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I liked the look of them ... no truly, I did. They were bargaining with my owner - or my pimp as I sometimes think of him. There was something desperate about them, but not in a bad way. He had the eyes of a startled boy, despite the beard. She was ... well, let’s just say she wasn’t a looker; a bit plain but not not unpleasantly; just mousey, yes that’s it; she was mousey. He fussed over her though, like she was royalty. It was only when she turned side on that I could see why. I inwardly moaned at the thought of what was to come. There was no way he would let her walk when she could ride - he’d have to be an idiot if he did. Not much luggage though - that endeared them to me; just a couple of pigeons. I was starting to see a pattern. Having two pigeons meant little luggage, but more often I wasn’t hired by those types. But I could see why these two would need my services.
When he lifted her on I could feel her anxiety. She was inexperienced and sat too close to my neck. If it had been someone else I might voice my objection, but for some reason, I didn’t want to upset her ... or him. They were going to have enough troubles in time to come. They were innocents in a vicious world. I pitied the child. With these two as parents he would end up carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Just as I carried him now.
The Donkey
Profound moments take you by surprise and remind you that life's mysteries can appear anytime, even on days that look like shaping up to being very ordinary. Today was one of those. I spent an hour or so in a local cafe writing, as usual, trying to breathe life into a new character. It was pleasurable and absorbing, but I reminded myself that, if this new novel was to have any authenticity, I needed to find out a bit more about the Greek Orthodox tradition. With a church just down the road, I thought I would find out the times for Mass and, one day soon, slip into a back pew. I've always been attracted to the physical attributes of this church. At night, when the candles are lit, the frescoes and gilding are a wonderful sight. So I took advantage of a beautiful day and wandered around. Just one car outside, so I was confident that I could discreetly look through the glass doors and admire. I reeled back when I saw that there was not just a single worshipper who had dropped in for a quick prayer, but rather, a priest in full Orthodox regalia, two women kneeling in front and a couple sitting in the pews. I turned to flee when an elderly woman came out and asked me to come inside. Intrigued and embarrassed I accepted. As I took a seat at the rear, the priest stopped mid-prayer and asked me what I wanted. 'Is it all right if I just pray?' I said. He looked at me for a moment, 'What is your name?'. I told him and he wrote it down. 'Come here,' he beckoned and pointed to the front pews. The young girl who was partly hidden beneath his long stole did not move, nor did her mother kneeling behind her. I took my seat, suddenly stricken with the thought that my mobile phone was on 'loud'. For the next ten minutes I was part of a Greek Orthodox tradition. The priest prayed over the girl and her mother and every now and then read out my anglo-name, along with names of the others present. Holy Water was squirted over me from a plastic spray bottle. When it was over, and the girl emerged from beneath the stole, the priest asked me if I felt anything. 'Oh yes, I do,' I said, not sure what to say. 'Thank you so much for allowing me to be part of this.' I sat a bit longer. The girl and her mother stayed at his feet, but relaxed into easy Greek conversation and I was struck by the contrast between the very formal proceedings and the familiar manner in which they all spoke at the end of it. The priest, I realised, was an integral part of this community. Sadly, I couldn't understand what they were saying and began to feel a bit awkward. I stood and thanked the priest once again and made my way out. In the street I paused. I felt as though I had been transported to Greece and that I was indeed one of the characters in my novel. I marvelled too that on this ordinary day, I had received such an unexpected blessing.
I'm living in a strange space. I thought that I would kick up my heels when I handed in the thesis, but instead feel as though I've cut the rope to the mother ship and have cast myself adrift. Of course now that I have 'time on my hands' (whatever that means! Sounds like I haven't washed after cutting up herbs), the space has opened for me to start the third novel. And I have. But I was daunted, once again, by the expectation of the blank page. It demands that I write something beautiful. Now that I teach creative writing, that blank page expects bigger things! I'm up for the challenge. Am excited about honing the craft a little more each time around. Each sentence now comes under greater scrutiny. How can I say it more elegantly, more simply... In the meantime, of course, my second novel has been shipped off to two unknown (to me) Examiners. Just as I did when Rupert and Neti in the Whispers in the Wiring (the first and published novel) left my cupboard to be published, I'm now wondering where Dana and her sister Madeleine are. Who's reading their story? What will they think of the uptight Dana and the nature of her psychological descent?
Excerpt 1:
The ceiling of the cabin sagged so low that I could measure its distance to my face with a wide-fingered handspan. A cold light from the bathroom cubicle ricocheted around the walls and reflected off the panels above my nose. Where the panels met, someone had picked at the seam like a child at a scab. With each pitch and toss, diesel fumes seeped through the ferry’s pores.
There was no sound from the bunk below. My sister, I assumed, was sleeping peacefully, but I needed the comfort of her enthusiasm. In the space left to me I contorted my body so that head and torso hung over the bunk’s edge.
“Madeleine. Are you awake?”
There was a low groan and the sound of the bunk springs creaking as she rolled over.
“What?” Her yawn was thick with sleep.
“What are we doing here Mads?”
No reply, just a soft snore at the back of her throat. I rolled back to stare again at the ceiling’s ragged seam. A dog barked in a cabin somewhere further along the deck. In the darkness, I doubted the wisdom of this journey.