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WARBIRDS Triggers and Tribulations |
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Self restraint was a wonderful thing. It helped her smile when people cut her off in
traffic. It helped her accept the apologies of absent
minded shoppers as they rammed her ankles with grocery trolleys. It
helped her decide not to take a machete to work when she needed to sort out
problems. Fortunately, she had loads. Self
restraint, not machetes although her collection did make a lovely
conversational starter especially when opening gambits involved ‘You call
that a knife?’
Her glare was filthy, but only because she was at
his back. As her mentor stretched his arms above his head
she paid alarming attention to the spot between his shoulder blades. The two were a comical appearance framed against the
hatch of the plane. Tribe’s lanky frame bent to avoid bumping his head
against the roof. Hair the colour of manky straw was neatly cropped and wire rimmed glasses perched
respectably on his nose. All his movements were smooth and extravagant that
had an amusing emu-like quality about them. Born of
old If the Professor was an emu,
Dane was a fairy wren. There was a youthfulness that would dog her until her
thirties, with a roundish face, shaggy hair and tiny frame that brought words
like petite, dainty, or midget to mind. In fact
she first attracted Tribe’s attention in her seventh semester concerning a
question about varying weights within a species. She had ventured hesitantly,
‘Thirty-nine kilograms,’ and his whiplike answer
had been, “I asked for your weight, not your IQ!” Jetlag burdened her shoulders as she resented her
Professor’s loping beeline for the airport’s bar, but she turned her
attention to the hind of the plane where there was a growing sea of khaki.
They were wearing expressions of worry and excitement and chattering like
monkeys, gazing up at her as she lolled over the guard rail
of carriage staircase. More disturbing however was the general
public. Mostly women and children, they pressed themselves against the
wire mesh walling off the runway squealing and cheering
and clapping like sealions begging for fish. They
waved eucalypt branches, plush toys, papier-mâché ears and cardboard signs in
broken English, near wetting their pants with an enthusiasm she thought even
a famous popstar would have difficulty rousing. She blinked slowly at them. Koala’s had lost their enigma years ago for Dane,
who had grown up with them in the trees surrounding her home in bushland
Australia and then worked with them for over two years at Lone Pine Koala
Sanctuary. She could no longer empathise with the world’s attraction for what
she intimately knew to be a furry razor blade with a libido. But this was an Dane was wrong in her assumptions. Amusement park
though it was, cruddy it wasn’t as she should have
known. Koalas were notoriously expensive to keep overseas because of a
selective diet of eucalypts and he had jumped through flaming hoops for over
ten years to make this meeting possible. Joseph Hogushano
had mature plantation, 90 trees for each of the eight new residents
which would be harvested every morning. Laws and forms and reports and
scientific journals and meetings and building networks, and they sent a girl
who couldn’t possibly be out of her high school uniform. “G’day,” she introduced
with a vague bow. She wasn’t sure if it was the
right etiquette but that’s what they seemed to do in those bizarre movies
late at night on SBS. “I’m Junior Keeper of new Dane Sorier,
exhibit. References, receive my, d’ya?” There was another long moment as he untangled the
mangled Japanese. Yoda couldn’t have done a better
job. Luckily her only duty for now would be handling
her charges, the other woman, Yuki or someone would handle the speaking
roles. “Yes I did Ms Sorier.
You’ve only just graduated?” Mr Hogushano
said in flawless English, and Dane remained immune to the patronising tone. “No sir, that was two years ago.” “And yet you were recommended by Tribe Severitt.” “I’m as surprised as you are,” she admitted. She was
no more memorable a brick wall you passed everyday on the way to work and it
was only in the past year as did he assume his vital preparation role around
the Sanctuary. “He’ll be keeping an eye on me, and lecturing at the local
university.” “Do you need someone to keep an eye on you?” “No Mr Hogushano, she’s
quiet, obedient and works well independently. She just needs her caffeine
shot, but in lieu of a subcutaneous injection I have managed to secure a
mundane plastic cup.” Hogushano’s scowl miraculously disappeared
as he smiled over the top of her head and over her head came the earthy smell
of coffee and the looming shadow of her mentor. “Thankyou sir,” she said gratefully, wrapping her
fingers around it protectively against a chilly wind carrying the tang of
rain. The clouds hung far on the horizon silhouetted by the halo of a soon to
be setting sun. She tried to shift behind Tribe so she could enjoy her
coffee and he could take over but instead his huge spidery hands pressed
forcefully into her back. “She looks very young,” Mr Hogushano smiled, by now quite used to his banter. “I know, I can’t tell you how entertaining it is to watch
her get into eighteen-plus movies. Much better then the feature presentation
in fact. I am however under the impression she’s
twenty-two. She does however have the experience, even if she doesn’t have my good looks and charisma to pull it off. A
master of the mop, sultan of soapsuds and connoisseur of all things copro.” “And the koalas?” “They’re koalas, what do they need to know about
soap?” he beamed with grand gestures in the direction of the unloaded crates,
deftly steering the conversation another way. He paused only to slide his
glasses back from the tip of his nose and strode through the puddle of other
employees forcing Dane to trot in his wake to keep up. “So, Junior Keeper what should we do now?” He
waggled his extensive eyebrows at her. “How far is the amusement park?” she said
tentatively. Tribe had a way of leading you by the nose to an answer only for
it to be wrong. “A mere twenty minutes away. The local council has
cleared a back road for us so the trip will be smooth.” “Then let’s leave now.” “You don’t want to check you’re babies?” “No. Too much stress and may suffer post-travel myopathy.” “Good girl, here’s a biscuit,” he cooed, pulling a
crumpled complimentary packet from his back pocket and patted her on the
head. |:|:|::::::::::::::::::::::|:|:| Dane felt the changes in herself in the months leading up to Japan. In fact she was pretty sure their trigger had been when Tribe
commented jovially about the position of junior keeper at the Aussie-Land! section of She hadn’t believed it of
course. Partially because like all people under the age of thirty Tribe treated her like something that refused to
flush. Partially because of his innate sarcasm Mostly it was because she was pooper-scooping
the main arena with the faecal matter of various species on her shorts. Initially the changes had been subtle alterations of
her personality. How she noticed was anyone’s guess because she lived her
days in a semi-conscious stupor. She worked two other jobs exploring the exhilaration
of the fast food industry along with her current position at the park. Late
nights were filled answering job CV’s and every
other waking moment was volunteering in other wildlife circles. Not from the goodness of her heart of course, only because
volunteer experience was a prerequisite of any decent employment. If there was no sleep for the wicked
she was looking at a very bleak afterlife. Still, no worries. “So, lowly minion,” Professor Tribe had smirked.
“How would you feel about crossing the big blue wet thing to be the Colony’s
new junior keeper?” The Colony was a group of eight koalas that were being sent overseas by the end of the year and
occupied a large chunk of the Sanctuary’s concentration. “Meh,” she shrugged,
suppressing a yawn and questioning her hearing at the same time. “And there’s that enthusiasm that got you a 5.2 in
Wildlife Husbandry, Dane. Please don’t be polite,
it’s obviously too much effort for one as lethargic as yourself. Who am I kidding? Lethargic has far too many
syllables.” And that was it. There had been no
magical explosion, or miraculous epiphany or angelic chorus from the air; she
just went on scraping and wondering if they were weighing in the latest pouch
young in the kangaroo exhibit. Tribe meandered away, presumably to heckle
some volunteers, and she knocked off to prepare for her job at Sizzlers. Life went on. She still moped from job to job, still
filled out the same employment applications and read the same rejection
letters, but something was clearly was boiling up inside. For one thing she was about as objective as a
beanbag. It went against her soul to put an opinion forward even if she could
clearly see a more effective way to do it. You shut up and did everything to
the exact letter you were told. That way when things screwed up as everything
eventually would, someone else would cop the slack and you could get away
with ‘I was following orders.’ But then she started making suggestions.
The whole concept was diabolical but there she was, suggesting a new way to
run the roos into canvas. It ended as well as could be expected. Only one rammed headlong into the chainlink fence, earning a look from Tribe that could
sour milk and a dim shake of her head from Rosalie, head macropod vet of the
park. Nice advertising if she ever asked for references. She could chalk up these mental eructations to poor sleep but they continued to mount,
accompanied by their always depressing consequences.
She was beginning to suspect a brain tumour (but only in a vague, round about
way that was about as apprehensive as fluffy slippers.) Increasingly worrying were piercing looks Professor
Tribe sent her way. With the Colony’s expedition date a mere eleven months
away, he was spending more time around the park in preparation. The two now
had a companionable truce or as close to one as was possible with Tribe, but
for long stretches he would simply stare at her which
was more disturbing than all his confidence bashing put together. And in pure Tribe fashion when she
finally got up the guts to ask why he answered distractedly, “Just listening
to the voices in my head. Relax. Eight of the ten are telling me not to
shoot.” He was holding the tranquilizer pistol at the time which was not at all reassuring. |:|:|::::::::::::::::::::::|:|:| Just when she thought she could get
used to those strange outbursts, the dreams started. Again it was no coincidence it was
the same day Rosalie and Tribe approached her with funeral-like gravity.
Rosalie, a feisty woman leaning towards the big Six-Oh, looked like she was
fresh from Monty Python’s Argument Clinic sketch. Tribe wore his
patented snerk (a cross between a snigger
and a smirk) but if she could actually see behind those eyes
she would hear a voice wondering if psychosis was a symptom of an overdue
midlife crisis. Dane stared blankly, leaning on the shovel which had been used to clean up the baby animal
area of the Sanctuary. While she realised life couldn’t
always be as glamorous as getting urine samples from dingos or being vomited
on by baby animals even after four years Rosalie always seemed to give her
more than her share of literally crappy chores. “Dane,” Rosalie said sombrely. When her expression didn’t change she continued, “You know the colony is
leaving for “Yuhuh, ma’am?” “You also know Kimberly,
the original junior keeper going discovered she was six weeks pregnant
yesterday morning.” “Yup, I got cake at the celebration this morning,”
she smiled fondly. Cake was now a huge deal when you struggled to pay rent.
“Chocolate and cream. And cherries.” “Yes, well we’ve been trying to find a replacement.”
Again that same half smile. The girl was too lazy to even jump to a conclusion. “And the alternatives have
already committed themselves elsewhere. Professor Severitt
has suggested, insisted, that you be considered for the role.” That changed her expression which
gawped at her serenely smiling lecturer. “No, don’t thank me,” he gestured gallantly. “Just
pay all bribes to the pigeon-hole with my name on it in a discreet brown bag
with a bright green dollar sign on it.” “Why?” “I don’t
know, we suspect it’s a delayed concussion speaking but Professor Severitt thinks you’re good for the job.” Rosalie shot
him a glare. He seemed to doubt the words himself but shrugged. “That’s
beside the point. You’ve got enough experience with
the other animals, you handle the Colony everyday and they’re used to you.
You seem to grasp the basics of Japanese- keep your opinions to yourself
Tribe- and you don’t seem to have too many attachments here.” “Nah, not really. Mum and dad are way out west. They’ve have gotten used to me being away. It sounds alright,”
she smiled broadly, although with her indolent slur it came out as ‘souns sawrye’. Rosalie couldn’t imagine her articulating an entire word. “Moving to Japanfor an amazing opportunity sounds alright?” She hefted
a furry eyebrow. “Yeah, no worries.” “Well, talk to your family tonight and then we’ll
sign the forms to accept you as a general employee on wage. Do you have a
passport?” Again, prophetic comets were conspicuously absent but
her parents had been quick to agree with the ‘amazing opportunity’.
Soon they would be joining the grey nomad migration around Australiaand her brother
was settling into a comfortable plumber’s apprenticeship in a rural
mining community. She drifted off to sleep with the television blaring
in another room into a dream she’d never
encountered before, but would encounter every night there on. She wasn’t sure was even
dreaming if only because hers usually revolved around kitchen appliances and
sneakers with teeth coming for revenge. They had all the clarity of peasoup but the first time found herself
in a bright garden filled with tropical orchids, swaying in a humid breeze.
The air was heavy with their musky scent and harsh bird cries floated from
the tall rainforest that skirted what might have been a palace- albeit one
Tarzan would have been at home in. Even though she turned her head to take it all in,
she had no control of it. It swivelled, surveying the gardens and the lofty tree-houses and basalt boulder waterfalls, focusing on
escarpments far into the distance, or some of the lusher clumps of trees. She
ambled around the perimeter with her hands behind her back, but never once
did her gaze stop moving. Dane was riding in the backseat of someone else’s
life. Despite the vividness of it
there were odd blurs in the sweeping panorama, most consistently in her
peripheral vision. However she knew instinctively it
had nothing to do with her eyes but some kind of mental short circuit. Once
she knew what they were the wires would uncross and those blurs would
disappear but until then, like everything else, no worries. And that was it. For six hours of sleep she moved in real time around a garden with a sense
of ease and duty. Waking up was not so much waking up but the sensation of
blinking and having the whole room change in that instant. That lucidity lasted a few minutes but by the time she sat down for breakfast at six-twenty the details
were pretty scuzzy and fading fast. The details
were gone, but she knew they had been clear. The second night she went through it again. Not the
exact same, for instance there were birds on the path where there were none,
and in the distance someone was playing a wind instrument. Then blink, real
world with dingy curtains and one of her room mates
clattering the crockery in the kitchen. The velvet touch of petals under her
fingers and the crunch of the sandy path dwindled into hazy memories. The third night she put aside the computer,
avoided her usual double hit of java in exchange for a decent perch fillet,
leafy greens with a cup of milk and tucked herself in by eight on the dot.
The last thing she remembered thinking with her head on her pillow, The- … The thought finished on the other side, -re. Bugger. Again she was on the lush world she
was beginning to call Daintree, both as a tribute to her own enriched fantasy
life, and to the largest rainforest in Same yet different. Very different, this time there
were people. A week later they were talking to her
and by the end of the month it was like being submerged in her very own
soap-opera she could never pay attention to. The blurs still lingered at random places through
out Daintree like her own private censor. Sometimes even words, sentences or
whole dialogues had a muffled quality to do with the mental short circuits. These whole other realities might have worried other
people, but Dane had only the most tenuous grip on this one as it was. Just
so long as she didn’t have urges to yell into mobile
phones with dead batteries in public places everything was apples and could
be considered as holiday time with pay. |:|:|::::::::::::::::::::::|:|:| The last nail in the coffin came in the
last three weeks leading up to the Colony’s expedition and Tribe was bringing
her She sat down during her fifteen
minute coffee break and pulled one of the little local gazettes
towards her, trying to remember what happened the night before. She had been
with mates, clad in similar uniform arguing about- ##BLUR## It had the inflection of a long irritating car-ride
squished together with the other three. The articles were a month old but didn’t
matter for the purposes. The picture heading it that day sprawled the entire
front, an out of focus greyscale where the flash had leeched most of the
details. The heading beneath it was in capitals and she sounded it out
haphazardly. “Bush-shido sera sushi.
Sushi?” She glanced at the picture again. The monster in the upper right hand
corner did have a tentacled quality to it. Tribe’s broad calloused hand reached over her
shoulder, dusting the pages with cake crumbs as he pointed at the figures
darting around with what could have been lens flares swelling in their palms.
“More likely they’re referring to them. Sailor Suited Heroines Save
Civilians! Their version of Batman prefers to run around in school girl uniforms, which male populous don’t mind at
all. They call them Sailor Senshi.” “Sailor Senshi.” The sky
didn’t turn dark, there was no symphony of brass, and as far as she knew no
two-head cows had been born in the days leading up to it. “Meh.” “Meh, indeed,” Tribe said
jollily. “Think of how exciting life will be in less than a month! Cleaning
cement floors on an entirely different continent by day, and watching
rampaging monsters on the latest flat-screen televisions by night. Oh what an
age we live in.” “Yuhuh.” She squinted only
once at the girls in the variety of skirts and shorts and bows and leotards.
In fact the only thing they had in common was the
collar flap around their neck. The then turned over to read about a
successful bake sale and a car crashing into a streetlamp. She sipped her
coffee for a while longer then went off to weigh the colony, check the dental
records and fill out the updated reports. One of the mothers, Matilda, was
losing weight. She only realised the significance of the picture
that night as she slipped back to Daintree. Some of the mental blurs had
gone. The detail on the uniforms were clearer similar to hers but lacking the
collar flaps with pretty fringes and she could now hear the words sailor senshi uttered either with annoyance or reverence by
the people around her. You just couldn’t describe
the excitement bubbling up inside of Dane at that moment, but only because it
wasn’t there. The sheer lack of reaction was probably annoying a higher being
working over time to get things together. So, I’m on of them, a Sailor Senshi. I wonder if I can put that on a CV? This particular puzzle piece heralded the most
annoying part of all, the impulses. They weren’t the
unconscious suggestions that wormed their way into everyday life, they were
sharp, sudden and left her feeling just a little disorientated. The original one hit her like a brick as she was
grocery shopping, warily avoiding little old ladies
who had an appetite for ankle injuries. As she turned over a soup packet
looking for a price tag at the corner of her eye she so one of those little
toy brackets, the kind you saw children throwing tantrums over because they’d
been extra good that day. She dropped the soup and spun mechanically. Her arm
snaked out yanking her along with it as it tore a packet viciously from the
bracket hard enough to cut her fingers on the plastic. She stuffed it in her
pocket. She was slightly perturbed
by the sudden puppetry she had undergone, but outright horrified by the act
of shoplifting. She quickly removed it from her pocket, only to look up to
find a distasteful expression of a wizened old lady.
Unjustified guilt pinched the back of her neck and she spread her hands
appealingly with a goofy grin. “Gee, I always
wanted a-” she glanced at the packaging and waggled it carelessly-
“yoyo?” “Shouldn’t you be in school,” the senior citizen
said coldly, eyeing the ground pointedly and when Dane followed the gaze it
she saw she was dripping splendidly on the linoleum. She fished a hanky out
and only succeeded in smearing the droplets into gross red streaks. She stepped back with the expression of a job well
done and told the old woman, “I’ll go look for one of those caution signs.” She did mention it in passing to a poor kid who
already looked like he was having a horrible day but paid for her items as
quick as she dared, taking special care for the damned yoyo and hurried out. When she had a
quiet moment at the Sanctuary, a very rare commodity, she found a bench pried
it loose of the plastic. There had been
a few weeks in primary school when they had been all the rage but had never
found a knack for it. After a moment staring at the cheap nasty thing and
lamenting the good two dollars it had cost, she looped it over her finger to
give it a burl with pathetic results. It ran down the string, up it, down
again and then dawdled at the bottom until it lost momentum. “Fun,” she commented conversationally. “Let me have a go.” Dane gave a startled yelp as
Tribe came around a corner unexpectedly. Mildly annoyed she frowned. “How do you find me?” “Magic jedi powers, hand
it over.” Her annoyance increased as the yoyo twirled up and down its string
like an excited puppy. He smiled coyly at the ease he coaxed the toy through
its paces. “Walk-the-Dog. Hypnotism. Hanged-Man.” “Don’t you have lectures? I’m sure you’re depriving
an emotionally crippled First-Year of your corrosive attention.” “You may call it flame spewing bile that destroys
self esteem, withers the spirit, crushes the soul and scars them for all
eternity, I call it positive criticism. Something wrong?” “Nah, just my boss at Wok-Box. Changed my hours at
the last minute yesterday,” she lied easily, taking the yoyo back yielding
another dismal result. They both stared perplexedly at the dangling yoyo for
a moment more before Tribe disappeared around the corner again without a
word. As soon as he was out of sight
she flicked her wrist as another insidious urge wormed into her brain as she
had watched Tribe twirling away. Part of her whispered No, no. That’s
not the way to do it. That’s not the way it’s meant
to be. How it was
meant to be she wasn’t sure, but she flicked her
wrist anyway, following through with her arm to fling it around her head like
an old bullroarer. Instead she let go at the wrong
time and it twirled around her forehead like a maypole to smack her in the
nose. “I saw that.” “Go away!” If she thought she learnt her
lesson she was wrong and had inexplicably bought a second one the following
week. At least this time she was wise enough to experiment in her room with
the door shut but she was even less successful than the first time. Two lumps
above the eye for the price of one. As the weeks ran down things got worse but at least didn’t result in felonies, however that was a close thing.
Thankfully the woman thankfully wasn’t pressing
assault charges. Dane had negative rhythm. Most people have some
rhythm, others had no rhythm but when Dane died the average of the population
of the world would go up a considerable fraction, which was why when she
knocked off with her workmates on a Friday night at the pub she kept wide
berth of the stained tiles unjustifiably called the dance floor. She circled the pool table, avoiding the suspicious
gaze of the barkeep and nursing a rum and cola. Alas, the phone bill was due
so she wasn’t nearly drunk as she wanted to be. She
sighed and rolled her eyes at the only attention she had received thus far, a
sleezy guy in his late
twenties who hadn’t been intimate with a razor for quite a while. And despite her obvious nuisance, none of her friends had
come to bail her out. Thankfully nature called and she
ungraciously excused herself. It was getting late and she once she’d gone to the toilet she could slip out quietly and
catch a taxi home. Just as she past the tiles
someone stirred the jukebox with a terrible heavy metal screamathon.
Her whole body convulsed sideways with the
overwhelming urge to rumba. Whatever else was following her from the
alternate reality, co-ordination wasn’t one of them.
Dane danced like other people had multiple seizures. She took two people out with her flailing limbs
before she could come to grips with herself, and had a room of cheering
jeering drunks. She was lucky in two respects. The first was that
everyone had put the fit down to too much alcohol, and the second was that
when more of these alien urges came to her, more dancing, singing,
acrobatics, chess, stone carving, glass blowing, more damned yoyo flinging,
came to her in private or when she could do nothing to sate
it. Of all these strange goings
on the safest and perhaps the most enjoyable was the urge to fly a kite. It nagged her for days before she acted on it and
when she finally put aside a perfectly good Saturday morning, chiding herself along, she didn’t expect any kind of therapy from
it other than getting rid of the dreadful impulse. Instead
she found, if not a talent then an enjoyable hobby. As she stood in a
clearing in a park it cleared her mind of its usual
budget worries and housemate frustrations and absurd outside influences. Well, almost all. All, except the single revolving thought. This is wrong. I shouldn’t
be looking up, I should be looking down. |:|:|::::::::::::::::::::::|:|:| “Well,” Tribe
beamed, dusting his hands as if he’d actually
lifted a finger to help. “Now that’s all sorted out and they’re looking
comfortable, someone should spend the night to make sure that don’t
go walkabouts and hurt themselves.” Dane restrained a heavy sigh, looking out at
off-limits enclosure through half lids. While a koala’s
dining habits were hugely expensive, their living quarters weren’t. The eight
members of the Colony were blissfully happy with nothing more then a 6 x 1.5m
in area with old gum forks were cemented into the
ground and polypipe nailed to the side to sit fresh
eucalypt branches in. The two males, Lawson and Paterson, were
each separated by mesh in case they were feeling frisky. The Colony’s
off quarters were in an artificially heated brick building with a few cages
for observation and a kitchen for food preparation of the other residents of
Aussie-Land! Tribe had an expectant look and she remembered the
last thing he said. She was so tired her eyeballs felt like they’d been
boiled and her nerves were rubbed raw by the giggling of the female employees
who’d come to coo unendingly and pet the Colony through the mesh Then again, she may as well ‘volunteer’ and make
herself look good. The fact it wasn’t a choice was
made more evident when she interrupted Tribe saying, ‘they should recognise
abnormal behaviour’. “Yessir, I’ll do it.
Just,” she waved in the general direction of a spare corner. “Can I have a
sleeping bag? Or something?” “What, no discipline? Children these days, no
backbone,” Tribe chastised playfully then offered a generous flourish of his
hand. “Well, if you really must. I’m sure I can arrange… something.” “Thankyou sir.” “And while you’re here you may as well do audit,
that way only one of us has to be miserable. “I hate you.” |
Dane
was considering her collection very carefully, turning over their
blades in her mind, feeling the leather handles and wondering which
one she was willing to get all yucky when she hacked Professor Tribe
