FISH

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For as long as he could remember, Pop Sharman's existence revolved around the origin of mankind, space, astrology, ancient religions, and the natural kingdoms. He was determined to pursue and expose the lies encapsulated in traditional beliefs. Although well past his allocated three-score plus ten years, he was still an avid student of all knowledge, which he believed must be shared. With a willing audience, he could reminisce and talk for hours on any subject known to man. When not tending his garden, he would collect wild herbs to create medicine for the large number of people who came for help.

Where the creek forked and joined the larger stream, a huge river gum stood. Like him, the tree was old and weathered, but it gave companionship, support for a tired back, welcome relief from the relentless heat of the Queensland sun, and a place to commune with the Creator.

Thinking aloud, he thanked his friend and queried the number of years they'd spent together on this plane, and he wondered how many more summers they would share. The sun was still high, and with home a mere half hour away, he decided to grab a little shut-eye.

A tangible stillness permeated the cool air, filling his lungs, reviving the mind, and relieving the tired body. In this meditative state, he sensed an aura of anticipation tingling through the surrounding bush.

Out of respect for their visitor, the cicadas were hushed and the rainbow lorikeets stopped their incessant squabbling and snuggled closer into the motley tree trunk. Even the butterflies settled to enjoy the peace and quiet this man brought to the area.

Pop knew all forms of animal, planet, and mineral were living evidence of the eternal God. He maintained the form may change but the inner energy was indestructible. Perhaps what people said about him was true. Maybe he did connect with the nature kingdom, and maybe the nature kingdom felt his love and responded in kind.

If the trees could talk, they could tell many fascinating stories about this man, but as mute sentinels, they kept his secrets locked up in their hearts.

A passing breeze paused to play in the upper canopy, and a solitary leaf was released. At first hesitant to leave, the blade swayed then slowly spiralled down to the dry creek bed far below.

"How like that little leaf we are," he said to the tree. "For a short time, we are quite happy to be part of the whole, young and full of hope, then one fateful day something unexpected happens and we break away. Tis true we often just drift downward as we follow our destiny, fading into oblivion like all those who have gone and leaving nothing but inspiration for those who follow."

To a lesser man, this would be a depressing thought, but to him, it was a fact of life. To just be a part of the eternal unfolding pattern was an honour.

The intoxicating vibrations channelled the mind into other realms, shuffling memories of distant times and places he'd explored with his beloved Mary. Fourteen years had passed since she left the physical plane, but they still shared the quiet moments.

Lydia tried to fill the void, but she too had been gone five years. Although his way of life hadn't changed in content, it now lacked context. Lydia's energy was the spark that ignited the passion in their work. The fire surrounding new discoveries seemed dimmer without her physical input and presence.

They both had a profound faith in the ancient science of astrology, numerology, reincarnation, and past lives and spent hours in meditation seeking answers from higher beings. They also experimented with different herbs, trying new ways to blend plants to increase the medicinal action, often with extraordinary results.

Some people researched their family trees, but Lydia preferred to study the leaders of past ages. She was sure Moses had been the leader of the Aryan age, followed by Adam for the age of Taurus. The same Adam supposedly created in the Garden of Eden, although Mithras, the Minoan leader, was said to be the great teacher born in the age of Taurus. Mithraism involved the bull, and she believed the crescent shape of the horns became the crescent moon endemic to Islam.

Mithras was also associated with the sun gods Helios and Apollo. His birthdate was celebrated near the winter solstice, on the twenty-fifth of December. The Church took this and allocated the date to Jesus to maintain the myth of the "sun", or "son" of God. The cave temple situated on Vatican Hill, previously dedicated to Mithras, went on to become the seat of the Catholic Church.

The couple contemplated the story of Adam and Eve and concluded they were the male/female twin souls who were the leaders for the age of Gemini. Eve was beside Adam, not coming from one of Adam's ribs as the Bible would have us believe. Like many so-called truths, the real facts were lost in translation or, as so often happened, deliberately misconstrued to appease the various sects or enforce a particular dogma. Even today, different denominations of Christians translate the Bible to suit themselves.

Lydia knew Jesus was the Piscean leader by the continual reference to fish by his followers. But like Islam, those who created the credo for the new Christianity took what they wanted from previous religions. To enforce control, the church hierarchy further developed and perpetuated a liturgy of lies, tyranny, murder, and other unspeakable crimes that had no basis in the righteous teachings of Jesus.

Being on the planet during the transition of the Piscean to the new Aquarian age thrilled Lydia. Questions of where, how, and who would rise from the ranks of humanity really excited her.

Crack. Twang. The call of the whipbird and the splashing of water broke through the layers of thought, jarring the mind out of Aquarian depths into the watery realms of the present age. Someone was approaching, and judging by the noise, there were several people.

The drought had turned the free-flowing creek into a series of individual mud holes linked only by a slow trickle of water. Another month with no rain and there would be nothing to encourage the insects, which were the first in the food chain for the birds and many other creatures.

Listening to insects playing their intricate instrument, he imagined the baton of the unseen Creator forming the incredibly harmonious, if slightly offbeat, hypnotic chorus that sounded like a Tibetan mantra complete with temple bells.

The collective sounds lulled him back into the dreamtime, causing the whipbird to give out another distinctive whip. Crack. At last, the bird managed to alert him to the fact his sanctuary was about to be invaded. No need to strain the ears. It was obvious some children were making their noisy way upstream. Without moving a muscle, the old man tuned in, trying to ascertain what had them so excited on such a hot day.

Lost in thought, he hadn't noticed the cloud hiding the sun. Maybe this would herald the cooler days. With no need to hurry back to his empty cottage, he resettled comfortably against the tree.

The boys smashed everything that blocked their progress. A half-dead she-oak tree hanging precariously from the creek bank soon shared the same suffocating fate as other trees already half submerged in the thick grey mud. They made such a racket sloshing along that it was difficult to hear their conversation.

Pop shifted his weight to check the position of the sun and stretch the legs to avert leg cramps in readiness for the trek along the dusty track. Enjoying the fresh new energy revitalizing the bush, and still quietly confident the newcomers were unaware of his presence, he took a swig from his trusty water bottle.

It wasn't hard to ascertain who they were. One voice he knew was from his eldest son's boy, the young Mako. There were not many children living this far up the valley, so the others would be his school friends. They and their parents were well known to him, as the children often played together.

Even though his son and his family lived in the same area, he didn't see much of them. He told himself his son's life as a busy politician didn't leave time for visiting and it wasn't fair to intrude on the precious time he had with his wife and children.

The truth was his son kept his family at a distance for fear of any ridicule he may attract from being aligned with his father. He thought his father was a self-opinionated, homespun guru nutcase. Whatever the reason, the result meant they didn't spend much time together.

The majority of people from the valley considered the old man a bit weird but harmless. A few considered him odd and referred to him as "the silly old bugger," "the nutty git-gnomie," or worse, "that spooky quack" and forbade their children from talking to him.

For all his years, Pop was a strong, agile man brimming with health and vitality, with no outward sign of the number of years spent doing hard physical work. His habit of carrying a small spade caused the wisecracks about his resemblance to a garden gnome.

Even those he considered friends would have a bit of a laugh at his expense, but for all that, they respected him — and not only for his knowledge of herbs. They knew people wouldn't come up from the coast to seek his help if he weren't doing some good. Besides, he'd helped most of the locals directly or indirectly at some time or other.

Most visitors only wanted a little advice or guidance, which they often received without knowing. He would enquire about the whole family while searching for the underlying cause of the patient's problem. The herbs he blended helped the physical healing, but the subtle counseling uncovered and removed the cause.

How a man who shunned the outside world, had such an in-depth understanding of the problems confronting modern society, was beyond their comprehension.

Odd too how no one quizzed or took the time to ascertain where he obtained his knowledge. He was what he was, and that was that.

At certain times of the year he'd be seen walking along the creek edge collecting plants then he'd vanish for weeks on end. When asked why he would want useless weeds, he would smile and say. "Weeds are simply plants that no one has as yet found a use for, but they all have a part to play in God's plan. As such they deserve the same respect one gives to the most delicate rose."

Being the subject of ridicule never bothered him, but today he remained hidden in case he unwittingly embarrassed the boy, as some children could be unkind to those their parents didn't approve of.

The boys were so intent on creating dams and chasing yabbies that they weren't aware of him, but he'd picked up on the subtle change in their banter. The excitement and fun was now a contentious argument and heated debate with one who would not conform to the majority. Pop cautiously peered around the tree to confirm his suspicions. As expected it was the smallest boy being a killjoy.

"Why do you always want to do something different? You always end up going gah-gah and stupid!"

"Who cares if the dumb yabby is out of the water?" One of the boys was kicking at something in the mud.

"Look at the big sookie! Boo hoo!" Another pointed and laughed. "You look like you're gonna cry!"

The small crayfish gasping for air was too much for the sensitive child. He must stop them poking the poor creature as it tried to crawl on broken legs.

"You're so weird!" The attack was getting personal. "Even your name is dopey!"

"Who ever heard of a name like Mako? My father said it means a fish." "Maybe he's part fish that's why he's bawling."

"You are a dumb fish; that's why you won't come fishing!" This comment brought loud hoots of laughter.

"We always knew there was something fishy about you," one continued to taunt. Catching yabbies no longer interested them. This game was more fun.

Cackling like a bunch of kookaburras, they pushed him aside to clamber out of the dirty waterhole, still making jokes and laughing, they wandered down the road each to his own home, leaving Mako ankle-deep in mud holding the half- dead crayfish.

Although out of earshot, the departing children still enjoyed jokes at their friend's expense.

Squinting to release hot tears, their solitary audience found solace knowing they were oblivious to the acute pain they'd caused. Past experiences and long- forgotten similar instances sprang to mind making it difficult to rationalize his emotions. He knew it was better to allow the pain to emerge rather than suppress or deny its existence, but it was not easy. The unjust accusations endured in his youth still had a negative effect; he knew exactly how young Mako felt.

He shrugged off the visions, forcing the mind back to the current situation. Dwelling on the past was not helping, and maybe these hurtful events would stop the boy from making the same family mistakes. In his heart he wondered if his own experiences were enough to evoke the wisdom needed to find a positive angle.

Mako continued along the stony edge of the creek, careful not to stir up the mud or harm any other creatures while searching for yabbies that may be hurt. Using his toes, he gently shifted the stones to release the water his friends had spent the afternoon building up. It was fun making dams, but he didn't understand why his friends were cruel to insects and things. Fish need clean water to live; his mates didn't have to stomp and grope at everything, making the water all mucky.

He shuddered to think how Ben and Johnny laughed as the poor thing gasped and wriggled. How would they like it if they were suddenly thrown out of their home and left to die in thick mud?

It was neat watching little whirlpools swirl as the water seeped into his footprints. As the water stilled, the little black boatmen returned to chase after smaller bugs that also skimmed across the surface. Although proud to have stopped the damage, he was upset because as usual he'd ruined the game and turned the others against him.

Surprised to hear his Pop's voice, he placed the yabbie in a clear pool and scrambled up the bank, pausing only to be sure he hadn't imagined Pop calling. It was true! He was over by the old gum tree!

"Poppa!" No second bidding needed. The telepathic message was received loud and clear. Overcome by jumbled emotions he started running. In his rush, blinded by tears, he stumbled over twigs and his own feet. He'd felt so alone. Now he wasn't ... No one cared ... but now ... the only one who always understood was here.

As the boy fell into his arms, the smile lines deepened on the old weather-beaten face. Born of like minds and souls their bond went way beyond the blood relationship. Theirs was a deeper knowing.

No words were needed. Neither cared about him being a sook or a crybaby. He sobbed until the untapped well of pure emotion ran dry. When the breath returned the questions began:

"Why am I so different?"

"Why am I always ruining the games?"

"We used to play ok."

"Why do I always muck it up?"

"Why do I want to change things?"

"I AM WEIRD, aren't I?"

"Is it true my name means fish?"

"Why is my name a fish?"

"When did you come?"

"Why do the kids want to hurt and kill things?"

"How come I didn't see you before?"

The questions were spilling out so fast the boy's breath came out in little laboured gasps, emphasizing the frustration and hurt.

Pop stroked the boy's head until the tears and questions subsided. It broke his heart to hear the pain behind the tears. "How old are you now son?"

"Seven." His mother often said how lucky he was to have such a wise and special grandfather, yet he had to ask how old he was. Hadn't heard anything he'd just said? He started to cry again, but more to himself. It was clear no one really understood, not even his beloved Poppa.

Pop used the last of his water to soak his handkerchief and wipe away the tears that formed tracks through the dust and mud from the days play. The love in his grandfather's touch soothed and calmed the boy.

"Why am I so different?" The heartfelt plea was too much.

"Yes Mako, I believe you are old enough to learn."

The way his poppa said his name made him feel much better.

Maybe he did understand.

"Seven is a special magic age." Looking into the wet yet alert eyes, he added, "And you are very special boy."

At last he would get answers. Now he'd find out how he got such a funny name - and if it really did mean fish. He took the outstretched hand as they set off home.