Heart

CHAPTER EIGHT

  Warnsey and Portia

  Deepak poured more ghol for Dylan. He was tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle and his knitted orange gloves on. He held the cup to his lips and paused, “I will never sleep again, never ever. I have seen the dark side of hell, ‘Welcome to my nightmare, I think you are gonna like it.” Dylan sang over and over in a warbly falsetto voice. “You can’t imagine what I have been through, what I have seen tonight, such wanton destruction. And the smell, the smell dear brother was sickening.” He let out a limp cough.

  “Yes Dylan, war is pretty scary, but it was just a movie. Don’t let yourself get carried away, remember to go to your happy place. Have you got your puffer?”

  “Just a movie!” Dylan’s eyes widen with incredulity. “Just a movie, brother it was real. He is real. Leo walks amongst us,” he peered over Deepak’s broad shoulder to see if the phantom soldier boy was looming by the door.

  “Happy place, happy place, that’s it,” exhaled Dylan. He remembered the day when Jacqui and Anna had saved him from a marauding pack of Year Four boys. It was his number one happy memory. They were bouncing a football off his head and quizzing him on his knowledge of the current state of the AFL football ladder. He had no knowledge of ladders other than that they were handy contraptions for accessing things up high. Jacqui had swooped in, followed closely by Anna. Jacqui had snatched up the footy and handballed it into the ringleader’s face. As blood spurted out of the bully’s nose, Anna informed him that Australian Rules Football was ‘culturally specific’ to Australia and how could Dylan know about ladders and stuff when he had only arrived in Australia from India six weeks ago. She had added “Der brains,’’ and poked her tongue out for good measure. “Wait until cricket season, he will whip your arse.” The summer cricket season came and went, and saw him happily braiding Jacqui and Anna’s hair in complicated patterns. Later, Anna apologised for culturally stereotyping and pigeon holing him because of his gender and country of origin.

  He accepted graciously.

  Dylan looked at Deepak’s football guernsey stretched tautly across his six pack. OMG, he even wears it to bed! And then there was that shrine to Warnsey in his bedroom—perhaps he should share a different happy memory.

  “Happy place, happy place,” chanted Dylan. “Remember last year when I was in The Merchant of Venice play?”

  Deepak sighed—The Portia Story … Again.

  “Remember when Dad refused to come to see my portrayal of Portia on opening night”.

  Deepak remembered. He had never seen his mother so angry. She was wearing her best fuchsia dhakai sari and had borrowed some of Dylan’s favourite lipgloss. Dylan was dressed in a maroon crushed velvet Renaissance gown that he had designed himself. It was time to leave for the auditorium but Dad was still in his house track pant refusing to budge. Mum slammed down the tongs into the sink, turned off the rice cooker and threw the biryani into the bin.

  “That is it,” she cried, “no Kasha Murgir Mangsha (spicy fried chicken) for you this weekend—you can have boiled cabbage.” It was legendary. Deepak smiled at the memory.

  Grandfather had entered the room dressed in his crispy white Punjabi and dhoti with his polished scalp and sandals, looking like a dapper Ghandi. He turned around and walked back down the hall and into Mum and Dad’s room. He flung open their wardrobe and grabbed the shirt Dylan had bought Dad for his birthday. It still had the labels on it. He grabbed Dad’s ‘going out’ tracksuit pants—still in pristine condition and then hurtled down the hallway to throw the outfit onto the kitchen table.

  “Arun, you are a very stubborn man. Get dressed immediately. If you turned off that blasted television and paid attention to this family and the outside world at large, you would know that male actors played ALL female roles in Shakespeare. You would also know that your son has worked exceedingly hard in the preparation for this important role—” Deepak joined in, “—in fact, Portia is one of the greatest voices the Bard put down on paper. GET DRESSED NOW, BOY!” They whisper shouted at each other giggling, reliving the memory.

  Dad had pulled off his shirt and pulled down his track pants in a huff on the spot. He kicked them off like an angry preschooler under the unflattering light of the kitchen fluorescent bulb.

  “Remember we received five encores and Mrs. Morris gave all the leads a single red rose and everyone in the auditorium stood up.”

  Deepak smiled. It was a happy memory. The kook had talent.

  “Remember Dad stood up too and clapped hard.”

  “So hard his tummy wobbled,” laughed Deepak.

  “Remember out in the foyer, all the parents and teachers congratulated him on my success.”

  “Remember how Dad shook my hand and shook Dadu’s hand and kissed Mum.”

  Deepak braced himself. The next part of the memory was not happy.

  In the foyer, surrounded by his newly reconciled family, drinking a weak tea and enjoying a plain biscuit, Dadu had crumpled and folded with a massive stroke. Dylan was so distraught he attempted to climb into the back of the ambulance in his pantaloons and flat cap with plumage. It was his after party ensemble.

  “Please stay with me, stay with me, you promise?” Dylan put down his mug and clasped Deepak’s hands. “You won’t leave me, will you?”

  “No bro, I’m here, I will sleep on the floor mate, ok?” Deepak lay down on Dylan’s shag pile rug. He grabbed a couple of silkscreened cushions and his mohair throw rug and bedded down.

  “Go to sleep Dylan, you will feel better in the morning.”

  “I envy you, you will sleep like a baby tonight, whilst I will never sleep again,” he yawned, while large overwrought tears dribbled down his face. He sighed deeply and promptly fell into a trouble free slumber.

  Deepak stared at the ceiling listening to Dylan’s gentle snoring. He didn’t know how Anna put up with him. He liked Anna even if she was always so preoccupied. He thought about sneaking back to his warm bed but he had made a promise. So he pulled the mohair blanket up. Dylan was right, natural products were extra cosy and versatile. He shook his head and laughed into the darkness. They had always shared a room until recently. Their grandfather had occupied the front master bedroom with the ensuite. As the eldest son, he had been granted it when Dadu had gone into the nursing home. It was a relief to get away from Dylan, as much as he loved his kooky little bro, he was hard work.

  Nina sat on the couch with Jacqui who was staring into space. Nina was staring into space too. She normally went to bed at nine o clock but it was now two am. She would be all crotchety tomorrow. She put her hand on Jacqui’s arm and paused—Jacqui’s Jiboni shokti force was low. She would need to speak to Corinne in the morning. The girl was unhappy.

  “Would you like me to call your Mum, Jacqui?” she asked softly. Jacqui shook her head vigorously.

  “How is your Mum these days? I keep meaning to take her my paneer I know she loves it. I haven’t seen her walking in the morning, is she ok?”

  Jacqui hesitated, “Mum keeps seeing her dead cat … you know, since Dad left. And tonight—” She faltered, she was so tired. “Do you believe in ghosts Nina?” she asked as she searched the older woman’s face.

  “I have never seen one but I am sure my mother followed me back to Australia after her Shraddha in India. I could sense her … I could smell her.”

  “What did your mother smell like?” Jacqui crinkled her nose a little.

  “Like frangipani and cinnamon,” Nina smiled into space.

  “How lovely,” she squeezed Nina’s hand.

  “She was a great woman and I miss her terribly. I had been back in Australia for a month. It was a Saturday morning and Dylan had me sewing his maroon costume. I was totally consumed by the corsetry—so delicate and finicky, all that gold braiding zig zag. That boy has such grand ideas but has no idea regarding the execution of them.” Nina took a dee
p breath.

  “It was the first morning I hadn’t cried for her. I inhaled the wonderful scent of frangipani from her garden and cinnamon from her kitchen. The smell used to seep into her apron. As I was sitting there it became quite strong and intense and then it was gone. I couldn’t smell it any more. Sunlight filled the room. I stopped sewing and cried out, ‘Goodbye Mummy.’ I haven’t felt her since. Maybe she knew I was starting to feel stronger,” she took another deep breath.

  “Being Dylan’s mother can get very preoccupying,” Nina chuckled.

  “When did the cat first appear to Corinne?”

  “After Dad left.”

  “Do you think the ghost cat is real … so to speak or is your Mum seeing things … what is your heart telling you?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I thought she might be going crazy but now I’m not so sure.”

  Nina patted her arm. She lit the candles in front of her Laxmi wooden temple that sat on the hallway table. Soon, soothing wafts of sandalwood scented smoke twirled up into the air.

  “Breathe girl, breathe.”

  Nina broke into a low mantra.

  “Asato ma sat gamaya (journey from untruth to truth) Tamaso ma jotirgamay (journey from darkness to light) Mritunma Amirtian gamaya (journey from death to eternity) Om Shanti, Om Shanti, Om shanti.”

  Jacqui laid her head on Nina’s shoulder as she continued to gently chant. Jacqui closed her eyes and thought of their tiny terraced house. It was now empty and cold. She was alone. Her mind flew back to the hastily handwritten note on the table.

  Dearest Jacqui,

  I am off back to South Africa. I can’t keep painting roses. I must return to where I belong, if only for a few weeks. I have sold all of the rose collection and I have transferred a squillion dollars into your account. Well not a squillion sweetie, but you will be fine for ages. By then I will be back all refreshed and regenerated. I am sure I will be inspired to create a new exhibition and a new life. This life at the moment doesn’t fit very well. Sorry the house is like a bombsite. I ran around like a mad woman looking for my passport. Must dash now. Please tell Nina and Nat I’m off for a holiday and they will keep an eye out for you. You practically live at their houses anyway. I miss you already.

  Love and Kisses for my little lemur

  Mum xxxx

  P.S Best of luck in your exams. They start tomorrow right? Xxxx

  That was five weeks ago, she had tracked Corinne through her credit card purchases and her Artist’s website updates. She had received one euphoric phone call from Botswana. Corinne had raved manically on about a rare white rhino she was painting and a man named Tim. Jacqui was beginning to feel that she was the imaginary ghost cat. She wasn’t sure if she was real anymore, digging her fingernails into her leg.

  “Mum has left me,” sobbed Jacqui. “She has gone back to South Africa without me.” She broke away from Nina and buried her face into a cushion. Nina rubbed her back in firm circles and whispered, “I am so sorry, so sorry.”

  “Please don’t tell Anna or Dylan … not yet. Anna gets so—”

  “Sshh my dear girl, you have good friends,” Nina whispered soothingly.