Eleven Hundred Sand Dunes

by Helena Phillips

  When he turned and began pulling Bridey’s hair from behind her chair, Sandro decided it was time to help him let off some steam. He growled again, so as not to surprise him, and when the boy turned, he stood up with a menacing look on his face and sprang at him. The afternoon had been wonderful, and he was still high.

  Josh took off between the two tents surprised to find his pursuer right behind him. He picked up his pace, Sandro letting him think he was getting away before shifting into a fast run and grabbing him just outside the camp circle in the darkening evening. The boy was strong enough to wrestle, but the suspicion he was holding back gave Sandro the advantage. They stumbled around while he let him think he was managing the encounter, and then, taking him by surprise, felled him onto his stomach sitting on his waist and whacked at the seat of his jeans saying “this one’s for Bridey, and so is this one. That’s for the parents of the girl at the camp. This one’s for taking Ruby out in my car. This one’s for…”

  It was highly satisfying for Sandro. It had been too long since he’d threatened him without any chance of follow through, and he was chuffed. Josh yelled many protests. Then, Sandro became aware of the lack of movement under him. He’d gone quiet. Alarm bells rang. He ceased his attack and turned back to look at his prey. Josh, waiting for this small advantage, twisted, and catching Sandro unawares, flipped him off. Delighted and beaming, he wrestled now with full strength. He caught Sandro on the side of one eye with a flailing elbow making him wince and step back. They circled each other, and suddenly Josh shot out a foot and connected with Sandro’s left hip. That also hurt. He stepped up his game and wrestled Josh to the ground until he could sit on him again staring down into the grinning face. Out of condition, tired from his afternoon and puffing and blowing, he waited for his breath to slow. Josh was breathing easily.

  Not willing to risk defeat, Sandro leapt up revelling in the action and leant towards his prey holding out a hand. “Enough Josh. Be kind to an old man.”

  The two made their way to the camp fire very satisfied with themselves. Torrenclar returned soon after with Irri-tat who glowed. She was talkative and friendly with everyone. For the present, there was no sign of her petulance. The Caretakers watched her, pleased. Homarta also returned. The ready smile had disappeared from her face, and she was quiet. Bridey stared, helpless, but Torrenclar stood and went to her. He leant down and put his face against hers whispering softly until she grimaced and addressed the group.

  “Folks, I need to apologise to you all for my poor behaviour, yesterday in particular. I am feeling in disgrace with the Source, and that is well deserved. There is no excuse. Sometimes, I just imagine I am more important than I actually am. It’s a real struggle for me. I ask you to excuse me for it when you notice and to challenge me.” Her eyes drifted around the group, her face drawn. The next words wobbled, and tears sprang into a few eyes when she said, “I know it’s hard to challenge me, because of my strength and when I seem constantly to believe I’m in the right. But that isn’t true.” She was crying now. “Please don’t let me get away with it. I’m asking for your help.”

  Astonished and uncomfortable, Irri-tat tried to protest, beginning to stutter out all Homarta’s good points, but Flagran put out a firm hand which brooked no discussion, and she was silenced.

  Homarta stared around the group of friends, her eyes filled with distress no one else there could have fathomed. She noted Bridey and Sandro’s eyes were swimming and looked into the loving faces of Flagran and Torrenclar. She dropped her head onto her chest while they sat with her in silence. Josh was squirming willing her to lift her head again. Her voice cracked initially but regained some strength to it as she went on.

  “Folks. It is time for us to get on with the task of finding Sandro’s Dad. I think we may be ready now.” They all took a welcome breath and stretched a moment, arresting when she began to speak again. “Josh, if you attempt to stir Bridey when she is struggling again, you’ll have me to answer to, and you certainly won’t get off that easy!”

  ***

  Bridey

  I feel sad and tired. So much has happened. Too much has changed, and I can’t remember why we’re doing this trip. My skin is always grubby and feeling sticky, and my hair is matted, and must look something like, or worse than, when Sandro met me at the earthquake. He doesn’t care, but I do! He’s saying he only wants to go as far as Big Red today and camp this side of it; even though we’ll probably get there early afternoon. I just want to have a shower and be by myself. He won’t let me have water enough to wash my hair because our supplies are dwindling, and he wants to be sure we have enough in case we get stuck on this side. I don’t care. I’m sick of it all, and I just want to sit and howl. There’s no way I’m letting it out, even if I go off on my own, because they’re all over me, fussing about my needs, and they’d be able to tell if I’d been crying. I wish Homarta would hold me because I desperately need some mothering I think, but she won’t unless I ask her now, because I rejected it yesterday. The Source was definite about me asking for what I want, and I just can’t. I feel too fragile. I know I’ll cry, and then upset everyone again when Sandro is already agitated. Torrenclar is coming across to me, and I want to run away from him, but there’s nowhere to go, so I get up and walk quickly over to where Sandro is packing the car. He’ll think I’m playing games again, but I’m not. If he talks to me, I’ll definitely break down.

  We finish packing up, and the three of us settle into the car for the short trip ahead. I stare out the window and hope the boys will leave me alone. Josh puts his headphones on, and Sandro looks across at me several times and then finally speaks.

  “Are you alright, Bridey?” When I nod, he’s not convinced, so he asks, “Are you angry with me for something? What have I done?”

  “Nothing. I’m just tired and need some space.”

  He puts his hand on my knee for a minute then takes it off because he needs both hands for the dunes. “Sorry I’m grumpy, Babe. It’s getting close now. I hope!” I flash him a small smile, and he goes back to thinking about his own worries.

  We reach Big Red early afternoon and set up camp way too close to other people because there’s so much going on here. Must be a big rally or something. Everyone’s practicing heading their four wheel drives up and attempting to cross over the massive sand dune. It’s stretched right in front of us to the horizon on both sides. People are watching us as we put up the tents, and the Caretakers lie low somewhere to avoid attention. Sandro notices I’m not too cheerful and asks me again if he’s done anything wrong but I give him a big hug and then pull away quickly to stop the tears escaping. Honestly, I’m about to break up out here in front of everyone, including all these strangers.

  Once lunch is over and cleaned up, I head up the hill to find a quiet spot to think, while Sandro and Josh get in the truck again and take off for a play, determined to do it first go. I’m grateful they’re busy and we don’t have to hang about together all afternoon. Also, that the Caretakers are away.

  It’s not difficult to walk up if you take your time. At the top it’s really beautiful. Looking to the left there’s one long ridge that’s still looking pristine because everyone is playing off to my right. I head over that way and down a slight rise until I’m alone. There I sit staring into space ignoring the beauty and feeling incredibly choked. When I’m sure I can hold back no longer, a sensation of presence creeps over me, and Torrenclar sits close pulling me into his chest. Then I let go and sob and sob and sob until I’m crying hysterically again and don’t know why. He holds me and doesn’t say a word for ages.

  Eventually the hiccupping stage arrives. This is almost worse because a couple of times I start to choke and have to take many deep breaths not to accidentally throw up in his lap. His hands circle my back in long strokes until I can slow down enough to notice I’m curled in and feel like a baby. There’s nothing to do. Nowhere to be. It feels safe and warm here.

  “I’m sorry.”

 
“Why’s that?”

  “I don’t know.” The tears begin again, but this time they’re slow and trickily. I attempt to sit up when I really don’t want to, and he pushes me gently down again.

  “You’re okay where you are.”

  “I remember the first time you held me when I was crying like that.”

  “So do I.”

  “I thought you were wonderful.”

  “And now?”

  “I love you so much.”

  “I’m glad. Can you tell me what this is about?”

  “It’s all that stuff I went through over the last few days. I hate myself for making such a fuss and setting off all that trouble with everyone.”

  “Why did you walk away from me this morning?”

  “Because I knew if you came over I would do this, and I can’t make another fuss today. At least no one saw this one.”

  He shifts his hands and turns me so he can watch my face. “What can we do for you, darling? You don’t have to go it alone.” He bends towards me and kisses my forehead. Then I wish he was my father and would hold me like this often, even though I’m grown up.

  “There’s nothing. We’ll be in Birdsville tomorrow. That’ll be better.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I shake my head. “It sounds ridiculous. So selfish. But I just want a shower. How could I cry that much over having dirty hair?” I try to grin, but the prickle behind my eyes hurts, and I wince instead.

  “Sorry sweetheart. Can’t help there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it would involve magic in front of other humans. Not allowed. And calling over rain clouds wouldn’t help you here, would it?”

  I sigh, and then breathe hard to stop the leaking tears. “I want Homarta, but I don’t want her.”

  “Perhaps you’re not ready yet. It might take some time.”

  “Will she be alright? Have I caused her a lot of trouble?”

  “None of us had to behave the way we chose, and all of us could have done better, but mostly us Caretakers. We’re trained, and we still made a mess. Don’t waste your time hating yourself, Bridey. It not only leads nowhere, but it cuts you off.”

  I screw up my face, and my head aches so much I can’t think.

  “Come on. Let’s go back. Sandro will be worried.”

  We walk down the hill together, and when we reach the camp it’s late afternoon. Sandro can see I’ve been crying and is tender. The crying begins all over again. “I just want a shower,” I say, furious with myself for sooking. “It’s okay. I can wait until tomorrow.” But I can’t stop. He leads me to a chair and sits me on his knee, and kisses my face a lot. He feels terrible, but it isn’t his fault. It’s me. We scratch something together for dinner before the darkness makes it impossible to see. Josh is keen to be helpful. Sandro removes the knife from me when I try to chop vegetables and cut myself, because every time I start to think, I cry again. Josh feels terrible. I can see that, but there’s I can do about it.

  The Caretakers return in the dark, and we all begin to sing; me only in my head. Homarta glances across at me several times, but I can’t go there, can’t even meet her eyes, and she keeps her distance. Sandro leads with some desert songs, and the words are beautiful even though I can’t understand them. The harmonies soothe me, and then I cry more. It looks like it’ll never stop. Homarta gets up and comes across, and I flinch away. Instead of retreating, she calls Torrenclar and together they lead me from the circle off into the dark, and I allow it because they are kind and gentle with me. We stop because we almost stumble over a large bucket filled with water. Curious, I stare at Torrenclar, but he shakes his head. “Not me.” Homarta gives the same response. A whistle brings Flagran over, but he’s as puzzled as they are. I know it wasn’t Sandro because he’s been glued to my side since I came off the dune.

  “Something fishy about this,” he says. “But, it’s not unhealthy.” The other two agree that the vibes surrounding the big metal bucket filled with clear cold water are not bad ones, and they decide to use it, thanking the anonymous donor for the chance to do something nice for me. Before he sets off to investigate further they ask him to warm it, which he does with unusual care not to overheat it.

  Homarta picks me up and sinks to the floor of the sandy desert. Torrenclar disappears returning with a grubby but dry towel and my toilet bag and clean clothes and takes my head in his lap. He bends to kiss me and insists on a smile before he does. Then he washes my hair tenderly taking his time to run long fingers through the matted mess that used to be dark and shiny curls, teasing out the knots and repeatedly massaging my scalp while I gradually relax further into his lap. There seems to be an endless supply of water from this strange metal bucket. He must be replenishing it continually, which can’t be against the rules! Then he bends and kisses my clean, fresh face walking away to leave me in Homarta’s hands for the first time in months.

  “Are you okay with this,” she asks. I nod, but cannot meet her eyes. She has been massaging my hands and feet while my hair was washed. She begins to remove my clothes, and I struggle to sit up and help, but she shakes her head, so I close my eyes and let her do what she wants. She washes my entire body, the water continuing warm and plentiful. As she spreads soap, her hands are kneading deep into muscles and stroking softly across wet skin. This has to be the longest bath I’ve ever had. We are quiet with each other until I ask “Where did the bucket come from?”

  “I have no idea. It certainly isn’t ours.”

  That’s all I can manage. After she blows my hair dry, I curl into her lap and let sleep take me away.

  For more about The Caretakers please visit

  www.wellsource.com.au

  Next in the trilogy: Facing the Sun

  Check out the other books from The Caretaker Trilogy:

  Reluctant Activists (book 1)

  Four spirit beings-part angel/part human-have been arguing about the state of the planet and how to rescue it from doom. The Source of all life, their boss, appears to be taking an archaeological view of time, whilst these Caretakers want to step in and set the world straight. Without any real agreement between them, events are set in place when Homarta decides to choose two humans who have signed petitions. To get their attention and command their respect, she causes an earthquake. However, the two are very Reluctant Activists. Rather than changing the world, they are drawn into experiences of the spiritual which lead them along unexpected paths. It becomes a love story filled with challenge and hope.

  www.vividpublishing.com.au/reluctantactivists

  Facing the Sun (book 3)

  The Birdsville Track in outback Queensland becomes a highway to realisation for Jack an indigenous youth worker. Its seductive serenity is punctuated by several ‘other-worldly’ intrusions threatening to spirit him away into madness. But the pervading desire for a lover to replace the memories of Tim wins out, bringing new hope. Not racism, his mother’s acute illness, nor his nephew’s physical and emotional battles can prevent him from giving his heart again. Reunions with long lost family prove not all they’re cracked up to be, yet hope triumphs.

  In this Finale of the Caretakers Trilogy, Facing the Sun considers cultural and spiritual identity.

  www.vividpublishing.com.au/facingthesun

  If you would like to be kept in touch about further books please add your name to the mailing list by emailing

  contact@wellsource.com.au

  Other books by Helena Phillips may also be purchased on the website.

 

 

 
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