After Cleo (41 page)

The mastery is in awareness and trust; in having enough wisdom to step back to allow space for the new to unfold. To avoid becoming a Hungry Ghost mourning the past and always craving for the future.

The red and gold brush strokes slowly darkened to crimson. The monks' voices enveloped us in their liquid harmonies.

‘I love it here,' Lydia said, as we watched the hills turn a misty lilac. ‘But I've done enough.'

Her words left me momentarily speechless.

‘When I first started meditating, I thought if I tried hard for long enough something incredible would happen,' she continued, her voice fractured with emotion. ‘You know, scientists have done tests and they've found physical changes in the brain when people approach higher levels of awareness. I thought I'd be able to achieve that. Maybe even find . . .'

The rest of her sentence hung in the air between us.
Please
don't say it's hard to explain
.

‘Enlightenment?' I asked quietly.

The Frenchman lit a cigarette and the German woman gathered her toddler in a towel.

A tear formed a crystalline river down Lydia's cheek. Her pain was deep.

‘I just thought if I sat there long enough . . .' she said, then started weeping.

I put my arm around her.

All the time I'd perceived her as being rebellious, Lydia had been focusing on the unattainable goal of perfection. It was the same determination she'd used to achieve high distinctions at university. Once she set her mind on something, her willpower was relentless.

I wondered what had instilled this drive and if it was to do with being born into a household grieving for an older brother she'd never met. While she was in no way a replacement for Sam, it's true she would never have been born if he hadn't been run over that day. Perhaps the darling girl really had burdened herself with the task of healing hearts.

Although I'd always made a point of not portraying Sam as a saint, maybe he'd seemed that way to her. Perhaps on a subconscious level she'd grown up measuring herself against an older brother who was untainted because he was dead.

‘I've wasted the last five years of my life,' she sobbed quietly. ‘I could've been going to parties and having fun with my friends instead of striving so hard, meditating hour after hour.'

Rocking her gently in my arms, I pieced the past few days together. The fact that she'd let her hair grow, and the silence after her Teacher had publicly invited her to become a nun, now made sense. Far from being manipulated into committing herself to an ancient religion, Lydia was still in charge of her life.

‘I need to come home,' she said.

Now I'd finally understood her love for the monastery and Sri Lanka, she was coming home?

‘Really?' I asked. ‘No maroon robes?'

God, what was I doing? Trying to talk her into being a nun?!

‘This place will always be part of me, but . . .'

Her voice trailed off. I resisted the urge to try and finish her sentence.

‘But what?'

‘I don't feel right here anymore. I'm sure I'll come back some day, but not for a while. I want to do a Masters in Psychology. I've been in touch with Melbourne University and they've got a place for me. I want to combine what I've learnt here with Western knowledge somehow . . .'

She buried her head in my neck and asked if she could fly back with me in a few days' time and live at home for a while.

My time with Lydia in Sri Lanka had taught me so much. All the energy I'd put into worrying about primitive toilets, vegetarian curries and mosquitoes had been wasted. The terrifying island of tears had turned out to be an oasis of delightful contradictions. Not only that, it'd taken me back to the adventurous woman I'd once been.

Most importantly, this beautiful island had helped me to understand Lydia. The tensions between us had been more about our similarities than our differences.

The sky became a crimson blanket, then purple.

‘I feel terrible about coming here when you were sick,' she said, her cheeks glistening in the fading light. ‘I didn't know what I was doing.'

‘But you came home when I really needed you,' I said, rocking her gently. ‘You looked after me beautifully, thanks to your dad paying the fare.'

She straightened her back and wiped her eyes.

‘But it was my Teacher who paid for the fare,' she said.

‘
Your Teacher?!
' I gasped. ‘I thought he was the one trying to keep you here!'

She shook her head.

‘He never did that. He refused to teach me anything that time. In fact he hardly spoke to me. He made it clear he thought I should be with you. Buddhism regards family as very important.'

The island of Serendipity had saved its biggest surprise till last. The charismatic monk I'd suspected of trying to ensnare my daughter and steal her away from us had been far more generous and understanding of family ties than I'd given him credit for.

I'd been a fool for misjudging the man so badly. He'd had our family's interests at heart all along. No wonder Steve hadn't replied when I'd sent him the thank you note.

Through all the turmoil, one thing had been consistent – my daughter's determination to make a meaningful impact on the world.

The profound darkness of the tropics enveloped us. The monks' voices faded away. Night birds and insects started up their own musical homage to the glory of being alive.

Completion

Happiness is the weight of a cat on your lap,
and a contented daughter

As the car pulled up outside Shirley, a double rainbow arced in the sky above. The colours were so vivid and clearly defined in the lower arc I could pick them out individually. I'd never seen such a brilliant rainbow.

High above it, a hazy second rainbow formed a protective curve. A mothering arc, watching over her daughter, content to bask in her offspring's beauty.

A familiar silhouette sat in the living room window. The moment Jonah saw us he stood up on his toes, arched his back and flicked his tail. Bending intensely, he peered down at the car. As he pressed his face against the glass we could see the blue flash of his eyes.

‘Someone's pleased to see you,' I said to Lydia.

As she ran up the path, Jonah jumped down from the window ledge and hurtled off to wait on the other side of the front door. We could hear him meowing. Lydia turned the key, and Jonah pushed the door open to spring into her arms.

‘Oh, I missed you boy!' she said, sinking her face in his fur.

Jonah's purr was so deep and resonant it reminded me of something I'd heard just a few nights earlier – the monks chanting at sunset. I thought of the slipper maker and the cat that was his monk. Jonah would be more than willing to take on the role of Lydia's guru.

* * *

Adjusting back to ‘normal' life was more difficult for Lydia than I'd realised. In her search for spiritual perfection, so many things had been sidelined. The first thing she did was update her Facebook page. Her old profile, featuring photos of her in monasteries or managing fundraising events, made her tearful. ‘I hardly look like a real person!' she wept.

She shut herself in the bathroom and emerged twenty minutes later wearing full makeup.

‘Please take my photo,' she said, thrusting a camera in my hand.

I was engrossed in my study writing a new book but there was urgency in her voice. We went into the back garden where she smiled self consciously under the tree. Unlike most of her generation who practised flashy smiles taking self-portraits on their phones, Lydia had forgotten how to perform for a camera. She took the camera from me and deleted most of the photos. If I told her what I really thought, that she glowed with rare beauty, she'd have recoiled uncomfortably. Her teacher's words echoed inside my head – ‘If there is a pearl in all the world, Lydia is our jewel.'

Getting back into the social scene was painful to begin with. Some of her friends only seemed to laugh, talk and drink. She found it hard to fit in. A couple of times she came home tearful, again regretting how she'd spent the past five years. I tried to assure her that while the benefits of her experiences mightn't seem obvious to her yet, they'd added great richness to who she was and would stay with her forever.

Walking along Chapel Street with her one Saturday night, she glided along the pavement, oblivious to admiring glances from men. When I nudged her and asked if she'd noticed that cute guy trying to make eye contact, she seemed almost startled.

Katharine, Philip and I were delighted when she came along to operas, musicals and the occasional trashy film with us. During her devout phase she'd rejected entertainment as a ‘diversion'.

It was wonderful to see her wearing clothes that weren't from a charity shop. To my surprise, she developed an addiction to a boutique specialising in conservative outfits with cashmere and leather accessories. Jonah was particularly pleased about that. He scurried into her bedroom whenever he could to steal her scarves.

‘I'm ashamed to confess it,' she said one day. ‘But I have a weakness for animal skin prints.'

I bought her a fake leopard-skin handbag. Jonah naturally assumed it was his and started carrying it around the house.

Lydia took her cooking skills to new levels. Not only could she recreate Mum's ginger crunch to perfection, Julia Child and Nigella Lawson became household friends.

Jonah galloped eagerly into the kitchen whenever he heard her rattling in the pot cupboard. It meant no end of games – jumping up on the bench and being shooed off again. Lydia solved the situation peaceably, placing his tallest scratching pole in the middle of the kitchen so he could supervise. This involved much ‘talking', answering every question with a meow or a cluck – or, if he disapproved for some reason, one of his snitching sounds.

‘I'm just his under-chef,' she chuckled.

Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, I almost missed the smell of incense. She wasn't meditating much anymore. I suggested maybe she shouldn't give it up altogether.

Since Katharine had moved out to residential college at university, the house was quiet with just the three of us – four, counting Jonah. After a few months, Lydia was ready to move into a flat with people her own age. She and three friends found a modern apartment above an art gallery in Carlton. Sunny and spacious, it was ideal. Now she'd decided to do a PhD as well as a Masters in Psychology, she planned to stay there a few years.

She left home on one of those brilliant sunny days we sometimes get in winter. Her bed was fine to go once Philip had sawn out the piece of wood that had been saturated with Jonah's misdoings.

The apple tree waved its bare branches in farewell as a pair of removal men trudged down the path with her desk, chair and boxes of clothes. After they'd driven away, she called me upstairs. Her room was empty except for a cluttered bookshelf. I ran my hand over the apricot walls. They still had an otherworldly quality.

‘We've had quite an adventure,' I said, picking up a plump meditation cushion. ‘Aren't you taking this?'

‘You can keep it if you like,” she said.

‘Meditation,' I said, turning the cushion in my hands. ‘It does sometimes help me tune out after I've been writing.'

‘You're not thinking of becoming a nun, are you?' Lydia chuckled.

I shook my head and laughed. She put her hands on my shoulders and drew me close.

‘Thanks for everything, Mum.'

My ears went hot. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.

My stroppy, strong-willed daughter who'd only ever called me Helen had finally called me Mum.

Tail's End

Set them free . . . within reason

That afternoon, I clicked Jonah into his harness and carried him into the back garden.

As I stretched on a lounger and closed my eyes, the cat jumped on to the sunbed next to mine. Purring and rolling ecstatically in the golden warmth, he invited me to rub his tummy. Like all good concubines, I obliged.

Half a tablet of cat Prozac had become part of his daily routine. He was still demented, charming and bossy but the medication had made a big difference to his ‘little problem'. He only sprayed these days if one of the black cats from down the road glowered through a window at him, or he caught someone packing a suitcase. Dad's piano was still a source of unwholesome interest so, to the curiosity of visitors, it remained in its protective covering.

‘You're a good boy, aren't you?' I said, as he lay on his side and slid his eyes shut.

Our feline seemed so calm and happy I decided to risk giving him what he'd always craved. He hardly seemed to notice when I undid the harness. We lay side by side, savouring the sunshine and each other's company. He was free now, and he'd chosen to stay with me. Flattered, I closed my eyes and drifted into a haze.

Except I couldn't relax entirely. Every few seconds I checked Jonah was still lying next to me. He appeared comatose. Once, when I opened one eye I caught him examining me with a piercing gaze, as though ascertaining whether I was asleep.

Pretending to doze, I watched the crafty creature check me out again. Satisfied I was unconscious, he sprang off his lounger, gave himself a congratulatory shake and trotted stealthily away. My heart sank as his tail disappeared around the side of the house.

Sighing at the thought of another neighbourhood gadabout, I rolled off the lounger and plodded after him. That cat couldn't be trusted.

As I rounded the corner, he was pattering past the wheelie bins. Too far away for me to catch, even if I broke into a sprint.

‘Jonah!' I whined. “Come back.”

The cat stopped in his tracks, turned his handsome face to me and blinked.

‘It would be nice if you stayed home,' I said.

The feline hesitated. I waited for him to bolt. But, to my astonishment, he lay down on the path, rolled on his back and put his feet in the air as if to say, ‘You might as well come and get me.'