Best Australian Yarn: Orange Slices by Ruby Burke

Atticus sits on the front verandah in his rocking chair while Ava slices oranges.The house perched on the hill observes a sweeping view of stretching green trees that shelter the ground like a tight-knit blanket. Beyond the forest, the coast is a sheet of diamonds glittering in the late morning sun. Just past the western headland Ava knows there to be a small fishing town where she buys her grandfather’s groceries for him. Atticus, however, has a memory cloaked with fog, so to him the small pocket of the world visible from his verandah is all he’s ever known.“Do you know something,” Atticus says, his voice croaky from years of loyalty to his pipe, “I am quite happy here, I think.”Ava hears Atticus through the kitchen window, which she often opens on cloudless days like this so she can keep a good ear and eye on her grandfather while she’s working inside. “Is that so?” she asks.“Yes,” Atticus says as he rests his cane on the rickety floorboards, “I think I have everything I should ever need here. The only thing I would ask for is a nice pond where I can fish. Then I could have dinner each night.” Ava laughs as she tosses orange peels into the bin. “You do have dinner each night, Granddad. And breakfast and lunch and morning tea as well.”Atticus nods slowly, as if accepting this fact, his grey eyes fixed on the horizon. Ava remembers when her grandfather’s eyes were spears - sharp, silver orbs to penetrate the soul. Yet, over time, as things often do, they have dulled. Now, his eyes are pale oysters that swim in the sunlight.“Well, even so,” Atticus replies, “it would be nice to fish by the water and smell the breeze and catch a nice big cod, if I could.”“Perhaps,” Ava replies, “but it might get windy near a pond. You would need to wear a scratchy coat to keep warm.”Atticus considers this for a while. He does not like scratchy coats very much at all, and would much rather wear a nice, sensible collared shirt and trousers. His eyes move down to his lap. Atticus wonders why he wears such unsuitable attire as chequered pyjama pants, and decides he will change into something more presentable once he is back inside.“I suppose you are right.” he says to Ava. “I would not like to wear a scratchy coat. And even if I did catch a mighty cod, I fear I could not eat such a large beast all by myself.”Ava walks out onto the verandah holding a plate of orange slices. She sits down on her stout wooden chair, before putting the plate on a table in between her and her grandfather.“Why, how kind of you, young lady. It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of these.” Atticus says when he spots the orange slices. Ava does not think it worthy to tell Atticus that she serves him oranges for morning tea every day.“Perhaps I would like a cat, then.” Atticus decides after a short silence. “A nice cat to curl up on my lap and purr when I give it milk.”“Even if you did have a cat,” Ava replies, “she might tear up your nice floral curtains.”Atticus frowns. Ava watches him curiously, her eyes tracing the wrinkles etched into his face. Despite caring for her grandfather for several years now, she often finds herself wondering about him. She could never truly know what perspective of the world his grey eyes serve him.“No, no, you are wrong there, I’m afraid,” Atticus says matter-of-factly, “Whiskers would never do such a thing. She is a good cat.”Ava smiles softly. “Even if you did have a cat and she didn’t tear your nice floral curtains, you could not feed her milk anyway. You aren’t to have any in the house, remember?”Atticus’ throaty laughs hardly pierce the crisp air before deflating into a rasping cough. Ava pats him on the back. Once he has found his breath again, Atticus exclaims, “Me!? No milk!? Why, you must be dreaming. Milk is the main ingredient to my diet, I’ll tell you that. Every day I treat myself to a cream bun for breakfast, a cheese platter for lunch, and a soufflé for dinner. There is nobody who has more milk than me.”Ava chuckles. “Perhaps once, Granddad, but not now. Doctor’s orders.”She takes an orange slice and bites into it, feeling the tangy juice ooze out of the fleshy capsule and slither down her throat. Atticus frowns. He does not understand this strange girl with the oranges sitting next to him. Has she gone mad? What doctor would forbid him from drinking milk?“Do you think it might be time for a lie-down?” Ava asks hergrandfather. He laughs again. This time it is hollow.“Who do you think I am, an old man? When have I ever slept during the day? No, no, I think I shall sit out here and look at the view. I shall stay out here forever. I will not leave. I may even walk down into the forest, or perhaps to the coast. Just you watch; I will walk this entire view here before me and I won’t ever stop.”Ava does not reply for a moment. She swallows down a stormcloud, one that leaps up her throat and claws at the backs of her eyes.“Okay,” she says softly, “let me know if you want to come inside. Will you eat an orange slice?”Atticus shakes his head. “No, I will not eat an orange slice.” By the time Ava has put the orange slices in the refrigerator, a breeze has picked up outside. The lush leaves on the treetops sway and twirl in the wind, like a million dancers putting on a performance just for them. Some of the leaves tear away from their branches and flutter about in the breeze.Atticus watches, his heart aching. He wishes to be a leaf that can soar and glide and sway and dance, and go wherever it pleases as long as the sky is vast and the air will carry it.Ava walks out onto the verandah. “The breeze has picked up.” she says.“Yes, it has,” Atticus replies, clearing his throat. “I don’t think I like it very much. It is too brisk to stay out here any longer. I would like to come inside now.”Atticus attempts to get up by himself, hoisting his fragile bones out of the rocking chair. He wobbles and Ava quickly comes to his aid, helping steady him onto his walking stick.“Thank you,” he mumbles.“Do you think you’d like to have a lie-down now?” Ava asks once they are in the house. It is a quaint cottage, with floral sofas, bookshelves crammed with old, thick books long untouched, and glass cases full of china sets. Ava’s stomach leaps as she imagines her grandfather tumbling to the floor and shattering into a million pieces, just like a china plate.Atticus snorts, as if reading Ava’s mind. “I am not a frail old man, and frail old men sleep during the day. So no, I do not think I will have a lie-down.”Ava looks at the grandfather clock on the far wall. She wants to get him to sleep soon, as he often becomes grumpy otherwise.“How about we go into your room so you can have your medicine, and we shall see how you feel?” Ava suggests.“My medicine! Oh, I do not know why I need to take those silly pills. I get plenty of sunlight and I am served oranges every day.”Ava stops the words from escaping her lips: but you never eat them.“The doctor says the pills are good for you.” she replies instead.“To hell with the doctor!” Atticus yells, his face scrunched up so much his eyes nearly disappear amongst the wrinkles.Ava sighs. He is grumpy already. “If you take your medicine, you will have more energy tonight. Then perhaps you could read some of your book.”Atticus pauses.“Well, I do fancy a good read,” he admits. The story he is reading now is about a curious young boy who commits murder at sea, and the body is not found for weeks because of the snow, but the man catches a gloriously big marlin and then he is shot while trying to escape prison for a crime he did not commit.It has been very compelling thus far.“Okay,” Atticus finally says, nodding, “I will have my medicine. But, under no circumstances, young lady, shall I be sleeping in the day. I am a busy man with things to do.”Ava leads Atticus to his bedroom at the back of the house. A thick canopy of trees barricades the window, making the room forever dark. She sits him down on the neatly made bed, which groans under his weight, before handing Atticus’ tray of pills from his nightstand to him, each section housing a handful of colourful tablets.“You should take the pills out of their sections. Do you remember which ones you need?”“Yes, yes,” Atticus says, lifting his cane off the floor momentarily to wave Ava away, “I am not a goldfish.”Ava smiles. “I will get you a glass of water.”Once Ava returns, she finds pills scattered all over the floor and the tray discarded on the bed next to Atticus, who sobs quietly. His eyes are obscured by his shaking hands. Ava feels that same stormcloud swelling in her heart.Slowly, one by one, she stoops down to pick up the pills and place them on the bed next to the tray.“Atticus,” she says, her voice even, “will you please put the pills back?”Atticus’ weeping slows and he moves his hands away from his face. Amongst the shadows, Ava can see water glistening on his cheeks. She points to the tray and the pile of pills.“Please put them back in the tray. Do you remember which colours go in which sections?”Atticus does not move for a while, although his tears stop. Then, slowly, he nods.“Do you not remember what I said before?” he says, an indignant tone breaking through the moisture in his voice, “I am not a goldfish.”Soon enough Atticus has put the pills back in their respective sections despite his shaking hands. Ava takes one from every section and lays them out on the bed, handing Atticus the glass of water. He swallows each one without protest.“How do you feel?” Ava asks, putting the tray back on Atticus’ nightstand and taking the empty glass of water. His face scrunches up a bit. How does he feel? He feels rather sleepy. He is not an old man that sleeps during the day, but maybe today could be the exception, especially if he would like to read tonight.“I think I might have a lie-down,” Atticus decides, and Ava smiles, allowing a quiet exhale of relief to escape her. She takes off Atticus’ shoes and lines them up neatly against the bed frame. She pulls back the sheets and helps Atticus ease into bed. Atticus is glad that he did not change out of his pyjama pants, since he is going to sleep after all.“Do you know something,” Atticus says as Ava pulls the sheets over him, “I am quite happy here, I think. But if I could change one thing, do you know what it would be?”Ava asks, “What?”“I think I would like somebody here to keep me company, and to help me around the house. I won’t be this youthful forever.”Ava laughs. “You are a funny old man.”Atticus laughs too, then leans in close to his granddaughter. For a moment, and only a moment, she thinks she spies a flicker in her grandfather’s eyes; a spark of that piercing gaze he used to hold.“Me? Old? Never.” Once Atticus is sound asleep Ava quietly exits the room, shutting the door behind her. She rinses his glass of water in the kitchen sink. She walks out the back door through the thick wall of trees, which after a short stroll leads her to the pond. She collects Atticus’ fishing rod and scratchy coat from the day before and carries them back to the house.Then, Ava goes looking for the cat. She finds Whiskers curled up behind the grandfather clock, fast asleep. She retrieves the cat food from the cupboard and dumps a generous serving into Whiskers’ dish. After that, she retrieves the torn and scratched floral curtain from the rod and takes out her sewing kit. She sits on the sofa for a good while, threading the slender needle through the silky material. Up through the fabric, down through the fabric. She spies Whiskers glaring at her from the safety of her dish, clearly upset Ava is ruining her hard work.Then, she hangs the curtain back up and goes to make herself a cup of tea - the first thing Ava has done today that is entirely for herself. There is no milk to be had, but Ava thinks she prefers tea without anyway. As she is about to exit the kitchen, her eyes land on the refrigerator. Should Ava have an orange slice?She thinks.No, she soon decides, one orange slice is enough for today.Ava walks out onto the verandah, where the wind has stilled and the trees no longer dance, but sleep. Her eyes bounce between the stout wooden chair and the rocking chair. Eventually, she lowers into the rocking chair’s warm embrace. She could never truly know what perspective of the world Atticus’ grey eyes serve him, but she could try.Ava sips her tea and looks out at the lush forest, the glistening coast and the cloudless sky.Slowly, she begins to forget that there is a fishing town just past the western headland.Slowly, she forgets that there is anyone or anything else in the world.Slowly, she rocks back and forth and waits for Atticus to wake up.