Elephants with Headlights by Bem Le Hunte

Author:Bem Le Hunte
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781925760484
Publisher: Transit Lounge

WEARING SHIVA

‘I NEVER WANTED to return here to live,’ Mae told Savitri as she turned the key to the side door of her family house in Brunswick Heads. ‘Especially after I met Neel.’

The house didn’t look like something anyone would want to run away from – a welcoming tropical weatherboard on short stilts, on a broad road dotted with barefoot holiday-makers and lotus-eating locals. It looked like it could be blown away in a gust of wind, like a fairytale, with none of the sturdy brickwork of their Delhi home. There was a pretty reception area as you walked in, with a stone Buddha to welcome you, and shelves displaying an assortment of candles and Tantric objects and shells that had been made into toys in places like Mahabalipuram. It was nothing like the austere cream-coloured marble foyer of their farmhouse; there were none of the echoing spaces or balconies that allowed the inhabitants to observe the activities of the servants from lofty heights. This wasn’t even a foyer, but more of a charming, intimate, sacred space, with wooden floorboards and an old kilim laid out like a prayer mat in front of the Buddha. She felt instantly happy. Until then she had wished she could spend some more time alone with Mae, but seeing the house she was intrigued to find out what kind of parents might have created such a hideaway.

‘My father’s surgery is on the left. We don’t go in there too much, and you’ll need to knock because he often has patients. I’ll show you your room.’

They walked through a living room covered with Indonesian ikats, through two white Indo-Saracenic arches and out onto a broad wooden balcony, where a cornucopia of tropical plants hung like a still life all around them: crested bird of paradise flowers next to pandanus grasses, banana palms, wayfarer palms, and small red purses hanging like rich promises off the long tail of a plant she’d never seen before. And there in the middle of it, a ship’s lantern on a low table, surrounded by low cane sofas where you could sit back and sip herbal tea while inhaling the warm earthy smells of this tropical sanctuary.

Mae’s spare bedroom was in the middle of this Garden of Eden, complete with a Balinese bed draped with a white cotton mosquito net hanging off thick bamboo runners. The only sign of a makeshift finish in this romantic retreat was a rattan mat that had been hastily pulled over the concrete floor.

‘This is so-o-o pretty – I can’t believe it. Where are all these plants from?’

‘Well, that’s a hibiscus with flowers as big as dinner plates …’ Mae was reciting words from one of her favourite childhood picture books in a singsong voice. ‘And there’s the Big Bad Banksia man. And that over there is George. Say hello to George.’

Savitri looked in the direction of Mae’s pointing finger and screamed a primal, guttural, nerve-pinching scream that was utterly uncontrollable.

She hadn’t meant to scream, but

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