9th Aug—————Sydney / Auckland———HOME JAMES!
It warms me to think of Adrian spending time in England. I telephone my best friend J.J and hint at the growing bond between us. She sounds interested and hopes to meet him while he is in the country. Jo, another Sussex friend, kindly agrees to have him to stay. He makes a note of everything I mention, from monasteries to Celtic villages, from homes for the disabled to alternative schools.
“Could you do my laundry this week?” He asks. “Big J. has guests and I know my stuff will get in the way.” I am more than happy to handle the familiar garments. They blow lazily on a thankfully still Mountain today. I adore everything about Adrian. When will the bubble burst? Like the washing up bubble it is reluctant to disappear. I am consumed by an indescribable joy whenever we are together——remarkable. Of course I am happy to do his washing. I put the clean laundry in his car at school, slipping a card and a small flower into the pocket of his favourite, linen shirt.
I have been in town this afternoon, food shopping——not something I usually undertake on a Saturday. We have students staying from the U.K, which means I am continually involved with food, food and more food. Many shops close at midday on a Saturday, although the supermarkets stay open. Weekends are definitely for recreation. Driving up the hill I am pleased to see everyone out, waging war on the gorse. We have acres of it, covering every slope and bank. Cedric has taken on a whole area himself and is proud of his progress. Boris, a friendly eighteen-year-old from our previous school, diligently tackles the lower slopes while the two children feed the ducks on the pond. The eastern boundary of our ‘Lifestyle Block’ is made up of conservation wetland. We are supposed to keep the gorse under control; conservation officers keep a relatively close eye. Woolly Nightshade and Blackberry are the other rampant weeds, or ‘noxious weeds’ as they are commonly known. The sun shines brightly in a clear sky. Winter is thankfully chased away for a few hours most days.
I watch The Laird vent his short temper on a stubborn bush; relieved I am not the cause of his irritation. The borrowed weed-eater, {strimmer}, gets quite a hammering. I always enjoy the moment when I ring the old bell and weary workers climb the cabin steps to sit around my kitchen table. Tonight I am serving spaghetti bolognaise followed by the banana cake I made earlier. The Laird reads a page from a book of 21st Century Historical Events before supper every evening. The children like choosing the subject and competitively grab the book off the shelf. Next week we have a couple of Japanese students arriving as part of a language trip attached to College.
On Friday afternoon Adrian gives up his spare time to build us a chicken run on The Mountain. We utilize the existing, heavy hen house and somehow manoeuvre it into position. He has generously donated a number of corrugated iron sheets for the fencing. The finished residence sits on the brow of the hill behind the house. “It’s not very attractive,” we agree, “but it serves a purpose”. The bantams are quite at home under the main cabin but locating the eggs is a tricky business. The bikes and tools are suffering from an overdose of chicken poop that makes everyone cross. Perhaps we’ll persuade them to try out their new quarters this evening? The children will take control, I’m sure.
The Laird is away, an overnight trip to Gisborne for a College competition——Cedric too. “Would you like to stay the night?” I ask Adrian as the sun begins its descent. “I’m about to cook and you could have the fireside bed again.” “I wouldn’t say no,” he answers. “I like the way you make a home. The colours you choose and the warmth you create are lovely.” He must be exhausted after working so hard. Eventually the children are asleep and the students away to the top cabin. I had a discussion about troublesome parents with Boris while we washed up; he was keen to talk and ask my opinion. I noticed Adrian listening quietly while we chatted. “I like what you said to Boris earlier. You are clever——and understanding.” Goodness, I’m getting compliments tonight!
The fire is stoked; Adrian brought in a big armful of wood from under the house before supper. I notice the wind has picked up. I turn out the lights and linger a while with my Friend. He is already in bed and invites me to lie beside him on top of the covers. How easy and natural it feels to be intimate. We are still——content. I stroke the contours of his face and run my hands through his hair. He is quiet——“I don’t think your husband would like this, do you?”——“No, he probably wouldn’t,” I answer, telling him how close I feel we are becoming and how my married relationship with The Laird is more of a supportive, sociable partnership. We don’t share a private world especially, although we are very loyal. “I have a strange feeling that we are being led by something. Can you feel that?” I ask. “Could it be a child?” I leave him then. We have not kissed each other.
Adrian is away early the next morning, telling me he felt last night was too much——but lovely——and asking; “when can we see each other again”? As we stand on the deck he presses me to him, strongly——surprising me.
* * * * * * *
“Tell me about your weekend”, The Laird asks on his return. “I can see Adrian has been busy up here. For goodness sake, it looks like Alcatraz has arrived on The Mountain! What is it?” I explain about the hen house, and yes, Alcatraz is duly christened. “The District Conservation Officer turned up on Friday morning,” I inform my husband. “I was worried he might get shirty with all the gorse etc. He seemed happy enough with the level of protective fencing and the clearing in progress. We aren’t permitted any grazing animals in the Bush along the drive though. Our dreams of goats might have to be re-thought. He suggested we enlarge the pond. I agreed and laughed at the same time, replying, “Well, if we could get a digger down there that would be good.” Do you know what he said? ——‘Oh, you don’t want to bother with that——I know a fellow at the quarry who could get you some dynamite. You’d have a huge pond in no time!’ Well, I couldn’t have been more surprised if he had produced a possum from his pocket! He then went on to tell me about the Cash and Carry deliveryman who would transport any goat meat to the Dairy owners, {Village shops}. Apparently they sell it to the Indian community for curry making. When he left I laughed, wondering if we are meant to blow the goats up too, and thinking how his suggestions would alarm the village committee back home!”
Goats——tethered on the bank,
Chomping delicious——white splashes of anarchy in the evening sun.
Their tails make me laugh;
Anarchists? Are you sure?
Funny goats, tetchy goats.
I like them.
It is Monday afternoon again. Adrian and I head to his room for our weekly, Workshop Agenda. We finish the e-mail letter quickly today. We are flirtatious and hungry for each other. “You have a great body. I like the way you dress,” he tells me. “I could find you very attractive you know.” We stay at arms length——a tantalizing temptation to move together. He turns me inside out in a delectable, controlled manner.
“Do you think we will ever be lovers?” he asks. “I think we are on a one-way track, My Friend,” I answer without hesitation. We are serious then; our eyes meet with ancient recognition——YES——he can match my need for spiritual intensity——passion building——energy vibrant and on fire. “Step this way, My Lady.”
Adrian leads me to his bed. He lays me down and gathers me to him in a strong embrace, never moving his eyes from mine. We don’t kiss, but we move together with an extraordinary rhythm. “How’s this for your marriage vows?” He asks. When I leave his bed to lace up my boots he surprises me with a sudden kiss. As he strums his guitar I return the compliment——“That was very sexy, Mrs. Mouse”, he says. “See you tomorrow.”
The Laird is cross. “That’s the second time I’ve been stopped for speeding,” he announces. “Why the New Zealand police can’t spend more time on the crazy, boy-racers I don’t know.” I sit him down and produce a full plate of food. “I reckon we have to consider the country as a juvenile behind a wheel. There’s a far
greater need for petty rules and low speed limits than there is in our middle-aged Britain.”
The Laird agrees and begins to unwind. He works so hard, and plays hard too. We like to talk through our day and I hear all about the town planning meeting he attended, as well as the reception his daring T-shirt earnt. “Do you know; I’m the only member of staff who gets away with a T-shirt under a jacket.” Ever the centre of attention I listen to his enthusiastic tales from College. He is an inspirational teacher, able to wake up the pupils——and the staff, although his full-on character can sometimes make others uncomfortable. He is a huge ‘show-off’, which is wonderful at times and inappropriate at others.
There are parts of my day I cannot share, for obvious reasons. We have never had secrets from each other. Why do I feel no guilt or sense of betrayal at my double life? Surely some integrity should kick in soon. I am puzzled but alive and so happy. On reflection, I realize The Laird always includes others in our marriage; we don’t share a private domain. Now it is my turn to include others and have some playful enjoyment. Hmm——unacceptable I know, but on a certain level it makes perfect sense.
Adrian is cooler with me over the next few days. He explains that he has stepped back a little; “had I noticed?” I am a married woman after all and he is still holding a candle for Jules. I understand, although this quieter phase doesn’t stop us from planning daily ‘catch-up’ sessions. The question arises; “does a Red Flag or Green Flag fly today?” We have so much to chat about and often lie curled up together in platonic harmony. Adrian is keen to access my deeper feelings——“I don’t think you have learnt to unlock your true emotion,” he tells me one day. “Ah, but there’s another part of me that I am definitely learning to unlock,” I reply. I tell him about my Garden Gate and try to describe the dimension beyond. He is intrigued and surprised——“Just let me get my head around it,” he responds——“I’ll get there——go on, tell me more.” “Well Sir, I think we are being offered an extraordinary gift. And I’m not talking about sexuality. I wont deny that is strong——hmm——can’t deny that——but I sense something above the Earthly. It’s as if we are sailing and the wind in our sails comes from a Heavenly source. The treasure we find is The Key to The Gate——something like that.”
“If we become involved it could only be for a short time,” Adrian says, “although I’m not sure how we would prevent it taking over completely.” He watches me as I lace up my leather boots——casts-offs from my sister’s wardrobe. They are a pleasing, mahogany brown and end above the ankle; I think they might be called a ‘mid-boot’. I have taken to wearing them this winter——I like the two-inch heel that gives me extra height. After all, I have a tall man in my life these days. The boots have long, crossover laces that take a while to secure. Before leaving Adrian’s room I slip a copy of my song under his pillow.
“Ave you bin eatin biscuits in moi bed with yourr loverr, Wench?” The Laird asks on Saturday night. He hates crumbs on the sheets. “Oh, no Sire,” I reply. “If I woz to nibble biscuits wiv moi loverr, I would take im outsoide, under them gorrse bushes.” ——“Hmm——don’t let me find crumbs again; please keep the children off the bed if they’re eating.” With that said he promptly falls asleep: the usual pattern. Oh well, I have a poem to write, so I head away downstairs.
RED FLAG, GREEN FLAG?
A question at the start of each day,
Red Flag waving; ——
‘Keep your distance’ warning in the polite smile,
Integrity more alive in him than in me,
I am so sure, there is no question.
Sunlight breaks on the Green Flag morn,
Surprised abandon heralds deep harmony.
Make the most of it; be there for every second,
You don’t know if it will return.
Red Flag, Green Flag; paving the path of courtship
with tantalizing, slippery time,
Intrinsic flavour ripening———
“Hi Friend, can I come up to The Mountain to write the Workshop Agenda?” Adrian telephones this morning. He has concerns over Big J. “She’s complaining about too much kit lying about and we probably shouldn’t be seen together all the time.”
I wait for his car to round the bend in front of the cabins before brewing our lemon and ginger tea. We intend making Native American Talking Sticks at the woodwork bench and Spiced Biscuits in the kitchen during this week’s Workshop. The seasonal story tells of the underground Gnomes who guard the mountains while mining for precious stone and metal. We make an efficient team these days and the Workshop Agenda for the families is quickly written. We watch the circling hawks from the desk window as we work. The bantam mothers are wise to the perils of the hovering monsters and cry with alarm as they shepherd their chicks under the house.
“There, that’s done; press ‘send’——finished. Let’s get cosy together somewhere,” Adrian suggests. “Yes, I think the caravan would be a suitable place this winter afternoon.” The wind has dropped and the eternal, blue skies arch above us, enticing us outside. Standing on the caravan platform Adrian announces; “I would like to carry you across the threshold, Mrs. Mouse——may I?”
“So——is it a Green Flag day?” I ask with a twinkle in my eye. “Why yes, My Lady, it most certainly is!” We snuggle into the warm bed; curled about each other as if we have been together all our lives. “Will you take off your shirt for me? He asks tentatively, “I would like to see you properly.” I lie naked from the waist up——he pulls his own shirt over his head and lies above me.
We play together; intimate exploration allowed to a certain level. What fun we have. The completeness I feel with him is extraordinary——and his touch——he kisses me sensually——a beautiful, slow hello. “Just trying you out,” he smiles with the greatest cheek. I make him laugh out loud when I tell him about The Laird’s ‘biscuit’ remark. “Zo, oi am yer Loverr, temptin you out to nibble them biccys under the gorse, am oi? We are baking biscuits this week aren’t we? How appropriate. I think I like the heart-shaped ones with the creamy centres best——yum. Come here my Lass.”
“Goodness, is that the time?” Adrian looks at his watch, alarmed at the hour——“I’m meant to be at a meeting in five minutes. Drat, I’m going to be late——again. Oh well, I’ll tell the teachers I’ve been waiting for a wheel alignment!” A hasty kiss on the lips and my Lover is away at speed to the weekly teachers’ meeting, leaping over the surprised bantams as he negotiates the steep hill. His clothes are rumpled and his cheeks flushed. As for his Lady? ——Well——
* * * * * * *
“How was the meeting? Were you in trouble for getting your wheels realigned?” Adrian and I chat on the telephone the next morning. “Luckily others were late too, so it wasn’t disastrous,” he replies. “Listen, I have to do something with the ‘Shid’ panels. They can’t stay where I’ve stashed them. You were talking about needing a shed outside the back door for the freezer and animal food. Shall I bring them back up tomorrow and install it over the weekend?” “What a good idea,” I reply. “We were talking about needing something the other day. What time can you be here?”
Adrian duly arrives the next afternoon and we manoeuvre the cumbersome metal panels up the hill to the back door. “Poor old ‘Shid’——here one minute, gone the next, then back again,” we laugh. The weather breaks just as Adrian starts work and I lend him a rainproof jacket to keep him dry; “what about a cup of tea?” I ask. “Supper isn’t for a couple of hours.”
He sets to with his usual vigour, hardly stopping to eat. An industrial lamp lights the space as the winter night sets in. I hold the panels in place while he joins them with special rivets. By the time we call it a day the ‘Shid’ is looking solid, sporting a wooden floor to boot. A door and window will have to wait. “Come on, Sir——time to relax by the fire,” I encourage Adrian inside. The men-folk are engrossed in the ‘all-important’ sport viewing in the top cabin. The children are asleep and we have
the house to ourselves. We curl up together on the sofa. “I have a special poem I’ve written us,” I tell him. “May I whisper it to you now?
HOW BLESSED ARE WE
Oh, Playful Sprite of the silver fern,
My Smiling Minstrel, Prince of Elves,
How blessed are we to sail upon this Celestial Sea,
In thought and deed and desire,
Such rare and joyful harmony.
Should we be afraid to travel, just ourselves;
To heavenly realms where we can be free?
Deep in embrace, all of you and all of me,
Softly———Gently————Quietly.
Dipping the crest of each wave as it rolls,
Pure Spirit alive and lighting our way.
Side by side with our swords before Angels we’ll stand,
To alight upon shores of a beloved, known land.
—————Let us pray
Adrian is up before any of us the next morning. He is keen to complete the shed. I make him a cup of tea and join him outside.
“The poem you read last night,” he begins, “sorry not to respond at the time. I’ve been thinking about it overnight. I don’t think I am quite with you on it. This is such new territory for me. I’ll get there eventually. I don’t want you to be disappointed though; you are not rejected. I love the way you whisper in my ear——your accent——the words you choose——mmm. Nice cup of tea too. Thank-you. Can you pass me the hammer?”
We get to work. I am surprisingly unphased by Adrian’s partial dismissal of my poem. The rain continues; we get wet. Passing my Friend the tools I reply; “there are three things I need you to know: what I intuitively feel about us has nothing to do with disappointment or rejection. My integrity will kick in sometime, although I don’t know when. And thirdly, you make me feel wonderfully mischievous. There, that’s it for the morning.”
THE ‘SHID’
“Would you like my ‘Shid’?”
“Oh, yes, what a good idea.
The Celestial Sea Page 14