Page 163 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt

I gently put my head against the door and took a deep breath. ‘How can you say that?’

Yindi pointed upwards. ‘I told you. Ancestors.’ She shrugged.

‘I cannot simply take your word for it.’

Yindi crossed over to me and put a hand on my back. There was that warm sensation again. I realised that I had felt something similar when Yarran had run his hands over my broken ribs in Coober Pedy. ‘You have seen for yourself the power of the ancestors. Trust in them. Do not doubt their path.’

‘I...’

‘Mr Atlas, if this child is released to the orphanage today, as she has to be, then there is no chance of Sarah and Francis ever finding her. They might not even learn of her existence. But you could whisk her away to a life of love, comfort and familytoday.’

‘I came to Australia for the funeral of an old friend of mine, Yindi. That’s all.’

‘You do not see the greater plan. What appear to you as a series of remarkable coincidences were mapped out in the stars long before you or I were born. It is not chance that you returned to Australia when this child needed a home. You returned because it was the right moment.’

Yindi’s words resonated with me. After all I had seen in my life, who was I to question the omniscient nature of the universe? I had a thought. ‘What if I were to take temporarycustody of the baby? I will leave the details of my lawyer, Georg Hoffman, here at the hospital, so that if Sarah and Francis do arrive, they will be able to contact me straight away.’

Yindi chuckled. ‘If it makes you feel better, of course you may do that. I will have everything entered into our official records, so that contact may be made. But Atlas, they will not. Never. The ancestors have shown me. She is yours. Daughter number five.’

‘Four,’ I replied. ‘Perhaps the ancestors don’t knoweverything.’

Yindi looked confused. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘They do.’

I must applaud Georg for a clever invention. In addition to the girls’ name being registered as ‘D’Aplièse’, he quite rightly advised me that we should be cautious about my young daughters publicly stating that their father’s name is ‘Atlas’. My moniker is unique, and I have found over the years that it is one which easily sticks in the mind. The security of my family is my top priority, and even though Eszu is still holed up in his Athenian compound, I won’t hesitate to take any measure I can to strengthen our anonymity.

When Georg had suggested that I employ a different name for my daughters to use, I had played around with an anagram of ‘Atlas’, which somehow felt better than concocting a pseudonym once more. I love my daughters more than anything, and the idea of lying to them in any way was abhorrent. There was nothing particularly satisfactory that arose from my first name alone, and so I added ‘Pa’ (which is what the girls call me) to try and help. After a moment or two of playing with combinations and possibilities, I arrived at ‘Pa Salt’, and laughed out loud.

Shortly after young Ally had arrived in our lives, Maia had remarked as she sat on my knee that I ‘smelt of the sea’.

‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment, little Maia!’ I laughed. ‘Doesn’t the sea smell of fish and seaweed?’

‘No,’ she replied firmly. ‘It smells of... salt.’

I chuckled. ‘Well, that’s not too bad then, is it? Maybe it’s because I’m always travelling.’

How perfect. From thereon in, I was known to all at Atlantis as ‘Pa Salt’. I asked both Georg and Marina to use it whenever they addressed me around the children, in addition to the two new members of staff who have recently joined our odd little family here on the shores of Lake Geneva.

Claudia, Georg’s sister, has been employed as a full-time housekeeper and cook, responsible for feeding an ever-increasing number of mouths. After the arrival of baby number three, it became necessary for Marina to become a full-time nanny to the girls. Claudia did not arrive alone, either. She brought with her a young son – Christian – too. His father had left the picture not long after his birth, and I insisted that he was very welcome at Atlantis. Since his arrival, Claudia speaks German around the house, to remind her son of their heritage – a decision which I fully applaud. It is good for my children to hear as many languages as possible.

After a few days of half-heartedly tending the lawns and watering the flowers, I noted Christian staring longingly at the boat which was moored on the jetty.

‘Do you like the water?’ I had asked.

He nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘We’ve talked about this, there is no need to address me as “sir”. Pa Salt will do nicely, I promise you.’ He nodded. ‘Have you ever driven a boat?’ I asked.

‘Never.’

‘Well.’ I shrugged. ‘Would you like to?’ Christian’s eyesgrew wide. ‘The lake is very quiet around here. Let’s go and have some fun.’

We spent the afternoon cruising about on the tender. I recognised the unparalleled joy the young man experienced out on the water, and I informed Claudia that I would like to employ her son to run and maintain the boats, and act as the official transport between Atlantis and mainland Geneva. It is not a decision I have regretted a day since. Christian is polite, hard-working, and an asset to my staff, just like his mother.

So far, Yindi’s prediction has been proved right – I have not heard anything from either Sarah or Francis about their granddaughter. As difficult as it is to write, I am at least a little thankful for this, because Asterope and Celaeno have formed an incredibly close bond. Perhaps it is because they are so close in age, but they appear to all around them as spiritual twins. The thought of breaking them apart now is anathema to me.

Ever since that day at the hospital in Broome, I have not been able to forget Yindi’s assertion that Celaeno was to be my fifth daughter, not my fourth. Although I have long abandoned the assumption that Angelina’s prophecy will come true, I have recently begun to wonder about my interpretation of her words. Perhaps she meant that my destiny was toadoptseven daughters... but, at the same time, the theory simply did not tally with her assurance that myfirstdaughter was already alive in 1951.

Eventually, the questions that ran through my head in the night became too much, and I booked a flight to Granada. Of course, I had no way of knowing if Angelina was still in the area, and if she was, exactly how to find her. So, when I got off the plane, I did the only thing I could, and returned to the plaza where I had met her all those years before, inthe hope that she was still giving readings. I knew I would recognise her. After all, her face was imprinted on my subconscious after she had appeared to me in my dreams.