Velu Lesson
[You are waiting to be introduced to Velu - a cow I'm supposed to be performing with...]
‘Velooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!’
She is not where we left her, tied up on the shady side of the barn.
We are running down the knobbly track, away from the barn-about-to-be-a-theatre, away from the tensions, away from the shouting of commands and the gloom of rehearsing-not-getting-any-where…
… into the blinding sunlight, into the noon-day heat, into the likelihood of incurring Marthe’s fury.
We have let Velu escape – probably from tying the wrong kind of knot.
We will not be there where it’s our turn to rehearse. This consists of attempting to get Velu to pull a small cart which will be kitted out to look like a gypsy wagon round the perimeter of the arena.
We are hit by a quiver full of ‘what if’s..’
‘What if Velu has gone up the mountain?’
‘What if she’s gone towards the road?’
‘What will they do without us?’
‘What if she’s caught up in the baler twine she was tied up with?’
What will Marthe…’
Ah! We round a bend and THERE she is!
Velu is standing stock still in the middle of the track.
The smallish, youngish, pale brownish, stunningly beautiful Velu barely shifts her gaze as we approach.
She makes no attempt to move as I rest my arms on her rump. She ignores my asthmatic wheezing.
The string she was loosely secured by is presumably still attached to a post on the shady side of the barn.
We wish we were still there.
We attempt leading this beauty to the patch of brown pretending to be grass at the side of the track.
No. Not going.
We need help.
‘Heeeeeeeeeeelp!’
‘Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelp!’
We might as well be shouting to the sun. No one can hear us… except for Velu who probably wishes she couldn’t.
We lose track of time.
You go sit by the trackside and watch the scene unfold.
I’m aware of sweat pouring down my face. I’m thirsty and have no water. I can feel my skin burning up and am boiling with self-recrimination and self-pity. Surely someone will miss us and head down the track towards the farmhouse?
Nope.
Of course I talk to Velu. I start with pleading with her to move. Then wonder if she’s feeling the heat as well? I swat some loathsome black bot flies from her belly as I’ve been taught, with the palm of my hand. I even tentatively tap her rump in the hope it will give her a sense of recall and she’ll be minded to move in a forward direction.
Nope. She stands. Occasionally flicking her tail.
And, eventually, I ask her what she wants,
‘Help me Velu. Help me understand.’
As if she's sent me a message, instantly the smallness and simplicity of our situation dawns on me. The space expands and me with it.
‘Oh! You want nothing but THIS!’
This. Standing here. Doing nothing. Being able to do nothing in the searing heat with the cloudless sky and the vast mountain-scape towering above… THIS.. is… ENOUGH.
‘Thank you. Thank you.’
I laugh and cry simultaneously.
The tears keep coming – out of relief, exhaustion or both I know not.
And Velu lifts her head and trots down the track and off up the side of the mountain.
Hold my hand while we slowly walk back up to the barn and humanity, expecting a roasting from Marthe.
Perhaps my red and tear-stained face speaks louder than an apology?
Marthe gives a shrug, reassures me the girls will bring Velu down in the morning and the rehearsing continues before slowing to a lacklustre close.
Thankfully Marthe believes afternoons are for resting and time out.
#rehearsing #cow #stopping #insight