| The Tapestry |
| “You want me to tell you another story? All right, you know the way to lead in – give me a word and I’ll see what I can do.” “Tapestry? Well, that’s an interesting one….let me think a minute. Yes it does remind me of something, I was only a girl at the time. Maybe seven or eight, and we were visiting my Grandma and Grandpa up north. They lived in this fairly large weatherboard house which had a front verandah, a hallway down the middle and a big kitchen at the back where we used to eat meals.” “I loved that kitchen because it was always warm, with comforting cooking smells coming from the black cast iron stove. There was a big pine table where we used to eat, and around the walls hung some of Grandma’s treasures. There was an embroidered Kookaburra in a large carved wooden frame, a framed embroidery of Cinderella running down the steps at midnight, and another small tapestry which always caught my eye. It was in very fine stitches, with lots of detail.” “The tapestry was of two children, a boy and girl, standing hand in hand on a riverbank. Every morning I’d sit for breakfast and look at that picture – then the strangest thing started to happen ! One morning when I glanced at it, the waterline seemed higher or the land lower or something. It looked different…... It looked like the children were standing closer to the water than they were before. I shook my head to clear my vision and decided I was imagining things.” “A day or so passed and when I looked at the tapestry again I was alarmed to see that the children were even closer to the water. This time there was no doubt the water was higher and the children were still in the same place. I gulped several times then concentrated on my porridge, assuring Grandma that I was all right. And so it went on, a quick glance every morning showing the water getting higher and higher, closer to the children’s feet. After about a week it must have been obvious to everyone that the tapestry had changed, but no-one seemed to notice or think it strange, so I didn’t say anything either. No doubt there were lots of things grown-ups knew that I didn’t understand, and I didn’t want to seem ignorant.” “The day came when the water touched the toes of the boy and the girl, and I barely slept that night wondering what would appear the next day. I crept out of my bed earlier than usual and went to the kitchen where Grandma was already preparing breakfast, and Grandpa was having his early morning sweet black tea out of an enormous enamel mug.” “Why are you up early child?” said Grandma, then “What’s wrong?” as she saw me turn toward the tapestry and draw back, gasping in shock. There on the wall was the tapestry – depicting two gravestones where the children had been, and the water had dropped back to its original level.” “ “What’s wrong with the tapestry Grandma? Its changed” I whispered. Grandma looked at me very strangely indeed, then came forward gently placing the back of her hand on my brow to see if I had a fever.” “With a frown, she gave the porridge a stir, poured herself a cup of tea, and sat down next to me. “The tapestry hasn’t changed child. It’s always been like that. Let me tell you about it. Some years ago we lived closer to the river. There was a large island in the middle of the river where a family lived and raised cattle. We were good friends, and both families had boats which we used to visit each other.” “One year there was a bad flood, worse that any one could remember. The parents trying to return to the island in their boat were suddenly hit by a tide of debris, and were swept downstream for many miles. Their two children were left alone on the island, waiting for their parents near to the waters edge. The flood waters continued to rise swiftly and the children were drowned.” “In their memory I hand-worked the tapestry of their gravestones so they’d never be forgotten. Now tell me child, what looks different to you? You have such an imagination – how could a tapestry change?” Copyright Lynda Cracknell 2003 |
| The following story first evolved in a story-telling session in Darwin when my daughter was about 18 or 19. We used to sit around, sometimes with other friends and I would be challenged to make-up a story based on a word which they would give me. This particular evening, my daughter looked around the room and sighted a tapestry on the wall, which was my cue to this story. The scene I set was for real. My grandmothers kitchen in Grafton c. 1950. The story was finally put to paper in about 2000, and titied up in 2003 for publication here. |