music

Voices — Waitawhile

10/ “Voices”

 Bart could feel a headache coming on. The lizard had departed the swag, which made it a lot more comfortable, but now she stood directly outside of it and was yelling in his head.

It sounded much like how his mother would scold him when he had been a little boy, and possibly because of that, he did not wish to hear it. He was pleased about one thing though, because the scolding and shouting was not directed at him.

It was directed at the man he now knew was called “Splendid”.

Splendid had indeed been close by, just as the lizard had thought He poked his head through the swag’s “doorway”, which had been rather rude in Bart’s opinion, took one look at him and the half-naked woman the lizard had been portraying at that moment and started laughing. He’d laughed so hard, bits of the blue suit began to fall off.

Then the man had stood up, looked down at himself, said in a very sad voice, “I’m molting” and had flown onto the lowest branch of the closest tuart, somehow, and started making strange peeping sounds – which, to Bart’s overtired and extremely agitated mind, was very disturbing indeed.

That had been when the shouting started.

You know better than to be up at this time of night you are a day creature not a night one why do you think I made you this colour you shouldn’t be this colour now anyway it’s the wrong time of year and where are your women question mark the lizard yelled in his head. She began to get larger at rather a rapid pace that Bart’s eyes could not keep up with. Her tiny hands, which were attached to extremely small legs, were waving about madly and trying to pull Splendid down from the branch he had alighted upon.

Don’t touch me, you old bag, Splendid said. I don’t even know you. You’re way too old to be my mum, and I’ve never seen you before in my life. Where’s the younger one? She’s much nicer and feeds me insects and stuff and this is honestly the first time I have seen you, so what do you expect me to do when you’re chatting up some caucasian-ish looking man in a tiny tent made for one?

Don’t you dare speak about him like that you, you, you bloody BIRD I made you Why aren’t you sleeping Everyone knows miniature wrens should sleep at night time and look at you grown up and larking about like some relevant object I don’t even know what I am saying who took my worms question mark I have no legs. Look Bart I am taking breaths.

‘Congratulations,’ muttered Bart.

Thank you see he understands what I’m trying to do what is wrong with you creatures I didn’t make you to be like this exclamation mark

My wives will beat you up like the wrinkly old lizard woman you are, you huge and not very pleasant meanie. Do not touch my branch with your teeny tiny arms, or I will peck you to death.

Bart wondered how the man would do that, when he, very obviously, did not have a beak. ‘I need something to eat. I’m way past my expiry date,’ he said quietly. Perhaps if he pulled his beanie back down over his head, everyone would go away and he could get some sleep.

Who’s that? The very feminine voice came from behind the tent. Ah HA! Found yourself another girlfriend, have you. Three isn’t enough is it? Look, girls, he’s chatting up some behemoth with no arms and legs. We’re really hitting the bottom of the river bed now.

The sound of three sets of footsteps came from both sides of Bart’s swag.

You’re kidding me. I was just about to go and get ready to lay a freakin’ egg and sit on it all winter and–

Oh stop lying, Elfie, everyone knows we don’t start the egg thing until Springtime.

Isn’t it springtime yet?

No. It’s autumn. Look, pull your feathers up and go and get Splendid off that branch before he breaks it. If he does that, there’ll be hell to pay, let me tell you, and wow, who is that huge and ludicrous creature with the really big yellow eyes?

I’m your mother you wren exclamation mark What is wrong with you avians can’t you see it’s nighttime who taught you all it was okay to be awake right now, don’t you know an owl could get you question mark do I have to do everything myself fullstop breath.

‘Right, that’s it.’ Bart stood up, then realised he was still in the swag. ‘Okay, that didn’t work.’ The five creatures now standing on the slope (three of them looking almost identical in their brown bomber jackets and blue jeans)  all stopped shouting and turned to stare at him. ‘Give me a minute,’ Bart growled. ‘I’m coming out, and I’m not happy.’

OoOOOooooh, said Splendid. Oh stop it, you’re scaring me. He grinned.

The lizard stood even taller. Not as much as I’ll be scaring you boyo oh look at me I must have swallowed an irishman at some point I wonder when that was it certainly wasn’t in the last seventy years or so. How could I have oh look Bart I breathed again oh I know what happened. She sat on her rather long tail, which curled like a spring underneath her. Never mind, long story, don’t worry I’m sure he was found later on. She blinked.

Bart noticed, rather belatedly he had to admit, that the lizard had three sets of eyelids. ‘Wow,’ he said as he scrambled out of the swag on all fours. ‘Does that make you a mammal?’

What question mark. The lizard shrunk slightly and looked at him with its great golden eyes.

‘You have three sets of eyelids. Did you know that? I wonder how many creatures have three sets of eyelids. I know cats do. And ravens. Maybe it’s a warm blooded thing.’ Bart scratched his head. ‘I don’t know too much about three sets of eyelids. What I do know though, is I am absolutely positive now that you’re not some kind of snake.’

I am pretty sure I told you that said Splendid, who had formerly been known as Superb. Don’t you remember me saying that she was not exactly a snake, I told you that, you moron. Wow. Nobody listens anymore. He turned back and looked at the lizard. Okay, I know who you are, and I know we are related but you shouldn’t be awake. You are possibly my great great great and a lot more, grandmother, which also makes you kind of his – he nodded at Bart – great great great and a lot more grandmother as well, which, when you think about it, might be pretty awkward if anything happened. Of course, he added quickly,  the relativity of that relationship is so lost in time it hardly matters anymore so if you did happen to get up to any weird and wonderful magical rumpy-pumpy business, then good for you and I don’t want to hear anymore about it because it kind of reminds me about hearing Dad help Mum make those eggs that time when I hadn’t quite left the nest early enough, but you know, I was a late starter, so there’s that.

‘Please stop talking,’ said Bart. ‘And whatever it is you mob are fighting about, could you take it somewhere else, try not to get eaten by owls, and… whatever. I’d like to get some sleep.’

You heard him isn’t he beautiful come on you little bastards I’m taking you back to the wattle bushes and in the morning you can all have some floating insects which I’ll make just for you and then Splendid can do some of his wonderful aerial acrobatics for you and everyone will be happy fullstop breath, Let’s go. 

(Just as a little aside here, thank you Delta, I thought it was Let’s go jogging, and I just heard someone think they thought it was Let’s go shopping. We do know, now, it was Let’s go, Jump In… at least, I think that’s what it is. I’m not allowed to look it up.)

Bart didn’t wait to see what they did next. He went back to bed.

As the voices got quieter he heard someone say He should be a naturalist or something

No, someone else replied, a naturalist is someone who looks at plants and animals. He should be a nudist.

No, a third voice interrupted. That is quite wrong. A nudist is someone who doesn’t wear clothes. He should be a… what’s a dictionary?

Is this a magic question and do I need a wand?

What’s a wand?

No idea.

Someone should look this up. They were definitely heading off down the track now. If I knew what looking something up meant, that’d be great.

Shush. I think I hear an owl.

Blessed silence, thought Bart, tucking himself into his sleeping bag. At last.

Verily

‘Yeah ana yew, do boobybom…’

The name of the song was Beautiful People, but it took me years to figure that out. The band was called Australian Crawl.

I thought to myself when I heard the song (possibly every time I heard the song to be honest), ‘Where are the lyrics saying beautiful people?’ All I could hear was those words up there, and some guy swearing about ‘never gonna make it, never gonna take it, never gonna make it, never gonna take it down.’

Oh I did hear the words, “Pee pole”, and didn’t think it was inappropriate at all, because I didn’t understand anything else about it.

I had a friend who thought (Cold)Chisel’s song about cheap wine had three day old toast in it. It did not sound very appetising. I did question that, but she was adamant that’s what it was.

As for my husband, he makes it very difficult to remember the meanings of anything, because he makes stuff up all the time. It’s bloody annoying sometimes, but absolutely hilarious at others. I still remember the time he very seriously explained to me he’d heard “someone got salamander poisoning”.

So, I guess when I hear the words in my head to “Posthumously”, I correct it very carefully to “post humorously” because posting anything else wouldn’t be too flash, would it. It reminds me of the little girl across the road when I was a kid, who had found a mouse in her toaster that morning. It looked like it had been toasted for approximately four minutes, slightly more, and she had put it in a little bag to take to school for show and tell. I do not remember what the outcome was, but do remember being slightly horrified at the time.

This is why, a lot of the time, if someone else writes something, and it isn’t quite right, I’ll correct it in my head. If it’s mine, sometimes I’ll leave it there to remind me that no one is perfect, least of all myself. It all takes me back to a crispy mouse in a paper bag.

Meanwhile, I’ll leave you with a clip to a song.

“Let Me Show You Something” — from the back of the red stallion.

Let’s go back, before this all began. Let’s go back to where we were, where I was, when I rode the red stallion, not you. Can you hear my horse? Hear him snort as I curve his sweating neck so he circles, see the wetness on his coat. You are the one down there on the ground, not me. You are. I stare down at the man below me, and he stares back up, the sun glinting from his eyes. Behind him, watching in horrified silence, stands a woman with a small child. They are both terrified.

I don’t want to go back.

He doesn’t say this with humour or words. He is simply stating a fact. This man is not afraid because I have shown him it’s okay, but I need to remind him.

‘Stay where you are.’ I glare at him, and for a moment I see fear in his eyes. This is my sword, not yours. This is my spear, not yours. This does not mark me as American. I am Australian. I will let you stand there and watch me circling you, and I do not need to draw on any of them at all. This is mine. It is not yours. ‘Must I remind you again.’ I say this with immense calm in my voice.

I am also saying this politely, this time. Last time I refused, and this time I refused as well, but I am doing it politely. I’m not swearing at you, while you stand there on the sand. I watch your eyes get all big, and I can see you remember this well. I do not think I will dismount, not yet, because back here, I remember how to ride, and I think I might have been particularly good at it, even if he believes I am not well-trained.

Now, see, watch my mount change in colour. This horse becomes the colour of clouds. I have indeed done this before, in this life, and you’ll remember I had to jump off him as he took off down a road with the bit in his teeth, with his tail in the air. Do you remember me showing you that? We laughed about this at one point, my friend, and that is possibly where this understanding began. The fact I could dismount as the Anglo-Arab ran for his friends without injuring myself was simply fortunate, and that is all. Perhaps I whispered this story to another rider and he understood its worth.

This man is not afraid, he whispers in this one on one conversation. I remember it too. I wasn’t there. You did show me. I remember it too. He stares up at this golden helm I wear, and he remembers.

‘Well then.’ I have stopped circling my mount, who was red in this past life. His hooves skitter in the dust, but he knows his place. I can slow this down once again then, can’t I. I am just reminding you, after all. I’m not getting down, because I’m not on a “high horse”, I am not on a clothes horse, and I am not on a horse with no name. This is exactly who I am, not you.

‘You are still not quite ready,’ admonishes the one in the distance, but he is completely, and utterly wrong, because I have been more than ready for a very long time, and you do not mean anything to me at all.

So. I look at this man standing on the ground below me. He is not better than I am, and he is not worse than I am. He is equal, this man, and it would serve him well to remember that. He opens his mouth. A sly grin forms on his face.

‘No, you don’t talk. I am talking now.’ I look at this man with a warning in my eyes. He blinks once. He remembers this as well. This is my time, and it has been my time for a very long time, down here, so you will listen. ‘Stop screeching.’ I say this to an arrogant woman with a small child. She does not appear so arrogant now, cowering within my circle of hoof prints. You sound like a little bird with no wings. Unfortunately for you, I have wings, and they are very large, but I’m not wearing them right now. ‘I guess you’re lucky. Sit down, right there, all three of you, and I will consider getting down from this horse.’

If he runs again, I think to myself as I stare at the woman and make this promise for she who has finally sat down on the sand, I will plant this spear in the sand in front of him, so he probably shouldn’t.

If she starts being daft, I look at the woman as she cradles the small child, I will turn her into a little frog again, and she can bury her head in the sand as well. He hears this from me, and his eyes begin to smile.

As for you, I curl a lip at this man. I am going to get down from this horse. I pat the red stallion’s neck, and he snorts. His eyes do not roll like a mad beast. He is my animal and it will serve them well to remember it.

He is beautiful, isn’t he, this one made of clouds. You are quite lucky this one is made of clouds, because that one I had, the one in the last life, he was not made of clouds at all, and I hope you remember him as well as I do.

You’re welcome.

P.S. You can get the children to draw the red stallion, if you like. I rode him in this past life, yes, by moving into his body and helping him be, and he remembers it well. That one, him standing lost with the woman and the child in the circle I made with the hooves of my horse, he remembers it too. Ask him what it looks like, he can tell you. He knows who I am.