We Float Upon a Painted Sea

by Christopher Connor

  Saffron was born in a VW campervan a few miles outside the city of Mumbai, near the meeting place of two of Hinduism's holy rivers, the Ganges and Yamuna. This was the same place where the ashes of Mahatma Gandhi were scattered and where Saffron believed was her spiritual home. She was a child of the earth even though the passport she travelled with would state otherwise. She believed that nationalism only drove a wedge between people. She would take pride that she had an unconventional upbringing: her parents had both dropped out of university to join a ménage of new age travellers, taking off to Tibet on a Buddhist pilgrimage.

  When her parents returned to Scotland they picked up their studies again, but both found it hard to adjust to normal life after their travels. When Saffron’s father was offered a scholarship to conduct his doctorate at the University of Southern California he took the opportunity but within four years he was back on home soil and working as a lecturer of Maritime Studies at Aberdeen University. The Burke family all moved to Aberdeen when Saffron was seven years old to start a new school, but within a year Saffron and her mother were back in Glasgow. The following year her father had taken a new job at the National Oceanography Centre in London.

  As Saffron grew older she would get the occasional letter, Christmas present and birthday card from her father, but an invite to come and visit or to meet with her failed to materialise. This precipitated her mother to ostracise him from Saffron’s life altogether and she vowed she would, under no circumstances, speak to her father again. Saffron’s mother married a financial expert who worked in Glasgow and Saffron took her stepfather’s name of Wilton. She protested at first but as she grew older she forgot about her father, Professor Earl Burke.

  Her step-father became the focus of everything she hated about a society obsessed by wealth, stature and vanity, but he treated her like his own child and put her churlishness down to what he called, “natural teenage rebellion.” Mr Wilton believed this streak would be driven out of her after a few years at the St Columbia’s Boarding School for girls. Her step-father’s attempts to normalise the young Saffron had the opposite effect, and as each semester came and went she became more radicalised in terms of politics and her views on society.

  The manner in which she dressed was a constant source of amusement to him. One summer she returned home for the holidays dressed in a tartan mini skirt, ripped tights and black knee length army boots. Her step-father stood in the doorway of their Kelvinside home and looking at her with a critical eye, he asked,

  “Have you been earning extra pocket money working as an extra on that new zombie movie they’ve been shooting at the Necropolis?” Saffron stared at him with a look of contempt etched across her face. She brushed by him, dropped her bag on the floor and said,

  “Yeah, if you like Alasdair. If that’s the best you can do?”

  Her step-father, not to be outdone, followed her down the hallway to continue their altercation. He was now joined by her mother who skidded to a halt and gasped, retracting her hands up to her mouth in surprise when she recognised her daughter under the heavy dark eye makeup, black lipstick and dreadlocks.

  “Did you steal those boots off Frankenstein’s monster?” laughed her step-father. Without looking back, Saffron extended a fist with one erect middle finger. Saffron’s mother was now holding onto her husbands arm. She said,

  “Don’t Alasdair, you’re only providing her with an axe to grind. I’ll go and talk with her later, when she’s calmer.” He shouted after her,

  “Why don’t you just screw some bolts into your neck and be done with it, Saffron?”

  When she was home Saffron would spend most of her time brooding in her room playing with her cat. Willow provided her with the only sense of connection she had with her parent’s house. She would spend hours grooming and stoking her whilst all the time talking to her in both human and feline voices. Her parents had become more anxious about her pensive moods and need for solitude. They talked about psychologists and whether she was taking drugs but although Saffron had experimented with drugs, she had found little benefit in them.

  Later, at university she became involved in a protest organised by Greenpeace who stopped a coal train and emptied the coal onto the tracks as a protest against the environmental impact of a new batch of coal fired power stations. Saffron was arrested and released without charge, much to Alasdair’s annoyance. “A good stint in prison will sort the girl out,” he said only half seriously. Three years later she graduated. She then took a year out to retrace her parents footsteps by travelling to India and Thailand and when she returned back home she appeared more content and settled, but not in the manner her step-father had hoped for.

  One day, her parents were sitting outside on the garden patio furniture, soaking up the last of the evening sunshine with a glass of Brittany Muscadet when Saffron returned from her trip. She was wearing an Indian embroidered caftan with an array of multicoloured ethnic beads around her neck. Her step-father looked around when he heard her voice and then immediately put his hand to his head in disbelief. He waited until she had exchanged pleasantries with her mother then welcomed her return with an embrace, talking to her like she was a child again.

  “Ah, Saffron, you’re back and now you’re a hippy! Well it’s comforting to know that all that money I spent on your education and sending you halfway around the world to broaden your horizons wasn’t wasted.” His face suddenly became sombre. “You better not be smoking any of that wacky tabacky.” Saffron turned to him, picked up the bottle of wine, held his stare and said,

  “Still drinking wine made from genetically modified grapes dad?”

  When Saffron walked down the tree lined garden path, rounded the terracotta pots and entered the house, her step-father turned to his wife and imitating a tear in his eye and a sniff of the nose, said,

  “Did you hear that Mrs Wilton? For the first time, she called me dad. Who said money can’t buy you love.”

  ……………………………..

  Saffron arrived at the Kelvingrove Park Peoples Climate Festival and through the hordes of environmental activists she had noticed Bull. She watched him wonderingly from afar, his body gyrating out of time to the music. He then froze and moved his head from side to side as if surveying the scene and then suddenly he was off again, jumping up and down and flapping his arms at his side in sporadic movements. She withdrew a photograph of him from her bag and stared at the image. That’s him, she thought, but why attract so much attention to yourself? Saffron continued to observe from afar, fascinated by his unsynchronised animated motion and ostentatious display of running in circles and then what appeared to be a crude figure of eight. As the choreography unfurled, the crowd parted to allow him space and Bull treated them to some violent head slapping and self-flagellation. This one was going to be a challenge, she thought.

  She wondered if his frantic virtuoso display was provoked by a drug induced state of mind, or influenced by one of the symbolic tribal ritual dances similar to what she had witnessed during her trip to the Amazonian rainforest. She felt compelled to get closer, and as she did it became apparent that the man was in actual fact being harassed by a persistent bee. Saffron moved towards her subject and stood in his shadow. She studied him – he was much larger than the usual MoDs Filters. Filters tended to be weasel-like and ragged in appearance. Perhaps they were getting desperate, she thought. Her subject tracked the departing insect as it disappeared into the sky. She could now begin her psychological assessment.

  ……………………………..

  One summer’s afternoon, Saffron called her mother to ask her about an herbal remedy for Bull’s eczema. Soon the conversation turned to her problems with Bull. She complained about his personal hygiene and his slovenliness. Her mother tried to offer some understanding.

  “Saffron darling, all men are like lazy, disgusting children at heart. If you’re going to change them, you’ll find it’s just a slow process of re-education through a practice of gentle pre
ssure and incentives. Think of it being a bit like house training a puppy, only not as fun.”

  “You shouldn’t have to change anyone, you should accept them for the way they are but he makes the narrowboat stinks like the chimp house at Edinburgh zoo. He drinks beer and smokes every night whilst watching documentaries. He lifts his leg to pass wind and he sleepwalks nearly every night, but somehow he always finds his way to the fridge. Yesterday, I caught him cleaning out his ears using one of my false fingernails, which he painstakingly glued to his finger for the job.” Saffron and her mother laughed at the ludicrous spectacle manifesting in their minds.

  “Maybe all you need is to get away and experience a change of scenery together,” exclaimed Saffron’s mother.

  “His work and my campaigning commitments ensure that we rarely have the time to emotionally unwind together. Anyway, his idea of a holiday is the Munich Oktoberfest. I tried to tell him about my trip to Manchu Picchu. I tried to inspire him about the lost city of the Incas and share my experience of touring South America.

  “To be fair Saffron, retracing the motorcycle tyre tracks of Che Guevara isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.”

  “Well, his eyes just glazed over until I mentioned canoeing on Lake Titicaca. I like the sounds of that resort he said with more than a hint of enthusiasm to his voice. I told him that Lake Poopo to the south of Peru was probably more his type of place.” Saffron and her mother started to laugh again. “There’s so much I want to tell you, but I can’t at this time. I didn’t really mean to love him but it happened nonetheless.”

  “Are you sure you’re alright Saffron – there seems to be a lot on your mind. What is it you can’t tell me?”

  “It’s nothing really – I’m just tired and a wee bit confused. I’ve lost my focus.”

  “Are you having second thoughts about Faerrleah?” Saffron regained her composure.

  “He still makes me laugh, but if I wanted someone to entertain me all the time, I would have gone to the circus and hitched myself up with a clown.”

  “But you were always terrified of clowns, darling.”

  “To be honest, my world feels like its shrinking. I don’t recognise what I’m evolving into.”

  “You mean you’re conforming to a stereotypical housewife, something you have always resisted.”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s really complicated. I’m at a loss and I don’t know what to do. There’s so much I would like to tell you but I can’t. I’ve made a bit of a hash of things.”

  “Is it about sex?”

  “No.”

  “You can talk to me about your sex life Saffron, I am your mother.”

  “It’s not about sex.”

  “It’s always about sex.”

  “Well not on this occasion.”

  “I was once very like you but with children and age comes different perspectives, and it’s very difficult not to conform to what’s deemed a conventional life. I don’t think you are quite ready for convention just yet. Is your sex life conventional, is that it?”

  “It’s not that, it’s not about my sex life, it’s something else, more complicated. Hopefully I will be able to tell you about it soon, but not just now. I just needed to talk to you.”

  “Ok Saffron. Anyway, enough beating around the bush, tell me about your friend Maurice.”

  …………………………………………..

  Saffron met with Maurice at the Fair Trade Coffee House in the Merchant City, she discovered that she was able to open up and share her concerns with the Frenchman. Maurice stirred his coffee thoughtfully. Saffron sensed that he had something on his mind. Finally, Maurice told her about his partner back in Paris and how much he had missed him. He was planning to meet up with him in South Africa. Saffron kissed him affectionately on the cheek and declared that this was great news and although she would miss him dearly, they would always be friends.

  Saffron then went on to tell Maurice how her mind was made up about leaving Bull. Maurice tried to convince her that she should talk her feelings over with her partner, but she announced that she had signed up for the Green Movement protest in the Arctic. Saffron fought back her tears. Maurice held her hand. She said,

  “I’m travelling to Norway next week. The ship is stationed in Bergen. I’m excited about the trip but I’m worried about how Faerrleah will take it.”

  “Oui,” replied Maurice stirring his cold coffee, “this is sad news about you and Faerrleah, but I’m sure everything will work out for you, whether you are together or not.”

  Saffron and Maurice went their separate ways and when she arrived back at the narrowboat, she put some of her possessions in a rucksack, picked up Boris and left for the last time. Saffron spent the night at her parent’s house and the following morning she caught a train to Aberdeen and then a ferry to Bergen. Boris remained with her parents to be cared for along with all her other pets which had survived from her childhood. At first, her father protested, saying that he was going to open an animal sanctuary at the rate she was abandoning her pets.

  On the journey north Saffron realised that she was meant to be attending the Naked Bike Ride for Climate Change in Kelvingrove Park, with Bull. She only stopped sobbing when she arrived in Bergen. She was greeted by her fellow GM activists who had been surprised to hear she was going to be a week earlier than planned. They could see that she had been crying and no further questions were asked until she boarded the GM ship. Later, she was introduced to the Captain who provided her with a tour of the vessel and showed her to her quarters. The following week, the ship left for the Arctic Ocean. They returned three months later to a hero’s welcome. Saffron rented an apartment in Bergen and spent most of her spare time, in-between missions, walking and taking photographs of the Scandinavian coastline. At one point she helped out with a marine conservation project and even persuaded her stepfather and banker friends to fund the programme.

  Saffron was on her third mission to protest at a Russian methane hydrate rig in the Arctic when a letter arrived from London. It was written by her biological father, Professor Earl Burke and contained details of MoDs plans to conduct a nuclear explosion near the St Kilda. Saffron immediately contacted the organisation’s headquarters and waited for confirmation that her ship was to head for St Kilda to disrupt the Government operation.

  Chapter 23: Closer

  Professor Burke was taken from the Elf’s building in Edinburgh and bundled into the back of a truck, filled with military equipment and food rations. Two speedboats took up most of the interior space, the rest was filled by six Elfs, only two of whom he recognised as Inwë and Lúthien. They sat on various aluminium boxes. Their bodies rocked in time with the action of the truck as it made its way over the Queensferry Crossing and into the Kingdom of Fife. The Professor sat cross-legged on a rolled up blanket. He was also deep in thought. Later Itaridlë relinquished her seat in the front cabin to join him at his side. She said,

  “I hope the ride isn’t too bumpy for you Professor? The roads through the mountains aren’t the best but the views are spectacular if you would like to sit up front.”

  “I’m fine sitting here thank you.”

  “If you try and get some sleep the time will pass over more quickly.”

  “Are you going to St Kilda in these small boats, because they are less likely to be detected by the surveillance satellites?”

  “We believe the satellites are temporarily down at the moment.” Inwë turned his head and said,

  “The Prophylaxis Trident spy satellite has infra-red capabilities but its image enhancers can’t penetrate the fog so we normally wait...” Without warning, Lúthien came to life and interrupted,

  “I don’t think Professor Burke has to know anymore.” She looked directly into the Professor’s eyes and then turned away with a look of disgust. Professor Burke felt a strange prickling sensation in his head and then a shiver ran down his spine. He contemplated the temperament of the company he was keeping. Itaridlë put a hand on
the Professor’s arm and said,

  “Don’t mind Lúthien, she’s just a bit uptight about strangers in our company and always gets touchy before a mission, right Lúthien?” Inwë interjected but all the while staring at Lúthien,

  “We’ve had enough problems with strangers infiltrating our group – some of us even fell in love with them and moved in together before finding out they were government Filters.” Itaridlë put a firm hand on Inwë’s shoulder and continued,

  “However, Lúthien is correct in stating that Professor Burke doesn’t need to know any more details concerning our mission. It will be safer for the Elfs and himself, just in case anything goes wrong.” She turned to the Professor and smiled again, and then stabbed a piercing stare towards Inwë who seemed to shrink before her.

  Itaridlë detected the Professor’s edginess but she decided to ignore it. “We’re not going to St Kilda straight away Professor,” said Itaridlë, “we have business elsewhere.” The Professor was perplexed. He raised his eyebrows and said,

  “I don’t understand. Don’t you want to stop the wave and prevent an ecological disaster unfolding? I thought you were ecommandos and you wanted to protect the planet?”

  “We have the same objective as you Professor, but we deploy different methods to achieve them. You see, we have our own part to play in this sordid little affair, the same way that you have played your part. Without your intervention, the world would be oblivious to what the Government are doing. We have a chance to catch them red handed. Our methods are better deployed to provide assistance to others elsewhere.”

  “What others? I don’t think I quite follow you Itaridlë, I thought we were going to stop this madness together. I thought that I was going to help you and you would help me in return.” Itaridlë raised two hands and put them to the sides of Professor Burke’s head. She meticulously adjusted his round metal spectacles like a concerned mother sending her child off to school. She said,