Under the Amaranth Skies

old!

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Mellifluous melodies of courage and hope ambulate across the side of a deserted road. The silhouette of despair emerges from the darkness into the light of the dawning sun in the shape of a lithe girl, an old rucksack hugs the small of her back and a tattered strap holds a guitar case over slender shoulders.

The girl had been walking all night along the dirt road that cuts abruptly through the sweeping dunes of the hinterland. The vast wasteland contained under the mass of grey-green shrubs stretching out endlessly across the desert plains was like her spirit contained by the tragedy and severity of her life. She does not know where she is going beyond the need to reach the highway before the scorching sun takes to the sky in all its might. She will hitch a ride east; beyond that she doesn’t know. It is difficult to keep walking as grief plagues her body like a disease threatening to overwhelm her. Death has taken her only friend and despair fills her heart. It just doesn’t seem right; why did the professor have to die? It isn’t fair, for now she is truly alone.

The dawn spreads over the earth to embrace a brave new day, but the girl is too weary to notice the majestic sunrise as it slowly caresses the rugged terrain that extends beyond the horizon into the splash of colours dancing across the morning sky. She stumbles onwards, her mind blank and her body numb; she doesn’t care about the consequences of her hasty decision, for she knows that she can never go back. Never. There is really nothing to go back to anyway. Something within her, deep in the depth of her being had cried out. It was time to leave.

Chapter 2

Destiny rattles along the highway in the vessel of an almighty truck plunging violently along a road extending over the plains of the Nullabor. Behind the wheel sits a corpulent man; his hands the instrument that keep the chariot on course. His name is Bob Conner — an odd looking man of fifty-two. The first thing one notices about him, besides his massive size, is his small deep sapphire-blue eyes; a colour so rich and intense that it comically contrasts his chubby florid face. His nose is slightly aquiline, he has the small pink lips of a schoolboy and his thick grey hair is an unruly mess. Only his eyebrows, white and neat, add a kind of order to this comedy of features while enhancing his magnificent eyes. He would be considered an ugly man, if not for the ethereal quality of those piercing eyes.

Although pompously proud, Bob was a good-natured man. His violent past now lay far behind him, mainly due to his wife Maureen’s tender heart and loving disposition. A stoic yet contented woman living for her husband, two teenage boys and their little home in a leafy suburb of Adelaide. Her greatest pleasure was to spend an evening reading a ‘who done it?’ while sipping on a glass of Riesling.

Bob was naturally loquacious and his peers sought his company. He liked to feel needed and enjoyed the comradeship offered by the pub scene; he was abstemious, always wary that his fiery nature might suddenly erupt. At times his inebriated friends considered him to be sententious and overbearing and he laughed in response to the innocuous badgering. He took pity on them as he listened to their laments about their querulous wives, unruly children and enslaving mortgages. He meditated on his good fortunes. Maureen never complained and she did not begrudge him spending so much time away from home. He loved being out on the open road, traversing the varied landscapes from the west to the east coast. A part of his nature was solitary and dreamy and his occupation allowed him to retreat into his inner world. When he was at home, Maureen always insisted that he relax and enjoy time playing with the kids.

It was her wisdom and kindness that helped him control his explosive nature. It was she who helped bring out the best in this rather average man. Maureen had a way about her, an integrity and honesty that rubbed off on him; she made him want to be a better man. Perhaps in another situation, the famous temper of his childhood would have been the catalyst for his self-destruction.

His selfishness was once a necessary characteristic to evade his demise, for if left unrestrained, would have reeked havoc with his fragile rectitude. Maureen’s guidance became the salvation for his defunct spirit; her nurturing enabled him to discover his own inherent goodness and honesty. Slowly through developing self-control he uncovered sensitivity beneath his brawniness, he learnt that it was acceptable to allow his softer nature to emanate. He liked the way Maureen told him that he was her ‘gentle giant’ and that it was she who had tamed him. Through self-control he contained his rage and fierce temper, he had mellowed over the years and the ghosts from the past no longer haunted him. He had developed a kind of compassion and forgiveness for himself, resulting in a form of self-acceptance, allowing him to see his darker nature in its totality and instead of being abhorred by it he was able to control it. His quality of life improved and repose descended over him. The boastful and supercilious mien, still comically apparent, had yielded somewhat into a greater need to help others; a reciprocation fuelled through gratitude at his own self-evolvement to help those less fortunate, like he had once been and it was this generosity that made him stop his truck abruptly when he saw the lone hitchhiker.

Leaning his massive frame across the seat, he opens the passenger door. Where are you headed Missy?

East! The girl yells timidly over the roar of the engine.

Well jump on in then, I’m heading for Adelaide.

Thanks. The girl clambers into the passenger seat carefully laying her guitar down and clutches her rucksack self-consciously. I thought I’d be walking all day. Not much traffic is there?

I guess not, Bob utters stertorously steering his truck back onto the road.

The time passes in an awkward silence. The girl’s presence unnerves him; something deep inside his being is awakening, yet he doesn’t understand what it is, only that the profundity of those swirling emotions makes him feel shy and maladroit. The tension within him is explosive, an abstruse excitation rising from within as destiny greets time and space while slowly merging into motion.

Bob drives for almost two hours before finally pulling over for lunch at a remote roadside petrol station, with an adjoining cafeteria. The girl has made no attempt at conversation, he only knows her name is Jasmine. He instructs the girl to save a seat for him in the cafeteria while he refuels the truck.

Jasmine sits quietly at a table near the window, gazing morosely at the highway and munching on a chocolate bar, when Bob walks in. He studies her momentarily: she is of medium height and clad in old denim jeans with a white t-shirt enhancing her svelte figure, her long titian hair is pulled back into a ponytail, her face is pallid, her eyes dull and her lips turned down sullenly. There is something almost endearing about her despondency that impels Bob to nurture her; he senses the pride behind her sombre eyes and wonders if she has money for a decent meal. How long has it been since she’s eaten? He walks across to the counter and orders two large steaks with chips, vegetables and a large pot of coffee. Waiting for the meals to be served, he becomes aware of himself as a teenager; taciturn and solemn, his spirit crushed, viewing the world with suspicion and contempt. Even now, underneath his mighty form in a forgotten place from within the landscape of time, the sullen child still exists. He is still that small child, weary and alone, lost in the sea of despair because no one had wanted him and even to this day it remains very much a part of him. But now the image is being reflected from within the girls eyes; he sees the weariness under her sweet smile as his own, the beauty behind her sad eyes as his own, the despair underneath the stoic demeanour as his own. He is swiftly transported back in time where he is she and she is he.

The mirror becomes the inspiration: the guide, the messenger from above. Everything becomes clear. His spirit embraces his destiny unfolding before him; not as the babbling fool or a comedy-show displaying a persona encompassed with superciliousness and grandiloquence, flippancy and a quiescent mind, insipid and capricious of years past. This time it is replaced with equanimity and a profound clarity. For the first time in his life, he knows what to do, how to behave, how to act. He feels himself part of a bigger plan: a prophesy where his role has long ago been defined and now he is prepared to surrender himself to his destiny. He feels a connection unto his core, a feeling so subtle yet so profound, it moves him, filling him with bliss and joy; he feels a wholeness within himself. A wholeness that comes only to the few who live their divine purpose. He is suddenly conscious of the subtle energy of the Infinite, the breathing force residing so tranquilly within everything; he becomes aware of the presence that has always been there, he just never noticed it before. His heart opens as destiny merges with time and space, propelling him into action.

Piling the plates of food onto a tray, he heads toward the table, placing the generous meal in front of the surprised girl.

Oh it’s okay, really I’m not hungry, she tells him unconvincingly.

Sitting down he smiles at her awkwardness. While you’re travelling with me, you eat with me too. He pats the girl on her arm, It’s alright, his tone soft and gentle, I know you’re in some sort of trouble and I do know how cruel this world can be, but I’m a friend. He pours the coffee into two mugs and hands her one before continuing. Look, I want to help you and I can see that you’re obviously very proud, which can sometimes be a bad thing you know. But while you’re in my company, let me at least make sure you eat decent meals; its no skin off my back, so don’t feel bad about it.

Jasmine smiles shyly at him; he can see tears glistening in her eyes, Alright, she whispers.

Bob is not surprised the girl clears her plate long before him. Not hungry huh?

He is surprised at the swift transformation that takes effect when she smiles. Her once sullen and gaunt face is now beaming, amplifying her exquisite features: her almond-shaped eyes lined with dark lashes enhance the turquoise colour, her pert nose and wide mouth, brought out by the milky hue of her complexion. In effect she is a very pretty girl, but when she smiles an ethereal, angelic quality shines through her.

Thank you, she says quietly, surveying him shyly. You’re a very kind person. She speaks with such candour that Bob is stoked.

See, there are still some nice people around, he replies beaming.

Yes, I’m beginning to see that now. Perhaps not all was lost: the stranger’s kindness negates the darkness she feels for people; maybe there still was hope for human kindness, rekindling her faith in humanity.

Shared food and hope imbue a relaxed and merry mood as the truck heads eastward. Bob is more talkative and speaks exaltedly about his family, while Jasmine listens attentively. Finally he points to the guitar. So you play the guitar?

I try.

How long have you been playing for?

Ages.

Ages? He exclaims, Well you must be pretty good then!

Well I can’t get any worse, she chuckles softly.

Bob turns to look at her and cautiously asks, Will you play for me then?

She is caught off guard, Well I’ve never played in front of anybody before; only for my old teacher.

Well there is always a first time for everything, he remarks, amused by her discomfort.

I don’t know if I could, I’m awfully shy you know.

Come on, you can sing for your supper; if it’s good, I’ll even include desert.

That’s not fair! A smile played about her lips.

We’re stopping at Kate’s Kitchen tonight, he informs her seriously. She makes a beautiful home cooked apple pie with a delicious custard sauce.

Alright, alright. Relenting, she takes the guitar out of the case. I’ll play, but on one condition.

What?

If you laugh at me, I still get dinner and that apple pie, but I don’t have to sing anymore.

Done!

Resting her guitar on crossed legs, she looks at him thoughtfully. I’m going to dedicate this song to you. Smiling shyly she continues, If I ever become famous, I’ll always sing this song at all my shows and I will always dedicate this one to you.

Bob smiles at her young, innocent face and doesn’t doubt a word she says.

Strumming her guitar, she sings a song about human kindness. Her plaintive voice and wistful face reaches out to the world around her as she strums more intensely and vigorously with the progression of the song. Help the needy and show them the way... Human kindness is overflowing and I think it’s going to rain today.

The words echo inside Bob’s head, and he can feel tears threatening to give way. He applauds fervently when the song finishes. That was beautiful Jasmine.

Do you really think so? She asks eagerly.

You have a lovely voice; it is beautiful, so don’t ever be afraid to sing to people. With a gift like that you must always share it with people because it’s a joy to listen to.

Oh thank you! The girl exclaims and impulsively leans across the seat and kisses Bob on the cheek. He grins sheepishly at her and they laugh. Jasmine needs no more encouragement and continues to play folk songs about love and peace as the truck proceeds along the highway away from the brilliant sunset.

It is well into the evening when they arrive at Kate’s Kitchen; an old building standing fifty metres back from the service station. Inside, small tables and chairs cluttered close together are filled with travellers and locals; Jasmine crinkles her nose to all the smoke in the room. A stout lady with short grey hair and a kind face looks up from behind the counter as they enter.

Hi Kate, I heard about Sam. Bob says quietly to her, Is he going to be alright?

Yeah, Sam’s a fighter. The doctor said I should be able to pick him up by the end of the week; says he’ll be on his feet in no time at all.

That’s great news. He replies happily.

Now, why don’t the two of you take a seat.

The meal is delicious. The humble chicken casserole with chips and vegetables followed by the famous apple-pie, which lives up to its reputation. They eat ravenously, and after finishing the small feast, Kate removes the empty plates and brings over two mugs of coffee. Sipping his coffee, Bob starts to feel the living energy within him, sprouting inchoate impressions that imbue him with a sense of knowing. He yields to the role destiny has moulded him for. A small but vital role as the amorphous prophecy slowly effloresces from the dreaming.

So where are you actually headed to?

The question takes the girl by surprise, I um, well, I thought I might try my luck at fruit picking. I heard there were some good properties around the eastern table lands looking for workers.

Yeah, there is usually work, but they generally only take on men at this time of year.

I’m a good worker, she assures him. I’m sure there’ll be something.

A girl like you should be at home and going to school — not gallivanting around the country side, hoping to get a job. Bob did not mean for it to come out so harsh and winces when her eyes narrow.

Look! She says with exasperation. I would love to have a so called home and go to school: I’m not stupid. I’d love to be able to go on to university. I’m smart and could really make something out of my life. A look of despair crosses her face, she sighs and then makes an impatient gesture, Sometimes one doesn’t have the opportunities to do that, and school is the last thing on my mind at the moment.

Bob is not surprised by her outburst, the compassion he feels shines through his eyes, soothing her weary soul.

She continues in a more resigned manner, What I need is a job like fruit picking and somewhere to stay, so I can save money and try and get my life together. Who knows? Maybe later I can go back to school.

What about your family? Wouldn’t you be better with them?

Cringing, she shakes her head.

Why not?

Please, she pleads softly, I just need to get to a job, and I thought an orchard would be a good start.

Okay then young lady, no more questions. An idea comes to mind, Look I can give you a name of a property owner in the Tumut Valley Region.

Nodding with gratitude, she looks out reflectively through the window into the dark night and yawns. Another day is almost over.

Bob makes a quick phone call before leaving the restaurant to a distant cousin who owns a property in the Tumut Valley, near the Snowy Mountains in New South Wales.

Please Matt, just give her a chance, he implores him.

Matthew Harris, against his better judgement, can not say no to this unrelenting man.

Okay, I’ll give her a month’s trial Bob, only as a favour to you; but if she is no good, I’ll have to let her go.

Thanks mate, that’s fine. She should arrive tomorrow afternoon.

Filled with relief, Bob hangs up the phone. He hasn’t seen Matthew Harris, his mother’s second cousin’s son for almost twenty years. He, of course, will not be able to take her there, but he is sure he will be able to organise the necessary transportation when he arrives at the depot later that evening.

When they finally arrive at the Adelaide depot, Bob sets about organising the transportation for Jasmine. She is to continue east along the Sturt Highway. Tim, a young pleasant man, is to take her in his truck for the first leg of the journey.

Bob sadly bids her farewell as she climbs into the other truck, she smiles gratefully down at him and waves morosely as the truck takes off. He watches her leave with mixed feelings; he prays for her with all his heart and gleefully realises that something magical has taken place in this brief encounter with her, and for that he will always be grateful. The awakening has happened; the greatest moment of one’s existence is to catch a glimpse of the inherent beauty that resides in everything. To flow with and be the instrument for divine will is to be forever transformed. This metamorphosis has cleansed the man of his pomposity and frivolity; he will no longer be seen as the insipid babbling fool with the big heart. No, that aspect of him is gone forever, and is now replaced with a humility and clarity that will grace him always with a quiet inner confidence. Of course, he is still the same man, but the abstruse shift in his consciousness has propelled him forwards toward a greatness in his own right. A shining light to guide the weary as they stumble alone in the darkness.

Chapter 3

The final part of the journey from Tumut to Bartlow is in an old lorry, Jasmine slouching timorously as far away from the driver as possible. His name is Dave, a small wiry old man with rattish features and he regards Jasmine with contempt. The shift supervisor has encumbered him with delivering her to an orchard almost half an hour out of his usual run. The run-down truck clatters across the quiet country road. With petulant sighs, Dave eyes the girl venomously.

Jasmine sits rigidly, her face tingeing with compunction for being such a nuisance. Her emotions thrown into turmoil by the malignancy next to her and recusant to the tears threatening to overwhelm her. The other drivers had behaved amiably towards her. As the journey continues her despair and trepidation change to exasperation. Becoming incensed she turns defiantly towards him, challenging his disgruntled mien.

A sardonic smirk spreads across his ratty face, and to her horror the truck stops abruptly and she is flung forward, her hands grabbing at the dashboard, she slips off the seat and onto the floorboard.

Dave chortles as the girl clambers back onto the seat, she glares at him as he points to a dirt road to her left. The orchards about three miles down that road. He smirks. A signpost confirms the location.

Jasmine hastily retrieves her belongings, pushes open the door and lowers her tremulous body to the ground. She yells Thanks a lot! Whilst defiantly slamming the door.

The sky serenades pale blue melancholy tunes, the sun shimmers through the milky hued clouds illuminating the vast property filled with a patchwork of orchards and paddocks along valleys and hills rolling into the mountainous horizon. The light, flickering through the canopy of gum trees lining the path, dance shadows of hope upon the enervated figure of the girl, walking with lassitude along the meandering dirt road.

Moving to the rhythm of uncertainty, she approaches a homestead standing in a clearing on a knoll that commands an impressive view. She walks through a neat garden and lawn to the house. Georgian columns lined beneath a shingled roof with a wide veranda add harmony and elegance to a rather plain building. Knocking timidly on the door, she waits nervously. The door opens to a central hallway where a tall man in his late fifties stands: Thin and dour looking, a protruding nose dominates his narrow face, closely cropped grey hair overly accentuates rotund ears. You must be Jasmine. His voice gruff and unfriendly aggregates his no-nonsense demeanour.

I’m looking for work sir, I am a very good worker and a fast learner, she blurts out.

Yes, so Bob told me, Matthew Harris regards her sceptically, I will as promised put you on a month’s trial.

Jasmine nods, too nervous to even manage a smile.

A short plumb motherly sort of woman temporarily interrupts the awkward interaction. Squeezing into the doorway she stands by her husband, Hello sweetie, I’m Mrs Harris, her voice oozes gentleness, her large and expressive eyes show concern.

Jasmine nods again, this time managing a slight smile.

We are about to have dinner, would you like to join us? Her tone is inviting.

Thank you, but I’ve already eaten, she lies.

Well then, Mr Harris starts rigorously, I’ll show you the sleep-out and where everything is. Escorting the girl to the back of the house, they follow a track through the bushes that leads to an enormous shed perched in a clearing. This is the main work and storage shed, there is a little kitchen in a room to the far side of the shed which you may use.

He stops in front of the entrance to the shed; Okay, tomorrow morning at six I will meet you here.

She nods.

Good. The sleep-out is about thirty metres behind the shed, yours is the first one on the left, the amenities block is around the other side of the shed. He points to the back end of the shed. The female toilet and shower are to the right, okay!

She nods again.

Well then, that’s it. He concludes and regards her with suspicion before stating briskly, I am only giving you a month’s trial at Bob’s request, I normally don’t take on girls as the work is usually too heavy for them, so I am just warning you, that I am not a charity.

Jasmine is piqued and blushing furiously she shrugs diffidently, not knowing how to reply to his rebuke. Oblivious to her distress Harris turns on his heels and heads back to the house. It is her obstinate nature that contains the effusion rising within her, she walks on around the shed deciding that she doesn’t like Harris at all.

The sleep-out is a single room slab hut, tucked away behind the Eucalypts. Opening the creaky wooden door Jasmine drops her gear on the bed situated under the window: A cupboard, a chair, and a small table fit snugly into her tiny abode, a beige rug lines the concrete floor. She goes in search of the amenities block, has a quick shower and hurries back to her new refuge. The exertions from the last few days subdue the overwhelming trepidation churning inside her. She curls up on the bed impervious to the hardness of the mattress and covers herself with the blanket before oblivion overcomes her.

Chapter 4

In the brisk early morning air Jasmine stands alone in front of the shed dallying, her body tense and rigid, waiting for the arrival of the dreaded ‘Boss Man’.

A ute drives up from the homestead pulling up along side her.

Ah, Good morning, Harris greets her, All ready for a good days work?

Sure am, she replies shyly as she gets into the utility.

Good, Harris surveys the girl’s slight build, pallid face and sullen demeanour, he wonders if she will get along with the foreman, well known for being a difficult man. I will be taking you out to the orchard where you will be working with the foreman, Adam Farley, he sighs. Yeah old Adam, he practically runs the place, the only thing stopping me from retiring is having to spend more time with my Misses.

Harris is not bothered by the misanthropic Foreman,