Dances by She Lake

The honey-coloured light trickled through the plantation shutters and over the windowpane. A half glass of shiraz and inches away a slightly dried paintbrush laid on the bench illuminated by the new day. The candle had burned down to find its inevitable end.

- Let’s go walking, maybe we can spot a dolphin or two, he said.

- Did you sleep? Leyla asked.

- Ah, who knows, what is sleep? A dark well full of runaway dreams.

He smiled to himself.

-But I think I did something rather interesting.

She laughed.

- It’s too early to get philosophical.

There were the usual suspects on the beach, the old man who swam every day along the shoreline, the bikini clad “bum girls” as Aron called them, and an old couple who knew the value of sun light and the promise of a brand-new day.

- Look!

He pointed to the ocean.

- Dolphins! An adult and a calf! We sure got lucky today!

They gazed together out towards the horizon. The sea was calm, with a soft wind only causing small ripples. The dolphins were chasing a school of fish, jumping and diving in mad circles.

- Funny, isn’t it that we met at the Canary Islands? All those years ago.

- Yes, she said. And we’ve been trying to kill each other ever since.

They both laughed.

Aron put his hand around her waist and drew her closer to him.

- We are still here, he said softly. And guess what, the painting is coming along well.

Aron sounded happy.

- That is good to hear, she said.

- Well, at least it is something beyond the daily weather report.

- I am meeting Eva for lunch at 1.00. Is that okey with you? She frowned as she looked up towards the bright sky.

- Yes, that’s fine. Give her a kiss from me, I will look after the guys.

He was referring to the dog and the cat that had become their sole family over the years.

- I might take the bike out for a ride down the coast. I need to clear my head. God, the world is really messed up, isn’t it? Another war, another lunatic with a mad answer. I thought things were on the mend.

The dolphins moved on and the day followed as they slowly walked to the footpath that led to home.

- Wow, dig that sky, she said.

They both looked up, motionless as if in a trance. It was so blue.

The summer in Australia is intense. It arrives when you least expect it after what might appear to be a very mild transition from spring. You wake up one morning and you just know it has arrived. It comes with that soft breath of heat already in the early hours as you feel the warmth of the sun on your skin. Bare arms and legs soak up the rays, thirsty and filled with the promise of an endless summer. You reach for the sunglasses, because you soon learn that this is one of the most important accessories that you need to carry with you. And then there is the sky. The blue, endless, expanse, intense and timeless like this ancient continent. Sometimes you feel that you are only a guest in this land of contrasts moving through a diverse pallet of colour and light.

Aron and Leyla had lived by the coast for many years and the sea, sand and salt was in their blood. He was an artist, and it fed his inventive mind. Long evenings, a candle burning softly and he was free to write, paint and let the night take him on a new journey.

The easel was in the courtyard near the studio, far enough away to create the space he needed. He had stretched the canvas on the frame he built, and it was big. 150x170. The primer had dried, and the sun was there now, playing in the courtyard. "Australian Blue Sky". That was one of his favourite colours on the palette, it spoke of the intensity and the possibility of endless tomorrows.

Aron charcoaled the outline, his hands moving fast and determined, soft curves, lots of space, details, birds, wilderness, and the white sand, and as he stepped back to view the canvas he knew where he was going. Back to the lake, the woman he loved, and that canopy of endless blue.

The cove was in the shape of a woman’s body, kneeling, looking upwards towards the sky while the water danced around her. The woman was sand nurtured by the water. He squeezed out a generous amount of acrylic paint on the palette. Brush strokes moving free and light, dipped in paint and water while the picture began to come alive. He smeared the paint across the canvas with his hands, the water, the sky. And as day turned towards evening and the bright sun softened, life happened there in their courtyard. He had to move fast. The heat was intense in the late afternoon, and the paint dried quickly on the canvas. He could feel the sweat dripping from his forehead, but he could not stop now, something was driving him further. He worked with a strong motion, motivated, inspired, filled with passion, and knowing this journey would be long but rewarding. That night he fell asleep under the ceiling fan on the sofa. When Leyla woke him to get him into bed, he gazed up into her eyes smiling. He had been sleeping deeply in a land where real madness of life was far away, and everything was blue.

Days turned to weeks and then to months. The painting was almost finished but as always, he was not happy. The long scorching summer was heading into autumn and the shadows became longer and the light softened. He was the hardest critic of his own work and decided it was time to give it up. He thought he had reached the place he set out to find, but something was missing. He put the painting away in the studio, somewhere far back where he could not be reminded of it. At least for a while. As he often said, “nothing is ever finished, just abandoned.”

There was a message on the mobile phone. Leyla wiped her hands and reached for the phone on the kitchen shelf. She drew breath. There had already been a message earlier this morning from Arons friend in the country. Short but to the point. “Thinking of you today, take care.” This one was from Maggie, her former colleague at work. It was much the same. Leyla put the phone down and starred into the sink. She turned the hot water on letting it run over her hands as she was trying to feel something else besides the pain and knot in her stomach. It was five years ago today and she could not understand why this day was any different or more difficult to go through than any other day. But it was. She looked out of the plantation shutters at the easel in the courtyard. There was no blank canvas on it now or a half-finished painting, only dots of dried-up old paint faded by the sunlight. The tubes were still on the makeshift bench beside it; they were dry now and useless, but she could not bring herself to remove them. The brushes witnessed the march of time, and some had lost most of their bristles. She could almost see Aron there bending his body in an awkward position while trying to paint a specific object. Her eyes started to water, the tears came, running down her face.

It was this day he suddenly decided to go on a bicycle ride along the esplanade to clear his mind. She would have gone with him, but she was meeting Eva for lunch. She knew he would go to the little café and have a quick bite to eat, probably a baguette with cheese and fresh chilies and a Coke Zero. She thought about him as Eva and her chatted over lunch at one of the outdoor cafes, and she could picture him riding down by the sea dodging the women with their prams and the occasional jogger. She knew he would ride home taking his favourite road where the tall trees met like an arch above, covering the blue sky. She did not know he did not get to the café that day, and she did not know he was not on his way home.

The police knocked on the door and she knew instinctively as she stood before them that something had happened. She could barely hear the woman’s voice, there was a white light dancing in front of her eyes, and she felt weak at the knees. The rest was a blur and all she knew was that the driver of the car had not seen him. Five years later and it all came back to her. The blame for not riding with him, for wanting to buy those electric bicycles, for not stopping him and telling him they would go together the next day.

The black cat stroked up against her leg and reminded her that it was time to feed him. She looked down at the empty bowl and thought of all the times they had laughed together with the cat and the dog. He loved those animals. He always joked “people might let you down, but these little guys never will.”

The studio door was locked, she seldom went in there unless she had an urge to look at his paintings, it was just too painful. She fumbled with the key and opened the door. It was dark in there and it smelled of dust, old timber and the bits and pieces of the life they once had. Somewhere in the corner a canvas stuck up higher than the rest and she moved towards it. She had to move some of the other paintings to get it out and there it stood. "Dances by She Lake". It was dusty and dirty in places, so she took it out to the courtyard where she washed it down with the garden hose as she had watched Aron do so many times. The colours once again came alive and spoke to her as they had done that summer when he painted it and suddenly, she felt something warm inside her. She was the lake in the painting, the blue lady in the timeless landscape where nothing ever dies. It just changes with time as all things do.

Across the top of the painting, she could trace the movement of his hand as the wild smear of blue paint became the sky, reflecting the lake beneath it. The blue Australian sky. She felt that he had left the painting there for her to find all these years later. What was it he had said then so long ago. “Nothing ever dies, you just learn to move on and be thankful for the gift of a new day.” And as she looked into this painting, she knew he was still there, and nothing ever really dies. She would hang it on the wall just above the fireplace. It was time to bring it home.