Facing the sun, p.3
Facing the Sun, page 3
Although he couldn’t visualize what happened, I took his hand to pull him to his feet, drawing him close and kissing him as his father should have greeted him this morning. He was filled with hope and courage and remembered much that was good in his life. “You are well loved, my dear. Check your temper, and think before you attack this man. Guard Josh for me. His life has been much harder than yours, and yet he has defended you since you left the camp.”
Tears sprang into his eyes as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Love.”
“You are forgiven. Go now, and keep talking with me.” Then I disappeared, and his misery returned like the backwash of a blocked drain in a flood.
The day was calm and still, the antithesis of family matters left unresolved for decades. His footsteps were clear and easy to follow, especially for these two whose knowledge of desert was well developed. A further twenty minutes went by until they met, each observing the other’s progress for ten, until they stood only metres apart. Sandro’s eyes filled with tears again, and he pushed the back of his hand across them to clear his vision, ashamed of his weakness in front of the father who watched and judged.
“You cry because you don’t want your brother?”
A flash of anger was quickly suppressed as Sandro saw how it must look. “I have missed you all of my life. And now, you know nothing about me.” The tears flowed freely, and he ignored them.
“Why come?” Sohrab said, completely overlooking the offering.
“Why have you come?”
“To find my son.”
Sandro took a step forward saying, “Let’s start this again.” Drawing in a deep breath to calm himself, he said, “My behaviour this morning was atrocious. You were right. I was afraid. But, to know you have another family feels unbearable.”
“You are not pleased? You don’t want a brother and a sister who are beautiful?”
“Aaahhhh!” His impatience wasn’t helpful, but it was costing him plenty to hold back the frustration. His eyes closed for a minute, and when they opened, he said, “Come and greet me like a father!”
“You come! Greet me as a son. With respect. Not one ashamed of his father.”
Sandro stared into the hard face before him, thinking, waiting, wondering what would help. Suddenly something else inside overtook the doubts, erasing them, leaving room only for the flood of emotion he had been fighting for over a decade.
“Forgive me, Baba.” Words he had repeated endlessly with no-one to hear them. “I was too young and stupid.” His face crumpled into his hands, and he bent forward sobbing uncontrollably while Sohrab watched and waited. Still. Silent. Sandro lifted his face, tears streaking through the desert dirt mixing with snot from his nose and running uncontrolled over his lips and down the front of his dirty singlet. “It was too hard to see you like that.” The man he faced gave no sign he had heard the words. “I am so sorry,” he pleaded. “I have regretted walking out for all of this time…and maybe for the rest of my life. I have searched for you everywhere… trying to make it up to you, but you wouldn’t let me find you. Would you?” Gazing out over the sand hills, the image of his father in Baxter Detention Centre haunting him, he waited. The father stood staring away from the son, also thinking of the humiliation of that day ten years ago. Then, abruptly, he dropped his hand onto the shoulder in front of him. “We have much to speak to each other, my first son. My lovely one.”
At these words Sandro’s legs buckled, but he grabbed the arm with his hand and clung to it. Sohrab, struggling with hurt which could not be expressed beginning the year Sandro had been taken from him, the year he had said goodbye to Gabriella, goodbye to them both and to his own happiness, let go of the shoulder and shaking off the locked hand moved in closer kissing his son’s forehead. Then he straightened abruptly. “Must return, Alessandro. My friend will be like guard dog. Not good for your family.”
“Fuck! I’d forgotten again.” He winced as his father’s three fingers made abrupt contact with the back of his skull. He groaned with half a laugh. “It’s many years since anyone’s done that to me.”
Sohrab dismissed this. “Who is this new father of yours who does not know how to make my son polite?”
“Violence is not his way,” Sandro grimaced, remembering, “but, Baba he did try.”
Two
Returning to our own campsite is clearly a problem for Friend, and his face darkens as he blocks our path. Assuming he speaks English, I declare (in my most adult voice – no squeaks or wobbles) “You do not own us. We are going back to our camp where Sohrab can come when he returns with Sandro.”
This appears to unlock the prison gate, until Josh adds, “Yeah!!!” The man growls and moves towards him with evil intent, so, to re-establish control I have to tell Josh off. It’s ridiculous. Waves of anger and fear swell and compete; with anger winning. How dare Sandro leave us with this terrible man! My spin on one heel brings the horrible reality that we no longer have a camp to my attention! It’s been packed up. Josh is becoming surly after listening to a whole swag of swearing and rude demands that he pull down the chairs again from the roof (as though it’s his fault). The threat of me setting up the tent again by myself, in order to go back to bed, works, and reluctantly, he pulls out the blanket spreading it like it’s some sort of red carpet. All the thanks he gets is a glare. Begrudgingly, I make conversation to avoid apologising.
“Tell me about this girl, Josh. Where did you find her?”
“She was at a camp out of Birdsville. Family telling stories round a fire. Flagran found them. Really friendly people.”
“Yeah! Until you had to go making out with Sandro’s sister. Now, what are we going to do?” Has it been a good or a bad thing, Sohrab finding us first? Imagine if we’d found out he had siblings before this morning’s reunion. What would have happened then?
“I was only kissing her, Bridey.” His face goes all soft and dreamy. “Then this woman started screaming, and Flagran took over. We had to come home quick. I didn’t know she was only fourteen.”
“And, what about Ruby? What would she think?”
“She hasn’t spoken to me since I stole the car.” This didn’t seem too troubling. “She was so cute.”
“Who? Ruby?”
“No. Sandro’s sister, Molly. And really into me. She yelled at the woman, and everyone yelled at each other. It was cool. Anyway. Sandro has already thrashed me for that.”
“What! When has Sandro ever thrashed you?”
“The night we got back.”
“What are you talking about? Sandro wouldn’t thrash you.”
“Well, he did.” Josh is looking extremely pleased about it. “He can’t belt me twice for the same thing.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it! He didn’t really belt you. I would have known about it.”
“Well, it was a bit of fun, but my point still stands. And, he’s got hard hands, I can tell you. He rubs reflectively at his backside.
“I don’t think Sandro is the one you have to be concerned about. Sohrab wouldn’t be letting you off that easy.” This gets his attention, and the grin fades. “Josh, if you touch her again without her father’s permission, we’ll send you home in the first truck going south.”
He seems to miss the point completely. “Do you think maybe he would give me permission, Bridey?” I shake my head in dismay at these words. “But, she’s such a beautiful kisser.” He’s off into fantasy land, and there’s no getting through to him. My eyes squint against the stark sunlight even though they’re shut, and I have to jump up for sunglasses. Thoughts of desert and Iran and Gabriella flash in and out while time passes too slowly, and the sun beats down on us. Sleep is just sending light drifts over me, when it is chased away by a familiar voice.
“I hope you’ve got sunscreen on.”
My eyes fly open. The three of them are standing staring down at me. Sohrab’s moods are fast paced because now he’s grinning, while Sandro, his face streaked, is clearly concerned about his reception (which he definitely should be; except for the fact that they’re such a welcome sight).
“Come now, Bridey. We go to my home. Meet my wife; my children.”
If one more male tells me to come on today, they’re all going to experience me throwing a massive tantrum. Does he think I want to be lying here in the hot sun with no shelter? I struggle up, disorientated and thirsty. Sandro holds out his arms, and, against some better judgement insistently suggesting that sulking would be more appropriate, my body melts into him. After all, he’s had a hard blow.
“I’m sorry for being such a prick today,” he says. The back of his head jerks forward making his chin crack up against my forehead, and I let out a yelp.
“Sincere apologies. This son must be discipline.”
“Not while I’m hugging him!” The speaker ignores the vicious glare.
“Baba does not like me swearing,” says Sandro kissing my bruise.
“Good luck with that!” Josh will also be discipline if he’s not careful.
Our long suffering vehicles start up with enthusiasm for the trip up Red Hill. For a moment, as we pass up and over first time (to Sandro’s delight) I forget all about the difficulties ahead and feel exhilarated. We pause at the base on the Birdsville side while Sohrab’s vehicle pulls alongside. “Now, you are worthy son!” He grins. “You have practise before yesterday?” Sandro just smiles and slowly pulls away. While we travel, the issue of accommodation becomes urgent. Sandro isn’t keen to stay with his father, and, of course, Josh would love to. Despite several reminders that he’s not welcome, he’s jubilant about seeing Molly again, and nothing fazes him. Our options are limited by a Google search of ‘accommodation Birdsville’. Looks like it’s the Birdsville Hotel because none of us want to camp. We have no idea how close it might be to Sandro’s family. Being near Sohrab could be useful. But perhaps not! Negatives include having to lock Josh in at night.
“Seriously, Josh,” Sandro reminds him, “It’s not my father you have to worry about. It’s the law. Firstly, you are on a community based order. Secondly, you need to have no criminal record if you want to work as a Carer, ever! She’s way younger than you, and it would be child abuse!”
“You wait ‘til you see her, Sandro!” Josh pulls his head in just before Sandro pulls up the car. “Sorry. Just stirring. I promise I won’t touch your sister ‘til she’s sixteen.
“Well, that gives us a couple of years at least.”
“One. Her birthday’s soon.”
“How do you know that?
“She told me. Only weeks away. Wouldn’t tell me how old she is though.”
It seems strange to reach Sohrab’s house before we’ve even finished this discussion. Two turns down dirt tracks and we’re there, after passing through a forlorn looking township which shimmers in the intense heat and pausing up the road a bit to deliver Friend to his own door; at which point a surge of gratitude and relief washes over me. Sandro’s quietness intensifies, and all my thoughts are for him. Fortunately, Josh has settled down enough not to be annoying and, hopefully, he’s going to behave. Sohrab is at my door to open it for me. Once I climb down from my seat, he leaves to open Sandro’s, waiting for his son to gather courage for the next challenge. When he slips from the truck to the dusty ground, Sohrab slings an arm around his neck. “Marra. She will put the kettle on for us.” They walk off down the side path to the veranda at the back of a neat and tiny house, while we follow.
A friendly, attractive woman dressed in bright yellow linen, maybe in her late forties, or early fifties, stands to greet us from where she’s been sitting with a glass of tea, a slice of lemon floating in it, at a white wooden table. The veranda is wide and long and unbelievably exciting to me after being in the desert for what feels like forever, but is only just under two weeks. Sohrab smiles at her, and the look they exchange makes me happy for them. Then he drops his arm from Sandro’s shoulder and turns to introduce me. “Marra, meet this second most beautiful woman in Australia, Bridey.” Her smile widens.
“Lovely to meet you, Bridey.” But, her attention is on the others, “and you must be Alessandro. At last. He talks of nothing else but you.”
Sandro responds with one of his extraordinary smiles. “Great to meet you too, Marra.” He extends an arm, “and this is Josh.” Marra takes the outstretched hand in both of hers to prevent him from pulling back.
“So! This is Josh.” She smiles. “Now, I understand.” I could have kicked her because we’ve only just settled him down. Letting his hand go, she suggests the bathroom, drinks, food, while Sohrab fishes out beer. You have no idea how good a real bathroom feels until you’ve been days in the desert with a couple of boys. This one gleams. Washing my face and half way up my arms blackens the water in the sink against the clean, white porcelain. Suddenly, a change of clothes becomes essential. Marra is heading back outside to the others. “As soon as you get the chance to unpack a bit, we’ll put some washing on.” With her, my grubbiness, which up to this point hasn’t been all that noticeable, makes me feel embarrassed and self-conscious. “When Molly gets home, we’ll borrow something for you to wear in the meantime.” She hastily adds looking at my expression, “You’re fine. But coming out of the desert always makes you feel disgusting. You can have a shower as soon as we sort out some clothes.” She gets the important stuff.
Outside, the three males are having a beer around the white table. Sohrab stands when we appear and, after an infinitesimal pause, Sandro does too; Josh, of course, oblivious to old-fashioned manners, indeed, most manners. Sohrab offers me beer or wine or tea, and I’m handed a deliciously cold glass of white. The padded chair embraces my tired body while the barren view out across the back yard suddenly makes me feel depressed. The house is freshly painted weatherboard, but it looks quite old; the veranda its’ best feature. For as far as the eye can see, sandy dirt stretches, alleviated occasionally by scrubby plants completely lacking the beauty of the desert we’ve passed through. The afternoon sun hasn’t released us with the temperature still forty degrees. After spending so much time in the open air, being outside is perfect.
“Where are the children?” Tension splits the air.
“We had no idea when you’d be home. They’ve gone out with Jack to visit family.”
“When?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“They were to stay.”
“There’s nothing to do here, Sohrab. You’ve been gone too long. Adam was restless and better off with Jack than in here.”
“He should have been studying.”
“Yes.”
To break into the discomfort I ask, “Who’s Jack?”
“My brother. He visits with the mob out a bit. When we’re in Birdsville the kids like to be with family. They get very bored here.”
“They should do as instructed,” Sohrab growls, glaring at their mother.
“This is not the time.” Her soft words and anxious eyes plead with Sohrab not to embarrass her further. “Jack will bring them in. He’ll know you’re back.”
“Do we have food?”
“Of course.” Her voice is even softer now as she stares out across the barren ground watching the harsh scene with squinted eyes.
Sandro becomes aware of the tension. “We decided, Baba, we’ll stay at the Hotel with Josh. I think this is a good time to go and book in, have a shower, come back out and eat with you if you like.”
Sohrab glares at him. “You will stay in our house.” The two lock eyes.
“Where?”
“The children will give rooms, of course.” How likely is it that this would seem a good plan to two teenagers?
“Where will they sleep?”
“They can share room, or Adam can sleep in living room with Josh. Plenty space,” he says airily.
Before the battle becomes heated, the muffled sound of an approaching car gradually increases halting all conversation as we wait for it to stop at the house and listen as car doors slam. A tall, slender man rounds the corner first, the wide white smile breaking open his dark face, but his eyes avoid Sohrab’s and sweep the group settling on Sandro. Two young people are following slowly. The first, a slightly plump girl with pretty face and mop of dark curls, must be Molly. Heading straight for her father, she receives a kiss her on the mouth as he pulls her against his chest and then stands her off.
“Don’t be angry, Baba,” she says. “It’s just so boring here.”
“You were not to go. It was clear.” He growls. “Now, your brother will know you are disobedient to your father.” Ignoring the words she spins around and stares at Sandro with interest while the boy faces up to trouble. “You, Adam, know better than to take your sister when I have forbidden. We will discuss this later. Now, greet your brother (then inaccurately adds) who has come all this way to meet you, and you are not here as instructed.” Josh mutters something to himself until my elbow digs sharply into his ribs. Jack appears to consider slipping away unnoticed, but this is foiled when Sohrab addresses him. “You will answer for yourself!” A glance across at Marra sitting head down deep in thought, makes me feel so sorry for her.
“They were restless, Sohrab,” Jack answers. “You know that. It’s better for them to be with me and with their grandmother than in the town waiting for too long.” Then like the wind in a sail, he changes tack and Jack is invited to join them for dinner. He accepts a beer and offers one towards Adam whose father growls again like a territorial dog. He’s clearly in disgrace.
“You have coke. After that we speak. Now, greet your brother.” Adam appears to be about as happy with this idea as Sandro had been when he first found out about them. Informing these kids he’d come to meet them is stretching it. Watching as his sons exchange a short and formal handshake, with Adam looking elsewhere, suddenly Sohrab picks up the vibe between his daughter and Josh. He leaps to his feet, but Jack steps between them.
