hate her.
Once when she was a child, Caitlin wrote a story for school. âWhen I grow upâ. I will not be my mother, she wrote. And worse still, it was not written from spite or anger, it was simply her seeing how wrong Sharn had always been, how inadequate.
Liam used to show Sharn the films he had made. Him, Caitlin and her. Reel after reel, and although she would sit and watch, ostensibly enjoying the images of their life, there were times when she wanted to say,
but canât you see, thatâs not how it is?
âLook.â He would point towards the screen, delighting in a smile from Caitlin as she got off her toy truck and ran to Sharn.
âThis is the bit,â and he would lean forward as Sharn grinned at the camera, a larger-than-life image of her holdingCaitlin in her arms, the sunlight clean and clear around them.
They were doing as Liam instructed. Humouring him. That was all it was. And yet, he could never see it.
âI am sorry,â Sharn whispers, but each time she says that word out loud, it seems that he is asleep.
She wishes that it were different, and she tells him, knowing he cannot hear her. But it is not, and it never can be, and she is sorry for that, she truly is.
I N THE HOUSE , Caitlin slept in the room that she used to go to when Fraser was there. It was not her room, there was no such space, but it was where she could stay until she was moved somewhere else, either in the same house, or to another.
Her duties were simple. For the first few days she helped Laura with publications. They sat at an old office desk in a small room off the kitchen and proofread. Initially, she was given pamphlets for weekend courses, fliers advertising evening readings, and an abridged version of Satya Devaâs teachings. Soon the material changed. She read glossy brochures offering reproduction artworks for sale, or discounted encyclopaedias, atlases and classics, all with mail-order forms. She did not ask what these were for, she was not even curious. Her role was not to question, but simply to absorb throughobservation, and she obediently marked up errors in the manner that Laura had demonstrated to her.
On the fourth day, this work came to an end, and she was told to help Jacinta in the kitchen. Side by side they prepared dishes, and Caitlin did as she was instructed, chopping vegetables or preparing and freezing soups. She did not know for whom the food was intended. She had been put on a fast, and for three days she made countless meals without touching one herself.
At the end of the first week, she came back to the room where she slept to find a man, whom she had met some time ago, lying on the mattress. She backed away from the door, believing she was meant to move elsewhere, but he stopped her.
âThe house is full, and we are sharing,â he told her.
âI am Damon,â he reminded her, and she said that, yes, she knew his name, she was sorry if she appeared confused.
He had been working, he explained, bringing in money for the community. He was only stopping here for a few days and then he was going south. He sold a food substitute. âA health drink,â he said. âThe money helps fund a couple of our houses.â
They slept side by side under the thin flannel sheet, their limbs not touching.
When Caitlin woke in the morning, he was already up and gone, only his bag giving any indication that he had actually been present in the room. But the next night he was there again, coming back when she was almost asleep.
âI am sorry,â he whispered, âI didnât want to wake you.â
And again they slept on the same mattress, both taking care to avoid any physical contact.
The next evening, before he left, he gave the reading, followed by a brief testimonial to his own liberation through Satya Deva.
âI was married,â he said, âwith three children. I loved my wife and I loved my kids, but I did not love the life we were leading.
Once when she was a child, Caitlin wrote a story for school. âWhen I grow upâ. I will not be my mother, she wrote. And worse still, it was not written from spite or anger, it was simply her seeing how wrong Sharn had always been, how inadequate.
Liam used to show Sharn the films he had made. Him, Caitlin and her. Reel after reel, and although she would sit and watch, ostensibly enjoying the images of their life, there were times when she wanted to say,
but canât you see, thatâs not how it is?
âLook.â He would point towards the screen, delighting in a smile from Caitlin as she got off her toy truck and ran to Sharn.
âThis is the bit,â and he would lean forward as Sharn grinned at the camera, a larger-than-life image of her holdingCaitlin in her arms, the sunlight clean and clear around them.
They were doing as Liam instructed. Humouring him. That was all it was. And yet, he could never see it.
âI am sorry,â Sharn whispers, but each time she says that word out loud, it seems that he is asleep.
She wishes that it were different, and she tells him, knowing he cannot hear her. But it is not, and it never can be, and she is sorry for that, she truly is.
I N THE HOUSE , Caitlin slept in the room that she used to go to when Fraser was there. It was not her room, there was no such space, but it was where she could stay until she was moved somewhere else, either in the same house, or to another.
Her duties were simple. For the first few days she helped Laura with publications. They sat at an old office desk in a small room off the kitchen and proofread. Initially, she was given pamphlets for weekend courses, fliers advertising evening readings, and an abridged version of Satya Devaâs teachings. Soon the material changed. She read glossy brochures offering reproduction artworks for sale, or discounted encyclopaedias, atlases and classics, all with mail-order forms. She did not ask what these were for, she was not even curious. Her role was not to question, but simply to absorb throughobservation, and she obediently marked up errors in the manner that Laura had demonstrated to her.
On the fourth day, this work came to an end, and she was told to help Jacinta in the kitchen. Side by side they prepared dishes, and Caitlin did as she was instructed, chopping vegetables or preparing and freezing soups. She did not know for whom the food was intended. She had been put on a fast, and for three days she made countless meals without touching one herself.
At the end of the first week, she came back to the room where she slept to find a man, whom she had met some time ago, lying on the mattress. She backed away from the door, believing she was meant to move elsewhere, but he stopped her.
âThe house is full, and we are sharing,â he told her.
âI am Damon,â he reminded her, and she said that, yes, she knew his name, she was sorry if she appeared confused.
He had been working, he explained, bringing in money for the community. He was only stopping here for a few days and then he was going south. He sold a food substitute. âA health drink,â he said. âThe money helps fund a couple of our houses.â
They slept side by side under the thin flannel sheet, their limbs not touching.
When Caitlin woke in the morning, he was already up and gone, only his bag giving any indication that he had actually been present in the room. But the next night he was there again, coming back when she was almost asleep.
âI am sorry,â he whispered, âI didnât want to wake you.â
And again they slept on the same mattress, both taking care to avoid any physical contact.
The next evening, before he left, he gave the reading, followed by a brief testimonial to his own liberation through Satya Deva.
âI was married,â he said, âwith three children. I loved my wife and I loved my kids, but I did not love the life we were leading.
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