Reluctant Activists

by Helena Phillips

  “No Flagran,” the tall one, with silky, grey hair hanging to his shoulders, was saying, “you can’t have that for your fire. I’m going to rough up some chairs.” This was an impressive idea. There didn’t seem to be any tools around, and the timber was all long planks of something. He had a beautiful speaking voice, deep and smooth, reminding me of the rumble of very light thunder. As he spoke, ripples ran under my skin. “Go sort out some rubbish.”

  Obviously the red head was Flagran, a very suitable name. He seemed determined to stir up trouble, but no one was concerned as he picked up planks and tried to stand them against his friend, who brushed them aside like they were pieces of cheese; very large ones. He turned towards the house and saw me standing there watching. His face lit up. That was the only way to describe it. He had the sort of smile which turns your stomach over because...oh I don’t know why. It just did. This gave me the courage to step carefully down to the, I was going to say garden, but that’s ridiculous. He bounded over towards me and his hair stood on end, flaming red. You’d think we were old friends the way he treated me, wanting to introduce me to the tall stranger who stood watching. He lent me his arm and, too embarrassed about that to lean at all, my fingers were just touching his sleeve. But the limping was obviously of concern. So he picked me up and deposited me where he wanted. Which, of course, was far more embarrassing.

  “Bridey, meet Torrenclar.”

  My smile felt awkward, but his was warm and inviting, and the awkwardness melted away. “Hi.” I said. See what a good start we made. Well, it’s hard when you’re staring up into beautiful, deep grey/green eyes in a lovely face which is almost human but not quite solid. My reaction was all about how much I liked him instantly. The conversation was less than perfect on my part.

  “Bridey, how good of you to join us when we are taking over your home.” He could take it over any time he liked.

  “What are you doing with all this stuff?”

  “Flagran has decided we should all get together tonight over a barbeque. I think he should explain it to you,” he said, turning to his companion. Homarta just sat there on her perch taking it all in but, of course, saying nothing that her eyes couldn’t express for her. Apparently we were doing well.

  “Bridey,” Flagran said. “You don’t mind us having a fire at your place do you?”

  Well, that was an interesting question. “What would it involve?”

  “Just a chance to meet with each other, get the feel of things, have a bit of a party,” His reply was airy. “Gives us somewhere to put all the burnables. Homarta is rearing to go with your garden.”

  Parties brought to mind people and food and drink. There wasn’t even any water, or any way of getting some. These guys probably didn’t need it, but I certainly did. As for food, well there’ve been times before where I’d managed on lentils, but not at a party. And besides, I didn’t have any. Torrenclar was watching me closely as all this went through my head, but he didn’t say anything. So I agreed to the party having the strong opinion that it would make no difference anyway. The idea of spending time in their company was appealing.

  It had been strange living on my own, but I was really drawn to this place and loved its silliness. The rent was low because the landlord had intentions of knocking it down, so the lease was only six months; so far renewed three times. The fear he would one day decide to kick me out haunted me constantly. He never fixed anything, which made sense, but even when the heater stopped working in the middle of winter, it took a week and a half before he sent around a plumber.

  Sharing had become unbearable. People moved in and out all the time. They made a lot of unbearable noise. Continually having to adapt to new personalities just, gradually, becomes intolerable. I just wanted some space and some time on my own. The short lease arrangement suited me in one way because I couldn’t see how I was going to continue managing the rent. Even taking every extra shift at the Hotel, on top of the three regular ones each week, I was constantly drawing on the tiny nest egg my grandmother had left me to pay bills. My scholarship covered Uni costs mostly, and food when there were no big bills to pay like electricity, gas, phone. But I was determined to stay here as long as I possibly could; barring starvation. This week in particular would be a nightmare because last week I’d had to fork out for the water usage which is a big joke. With no work, Grandma’s money would have to go down again, and that was in my ING account and took days after transfer to appear in my everyday account. Especially over a weekend. One thing was certain, it would be gone in a very short time, and then there’d be no back up.

  Mostly, I sat and watched as they worked away, breaking off every hour or so to do some research for my thesis. But it was hard to focus. Outside was much more fun. I felt like I’d been contacted by ‘Better Homes and Gardens’ for a makeover. The chairs Torrenclar was rigging up were long bench seats supported by stuff like old boxes and a couple of car wheels. The backyard was huge. You could have fitted three more houses on this block. In fact, it was very likely the landlord would. It had one fruit tree right in the middle, but I had no idea which fruit it could produce because, although I had lived here for two years now, it had never even flowered.

  If you faced the tree from the house, on the right side there was an old clothes line and on the left, some sort of shed which clearly needed demolishing. Behind these, Flagran had produced a huge pile for the fire. Homarta’s hut was beyond that again, closer to the back fence. The yard had never been very inviting because of all the weeds and rubbish, but I still went out regularly to sit on the back step and think.

  The weather was April beautiful; fine, sunny and no wind to blow me around. Sitting there, with my cup of tea, made me think of winter approaching in two months. The house was breezy, and rain had a habit of spraying all over the back veranda. It was good to have a reason to sit in the sun and celebrate a mild autumn. Melbourne winters could be miserable. There wasn’t much point in these guys sorting out the backyard if the landlord was just going to cover it in housing.

  Torrenclar came to sit with me. I’d been watching him intently, following all his movements because they reminded me of the good guys in the Karate Kid movies. He seemed to float across the ground touching down with the lightness of dandelion seed.

  They all appeared to be good friends.

  It took courage to make conversation, constantly afraid of saying something stupid and really wanting him to like me. It was curiousity which made me take some risks.

  “What is all this about Torrenclar?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “When a bunch of people who call themselves spirits, come to work in my garden, I find it a trifle odd.” To say the least.

  “It certainly doesn’t seem that there have been many spirits around this place, Bridey, yet you like it here.”

  I nodded. “Who knows why. Something has always made it feel like home. But why are you here? It’s not just because of the earthquake, is it?”

  He turned to smile at me like my words held something profound.

  “Bridey, we have been asked to serve you for a while. Spirits serve humans all the time, but it’s not often we’re given the go ahead to let you see us.”

  “By who, I mean whom?”

  “The Source of all this.” He waved his hand around the messy backyard with its gaunt tree and piles of rubbish. “Of course this isn’t the way it should be. Wait until Homarta has spread her magic around.”

  Homarta was sitting, eyes closed, soaking in the sunshine.

  “It sort of makes sense why Homarta has to be here, but why you?”

  “I’m like an odd jobs man. Get to go in on projects to support the expertise of others like Flagran and Homarta.”

  I found that very hard to believe, and he was smiling at me as though it was a joke.

  “Are you in trouble too? What did you do?”

  The smile faded. “Ah, Bridey. Just get used to the idea of spirits before you start getting t
echnical.” Inside, my mood dropped like a lift. Had that been offensive?

  He patted me on the shoulder and went back to his work, then Torrenclar and Flagran left for a while on a mission of unknown nature saying they would be back around five o’clock. I went out to keep Homarta company wishing she could talk. It was a bit like sitting with my grandmother in the nursing home. Dad’s mother, she had suffered from early dementia combined with Parkinson’s disease. I hated going to see her when she could no longer speak and just sat there trembling all the time. Feeling sorry for her made me want to avoid her. But Homarta wasn’t like this. Her eyes were full of life, and she gave off a warm, comfortable aura which I soaked up. While I sat there, images began coming into my head of fruit and flowers, bees and busyness, sunshine and rain. The latter made me feel thirsty. A picture came of what this garden Homarta was planning could look like.

  When Flagran and Torrenclar returned, clouds began to gather. Fortunately, I owned a raincoat given to me by a friend who had grown too large for it. It was bright yellow and belted. I thought it was very cute, but it drew too much attention. With these spirits, it seemed completely appropriate. Along with my spotted gumboots, the party mood grew.

  ***

  The Source

  Elaris had had enough of the enforced focus on Melbourne. It was a nice city, but she wanted to soar amongst the mountains and play with Torrenclar over oceans far away. Where life had been a struggle before, it now seemed intolerable. How could she possibly make a difference to these two humans? I had suggested she needed to get back in touch with the essence of her spirit. Her heart had lifted with the idea only to be crushed when it was followed by clear restrictions and a task making no sense to her. From her point of view, Sandro was not one of the nicest human beings. His obsession with his father puzzled her, and she found it boring. Anything which required focussing on the same subject day after day was torture to her very nature. And yet, this was what I had asked of her, and she loved me enough to comply, if not cheerfully.

  Torrenclar had decided his first task was to spend more time helping Homarta to come to terms with her task. He didn’t want to focus on her rebellion, or leave her for too long unattended. He also avoided blaming her for his own unhappiness. In time, it would be sorted with me. He knew this. But whenever I was stern with Torrenclar, he reacted as though his life as a spirit was a failure. He would work with all of his being to right matters, but in the process, he would miss the point once again.

  Bridey had a water problem. Maybe that would make a good start. He also sought for ways in which he could involve Elaris in activities she might enjoy. He had decided to gather them all together and suggested it to Flagran who was always up for a party. It was time to introduce himself to Sandro. And he would ask Elaris to come along.

  Sometimes she was difficult to locate. She had a way of drifting off, disappearing and re-appearing at will, as they all did, but with Elaris lately her introverted nature had turned her towards moodiness. When she didn’t want to be contacted, she would switch off. Torrenclar called to her, spirit to spirit, concentrating intensely as he did when quite determined she would reply. This took some time. He sat himself atop one of the spires of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, Buddha like, and focussed his mind. Since he had cleared it from worry, this was much easier. Worry acted upon him like unwelcome noise in a quiet train carriage, distracting, diverting, blocking channels for communication with the deeper mind where he found his direction. Soon he would focus on bringing rain to Bridey’s backyard. As he sat, his mind quietened, and his purpose became crystal clear; connect with Elaris, whether she liked it or not.

  A few kilometres away under a bridge over the Yarra River, Elaris was playing with water and thinking of Torrenclar as she did so. Waves slopped against the sides of boats, and wind rattled in the rigging. Light ripples ran from one side of the river to peter out as they reached the far shore. Canopies along the river’s shop fronts flapped in the slight breeze bringing coffee drinkers, this Autumn Sunday afternoon, to wonder whether it was worth shifting seats. If Elaris had been feeling playful, she would have chased the wind around and had them moving many times during their quiet chats over cake, but today she was introspective and barely noticed.

  Torrenclar’s call acted upon her mood much as an unwelcome phone call, repeated endlessly, aggravates the one who desires peace. Caretaker spirits were available twenty-four seven. Fortunately in most cases, the Caretakers had developed tactful and respectful approaches to their communications with each other. If one did not want to be in touch with another, it was usual for them to respect that and wait, but in this case Torrenclar had decided it was not in Elaris’ best interests to shut him out. He continued.

  There were times when Elaris found Torrenclar a bit too good. His saint like properties had the tendency to distance her. She loved him, but her unpleasant moodiness resulted in her seeking out someone to blame. Expressing anger helped relieve her spirits; but much better to do it alone. While she had difficulty imagining why the others might want to be in touch with her when she was in that state, eventually, she connected with him.

  “I’m wondering, Elaris darling, if you could go and visit with Flagran and Sandro. I have a plan.”

  This caught her interest, distracting her from misery. “Is it a plan I’m going to like?” she asked. “I don’t think I’m in the mood for Flagran today.”

  Torrenclar smiled to himself thinking nothing would help Elaris pick up her spirits more than a good joust with Flagran. He sold her a small lie. “Maybe he won’t be there. It’s hard to imagine he could sit still for very long. He’s got to take off sometime soon.”

  “Well, how about you let me know when that happens, and I’ll rethink my plans.”

  “Come on Elaris.” His voice was brisk. “It’s time you stopped sulking.”

  She was furious. “How dare you! I’m not sulking. I’m thinking.” Even to her ears it sounded lame. “I just need some recovery time.” She thought about this for a moment or two then changed tacks. “Okay. I am sulking, but I would like to be left alone to do just that for a bit longer.”

  “Elaris!” Torrenclar was determined. “If you go to Sandro now and just enchant him a little that will assist us all. You will feel much better, sooner.” What he wanted to say was he thought Elaris was being more than a little self-centred. There was nothing to be gained by any further thinking. It was time for action.

  It occurred to her, as she was about to protest again, that something to do might fill in some time and suddenly, flirting with Sandro appealed to her. There were few men who could resist her when she wanted to be liked. But what was the point?

  Before leaving on her mission, she blew the froth off someone’s cappuccino making it land on top of her companion’s soy decaf latte. That helped.

  ***

  Sandro, sick of questions, figures, empty emails, Flagran’s presence, and not being able to concentrate, headed out onto the balcony. He had distracted his companion by sitting him in front of the Play Station and giving him one or two hints to get him started on Call of Duty. This was more interesting than one would have expected, because Flagran had never before been introduced to the delights of video games. To keep himself safe, Flagran had first checked in with me not wanting to be seen as being in dereliction of his duty. I was very keen to support Sandro in his need for some space.

  Grumpy and lost, Sandro returned to focussing on his obsession. The Caretaker had not yet offered anything which appeared of the least use in the quest, beyond continually suggesting they go around to Bridey’s for a barbeque with the others. His constant, annoying determination was intensely frustrating. Yet Sandro tolerated him because he seemed to take away some of the pain. Standing on the balcony off his bedroom, he studied the view of the city before him. The sun was beginning to drop in the sky behind him casting pleasant light and lifting the buildings, highlighting them against the shadows of their profiles. He became absorbed in its beauty. City
life awakened all the passion of his intense soul. His eyes closed as a light breeze played around his face. He softened and felt calmer. The breeze picked up a little warmth recalling spring, still two seasons away. On opening his eyes, he encountered a pair of deep grey eyes regarding him from within the loveliest face imaginable. She was delicate and wafted in the breeze bringing to mind trees swaying, scarves flowing, and other gliding thoughts. He knew he should be examining what he was seeing here, but he dreaded interrupting the moment in case she would disappear.

  Her hair flowed in a long stream all around her shoulders and half way down her body; if that could be called a body. He couldn’t make sense of the colour because she seemed almost transparent. Her clothes reminded him of the brilliant blue gloss on some birds when they turned. At one time, glimpses of green flowed in the breeze, and the grey in which they sat was silver, or white gold; definitely precious, but soft as the down on a bird’s breast. She smiled. He attempted to return the greeting, but discovered his was more the uncertain smile of a child. He was catching touches of a perfumed breeze which morphed from a woman’s warm skin into flowers, or sunshine.

  “What have you done with that rascal Flagran, Sandro?” Her voice was light and clear. Sandro was struggling to speak. But in his desperate need for her to speak again, he blurted out the first words to enter his head.

  “He’s downstairs. Shall I fetch him for you?” The very last wish he had was to share this lovely creature with Flagran. Why had he opened his mouth? But she only smiled and shook her head.

  “Let’s leave him there for now.” It may seem cruel to some the way Sandro had been captured in this way by Elaris. Why did I allow it, you ask? It might damage him for a lifetime. But each human being must feel the enchantment of the spirit world or lose an essential element to the dark. Sandro required awakening, and Elaris, despite her poor behaviour of late, could be a gentle loving spirit who might deal with him carefully.