Reluctant Activists

by Helena Phillips

  “Who are you?” He wanted to know everything about her.

  Elaris’ laugh wafted across the balcony maddening him with images of being a teenager driven mad with unnameable longings.

  “I am a good friend of Flagran’s,” she said “hard as it may be to imagine such a thing.” Her laugh rang out now across the early evening sky reminding Sandro of bells, all manner of bells large and small, the sound rising and falling only to fade as it patiently carried the sound to its final note. “My name is Elaris.”

  Sandro considered it the most beautiful name he had ever heard. He shook himself trying to recover his senses. What was this? He was clearly being played with, and it puzzled him. He was being overtaken, and he could not imagine desiring anything more.

  “Alessandro,” she said, “Torrenclar has sent me to invite you to join us this evening.”

  Who was that? Did it matter? He was going anywhere this beautiful creature desired. But in an effort to support his end of the conversation so he said, “Of course I’ll come. Where are we going?”

  Elaris laughed again, and Sandro formed the resolution to keep saying funny things. What he came out with was, “How beautiful you are!” Instead of laughing this time, she dipped her head peeping up at him from under lashes long enough to hide her eyes for a moment. “Why thank you, Sandro.” She smiled.

  “Er...where are we going? What do I need to do?”

  “I think you will need to bring food,” she said thoughtfully. “We spirits don’t do that sort of thing. We will be having a barbeque.” This was something he could wrap his head around.

  “What’s the address?” She told him, and the joy disappeared from the moment like air from a balloon. He tried to form a sentence of protest, but it wouldn’t come to his lips. He was trapped! At this moment Flagran stepped out onto the balcony. He looked from one to the other, raised his eyes heavenwards, and brother-like said, “What are you doing Elaris?”

  “I don’t know what you could mean, Flagran.” Her innocence was unquestionable. “Torrenclar asked me to fly by and issue an invitation to Bridey’s barbeque. I’ve just been introducing myself.”

  Flagran was excited. “So you’re coming then,” he said to Sandro. If Elaris had asked there could be no doubt of the answer. Sandro was miserable. He went off to change his clothes.

  5

  Bridey

  “Torrenclar! You can’t have a barbeque in the rain!” Flagran was incensed. “Bridey and Sandro are not going to sit outside in this!” There was no argument on my part. Even protected inside the raincoat, sitting in the pouring rain didn’t appeal.

  Torrenclar smiled. Every time he did this, my stomach made a little somersault. “Flagran, are you not in touch with my gifts? I’m insulted.”

  “Well, you’re making everything wet!”

  “Then dry it off for me, dear friend,” Torrenclar said. “Don’t leave all the work to me.”

  Flagran looked crushed and hung his head. When he raised it again, his hair fell around his ears flattened by the rain which poured over his face and down his neck. Puzzled, it was a moment or two before Torrenclar remembered.

  “How about I go inside and see if Bridey will lend me a towel,” Flagran said throwing me the question and a small smile. “In the meantime you can stop this rain.” He turned and went towards the house. Where might he look for towels? But chasing after him wasn’t an option. The back door opened and banged shut behind him and his well-fitting jeans around a cute butt.

  Torrenclar made no attempt to stop the rain. He stood amongst the downpour he had created and looked across at Homarta who was now sitting up in it, completely unperturbed. She caught his eye silently agreeing with him about something. Things like weather seemed to not faze any of them. But, Homarta and Flagran had suffered loss of some powers and not others. It was puzzling. Today, my foot was strapped using cotton from a discarded shirt. It felt bad chopping up a perfectly good shirt. Mum had given it to me for Christmas. One option was to take it to an op shop which would have been a better idea, but she had this habit of asking me the whereabouts of things she’d bought me. It gave me secret and guilty pleasure to cut it up. Today the foot was doing better without the crutches, requiring support only when the pain became too much.

  “I’m going to walk up the shops and buy some more water,” I said. “The basket of my bike should hold it and leaning on that means the crutches won’t be necessary.”

  Torrenclar regarded me thoughtfully. “Now, why would you be needing water, Bridey?” he asked raising his arms above his head. “It appears we have plenty.” He smiled. “Why don’t you let me take a look at that foot? I think I can make you more comfortable.”

  This resulted in some inner squirming, being torn between wanting this extraordinary angel to hold my foot in his beautiful hands, and feeling extremely embarrassed by the idea. You would think he’d asked me to remove all my clothes. And that fantasy only made it worse!

  “Come on. Sit over here,” he said pointing to the chairs Flagran had placed hopefully around an area he’d piled high with bits of building refuse.

  Despite some hesitation, it appeared that neither his stance nor his tone were offering me a choice, so I sat down. He sat opposite and bending, lifted my foot into his lap. “Cute boots,” he said, watching me squirm some more and began pulling at it as my hands braced against the chair. The agony of getting it on had been bad enough. I was overcome with longing for him to hold my bare foot in his strong warm hands forever and the embarrassment of wondering whether he knew it made me keep my head down. He began to massage it firmly between his fingers, but there was no pain, only vibration spreading through the bones, warming my whole body; or was that embarrassment? He must have read my mind, because he continued massaging from my calf through to my toes. But when he’d finished, instead of offering to do the other one, he picked up my boot and slipped it onto my foot. Then he took me by both hands, pulled me up and began to dance me around the yard. There was no problem about knowing any steps because he was completely in charge.

  I was dancing in the rain in gum boots with an angel.

  “Looks like I’ve done a good job!” he said.

  The back door slammed again, and the dance stopped. I whipped around. Then nearly choked.

  Flagran was pushing in front of him that horrible man who had stolen my bike. But it wasn’t about the theft. He was horrible. How could Flagran tolerate him? There’s no accounting for other people’s friends. Now the day was ruined. Torrenclar, who had kept his arm around my waist and his hand holding mine as he pivoted to see the door, lifted my chin and dropped a light kiss on my cheek. He let his hand fall, and I moved away immediately.

  Then came a sight which brought on open mouthed gawking. An exquisite creature and immediately apparent she was a Caretaker, came towards me while he held back, scowling as he always did. She introduced herself.

  “Hello, I’m Elaris.” What a beautiful name, and how much it suited her frail wildflower look. “Sorry to just appear without an invitation, but I was keen to meet you. Torrenclar has told me of you.” Had he? This made me blush, pleased. “We’re having a barbeque,” she said sounding delighted.

  What was it they thought we were going to barbeque? The dance hadn’t hurt at all. Perhaps getting up to the shops wouldn’t be nearly as daunting. Another difficulty, though, was lack of money. It was my most horrible guest who began to work on a bridge between us. He had deposited an Esky on the ground behind him and, almost as though he was reading my mind, he now pulled this forward. He stared at the rain. “Flagran, you mongrel!” he said. “You didn’t tell me it was raining over here!”

  Flagran looked sheepish, a mannerism honed to a fine art over all the years he had been practicing it. “I thought if you knew, you wouldn’t want to come,” he said, which of course was true.

  We all turned to Torrenclar, Sandro because he always checked out rivals, and the rest of us because we had faith he could do whatever he wanted
with the weather. But Torrenclar was regarding us questioningly as if to say “What? What do you expect me to do?”

  Sandro pulled a beer out of the Esky and waved it around in front of us. No one took him up on the offer, so he began drinking it himself while we waited for something to happen. Torrenclar was peering at the roof. He stepped back, took a little spring and was up there walking around. From where Sandro was standing, he must have seen him disappear. His scowl returned. When Torrenclar called down, Sandro stepped out into the rain and stared up at the voice. “Watch it mate,” he said “that roof might not be too sound.”

  “Now what would make you think that?” Torrenclar returned his look. “I don’t weigh much” and to demonstrate he began walking backwards and forwards on very light feet. “These gutters are leaking like sieves,” he commented. Sandro must have been afraid of heights because he was very uncomfortable watching.

  Lifting his hands and clasping them together in front of him, Torrenclar created a funnel for the rain which began to concentrate on it pouring out down the chute and into the gutter. From there it sprayed through, all over the back veranda. “What a pity,” he said. “If the gutters were sound, we could have pulled out a down pipe and funnelled it into buckets. “You do have buckets, Bridey?”

  Well there was one. That wasn’t going to be a big help. Hopefully, it didn’t have anything nasty soaking in it. “One bucket isn’t going to be enough,” I said, wishing they weren’t all looking at me. Having these strange guests, if that described them, had many uncomfortable moments. It was like that with most guests really.

  “Do you have a bath?” Sandro asked the question which meant having to answer him directly. “Does it have a plug?”

  “Yes there is a bath, and yes of course it has a plug!” How clean the bath might be was a worry. If this was drinking water we were storing, that seemed to be an important consideration. It was Elaris who rescued me this time.

  “How about I go in and give it a little swish around for you. Where’s the bucket Bridey?” She followed me into the house and we found it. She went out to Torrenclar and together they gave it a bit of a clean. Nothing seemed to faze them. When it filled with water, Elaris passed it to Sandro who, keen to please Elaris, just walked straight into my bathroom with it. That was a bit rich!

  In this way we filled the bath with water. Asking them if the water was safe to drink turned out to be a hilarious joke. The more I insisted I was just checking, the more they laughed. Fortunately it wouldn’t be long before the water mains were fixed. Ha. Ha. Out the front, they were working on it, the usual group of semi employed labourers who fiddled around while one or two were digging, but how long could a job like that take? There was still no possibility of a shower. A sponge bath in the shower recess just wasn’t the same. It had been three days now. Luckily, the raincoat with its large plastic walls kept in the smells. How long would it take to heat a bucket of water with the kettle? Keeping it hot in saucepans might work. If only Flagran still had his powers, it was possible he could have heated the whole bath. But, bathing in my drinking water was out of the question. How did all this work before we started relying on plumbing?

  Having filled the bath, Torrenclar decided we’d had enough rain, and Elaris blew the fat black clouds away even though they seemed to want to linger while she was there. The bonfire was soon blazing. It had been a bit of a struggle. The wood was very wet and the rubbish had many, not very flammable, extras amongst it. Flagran stood watching the struggle for a while until a change came over him. He closed his eyes and concentrated for a minute or two. When he opened them, he stretched the palms of his hands over the wood, and it just burst into flames. No one said much about it, but the Caretakers shifted immediately into party mode. The idea was to allow the flames to settle into some nice coals, and then to cook over them.

  “Hey Bridey, do you have potatoes?” Flagran asked. The two remaining potatoes had been planned for my dinner before the barbeque idea had taken over, and they’d been forgotten.

  “What do you want me to do with them?” It was a puzzle because Flagran didn’t eat. None of them did. But, he was fascinated with the whole idea of cooking and eating and knew some great tricks with food. Apparently sweet potatoes were the very best thing for cooking in hot coals.

  “How are we going to cook a steak on that?” Sandro asked, strolling over when he could tear himself away from watching Elaris play with the clouds. He was standing close to me, and his after shave was spicy, yet subtle. He must have paid quite a bit for it. He was dressed like Flagran in jeans that hugged his legs and hips, and my eyes were forced not to dwell there in case he caught me looking at him. He was wearing a zippered jacket. He looked great. There was a certain style about him which, for excellent reasons, hadn’t been obvious before now. The heat of his body wafted across, but stepping away would have drawn too much attention. His hair was dark and glossy and worn short but not too short. It had a wave to it. Up close to the fire, his skin took on the tones of polished wood, and his fine profile with high cheek bones and a well-shaped mouth struck a place deep inside my body. He was every inch an attractive male. What a pity he was such an arsehole.

  “When you invited me to a barbeque, the assumption was that you had one!” he said. Sandro must have missed school camps where you went out into the bush and played early settlers. Of course there was nothing that would hold a steak on a flaming fire. All my frying pans had melt able handles. That’s an exaggeration. There was only one. We all poked around in the junk for a bit, and Sandro was horrified at the thought of cooking his dinner on a piece of old steel which might have been used for anything. The others encouraged him to scrub it off, heat it up and oil it to kill off any obvious germs, but he wasn’t convinced. When you’re hungry enough, you’ll try anything, so we all stood around and left the smell of cooking meat to do its work.

  There was a point where everyone was sitting around the fire, and the food, such as it was, was cooked. It’s strange to contemplate eating when there are only five guests, and three of them don’t eat or drink. But, the Caretakers had a way of joining in which removed any awkwardness, and I was starving. I hadn’t had a cooked meal in days. Sandro handed me a beer, and it was the best beer ever. It was nearly as delicious as the clean water.

  When everyone had finished eating, (or not), Homarta spoke.

  “Sandro,” she said. We all turned and stared at her the way you do in a classroom when the shyest kid suddenly answers a question. She looked very uncomfortable. “Don’t all stare!”

  We all looked away like you do on a train when someone suddenly realises you are listening in to their conversation.

  “Yes?” he tried.

  It took Homarta a long while to form the words, and we all waited holding our breath and trying to help her with every word.

  “Tell us your story,” she said.

  Sandro, not exactly shy, glared at her. “What do you want to know?” He gripped his seat with both hands and dared her to ask him something personal. What a strange man he was.

  “Well, I’ve been looking at your colour and wondering where you hail from.” We were more interested in how many words Homarta, who had been almost completely silenced by her ordeal, had put together in one sentence. She seemed to be regaining some life. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be too overwhelming.

  “There’s not much to tell really,” Sandro lied. He wasn’t going to get away with that. Not with these guys.

  “Come on Sandro!” It was Flagran, about to start him off with some inside knowledge. “Where does your mother live?” Looks couldn’t kill Flagran the way they could people. “I saw a photo of her on your computer. You have her eyes.”

  Sandro literally snarled at him. “It’s none of your effing business!”

  Complete silence settled over the party, and some of the life disappeared. It was Torrenclar who saved the moment.

  “Elaris darling,” she shifted her gaze, pulled out of her reverie and turned towa
rds him. “Can you do something with this fire? Our guests are getting cold.” Elaris blew gently until the flames sprang up again, and then she did a surprising thing. She fixed her eyes on Sandro until he had to return her gaze, and then she blew him a kiss. His face flamed. Even in the dark, his skin stood out like a beacon.

  He stuttered an awkward apology, as only he could do, and for the first time, I began to like him. “I was born in Iran, you know Persia, the land of exotic smells and beautiful women. He turned towards me as he said this. It was accidental. He went on talking quietly. “My father was...is Iranian, and my mother is Italian.” That explained the skin at least. “I’ve lost contact with my father.” The End.

  My life had been ordinary. Well at least until now. “How did they meet?” I found myself asking whilst walking directly into the bear’s cave.

  “My mother was a student. She was travelling in Iran and other places over the Uni holidays.”

  The next question was inevitable and Sandro was expecting it, so he continued. “Look, I don’t like to talk about it. They had me. Mum moved here with me to Australia, met someone else, and that was that.”

  Elaris took up the cue to change the subject. “What are you doing with yourself Sandro?”

  Because it was she who had asked, he attempted a less surly reply. “I buy and sell things. I’m very good at it.”

  “Of course you are.” How like a reassuring mother Homarta sounded, when she still looked more like an alcoholic on the way out. It made me think of the woman of three days ago.

  “What sort of things?” Torrenclar had used that challenging voice with Sandro before.

  “Real Estate mainly,” he answered before he thought about it. Maybe, he liked having an air of mystery about him. Perhaps, it was a way of getting girls interested. It certainly had me intrigued. Flagran took up the story again and told us all about his fascination with Sandro’s unit.