PLIGHT OF THE GOLDEN WEAVER

by Phyllis Owen

  That morning, Megan, a housewife and mother of eight-year old twin boys, came to the conclusion that her life was humdrum, boring.  She would soon be thirty-five and life was passing her by.  A wave of sadness and loneliness engulfed her.

  She thought back to the time when she was engaged to the most eligible bachelor in the Marketing Department of a large advertising firm.  Ernest, her fiancee, was an up and coming executive, full of vitality and fun to be with.  There were parties, country dancing, and they attended many gala openings.   Then it happened, the old, old story of a girl and boy and a best friend who takes him away.    She had been in complete ignorance about the affair he’d been having with her best friend, Erika.  One night, like the proverbial bolt out of the blue, they announced that they had fallen in love.  She was devastated and became withdrawn as if mourning the sudden death of two people she loved the most.  Erika had been her soul mate, but had betrayed her.   Some friend she turned out to be.  

  Within a couple of weeks they were married.  It was a relief when Ernest had been transferred to their Head Office and she had never seen them again.

  Though she spent most of the time with that mysterious chamber of her heart safely closed off, she was angry that on occasions it still opened up as though her subconscious was a programmed computer and would never stop haunting her.

    A month later she had met Dave, her husband, honest, dependable kind Dave, a quiet man and on the shy side.  Within six months they were married.  He was everything Ernest wasn’t.  Ernest had to have a crowd around him: Dave was content to be in the background.  Ernest had been the life and soul of any party: Dave was a mere onlooker.

  She sucked in her breath, feeling slightly ashamed.  Dave, a computer scientist, was a good provider.  They had a lovely home and he was always doing things for her in his quiet, unassuming way, and the boys loved him.  ‘But he’s so boring,’ she moaned, ‘Boring! Boring! Boring!’

    She couldn’t remember when last they had gone out together to celebrate a special occasion or any occasion.  They did however, go to friends for a meal and they in turn came to their home, but she had never bonded with any of the wives the way she had with Erika.  It was as though she was displaying a placard warning everyone not to come too close.

  Dave spent most of his spare time working in the garden or playing on that damn computer with the boys!  She bit her lip thoughtfully.  Yet if she wanted to go out he would willingly take her, but she had to be the instigator.  This could well be the story of their marriage.  She clicked her tongue angrily.  It did no good to dwell on the past.

  She got the children ready for school.  Dave dropped them together with the neighbour’s children, on his way to work.  Usually the neighbour’s wife, Ursula, who played tennis at the same club that she did, would bring them back at lunch time, but today they had extra cricket practice and would come home with Dave later in the afternoon. 

  She knew that no matter how busy she made herself that day somewhere in the back of her mind the thought of Ernest and his zest for life would be nagging at her.  More recently she kept remembering fragments of their conversations and the sound of his laughter, fantasizing about what might have been.  She longed to see him again.  ‘Just once,’ she whispered.

  Walking to a mirror she looked long and hard at herself.  In the ten years she had been married she hadn't put on any extra weight despite the fact she had borne twins.  Then examining her face more closely, she noticed tiny lines under her eyes.  Your looks are starting to go, my girl, she thought sadly.  Time’s running out!  Suddenly she felt old and frumpish.

  As if to escape from the image in the mirror, she began bustling around the house, cleaning, dusting, vacuuming.  After picking up the magazines in the lounge, she washed up the breakfast crockery.  Then, acting on an impulse, she hurriedly changed her jeans and t-shirt and slipped into a cool summer dress and white sandals.  After putting on more lipstick and dabbing a touch of perfume on each wrist, she went to do the weekly shopping.

  When she had finished she loaded the packages into the boot of the car.  As she had the rest of the day free, she decided to do some browsing at the sales and made her way to a large shopping complex.

  Going up the escalator, she found herself standing behind a woman carrying a parcel of foodstuffs.  Was her imagination playing tricks with her or could it be……..no that’s impossible, but her stomach knotted tightly.  Just then someone overbalanced and fell backwards against the woman, who, trying to steady herself, dropped the parcel.  A large tin of mixed fruit jam fell out of the packet.  Megan managed to catch it as it came tumbling past.  The woman, agitated and nervous, looked around and their eyes met. 

  Erika!  

  Could this be a coincidence or a trick of fate? Megan wondered.   She felt her body tense up.  All the old resentments flooded back and she pushed the tin of jam into Erika’s hand.  They eyed each other momentarily.

  ‘Megan!’ Erika exclaimed cautiously, looking kind of embarrassed.  ‘How nice to see you.’

  Megan, trying to compose herself, swallowed hard but said nothing.  Looking away, she fixed her eyes on the top of the escalator.

  ‘Thanks for catching the jam,’ Erika went on, this time her voice was quiet and had just a hint of sadness.

  Megan looked at her again, her eyes widening in surprise.  She suddenly noticed how shabbily she was dressed and how pitifully thin she was.  Her once pretty face was haggard and lined and she had a thin scar just above the left eyebrow.    She looked so vulnerable and tired.  ‘What are you doing here?’ she enquired, politely.  By this time they had arrived at the top of the escalator and began walking towards a door leading to a car park.

  ‘Ernest was retrenched and we’ve come to find employment,’ Erika explained, looking anxiously at her.   ‘He’s been without a job for months.’  She smiled pityingly.

  Megan tried to hide her shock.  ‘But he was an up and,’ she began.

  A flash of the old Erika rushed back and her face reddened.  ‘He’s been so unfortunate.  To find the right position hasn’t been easy.  There are plenty of run of the mill jobs but Ernest wants the right one,’ she added, defensively.  Then, almost pleadingly, ‘Oh, Megan, come and have some tea with me like old times.  We live in a flat just down the road.’  She bit her lip nervously, adding, ‘Unless you have shopping to do.’

  For a fleeting moment, something about the way she looked, so forlorn, touched Megan deeply.  She felt she couldn’t refuse, and she was also curious.  ‘I only intended to browse,’ she told her.  ‘It can wait.’

  ‘Leave your car,’ suggested Erika.  ‘It isn’t far to walk.’

  At the flat she was appalled to find it shabby and sparsely furnished.  The hall was bare and in the lounge was a very worn suite, one small table in the center and a threadbare carpet covered part of the cement tiled floor.  This room’s going to be freezing in the winter, she thought.

  ‘Sit down, Megan,’ invited Erika.  ‘Excuse the pathetic flat.  Our furniture is in storage. This is only a stepping stone until Ernest finds work.  He has gone for an interview with a large company in the city and he’s optimistic he’ll get the position.  I’ll be starting work in two weeks as a legal secretary.’

  Megan noticed that every now and again her mouth twitched nervously.  ‘I’m glad for you,’ she began stiffly and added,  ‘I’ll help with the tea.’

  She began to relax as she followed Erika into the small grubby kitchen, and couldn’t help noticing the large pile of empty liquor bottles in the corner.  She remembered Ernest was always fond of his wine, but she also recognized empty cane and vodka bottles.

  ‘You look well and prosperous, Megan,’ smiled Erika.  ‘Still as glamorous as ever.  Life has treated you well.’

  Megan laughed laconically.  ‘Keep talking, Erika.’  Then she noticed the kettle’s twisted spout and without thinking asked, ‘What happened to the kettle?’

  Erika gave her a startled glance.  Her face paled and she unconsciously touched the scar above her left eye.  Then, with a laugh she said, ‘Oh, that!  It slipped out of Ernest’s hand and fell to the floor, spout down.’

  Megan nodded, but did not believe her, not for a moment.

  While they were drinking their tea Erika chatted away.  ‘Do you have a family?’ she asked with obvious interest.

  ‘Twin boys,’ Megan replied warmly, adding, ‘and little rascals they are too.’

  Erika laughed.  ‘When are boys not a handful?’   Her large eyes looked close to tears and her chin quivered slightly.  ‘Ernest doesn’t want children.  He said they caused too many problems.  Of course, he’s right at this moment, but I’m sure when he has a steady job he’ll change his ideas.’

    After they had had their tea Megan, glancing at her watch, said she must go and on a whim, offered to pick Erika up the following week to have lunch.

  ‘I’d love that,’ Erika whispered, her eyes alight, obviously delighted.

   With that Megan bade her farewell and hurried home, glad to escape from that depressing and dingy environment.

  Arriving home, and after unpacking the groceries, she kicked off her shoes and sat in her favourite chair in the lounge that looked on to the front garden.  A shaft of afternoon sunlight filtered in through the French doors.  Her thoughts wandered back over the events of the day and to Erika.  Things were not what they appeared to be.  That scar….the kettle spout…..her nervous, haggard expression….the dingy flat….  Not like the Erika of old who was always so meticulous.  Life, or was it Ernest, hadn’t been kind to her!

  Then she noticed the two golden weaverbirds.  She recognized the male by its darker plumage.  He had tied one end of a long piece of dried grass to a branch of the bottlebrush tree.  To her amazement she watched, as, holding the other end in his beak and still grasping the branch with his claws, he fluttered his wings animatedly and flew across to another branch.  Grasping it with one claw, he attempted to tie the other end of the grass to it.

  Several times he tried the crossing, but the branch would slip out of his grasp as it swayed in the breeze.  Finally, the breeze dropped long enough for the little bird to secure the other end of the dried grass.   All this time the female sat silent, watching on a branch just above.  No sooner had the male accomplished his purpose than the female swooped down to display her dissatisfaction as if she had been waiting for the right psychological moment.  With one deft peck, she severed the piece of dried grass that her male companion had worked so hard to secure.

  ‘Well!’ Megan exclaimed, ‘He’s trying to build you a nest, you ungrateful woman.’  Then, like a butterfly bursting from its chrysalis, thoughts of Dave came to her and her face reddened.   She felt deeply ashamed.  All she ever wanted and needed was right under her nose, waiting to be recognised.

  Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of his car in the driveway.  A sensation of tremendous peace came over her as though she had moved into a new and different world.

   Rising from the chair, she hastened to meet him and the boys.

                                                The end