Chapter Six
How Many Roads
After the sale of the farm, my parents retired to a picturesque seaside town. It was the twilight of their lives and they enjoyed seeing their grandchildren, meeting new people and being together. My father succumbed to failing health and passed away shortly after retirement, my brother committed suicide after a disastrous business venture and the devastation of a child suicide, claimed my mother soon after. I stayed in the district working and met a breathtakingly beautiful and intelligent woman. She was quiet, had a magical sense of humour and came from a similar rural background to me. We shared a love of the scenic country around us and would spend days exploring the rugged coastline and interior of our district.
One beautiful day followed another, our love reached dizzying heights and we were married on a wintry day in late May. We honeymooned on a distant tropical island and were amazed how dis-similar it was to our own timid, desert like environment. Here was rampant green vegetation of monstrous proportions, beautifully scented blossoms and trees so large, we couldn’t believe what we were seeing.
Incredibly friendly people strolled casually around the picturesque harbour. We had never seen water so clear and warm and marvelled at fish of varied shapes and brilliant colours. Elegant, ocean going yachts and motor cruisers sat in the crystal clear water of the sheltered bay and we watched in amazement as enormous, colourful fish swam lazily around the wharf and foreshore where we were walking.
Happy, confident women, in blindingly colourful dresses, sold incredibly diverse and fresh produce from the local, foreshore market. Heavily laden vessels from the outer islands would dock near the market and unload their cargo of beautiful fresh produce. The language the stallholders spoke was foreign and strange to our ears and we marvelled at their ability to speak many languages fluently. The markets were overwhelming with the diversity of produce and livestock for sale and we noticed many of the women and children from outer islands slept near their produce stalls for the week they were in town.
We listened intently as the natives sang the most beautiful harmonies in their small iron clad churches and open air meeting areas. The natives moved with the slow languid gait of the tropics and it was in sharp contrast to the stilted military steps of westerners visiting the island. We stared at the rickety motor vehicles held together with strips of corrugated iron, gutter bolts and pop rivets and we stood in awe as truckloads of natives swung by, singing and hanging off the sides of their grossly overloaded trucks. There were so many natives on the trucks, they would straddle over the mirrors on the doors and perch precariously on the roof of the battered vehicles.
In the short red blast of tropical twilight as the sun sprinted to a new horizon, we watched lithe, muscular men herding fish into ancient stone fish traps. We caught taxis with planks of wood for seats, spluttering engines and no reverse gear. The cavalier atmosphere of freedom and fun from the natives, really appealed to us and like the local indigenous schoolchildren around us; we enjoyed splashing through the warm puddles in the road during tepid equatorial rainstorms.
The weather was divinely warm and we relished the ability to stay outdoors at night without shivering. In the evening, we dined at gourmet restaurants, watching the colourful town lights dancing nimbly on the sheltered bay and the meals we sampled were some of the most memorable meals we ever ate. A beautiful, tropical sea breeze washed over us as we dined outdoors, surrounded by dazzling native plants and heavenly scented flowers. We listened to small gecko lizards chirping loudly to each other as they stalked moths and insects attracted to the meagre glow of the incandescent lighting in the restaurants.
There were so many people laughing, singing and dancing in the streets, we had to pinch ourselves to see if we were dreaming. It was like landing on a beautiful alien planet, inhabited by the friendliest people we had ever met. We knew we had to return, it felt more like 'home' than our own environment.
Back in our Australian hometown, we met some wonderful people from all walks of life and joined with like-minded people who loved country living. Some of these people lived in the foothills of the nearby mountain range and were commercial flower growers and farmers. These people were salt of the earth and would become lifelong friends. There were many parties, unforgettable meals with treasured friends and endless walks on the wide, sandy beaches of the area. Large numbers of tourists from the capital city nearby frequented the town we lived in. Although the town had appealing natural beauty, that beauty did not extend to many of its residents who were rude and quite peculiar. Just how peculiar, rude and weird would be one of the most important discoveries of our lives.
I had heard stories of my wife's mother long before I met her and true to the rumours, there was something unusual about her persona. She was quiet, with a strange contemptuous demeanour that left me with more questions than answers. Ultimately, this small, dumpy woman with long fair hair and the gait of a small child would play a pivotal role in allowing us to discover 'the key' and unlock so many social mysteries I had been wrestling with for years.
My wife told me of her frightening abuse as a child at the hands of her mother. She talked of her mother's rage and tantrums that would explode for no particular reason at all. The tirades were beyond the scope of normal behaviour and were terrifying and traumatic to a small child. Her brother would rarely suffer the direct wrath of his mother and her father did nothing to stop the abuse. My wife's constant nightmares after we were married, were testament to her childhood abuse and nearly every night she would wake up soaked in sweat and screaming in terror. The nightmares sometimes involved spiders as large as small tables stalking her or otherwise scenes of mutilated bodies, too horrific to be repeated. The stories of abuse from my wife's parents were truly mind-boggling and in later life I would hear similar horror stories from people of all ages, in all walks of life.
After experiencing the delight of tropical weather on our honeymoon, we moved into the subtropical region of our own country and were amazed at the friendliness of the people. After living in one of the rudest places on the planet, it was refreshing to meet warm, friendly people again. At first, we thought the people were 'after something,' as they were so friendly, but no, it was genuine warmth and we revelled in our new environment. The climate was deliciously warm and we embraced the joy of staying outdoors at night in complete comfort. Work was easy to find and our personal wealth expanded. We met wonderful new friends from diverse backgrounds and industries and we basked in the glow of the tropical climate.
The top people in the field of personal development assisted us in increasing our social awareness. We found ways to study human behaviour in new and dynamic ways and we researched many books and journals relating to human development. We studied anthropology, archaeology, neuroscience, psychology, psychiatry, early child development and environmental toxicology. It was an exciting time with restaurants, parties, entertainment and romance.
My in-laws would visit during the cold, southern winter and spend up to six months living with us to avoid the chilling southern weather. My mother in-law behaved like a vile, spoilt child and would spend a large portion of that time sulking in bed, 'nursing' her carefully selected undiagnosed health problems. Their strange behaviour placed an enormous strain on our relationship and we started seeking professional advice on their conduct. Only after my wife and I separated and she suffered depression did we start to catch a glimpse of the underlying cause of many of our problems. We were still far from a conclusive hypothesis, but my wife's intense research led to the startling realisation that her mother may have been suffering a relatively 'common' personality disorder. Her mother's condition appeared incurable and her life was a pre-ordained script of loathing and hatred for humanity that most of the sufferers of her malaise seemed to follow.
My wife struggled for twelve months with depression and her therapist identified numerous events that could lead to Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). This trauma originated from her mother's unrelenting abuse, graphically administered in her youth and continued stealthily as she matured. No single 'bullet' triggered the PTSD; it was a series of many traumatic events, cunningly administered over years of merciless abuse. There was never any recognition of my wife's incredible intelligence, her extraordinary maths skills and learning abilities from her parents, only continual 'put downs' and focus on her poor health.
Eventually her strong spirit returned and she started to improve. Her condition improved to the point we were able to sell our possessions, load up our amazing young cat and move to a beautiful, distant tropical island.
Although we experienced the inevitable insane bureaucracy, intense hatred of white skinned people and incredible financial hardship, the island life allowed us the time and the solitude to complete the research of our chosen fields of sociology and neuroscience.