Wasp Season

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Vanessa York was a selfish and pretentious person, forever browbeating and manipulating her husband to her own ends. Robert lacked a spine where Vanessa was concerned. He’d given up trying to assert himself very early on in the marriage, content to take the easy option of letting his wife have her way. In a sense this arrangement suited them both, as Vanessa kept their life running like clockwork, and was an efficient household and social manager. As their only child, Mark was very much his mother’s project, as she rode roughshod over his aspirations, insisting he complied in every way with her expectations. Robert’s tentative attempts to stand up for his son, were savagely crushed by a furious Vanessa, who would brook no interference in family matters. Abandoning Mark to his mother’s tender mercies, he buried himself in his work, becoming a distant and uninvolved Dad. The substantial guilt he felt over this betrayal, now permeated his relationship with his adult son.

  Helen always suspected that Mark’s mother disliked her. She never guessed at the depth of her antipathy. A surprised Vanessa opened the door, to find herself confronted by a tearful Helen and her screaming baby. Despite the pair’s obvious distress, her first instinct was to not invite them in. After all, they were unexpected and uninvited, and such rudeness should never be excused lest it be encouraged. Helen marched in anyway, far too upset to notice Vanessa’s obvious hesitation. Vanessa continued to peer hopefully out of the doorway, looking for Mark. With a sigh, the reluctant hostess eventually closed the door and turned her attention to her unwelcome guests.

  “Whatever is the matter, my dear? Where is Mark?”

  Even in the middle of her own wretchedness, Helen had enough presence of mind to refrain from criticising Mark in front of his mother. “We’ve had a fight,” offered Helen cautiously.

  “Is he alright?” Vanessa enquired solicitously.

  ‘Is HE alright!’ Helen thought to herself bitterly. ‘Typical. What about me! I’m the one that’s crying here.’

  A shaft of anger pierced through her misery and helped her to compose her thoughts.

  “I just needed to get away for a bit.” Helen forced a smile. You do understand, don’t you?”

  Mrs. York clearly did not.

  “But my dear, I have a house full of people! Robert is entertaining some important colleagues and we are simply not prepared for extra guests.” But Helen wasn’t listening.

  “Please take Chance for a moment. I really need to freshen up.” She placed Chance in the arms of his astonished grandmother and escaped to the guest bathroom to fix her hair and makeup. Helen then returned to the car to fetch baby’s bag, finding time to put on Beth’s emeralds. She admired herself in the magnificent mahogany hallstand mirror. The jewels flashed and sparkled against her golden skin, lifting her spirits.

  In contrast, the only thing rising in Vanessa was her displeasure. It didn’t take her long to realise that her grizzling grandson was both wet and soiled after his long car trip. She looked up hopefully as her son’s partner hurried back in. Helen dumped the nappy bag at Vanessa’s feet, gave her an encouraging smile, and bestowed a warm, lingering kiss on Chance’s cheek.

  “You don’t mind do you? I really need to sort things out with Mark.”

  “But my dear!”… Before Vanessa could demand an explanation, Helen was through the front door, back into the car and swiftly driving off down the road.

  Minutes later she pulled into the car park of her local hotel and made good her escape from painful reality. Helen felt an enormous sense of relief. Her black mood evaporated and was replaced by a familiar tingle of anticipation. As she entered the venue, a keen pair of eyes followed her. Jason Edwards worked as a security guard at the Belmont Heights Gaming and Entertainment Complex. He was a handsome and powerfully built young man, with open, regular features and an engaging, boyish smile. He’d observed Helen many times of late. She always followed the same pattern of behaviour. After making a brief visit to the ladies’ room, she played the poker machines for several hours at a time, pausing only occasionally to approach the bar and refresh a glass of chilled mineral water, with a twist of lime. At first she roamed from machine to machine in a restless, distracted fashion. Within half an hour however, she settled on a particular machine and was thereafter loyal to it.

  Such an attractive woman, flying solo, could not fail to attract attention. She drew many an admiring glance, however none more so than that of Jason. He had made a habit of keeping an eye on her, half convincing himself that it was his professional responsibility to look out for such a vulnerable young patron. Yet deep down he knew his interest was intensely personal. He was, purely and simply, besotted. She intrigued him in a way unmatched by any of the other pretty girls he saw there. For a start, single and presumably available young women usually arrived in pairs or small groups, mingling in the bars as well as the gaming rooms. Helen always came alone. She often arrived early in the morning, breezing in moments after opening time. Only committed gamblers arrived so promptly. It was odd though, thought Jason. She didn’t at all fit the profile of a problem gambler. Helen wore no wedding ring and she certainly bore no resemblance to the general run of dour housewives who played the machines with dull, vacant eyes.

  Once Helen bestowed her favours on her chosen machine, the envious Jason couldn’t help but feel that she treated it rather like a lover. Her slim, sensuous fingers played with the buttons, lightly flicking over their metallic surface in a flirtatious fashion. Her wide blue eyes became wider as she watched the reels dance and spin with an intensity reserved for Jason only in his dreams. When she won, she laughed out loud and tossed her head. Soft, dazzling, blonde curls caressed her face and usually bare shoulders, in a way that aroused Jason’s desire, often in an embarrassingly physical way.

  When she lost, her lips took on a petulant pout, which gave them a larger and more luscious appearance. Yet her sparkling eyes retained their twinkle and it was clear that her losses did not in any way detract from her enjoyment. She seemed utterly unconcerned about the speed and amounts of her credit card withdrawals. This was not a woman on a budget. Only when she went for a meal was her vivacious expression replaced by one of preoccupied concern. Hurrying to the bistro, she picked disinterestedly at a seafood salad or fruit platter. Soon she returned to her machine with shining anticipation in her eyes and a spring in her step.

  However even Jason was surprised to see the object of his infatuation arrive in the late afternoon on Christmas day. Apart from some groups of young people avoiding tiresome family get-togethers, only a few lonely, elderly people were trying their luck today. She looked particularly dazzling, even for Helen. There was a single-minded determination about her movements that Jason had not previously observed. Scouting the gaming room, she assessed her options. Her anxiety began to decrease as if she were meeting old friends. Her attention wandered from one machine to the next in a comfortingly familiar way. There was “Follow the Stars” with its astrological symbols and “Cleopatra” with exotic depictions of scarabs, snakes and mummies. “Adonis” caught her eye with its paintings of muscular male bodies, as did “Panther Magic”, covered with images of sensual big cats. The mythological creatures of “Unicorn Dreaming” beckoned, next to jaunty scenes of lizards in hats and suits on the machine entitled “Cash Chameleon”. There were so many to choose from. “Orchid Mist” was romantically festooned with flowers. “Enchantress” boasted magical pictures of witches, wizards, wands and broomsticks. “Koala Mist” was adorned with cute furry animals, While “Rockin’ and a’Reelin” carried pictures of Elvis-like figures with guitars and sideburns.

  However Helen felt herself drawn to a machine she had not previously played. It had always frightened her a little with its brooding African jungle images. On this day, however, it perfectly suited her dark mood. Helen quickly settled at the machine named “Black Rhino” and began to play.

  Jason was not the only one to notice her. Seated next to Helen at a gold embossed machine entitled “Winning Touch”, was a short, e
lderly, rather overweight man, with receding grey hair and huge, round, horn rimmed glasses that gave him a wise old owl look. He stole the occasional keen sideways glance at her as she sank deeper and deeper into the comfort of her gambling. Today her behaviour was not driven by the excitement of a potential big win. Helen was in it to lose. She wanted to punish Mark and with few effective emotional weapons left in her arsenal, deliberate financial sabotage provided a simple and obvious tool of reprisal. Inserting a hundred dollar note into “Black Rhino’s” throat, she wagered ten dollars with every spin of the reels. Thirty seconds later she had lost the lot. Her elation grew, as she proceeded at this staggering rate of loss. The greater the toll, the more she revenged herself on her faithless partner. Periodically she received a payout from the machine and familiar feelings of happiness washed over her. She immediately gambled away any such windfalls. For Helen it was a win-win situation, providing her with both the means to vent her anger and a way to feel successful – the perfect foil for her misery.

  Every aspect of the experience combined to comfort her. She loved the rattle of the coins. She loved the flashing lights and the colourful symbols on the reels that were, for Helen, always imbued with mysterious and hidden meaning. She loved the tempo of the catchy music that reminded her of Christmas carols. She even loved the smooth sensation of sliding banknotes into the slot. Her hands craved the repetitive cycle of pushing buttons, causing the pictures to spin with wild abandon and giving her a powerful sense of control. At times, her fingers coaxed win after win from the machine, and adrenaline surged in an exciting sensation through her whole body. At other times, the mesmerising images rolling against the window of her machine soothed her into a trance-like state of serenity. Periodically she stroked the machine. At other times she took the silk scarf from around her neck and covered the screen for fun and luck. On completion of the spin, she slowly removed the scarf, the action accompanied by soft little ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ of anticipation. Jason moved nearer until he was standing quite close by. The extent of her losses amazed him.

  A voice penetrated the hypnotic fog of Helen’s mind. It took her a little while to comprehend that the gentleman from the neighbouring machine was speaking to her. This surprised her, as she had found that gambling was one of the few times that she didn’t attract a lot attention.

  “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Konrad Smith. Come, my dear. Come with me and take a break. I wish to share coffee with you.”

  Helen’s initial resentment at the intrusion gave way to relief as she met the man’s gaze. It had been a long time since she had seen such open friendliness in another’s eyes. She smiled back. He offered his hand as she rose unsteadily to her feet. A wave of dizziness overcame her and she felt her heart race. The young woman’s eyes were sore and dry from unbroken hours of staring at the screen. She squeezed them tightly shut in an attempt to lubricate them. Tiny, brightly coloured pictures continued to twirl and float in her mind’s eye. Her back ached and her legs felt stiff. Helen staggered slightly as she turned. Jason could barely restrain himself from dashing forward and extending a protective arm. Instead he remained where he was and watched as she gratefully took Konrad’s hand instead.

  “How kind of you! I do need to stretch my legs and a coffee would be lovely.”

  Jason heard her voice clearly for the first time. It had a husky depth brought on by emotion. He thought she sounded just like Marilyn Monroe. The lovely girl and her unlikely escort made their way to the lounge, followed by a curious Jason.

  Once the pair was seated before steaming cups of coffee, Konrad spoke.

  “To have a 50 per cent chance of winning on the “Black Rhino” you would have to press the button 6.7 million times.”

  Helen smiled but remained silent.

  “To do so would take 391 days of continuous 24 hours a day play.”

  “That could be arranged”, responded Helen coolly.

  “It would cost nearly $630,000.”

  “Good,” said Helen.

  Konrad sighed and smiled.

  “Have you no family? I myself have not. So I come to this place where the food is cheap and plentiful and, occasionally, I make a connection.”

  At this point he took Helen’s hands in his and patted them gently.

  She felt a catch in her throat. The old man’s kindness melted Helen’s defences and she began to unburden herself. Eventually she confided to Konrad all that happened that day, and more. She told him of her loneliness, her feelings of betrayal, her fears for the future; in a great stream of consciousness she poured out her grief and anxiety. When she finally finished, an immense feeling of exhaustion and relief washed over her, threatening to unleash a torrent of tears. Konrad squeezed her hands fondly and then released them. He indicated towards their fellow gamblers.

  “We are, all of us, here for the same reason. We fear an empty place in our soul. This game permits us to trust in fate. Fate is neither scientific nor logical. When we gamble, we defy rationality and thus we also defy the limits of our human condition. We become transcendent.”

  Helen listened, fascinated. Konrad’s words seemed filled with meaning and wisdom. Konrad continued.

  “Are you a religious woman, my dear?”

  Helen shook her head.

  “I myself have lost my faith”, whispered Konrad softly.

  “I never had one to begin with,” responded Helen.

  “Then we are both bereft. We have no God. We live and die for nothing. We have only this material world that reduces everything to science. Take the moon for instance, which is now the focus of geological analysis rather than the subject of poetry.”

  “What has this got to do with poker machines?” asked Helen in wonder.

  Konrad warmed to his topic.

  “Fate replaces religion. Old truths wane and our new faith is located in the notion of chance. The magic of luck will transform our lives and thereby logic and mystery can once more coexist.”

  Helen was transfixed. Her thoughts turned to the various attempts she’d made to add purpose to her increasingly empty life. Crystals, Tarot cards, Astrology – she had flirted with them all, much to Mark’s disgust. Yet the vacuum at her centre remained. Mark’s increasing emotional distance made her even more acutely aware of the aimlessness of her existence. She tried to make sense of Konrad’s words.

  “So you think there is a spiritual basis for gambling?”

  “Of course, my dear. Our faith in chance gives us back our hope, does it not? In a godless world, all of us here seek salvation through gambling.”

  From nearby Jason observed the pair. He was puzzled by the intense expression on Helen’s face. Until now she had avoided contact with all but the waiting-staff. In fact her expertise at rejecting unwelcome attention had more than once dissuaded Jason from making his own advances. Now she was hanging on this old man’s every word. Before long they both headed back to the gaming room. On the way, Helen made another of her frequent stops at the automatic teller machine. She withdrew a large sum of money and immediately divided it, giving a sizeable portion to her elderly companion. They both resumed their gambling at adjacent machines. Smiling sideways glances and the occasional arm touch, indicated that they had achieved some degree of intimacy. Jason felt a dryness in his throat. He had a very uneasy feeling about this.

  CHAPTER 15

  Beth sat on the dusty ground, head in hand, next to the crushed remains of the native Paper wasp nest. Anger and sorrow gripped her so tightly she found it hard to draw breath. Mark’s ignorant act of destruction was a vile finale to a day she began with such high hopes. She struggled to find a way to deal with what he had done. The power of her grief over the massacre of the harmless little native insects surprised even her. Their death was so unjustified and unfair. Their queen’s extraordinary maternal industry and devotion – all gone to waste. These wasps, so welcome – annihilated. The true culprits, the European wasps, still flourished in the fallen tree, their illegitimate c
laim to dominance only strengthened by Mark’s misguided violence. The irony overwhelmed her and she began to cry, softly at first. Soon she wailed like a child, tears streaming down her face and clogging her nose. Tiny flies, attracted to the salty liquid, alighted unnoticed on her cheek.