Homarta was silent a moment. “Are you intending to replace Elaris?”
“Certainly not with this young spirit. It is my hope that will not have to happen. Elaris would have made a good tutor for Irri-tat, but for now I wonder would you teach and guide her in the ways of Caretaking.”
She nodded.
“In order for me to arrange for Elaris’ well-being, she will need to submit to staying in Melbourne. If she can do this, she may eventually leave with my blessing. A rogue spirit is a danger to the world.”
Homarta drew back from me, and I was concerned she wasn’t with me on this, but she was always full of surprises. “What would help?” she asked.
“You may visit with her if you like, and if you believe you can help her without rescuing.”
“It is largely my fault she is where she is at this moment,” Homarta said. “If it hadn’t been for me constantly expressing my frustration with your slow ways of approaching everything,” she eyed me cautiously, “she would be here now with us, instead of trapped.”
“Do you find me so slow then?” I asked her sadly. “In some ways you are perhaps right about Elaris. You have had some influence there. But she was also both restless and unwilling to trust me. It is for that reason she did not come to me with her doubts.”
Homarta and I spent many hours together, unwilling to be parted too soon. Eventually, she left to visit with Elaris on her way to Irri-tat to whom I was to return after three days.
***
Bridey
The bright sunny weather matched my mood that Friday morning. Sandro had managed to leave after coming in to visit my new sheets and hearing about the clothes line. My sleep had been deep and peaceful, waking to the singing of birds mingling with the familiar, comforting traffic noises. It was ten o’clock. I leapt out of bed. Half the morning was gone, and there was work to do before Sandro picked me up to go tile shopping in the afternoon. The end of the day threatened different work, dimming my spirits a little. A cheery glow lit the kitchen despite dew on the window. It was obviously colder outside, although you could never call inside, cosy. It usually took three layers on the top, my thick trackies and two pairs of socks to face the winter mornings in this house; and that was just to make it to the bathroom! But the end of autumn was unseasonably mild, and I managed with one pair of socks inside my Ugboots.
While the jug boiled, I became aware of Homarta singing. It wasn’t the low hum she had been using to coax on the plants, but rather the rich deep voice of an opera singer as she communed with the day. Intrigued, I set out to find answers to this development.
Homarta was digging the earth, turning it over, and in doing this, mixing the straw from the surface deep into the soil; it had already, under her care, begun to rot. She added humus from her pile, a mix of manure which had come from Pakenham (I shuddered to recall that day) and dropped leaves from vegetables, worms and newspapers Sandro delivered whenever he thought about it. I always read the news from my laptop.
“You’re in excellent form this morning, Homarta. How beautiful is your voice!”
She turned towards me, glowing. “I’m off, once I finish this, to the mountains for three or four days,” she announced. At my surprised expression, she added “I am free from my restrictions now.” No wonder she seemed different. “I’m going to spend time with Elaris who has had to go to the mountains for a while, and then I am visiting a young, soon to be friend.” What a strange expression.
“It’ll be hard not having you here.”
“Oh, you’ll hardly notice once you’ve worked and spent every spare second with Sandro,” she said. “Did you ask him about the washing line?” It was an old rotary clothes line which had obviously been used as a swing over multiple generations. Many, if not most of the wires, had been broken and hung in a dilapidated fashion over Homarta’s plants. In fact, some mornings peas had begun to cling to these until later in the day someone brushed past their unstable trellis, or the wind moved the line tearing them from their anchor.
Asking her not to forget to say goodbye, I returned to breakfast and some serious attention to anthropological explorations. Overall, these were remarkably successful. The literature review was two thirds underway.
***
“What’s up mate?” Sandro had been experiencing growing unease with Flagran’s mood. Coming in the previous evening, full of beans, he’d discovered the Caretaker slumped in a chair and very uncommunicative. He had respectfully trotted off to bed leaving him to sort it out by himself; exactly as Sandro himself would have wanted in the same situation. But this morning, Flagran clearly hadn’t made much progress with the task. He was on the extreme end of glum.
“You’re right mate,” was the reply, “just thinking.”
Sandro took a chair turned it around and sat leaning on the back of it staring at his friend.
“I’m sorry I’ve been a bit preoccupied with Bridey,” he tried. But Flagran shook his head. That wasn’t it.
Puzzled, he resolved to get to the bottom of it. “Something has really upset you.”
“Yep, but there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s a spirit thing.”
Sandro felt miffed at this. Hadn’t he spent the last month sharing his home with a spirit?
“Come on,” he said. “Don’t do that to me.”
“What?” Flagran attempted a playful grin, but it was clearly counterfeit.
Slowly and carefully Sandro chose his words, “I’m disappointed you think you can’t trust me. Haven’t we been through a fair bit together lately?”
“Oh mate!” Flagran was horrified. “It’s nothing like a matter of trust.”
“Well what then?”
“It’s more a matter of business with the Source.”
“What? Are you in trouble again?”
Flagran looked up, “Whaddya mean, again?”
“I just meant have you stepped over the line, been up to mischief, that sort of thing?”
“No. It’s not me. It’s one of the other spirits. I don’t think, in fact I know, the Source would not want me to discuss it with you Sandro. Let it go mate.”
“So it’s the Source who wouldn’t trust me with it?”
Flagran regarded him thoughtfully. “Why would the Source trust you?”
Sandro found he was deeply hurt by this which surprised him. His friend watched the conflict flicker across his face. “Why not?” Sandro asked. “Am I not good enough?”
“No.” Flagran pulled himself up quickly, “It’s nothing to do with goodness. You’re doing alright.” He smiled warmly. “Would you trust someone you have no relationship with to understand your ways, deepest thoughts, that sort of thing?”
“I suppose, no, I wouldn’t. Wouldn’t occur to me.” Sandro was honest with himself most of the time. “Is that how the Source regards me? As someone who knows nothing about spiritual things? That’s not true.” He twisted in his chair uncomfortable with the conversation but unwilling to abandon it. “I was brought up, or at least my mother tried to bring me up, a Catholic. A lot of it made no sense at all, but some of it sticks. I’ve always believed there was something out there. Just not sure how much interest it takes in me. Then in my time with Muslims in the Middle East it was clear that people who believe in things can be,” he paused trying to put it into words, “they can be very holy and good. I like that. My mother’s like that.” Flagran was listening intently. “But there’s a whole lot of shit going on over there, and a whole lot of shit mucking up stuff over here, like asylum seeker rubbish policies, that puts me right off it all.”
“Who causes all that?”
“Well, it’s not the Source, I suppose.” He shook his head. “It’s us. But religion gets so twisted and has so many rules I just can’t stomach it, or work out how to be without it.” He looked embarrassed. “I’m envious of your relationship with the Source. I wish I had that. Sometimes it’s just so fucking hard to work out the loneliness.” Sandro suddenly realised the conversation had
become all about him when he had set out to cheer up Flagran. He looked intently at the Caretaker who appeared greatly cheered. “You know that time I cracked it with you, Flagran, and you just held on to me, let me get it all out, that was the time I felt the safest I’ve ever felt. I trust you with my life, mate. If you’re spirit, I want more of that.” He became embarrassed suddenly and tried to crack a joke, but Flagran wasn’t having any of that. He made a decision.
“I’m going to tell you what’s going on,” he said. Sandro shook his head, but Flagran continued. “Elaris and the Source have had a falling out.” He felt he was on shaky ground here. Sandro was besotted with Elaris. If he took her side, Flagran knew it would do him a lot of harm.
“Why is that something you couldn’t tell me?”
“Well, to you she seems like perfection, I think.”
“I’m not so sure about that. Magnetic. But hard to reach.” Flagran was delighted with this.
“What does she seem like to you?” Sandro asked him.
“Like a spoilt child at the moment.” He began to describe her tantrum and the damage she had caused, ending with the result. “The Source has her pinned in the mountains, on her own. She will have to stay there until she sorts herself out. It was very ugly Sandro. Devastating for us to be part of, and to watch her battle with the Source was something I don’t want to think about, but it keeps flicking through my head. Can’t shift it, mate.”
Sandro simply sat with him. There was nothing else he could do, but it was enough.
***
The Source
Author’s note: the pronoun ku is used to replace he and she.
In the mountains, two spirits remained trapped. Homarta made her trip to their sides using her favourite methods of transport wherever she could. First, she transported herself in the manner of spirits everywhere, arriving without warning. This was particularly startling for two marsupial mice which had been playing and foraging right where her feet landed one second later. Startled, they froze. She bent to pick them up letting them run up and down her arms and across her broad shoulders. She drank them in like a thirsty plant, absorbing their delight, playing with them until she remembered her task.
She began to make her way through the bush partly passing through shrubbery and trees but at other times looping herself into the humus at her feet. It would have been a mighty scene if there had been any onlookers. Other small animals were drawn to her attention, but they paid no heed to her passing, seeing her as one of them. Her favourite pastime was running soil through her hands and putting it to her nose where she took in the rich aroma of life, comparing it to the poisoned earth at Bridey’s in Melbourne. No wonder Elaris and Irri-tat wanted to remain in the mountains, she thought.
At last, she came to the glen where Elaris had been imprisoned. As she approached, she slowed, wary about the encounter after having heard from Torrenclar and Flagran. Her heart was heavy when she thought of the part she had played. She must do her absolute best here. The glen was deep in shade and still. There were no sounds of any kind; not even the murmurs of insects in the leaves. At first she couldn’t pick out the Caretaker in the gloom. Elaris was lying on her side curled into a coil like that of a millipede. Homarta spoke to her, but she did not reply. Testing whether she herself could move through the barriers of the prison she found she could enter the space which Elaris could not pass from.
“Elaris, darling” she said, moving closer. A small flicker of movement. She bent to the coiled figure and sprang back with a speed and agility remarkable for one of her bulk. Elaris threw herself at Homarta screaming and screeching in her rage. She swore at her, putting all the venom of a twisted heart into a snake like bite at Homarta’ neck. Fortunately this missed.
Homarta stepped back behind the partition. “Elaris, I have come to help you,” she pleaded.
“How can you help me?” Elaris screamed. “It is you who led me into this mess.”
“That is very true, darling. I did you great harm, and I’ve come to tell you how sorry I am. Don’t do this to yourself. It isn’t worth it. What you want is not found where you are looking.”
“How would you know what I want?” Elaris snarled. “What do you know about anything?”
This was true, Homarta thought, what did she know about anything? But Elaris was not interested in Homarta’s thoughts. “Get me out of here,” she screamed again. “I am going mad. I cannot stay here!” She turned in on herself to think on that. “You need to make this up to me, Homarta. You did this. Go back and tell the Source I am recovered. As soon as the barrier is lifted, and I am set free, I will be well again.”
“Freedom is not found outside of any barriers but inside you, Elaris. When you know that, you will be free inside that cage.”
It was a sober Caretaker who continued on to her next task now feeling unable for it. As she approached the lake, her feet slowed, and she entered the clearing in trepidation wondering what lay ahead.
Irri-tat had decided to manage her work differently. Clearly the Source had not been pleased with her piles of rubbish. They were not tidy enough. She had spent the day and a half since the visit reorganising the piles. The colours needed more sorting. What she had thought a pretty combination wasn’t ordered enough. She went to great lengths to flatten out each piece of paper and attempt to place them in layers which hid their different sizes. Each pile now had its own colour. When she had completed two piles in this manner, she stood back to examine her work. No, that wouldn’t do. They looked disordered. Each size of scrap would have its own pile. Towards the end of the second day, she began to feel exhausted. No one could complain about how hard she had been working.
Homarta’s greeting startled her. “Irri-tat, how are you?” It was not as cheery as she had planned, and the sensitive soul before her picked up something in the tone which made her wary. “Do you remember me? Homarta.” She stood where she was waiting for Irri-tat to gain her bearings. Frightened small animals were Homarta’s speciality. As she waited, Irri-tat began to move cautiously towards her.
“What do you want?” she asked. “Why are you here?”
Homarta sat on the springy grass leading down to the lake and began to massage her feet as though they were tired. She allowed her face to drop into the sadness Elaris had brought on to her newly liberated spirit destroying her peace. Irri-tat watched her warily. She stepped closer.
“I have come a long distance and thought I might find some comfort here,” she inaccurately told the wary spirit. “I’m sorry to intrude.” This was in fact closer to the truth, but not in the way it came across.
Irri-tat said nothing. Homarta sighed to herself thinking, ‘Why couldn’t I have had some play time for a while.’ She pulled herself up when she remembered the weariness on my face.
“Irri, would you mind very much if I rest here for a bit?” Irri-tat, weary herself, understood this and nodded with a very small smile. Every tiny step, thought Homarta.
Neither spoke as they sat together, eyes on the dark, deep lake before them. Homarta had eons of patience despite her complaint of my slowness. Gradually, Irri-tat began to relax in her presence which was acting upon her like the warm glow of a fire. She found it comforting to be with Homarta. All the fear of the past hours since my visit began to drop away.
“Where have you come from?” she asked the Caretaker.
Homarta, pulled from a deep reverie, thought carefully on her answer before she spoke.
“My work is mainly amongst the bush around here,” she said. “But lately I have been working on a project to reclaim a piece of land. It was very satisfying. The Source was pleased with the result and has now sent me to catch up with those around these parts.”
Irrit-tat found nothing disturbing in these words. “Do you like your work?” she asked.
“More than anything else. It delights me. I feel most alive when I’m working to reclaim the soil, or coax small animals to me.” She smiled to herself. “How about you Irri? Do you like
your work?”
“Sometimes I find it too difficult,” she answered wearily. “It’s tiring, but I never feel like I’ve done enough. And it never seems to be good enough.” They sat together reflecting on this for some time. Irri-tat spoke again. “The Source came to visit me,” she said. “It was terrible.”
“How so?”
“Well, ku wants me to move from here and I don’t want to. Clearly ku is not happy with what I am doing, but I am trying my very best.”
“Tell me about your work, Irri. What is it you do here?”
Irri-tat stared at Homarta, suddenly anxious. “That’s what the Source asked, and I don’t understand. You can see what I do here.” She swept her arms over the scene before them. “I am re-arranging it since the Source was here, and it’s taking me a long time. I feel as though it’s not getting anywhere. Ku is coming back in another day to check, and I won’t be ready.”
“Ready for what, darling?”
Irri-tat was annoyed at her obtuseness. “Ready for the inspection.”
“That’s strange,” Homarta appeared puzzled. “I’ve never known ku to inspect spirits’ work before.” This was offered in the hope Irri-tat might see a fault in her thinking, but the effect of her words was far from their original destination.
Irri-tat tensed and jumped to her feet. “The Source must be really mad with me then.”
“Why would the Source be mad with you Irri?”
“I don’t know,” she wailed. “I can’t work it out. If only ku would leave me alone, like you said about all the others. Ku’s coming back tomorrow some time, and I don’t know how to get ready!”
“Oh darling,” Homarta’s heart went out to the spirit before her. “Don’t think about the Source like that. Ku is not coming to inspect you but to invite you to do something more interesting with your work.”
“So that’s it! Why couldn’t ku just say that? I’ve been trying to nut it out by myself. Help me Homarta,” she pleaded. “Help me to make it look more interesting before ku comes back. Please!”
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