10

Come Saturday Morning

Poseidon’s Grotto was awakening to a new sunrise. Its green tangle lit by sunbursts as Sol lifted his fiery countenance across Poseidon’s great green sea. The rapture of bird song erupted throughout the surreally silent cove. Gulls and terns plied the gentle early morning breezes and myriad living things began their daily routine. Majestically, across the wide river, the island kept watch, alive and cognisant to the mysteries of humankind, and like some giant chronometer, kept time as the tides flooded and ebbed in their never ending cycle of renewal.

Lyndon could not sleep. The occurrence that unfolded itself in Collins’ Café persisted in tormenting him. Helen’s comprehension of the strange events also remained imperfect, but Lyndon knew, at least partly, that what he had experienced centred on their being. Whatever reality it was, he considered, it was not a dream. To his way of thinking, the phenomenon was as real as the life he was now living. Bewildered, he gazed across to Poseidon’s Grotto.

In the river, the flood tide had drawn out two fishermen. Their small dinghy glided past Poseidon House’s vantage point on the tide. Silently, ceaselessly, inexorably they slid past, growing ever smaller as they moved with the tide as time, and the river, flowed by.

By a quarter to five, a half hour had passed and the fishermen were well upstream, past Rosie’s and skirting beyond the old Bank Flats, away into oblivion it seemed…drifting on the currents of destiny to another place. The thought persisted as Lyndon observed the motor boat making way at the end of its run and returning to its original starting point. With the motor switched off the fishermen began their graceful dance again, in tow and drifting on the power of the tide. Once more they silently slid past his position steering dead ahead for Rosie’s.

Lyndon returned to his bedroom where Helen lay sleeping like an angel. Her eyes and mind remained closed to the perplexities of his thoughts. In the quietness of the room, he watched her perfect form as her breasts swelled with every breath and he smiled wickedly. Beneath them, a chiselled line separating the right and left of her chest followed down through her perfectly defined abdomen and leading to her vulva. Lyndon could feel his manhood engorging at the silent spectacle.

What should he care of dreams and the supernatural when before him her beautiful body pulsed with the rhythm of life?

As Helen gently parted her legs in the death-throw of whatever she had been dreaming, her honeyed fragrance mingled with the scented sea breeze of subtle sweet salt to stir the senses. There, as always, was the hint of peppermint. Lyndon began kissing his waking wife, over and over with an ever increasing intensity.

“You are insatiable, Lyndon Williams!”

“And you are deliciously naked, Helen Williams!”

Outside the window, across the island and beyond to the grey sea, Poseidon, too, was stirring in his oceanic realm. It appeared the island’s god demanded he be propitiated, so Lyndon, sensible to his obligation, made love to his wife. A chilling silence shrouded the island before a gusty breeze whipped up off the ocean, turning the placid sea to a cauldron of flurried white caps.

In love’s sweet afterglow, Helen’s young womanhood lay motionless before him as the early morning sun slowly arose from the sea. Its soft light caressed her rounded breasts, gently rising and falling, as her nipples cast faint shadows on her perfectly textured skin. The diffused light subtly crossed her extremities, casting delightful shadows which accentuated her femininity. Her beautiful body was the sacred temple of Lyndon’s being.

Four crimson lips like gentle pilgrims, sought sanctuary in the other’s kiss. Lyndon kissed her again, she a priestess and he the priest of some revered surreal place, as hushed on the breeze Helen’s name whispered across Poseidon’s Grotto, across the wide river, in sublime wonder. Its sweet sound inculcated the very soul of the cove. The flower of their love was so much more than impetuous fire.

Its sweet essence was at once the sum of all things.

As they made love repeatedly in the cool of the morning, an imperceptible, solitary figure walked quietly along the deserted beach. The rolling breakers drummed as they broke and cut deeply into the shifting sand of the deserted beach. As the sun rose through the grey horizon, the walking man felt distraught and alone, isolated against the vast singularity of the sea. The young man tried consoling himself but always his thoughts returned to the one who was not with him.

‘Helen, where are you? Oh, what we have missed together…’

This Lyndon walked the lonely beach, searching…forever searching for his lost love…searching for the truth. On this beach, however, there was no girl and there would never be an end to his impossible search.

In this reality, there never could be…

Unbeknownst to the lonely man, his sweetheart and her family had been tragically killed in a motor accident far across the sea.

They died in Boston, Massachusetts.

Across the cove, in Poseidon House, the lovers finally arose to a beautiful cove day. High summer on the cove was a delight to be savoured. The rolling breakers had finally begun to sing their daily song to the sandy, almost deserted beach as the blue waters flooded into the river on the high tide. Gulls squawked and wheeled overhead in organized chaos, patrolling the glistening sand flats slowly being inundated by the advancing tide.

All the while on the craggy bluff, the great wooden house maintained its relentless vigil against the encroachment of the sea. Poseidon was splendid, painted in brilliant white as it shone in the dazzling summer morning sun. The curtains unfurled like flags as the stronger gusts caught them and tossed their ends in playful excitement. The brazen diving helmet and Poseidon’s trident at the front door caught the sun’s rays and flecked in unison.

Not far from the house, the coastal rocks were awash with the flood surge as four tiny children played and built dams against the tide. One was heard to taunt the sea god, Poseidon. He and a small girl laughed aloud.

“We’ll beat Poseidon, one day, Helen!”

“This was our best dam ever.”

“But there’s always tomorrow!”

“Then we will build an even bigger dam.”

Inevitably the sea water filled the forward trenches of the dam, and then assaulted the first barrier wall of sand. Irrevocably it melted before the onslaught of the tide and their futile attempts to repair the dam could not keep pace with the rapidity of the structure’s destruction. The relentless tide grew ever stronger and steadily consumed the remains of the children’ labours.

Poseidon had overwhelmed them again.

“Tomorrow’s another day, Poseidon,” Clarke yelled out to sea at the incoming rollers.

“We’ll beat you some day,” Helen taunted.

The children, like King Canute, were powerless in holding it back…

Regardless, the all conquering tide flowed freely along its preordained journey.

“And what will we do today, Sweetheart?” Helen enquired of her husband as they surveyed their kingdom from Poseidon’s veranda. “It is our last day before we have to go home!”

“We could drive to Gilwarren, today…won’t be back for a long time, will we?” Lyndon tried hard to justify the request.

“We could, I suppose.” Helen responded just as ardently.

“Then we’ll go now while the day is still young.”

Come Saturday morning, again and again, repeating the endless cycle within the Flux.

Walking along the beach the other young man stopped at Rosie’s and began talking to Joe.

“Where’s your first mate, then?”

“She’s overseas. I’m by myself today.”

“I haven’t seen ya for a while!”

“I’m on holidays for a little while longer. I’ll be going home tomorrow. I hate going home on a Saturday.”

“I know what you mean. I think there is something special about a Saturday. It marks time on a calendar. Revives the soul is what it does!”

“That’s what I’ve always thought, too, Joe. It revives the heart.”

“You must live close by?” Old Joe spat the words out along with a greasy piece of last night’s dinner. “I should know-be-now, shouldn’t I?”

“Up there, Joe, the big white place on the bluff!”

“Nice place, that. It’s got a good sit-e-ation, it has. I like the look of it. Has it a name?”

“Matter of fact it has. My grandfather called it Poseidon, after the sea god.”

“That’s like old Neptune, eh?”

“That’s right, just like old Neptune…He was the Roman version, you know?”

“…Version?”

“…Of Poseidon!”

“Now I see!”

“He had a trident, too?”

“Yes, a big bronze one.”

“Well done!”

Another hot day brought four children out to play at hide-and-seek around Clarke’s place one afternoon. Before too long they had extended their range far beyond where their parents had allowed them to be. They were children, after all. Two eventually ran half-way to Warburton’s landing where the thick scrub made an ideal hiding place. Here, were a thousand nooks and crannies which nature provided to conceal one’s-self from prying eyes.

“Do you think Clarke will ever find us, Lyndon?”

“Not unless he’s superman and has X-ray vision, Helen.”

“What about Linda? Do you think he’ll find her?”

“Of course he will!”

“Do you think it will take him long?”

“Not long at all. He has probably already found her by now and she is helping him look for us too!”

“I’m scared, Lyndon.” Helen held tightly on to Lyndon’s arm. Her togs were still damp from scurrying about the tide line.

“Don’t be…We’ll be fine…they can’t find us!”

Lyndon looked at Helen as she shivered. Whether it emanated from excitement or the cold he did not know. She clutched on to his arm and slid her other arm around his waist.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m being protected!”

The game of hide-and seek was never concluded that hot day at Cooram. Clarke and Linda looked everywhere they could suppose of but without any success. Later that afternoon, Helen and Lyndon walked back to Avalon. She talked incessantly about everything whilst he listened.

“Last year the teacher taught me about denucleations and transub-stantiations.”

“…About what?”

Helen was about to disclose her considerable knowledge when a familiar voice pierced the quietness of the shore.

“Where have you two been?” Clarke roared across the sandy beach.

“Take it easy, I’ve be transubstantiated!” Lyndon laughed.

“I’d much rather think that you’ve been denucleated!” Helen corrected her little friend. Linda smirked and Clarke just shook his head.

“You two are nut cases…don’t you know!”

“We’re as nutty as a fruit cake?” Helen piped up.

“And I’ll add some raisins,” Lyndon added.

“And some sultanas, too,” Linda now got involved in the banter.

“Give me strength!”

Clarke couldn’t take anymore and pretended to walk away. Laughter, innocent and sincere rang out loudly across the cove. Four young friends, children of the sea, would together share these wonderful memories throughout their lives. Each day was an adventure in the world of the young. Each new day brought forth the promise of something even greater than the previous one.

Such was their world that every day seemed like a Saturday.

On the bluff, another Lyndon backed his car out of the garage ready for the new day’s adventure. He and Helen were driving to Gilwarren. There was always something special about a Saturday. It was as if their lives were made of Saturdays…nothing but Saturdays.

At the folk in the road at the Toubli junction the gold Monaro turned north and cruised towards Cooram before veering off to Gilwarren. Its occupants chattered and made plans for the day and beyond. There was no urgency…their world existed eternally within the state of their being…and beyond.

It existed so very far beyond any temporal comprehension…