The River Man

He made me laugh, cry, sing and dance. When I needed guidance, he was my father. When I needed to learn, he was my teacher. The spirit of the forest that he called home. He was The River Man.

***

I will always remember the first night I ran away from home. It's a memory that stands out far more vividly than most others from my childhood. Some memories still come back to me as dark chasms of blurred visions, while others poke and prod like sharp needles. But there were also glimpses of sunshine.

For many years, I was never allowed to leave the family property without supervision. Graham and Marjorie Bennett, the couple I was sent to live with, could hardly have expected me to do anything less. I was youthful, curious and trapped in a world I didn't belong in.

My bedroom window looked out over acres of forest which eventually turned into mountains. Land that was beautiful and mysterious at the same time. Where I came from felt a world away, but peering out at the sweeping landscape made me feel closer to home.

A sprawling back garden was one of the few joys of living with the Bennetts. There was colour and beauty around every corner. It was also a refuge safe from Graham's watchful eye.

At the very back of the property, intimidating barbed wire fences stood staring at me like a pack of guard dogs eyeing their target. A steel mesh gate stood between the property and the surrounding wilderness.

"They're to keep the wild animals away," Graham once told me in his usual indignant manner. "Damn things nearly tore through our whole veggie patch once."

Graham forbade me from going into the bush, but never really told me why. Perhaps in his own weird way he wanted to protect me. A rather naive thought, I know. I'd heard vague rumours and stories at school about strange things that happened there at night, but I never took any notice. There were always murmurings about someone called "The River Man" who lurked around down there.

I knew exactly where the river was. One afternoon, I had been sent on an errand to the shops. Instead of taking the usual path, I cut through the bush as a shortcut into town. I stumbled upon it by chance. Dipping my toes in the clean, crisp water, I stayed much longer than I should have. For a brief time, I felt cleansed. My zest for life had come back. Returning home some hours later, however, it was if Graham had guessed exactly where I'd been.

"Didn't I tell you to keep away from that bloody forest!" he snarled at me as I passed him on the porch. The stench of alcohol on his breath was unmistakeable. "You were poking around down there, weren't you? Well, you ain't goin' down there again, not on my watch. Understood?"

It was never wise to make him angry. Marjorie and I came to know that all too well.

Until the night I decided to run away, I kept my head down. I did everything I could not to make Graham angry. Little did he know that in the meantime, I was plotting my escape.

From under the blankets, my ears strained until the creaking of the wooden floorboards had ceased. Seconds later, Graham's bedroom door slammed shut for the night. It was time. After gathering up my small rucksack and favourite teddy bear, I gently eased my way out of the bedroom window. As soon as my feet touched the welcoming gravelled ground outside, I was off into the sanctity of the bush as quickly as my legs could carry me.

Molly, my teddy bear, came everywhere with me. It was a gift my mother had made for me as a child and one I'd been able allowed to keep.

I knew there was one more bus leaving that night from the main road of town. Taking the shortcut through the bush again, I had a sneaking suspicion I wasn't alone this time. Reaching the edge of the clearing, a smoky haze filled the air. The moon cast a dim, foreboding shadow between the trees. Even though fear was beginning to set in, something compelled me to continue.

Even though I appeared to startle him, I saw no reason to fear him. His eyes glowed with intrigue as he saw me. In one swift moment he rose from a log by the river's edge and stretched his tall, gangly frame. The moonlight exposed a body that bore scars, just like mine did, though there was wisdom behind them. I was certain that behind every line and wrinkle was a unique story. In time, he would learn my stories too, and understand them like few had before.

"I, I'm so sorry," I stammered, momentarily entranced by his deep stare. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

Without a word, he beckoned me closer towards the burning embers of a campfire. Moments later, it began to crackle and hiss. He closed his eyes and began to chant.

I stared transfixed as the flames rose high above the trees. The man continued to chant, his words reverberating like a lion's roar through the surrounding night. Eventually, there was silence. Long moments passed until the inhabitants of the bush sprung to life with song once again.

"What's your name?" he asked me in a soothing tone.

"My name's Alinta," I replied, the warmth of the fire making me feel more at ease.

Another pause.

"Where I come from," he continued, Alinta is the fire, the flame. One that burns brightly with both compassion and determination. My name's Jonah."

"Is this where you live?" I asked curiously.

He raised a hand at the wide green surrounds.

"The bush is my home, the river and fire my sanctuary." His eyes glowed once again as he gazed at me fixedly. "Alinta, I hope you will come back again. But for now, you must return home."

My heart sank. The thought of going back to that house made me quiver.

"That place isn't my home. I don't belong there."

What Jonah told my next made me realise that, for the first time, I was far from alone.

"Your real home is this land, Alinta. It's ours. It always has been. Even in the most difficult times, that's something that can never be taken away from us."

Jonah sensed the shift in my mood as he continued.

"It's very late now, please rest. But do return again when you can. I have much to tell you."

Jonah's words stayed with me from that night on. Unlike at home and in the school playground, I was more than just the timid, acquiescent girl I had been for the last five years. For the first time since that fateful day, long ago, I was on the path to rediscovering my identity.

Home life wasn't always bad. Marjorie was a kind, positive influence who always tried her best. Though never a replacement for my real mother, she displayed many motherly tendencies and treated me like a daughter.

"Where shall we go today, Alinta?" she would often ask me eagerly at the weekend or school holidays. "How about we look around that new jewellery store in the next village? We can even stop by the cake shop on the way home." She was always full of ideas.

The cake shop soon became synonymous with school holidays, long drives and scones with cream and jam. These were the times with Marjorie that I really treasured. Times we could get away from the rigour and angst of home life. She eventually knew about Jonah, but sadly never met him. She understood I needed that connection with my past.

Graham was almost the exact opposite. I don't remember ever seeing him smile. There was very little about him that I saw as being even remotely father-like. Long hours working at the timberyard on the other side of town were often followed by even more at the pub. I would usually hear the commotion from my room when he stumbled through the front door. Poor Marjorie bore the brunt of his temper, especially if he'd had a bad day. I learnt to keep out of the way.

As the winter weeks went on, I was drawn closer to the warmth of Jonah's sanctuary. We told stories of shared experiences. I discovered that he too had lived a life that wasn't his own and had lost connection with his own family from an early age. There was nothing I couldn't share with him. He'd heard and seen it all.

I rarely saw him angry. On one occasion my curiosity got the better of me, which to this day I still regret. One night I decided to follow him to find out where he actually lived. I lost him in the dark, but eventually came across an old wooden shack. He sprang out from behind me.

"Alinta, you should not have followed me," his voice was gentle but firm. "My door will be open to you one day when you are older and more familiar with the land."

I respected his wishes. Some time later, he allowed me inside his humble abode for times when I needed respite. There were plenty.

***

The day we were told Graham wouldn't be coming home again, I felt relief mixed with apathy. They'd found him slumped over the wheel of his truck at work. Massive heart attack. For reasons I couldn't understand, Marjorie cried. I comforted her daily for a long time. Even though she said she missed him, I could tell she was relieved too.

A week after Graham's death, I ran all the way to the river. My spirits had suddenly been brought to life again. I felt elated, like nothing could hold me back. I couldn't wait to tell Jonah. His response was far from what I expected.

"It's very natural you feel these things now, Alinta," his tone was soothing but to the point. "But you must allow yourself time to grieve too. It's part of our healing process."

"I'm not grieving him, Jonah," I said as I dipped my feet in the water, "he was a monster."

"But a man nonetheless," Jonah retorted. "Believe me, I have walked down the same path. I have felt the joy and the pain. To reconnect completely with who you really are, you must first forgive. Your father was...."

I felt a sudden surge of anger. My mind was fragile. All my emotions began simmering to the surface.

"He was not my father!" I shouted, launching a kick at the log we always sat on together. "Don't tell me you know I feel!"

Then I ran. For that moment, that night, my elation disappeared and I was the old Alinta again. The young, careworn girl with so many pent-up emotions. My fleeting taste of freedom was beginning to dissipate back into the dark chasm.

I didn't go back to the forest for several nights. By now, I was approaching the end of my school days. My teachers had doted over me somewhat excessively since Graham's death. Like Jonah, none of them knew how I truly felt. Marjorie had been the only one who came remotely close.

Old Mrs Mainwaring, my art teacher, even baked me a cake. It helped that art was one of the only subjects I was passionate about. She was probably the first teacher who hadn't trotted out the disdainfully obligatory, "I'm here if you need to talk," which made my blood boil.

Not surprisingly, the bullying had started up again. It had never really gone away, but I'd learnt how to quell it over my high school years by forging my own group of friends. The Outcasts, they'd called us. How original. Theresa Barnes was the main instigator, and I usually ended up right in her line of fire.

Certain teasing I could handle, it was par for the course. Most of the year knew about my past. My friends did too, but most of them shared a similar burden and passively accepted what came with it. One day, however, Theresa crossed the line and i was goaded into a fight which got me suspended from school for two weeks. Theresa got let off with a warning, as per usual, but this time a broken nose with it.

As much as I hated school, life had suddenly become dull without it. I found myself alone most of the time. Marjorie had since taken up a secretarial job in town to help bring in some money. I could see it was more than that. To her, it was also a way of coping.

I eventually swallowed my pride and soon found myself back at the river again one night. Jonah was setting up his fire in his usual spot. He greeted me with a nonplussed glance, but I could sense there was something more too. He knew exactly why I'd returned. We could read reach other perfectly by now.

"Jonah, I'm sorry," I stammered before managing to eek out the words I'd rehearsed in my head the whole day.

Long moments passed. Only the crackling of the embers filled the air.

Eventually, he turned to me and smiled knowingly. "You were grieving, Alinta. It's what we all do in our own way. But with grief, comes healing. Though it takes time, it's one of the most important things you will ever learn. Tonight, I want you to let out your grief. Yell, cry, sing or chant. Don't think too much. Allow your soul to guide you."

I bite my lip momentarily. Even with an audience of one, I always hated being the centre of attention. At the same time, though, it was time I found my voice. And now was the moment to let it out and make it heard.

For the next hour, I led the way. We chanted as the moonlight flicked a bright array of colour across the river. I was at peace once again. I was a young woman of the world. And mostly importantly, I'd learnt to let go.

Not that I realised until later, but little by little Jonah had been teaching me his language. It didn't take me long before I became fluent. One day, my daughter would fluent in it too.

Jonah and I never lost touch. Even when life inevitably took me away from the town, I found my way back again. It was the nature of our connection, both to each other and the land. The last time I saw him, I knew it was nearly his time. His body was frail, yet his passion for storytelling and maintaining the place that bore him never waned. He never approached the end like it was anything to fear.

It was only when I wandered over to his abode one cold, wet night that I realised he'd gone. A little piece of had been left between on his humble beside table with a brief message:

"Dear Alinta,

By the time you find this note, I will have By the time you find this note, I will have returned to my ancestors. Please do not stop visiting my sacred place. I know you will continue to take care of it for me. My spirit will remain here to watch over you. You are the flame that will glow for a long, long time.

Always,

Jonah."

With tears streaking down my face, I turned and ran into the night.

***

A long time passed before I took that shortcut through the forest again. Now, as I got off the bus with my daughter, Celeste, I knew this was the right time to face the memories again. It was time to return to Jonah once more.

Marjorie, bless her, still wrote to me on occasion. She'd taken up residence with her niece up in the big smoke, a world she'd always yearned for. Judging by the last photo sent me, age had been kind to her.

The Bennett house had long since been knocked down and rebuilt. A beautiful new home stood in its place, modern yet still with a twinge of rustic charm. Those intimidating barbed wire fences that haunted me long ago were no more. Now, they made way for acres of lush greenery.

"Mummy," Celeste asked me when we reached the ever familiar clearing, "is this where the River Man lived?"

Her wide brown eyes glowed like she already knew the answer. I smiled and closed my eyes as the sun beamed down over the river. A gentle breeze whistled past. As I wrapped my arm around her, I replied, "Yes, darling, and one day I'll tell you all about him."

THE END.