a back seat. Enough. Time to take her back.
The Source clasped his right bicep and squeezed. Sandro’s face screwed up in pain which he kept to himself. Something was coming. “It is completely unacceptable to me that you allow jealousy to come between you and one of my Caretakers, Sandro.” The pressure increased, and it was all he could do not to cry out. “Do you think I would put a spirit to watch over you who would cut you out behind your back?” The words were challenging. The tone produced another wave of shame. He tried to duck away from the grip, but made no progress, so he sat up, strong. “The question requires an answer.” The hand released him, and he sagged.
“No, Love. I mean, yes. Whatever.”
Ku laughed. “Get it together. You will remember this conversation with me! I don’t want to have to have it with you again. Do you understand me?”
This time the expected answer was clearer. “Yes, Love. I will try.”
“No Sandro. You will not try. There is no built in failure clause here. You will let it go, right here and now, before you return.”
“Yes, sir!”
“What!”
“I...” He had no idea what he had done, but obviously he’d been offensive. Not the way he meant it.
“Once you start calling me Love, there’s no going back. You can’t switch to old school style because you are angry.” Was he angry? Confused maybe. Unsure where to go with that. “Let me take you back to our conversation.” The voice was gentle, but determined. “You will not nurse this imagined grievance you have with Torrenclar. Instead, you will work to get over it. You will continuously ask for my help until you have it sorted.”
There was a short silence, but he had not been offered a choice.
“Okay Love. It will be hard.”
“Yes.” The Source continued. “Torrenclar is a very dear friend of mine who has put himself aside continuously to work with you both.
You will not make the job harder for him unless you wish to incur my grave displeasure.”
He had to give this one more try. “They are so intimate. It kills me.”
“Yes. Torrenclar has the capacity for great intimacy. You would do well to learn from him. You can’t do that while you want to fight.” It made sense. He was envious of all his gifts. Now here’s another one. “Sandro. There is something else you are to do.” Ku steadily returned his gaze without leaving room for discussion. Something in him almost returned another ‘Sir’, or even a ‘Lord’, from childhood, but he stopped himself.
“Okay,” he said. “Let me have it.”
“I want you to put yourself in Homarta’s hands and accept whatever she offers in the way of healing.” Many possibilities came to mind. Most of them terrifying and overwhelming. The Source waited while he processed the full fantasy, then added, “Your refusal to do so has held up your healing for too long.”
He was trapped. Ku leant towards him, gave him loving smile, and disappeared. How am I to get back to the tent? I don’t even know where I am?
***
The morning air was filled with the smells of baking bread.
Consciousness arrived to the aroma of coffee brewing, and this was the first day he wanted to leap out of bed zinging. Sleep had been deep. Dreams of Bridey were full of orgasmic satisfaction. And there she was lying beside him, as beautiful as the day after she had washed away the grime from the earthquake. Leaning on his good elbow, he was excited by her in a way he hadn’t felt for days. The conviction that they would survive this promised to sustain him through the messy day ahead, and hopefully through some future struggles. Coffee and fresh bread awaited. The Source had outlined a clear direction. What could possibly go wrong on such a beautiful day?
He struggled to free himself from the sleeping bag and tent. Still dressed from yesterday, he went over to the shower tent to wash in cold water. Homarta called to him from outside offering warm water. While it was welcome, his first thought was not to be dependent. The night’s conversations with the Source had convinced him he needed to be assertive and present his strong self, despite the vulnerability that rose to the surface every time he coughed. Homarta missed the doubt. Not only did she bring hot water, but the flow lasted a full minute. Life was good. It didn’t get much better than this. His first shower for three days was more luxuriant than a five star hotel.
When he presented himself clean and feeling invigorated, the bread smell almost knocked him over. Flagran shoved a chair under him before he fell away. Over the past few days, Homarta and Sandro had worked on a spice mix which they’d developed into a rude chutney. Tinned tomatoes combined with dried fruit and spices tasting sublime. Eating it in the middle of the Simpson Desert was a triple bonus. Three rounds of bread later, he asked, “What about the others?”
Their stocks were quite mixed. Plenty of yoghurt. But nothing could compete with Homarta’s bread. Josh had eaten ice-cream for breakfast for as many days as he could manage it. After replenishing their stock at Mt Dare, where he’d stuffed himself with chocolate chip at the pub dinner, there was still a third of a 2 litre tub for the next days before Birdsville. Neither Bridey nor Sandro were into ice-cream, but he hadn’t noticed. This was coupled with the certainty he had to share; a hangover from foster homes.
Sandro sat sipping coffee late into the morning, and there was still no sign of Bridey or Josh when Homarta approached him. His eyes met hers. “Sandro. It’s time” she said. Now that wasn’t exactly asking for permission.
“What did you have in mind?” Her look spoke volumes. The trap had been set long before this moment. A beautiful morning was about to be ruined by challenges he was sure he couldn’t, didn’t want to, face. His body stepped forward while these thoughts made a supreme effort to prevent it. She smiled turning to lead. They travelled away from the camp, him limping along on his booted foot, she graceful, floating across the ground like a hovercraft. The desert was almost clean, lizard footprints and two footed animals having left their tracks beside the long slithers of snakes. His deep footprints looked gauche. He checked behind him disappointed at the limp and drag and furious with his uselessness. The morning deflated.
This section of desert mirrored the one they’d left. Foliage fuller perhaps, footprints absent. That was all.
Homarta stopped, turning towards him and sending his heart rate up twenty points. “Take off your clothes, Sandro,” she said. Just like that. Like it was nothing.
He blushed to the top of his scalp and down over his chestnut body which in the normal run of events would have hidden his shame. But being confronted with the earth mother herself was intense. If the Source hadn’t been crystal clear, he would have refused. She was aware of it. Rather than averting her gaze, she looked on as though such behaviour was perfectly normal for humans. With interest. In order to cope, he pictured doing this in front of a footy team. It didn’t help at all. They were easy. Homarta was full of power and energy observing his every reaction. He felt like nothing before her. Once certain of his attractiveness, he now felt awkward and unsure.
Mortified, he began with his windcheater and t-shirt. Even this was still difficult with his left arm stiffer than it should have been. Homarta’s expression was unreadable. When she spoke, her words triggered a flood of emotion. “You have made such a deal of this, dear boy. If you had come to me in Mallacoota, we wouldn’t be here in this spot.” Into his head sprang pictures of green shady places with nooks where they might have encountered each other, but here it was all exposed. She dropped to the sand at her feet and continued to watch as he divested himself of tracksuit pants and jocks. Then, she left him standing for two or three minutes, watching, waiting for something. What did she want from him? It was clear, though, that this was all part of the process. In the end, he stepped towards her, and she smiled.
“Come to me Sandro,” she said, patting the ground in front of her. “Sit.”
This seemed manageable. Why couldn’t she just keep making him bread and sharing spice recipes? Why did it have to be overwhelming? But the Source had insisted. Until he got this sorted, there would be little healing. He knew she was going to touch him, and he dreaded it.
“You will let me do whatever I think your body needs?” He nodded. “In my own time and in my own way?” He nodded. “Okay. Let us begin.”
She shifted her body slightly, and he stiffened. Her fingers clicked and thoughts of Bridey in trouble sprang into his head, but all that appeared was the one camp blanket. She spread it over the sand and moved to sit on it, once more crossing her legs in front of her. Her fingers beckoned, and he went to join her, crossing his legs awkward and uncomfortable.
“I thought you might not enjoy sand in your arse,” she said grinning. “We are about to begin.” She beckoned to him. He responded by shuffling forwards. This happened twice more until their knees were touching. As soon as they met, electricity shot through his thighs. Warmth spread up into his groin and deep into his gut where the knots were. He felt confused by a number of sensations which he didn’t know how to interpret. Keeping the four knees in constant contact, she reached for his left arm. This meant bending forward, and was awkward. Sensing this, she said, “There are far more comfortable positions, but I think you are not ready to let yourself go there.” Helpless, he nodded again.
The warmth and vibrations through his thighs were exquisite. There was no other way to express it. It began to be problem. As his dick began to swell here he was sitting in front of her, stark naked with it all on display. He unconsciously attempted to pull his arm away to cover himself, but instead of letting go, she pulled him effortlessly towards her and spun him around so he was leaning against her massive body. As the connection between their knees was lost, so was the problem with his groin. However, there were other things to worry about from that position. His head was caught between her massive breasts, and although she appeared to be covered in human clothes, they turned out to be not substantial
. He tried to maneuver away from them, pulling at the sore arm which could take little stress.
Homarta gently sat him away from her body and stood up. “We will try again tomorrow,” she said.
“No, no. Please don’t stop.” It was as much a surprise to him as it was to her. “I need this,” he said dropping his head to avoid her eyes.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I’m desperate to relate to Bridey.” It was a terrible admission and felt much worse than what had been taking place between them a moment ago. How was it that somehow having said this, the thought of Homarta touching him intimately felt like nothing?
“Lie down,” she said, “and close your eyes.” He obeyed instantly finding it much easier to follow her directions if he didn’t have to face her. Or, so he thought. But as soon as she picked up his head and placed it into her lap his eyes flew open in alarm. Quickly, he closed them again. Taking this as permission, she put her hands on his head. Immediately the vibrations began. After a time, they became concentrated over the left part of his brain which was giving him all the trouble. She stopped. “What is it that’s going on in here, Sandro?” she asked.
Thinking it had been obvious to all, he was confused about his response. She waited, just as the Source had done, for him to speak it out. With the words falling all over each other, he tried to tell her what it was like.
Eleven Hundred Sand Dunes Page 25