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Anthony Browne My Brother’s Keeper Master of Creative Writing 2011 My Brother’s Keeper By Anthony Browne 32 View metadata, citation and similar papers at core.ac.uk brought to you by CORE provided by AUT Scholarly Commons Anthony Browne My Brother’s Keeper Master of Creative Writing 2011 Autumn 33 Anthony Browne My Brother’s Keeper Master of Creative Writing 2011 One Rose entered the deeper water of the channel. The sand became fine, silt-like. Sharp edges of shells pressed into her feet. Cool water climbed her calves with each step, tickling the soft skin on the back of her knees. On the far side of the estuary marram-grassed sand dunes met blue sky. The dunes ran along the entire the horizon. From the grassy headland at Gunnanundi Point north to the mouth of Broken River. Beyond the dunes waves crashed. Their seamless roar drowned out the cawing oystercatchers. They had menaced Rose all the way from the shoreline, but were forced to remain at the edge of the shallows. From there they continued to vigilantly pace, shouting shrill warnings. Keep clear of our nests. She wished she could reassure the birds, explain that she was just like them. A mother. Watchful. Overprotective. She looked over her shoulder to a flash of colour peeking out from the base of the old Morton Bay Fig tree that straddled the shoreline. There, wrapped in a florid patchwork quilt, baby Lucinda slept. The wizened buttress roots of the elephantine tree provided a natural cradle for the child. Rose imagined herself prowling protectively in front of the tree, screaming at a perceived threat. She was able to excuse the angry little birds for their aggression towards her. She wriggled her toes into the sand until they touched upon the jagged edges of the cockles she sought. Drawing out a hessian sack from where she had tucked it at the back of her frock Rose folded forward. Her chin was able to remain just above the 34 Anthony Browne My Brother’s Keeper Master of Creative Writing 2011 waterline as she probed the estuary floor. As her fingers encircled the shells they clamped closed. Sometimes they would pinch her skin, causing her to flinch. Rose worked quickly, eager to get back to Lucinda before she awakened. The repetition of foraging in the sand gave her a sense of calm. As she bent forward she could feel the weight of her head pulling her neck and shoulders open, her spine stretching out. She stood periodically, bending back to release the strain in her lower back, each time glancing to the shoreline to check on Lucinda, seeking out the mosaic colours of her quilt. Gradually the hessian bag filled and became heavy. Rose completed her harvest and was returning to the shore when goosebumps shot down her arms. The wind which had been running from the west, hot and dry, had suddenly died away. The day’s light faded. As if a storm was brewing. But the sky remained clear. The oystercatchers fell silent. Their heads no longer bowed forward like warring goats. With raised beaks they looked to the sky as if they, like Rose, were struggling to understand what was occurring. As the daylight continued to evaporate around her Rose looked up towards the sun and realised that a solar eclipse was occurring. She had witnessed a solar eclipse only once before, as a schoolgirl. She remembered their Fourth Grade teacher had come prepared for the rare event. The children arrived to find shoe boxes piled high on every desk. They spent the 35 Anthony Browne My Brother’s Keeper Master of Creative Writing 2011 morning constructing pinhole cameras, carefully cutting off one end of each box, then taping them together. They carved a flap out of one side to act as a viewer then glued a small square of tin foil over a postage-stamp sized hole in the top. The teacher inspected each student’s work before gently pushing a needle through the foil to create the pinhole that gave the camera its name. Across the room Rose saw one of her classmates Regan Thorn had ignored the teacher’s advice collected surplus shoe boxes to make a camera that was double length. After lunch they were shepherded onto the school’s assembly area. Rose sat on the hot asphalt to wait, waving away flies. The Principal’s voice rang out. ‘Under no circumstances are you to look directly at the sun whilst the eclipse is occurring. You must only look through your cameras’. The reminder was unnecessary. Earlier in the day their teacher had demonstrated the sun’s power by burning a hole through paper with a magnifying glass. Their teacher called out. ‘Get ready children’ Rose stood and aligned her box to the sun, tilting it carefully so that only the end and not the sides cast a shadow. 36 Anthony Browne My Brother’s Keeper Master of Creative Writing 2011 Then with only seconds to go Regan Thorn’s double-length contraption, held up on an angle to the sun, buckled under its own weight. It broke in two at the seam closest to its base. His face creased in anger with the realisation that it was beyond repair. He threw his useless device to the ground, jumping on top of it then kicking it away. Then, before the other kids could pull their cameras out of his reach, Regan danced from one to the next, plunging his finger through the foil lenses. A teacher had seen Regan’s tantrum and rushed forward to grab him by the ear. He hauled Regan out but for Rose and three others, it was too late. Their pinhole cameras were ruined and they would not be able to view the eclipse. Heat rushed into Rose’s cheeks. Through tear filled eyes she saw Regan being berated by the teacher. His indignation grew as Regan smiled in response. The spectacle momentarily stole interest away from the eclipse before the Principal’s cry reminded them it was starting. Rose looked sadly at the camera she had painstakingly constructed, the gaping hole in its lens having rendered it useless. A single tear fell onto the side of her shoe box making a blister in the cardboard. At that same moment Rose felt a touch on her forearm. Conner Thorn, Regan’s twin brother, held out his camera. It was not as tightly constructed as her own, but sufficient to view the eclipse. Through her tears Rose smiled and accepted the box. She aligned it to the sun and peered through the viewer. The circle of light projecting onto the cardboard became a semicircle. A crescent. A slither. Finally it disappeared completely before beginning to emerge again on the other side. The teacher, having seen the example set now called out. 37 Anthony Browne My Brother’s Keeper Master of Creative Writing 2011 ‘Share you cameras please children. One between two.’ Rose handed Conner back his camera with a grateful smile. Looking past him she saw Regan standing alone on the steps that led to the Principal’s office. He was staring into the sun. The sound of Lucinda crying brought Rose back to the present. With a jolt she realised that like Regan all those years ago she had been staring directly at the eclipse. She snapped her head away sharply to avert her gaze. Covering her eyes with her hands she saw a kaleidoscope of rings and half crescents projected onto the inside of her eyelids. She pressed the meaty balls of her thumb into her eye sockets, pushing hard into her eyeballs, causing the circles to twist and contort. The coolness of her palms, still wet with seawater, was soothing. Releasing the pressure, the white blobs split into tiny particles, fleeing to the corners of her vision. Lucinda’s crying became more insistent. Rose released her hands and opened her eyes, but found the afterimage of the eclipse was still burnt into her view. She gazed in the direction of her daughter’s cries but was no longer able to make out the bright splash of colour. The Morten Bay Fig was no more than a blur on the horizon. She reached down for the hessian bag. In the periphery her vision was clear, but to her frustration cloudiness followed her line of focus. Kicking a foot out clumsily she hit her toe into the bag, swore under her breath, then reached down to pick it up and haul it over her shoulder. 38 Anthony Browne My Brother’s Keeper Master of Creative Writing 2011 She began wading into the shallows. As if a switch had been flicked the sun’s warmth returned. The angry cries of the oystercatchers began once again. Her empathy had disappeared and she kicked out in their direction, spraying a plume of water. This retreated but at the distress of their screams grew. She arrived at the shoreline buoyed by the discovery that blinking could momentarily clear her vision like a car’s windscreen wipers. She approached the spot where she had left Lucinda sleeping, blinking her eyes rapidly. Scooping the bundle into her arms she brought the baby up to her face. She reached under Lucinda’s tiny shawl to touch her hand to her daughter’s head, breathing deeply to fill her nostrils with the scent of her milky breath. She kissed the baby’s forehead lightly then unclipped her frock at the shoulder and lowered Lucinda to her breast. She stayed under the shade of the tree until Lucinda finished feeding.

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