The Tens Read online

  ‘Well, not much really. More woods.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said disappointed.

  Although there was a denser ring of trees around the clearing, near the fire were intermittent clusters of trees, with collections of limestone piled at the base of the trunk. Fallen branches lay below them like soldiers. There was junk piled up at nearly every tree: heavy chains rusted so much they were almost black, hanging from trees all lined up so they formed a blanket. Half-formed animal skulls— perhaps for decoration or intimidation, or both. Sophie scanned her eyes across the other collected debris: a cast iron pot swinging in the mild wind like a pendulum and circles of iron, like hoops or bangles positioned on the arm of a tree stump. One tree proudly displayed a rusted wagon wheel— the epitome of a world gone to the past.

  Swallows dived like hang gliders, a movementless glide, dipping diagonally where the sharp ledge of the front of their wings sliced through air supported by invisible forces. Flashes of red and green captured her eyesight as they tilted their small bodies back and forth, in what would otherwise be an ordinary afternoon.

  Taking it all in, she observed those around her. None of the women spoke to her or even acknowledged her. She felt like she didn't exist again. A resurgence of Ghost Girl. Like she was an elderly woman at a country football match, freezing away the afternoon. Occasionally, she would catch people looking at her from a distance but they would divert their eyes so quickly, without pausing their duties, that she wasn't sure if they were really looking at all. No one was close enough that Sophie could tell what their eyes were doing without distortion.

  As if reading her mind, Clive smiled at her and said 'I see you, you know.' He continued to smile and sipped on tea in a metal cup beside her. Sophie wasn't quite sure what he meant but didn't want to break the spell. 'You're not invisible to us. Your greatness, your potentiality, it's all very obvious. Perhaps cos we are strangers to you, perhaps because we aren't burdened by the distraction of the world and we spend our time refining what we see so that we can easily spot perfection when it is thrust upon us.'

  Sophie delicately scoffed, 'I'm far from perfect. In fact, I'm completely the opposite. I'm a dysfunctional mess who her husband can't stand to be around.' The effort of complete sentences heightened her weariness.

  'Yes, that is what your mind is telling you, my dear. But it might not be the truth. Consider that, although unknown to you, this group of people could very well know exactly what they see when they see it. I'm sixty years old, do you think I have no wisdom?'

  'I don't mean to imply that. I know myself quite well and... I just want to get back to being normal. Like I was before.'

  'Before what exactly?' He whispered his question and the sound of his mouth moving tinkled.

  'Before I turned thirty and started getting a bit wobbly in the head. And then definitely before Alex, my husband, left. Things were fine then. If only...' She trailed off, unsure why she was revealing herself to a stranger. Was it the exhaustion?

  'Sophie, often the Universe is giving us a great gift by pushing us one way or the other, even if it pushes us into great discomfort. Consider that it has all happened for a reason. And if you truly look at it, get wildly honest with yourself, were things truly fine? Or is it a case of peering back over our past with rose coloured glasses?'

  An intense hatred rose in Sophie. How dare this man who knew nothing about her cast such pedestrian assertions. 'Actually, I'm quite aware that things were fine, thank you. Not everything is a moment to be analysed.'

  'If you say so. I believe you.' He leant closer to her and blinked slowly and her annoyance slipped away quietly, replaced by the familiar lethargy.

  Like a tag team, Everley came back and Clive slid away.

  ‘Sophie, I’m so sorry to tell you this. I know you’re keen to get home but our nurse is running a little late. She shouldn’t be too far off,’ Everley claimed, embarrassment creeping up her face.

  Promising an early dinner as compensation for the delay in the nurse returning from the city, Everley helped Sophie to her feet, one of which was encased in pins and needles, like she had stepped on an echidna's back. With her arm slung around Everley's sharp shoulders, Sophie was shuffled carefully towards the big shed. She could not deny that she was ravenous. The thought of food lured her more than her desire to find Alex in that moment.

  As she was unhurriedly moved to the shed, Sophie had time to take in her surroundings even more. To the side of the shed, a little obscured from the rest of the camp, was an enormous herb garden. Sophie looked across it in awe, with its glistening array of greys, lavender and olive coloured plants. Rows and rows of sage, wormwood, wild fennel, mint, lemon balm, borage and clumps of aloe vera in each corner. Everywhere, mandrake plants held the family of herbs together. There were small pink salvia flowers that smelt like passionfruit and cinnamon made the air rich with its potency. Lavender bushes stood to attention, like grey soldiers, begging to be knocked down. Furry leaves of sage brushed at Sophie's calves in her imagination begging to be crushed between her fingers.

  The garden was divided into smaller rectangles to allow for walking paths in between the rows of perfectly lined up plants, all sectioned with hedges of rosemary. In the centre of the herb garden sat a wide copper birdbath, green with age. The birdbath was the size of a wagon wheel and nearly as tall as Sophie. She could hear it hum against the motion of the breeze and she yearned to climb up into it and wash herself clean. Birds darted back and forth, to seek their rewards as the herbs stood guard for the birdbath. There were tiny little wooden signs that ended each row. Mint: make something brand new again. Basil: potent for money, Rosemary: protection and cleansing. There was even an adorable little sign under the huge pregnant orange tree that read: Orange blossom: propel wishes. The garden was heady with scent which transported her far away, out of her body and into a place where she was safe and not riddled with the emotional torment of being abandoned by her one true love. The smell was a comfort and a frustration; for the barely-there scent of the plants wafted over the breeze like a ghost catching flight and it reminded Sophie of something that she could not grasp. Somewhere she had been before. But her mind circled around and around and could not land on the place where she had been. It was like having a déjà vu but not being able to remember what the déjà vu was about.

  Sophie slowed her shuffling down, enough that she could feel Everley tugging at her with impatience. Her head swam and she wanted to lay down in between the shrubs and watch the honeyeaters and the robins dance across her eyesight, minding their business. As she gave in to Everley’s gentle tugs and hastened her pace towards the shed, she realised two things. The shed and herb garden gave something away: that these people lived here. It wasn't just a campground for the weekend, it was their home. And secondly, she realised the smell of the herbs that had entranced her, it did so for a reason. It made her feel like she was home too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  'Before the sermon, we simply must feast!' One of the men, Jesse, pulled back the sliding shed door like a magician pulling back a curtain to reveal a trick as Everley and Sophie approached. The shed seemed to go back like a tunnel and Sophie was in awe at the paraphernalia that lined the walls. In the middle of the shed, sat a long wooden table which was cluttered with a variety of overflowing bowls of a mish-mash of salads, dotted with condiments, plates heavy with thick meats in shades of grey, white and pink. Weaving around the plates were swarms of roots, parted by thin white candles.

  The group rushed in behind her as one, clapping their hands with joy, arms entwined, a vibrancy in the air that was almost infectious enough for Sophie to catch. If she'd let herself. She didn't realise how hungry she was until she saw the luscious green leaves of lettuces laid around a bowl, shiny with oil and holding sliced boiled eggs that were covered in a greying dressing.

  'Come on in!' Clive's baron-like voice boomed through the shed, drawing the group in and echoing around them until everyone found a place. Oversized
mugs of steaming tea were passed around as Everley was stationed at a large porcelain urn, administering the tea to all who asked.

  'Right, everyone in?' Clive checked. When there were no protests, he stood up pushing his chair back with the sinewy hard bit of the back of his thighs. Holding a candle, he jigged his way up to a large wreath that hung from the back wall of the shed. With a flourish, he lit the wreath which went up in fierce flames, in a matter of two seconds. Everyone cheered at the fiery display and began ravenously stabbing their plates with forks. Sophie watched as the wreath dripped burnt bits to the floor, nothing remaining except a bare blackened bit of wire. She wanted to get lost in the fantastical celebration of it all but the twist in her gut, that she had inherited since Alex left, would not unravel.

  'Sshh. He's about to start.' One of the pointy men aggressively stated to two women who were whispering, hunched over the remains of their salad. The spicy scent of the herb garden breezed in around them.

  Clive bounced up to a gap at the top of the table. Sophie had watched people earlier in the day move in a makeshift stage, which was nothing more than rudimentary steps and a small platform that jutted out, a metre off the ground. Made from plywood, it looked as unsteady as it did ridiculous against the backdrop of the cluttered shed.

  Clive jogged up the steps, clapped his hands together and looked to the ceiling, keeping his hands at his chest. It was the first time that Sophie had seen anyone in the camp not don one of the hideous outdated jumpers. He wore black cargo pants and a white cheesecloth shirt, despite the chill, and looked like he could be taking a European vacation, not living out in the middle of a paddock.

  'Ahhhhh.' Clive looked around at the faces that beamed up at him, while a few people shuffled around, getting comfortable, swaying their spines from side to side, wrapping excess shawls around then, reaching for one anothers' hands. They were preparing themselves to listen, Sophie noticed. They wanted to hear whatever was about to happen.

  'What a glorious time is thrust upon us!' He began.

  A chorus of 'Venus is...' echoed throughout the watchers. Sophie felt uneasy. Who was Venus?

  'Some people, those that live in the city or other parts of the world, might believe that what we do here, what we believe, what we know to be true, is a little... kooky.' The watchers laughed.

  'And that is okay. I honour all those that question their truths. But we're living together because we are preparing together. We all share a unique vision that we have been blessed with that not many of this world have been privy to. And for that, we must be grateful. Do you agree?' Clive smiled at a few people looking up at him, avoiding Sophie at all costs.

  Something dropped with a clunk in her stomach. Nausea curled up like steam from the pit of her stomach as she watched everyone in the shed eat up Clive’s words. They all looked hungry and weak, for something that wasn't food.

  'And we must forgive these people that think ill of us. For they haven't been blessed with the visions of The New Way. The very same people that will one day come to rely on us or perish. And we will welcome them and forgive them with the heart of elephants. Will we not? For who here has received welcoming and forgiveness at a time when they needed it the most?' The circle erupted into applause and cheers.

  'Let's hear your story one more time Jesse? Tell us of your salvation and forgiveness to remind us that everything can change for us quickly, if we allow it.'

  Jesse skipped up to the steps. 'Most of you know my story. Have heard it many times. But there's never a dip in joy when I tell it again. Some of you have said that you get a lot out of hearing it again. So here goes.' Jesse awkwardly pulled the sleeves over his hands and blew into his cupped hands, whilst dancing from barefoot to barefoot.

  'A few years ago... I think two now?' Jesse looked to Clive for confirmation, which he nodded back. 'I was plagued by these horrendous nightmares. No matter what I would do— smoke weed, drink, stay awake, meditation, exercise like a fiend— they would roll through me every night. I couldn't shake them. They seemed to have come out of nowhere and when they took hold they just wouldn't let me go. I think I even tried drinking nothing by apple juice for five days straight cos I read somewhere... you get the idea.’ He rolled his eyes at himself. ‘These horrid nightmares always featured my skin peeling off. It would just kinda fall off. Not in chunks but pretty much in one or two big sheets, starting at the face. I would see these sheets of skin lying in front of me, the colour of bloody puss. I never knew what to do about the sheets of skin or how to be without skin. I couldn't bear to look at myself in case I was just blood and muscles.' He shuddered. 'Ohhh. I still feel sick thinking about them. I know that reoccurring nightmares are pretty common, right?' He looked around at the faces before him and nodded back at a few sharp 'yeps' from his audience.

  Sophie may not have been entirely comfortable at this unusual dinner party but at least she could relate to the agony of unrelenting nightmares.

  'So anyway. One day I got talking to our man Clive here in the bookstore, of all places. It wasn't so much what Clive said to me but the way he said it and, mainly, the way I felt when I looked at him. I saw something that the nightmares had been clouding. I saw hope and faith. I lost hope and I had lost faith and without those two ingredients, I was eating a shit pie... if you like.' He sniggered at his own joke. Sophie was surprised that others found it funny.

  A sweet young woman, who Sophie heard Everley call Abigail earlier, perched up higher than the others on a chair a little outside the circle. Her back was straight and she had a cream bonnet tied underneath her chin, that looked positively antique. If it wasn't for the signature jumper she wore, Sophie would swear she had escaped from the past or from an Amish settlement. Abigail paid attention to every word spoken, listening intently, but did not engage. She did not laugh when others did nor nod in agreement. Sophie found consolation in her insubordinate stillness.

  Jesse continued. 'Although a bit shy at first— understandably of course since I was just a stranger who worked in a bookstore and didn't know what he was doing with his life— Clive eventually was gracious enough to let me know about The New Way. And I was never more ready than I was when I came here and met you all. You welcomed me like I had never been welcomed in my life. I finally felt at home and like I had something that was guiding me. And everything that had happened in my life, everything that I had done or not done, had finally made sense. Like there was a reason for all of it. And I felt like I finally had a purpose and that I was not a rudderless boat on a fast stream anymore. I had arrived. And of course, the very first night I came here, my nightmares ceased and I haven't had one since.' Jesse paused, triumphantly, and beamed at everyone, including Sophie. Most people, except Sophie, burst into applause. Even Abigail tapped one pale hand on her thigh insipidly as a token gesture.

  'Thank you,' Jesse held a hand to his heart and used the other hand to tuck his shoulder-length tatty hair behind his ears. He looked like a smug rat in the light of the fire, his beady eyes pleased at the attention and his nose pointy enough to be used as an exclamation point on his speech.

  Clive retook his position on the stage and embraced Jesse in a long hug. From the way their fingers pressed into each others' backs, Sophie could tell the men were gripping each other hard. To Sophie, it looked uncomfortably hard.

  'Isn't that just one of our favourite stories?’

  'Yeah!' Again, Abigail barely move her lips.

  'Now, it's that time! The time we have all been waiting for. Let's get to it, shall we?'

  Everley, who sat the closest to the stage clapped her hands with childlike glee.

  'You all know the rules, try not to ask the same question over and over again, wait your turn, your question will be answered whether you ask it or not. And so on. And goodnight...!'

  Clive stood completely still, his feet wide apart and his hands clasped in front of him. He shut his eyes and began rocking slightly from side to side. Abigail was the only one that shut her eyes with hi
m. After what felt like half an hour to Sophie, Clive popped his eyes open and declared it was time to begin. Sophie could taste what was coming and it tasted like off milk.

  'Let us commune with the spirit of us and the energy of Planet Venus and its occupants, those that can speak and those that cannot. For we are all learners and on a path to being at one with you. We are ready.' He nodded to himself. 'Before I open to any questions, there are some things I must share with you. It is crucial that you realise that these are not my words, not the words of a Senior who is starting to shrivel as an old man,’ he giggled. ‘But words that come from a realm that you are yet to experience but you are on your way to. These words are translated from us through the being that is Clive and it is their meaning that is important.’

  Clive dropped his chin and closed his eyes but Sophie could read the smugness like he was the daily newspaper. An uneasiness started to surge inside of her. Did Clive really believe he was an alien from Venus? Or channelling them? That kind of delusion was all too familiar in Sophie's world and it repulsed her for it was the very thing she had been trying to skirt away from for months. Insanity and delusion, two best friends, who had been begging her to come out and play that she was finding harder to ignore. And here they were, presenting themselves onstage to her. Seemingly revered, nonetheless.