Reluctant Activists

by Helena Phillips

  It was only now questions arose about the nature of this force. All the Caretakers referred to the Source for their direction. When they did, it made sense for a spirit to come from somewhere. But what about us? Where had we come from? Wanting the force that drives the flower to do something for me because of my desperation was dubious. Flagran was here to sort out Sandro, and Torrenclar to challenge him. What held them back? Now, when Homarta had stood up for me with my mother, I’d told her to piss off. What was wrong with me?

  After wrestling with this for half an hour or so, I finally persuaded myself to go outside and tackle my behaviour. She looked up and smiled.

  “I’m sorry Homarta. It was fear. No one ever stands up to Elaine. Not ever!”

  “One day,” she said “it will be you doing that.”

  Why would you want to put yourself through that? The thoughts swirled around. “I do stand up to her sometimes. It’s hard work, but when anger overtakes the fear, I just have to tackle her.”

  “True,” she pinned me with her gaze. “But, one day you will do so and feel like an adult; not so much like a petulant little girl.” Was it petulance? Thoughts of Sandro kept circling. She was right. It was petulance. That word took on a whole new meaning.

  8

  The Source

  Sandro and Flagran were having a bad patch. Initially, Sandro’s response had been anger at himself, Bridey or Flagran which soon morphed into frustration, remorse or attempts to shake it all off. Flagran knew these reactions inside out and was able to respond in kind. But, the quiet hopelessness was intolerable. He found gloom an anathema. His instructions had been clear, and he wasn’t risking my displeasure. If he had spoken with me about it I would have been sympathetic, perhaps even helpful. Giving all these creations of mine free will (which is not the same as free reign) meant they often decided to work out solutions alone, or with one another. Solutions took longer using these methods but often had their own advantages. The two spent days in each other’s company attempting to be polite, keen to avoid conflict, wishing they were alone, or in Flagran’s case, could visit a burn off somewhere.

  Elaris arrived for a visit. Her entrance was greeted with a burst of the enthusiasm belonging to two small boys offered a treat. Their eagerness flooded her brooding spirit which had been moody for longer than was useful for anyone. Her sulks were unacceptable, and I was determined she would come back to me and surrender to her restrictions before I would relent.

  They were great friends, Elaris and Flagran. Their connection was one of opposite temperaments, and often both found solace when confronted with their differences. Leaving Sandro to moon over Elaris from a distance, Flagran caught her and swung her into a dance, spinning around and around the living area, until together they formed a cone of smoke with alarming sparks flying at the ceiling. Sandro failed to attract their attention to his protests and was forced to fling open both French doors hoping they would swing it outside. Fortunately, the walls around the terrace were high enough to screen out neighbours. The dance slowed while the two moved into a complicated series of maneuvres which would have confounded the most experienced of human dancers. They seemed to be listening to music only they could hear, but Sandro began to feel the rhythm and felt envious of their skill and harmony. He longed to let his body join the dance. It aroused images of exotic middle-eastern dancers, and his loss swamped him.

  Eventually, the two became aware of the pain in the room and turned towards it. They beckoned to Sandro, but he shook his head turning away. His life as he saw it had been dominated by loss. He was tired of feeling miserable solaced only by his purchases and the odd rugged adventure. It was not enough. He wanted Bridey, but he couldn’t face the shame, and he wanted his father, whose whereabouts remained a mystery moving no closer to resolution, and he longed to feel happy. Life was too hard.

  Flagran had no idea how to help. His red hair drooped along with his enthusiasm. But Elaris came to Sandro drawing him into the dance leaving Flagran to watch. She led, and he followed discovering his feet knew where they wanted to go without being guided by his head. Interference from that quarter merely caused him to stumble. Dancing was one of Sandro’s greatest pleasures, but he rarely had the opportunity to explore it, hating groups with a passion. The dance moved between the wide open living area and the terrace where the wind whispered through it as the night slowly fell. Towards the end, Sandro dropped his head onto Elaris’ shoulder and left it there allowing her to soothe his weary soul. Inside, he was saying if only it could be this easy all the time.

  When the dance ended, all three were cheered. They decided to head out into the town. This, for the Caretakers, was vastly dissimilar to heading down to the local pub, or going for drive. It involved walking in a manner not well suited to human feet. They pulled Sandro between them, linking arms. Stirring up mischief was an important element of their plans, and Sandro appreciated the opportunity to play without damaging anything or anyone.

  Turning things upside down was the first game. It involved moving cars from one parking spot and replacing it with another. Owners returning would discover their car on the opposite side of the road to where it had been parked and facing the wrong direction. Blowing up rubbish into a huge pile and leaving it outside the council buildings was a particularly satisfying experience. Flagran was prevented from setting fire to this only with great difficulty, desisting when presented with another more interesting game. They stuck messages on the windows of the building, and as these were far from street level it struck him as extremely funny. One message asked if they had paid their rates for the past decades. Soon bored again, he decided they should visit with the homeless. Many lonely souls gather together under park shelters, around toilet blocks, and under the shelter of shop eaves on the streets and parks of beautiful Melbourne. He found homeless people lacked many of the qualities which he abhorred in humans. Far less stiff and humourless. He delighted in helping them forage for food, started small fires in receptacles, and found chatting with them satisfying. He loved to listen to their stories.

  Initially, Sandro was unsure about this aspect of the trip. These were people he largely ignored. Occasionally, he would throw a handful of coins in someone’s way walking off wondering whether that had been wise. But, he’d never listened to them. He came away with his eyes open and his heart touched. That night he slept for the first time in several days untroubled by his own difficulties.

  Sunday morning dawned clear and sunny. The windows of his bedroom faced east across the balcony, and the light crept into his room early as he’d left the blinds raised. His heart began to beat heavily when the uselessness of lives filled only with disappointments and loneliness flooded his consciousness. Thoughts of Bridey came with intense longing which quickly became unbearable. Whispers of sweetness floated above the unhappiness and haunted him in odd moments. These were from the dance with Elaris and enchantments she had left behind her. He saw his quest for love as hopeless, convinced Bridey’s exit had been triggered by intense disgust. Dragging his body from the bed and shouldering all his gloomy thoughts, he took a long shower to shake away the loathing. It remained glued to his insides like a heavy loading of carbs. How to pass another day?

  Over breakfast, thoughts of the beach and a long drive offered slight relief. He would go surfing at Bell’s. There was nothing physically challenging which had not grabbed Sandro’s attention at some point in his relatively short life. Pitting himself against nature was one of the ways he had been able to gain some sense of achievement. Yes, he decided, he would take off for the day; get right out of Melbourne and with a bit of luck, drown.

  In the garage, he unearthed the equipment feeling a vague fondness for his surfboard where once it would have triggered excitement. He gathered wallet and keys and ran back down the stairs to the car. The traffic was light and the freeway allowed him to give the Ferrari a good run with the top down, despite the intrusion of the surfboard. The wind in his hair brought back some thoughts of Elaris
. He put music on to drown her out. It certainly drowned out capacity for thought, but that was more in the cars around him. It began to feel as though the day would be another disappointment.

  The pull of the waves caught at him as he trudged across the sand groaning at the state of the surf. Anything was preferable to returning home he decided and began to drag his reluctant body through the shallows. When he reached the waves where a few others were experimenting, he climbed onto his board, and as he stood, felt the call of the surf inviting him to battle. Where he would have preferred a long and exciting challenge, he accepted some inevitable crashes instead. They seemed to move in time with the rest of his disordered world. Half an hour of this and he was considering leaving again when he caught sight of Torrenclar approaching, riding upright, no board, on a piece of water which wouldn’t have supported anyone with a board. He cast his eyes around the surf discovering they were the only ones still out and felt a surge of relief.

  “Interesting choice of day for surfing Sandro,” his companion said. Why is he always trying to put me down? Can’t he just leave me be? I know I’m a dud already. But he attempted to look vaguely welcoming.

  “Fancy a bit more challenge?”

  He pricked up his ears at the idea and managed a short grin. The Caretaker took hold of the leg rope on Sandro’s board and began to tug it out to a patch of waves crashing against the sea beyond where surfers normally ventured. This was better sport! Because Torrenclar was not of course using a board, rather than falling, crashing, or being dunked, he was making his own fun, but he kept a watchful eye on Sandro and this worked out well for both of them as they gradually established a rhythm with the sets of breakers. Sandro managed to stay up far longer than he expected and even made his way along inside a wave for a few meters, emerging triumphant.

  When they left the water, Torrenclar suggested a walk along the rocks. Sandro looked at his board. “I don’t fancy carrying this.”

  He was encouraged to take a risk and leave it there on the sand where it lay at their feet. “If someone takes it,” the Caretaker proposed, “they might need it more than you.” Sandro was incensed at the implied suggestion he was too rich. (It was only later he understood the meaning behind those words.) He was sure Torrenclar was having another go at him. He left it there anyway, unwilling to risk looking bad by making a fuss.

  The struggle across the rocks was awkward. Torrenclar moved lightly, like a dancer. Sandro’s progress was more of a scramble.

  Eventually, at an isolated spot where they were completely hidden from human eyes, Torrenclar stopped. He sat on a large rock and stared out at the sea before them. There was no other choice for Sandro, but to join him. He found a rock where he was level with the Caretaker. It seemed important. This seemed to pass unnoticed. They sat reflecting, each in their own way, as the minutes passed. It was Sandro who spoke first.

  “You don’t think much of me do you?” he challenged.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re always having a dig at me.”

  “When have I had a dig at you?” Torrenclar appeared surprised.

  “Well, all that stuff about the house and me not looking after the gutters.” Sandro stared fixedly at the sea aware of his companion’s eyes on him.

  “How are you going with all that?” The question seemed friendly enough, and the tone held more concern than Sandro expected.

  “I’ve got plumbers working on it now.”

  “That’s not quite what my question was about, Sandro.” The Caretaker kept his focus forward, but something about the statement made Sandro turn and look at him. “I was thinking about how you are going with Bridey?”

  Despite an intense effort not to appear belligerent, Sandro said crossly “There’s nothing going on between us, so you don’t need to concern yourself about it.”

  “Oh, but I am concerned,” returned Torrenclar giving Sandro an intense look in return. Sandro dropped his stare to the rocks below them.

  “There’s nothing to concern you there,” he said. “I’m doing everything I can to make the house comfortable, and I’m keeping right out of her way.” He glared at a pointed rock and dared it to step out of place. “So you can just back off!” he added.

  Torrenclar appeared to give this some thought. “Why are you always so keen to fight?” It was a straightforward question, but Sandro received it like it was a challenge to a duel. Torrenclar wouldn’t have been surprised if he had been offered a fight. Sandro began to squirm under the Caretaker’s steady gaze. He could think of nothing to say.

  “Bridey is hurting,” Torrenclar said, “and I want you to do something about it.”

  A quickening of hope inside Sandro’s aching heart was stuffed down and firmly extinguished.

  “I have done everything I can to fix things there. What more can I do?”

  “Oh, I think not!” Torrenclar was firm. He stood and seemed to tower over Sandro who thought better of standing up and facing off with him.

  “What?” he said. “What on earth do you expect me to do?” Try as he would, he could not keep the hint of anguish out of his voice. Torrenclar smiled to himself, and as he was still towering over Sandro, it was thankfully missed.

  “What does she want, do you think?”

  I don’t know. It was news that she might want anything from him at this stage. He was firmly of the opinion that she loathed him; saw him as slime. “If only…,” he said.

  “What would you like to do with her?” This brought a quick grin from Sandro, hastily stifled. These Caretakers didn’t seem to understand sexual stuff. He vividly recalled Flagran’s reaction, and he was now sitting on a large crop of rocks overhanging a churning sea smashing against them below. “I wasn’t thinking about sexual matters,” returned Torrenclar, “I was thinking about what your plans for her future might be.”

  God, he sounded just like a prospective father-in-law!

  “She doesn’t want me, you idiot! Any fool can see that.” Torrenclar thought the only fool there at this moment might be Sandro, whose vision was obviously impaired.

  He sighed and sat down again. It was possibly time to approach this from another angle.

  “You spend most of your life deciding what is going on around you, without examining the evidence.”

  “What evidence?”

  “You know at this moment exactly what is going on in Bridey’s mind.”

  “Well. It’s not hard to work that out!”

  “I’m afraid that it is, Sandro. You actually have no idea what she’s thinking. How could you?”

  “Well,” the belligerence was back, “how could you know either?”

  “If I felt I needed to know more than I can see by being around her and listening, I would ask her.” It all sounded so simple. Life was nothing like that. In order not to be hurt, and for other people not to pull the wool over your eyes, you had to work things out for yourself. This had been Sandro’s firm philosophy on life since he had first been presented with a step-father.

  “You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” He really believed in those words.

  “Tell me then.” Torrenclar’s invitation hung in the air between them. Then Sandro gave it a try.

  “The thing is,” he began, “I have to work out what to do with that house.”

  Torrenclar nodded. “I bought it as an investment property, not to provide cheap accommodation,” and again his companion silently agreed. Encouraged, Sandro went on.

  “It needs gutters. It needs the floors done. It needs new plumbing right through the house. All that would cost a fortune, not to mention painting, and replacing that stupid veranda. It looks totally out of place like that sitting between the two new town house blocks. Spending a fortune on it would be a complete waste of money.”

  The two sat in silence while Torrenclar chose his words carefully. “Is that what’s holding you back? Is it that making you so unhappy?”

  “No. Of course not! It’s just an add
ed complication.”

  “I wonder whether Bridey might like to be part of that discussion”

  “She just thinks I’m a total idiot.”

  Torrenclar sighed, “Sandro, how do you know what she’s thinking?”

  It was true. He didn’t. But the risk of asking was just too much for him. He got to his feet, and the talk was at an end.

  “Let’s go see if your surf board is still around,” Torrenclar said lightly and took off back the way they had come leaving Sandro staring after him frustrated, vaguely hopeful and feeling like an idiot.

  ***

  The Source

  Monday to Friday passed while Sandro swallowed his pain in work. He shifted money around. He bought another property and put one on the market. He asked for a report on the plumbing at Bridey’s house, but he didn’t go to check on it himself. He had to take the word of those he’d employed that Bridey was now able to have a shower at home. Flagran had informed him days ago about Bridey carrying her toiletries to work with her. The picture this put into Sandro’s head tortured him all through the week. Flagran continued to interrupt the work requesting computer time to play games at the most inconvenient moments. Because he didn’t sleep, he was able to play with people all over the world which was fine with Sandro, but when he came back from his run in the mornings, he insisted Flagran get off, even in the middle of an important move and go find some occupation elsewhere. Sometimes Flagran decided to be accommodating, and sometimes he didn’t. It was great fun in that house!

  A few kilometres away, the routine of study, work and no play, was interrupted by plumbers encountering all manner of problems, and it was Thursday before Bridey was able to consider showering at home. She couldn’t be bothered and left it until the following night to wash her hair at work.