One Long Thread (15 page)

25.

A year after Sally's death I returned to Tonga. I had intended on being in Tonga for the whole silk season, but as it turned out I had to miss the first few weeks and, all the while, I was as restless for the company of those ravenous worms and their insatiable pursuit of life.

It felt as though I had never left Tonga at all, arriving at a similar time in their development as I had left them, though, I was tending the hope of a new generation; the eggs that had been laid by those worms I never saw grow fully.

Pearl was still wrapped in the same sarong, her hair pulled back into a grey ponytail and her feet still bare. The ocean pounded, as ever, against the shore in the distance and the same intoxicating perfume filled every breath I took in the first hours.

There was no rain when I arrived, no heavy weight hanging over my head. No guilt sitting in my stomach and no sister waiting, dead already, in a hospital bed back home. Pearl met me at the airport, crushing me to her, along with the same friend who had driven me to the airport last time.

She had rearranged her house for me. There was a partition around the couch, a small wardrobe and mirror. A set of drawers – each of the three painted a different colour – beside my bed which was neatly made with clean sheets and a velvety blanket picturing an exotic scene of palm trees, blue water and cool sand. There was no time to unpack my bag, not straightaway, as Pearl quickly disappeared out of the front door around the side of the house towards the silkhouse, calling my name.

A warm glow spread inside me, beginning at my toes and rising all the way through my body. My skin tingled and I felt like a thousand cobwebs and sad thoughts, complicated memories and tensions inside me were loosened and set free. I slipped off my sneakers and ran to join her, making a pact with myself to dedicate these two months in Tonga as part of every year from then on.

I could hear the sound of those ravenous worms, a steady, thumping rain, at the door of the silkhouse and my skin prickled, and goosebumps ran up the length of my arms. I had forgotten that earthy, pungent smell which, again, overwhelmed me as I stepped through the door.

Pearl had also rearranged the silkhouse. There were more shelves, more baskets and worms – I was sure of it. The chopping bench was longer, a second board and knife waiting for me. Smiling, I ran to my side of the bench, tying the apron around my waist, and taking the knife in my hand, knowing exactly what to do.

We didn't speak much at all over the next hours, binding ourselves to each other once more by the efforts of our labour. Strips of light streamed in through the door and the broken window, our chopping sounding like muted Tongan
lali
drums.

I took to the task with vigour, chopping roughly, quickly, to fill my basket. I felt the life of those worms pulling me forward, along their golden thread, towards a glorious new beginning. Those worms and their lives were like promise and hope. I began to understand what bound Pearl to their simple mystery because I felt the same connection. In front of us, all around us, was the energy of life and growth. Beauty was only a month away and it depended, in part, on what I could do.

For the first few days, Pearl and I slipped into an easy routine and it was clear she enjoyed my company as much as I enjoyed hers. I liked her sense of humour, the way she found simple things amusing, as well as the kinds of things that were not polite to laugh about. She would be good company at Charlie's Chinese Restaurant on special occasions.

We had the silkworm baskets numbered, after my suggestion to do so, as I found that occasionally Pearl would skip one basket for the next, not realising her mistake. Knowing her passion for these little creatures, she'd be mortified to find she hadn't been giving each batch equal attention. I was noticing different things about her this time that I hadn't seen before. She seemed elderly in a way I hadn't appreciated on my last hurried visit and I had a sudden understanding that she wouldn't be here forever.

Pearl took me to visit each of her friends and I felt the same admiration for their generous affection. I took photographs of everything.

We walked into town and shopped at the markets and collected baskets of mulberry leaves. At night, between shifts, we talked together and Pearl made me tell her details of everything. She taught me how to play cards. Her favourite game, five hundred, and I laughed to myself thinking of Barry and that night I visited Boof and Cassie. I wondered about their baby. Whether it was a boy or a girl, realising that baby would be almost one year old.

‘I've been thinking,' I said, moving between the silkworm baskets, where my task was to remove each worm to a clean basket, which had been lined with freshly chopped leaves. I disposed of the leaf litter and droppings into a larger basket, which I emptied out the back in the compost pile once it was full. Once one basket of worms had been transferred, I began with the next. ‘You've held onto that coat for a long time.'

Pearl looked up from her task and wiped the back of her arm across her brow. She nodded, absently, as if she'd rather the acknowledgement went unnoticed.

‘I've done a lot of thinking since Sally. And being here last year. I can't imagine what it must have been like for you then. Sometimes I think that what has happened to me is so bad but I wouldn't have been as strong as you.'

I heard Pearl sighing softly.

‘You don't know how strong you are until you need it, Ruby.'

I moved onto another silkworm basket and heard Pearl begin to hum behind me.

I understood what it meant to hold on to something for so long you couldn't imagine doing without it. I was just eighteen and yet things from my childhood – which seemed a lifetime away – felt too hard to relinquish. Even small, inconsequential things. Needing those things was probably an irrational attachment to what I truly longed for but could never have, but then grieving is all about feeling irrational. I'd kept Barry's message for much the same reason.

‘There must be someone special in your life,' Pearl said and I shrugged.

‘You can't tell me there aren't at least some appealing boys at college.'

‘I study fashion,' I told her, raising my eyebrows.

‘Oh,' she said. ‘Well, then if not college . . . Well, there must be good-looking boys somewhere in Melbourne,' she said, somewhat defeated by the logistics.

‘I don't know,' I told her.

‘Don't lay your hopes on a Tongan boy,' she said, lowering her voice.

I laughed. ‘No.'

Pearl busied herself at the chopping table, shrugging as if I was making this conversation more difficult than it had to be. She stopped, suddenly, looking up at me.

‘Oh,' she said, knowingly as if she'd guessed the answer.

I had no idea what she meant.

‘It's perfectly okay with me,' she said as she scraped her leaves into the basket. ‘You know the Tongans have a perfectly civilised way of dealing with this,' she said. ‘Though they're all men from what I understand. I don't think it's occurred to them there might be female equivalents. They let them dress up as women and everything. Quite odd. For a religious culture they're surprisingly—'

I cut her short. ‘You think I'm . . . that I don't like boys, that I like—'

‘You don't?'

‘No,' I said adamantly, laughing. ‘I'm not gay.'

‘Oh,' she said again. ‘Well, what's the problem?'

‘It's complicated.'

‘Really,' she said as if it couldn't be further from the truth.

She put her knife down and walked around the table, wiped her hands on her apron and took me by the hand. She pulled me out of the silkhouse, back into her house.

‘Sit down while I make us a cup of tea.'

‘What?'

‘Have you thought about it?' she said, sitting down opposite me. ‘You don't like wearing dresses,' she said, sizing up my T-shirt and jeans, ‘you don't seem particularly interested in boys. I'm just wondering. Maybe you've had no one to talk to about this sort of thing.'

Pearl was so serious. Her forehead was creased with worry lines and behind her, at the kitchen bench, the kettle began steaming from the spout, framing her head as though it was actually coming from her ears. I started laughing. Really the whole thing was so absurd. I laughed harder and was caught in one of those moments where I really couldn't stop. I pushed my chair backwards to hold my stomach. It was really not that funny, but I just couldn't stop.

Pearl considered me with confused amusement, which added to the hilarity of the situation. She leant back on her chair. The kettle stopped steaming, the automatic shut off clicking in, and she smiled. She laughed, too, her boobs shaking under her sarong and I found it all the funnier.

‘Well?' she said.

‘Oh my god,' I managed to say in between my spluttering laughter. ‘You actually thought I was gay?'

‘You've got to admit, you tick all the boxes!'

‘Except I'm in love with a boy called Barry!' I said without thinking. I felt the peak of laughter break, you know when you feel like you've run out of gas and you try to hold on to that feeling but it subsides. I was catching my breath, making little groans and realising I'd said more than I meant to. And underneath that laughter was a feeling of sadness and confusion.

‘Barry?' Pearl said mockingly. ‘What kind of a name is that?'

I slumped forward on the table, resting my head on my arms. ‘Oh my god. My stomach hurts.'

Pearl stood to make the tea.

‘And what does this “Barry” do?'

But I shouldn't have said anything. I felt stupid and ashamed. How was it possible to be in love with your dead sister's boyfriend. It just sounded wrong.

‘He works on a croc jumping boat,' I said, though I don't know why I did.

‘Hmmm,' Pearl said, not knowing what to make of his job.

‘I know it doesn't sound much.'

I put my head on my hands at the table and sat like that for a minute. I felt ashamed. It was all wrong and yet I couldn't help it. Why did love have to be so precise, so disarming and wrong? And tears came to my eyes, taking me completely by surprise.

Pearl turned from the bench to see me. ‘Oh you poor darling,' she said, coming to stand beside me. I felt her hands around my shoulders. ‘Bad as all that, then,' she said. ‘I know all about that.'

Pearl and I took time out between tending the silkworms to go down to the beach. We lay down on our backs, closed our eyes and soaked up the sun. We wore ridiculously over-sized sunglasses that Pearl must have had for years. They actually looked antique.

‘When Jack died,' Pearl said, just after we'd closed our eyes, ‘I'd come down here every time I felt overwhelmed. Nothing better than feeling the sun on your skin to know you're alive and breathing. A bit of warmth to chase away cold feelings.'

I lifted my sunglasses above my eyes. Pearl looked like a beached whale, her large, round body wrapped in one of her colourful sarongs and the sight of her made me smile. I hoped I would be like her when I reached that age, unencumbered by fashion and futility. Bound to my own simple passions and myself.

I lay back down again and closed my eyes. I blamed the sun and Pearl and her capacity to lull me into her own sense of security. But I began talking about Barry. I told her everything and when I was done she reached over and took my hand.

‘I don't know what it is with the girls in our family, Ruby. Not one of us knows how to take an easy road,' she laughed. ‘All I know is there was truly only one man for me, one man for your mother and it seems there's only one for you. There's nothing to be done except to let him know how you feel. I often think how differently life might have turned out if I had kicked up merry hell to find Jack before my parents put me on that train. You've got to ring that boy, Ruby. You don't know how it will turn out, you don't even know that he hasn't found someone else. But you've got to give it a chance. You know, it would mean the world to me if you did.'

We sat up and the sand fell from our backs. I leant forward, resting my hands on my knees. ‘Why silk?' I asked her. ‘I mean how is it you've ended up growing silk in this little place?'

‘Your mother always hated moving around when she was small.' Pearl sighed. ‘But I was restless. I could never settle in one place for very long. She always wanted a dog and I was forever telling her we couldn't have one. She wanted a father, too. And she couldn't have that, either. You know, even when you're a parent, Ruby, you don't lose being your own self. Part of me knew it would be better for her if we settled down somewhere permanent, but I could never manage it. I'd feel this wind inside. See, moving on was how I felt settled. She had this one friend in a place we stayed for a while, Sally. They got on so well. They had mulberry trees in this town, all over, and Sally and your mum got to keeping them. Once a year these little eggs would hatch and you could love something into life for a while. We kept those eggs in a box as we moved around each year. When we came here and after Jack died, for the first time in so long I didn't feel like going anywhere. In fact, I haven't left this place since. I saw all these mulberry trees and it reminded me of Jan. And I understood what she must have felt,' she paused. ‘She came home from school, once, and her homework was to draw our family tree. She was supposed to put her parents in the trunk, her grandparents in the roots and her siblings as the leaves on the branches.' She laughed but it was the sound of someone trying to maintain a veneer of indifference. ‘I always told her she had no grandparents. After what they did to me, I didn't think,' she stopped and cleared her throat. ‘I found her piece of paper screwed up in the bin. Two names don't make much of a tree. When I asked her what she handed in for her homework she opened the silkworm box and said . . .' Pearl genuinely laughed, ‘she said “I told the teacher we fed our family tree to these worms”.'