Homeward Bound

he bush was unstill.

A gentle spring breeze had the grass whispering. The brush shuffled about uneasily. Trees did their exercises, bending one way or another, to the music of the scrub. Leaves licked each other noisily.

The long wide river laughed, it's body full and voluptuous with melted winter snow.

The old man witnessing like a preacher was perched in his tree. His audience restless. The crickets mocked him and the cicadas shrilled at what they did not understand.

"I've lived a clean live" he called palms up.

"How could he do it to me?" Emmanuel clenched his frail fist in the air and delivered his sermon precariously balanced on a branch 15 feet about the river.

Emmanuel was a gentle man, an introvert. He was used to getting his own way. Early this morning one of Emmanuel's twelve sons's, Jud Ashley Rosenberg, approached his father.

Emmanuel was happy to discuss anything with his sons, he loved them all with a ferocity. But within a few minutes he was racing out of the house. He dreaded any talk about the future and in particular any talk about change. As is often the case, when Emmanuel wanted to escape he went fishing. His favorite spot was just below the mountains and alongside his river.

Jud Ashley had intended to send Emmanuel to a home. An old peoples home where they would take care of him. Jud Ashley had his father’s best intentions in mind.

"He want's to kill me" Emmanuel accused the forest. Jud Ashley intended to sell his father’s home and put the money into the new unit. Whatever was left over would be left for Emmanuel to spend as he pleased. Perhaps a holiday to Jerusalem. His Father had always expressed a desire to visit that part of the world. And time was running out for the old man.

"A thief and a traitor!" screamed Emmanuel. "How could one so close, betray?" he asked the power of the river.

Emmanuel sat down, despondent, alone and afraid. The wind tugged at the tufts of hair that crowned his balding head. Emmanuel's glasses caught the sun and obscured his eyes. Was he weeping or on fire? His gaunt face was anguished and drawn, a vague face, you'd forget it if you hadn't grown up with it.

Ironically Emmanuel loved fishing but hated the water. He was perched in his tree to get a good cast into the river without getting too close to the water. Many years ago he had nailed pieces of wood to the tree trunk so that he might climb it with ease.

The branch itself was one of a kind, a rare piece of deformity in the beautiful Australian bush. Emmanuel found himself inexorably drawn to it. The tree was large by any standards but the branch was as thick as most tree boles. As it extended out over the river it hollowed out like a bath. It ended abruptly, curling up and around. The end of the bough was like a serpent staring back into the hollow. Overall it looked like a macabre tumorous growth.

The appearance of the branch did not disturb Emmanuel. He was quite happy fishing from the bough. The serpent provided an excellent rest for his rod and the hollow was deep and long. He could rest and even sleep in it fully extended.

Emmanuel stared at his rod as he had done a thousand times before. He never really looked at it, he looked beyond, at his life, at his world, at his people. Until...

It moved. The end of Emmanuel's rod tugged sharply. Once, then again. It was the first bite Emmanuel had all afternoon. Excitedly he grabbed his rod and with his index finger felt the pulse of his line, he was a master at his art.

Within a moment, that seemed a lifetime, Emmanuel felt a healthy response that was not the taunting river below. Something had taken his sacrificial worm and he whacked the rod back with all his might, bending back in motion with the rest of the gum trees on a blustery day.

He had hooked a big fish. It fought ferociously and pulled on the line drawing Emmanuel closer to the edge of his refuge, closer to a harmless river, closer to harmless water. Bracing himself on the serpent he held firm and fought against the fish. Emmanuel arched his back and in one moment there was a loud crack that sounded like a gunshot. I didn't feel like his back, there was no pain. Perhaps it was hunters. Emmanuel was too filled with adrenaline to realize that his branch was breaking.

A moment later and Emmanuel was following his branch into the water. He tried to yell but the air caught in his lungs like phlegm. Releasing his rod the fish disappeared into the deepest darkest hollow of the river. Both bough and old man plunged into the river.

The water was freezing and knocked the air out of Emmanuel's lungs. He was sinking. He opened his eyes and saw a darkness splintered by shafts of light probing the cold water.

Emmanuel watched the rays of light move further and further away. Then it happened. Emmanuel panicked. Kicking furiously and paddling like a mad dog he fought towards the light.

Emmanuel burst to the surface of the river and oxygen exploded into his lungs. He was alive. Frenetically he searched the river surface. Within moments he had scrambled into the hollow branch and was safe in the sunlight under the serpent's gaze.

It took Emmanuel several minutes to stop shivering and to get a grip on himself. The sun soon thawed him and he glanced about. The branch had broken clean and Emmanuel was safe in the hollow that resembled a canoe. The bough seemed watertight but he was stranded in the middle of an immense river with no way to get to shore. The thought of trying to paddle the craft with his bare hands brought icy shivers to his spine.

Progress was slow. Although the river was full to the brim it moved passively.

The tumorous end of the branch disturbed Emmanuel. It had never bothered him before but now that they were uncommon bedmates he could not shake the feeling that it was evil.

Emmanuel called out to the bush. An occasional bird answered him but mostly he had to be content with the seductive wash of the river as it slowly drew him down stream. Emmanuel was a seed of life in nature's womb.

Getting nowhere fast Emmanuel decided to make the best of a bad situation. He figured that eventually divine intervention would guide him to shore. For the moment he might as well enjoy the cruise.

Stretching out in his vessel Emmanuel was soon coaxed into sleep by the massaging waves beneath him. The sun pounded on him for several hours.

When Emmanuel awoke he was not aware that he had been burnt by the sunlight. He sat up, his damp crown of hair was an exaggerated white, his face red with the anger of the sun. Emmanuel's crown of white hair stuck out in sharp clumps, having dried awkwardly whilst sleeping. Even his bushy white eyebrows stuck out like a thornbush.

Emmanuel sat up against the serpent. He sulked and thought about his traitorous son. By his figuring, Jud Ashley stood to make at least $30,000 on the deal. But perhaps walking out was not the answer. Listening could be a virtue, even an old man could pick up.

Emmanuel didn't like anything about the idea of living in a home. He was scared to move, although he would never admit it. The memories of his wife were in that house, although she had died many years before upon giving birth to their twelfth son, Thomas. The house was more than memories, it was part of him. That house represented over forty years of his life. This retirement village could have its advantages but Emmanuel was too stubborn to acknowledge them.

Jud Ashley explained that his father would meet other people his own age. That he could join in their activities and share in their laughter. It even had a glowing orange button in every room. If you were having a heart attack all you had to do is to fall on it. A savior in every room.

Jud Ashley even tried to explain that the name was avant-garde, "The Home", as it was called, was unique and unpretentious. Emmanuel thought that it was stupid and suggested that perhaps it should be called "Waiting to Die". That was certainly unique and unpretentious. But Jud Ashley had not had much of an opportunity to explain these facts to his father. Emmanuel had stormed off in a rage of anger and a fit of fear. Now perhaps, just perhaps, Emmanuel would never hear Jud Ashley's pleading again.

Emmanuel began to feel sour. He wasn't sure whether he was sorry for the way he had reacted or sorry for himself floating down the valley of the lower, high country.

It was then that the first rock hit the tranquil section of the river and splashed water into the bough. The next rock hit even closer. Someone was stoning the old man.

Quickly Emmanuel focused in on the young boys laughing. Adjusting his glasses Emmanuel saw a thin trail of smoke amongst a clearing of thick green trees. A splash of colour indicated that there might be a caravan or tent amongst the woods.

The two young boys victimized their easy target. They lobbed stones and small rocks at the old man. From their vantagepoint, high on the bank, they managed the reasonable distance with relative ease.

Emmanuel called out to them.

"Help. Help me please!"

Splash, splash, splash.

"Please get your parents. Hello! Hello."

Giggle, giggle, giggle.

"Please help me. Please!"

The makeshift boat soon moved out of sight of the two boys. Emmanuel held little, to no, hope that his pleas were heard or would be acted upon.

Emmanuel floated down the river without a paddle and without rudder. He was at the mercy of the river.

Emmanuel hit one section of water that was completely dead. He didn't move and just idled there. A smaller branch floated past him with a stranded possum. They exchanged desperate looks. The possum soon passed him, missing the dead section of the river.

Emmanuel peered into the dark water. He could see nothing in the water except the reflection of an old man. This is the last time that he would look like today. Tomorrow he would be a little bit older, a little bit closer to death. His tear caused a gentle ripple on the water. As it washed away from him he realized that ripples never come back. There were so many waves in Emmanuel's life that were not coming back. Mixed emotions overcame him as memories washed through his mind.

Evening came and Emmanuel was upon his journey again. A full moon cast light upon the small man and he was grateful. The serpent cast a shadow upon him. Emmanuel was drifting further down the river by now and was moving beyond the gaze of the High Country. The river bottom was red clay and the water soiled. The pool around him was an eerie blood red. The moonlight bounced off the river and generously threw blood about.

Ants on the bough came to life and licked at the sap that dripped from the neck of the serpent. Twelve mosquitoes sucked blood from the old man's body. His well-pressed skin was easy to penetrate.

Emmanuel changed. He removed his glasses and his burnt face exaggerated the whites around his eyes that had not been burnt by the sunlight. Emmanuel looked like a ghoul as hunger assailed him. In the burning red light Emmanuel knelt before the serpent. He flicked aside the hungry ants with the ease of a giant. Emmanuel bowed his pale eyes to the serpent’s neck and drank deeply. A thousand red eyes upon the shore witnessed his ritual.

"And with this wine..." seemed to bounce about in his mind.

Ferociously Emmanuel tore at the bark trying to bleed more food. He sucked upon the tree's flesh.

"And with this bread..." assailed him from the light within the dark.

Emmanuel began to choke. In a moment he was vomiting quietly into the river. The river swallowed his burley eagerly. Emmanuel replaced his glasses and slept peacefully.

During the night he drifted on out of the clay and into different, purer sections of the river. Twice the bough bumped into the shore. Once wedging long enough for the ants to disembark.

By the time Emmanuel woke it was shortly after dawn and he was floating in the middle of one of the larger sections of the river. A small white bird perched upon the serpent and stared curiously as Emmanuel. Shortly it flew off, dropping white excrement upon him, as it ascended into the untainted blue of the heavens. A kookaburra laughed in the safety of distance.

Dark copses of drowned trees occasionally reached out to Emmanuel like tortured skeletons in need of blessing. He drifted past a sunken yacht, its mast cutting the slow river in a fist of defiance.

Looking into the water he saw an older man reflected. A man different from yesterday, who was in turn different from the man a day before.

The river narrowed and deepened slightly. Emmanuel was thinking of what he might do to save himself. He was seriously considering overcoming his fear and paddling for shore ... when he heard the sound.

A slow and gradual noise radiated from the river in front of him. A noise that changed from a distant hum into a louder wash. Eventually the churning water gave Emmanuel reason to panic.

This section of the river headed towards a sharp bend. Nothing could be seen around the corner. Emmanuel had no idea of what would be around the next turn in the definite, unstoppable course of the river. But that noise told him that the river was changing. And Emmanuel knew what it was.

"A waterfall..." he whispered.

"God, please no..." he gasped.

"Oh Father..." he pleaded.

The noise grew. Was the river speeding up? A waterfall would crucify him, he had to face his greatest fear. He had to try and swim for it. Either way he was likely to drown but if he could manage to swim just before he rounded the bend the tide would not be so strong. He might just survive if he didn't panic.

He was drawing closer to the bend and the crash of water was growing, pounding in his ears. Emmanuel braced himself against the serpent and stood upon the edge of his salvage, ready to leap. The small waves beckoned him as the river bottlenecked. Emmanuel's last thoughts were of Jud Ashley, and of forgiveness, as he took a step out onto the water, and then another. Pathetically he plunged into the pure icy depths of the mountain water. Once again the bitter cold knocked the air out of his lungs and he sank away from the light of day. Emmanuel's mind reeled in panic. His muscles tightened and then cramped.

A voice came to him and although he could never recall the words it soothed him. In a moment he was paddling ferociously towards the light, towards the surface.

Emmanuel smashed the surface of the river and drew life into his lungs. Paddling and kicking in a frenzy he headed towards the Southern shore. As primitive as a dog Emmanuel made his way until he kicked the river bottom. He strode out of the river like an old waif and collapsed upon the sand.

Behind him his branch was sinking. Perhaps Emmanuel had turned it as he leapt, and filled it with water.

Emmanuel listened to the water churning in upon itself. He was safe upon the shore and yet he felt the crashing of water still bearing upon him. A whistle, quite unlike a bird, pierced the air.

Emmanuel picked himself up off the sand as the paddle steamer rounded the bend. Dumbfounded, Emmanuel stood and stared as the huge paddle churned the water and powered the ship upstream.

As it came closer Emmanuel adjusted his glasses. Proud upon its bow the paddle steamer displayed its name in bold, black letters; "Homeward Bound".

It turned towards him.

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