The Plaything (Taonga Tākaro)

Alison longed for a certain touch. Her body would melt in the embrace, her lingering essence transported to a liminal realm where nothing mattered, save the whispered touch. In the timeless void, she would finally become whole and submerge herself in kind, returning the love she had received.

She had seen the glances: intimate knowledge that two were one. Allie wanted the lover's spell. *

Every day she sacrificed; Allie didn’t leave things to chance. Her practice was eternal vigilance: privately holding a piece of herself apart, silently contemplating each moment. If her tortured soul examined the evidence and decided the moment was at hand, it would release weightlessly… *

'Hello there.'

On her left, a young man thudded into the barstool. She smelled cheap cologne; the pub was starting to fill in.

'Staking out a seat for the footy?'

'No,’ said Allie shyly.

'You've got a pretty wee voice on you.'

'Thank you. I worked hard on it in school,' Allie replied, sans irony. The man marked her an odd bird, but continued undimmed.

'Rather refined for this lot, darl,' he said, 'but I've known some classy sheilas in my day.'

He stuck out a meaty hand. 'Trevor.'

She shook it, 'Alison.’ The grip was firm, but not unyielding; Allie thought it had potential.

'So what brings you here, Alison?'

'I'm practicing.'

'For what?'

'For meeting the love of my life.'

Trevor snorted a little. 'Think you'll find him round here?'

'Why not? It's as good a place as any!' Allie retorted.

'You aren't one of those 'ladies of the night', are ya?'

'I should think not!’ Allie’s haughty disposition drew a chuckle. The linoleum floor was sticky. Footsteps squelched as patrons milled around the television; Allie felt overdressed with her brooch. Trevor suddenly rose, gesturing to his bag. ‘You’re not going anywhere, are ya?’ She shook her head. ‘Good. I’ll be back.’ He ambled towards the lavatory. The bag was leather, shiny. Allie wondered what might be inside. “The All Blacks will have a hard time winning this one.” - The commentator droned. It was a familiar voice, but she wasn’t a rugby fan. Sports were never her thing, but - as a dutiful farmer’s daughter - it was always being played on the radio or at the local footy ground. She usually sat in the ute, reading books and dreaming of a better life. Wellington seemed cosmopolitan by comparison… Her reverie faded; the bartender was staring her down. ‘Are you going to order?’ She paused. ‘What’s a good drink?’ The bartender chuckled. ‘How about a beer?’ ‘Ok.’ He gave her a full pint. Allie paid with her phone, nursing the drink. * ‘Enjoying your beer?’ - Trevor shuffled back onto the barstool. ‘It’s bitter.’ ‘That’s how beer’s supposed to taste.’ ‘I’ve never had one before.’ Trevor laughed. ‘I knew you were strange,’ he said, sculling his frothy brew. Alison was embarrassed. She blushed shyly and withdrew her glance, staring into the bottomless pint. Trevor leaned close. ‘What’s your poison, then?’ ‘I don’t know if I want to be poisoned…’ Trevor pulled up his satchel, and opened it: a bag of green leaves; a white powder; a blotter. ‘Seen any of these before?’ Allie shook her head. ‘This one calms you down, while this one revs you up,’ he said, gesturing to the substances.

*

Her soul suddenly flickered: her third eye opened.

His eyes — they gleamed with a quality she’d never seen before .. daring her to whisper.

Perhaps this was the magic glance? She thought about the void. She wondered if it was Te Kore, or if Pākehā went to another realm. Love is chaos, and this boy is pure chaos… * She caught herself staring. She fumbled with her purse, hopping off her stool. ‘You’re not going anywhere, are you?’ she said, shyly. Trevor shook his head. Allie set sail for the lavatory. Her lopsided gait resembled a flightless bird. The bathroom lighting was harsh and her face looked drawn in the mirror. She saw loose strands of hair and bags under her eyes. Was this a beautiful face? She was lost in her eyes, wondering what secrets they’d revealed to the handsome stranger… * She redid her bun, applied light makeup. She felt like a tart, but she did it. She felt the animal pull, and considered lip gloss. She had decided this was the moment: Trevor wasn’t everything she’d hoped for, but one had to start somewhere… * The bar was crowded now. She pushed punters aside to find her seat. Nobody noticed: she wasn’t tall, and she wasn’t buxom. Then, finally, she saw him. He looked better among the crowd, his height marking him out from the flock. Relieved, she sat down, and kept sipping her draught.

Something happened on the screen; the bar howled as one. She wondered if wolves and humans were all that different: the packs of likely lads seemed like the dogs she’d grown up with. ‘What happened?’ ‘A penalty. Screwing the scrum.’ ‘What?’ ‘The frogs are going to kick for points.’ Allie laughed. Slang was never her strong suit. ‘I see the beer agrees with you,’ Trevor bellowed. ‘Yes, I suppose it does,’ Allie intoned, trying to raise her voice to match. She felt great. Fizzy, even. Her senses were heightened, and her heart was bubbling with each sip. * She became engrossed in the game. Trev tried to explain the rules, but she didn’t care. She wanted blood, and the television was dutifully supplying the gladiatorial image. She finished her beer. The whistle blew. Half-time, Trevor said. ‘Wanna step outside for a smoke?’ ‘Oh… ok.’ * They were a comical pair: the tall, brawny tradie and the petite young lass. Only at the pub… but they seemed happy. Trevor opened his green bag, and began to roll a cigarette. ‘Is this marijuana?’ - Allie had heard of that. He said nothing, but his smile told the truth of the matter. Trev’s joint was a work of art. He admired his handiwork, setting it alight. He offered. Allie accepted, spluttering like a novice. ‘I’m feeling great,’ Allie was a ball of energy now. ‘I put something in your drink,’ he said, nonchalant. ‘Oh… well, it seems to be working. I’ve never felt so alive!’ She strode over to a lamppost, swinging like a pint-size Gene Kelly. ‘I’m singing in the rain… what a glorious feeling, I’m happy again.’ As she descended, Trevor caught her. He was pushing against her with a fervour; the open street felt claustrophobic. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Just trying to make you happy.’ ‘Well, how about a kiss, then?’ Trevor was surprised to hear that. He stepped back. ‘What do you want, Allie?’ ‘I want to feel a man.’ Trevor went all in. He drew her into his tight embrace, and began kissing. * The cocktail of drugs was really starting to freak Allie out. Whizzing fragments of colours and thoughts spinning too fast to cohere were becoming her phenomenological reality.

The permeable membraze had broken into a psychedelic haze, and she wondered if this was the journey to the Timeless Void. Trevor kept attacking her. It wasn’t an impediment to her pleasure: she’d known that sex can be rough, but as he rounded the bases she grew less comfortable - he was pawing her breasts, bending her over to make the beast with two backs.

‘You’re mine now, baby,’ he said, with a sudden nastiness that Trevor clearly saved for his sexual self. She screamed. The street was empty – the rugby still had a captive audience. She tried to push her lover away, but the spell had already begun. The colours were swirling, and she wasn’t sure where she was… * ‘Alison, can you hear me?’ – a different voice. She pried her eyes open. The lids were heavy. The magical glow remained as the fluorescent light flickered into her retinas. A medical room. A nebbish in a lab coat. She blinked. ‘Alison, do you know which drugs you’ve taken?’

‘What?’ The colours were distracting her. The fluorescent lights seemed like a rainbow. ‘We’re fairly sure it was LSD. Still waiting on the test results.’ Alison laughed. She wanted to watch the walls spin, and turned her head to follow their motion. ‘Who gave it to you?’ – another fresh voice. She turned to look: a policewoman of similar height/build to her. ‘Where am I?’ ‘Wellington Hospital. You were nearly run over, and the driver took you here.’ ‘Trevor?’ Allie’s longing was obvious. ‘Is that your boyfriend?’ ‘Maybe… I don’t know. We were at the pub.’ ‘Can you remember anything else?’ ‘He said he’d put something in my drink…’ – the lights were calling her. She leapt off the bed. Dancing after imaginary fireflies… the policewoman touched her gently. ‘What do you see?’ ‘Everything. I never thought the spell would be so pretty.’ ‘The spell?’ ‘The lover’s magic…’ - she pulled the gown off. … gasps … There were bruises down her leg. And around her collarbone. ‘Were these from the car?’ - the cop. ‘Possibly…’ - the doc. A nurse helped her to the bed; Allie embraced her tightly. ‘It’s not the same.’ ‘What?’ ‘I thought it’d be the same. Like how he ravished me.’ – she licked her wounds like a feral dog. ‘Again! Again!’ – her screams. She licked the nurse: a long, slow lick. The doctor interceded. ‘Alison, I’m going to give you a sedative.’ She gestured to the orderlies. They restrained her as she found the vein. ‘Again! Again!’ - louder this time. Allie's spirit animal was free, and hungry like the wolf. Her hands smashed against the bedside. Plastic fragments exploded from her strikes. ‘Again! Again!’ * Trevor saw her frenzy from the doorway. He thought about his bag of magic pills. “Is this the lover’s spell?” - her gentle words from earlier. Trevor pondered the conundrum. Was it a lover’s spell if it was alchemical? Perhaps with the mushies he would have known for sure… He took a furtive last look before sneaking out. The night was still young. * ‘Again! Let me dissolve!’ ‘Dissolve! Evolve!’ - the decibel levels remained the same. ‘E-VOLVE! DE-VOLVE! VUL-VA! VOL-VO! FALLING! ROLLING! SCREECH!!!’- Allie’s spirit scratched through her claws. Specks of blood grew among the plastic… the imprint of her nails became visible as her body writhed. The hospital staff looked on. They weren’t unmoved; these were clinicians, after all. But it was just another Saturday. All the while, Allie kept dissolving… ****