Author: Margaret Arlen

Days pass, she lives as she did before, if you can call it living…..enduring. Straightening her spine, easing cramped muscles, walking the dogs…..remembering to breathe.

Working in the garden, digging with a fork removing weeds….replenishing green feed for her little hens, housework, shopping. All the ordinary daily doings…..forest walks in the evenings……and turning on a narrow bush track, as she searches for wild orchids, there he is, blocking her way.

Sees his piercing gaze, turns from it, wants to run, hide from him….but who is she kidding, neither herself or him. Heart thumping against her rib cage, struggling to breathe, legs weak and trembling, face flushed….she faces him. And making a decision he moves quickly, surefooted as a deer, closes the space between them, reaches, grabs hold of her, murmurs against her neck, “Maggie”…..and fiercer now “Maggie, you’ve got to talk to me!!!”

“I saw you….with her, saw how it was.

I saw you together, damn you!!!  What can you possibly want with me, and why are you here….WHY ARE YOU HERE.???”

He shakes his head, moves in closer, holds her tight against him.

“You told me you didn’t care, remember? You said so, to me”

“But that was before, and you know I was lying….even I, in my deluded state, knew I was lying. And then to see how it is between you”,  he stops her with his mouth, hot and urgent, she tastes his tongue, his lips,  feels his hand reaching beneath her skirt, the lovely hardness of him, pressing against her belly.

Biology always wins, mind emptied of everything now but this, her hand unzips him, closes around the delicate silky skin, feels his pulsing match her heartbeat, and right there between the ancient Ironbark trees, he lifts her up, settles her onto him….she is beyond regret or anger, beyond thought, simply moving to life’s oldest rhythm ….the dogs, noses to the ground leave them be, as joined together they sink down and down into blessed comfort of moss and leaves, gasping, her sobbing, pulling at his hair, as he thrusts deeper, kissing her mouth, eyelids, neck, moaning…. “I need you, do you not understand that I need you….I need you, or I can’t breathe”,  she hears him from far, far away….lost in the wild primeval tangle of two bodies struggling to hold on, to stay one, even as they peak, they come, the roaring in her ears fading, hears him, still, gasping, saying “I need you”, as his head falls back, as his limbs relax, yet still inside her, now turning her face to meet his gaze, she sees it….knows he speaks the truth, sees him now, soul bared to her, and gives in utterly spent, gives in to him, all the way.

“I believe you” and with nothing left to lose, she comforts him, as he has done for her…..holds him now, tender as a mother, strokes his hair, his face, touches fingers, then mouth to lips…”I believe you, my love…..I need you too.”

And later, lying behind him, her arm around his chest, fingers feeling his heart beat, listening to his breath as she slowly eases into sleep, still holding him….”there is no room here for jealousy, only a giving and receiving….a mutual need,”  then sleep takes her with him, perhaps to mingle with his dreams.

Waking, in the predawn dim, he finds himself looking straight into her eyes…so close, all he sees are the colours of her iris, golden green.

“Hello you” he says, voice husky with sleep. She doesn’t answer, and he sees the colours change, washed with tears.

“What? What is it?”

And still she says nothing as they well up, overflow, spill, wetting his hand as he reaches, touches her cheek. 

“Tell me, what is it?”

“You know you’ll have to leave me….soon…..eventually. You’ll want your own children, a family.”  He doesn’t speak, just gathers her in to him, holds her, wipes the tears, now falling freely…..murmurs small words of comfort, doesn’t try to rush her, just holds her close until her crying ceases.

“And no matter how I view it, intellectually, I will be broken ….I cannot bear to live the way it was, before”

“You’re wrong” he says, “listen to me!!!  You’re wrong. I have children. I had a family. A girl and a boy. I hardly ever see them….children and a wife, family life. Gone. I have no desire to do all that again.  I had them and I lost them.”

So, he understands….knows about loss and grief. The helplessness of life robbing you of everything you thought you had. She doesn’t ask for reasons, she knows enough to let it be. 

They’re both quiet now, looking into eyes revealing all the untold stories, naked to each other’s pain. 

“I’m sorry” she whispers against his chest, hearing his steady heartbeat.

“I need you,” he says into her hair.

“I need YOU.”

And exhausted from all this day has brought her, from crying, she falls back into sleep, comforted by the warmth, the smell, the strength of him.

He calls me, late at night…”How are you ?,” I say, voice croaky with sleep.

“Arrrgh, sorry, so sorry to wake you, it’s just…..I’ve been thinking “

and coming fully awake now “it’s all right, tell me?”

“I want to spend time with my sister’s kids….get them out of the house. I don’t know if I’m asking too much of you….but I want you there with me”, I hear the breath catch in his throat, the hesitancy, but I also hear the need, and even deeper down, his knowing, knowing I’ll agree. 

It’s a simple straightforward request, I could no more refuse him, than I could refuse the three children, so, I tell him “Yes”, adding “ it’s not a matter of helping you out, although I am happy to. I WANT to do something for those children, who’ve already seen too much, of one kind of life….not enough of the other” and then, inspired “let’s take them camping, what do you think?”

“Camping? Where?”

“Come see me, soon as you can…..we’ll figure it out”,  and then another small silence, “What? What is it?” I ask him….

“I want to be with you now”, and I hold the phone, listen to his breathing, speak very quietly to him, “Come, come now, come and sleep the night with me, we’ll make some plans tomorrow “, and his voice, rougher now, “I don’t want to sleep “, and me “neither do I,” so, “come, drive carefully, but hurry,”  and then there’s laughter…..I end the call and lie quiet, in the late night pre dawn dark, waiting, waiting for him.

Over a shared breakfast, they talk about the children….the cabin by the lake comes to both their minds….with the addition of a tent for the children, for one thing, the cabin is one tiny room, for another, they both want time alone, together. Hiking, canoeing (he can get hold of a canoe)….”big enough for five?”, she asks, and he laughs, “we’ll manage.”

He licks honey off his fingers, leans over and kisses her mouth, then suddenly business like, he has to go. “Things to do,” he says, looks away.

She leaves the table, walks up to him, but he avoids her eyes, turns briskly, opens the door, walks outside.

And here it is, reality, like a punch in the guts.

A storm of self abuse rains down upon her, as she holds onto the table, feeling her legs give way.

Here it is, REALITY.

“You stupid, stupid, deluded old Woman, could you possibly think you could have him….hold onto him?

Ha!!!  Marry him, have his children.

Go look in the mirror, DO IT!!!”

And she does, and sees many many things….a lifetime etched into her face, tears, rage at all the feared impossibilities, the agony of aloneness, the visceral need of a man. Her mirrored image stares back, ruthless……she sees a face ravaged with loss and grief, and still keeps looking, until she sees her soul self, feels some small relief, some grace.

And looking back once again…..” I am more than a young body, a pretty face. I am ALL that I am, and I am enough.”

Quietened now, she clears away the breakfast leavings on the table, washes dishes…..makes the bed, refusing to change the sheets, remove the stains, the scent of their recent lovemaking….smoothing the old, faded, cherished quilt…..folding the doings of the night in, keeping them tucked away between the sheets…”for now”, she hears her inner voice say. “For now”

And later, she goes out, to the movies….enters another reality, loses herself completely.

The credits roll by on the screen, the lights come up, and there he is, arm around the shoulder of his girlfriend, leaning down to her, as she tilts her face up to him, laughing.

They are beautiful together….she stays in her seat watching them….so lovely, both of them. Watches, waits until they leave….is amazed to find she can stand up, walk down the theatre steps, breathe.

Finds her car keys, drives home, finds some peace in being alone…goes out into the darkness with her dogs, turns on the outside light….and walks among the spring flowering plants, smelling their perfume in this quiet, stillness and realises, “I am all right”

A few days later, a message on her phone, “sorry about the other day, the way I left. I’m sorry…..for being rude, for leaving you that way, I didn’t want to hurt you……

I’ve got hold of a canoe, talked to my sister. She’s grateful and the kids are keen.”

She finds no answer, can’t respond….the image of his other life etched into her mind’s eye.

She’s neither angry or sulking, a wall has dropped down between them, and she cannot navigate a way back through to him….the beautiful stranger she saw just nights ago, arm around his young lover.

And so she does, says nothing.

AND IN THE AFTERMATH when he is gone, she takes her dogs, goes walking in the nearby Forest…..breathes great lungfuls of ice cold air.

The Forest floor transformed after the last few days of rain…..mosses,  dried brown through the long harsh summer are richly plump and vivid green, and infusing everything, the heavy scent of Eucalyptus, strong, sweet and healing.  She turns her mind to simple things, watches her dogs change from bored domestic creatures into their wolffish origins as walking turns to running, their noses lifting, scenting the air, then loping  wild things…..stopping, scent marking “we’ve been here” they say….”THIS is our territory…..WE have been here,” as they piss and piss again, marking ground, grasses and trees, triumphantly.

“Oh yes” she says quietly, “Oh, Yes…..we have been here, we have lived”  and cannot remember a time before, when she didn’t carry him inside her….the very essence of him.

AND ONCE MORE AT HOME…..Folding clothes, making the bed, removing the pile of books she’s read and read, finding peace in simple things, and soon she’ll pick flowers, fill vases, grace each room with them….because he exists. She lights a daily candle, stares into the flickering flame, speaks his name…..blesses him.

 And remembers that first, unexpected phone call….

“It’s Brian….if I’ve read you wrong, I could lose my job.”

“That won’t happen, but tell me….what did you read?”

“That you are interested in me…. like me”,  there is both laughter and hesitancy in his voice.

“I do. Yes, I AM interested in you…..Very!!!”

“Then will you come and have a drink with me….somewhere private, not local” ( and I can immediately see all the tongues wagging, like some ghastly cartoon)

“Ahhhh, what a good idea”, I say….”name the day.”

“Yesterday ,” he says, and then we both laugh…..the early unsureness easing.

“Yes, I respond….. I feel the same way, yesterday can’t come soon enough.”

Then, emboldened “Or right now, if you can?”

“Just let me take care of a few things….give me two hours, then I’ll be free”, and then laughing, relaxed, he says, “Hurry.”

The day dawns, overcast , cold and grim, storm clouds banked overhead, rain threatening.  The body is laid in a simple, unadorned, pinewood coffin, covered with home made posies from relatives and friends.

The time it takes, unendurable as the Priest rambles incessantly, as the funeral moves on to the final resting ground, the local cemetery.  Maggie once again takes the reins, finds a song from long ago, a soulful tender ballad of love and death and the beating of wings….the final transformation.

And then it is over. Nothing more for them to do. No wake.

He drives her home, won’t stay, and at her door, pulls her to him, kisses mouth, nose, her hair.

Turns, turns again and calls “I’ll see you in a few days “, then turns again, retracing his steps, holds her hard against his chest. “I am a selfish bloody fool”, he says, “I forgot to even thank you”.

“And I was so very happy to do this for you….go now, I’ll see you very soon”, she turns his shoulders, watches him close the gate, reach his car, wave, and then his pirate’s smile, that flash of teeth. He slips into the car, drives away, and she stands for those last few moments, gathering herself, seeing the empty space, then walks inside, closes her door, still feeling him holding her hard , the strength of fingers clutching her arms and the bitter sweet taste of him, lingers on her lips.

AFTER THE FUNERAL

He calls me, late at night…”How are you ?,” I say, voice croaky with sleep.

“Arrrgh, sorry, so sorry to wake you, it’s just…..I’ve been thinking “

and coming fully awake now “it’s all right, tell me?”

“I want to spend time with my sister’s kids….get them out of the house. I don’t know if I’m asking too much of you….but I want you there with me”, I hear the breath catch in his throat, the hesitancy, but I also hear the need, and even deeper down, his knowing, knowing I’ll agree. 

It’s a simple straightforward request, I could no more refuse him, than I could refuse the three children, so, I tell him “Yes”, adding “ it’s not a matter of helping you out, although I am happy to. I WANT to do something for those children, who’ve already seen too much, of one kind of life….not enough of the other” and then, inspired “let’s take them camping, what do you think?”

“Camping? Where?”

“Come see me, soon as you can…..we’ll figure it out”,  and then another small silence, “What? What is it?” I ask him….

“I want to be with you now”, and I hold the phone, listen to his breathing, speak very quietly to him, “Come, come now, come and sleep the night with me, we’ll make some plans tomorrow “, and his voice, rougher now, “I don’t want to sleep “, and me “neither do I,” so, “come, drive carefully, but hurry,”  and then there’s laughter…..I end the call and lie quiet, in the late night pre dawn dark, waiting, waiting for him.

It has always been this way.

An ordinary house in a quiet suburban street, no garden, just a concrete path leading to a thick glass front door.  He takes her hand, locks fingers with hers as they walk inside.

The child’s father, drunk into a stupor, sits slumped in a chair against the far wall.

Her mother, his sister, eyes red and swollen, face blotched from weeping greets, hugs him….meets her, acknowledges and accepts her presence here in this house of desperation and despair…..leads them into the young girl’s bedroom, where she lies, dressed in a long simple white cotton nightgown her Grandmother has made for her final sleep. Arms straight by her sides, her cuts hidden now, surgically bound.

Face still and stark in death, showing nothing of what went before as she slashed her wrists….as she saw the dark blood gushing, tried vainly to get up off her bed, to reach the door, where she, not long before in anger, had locked herself in. And now as the blood pools ever faster onto the  floor, she cries out, calls to her family……but each and every one is enclosed behind their own doors, transfixed by their flickering screens.

She screams,  once more cries out to them, then lies down, weakened, drained…..her thick blonde hair dyed metallic black falls back across her ashen face, as she slips away, as death takes her, and her last whispered words….”what a shit of a life” as she dies.

The air in the house is suffocating with guilt, with blame and shame.

She stands trying to still the need to run, to rid herself of the horror of this place, this house from where nobody will ever recover.

How can she help, how can she be of service, to bring something healing, to become more of herself than she feels….for him, fingers still locked with hers, head bowed, ashen faced by her side. To this beautiful, snow white child.

Turning then first to him, Brian, then the mother, the aunties who stand at the doorway looking in, heads bent, weeping.

“I would like to do something, bring something of myself, to offer some Healing. 

May I ?”

Heads nod in acquiescence ….they are all frozen, unable to think, to move.

“Bring me her favourite summer dress, some scissors, needles and thread.” and to the other children, brother, sisters, “take this basket, go down along the street and pick as many flowers as you can….everything hanging over fences, fill it to the top….can you do that?” and nodding yes, pleased to be released they rush outside, into fresh air and momentary freedom.

A moment alone, she turns into him, feels the sob rising in his throat, his heart hammering in his chest, places her hand against his cheek, touches his lips…..

“I will see to it, I know what to do now, I will take care of everything …..you will get through this, I will help you” and he grabs her hand, kisses her fingertips, his eyes fierce with unshed tears, trusts her, leans down to her….breathes her in.

All is in readiness, the beautiful young dead girl, Sophie’s favourite floral print dress…..a scattered pattern of wild flowers, ferny leaves, butterflies and bees. He  brings chairs, circles them around the bed, as Maggie instructs Mother, Grandmother, the Aunties….”tear the skirt into long wide strips, as many as you can, and then we’ll hem them, and rebind her wrists” and to Brian and the children, “come, bring the basket here” and placing it by the bed, she begins, weaving flowers through the young girl’s hair, nods to him, “will you take over with the kids, while I start sewing?”  He’s only too pleased to have something to do, to work quietly beside his nieces, his nephew……then he finds something more….a quiet inner peace fills him….unafraid now, as he adorns her hair, he looks his little Sophie fully in the face, finds solace and tranquility there.

And the day slips by in a slow dream filled silence, but for the occasional murmured word, the soft sounds of sewing, people shifting, someone crying.

And the wrappings are done….again Maggie shows the women what to do.

A slow, methodical winding of the lovely floral fabric, completely covering the surgical bandages, then she, Maggie, neatly folds the ends in.

A white clothed maiden, flowers woven through her jet black hair, on her wrists her flowered gauntlets, and flower chain anklets. Ophelia, lying before them, waiting, in stillness, in deathly silence, but waiting.

Opening her bag, she brings out a bundle of herbs, a shallow ceramic bowl, dried grasses, matches…..ushers everyone out of the room, except for him, who closes the door, waiting.  Dried leaves piled upon a bed of grasses, she lights the match, ignites a tiny fire of eucalyptus, lavender and sage…..blows to fan the flames, then lets it all die down as the cleansing smoke rises, as she walks the room, smudging the body, each other, the four corners….constantly blowing the smoke, and the  blessing comes unbidden…..”go with love and peace, go with love and peace child, go now, blessed Sophie, and she nods to Brian who opens the bedroom door, who opens the front door wide, as she brings the healing smoke all the way from room to room, and then finally outside.

And all the doors hang open, letting the soul leave the body, leave the house in peace.

As quickly as it is done, she puts the fire bowl down, drops to her knees and howls with grief…..at the terrible waste, the futility, and he bends down beside her, lifts her up, enfolds her, carries her out of the house, into the car, takes her to the hotel room they are staying in for the night, undresses her like a small child, places her in the bed, covers her, draws the curtains…..sits to watch beside her, as she sinks down and down and down, deep into the blessed refuge of sleep.

Waking late in the night, she finds him, still sitting there in the bedside chair, doubled over, head in his hands. She slips out of the bed, goes to him….he’s stiff with cold, frozen from the horrors of the day. Touches him gently, her hand stroking his hair….”where was I when she needed help, I could have helped her but I wasn’t there” and lifts his face up to her, stark white in the dim light, face tormented with grief, with the relentless unanswered, never to be answered questions.

“Why didn’t somebody know how bad things were for her….how angry and alone she was feeling……ahhhhhh we were all so goddamned fucking busy. It’s like a blighted religion…..the religion of busyness.” And scathingly….”I could have paid more attention, visited more often. But of course, I was so busy.”

She cannot fix it, all she can do for him, is listen, touch him lightly with her hands….a blessing on his head, and allow him to speak, to rage, to weep. Until he reaches up for her, pulls her down into his lap, wraps arms tightly around her softness, holds her close to keep the damning thoughts at bay.

She turns her face to him, hands lightly caressing face, neck and shoulders, easing cramped cold muscles, lending him strength.

Feels him stiffen, as grief becomes need, as he stands up still holding her, takes her back to bed. And still she holds him, holds back the tides of grief that threaten to engulf, to drown him. “I’m choking ” he says against her hair, “I can’t breathe ”!!!

Then she covers him, unable to still his mind, she can comfort his body….give him release from the sorrow, the pain, the cutting blade of grief, covers him completely with her body, feels him slip between her legs, enter her deep….cleave to her, like a man drowning. This is what I can give him, an anchor in his emptiness, as she rocks him gently, feeling the horror and the tumult of this terrible day fade and fade and fade away…..and still she rocks him till she falls in and in and into him….one flesh, raw grief, lust, sweat and tears, and frenzied now, wanting only to be devoured….to disappear into that single blinding  point of light.  And weakened, trembling, gasping for breath, the gracefilled blessing of sleep comes down upon them….and her last thoughts, a prayer for the lovely lost child, “holy Mother of God, bring this blessed child peace….bring her peace”, and still she holds him, deep inside her, she holds him

ITS HAPPENED BEFORE, Coincidence or serendipity, he has arrived at his car at the same time as me, parked side by side,  has waved or smiled.

Aware of me. Today he turns unexpectedly, walks over. Stands there, lean limbed, relaxed, yet holding something back, some strong emotion, feeling, not smiling.  “What is it, what do you have against me?” He says….a sharp intake of breath….fingers drumming on the roof of my car.

Seated inside, window down, looking up at him, I am unprepared and vulnerable, utterly guileless.  He has noticed me often lower my eyes, look away.

“What do I have against you?” …..”Nothing…. I have nothing at all againlst you, and that is a great sorrow to me.” I am neither witty, clever or flirtatious, just straightforward, and he’s so surprised he has no response….just stands back from the car, straightens up, smiles and walks away.

He walks away from me.

BREAKING TABOOS…..AN EROTIC FANTASY  (Previously )

THE FINAL GASPING SHUDDERS left her soaked and trembling, coming back to the world of her knowing fingers, heart pounding like a drum….would she die from it?  “Not a bad way to go”,  people joked.

There was no laughter now, no tiresome cliches….her wanting consumed every waking moment, and sleeping.

A puny finger was a poor substitute;  she hungered for more….the need to have him solid inside her was a craving so fierce, she felt she would die ….from lack of it….of him.

To look upon him left her wet, weak and trembling….desire took all strength from her, and gave nothing in return.

And then she saw him, working….crouched down searching for something…..silver blonde hair, tied back loosely.

An opportunity arose, to speak to him.

She thought she’d been wrong, but as he lifted his head, turned his face towards her, she realised she had not.

He stood up….so tall, she had to look up to him. Lean, verging on thin. Clear blue eyes…his face lined, careworn, yet open….momentarily.

Beautiful bones. She couldn’t remember his mouth, because his eyes held her.

His voice….quick of speech, educated with an undertone of humour.

Captivating.