Facing the sun, p.8
Facing the Sun, page 8
Her thoughts slip back to the terrible events which had led to their first break up. Jack had been visiting. With him had come an Irishman by the name of Tim, his intense blue eyes and charming manner making him excellent company. At first Sohrab had been welcoming, but Jack hadn’t risked sharing his sexual preferences with Sohrab at that stage, which made secrecy a complicating factor. The belief that Tim was flirting with his wife would not have taken hold if Jack had been more open with his brother-in-law, so it seemed to trigger an old, old wound, and his jealousy flared growing rapidly until the night when Marra, openly and easily encouraging Tim’s friendship, had sat up for hours after the others were in bed talking deeply with him. The next morning Sohrab asked Tim and Jack to leave his house. Outraged, Marra had fought him, keeping Jack’s confidence because she was disinclined to bow to possessiveness. Sohrab, interpreting her silence as signs of feelings for Tim, began to watch her constantly and question all her friends. It became an obsession with him until she could hardly leave the house without being expected to account for her every move. In retrospect, Marra would have asked Jack to talk with Sohrab, but, she reasoned, he had been offended at being asked to leave, even more so for Tim’s sake, and in consequence hadn’t been talking to either of them. It was easy to let slip the conversation which may have helped.
Trouble between them grew, until one day, Sohrab held her up in the bedroom, children screaming hysterically at his legs, and refused to let her move. He shoved her into a wall and pushed her until she fell onto the bed. He then left the room with the kids and locked the door behind him taking them to school. While he was away, Marra pried the fly screen from her window, climbed out and did not return. Two years and much suffering later, they had decided to give their relationship another chance. Sohrab’s visa was renewed, his work as an engineer restored. He applied for and was granted citizenship because she stood up for him, and his behaviour in detention had been exemplary. They married. He hadn’t laid a finger on her again or let his jealousy show. But, he also never felt safe again. It was when his teenage children began to exhibit signs that they might disgrace him, rather than make him proud by using their intelligence, that he began to regress. All the progress he had made by doing Anger Management and Men’s Behaviour Change courses began to slip leaving raw fury at his lot in life; and the obsession with his first son.
Now Molly, unrepentant, nearly drives Marra crazy with her talk of Josh, insisting on taking the role of victim one minute and standing up for her father the next. She makes the most of the sympathy by refusing to help with unpacking, preparing meals, even getting herself out of bed in the morning for school. Adam makes more effort, doing dishes, bins, vacuuming but forgetting important things she’d asked him to attend to, like picking up the milk on his way home and letting his teachers know that they could not attend an important meeting about his final year at school, which made her look disinterested. Fortunately, friends have stepped in to have the two around. Life without Sohrab in Adelaide is promising to be a nightmare; terrifying on a number of fronts. She has to steel herself to avoid screaming at Adam for misreading a notice about his trip to see the play they are studying in English. Having put a number of important things on hold in order to get him to school to meet the bus on time, she was livid at his carelessness and easy dismissal of the mistake. Less than a week home, and her world is a mess. Marra is feeling desperately alone.
Five
Meetings between the Caretakers and the Source take place in several settings, some of them quite beautiful and others necessarily more challenging. In this case, Dale finds himself fronting up accompanied by Torrenclar, who is by far the more cheerful of the two. He holds back waiting for a cue. They are on a large plain covered with tall grass which spreads as far as the eye can see and much further. Giraffes graze in the distance, a small family with a new-born of only two days. One of the adults keeps watch while the other eats from the small stand of trees, tearing and ripping at the branches with new leaves. Neither parent notices the male lion stalking them slowly and low, careful not to disturb the grass more than necessary.
Confused, Dale stands watching the scene without tension which means he hasn’t yet spied the lion. The male giraffe, comfortable in their isolation, turns to eat just as Dale spots the predator. He lets out a shriek of dismay turning to the Caretaker and the Source, “Do something! Quickly!”
“No Dale. This one’s for you. An opportunity to show how much your courage is growing.” Torrenclar appears serene and doesn’t react when Dale stares at him in disbelief.
“You can’t be serious!” He pleads with the Source for reassurance but is met with complacence, so shaking his head, he spins to check on the distance of the lion from its baby prey. “I don’t have the skills. You can’t just let it happen while I’m supposed to be learning some sort of horrible lesson. Torrenclar rescue it! Please!” This heartfelt plea is ignored. They watch on as the lion reaches within two metres of its prey, parents remaining oblivious, Torrenclar serene and Dale overcome with grief. He lets out a piercing shriek as the lion springs on its prey, and the parents scatter leaving their baby to its fate. Throwing himself on the grass at his feet, he breaks into terrible wailing while the squeals of the baby giraffe tear through him like spears. He can feel every tearing bite and, thrashing around, eventually springs to his feet to face the scene again. Staring out, confusion races across his face as he sees the scene has changed. Once again, the family of three are peacefully grazing; and there is no sign of a lion, or any disturbance in the grass. Rigid, his face a mask of anger and outrage, he turns to them hands outstretched. “What kind of a game is this? You sadists! You heartless beasts! Do you enjoy this sort of thing?”
“Dale! How will the lions feed if they cannot hunt and kill? Would you have me turn the lion away hungry, night after night to save your sensitivities?” asked the Source. “Would you have me, perhaps, encourage them to eat the grass instead? Sit with me please, we have much to discuss.” He considers seriously, the idea of leaving but finds he is unable to move a step away and so is forced to stay. Torrenclar lowers his long body into the grass stretching out full length and leaning his head into one hand, chewing on a stem, while he gazes at Dale. It was always a relief for him to find himself in these situations, a mere observer with no task of his own except to be a witness to events. He had suffered much in the name of growth over the course of his existence.
“Dale! You can see you have no choice. Please join us.” The Source waits as he searches around for an escape. Not finding it, he gives in and sits, shaken and determined ku had been in the wrong. Anyone would have agreed, he thinks. The Source is a monster of epic proportions.
“Why do you imagine I have called you here at this very moment?”
Sullen, he refuses to answer, or in fact to look up at all. Time stretches out until he begins to squirm. Still outraged, he turns on the Source again. “Stop playing games with me. You know why I’m here. How would I know what you’re thinking? Just get on with it. Tell me off. Outline my faults. Do what you like. You’re a monster.”
At this Torrenclar relinquishes his relaxed stance. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Get over yourself and open to learning the lesson here rather than waste time being affronted!”
Startled, Dale’s belligerence lessens. “Okay, it’s two onto one, which is hardly fair. Especially as you’ve had more experience by eons than me. But, use me as your bouncing ball if you must.”
The Source begins, “You were asked not to show yourself to Jack. Jack is in an acutely uncomfortable situation at present, and, rather than offer him your assistance, you behaved as though you were faced with a whole pride of ravenous lions, rather than remaining present and offering anything which might have reassured and allowed him to get used to you.” He begins to defend himself but finds he has nothing to say. “You were in the presence of another Caretaker too, who very likely would have supported your efforts. Mistakes are part of the journey. Just as a child attempts to push a triangular block into a circular hole, so you must learn from your efforts rather than panicking or evacuating. Perhaps your incapacity to remain hidden is part of your anxiety to prevent materialization. This is why you have mentors, Caretakers with long years of experience. Please work on your tendency to panic. It is disconcerting and unhelpful. Stay present when you find yourself having materialized accidentally, and allow the others to cover for you.”
Dale looks up at the pause hoping this is it, and he can escape again, but the Source continues. “At this moment, you are seeking escape, when sitting with your anxiety would be far more beneficial to you, Dale. You are not under threat here.” But Dale has ceased listening, all he can do is prevent himself from babbling. The Source dismisses him with a smile and the assurance that his job is not at stake; although he fails to register that.
“No, Torrenclar. Remain with me!”
Alone together, the Source fixes him with affectionate eyes as the sun shines lightly upon them and a gentle breeze stirs, caressing his cheek. Breath itself flows between them while their love for each other increases to fill every empty space left behind by hurts and attacks of the struggling creation which only desires to complete itself. He whispers, “It is such a blessing when the heat is on someone else, and I can observe without being immersed in the battle. Forgive my complacence.”
“My friend, there is nothing you can do in the way of complacence which would disturb me. You have struggled mightily with yourself, and I am delighted with you continually. He will grow under your tutelage once he relaxes into it.” Kus smile is sweet. “We must bring our focus to Sohrab whose loneliness tortures him.”
“Tell me your will, Love, and I will bring it into being if I can.”
“It is not good that Sohrab be alone again. Sandro will take care of his father. They will meet again soon.” The pause is filled with satisfied silence. “Maybe a round or two with Homarta could be arranged.” They both laugh at the image this raises, but ku maintains a steady focus. “You have work ahead of you, my love, because I desire you keep the challenge up to Dale. No Caretaker can take on the work while avoiding the pain of growth. Perhaps, it would indeed be good for Homarta to be around while Sohrab faces his behaviour, and you are distracted. Meanwhile, I will speak with Flagran about the two boys.
Tonight, walk with Bridey into the desert and reassure her, keeping her focus on the important.” It seems the interview is over but, rather than dismiss him, ku holds out a hand to Torrenclar drawing him in. “I would like to take you to the sea, my friend. There is something there for you. It will bring you great sustenance, if you will accept my company.”
Shaking his head, puzzled, the Caretaker takes the proffered hand, and in an instant they are wheeling over the deepest of oceans. Catching an updraft, they float like birds, dropping again in an instant and plummeting into the water only to surface with ease. Shooting high amongst the clouds once more, they pause to rest on another wind, this one heading in the opposite direction from that of the clouds. It breaks the few remaining strips into wisps of white which float beside them amongst the deeper hues, Torrenclar’s hair falling behind him in a long stream of silver. They pass through a dark storm shooting up above where the sun’s late light outlines the masses below in purple and silver, circling in long, slow sweeps while the display lasts, watching and drinking it in. Then, catching him by the hand, the Source sweeps him away to an extended coast line. Here, great and mighty oceans throw themselves against rugged cliffs, their force sending spray above the cliff tops where the rocky faces are weeping constant tears to ward off intruders from their slippery surfaces. Together, they alight briefly onto the highest peak, from where, they are launched out into the spray becoming one with it, allowing the great drag to suck them in, spitting them out again against the edge of the world. Torrenclar draws long breaths of air, not for the sake of lungs which have no use for it, but for his pleasure alone, feeling the cold bite through his entire being, tasting salt and drinking in the roar which feeds his deepest nature. It is a long while before he can tear himself away, there being no purpose or meaning to life without the water surrounding him. The call is softer, softer than the roars and crashing, it slips between them and is heard deep in his soul, and he can bear nothing less than to answer it with all of his being.
From the clifftop they stand watching their playground in perfect harmony.
“You have answered your longing dear friend,” whispers the Source of it all, “and you have been immersed for the first time for a while now.” The Caretaker feels the intensity of all which flows together in his being and stands, only experiencing.
* * *
It is a small, morose party gathering at the little house in Birdsville the day following Sohrab’s departure. Plans are made to move out tomorrow heading towards Maree down the Birdsville Track. Josh is too quiet. Jack is still keen to travel with us, unwilling to be left behind immersed in his distress about what the future holds for the little family whose welfare means so much to him. All three males drink too much beer while I mourn the loss of female company. I step outside to commune with the stars and find myself longing for Torrenclar’s company instead and wishing Homarta here that I might crawl into her lap for comfort. No time elapses before I sense Torrenclar by my side and am delighted. “Homarta is busy tonight,” he tells me. “Will I do?” His mood is gentle and warm. Stepping back inside, I whisper into Sandro’s ear, and he looks up, nodding.
The walk holds many treasures which I will ponder over for the rest of my life. The vast expanse of desert makes it possible to look beyond the family struggles. We speak of possibility and hope and how, through so many dark times, light is born. He is my friend, and, although he often disappears for long periods, I can also believe that he loves me and that this is a constant. When I’m with him, I walk more lightly, and in this instance break into song in harmony with his rich baritone ringing out across the great space. It brings to mind all the times we sat around the fire in Clifton Hill singing together: so very recently. Those memories are full of richness which contrasts strongly with the decades before the Caretakers had so ruthlessly entered my life turning everything upside down. I love Torrenclar as a spiritual soulmate who challenges and confronts me often, but rarely in a way where I feel violated or pushed around. Even the time when Sandro had his accident and the Caretakers had insisted I face that darkness, their love had been evident. They have taught me to reach for the Source and to have conversations there. The Source hadn’t been interested in the usual moral dilemmas which had put me off the idea of God, but appears to place most of the emphasis on relationship. In relationship with the Source, I find a stronger sense of what might be right for me and those around me, the planet, the dispossessed and the struggling others out there. It never seems like a burden when I turn to talk with ku, only a blessing filled with hope and excitement. With Torrenclar it’s slightly different. There have been times when the excitement between us has seemed too intense; or he has distanced himself, and I felt abandoned.
I have been lonely much of my life. Although Sandro is my partner, and I am deeply in love with him, (how could I not be?) sometimes I just needs a close friend, like this, to walk and talk and sing with, until I feel myself floating in the heavens, filled with joy. I know the Source has given me this special friendship and the one with Homarta. The thing about the Caretakers though, is they are not perfect, and I learned to my dismay that my behaviours can affect them, and an angry Caretaker is dangerous. A shudder travels through me when I think of the time, a few days ago, when he spirited me away to the top of a distant sand dune, leaving me there alone in the dark of the night, terrified and ashamed, angry and totally alone. Now, I feel his arm across my shoulders.
“Where are you, beautiful one?” He smiles down at me as we walk. “You seem to have had a ghost walk across your grave.”
I steal a glance up at him dropping my eyes again. Talking about that night is impossible. Would he be able to hear me without it stirring up trouble again to break the beauty of the walk and have me wrestling with myself, and him? A great wave of anxiety flows through me beginning somewhere low in my gut and creeping up my body until it sends prickles over the back of my neck bringing the blood to my face.
“What is it? You can talk to me.”
His smile gives me courage, and I begin speaking before I can take fright and block the stuff welling up inside. “I’m thinking about the night you left me on the sand dune. You left me there, and I had no idea when you were going to come back for me, or even whether you would.” I stiffen as I speak and bite down onto my bottom lip to stop the tears. “That hurt me a lot.” He is quiet for so long, it comes to a point where I can tolerate it no longer and, stopping dead in my tracks, I confront him. “Don’t go quiet on me! And don’t you dare leave! I need you to tell me how you could do that to me. I want to know what was going on in your head. I think.”
