The Board

Yes, that was it; we are objects of divine derision. Things to be played with and made sport of. Suspended, as it were, before us are hopes, dreams, desires and hunger; dangling to tempt us, and as we go to grasp them, they are snatched away.

Through my tears I began to see the joke on myself. I’d had a wet dream, and was now wailing like a spoilt child because it was a dream. I laughed, but somewhat bitterly I think; laughed at myself and my foolishness.

Aaron! Who was Aaron? I knew no Aaron so why in dream did I conjure him? The handsome looks, superb body and gorgeous phallus; all of them of my own making, my imagining; there was no Aaron except in my own head; a projection of my own lust.

I slept fitfully that night.

As I woke in the morning I struggled to return to sleep. I did not want to face the day, or perhaps it was my self I didn’t want to face. But the morning was insistent and refused me the escape into sleep, what the Bard had called, “A little death”.

I had a thumping headache and for breakfast I managed only a cup of coffee. To try and rid myself of the headache and in an attempt to restore some equilibrium to my thinking, I decided on a walk.

Behind the beach and the sand dunes there runs a wide strip of bushland consisting of sea air and poor soil resisting trees and shrubs. I had hardly ever walked through this strip largely because it contained, among other things, small but highly venomous snakes. Normally I would have chosen the beach to walk along, but there was the chance of meeting people also out walking from a small group of shacks about three kilometres along the coast. I wanted to meet no one.

So I set out to walk through the snake infested bush. Actually I saw no snakes, but the fact that it was generally believed that they lurked there meant there were no people made tracks either. I had to do my own snaking, twisting and turning round bushes, finding my progress frequently blocked, and having to backtrack.

At one point I came to a small clearing in the bushes and there I saw a phenomenon not altogether uncommon in our country. There was a lone headstone that clearly indicated a grave. There are many such graves to be found in places which, if not now, were in the earlier colonial days, remote.

I went over to the gravestone to investigate. I pondered how it got here. Someone must have cared enough to go to the trouble of ordering the stone in some distant town where there was a monumental mason, then having it transported to this place.

The grave had obviously been neglected for many years. Climbing plants had wound their way round the headstone, obscuring anything that might be written on it, so I, feeling that I had nothing better to do, and being curious, began to clear the weeds.

Chiselled words began to appear and when I had cleared the stone I sat back on my haunches to read. As I did, I felt the blood drain from my face; incised in the stone were the words; “Here lies Aaron Robins, Fisherman. 1875-1902. He died for the love of Ellie.” In the bottom right hand corner of the stone were the letters, E.J.

I wanted to flee the place, but a paralysis seemed to have laid hold of me. I could not tear my eyes from the inscription. “Aaron”, “Ellie”; the names beat into my brain and I felt a dizziness sweep over me.

Had I made love with a ghost? A love lorn fisherman who had hung himself in the cottage when he lost his love? “You’ve come back to me at last, Ellie.” Those were the first words, almost the only words, the lover of my dream had uttered. And I had responded, “Yes darling, I’ve come to you at last.”

My God, what had I raised with that ouija board? Or was it anything to do with the board at all? Was there…had there been…some other force at work?

Power returned to my limbs, and I fled the place. Uncaring about venomous snakes, I ran heedless back to the cottage. My first thought was to leave it immediately and never visit it again, but sanity managed to exert itself.

As a rational human being, trained in the somewhat less than inspiring profession of accountancy, I tried to add up the columns.

I had, as some American fellow had once said, “Dreamed a dream”. In my case that was all it was, a dream. My sexual frustration had set me off on a course that had led to my…what? Why Aaron? I hadn’t even known that name to be associated with the cottage until seeing the headstone. “Get real” as unreal youth is won’t to crow. I tried to get real, but the columns wouldn’t add up.

After a desultory lunch I decided on another walk, but this time I would avoid the bush. The beach was safe and I might even meet people who even by a “Good afternoon” would keep me in touch with reality.

When I got to the beach I saw a small half-cabin boat riding off shore. Between it and the beach there was an even smaller aluminium boat being rowed ashore. For no particular reason I stood looking at the progress of the little craft.

It shissed against the sand and the occupant got out and pulled it up the last few metres above high tide. Assured that it would not be carried out to sea, he looked around until his eyes lit upon me.

I knew him immediately; it was like a déjà vu experience, I had seen him before in my dreams. I got the strong impression that he also knew me, but neither of us acknowledged the recognition. On my side the lack of acknowledgement derived from the embarrassment of telling someone I knew them because I had met them in a dream, especially the sort of dream involved.

As he approached me he smiled and said, “Hello, I’m looking for an old fisherman’s cottage. A distant relative of mine once lived in it. Would you happen to know where I might find it?”

I pointed to where the cottage lay but which was screened by the bushes from anyone standing on the beach. “I think you might mean the one I own,” I said. “It’s just over there.”

“I’m camping at Rogues Bay,” he said. “I was out fishing, and got a hankering to have a look at the place. Lucky I met you. Would you mind if I had a look at the place? My name’s Aaron Jensen, by the way.”

It was no shock to hear the name Aaron because I knew it to be his name even before he spoke it. We shook hands, and I looked at him closely as I said, “I’m Ellie Pritchard.”

He showed no startled reaction at hearing the name Ellie, so I could not be completely certain if the name meant anything to him or not.

We went together up the track to the cottage with Aaron chattering away about how his relative had once lived in the place, and how his family had often talked about the cottage, and the fact that the relative had committed suicide.

“You mean Aaron Robins,” I said.

“You know about him then!”

“Yes, some people say he haunts the cottage.”

“Have you ever seen his ghost?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I never used to believe in the ghost, but just recently…”

“Something happened?” he asked eagerly.

“Well, yes, but I don’t know what to make of it.”

“What was it that happened?”

I didn’t want to come out with the full story of what had happened, so I fobbed him off. “Oh, just some strange noises; it was probably the wind or something.”

He didn’t pursue the matter but instead went on, “Aaron Robins was my great grandfather. Not that I ever saw him, but that’s where I got the name Aaron from. He gave a brief chuckle and said, “All the first sons in our family have been given the name Aaron. It’s a sort of family heirloom. My father is Aaron and so was my grandfather.”

“I found Aaron Robins’ grave just today,” I said. “Perhaps you’d like to see it? But let me offer you something to eat and drink.”

“Thanks, a cup of tea would be nice.”

The formality of our conversation was astonishing, given that on my side there was an inner turmoil churning away. I felt a bit like the girl who passed a field on her way to work every morning. One particular day the field, as usual, was empty as she went to work. On her way home she was accompanied by a young man who also had to pass the field every day. As they passed the field together the girl saw an elephant standing in it. The girl thought she must be hallucinating so she said nothing and pretended she couldn’t see the elephant.

The young man accompanying her was in a similar quandary, so they both walked on saying nothing about the unusual sight of an elephant in the field.

What neither of them knew was that while they were at work a circus had arrived in town, together with the elephant.

So Aaron and I went on talking as if neither of us could see, in our case, the metaphorical elephant.

Our tea finished we made our way through the scrub to the grave. Aaron was particularly interested in the letters E.J. “My great grandmother, Ellie Jensen,” he said.

The anomaly didn’t strike me until we got back to the cottage.

“Aaron, if Aaron Robins was you great grandfather and Ellie Jensen is your great grandmother, why have they got different names?”

He grinned. “Ah you’ve hit upon the skeleton in the family closet. I’ve only got the story as it’s been handed down, but it seems that Ellie and Aaron were deeply in love. Ellie came from a well-off farming family just inland from here, and they weren’t going to have their daughter marry a poor fisherman.”

“The son of a neighbouring farmer had been picked out as the potential husband much to Ellie’s distress. It was a time when girls, especially country girls, did as father commanded, so the wedding date was fixed.”

“The day before the wedding Ellie sneaked away from the farm and went to Aaron. The upshot was they made love for the first and last time.”

“After the wedding next day as Ellie and her disliked husband prepared for bed, she told him of what had happened with Aaron. He refused to come near her, telling her he wasn’t having anything to do with a whore, and the marriage was ended before it had even started.”

“Ellie was sent packing back to her parents and there then followed a tremendous row. It was Ellie’s father who stormed off to horsewhip Aaron, but when he got to the cottage he found Aaron’s body hanging from a beam.”

This stirred things up even more, with Ellie suffering from melancholia as they called it then, and to cap it all, after a few weeks it was clear that Ellie was pregnant. After all the legal tangles that you had to plough through in those days, her husband succeeded in divorcing Ellie. Using a bit of bribery Ellie’s parents found another farmer’s son who was prepared to take on Ellie and the son she had given birth to. That son was, of course, my grandfather.

“So that’s our sordid family story.” He grinned at me, “These days it would mean very little, but then, well…”

“The poor young people,” I murmured. “And so it was Ellie who had the stone erected over Aaron’s grave. I wonder if they found each other again in another life?”

Aaron spoke very quietly but with great solemnity; “Not until now.”

“What do you mean, Aaron?” I asked, half guessing what he would say.

“We know each other, don’t we Ellie?”

“Yes.

“You have dreamed, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So have I. We were in each other’s dreams.”

“I think so.”

“It wasn’t the cottage that drew me here today, it was you.”

“But how did you know I was here, in this cottage.”

He rose and went to a door and said, “That’s your bedroom in there, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You were carried into there last night and undressed.”

“Yes.”

“Who was it who carried you and took your clothes off?”

“In my dream, it was you, Aaron. But how can you know?”

“It was my dream too, if it was a dream in the usual sense.”

I felt my face flushing and my heart was beating like a hammer as I recalled what had happened in the dream.

Aaron gave a wry smile; “We didn’t finish, did we?”

“No, I woke up. I’d fallen asleep at the table. I woke up in a terrible state.”

“Yes, me too,” he said.

I looked at him as he sat across the table from me. He was the beautiful young man of my fantasy. I wondered if he really had such a large… I felt a growing wetness between my legs. Confused I tried to change the direction of the conversation.

“You…you er…you’re not a fisherman?”

He laughed, “Only in the amateur sense. I’m in the rather less exciting profession of accountancy.

“That’s odd,” I said, “I’m an accountant too.”

“Another coincidence,” he responded, “If they are coincidences.”

“What else could they be?”

“I want to say something to you Ellie that might make you think I’m mad. I know it’s going to sound at least ridiculous, but I love you.”

“Yes, I know Aaron. I love you.”

“Then we’re both mad,” he laughed. “Perhaps I’d better go.”

“Aaron, how is it you can say you love me, then say you’d better leave me?”

“I thought you might want to be rid of me and …well…it’s starting to get dark and it’s a fair distance back to Rogues Bay. Don’t want to try and navigate in the dark.”

I looked out of the window. It was not only getting dark, it was dark.

“Stay the night with me, Aaron. Let’s finish what we began in our dreams. Tomorrow we don’t ever have to see each other again if we don’t want to, but just stay with me tonight.”

He came to me and kissed me, then picked me up in his arms and carried me to the bedroom.

I woke next morning to a world that seemed to have changed during the night. I had a feeling of lightness, as if my life had made a new start and all the miserable old baggage had fallen away from me.

I looked across at Aaron who was still asleep, and wondered whether he would elect to go or stay. Had our night of love drawn him closer to me, or put a barrier between us?

As I looked at him he began to stir, then coming fully awake he smiled across at me.

“I’m a morning person, darling,” he said. “Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t mind, but gently, darling, I’m a bit fragile this early.”

I pushed back the bed clothes and opened my legs for him. He came over me to lie between them and no, the dream had not lied as I had found out during the night. I gave a little gasp and he a groan as his large organ entered me. He moved very slowly as if enjoying the journey as much as he anticipated the end.

He had said it many times during our night couplings but he said it again now, “I love you Ellie.”

“Don’t leave me Aaron.”

“Perhaps the ghost is laid now,” he said.

Did I hear the distance sound of gentle male and female laughter? Perhaps and perhaps not, because I was just beginning my umpteenth earth shaking orgasm and Aaron had just started to ejaculate into me, and that can be a bit distracting.

Aaron stayed a week with me and then had to return to work. He came to the cottage at weekends and any other times he could manage. Whatever I had in common with the unhappy young Ellie was added to when I found I was pregnant. Actually I was delighted and highly pleased that I had a husband who was in the process of divorcing me.

Thinking of Alec, there came to mind all the times he had tried to make me pregnant and failed. Aaron had practically done it one go.

When I told Aaron of my condition he was beside himself with happiness and tried to overwhelm me with male protective dominance.

“You can’t leave me now, and we’ll have to get married.”

“Darling,” I responded mildly but with the iron fist in a velvet glove, “I don’t have to stay with you and I don’t have to marry you. Whether I had got pregnant or not, I was not going to leave you and you were certainly going to marry me. So, as soon as all the divorce nonsense if finished, you can start making the wedding arrangements.”

That is really my story, or is it our story? Just as an after word for the curious; I had a son but we broke with the tradition and called him Michael. We got married and since the coming of Michael, Alice has arrived and I have another soon to emerge on the world scene.

Michael and I now work for A. & E. Jensen, Charted Accountants, In other words, we have our own business. We have only one employee who is forty and plain, just in case.

No, that’s unfair. Aaron shows no sign of losing interest and I certainly haven’t. Well, I ask you, where would I get someone with the same endowment as Aaron?

No ghosts now lurk around the cottage, and to make sure the ouija board has long gone to the rubbish tip.

One strange phenomenon concerns fishing at Annie Rocks. Aaron can often go out fishing in his boat for hours and come back with little or nothing. Whenever I throw a line in at Annie Rocks, I catch fish. Other people might occasionally be fishing off the Rocks, but they too catch little or nothing. Don’t you think that strange?