Trouble in Nirvana (9 page)

“If that’s everything, we’ll do a mantra to finish,” said Fern brightly into the pulsating, overheated air. “We need to cleanse our thoughts and minds of negative energies.”

The thoughts whirling about would need a good dose of industrial strength bleach to cleanse them.

Jason took incense burners and candles from the cupboard and lit them. Everyone stood up, pushed the furniture back, and sat crosslegged in a circle on the worn carpet. Fern turned the light off. She took her place and began to intone something.

Primrose glanced around. Everyone had their eyes shut, even little Mojo. Brendan, next to her, wore an expression of complete tranquillity and acceptance and he’d only just arrived. Either he was unaffected by the negative vibes or he’d drifted blissfully into his own hazy world. They all had their hands clasped in their laps so she did the same. Fern’s voice became quite hypnotic. Peaceful. Tom’s angry face flashed into her mind as her knees began to ache.

****

Despite the energy cleansing meditation session, tension hovered in the air the next morning. Primrose cleaned the house in a purely physical way and left the spiritual and metaphysical side to Fern. Nirupam was incapable and no-body else cared about the layers of grit lining the bookshelves, or the dust bunnies having group meetings in the corners behind the chairs.

Kurt ignored her. Fern and Jason were polite but seemed to take it as a personal insult that she refused to give Mojo music lessons. Mojo gave her baleful looks when their paths crossed which wasn’t often because he spent most of the time either swinging listlessly on the tyre swing or sprawled on the old couch in the living room reading a tattered Harry Potter book. Brendan cleaned the bathroom and toilet in a flurry of activity then trailed around after Danny, but late on Friday afternoon, announced he was leaving. Jason drove him to the main road where he intended hitching a lift north.

At least one of them had moved on voluntarily. The wrong one but better than none.

Primrose went to her room straight after dinner, exhausted from cleaning in the heat and the strain of pretending the tense atmosphere wasn’t bothering her. Far from a haven of peace and tranquillity, this place was worse than the orchestra pit in the last show she’d done. The show which had put the finishing touches on her disillusionment with an orchestral career. Unbearable as Kurt was he didn’t have the caustic tongue and acid wit of the conductor. The man who had taken an active dislike to the flute section and to her in particular. A misogynistic bastard who made every rehearsal a nightmare and every performance a terrifying ordeal of nerves.

In the middle of the night, awakened from a fretful, uneasy sleep, Primrose sat up in bed, heart pounding. Squawks and screeches erupted into the quiet. Feet pounded down the corridor outside her door. The screen door slammed. Kurt’s roar of rage echoed around the yard.

Primrose leapt out of bed and flung on a robe and scuffs. Light shone under her door and when she opened it Danny pushed past, shoving her against the wall in his haste.

“What’s wrong?” she called.

“Fox.” The door slammed as he raced through.

A fox? Eating the chooks? She rushed out to the verandah. The outside light only reached partway to the sheds. Kurt and Danny had torches but the beams flashed in random arcs and she couldn’t see anything. More squawks and yells. She ran across the yard toward the lights. Danny and Kurt were pulling wire netting back into place, cursing in a fluent duet of German and Australian.

“Fox killed four hens,” said Kurt with a ferocious scowl her way. “You have to make sure the door is shut properly. Every night. Otherwise this happens.”

“Me? I thought it was Mojo's job.” Assumed he’d taken over again now he was home. He was the egg collector.

“He’s only a little child.”

“I know but...I thought seeing he was home again he’d do it.”

“It’s a job for an adult,” said Danny abruptly.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, stricken by the enormity of her assumption. She hadn’t properly discussed it with Mojo. Quite honestly she hadn’t given the chooks a second thought. Last night they must have been lucky because she hadn’t locked them up then, either.

Primrose returned to the house to lie in bed, sleepless for the remainder of the night with nightmare visions of shredded hen’s bodies whirling in her mind like bloodstained feathers, interspersed with her harsh words to Tom and his furious face hovering over the mayhem like an ancient god ready to pronounce judgement.

****

Mojo burst into tears at breakfast when he learned of the night raid, and rushed outside to discover which of his brood had survived. Kurt followed him after more smouldering, rage-laden glances at Primrose.

Primrose sat with Fern and Jason, toying with a piece of toast and honey. “Will he be all right?”

“He has to learn about death.” Jason poured himself more tea. “It’s a natural part of life.”

“Yes, but I was supposed to lock up the henhouse.”

“Mojo was supposed to,” said Fern. “He has to learn responsibility.”

“But he probably thought I’d do it. I feel terrible.”

“Don’t. It’s always been his job. He’ll be fine. We’ll have a burial ceremony.” Fern shoved in a mouthful of homemade muesli. “Maybe you could play your flute.”

A funeral for some chooks. Why not? This place was forcing her mind wide open.

“Nirupam said you wanted to learn some relaxation techniques,” said Fern.

“Oh! Yes, I would, but I don’t like to ask her at the moment.”

“I can show you some Chinese exercises. Chi Kung.”

“Is that what you do each morning?” When she’d got up early to paint she’d spied Jason and Fern doing their exercises under the trees near the sculptures. They looked peaceful and calm, quite in contrast to the daily emotional mayhem of Nirvana.

“Yes. We do it early when the Chi is freshest.”

Did Chi go stale? “What’s Chi?”

“The life force,” said Jason. “These exercises cultivate our natural energy, our life force.”

Fern added, “They also incorporate meditation for calming the monkey mind. That’s what the Chinese call the mind. Always leaping from thought to thought. Never still.”

Primrose smiled. “That’s the inside of my head exactly.”

“Join us tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks, I will. Where did you learn?”

“We went to a weekend workshop given by a Tai Chi instructor from Canberra. He learns from a Grandmaster in China.”

“Goodness.” Maybe they really did know about it. They certainly looked as though they did and they practised diligently which was something she understood, having devoted many hours every day to practising the flute. Odd how her flute held no appeal right at the moment yet she’d loved it since she was a teenager.

“You’ll enjoy it and it’ll help you a lot.” Fern gave her a knowing smile.

****

The chook funeral was held behind the goat shed with the two goats peering inquisitively through the railings. Sammy the sheep wandered about and finally stopped to pick at the grass along the back of the shed. Kurt had dug a hole in the dry, hard-baked earth with a great deal of sweating and the occasional curse. He leaned on the shovel while the mourners assembled.

Danny didn’t stop whatever he was doing on the tractor to take part. Nirupam stood in the patchy shade of a gum tree, while Jason and Fern held the deceased’s bodies, wrapped in sacking.

Primrose, flute in hand, waited by the hole. She had no idea what to play. Mojo sniffed.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him. Watery eyes looked up at her but he didn’t say anything.

“We commend these bodies to the deep,” said Jason.

“Isn’t that for burials at sea?” asked Primrose.

“Ssh,” Kurt hissed. “Mojo, would you like to say something? They were your friends, these chooks.”

Poor kid if his only friends were chooks. Primrose put a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“Goodbye Treasure, Ruby, Mrs. Cluck and Princess Leia. I’m sorry the fox got you. I’m sorry I left the gate open.” A tear dripped down his cheek.

Primrose’s heart lurched. She slipped her arm around his tubby little body and hugged him. “
I
didn’t lock them up, Mojo. It was my fault.”

He sniffed again and wiped a hand across his face but he stayed in the circle of her arm as Fern and Jason lowered their bundles into the hole. Primrose’s throat tightened and a tear pushed against her lids.

“Rest in peace, chookies,” she said.

Fern straightened. She stepped back a pace and nodded to Primrose. “Play.” Kurt began filling the hole.

Primrose raised her flute and began the slow movement from a Handel Flute Sonata. One of her favourite pieces. The sound wound up through the trees, borne on the warm air, mingling with the wind chimes and the cicadas. She closed her eyes, blocking out the steady thud of the shovel, focussing on the melody and the fact her fingers were stiff and unwieldy, her tone a little rough.

She reached the end, opened her eyes, lowered her flute, grimaced in apology for the lacklustre performance. The others were standing watching her, blank-faced. Even Kurt was bereft of comment. A neat mound of earth covered the final resting place.

“That was absolutely beautiful,” said Fern after a long silence.

“Thanks for playing, Rosie.” Mojo gave her a little smile.

“Very good,” was Kurt’s grudging praise.

“I’m a bit rusty.”

“We had no idea you were so good,” said Nirupam. “You didn’t sound rusty to me.”

“Or me. It was perfect.” Fern held out her hand to Mojo. “Let’s get cleaned up for lunch.”

The men headed for the sheds. Primrose and Nirupam walked slowly to the house.

“Was I really all right? I haven’t played for a few weeks.”

“It was absolutely beautiful. You’re really, really good.”

“Thanks, I’m so pleased. For Mojo’s sake.” And also because she’d been able to render Kurt speechless.

****

After lunch Primrose managed to corner Danny putting on his boots in the laundry.

“We want to talk to you.”

“What about?” His eyes flicked from her to his wife standing behind her. He licked his lips. Nirupam smiled uncertainly but didn’t object.

“In private,” said Primrose. “In my room.”

Under the surprised gazes of the others they trooped along the corridor and into the fresh whiteness of her bedroom. A faint tang of paint still lingered.

“It’s lovely.” Nirupam stared around in surprise.

“I’ll do the baby’s room as soon as the others leave,” said Primrose. “Sit down.”

Nirupam lowered herself carefully onto the bed. Danny stood against the closed door with his arms folded. “What’s up?”

“We have some things to discuss,” said Primrose.

“Everyone should be involved.”

“No!” Nirupam’s tone startled them both. “I’m sick of discussing everything we do with them. They’re not our friends. We haven’t known any of them longer than a year. Kurt makes all the decisions and you never object to anything he says or does.”

“Maybe I agree with him,” he said.

“Rubbish,” Primrose interrupted. “He’s mad! He can’t grow vegetables and Tom says he won’t listen to any advice. He’s a loudmouth know it all and Nirupam and I think he should go. You have to tell him to leave, Danny.”

Danny’s mouth fell open and he sucked in two great breaths before he said, “I won’t tell him to leave. This place is for everyone.” His arms flailed wide as he took two strides toward her. “You just don’t understand, Rosie. You come here bossing us around and telling us what we’re doing wrong, and upsetting Nirupam. We were doing well until you came barging in. You’ve always been the same. Telling everyone what to do. Why don’t you leave us alone? Why don’t
you
leave?”

Nirupam heaved herself off the bed. Two pink spots burned in her cheeks contrasting starkly with the alabaster of the surrounding skin. “Rosie hasn’t upset me. She’s said what I should have said ages ago. I don’t like Kurt and I want him to leave. I don’t want him anywhere near my baby. If Rosie goes, I’ll go with her.”

Primrose’s head whipped round in alarm. Where could she take eight months pregnant Nirupam? She didn’t have anywhere to live herself except here.

Nirupam had an unusually determined expression. Danny must have recognised it as one demanding conciliation because he said, “Sweets, calm down. I’ll...I’ll...think about it.”

“Good. I need to lie down.” Her anger deflated as quickly as it rose. She shuffled toward the door. “Thanks, Rosie,” she whispered as she passed. Primrose squeezed her hand.

When the door closed behind her, Danny, lips white with fury hissed, “This is all your fault. Why can’t you mind your own business?”

“This
is
my business, Danny. You’re my brother and Nirupam’s the closest to a sister I’ll ever have.”

“We haven’t seen each other for years,” he spat in disgust. “Now, when you need help, you come swanning in here and expect us to change everything to suit you.”

“I don’t! Can’t you see what’s happening? Nirupam’s not happy.”

“She was until you arrived and started telling her she wasn’t.”

“Give her some credit. She’s not stupid. She’s worried about her baby. She wants to have a normal family life, not strangers dropping in and out. Surely you can understand that?”

He dropped his head, sighed in exasperation. “I don’t think I can do that sort of family. A normal one. Whatever that is.” He glared at her again.

“You’re more along the way to it than I am,” Primrose said in a frustrated burst of candour. “You have a wife who loves you and a child on the way. I can’t even get a man to marry me.” The last words hung in the air. Where had they come from? Envy? Bitterness? She didn’t begrudge Danny and Nirupam their happiness. They deserved every bit of it. Danny certainly did.

He studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment and the dislike in his green eyes chilled her to the bone. “Maybe you should try being less of a controlling bitch.”

****

Primrose stayed in her room the rest of the afternoon, alternating lying on the bed and pacing about, sometimes peering out the window, sometimes sitting on the floor, her back against the cool of the wall, hot tears trickling down her cheeks. Leave? Every fibre in her body screamed clear out as fast as she could. No-one would miss her, no-one would care. Except one.