by Tony Bradman
It was not to be. As I reached up to the cloudy sky to stretch my back, I felt a bite on the tender skin of my inside arm. I snatched my hands back down and rubbed the skin where the mosquito had bitten me. I should have been used to this by now. Sri Lanka is home to many more mosquitoes than it is to girls who work the fields. Especially this summer. But I still hated the cruel bite of these insects.
“Another bite!” I said to Amanthi.
She laughed. “They love you. You must have juicy meat on those young bones.”
I couldn’t help joining in with her laughter.
It was too beautiful a day.
As I walked back to our line room, tired and hungry, the Golden Shower trees on the boundary of the plantation were heavy with bunches of yellow flowers. The heat had made them blossom in crowds of gold colour, and now their petals lit up the fading sky. They were like candles lighting my way home.
Nimal and Babiya were already home from school and sat, cross-legged, on the dirt floor, playing Pachisi. Babiya threw his cowrie shells on the board to see how many moves he would have next.
“Chandrika!” he cried, as I stepped into the room. “Come and play!” I went to sit down next to them, but as I did so I felt my head become light. I closed my eyes and white dots danced behind my eyelids.
“What is it?” Nimal asked, concerned.
I waved a hand through the air. “It’s nothing. I’m tired, that’s all,” I told him. But Nimal caught hold of my arm and twisted it round so that he could see the pale underside. A large red blush spread out from where the mosquito had bitten me that morning.
“What’s this?” he asked. I shrugged my shoulders.
“Another mosquito bite. If I had a rupee for every one of those…” I didn’t finish the sentence. We all knew that any joke about precious rupees wasn’t funny. Not when our bellies rumbled. “I’ll make something to eat. You two, get to your studies.”
I watched from the fire as my brothers knelt to their work, spreading out their schoolbooks on the ground. Nimal’s brow furrowed in concentration as he worked his way through his sums. He was a clever boy; everyone said so. It gave me a shiver of excitement to think about what he could achieve in life.
As I dished out the broth, the ladle trembled in my hand. I realised that my shiver of excitement had not stopped. And I no longer felt hungry for food. As the boys ate, I crept into bed and pulled the thin sheet over my legs. I prayed that my brothers would not notice how the sheet moved and shifted as my feet jerked beneath it with the racking tremors that now had hold of my body. I turned over in bed and gazed at the mosquito bite. It was angry, red and swollen. I closed my eyes tight shut and prayed. Please not malaria, I asked. Not now. Not yet. I knew we couldn’t afford a doctor even if I could have made the two-day journey to see one. There had been so much malaria this hot summer – more than ever before – that the doctors were overworked. One more girl in the waiting room was the last thing they needed. Besides, there was still so much tea to pick if my dreams were to come true…
I pulled the sheet up to my chin and fell into a fitful sleep.
When I woke in the morning, a dull throbbing filled my head. My skin was covered with a sheen of sweat and my joints ached. I could not decide if I felt too hot or too cold and kept pushing the sheets from me, only to hastily gather them around my shoulders the next moment. Light poured into the room and I realised that dawn had long since come and gone.
I had slept in!
“Nimal! Babiya! Why didn’t you wake me?” I called out. But my voice came out thin and weak. Their beds were empty. As I struggled to swing my legs out of the bed, a plump hand pushed me back against the pillow. It was Amanthi.
“You are not going to work today,” she said. “The boys are at school. The rest of us have pooled our rupees and called a doctor. He’ll be here soon.” Despair flooded through me.
“No,” I whispered, my mouth dry. I could not afford to stay in bed and my friends could not afford to waste their money on me. I had to get back out to the fields.
I pushed the sheet off me and tried to twist my body out of the bed. But the effort made me wince with pain and I felt nausea rise up through my body. As Amanthi put her arm around my shoulders, I retched. But my stomach was empty.
I looked back up at my friend. “What is happening to me?” I asked.
She could not meet my gaze. At that moment I knew.
“All will be well. Remember, you are a strong young woman.” Amanthi’s words fell like heavy stones down a well. They disappeared into the darkness of my soul.
I gazed past her at the bright light of the day outside. It made my eyes hurt to look, but I could not turn away. I could see the beautiful greens of the tea plantation. So many greens! Row after row of tea plants. It was all I had ever known and the only picture I had woken up to, day after day. I wouldn’t be denied it now.
“Take me outside,” I said.
“No, Chandrika,” Amanthi protested. “You’re too weak.”
She was wrong.
“It’s all I ask of you,” I said. “It’s not too much, is it?” I watched as tears brimmed in Amanthi’s eyes. You see, I was clever too. I knew how to persuade people. Especially when it was as important as this.
Amanthi and I walked out together. I leant heavily on Amanthi’s arm, but she didn’t complain. Other families huddled and whispered as they looked at me. I knew what they were thinking. I was thinking the same thing.
Amanthi settled me on a large rock and I gazed out over my homeland. I could see the women working in the fields. I longed to be with them – to feel the glossy wax of the tea leaves beneath my hands; to work for my family. I remembered my mother and wondered if she had ever felt the same way. My vision blurred as shooting pains ran through my limbs. I thought of the family who used to live in Amanthi’s room, of the baby who had died from malaria.
A voice sounded out from behind me. When I turned round I saw a tall man carrying a slim leather case. Nimal stood behind him.
“I heard the doctor had been called,” he said. “I could not stay in school.” I did not have the heart to scold him.
The doctor knelt beside me and reached out a cool palm to feel my forehead. “You should be in bed,” he said.
“I know, I tried to –” Amanthi began to say.
“Shush, now,” I said. “Sunshine is good for the soul. Even one such as mine.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your soul,” the doctor said. He pulled a syringe and a glass tube out of his bag. “I’d like to take a blood test,” he explained. Nimal crept closer and I noticed the way he peered intently at the doctor’s equipment.
I held out my arm and the doctor wiped an alcohol-soaked swab of cotton over a patch of skin. Then I looked away and waited. The pain as he drove the needle home was nothing compared to my night sweats. When I turned back, Nimal was watching closely as the doctor filled the sample glass. He pushed a stopper into the glass and passed the test tube to my brother.
“Put this in my case. Carefully,” he told my brother. Nimal’s face glowed with pride as he carried the test tube over to the battered leather case the doctor had left on the ground. I watched as Nimal held my blood sample up to the sunshine. What clues swirled around in there? I already knew. I had tasted death; I knew its tang. After all, I had buried my mother and father.
“Is it malaria?” Nimal asked, standing back up. His face was solemn now. “We can take the truth.” He straightened his shoulders and it broke my heart to watch him being brave.
The doctor turned round to scan the horizon, to gaze down on the tea pickers far below us. I saw the way his hands fisted and the knuckles turned white. He nodded once, grimly.
“Probably,” he said. “If only we could do something about this heat. The mosquitoes are worse than ever before.” My brother came to stand beside the doctor. The doctor continued to talk, almost to himself. “Of course, people know what is happening – but they prefer to turn their faces away
from the truth.” Amanthi and I shared a startled glance. Doctors didn’t normally talk in this way. He turned round and strode over to me, lifting my face so that he could peer into my eyes. I tried to keep my gaze steady as the light hurt my eyes.
“You must sleep,” he said. His voice broke. “Rest is what you need now.” He let go of my chin and my head sank on to my chest. I was exhausted and suddenly I didn’t want to be out here any more. I wanted my bed.
As Amanthi helped me back to my room, I heard Nimal ask the doctor questions.
“What can be done?” he asked.
“Things are changing, but slowly,” the doctor said. “People must be educated. They must learn to change their ways. Otherwise, the suffering will be even worse.”
I paused at my doorway and turned round for one last look. My eyes hungrily ate up the picture of my brother with the doctor’s hand resting on his shoulder. Beyond them, the green hills of the tea plantation. My heart filled with hope as I watched the doctor approach me to say goodbye. I could see that his was a kind soul.
“Look after him,” I said, gazing up into the man’s face. “He has a sharp brain. Help him get to university.” The doctor did not look away; he understood. He nodded once. “He has a brother, too,” I added.
“They shall have good lives,” the doctor said. “And so will their children. If we make the world better. And we will make the world better – I promise you that.”
“So do I,” said Nimal.
I thought of all the people around the world, drinking my tea. Then I turned into the dark of our room. Amanthi shut the door behind us and I climbed stiffly into bed.
My name is Chandrika. I died during the night, kissed by the light of the moon, in the room my parents shared. I left behind my brothers – too young to bury a sister. But I also left behind hope. I had seen the fire that burnt in Nimal’s heart. He is a clever boy. I know he will do much with his life. I hope he will change the world. As Amanthi said – you never can tell.
All things are possible.
Future Dreaming
by George Ivanoff
Last summer saw some unprecedented extremes of weather in Australia. The state of Victoria, where I live, suffered drought and a heat wave which contributed to devastating bushfires. Meanwhile, the state of Queensland was practically underwater, enduring widespread flooding. Is this a sign of things to come? Climate change is a serious issue. But the future is still unwritten. How climate change will progress is dependent on how we act now. Not just governments, but also ordinary people. Future Dreaming is my attempt to show that the actions of everyone, including kids, are important to the future of our planet.
The storm raged. The water rose, flooding fields, gardens and buildings. The wind howled with tremendous force, sweeping away all that stood in its path. Rain fell from the dark sky in torrential bursts.
Standing in the middle of all this violence was a boy. The wind whipped his wet sandy-coloured hair about his sad face. As he stared pitifully at all the devastation, he silently mouthed a single word: “Help!”
Jade was wet. Her eyes snapped open. She was huddled under her doona, soaked with sweat. It was a cold, crisp morning, but she felt unbearably hot. Kicking off the doona, she closed her eyes again. Images from her dream drifted behind her eyelids. She tried to remember the details of the boy’s face. But all she could see was the sadness in his eyes and the single word on his lips.
Jade opened her eyes, suddenly realising that she was cold. She pulled the doona back over herself and shivered. Then she looked over at the clock on her bedside table and yelped. The alarm hadn’t gone off. And she was going to be late for school if she didn’t get a move on. She threw the doona off again, wrapped her dressing gown around her pyjamas and rushed out of her room to get some breakfast.
“Bit late this morning,” said her mother, looking up from her cup of coffee and her copy of the Financial Review.
“Forgot to set the alarm,” explained Jade as she opened the refrigerator and stuck her head in.
Her mother nodded and sipped at her coffee. “Sleep well?”
Jade emerged with a carton of orange juice. “Um ... not really.” She took a swig from the carton.
“Would you please use a glass?” said Jade’s mother, shaking her head. “You’re thirteen, not three.”
Jade took another swig. “I will next time.” Then she put the carton back.
“You were calling out in your sleep again last night,” said Karen, Jade’s older sister.
“You having bad dreams again?” asked their mother.
“Uh-huh,” nodded Jade, getting a slice of bread from the freezer and heading for the toaster.
“Well, could you try for quieter dreams tonight,” said Karen, yawning and reaching for the jar of instant coffee. “I’ve got a paper due tomorrow.”
“Maybe you should see someone about those nightmares,” said their mother, putting down her newspaper.
Jade shifted uncomfortably as she waited for her toast.
“Want a lift to school?” asked Karen, trying the change the subject. “I’m leaving in ten, and I could drive past your school on the way to uni.”
“Cool,” said Jade, grabbing her toast as it popped up. “I’d better get dressed.” She took a huge bite from the piece of dry toast and chucked the rest into the compost container, then headed for her room.
Karen got stuck in the morning peak traffic and Jade was late for school after all. She got a warning from her homeroom teacher and sniggers from her classmates as she tried to sneak into the classroom. As she slumped into her chair, she thought that she would have been better off catching the train.
“And finally this morning,” said their teacher, “I’d like to welcome Marc Rider to our school. He and his parents have just moved into the area.” The teacher smiled. “Stand up Marc, so the others can see who you are.”
A blond-haired boy near the front of the class got tentatively to his feet. He looked around at the staring faces, smiled nervously and quickly sat down again.
“I trust that you will all make Marc feel very welcome,” said the teacher. “Now, off to your first class.”
As kids started jostling for the door, Jade stared at the new boy – the new boy who looked very familiar.
Jade watched the new boy for the rest of the day. She watched him from a distance as he ran around the oval at recess, unsuccessfully trying to join in with the other boys. She stared at the back of his head throughout the day’s classes. At lunchtime she sat on one of the benches in the quadrangle, not too far from where he was sitting. She watched him as he ate his sandwich and drank his can of cola. As she watched him, she finally realised that he reminded her of the boy from her dream.
Marc couldn’t be the boy from her dream, Jade decided as she ate her own sandwich. It was impossible! Besides, Marc’s hair was a little darker, his nose was not quite the same, and he was definitely younger. Still ... he did look an awful lot like the boy in her dream. Much too similar to be a coincidence.
Having finished her sandwich, Jade got the apple out of her lunch box. As she bit into it, she looked up to see Marc bite into his apple and look up. Their eyes met. He smiled and she immediately looked away. When she looked up again, he was walking off, shoulders slumped. As he passed a rubbish bin, he chucked out his empty drink can and the remainder of his apple. Jade watched thoughtfully as he walked away.
When she finished her apple, Jade put the core back into her lunch box. She would take it home and put it into the compost. It was only then that it occurred to Jade that Marc had been eating alone. She wondered where he was from, who his parents were and why he reminded her of the boy in her dream.
“You’re a bit weird, aren’t you?”
Jade whirled around. Lunchtime was nearly over, but she was still sitting on the bench, alone, lost in thought. Marc must have snuck up behind her.
“Am not!” was all Jade could think of saying in return.
“You’
ve been looking at me strangely all day,” said Marc, walking around to the front of the bench. “And now you’re just sitting here on your own, staring at nothing. I think that’s a bit weird.”
“Oh...” replied Jade, realising she couldn’t really argue that point. “Sorry! It’s just that you ... kinda remind me of someone.”
“Someone nice, I hope,” said Marc, sitting on the bench next to her.
“Don’t know,” said Jade, looking down at her lunch box, remembering the dream.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” asked Marc, puzzled.
“Well ... I don’t really know the person you remind me of.” She didn’t look up as she said this. She realised that what she was saying probably did make her sound rather odd.
“See,” said Marc, smirking. “Weird!”
Jade looked up and glared at him. Maybe she was being a bit weird, but she didn’t need some misfit new kid telling her so. “Well at least I don’t throw cans into the rubbish bin when there’s a recycling bin right next to it,” she blurted out.
They stared at each other for a few seconds, neither of them knowing what to say next, when the bell, signalling the end of lunchtime, rang. Then suddenly, embarrassed by her outburst, Jade grabbed her lunch box and rushed off without another word.
Marc watched her go and shook his head slowly.
“Weird!”
“Help!”
The sandy-haired boy was alone and he was nowhere. There was nothing around him. There was nothing ... anywhere. His hair was matted with sweat. His face was red and damp. His eyes were sad and empty. His lips, cracked and dry. His eyelids started to flutter uncontrollably, and his eyes rolled back, till there was only white. He crumpled, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.