Margaret Arlen

Later, deep in the night, the children long asleep, she feels him wakeful, turns to him, sees him lying on his back staring at the ceiling…..reaches out, touches his face, “tell me about her, what was she like?” and he rolls onto his side, facing her, slowly bringing himself back from the dark, torturous images fixed in his mind.

“She was the most creative child I ever knew”, he said. “Exotic, so intelligent…..she spoke with her hands like a Balinese dancer…..so eloquent I would forget to listen, as I watched her hands lift and weave and swoop through the air, graceful as birds. Vivid, so full of life. Always making things…..little woven creations, paintings, wreaths for her thick blonde hair.” She stirs, fits herself into his shape, “tell me more” she encourages him.

“She made me a leather bracelet once,  plaited, and woven with tiny coloured glass beads, small brilliant feathers knotted into the ties; I wore it for years until it slipped off my arm when I was swimming, sank down…..I looked for it, diving to the bottom of the lake, but it was hidden in the mud…..the lake had claimed it!  She loved walking….she would match my stride, but if she couldn’t, she would skip and run, always ahead, beside, but never behind…..and all the while, making up stories. The most artistic,  enchanting child. It was pure joy to spend time with her.”  “When did you lose touch with them ?”, I ask him softly. He sighs, stretches, reaches for me, groans, holds me tight to him, a protective shield against the painful memories .  “When they moved so far away, when her loser husband took up residence in the bottle. I couldn’t bear it, the way he was with them, always on the edge of violence.

I talked to my sister, but it made no difference….for some reason, she wouldn’t, or couldn’t leave him. After that, I really wasn’t welcome. We drifted away from each other and Sophie was growing up. Everything changed, came apart.”

She turns his face towards her, smooths her hand over his hair, “It wasn’t your fault “, then with unexpected ferocity, he says, “It was ALL our faults, every one who knew and loved her….why did we not see, see how she was sinking ?”

There is no answer, I don’t even try, just take him in my arms, feel his tears wet against my cheek, hold him, speak soft words of comfort, smoothing his hair, rocking him like a small child, feeling his body slowly give , sink into the blessing of sleep.

And still I hold him, comfort and shelter against the dark dreams that hover in the corners of the room. And very soon it will be morning, she feels herself relaxing, match his breathing, and her last thoughts as sleep takes her, “dear God I love him, and how will these wounded children ever heal?”

The children stand in a tight little huddle by the car, not sure what to do.  Tim, the oldest, Daisy and little Nell. He smiles at me over their heads, then starts unloading bed rolls, sleeping bags, grins and gestures to the canoe on the roof rack. I’ve brought my tent, which we set up beside the Cabin, asking the children to help, handing out tent pegs…..giving them something to do breaks the ice, and talking to them as we work, I unroll a small carpet, just the right size, place inside onto which we lay their bedding ready for the night.

I bought torches, one each, hand them out….the children look pleased, almost happy.

First things done, we sit on the old wooden bench beneath the nearby trees, share food….he asks the children what they want to do?

They don’t know ….so we choose.

It’s a lovely balmy overcast day….”let’s go for a walk, do some exploring”,  they nod politely and I give them some cloth bags, for hunting and gathering.

“Let’s see what we can find”, I say to them, smiling….at them, at him, as he  takes the smallest by the hand, as she looks up at him, begins talking.

I feel their tension ease, and heading out into the dappled shelter of the trees, I find a perfect white feather, turn, slip it neatly into his tied back hair. The children laugh and so does he. Nell lets go of his hand, starts skipping, then running.

“Not too fast Nell, watch out for snakes”, and she stops still, frozen in place . “It’s ok, don’t be afraid, just watch where you’re walking, look ahead, down on the ground….snakes lie asleep, curled up, sometimes they’re the same colour as the earth, the leaves”.

They have to know, but I try and make it into a game for them, before they freeze back into their earlier discomfort. And inwardly….

*Christ, these kids have been through so much, how to navigate a path through their trauma, teach them about safety in the bush, and still encourage them to have fun*

He’s looking at me, serious, intense….feeling it too. The heavy weight of light and shade, to give something to these kids, something different, freedom….yet keep them safe. This moment of awareness hangs over both of us, and then Daisy cries out , in a high excited voice . “Look, ohhhh look, I’ve found a nest!!!”

The fragile link restored between them, they sit together over breakfast outside in her garden. She watches the light touch the  thick silver streaks in his hair, stores up images of him for the times when he’s not there ….watches the deft way his hands peel fruit to share, pouring the coffee she’s made….lifting his eyes and grinning at her, as he catches her watching, and she hears the memory of him, saying , “I love to see you watching me”, reaches out for the coffee, smiles back at him, wants him, feeling a sudden fierce rush of desire. He sees it, smiles, puts down his coffee and reaching out, leads her back inside. 

Coupling on the unmade bed, she stifles her screams against his chest, takes his nipple between her teeth, hears him groan, feels him sink down amidst the tumbled sheets, until head between her parted thighs, he hears from a distance her stifled cries, as his beard rasps against the soft skin between her legs, tasting her sweet, salty spiciness, beyond thinking, but feeling her pulling him up, bringing him into her as he settles deep, as he kisses breasts, throat, mouth, tear streaked cheeks and then, asking, as he plunges deeper….”why are you crying “, but she has no words, pulls him to her tight, weeping, moaning like a felt but not heard singing, singing, bringing him home, moaning.

and as they lie tangled, gasping at the end, he looks to her and asks again “Why were you crying “…..

“crying with happiness “, she says and turns once more to him, as he holds her close, smiling.