Warrior

Mary sat beside me with 
the edge of the fire in her eyes
She said, Absolutely mental how
everything around you will change 
You think you're sitting still
but you're actually flying 
She had attempted to sweep
her flame damaged hair
into a style that resembled normal 
It hadn't worked 
The hair puffed
like a deranged halo
So scary it made me feel safe
Like I could let 
my lovely aunty Mary
loose at the night
and the darkness
would take a step backwards

It’s with a heavy heart that I report the first casualty of the journey. We camped next to a small river. Second go at setting up so we had a rough idea of what was necessary. Mary got the potatoes on the fire early so the empty-bellied arguments didn’t flare up like last night.

I was by the river with the young team collecting water. Saw the whole thing from a short distance. Mary was wearing an old jumper, frayed and bobbled, and had a long scarf wrapped around her neck. She leant over the flames to poke the potatoes with a branch. The wind kicked up and changed the shift of the fire. The scarf slipped and hung low enough to accept the flame. Unaware that the scarf was on fire, Mary flicked the loose end over her shoulder. Her hair began to spit smoke.

Mary is a woman you wouldn’t want to tackle on a battlefield. Mid-fifties and built like a berserker. The way she reacted to the chorus of, Mary you’re on fire, only enhanced the impression from my childhood. She straightened up like an Olympian. Without shouting or screaming she sprinted toward the river, heading full pelt toward us. She know she was burning but couldn’t pinpoint where. She crossed her arms over the front of her body and grabbed the bottom of her jumper and took everything off on the move. Pulled so forcefully she hooked off the scarf, jumper, and T-shirt underneath that. Totally topless she came sprinting toward us­—her nakedness bounding. Mary streaked past and plunged into the cold water.

Fourteen-year-old Douglas, Mary’s grandson, was standing directly to my right. Of all the kids he seemed the most stricken. The whole thing played havoc with the pallor of his face. Mary was fine. No damage. Even her modesty was untouched. No one laughed louder than her when she recovered her breath from the freezing water. Of course, she wasn’t the casualty. How young Douglas deals with his grandmother’s bounding nakedness will be an early test of his judgement.