from
the sea (5) –secrets by freda karpf
Someone once told Mrs.
Scattergood that we need our secrets to cushion our days ahead. She certainly
would have appreciated a nice cushion for her head. ‘Perhaps a stranger’s bosom
on a couch in IKEA,’ Baubo thought.
~
Baubo noticed the wrack line. She always
noticed that and then looked past to see if a plover nursery was above it, safe
from the tide. Mrs. Scattergood’s Barry had teased about making her home safe
by creating fake nest sites. This would create a legal wrack line and protect
her environs from unwanted development.
After news of Barry’s death Mrs. Scattergood lost the truth about the
nests somewhere between Barry’s idea for the scam and the hope that her home
was a safe place for terns and plovers to nest.
~
Secrets are such interesting parts of our
memory. They get tucked away in your
brain the way one inch owls live beneath the bark’s lip. That’s their home.
Small as it may be, it keeps the wind out, provides privacy and links the owls
to everything that a tree is. Who’s to say the owl is not a part of the tree or
the secret a reality in your own life not just a borrowed habitat? Everyone,
she thought, longs for nests and the cushion of hope that their secrecy
provides.
~
Barry would never have put too much
thought to secrets. He would have them.
He was one of those people who would attract others to go to him and relieve
themselves of their secrets. He was a
safe. No doubt he would have kept it all locked inside; no different than the
odd and spare Hobart parts he’d store in the warehouse. Barry was the only one who knew what they
were for. He was the sexton of mechanical parts. What a job in a digital world. His warehouse was as organized and archaic as
a back room in the Smithsonian. He kept the good and the bad. Bad was either
family stuff; pains that don’t go away or parts that were irreplaceable. Good even if they were bad. He might have worries about one of his kids
or a friend he couldn’t help. That was the bad pains for Barry. He’d only share the notches on his belt
indicating his weight loss or his new life plan. Never the worry.
~
Baubo would surrender her love of mystery
to help people search for what they need. Not knowing and finding bring the
same excitement. Secrecy was imperative to be who we are. Without secrets we
were only experimenting with who we are. Her belief was grown on the beaches of
Eleusis. ‘Let ourselves and who we want to be shine through, with something
held back to keep the soul strong.’ What
is the difference between secrecy and privacy? We need both. Sometimes we need
privacy to become who we are. Sometimes,
like terns, we need privacy to give birth. We need secrecy to protect our
spirit. The terns need it to protect their eggs.
~
Mrs. Scattergood remembered the feel of a
woman’s breasts beneath her feet. The
definition of soft and delight. Hours of memories captured in a meager
vocabulary of want. She didn’t know what to expect of herself or her lovers
then. Her ego was a paper lantern, a pale light that eased her through days
where she had no idea of who she was or what she wanted. There were no
guidelines.
~
The whirlpool created by the wooden spoon
had everything swirling. Her memories;
her longing satisfied and longing stretched too far to reach.
~
What is near isn’t wanted and what is
wanted isn’t near. What troubles she had
with sex and longing. Was it the way with most women or just her? How do you survey that one? And then what comes ‘round the corner? More
memories. Like the ridges around a
silver dollar reminding her of the simple joy in touching her lover. Or the fast closing hole she called one
lover’s heart. What a dent in the
mattress, she thought, as the center of the whirlpool disappeared into the
surface of the soup.
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