Vicariously yours, Esther

I loved my aunt Esther.

She had a keen and curious mind, a tolerant and easy going nature, and a seemingly endless fascination for her fellow human beings (with the possible exception of my mother).

She was also an avid listener.

When she rang me one Tuesday in August 1983, inviting me to tea at her apartment the following Thursday, I accepted without hesitation. As I hung up, I realized that day was my late mother's birthday. Did she remember the significance of the date? I wondered. For Esther had not spoken to or about her sister for 17 years - even before Mum passed away. Did she ever regret that?

The following Thursday, as I struggled up the hill from the city center to her small apartment, balancing two vegetable curries from the Hare Krishna restaurant and a bulky sports bag full of my street theater gear, I felt a sense of great anticipation. In the phone call, she had hinted at a proposition, a plan that would benefit us both. Just what did my aunt have in mind?

Esther always took a while to answer her door. Standing outside on the worn-carpeted landing, I listened as she shuffled from the tiny kitchen through the lounge room to the front door. "Coming, coming!" she called in a reassuring sing-song tone. I waited for the usual series of clicks, clacks and hums as she negotiated the double lock to let me in. And then, there she was.

Short 'comfy' build, black beret perched atop her sparse grey hair, dressed for the occasion in a green jersey silk caftan with a long string of turquoise beads and a wide welcoming smile...Gee, even minus a couple of teeth, to me she looked beautiful!

We greeted each other in the European way, a light peck on each cheek and then I followed her into the hub of the apartment.

We took our usual places at the little table. I began unpacking the Hare Krishna fare. "The hash browns are warming up in the oven," Aunt Esther said. "Shouldn't be long now. I thought they'd go splendidly with - " She eyed the dishes with interest, "Well, whatever that is you've brought from the Hare Krishnas." (I suppressed a giggle. Esther invariably pronounced Har-e Krishna as hare Krishna - as in the large rabbit!)

"Now, would you mind bringing the sherry over from the sideboard please, Pamela? I'll get the hash browns." That signaled the start of our meal.

I felt contented in my aunt's company. The warmth of the oven filled up the small kitchen. The Bristol Cream sherry was smooth, and the meal, though a seemingly odd mix of East and West, was surprisingly delicious. We ate companionably, without ceremony and mostly in silence with the odd murmur of appreciation from my aunt as she sampled the relatively exotic food. After a second naan bread, she declared she was finally full.

"Now Pamela," she drew herself up a little in her chair, her back straight, "It's about time to fetch the cigarettes from the sideboard."

I liked this part of our dinner ritual. Though not a smoker herself, my aunt kept a supply of cocktail cigarettes in a crystal glass for guests. They were fanned out in shades of pink, purple and pale green - I think she just liked looking at them. "Oh, and that little black note book on the left..." I hadn't noticed the little black book when I'd fetched the sherry from there earlier. "It's time for the plan!" The excitement in her voice was barely contained.

"The plan?" I helped myself to a cigarette. A pale green one.

"Yes, let me explain. Now, as you know, I haven't left the house for sometime, and have no intention of doing so in the foreseeable future."

It was true. Osteoarthritis had kept Esther a prisoner in her own house for over a year. Not that she experienced it as a prison. She was too much a lover of life for that. She rolled with the punches did my aunt.

"However, I do miss a few things. Like the Auckland International Film Festival!" She pushed a glossy brochure across the table to me. "Now, I would like you Pamela, to attend this festival in my place. I shall cover all expenses, and afterwards I shall deposit $1,000 into a special bank account for you."

"But - "

"No buts dear. I trust you and we have similar tastes in films. Although, you must promise to give me an extremely detailed report afterwards. I want to feel as I've been there. You can be my proxy!"

"That's extremely generous of you Esther! But why pay me a $1,000 for what would be a pleasure for me?"

"Ah ha." Esther carefully leafed through the brochure. "That's only the beginning...."

'What do you mean?"

My aunt took off her glasses and leaned towards me with a twinkle in her eye. "I want to leave you something when I go of course - you and your brother - but I want you to earn it. Not have it come too easily to you. And I want to witness your enjoyment of earning it."

"So.." I was having a little difficulty understanding this. "So you want me to attend every film in the festival to get your or....our money's worth?"

"Oh, heavens no. Not all of them. " She put her glasses back on. "Here, I've marked them. The Russian one - that's a celebrity opening with the leading lady I believe. The Truffaut of course - you know how much I love French films and the Japanese one - is it Kurosaki?"

"Kurosawa."

"Mmm, yes. Now that new American one about Howard Hughes sounds fascinating... perhaps the Korean as well? I've never seen a Korean film. Though I'd love to see Marcello Mastroianni in the Fellini....Oh, come on Pam, let's do both. Yes, that should do it. I'll send you to all six of 'em!"

I didn't know what to say. I drained the last drop of my sherry and reached for another cigarette. "Thank you," was all I could think of. "That's very ah - sweet of you."

Esther waved the notebook in the air. "It shall all be recorded in here!" She placed the notebook down carefully then leaned toward me, a look of eagerness on her face. "Now tell me all about your work today. Did you dress up as a clown or impersonate the Queen?" she smiled broadly. "I want chapter and verse please!"

I was only too happy to oblige her.

Two weeks later, I brought her back a program of the Auckland International Film Festival signed by the Russian star - along with an exhaustive report of every movie I'd watched on her behalf. Esther listened avidly, drinking in every detail.

"Oh Pamela! It's the nearest thing to being there...and the fact that you managed to get the program signed...." She propped it up against the little transistor radio on her table and gazed at it. "I shall treasure this my dear."

"Believe me, it was a pleasure, Esther!" And so it had been.

But as my aunt had said, this was only the beginning.

In December, I attended the Chinese Circus, then the Moscow ballet. Though I was limited as to how I could convey the grace and virtuosity of those extravaganzas, Esther was nevertheless entranced by my description, and accordingly, my bank balance rose by another two thousand dollars.

In fact, the more enthusiastic she got about 'our scheme', the more frequent and ambitious the missions became.

The following year, I had a trip to Sydney where I heard Dame Kiri Te Kanawa sing, and watched a famous French mime performing. (All expenses paid of course, with my mandatory reports becoming more elaborately documented with photos and videos. And if by chance I could score an autograph from a star, so much the better.)

Well, over the next 3 years the 'adventures' came on thick and fast - and I have to say, were even more extravagant. On my first European trip, I spied Margot Fonteyn (in the audience) at a Covent Garden ballet and had her sign my program. I travelled by train up to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival and introduced Esther to the world of stand-up comedy. In Oslo, I was totally spellbound by a virtuoso performance of Ibsen's Hedda Gabler. While I was there, I bought an English/Norwegian dictionary so that back in her little flat in Auckland, Esther would be able to read the original program. Which she did.

Six months later we were gifted tickets to an independent production of a play about Anne Frank in Amsterdam - via an old acting friend of mine. Then of course, it made sense to go to Berlin to attend a premiere of Bertold Brecht's Threepenny Opera and shortly thereafter on to Paris - where, sipping coffee on the Champs Elysees - I was rewarded by a serendipitous sighting of Alain Delon!

In Rome, The Eternal City, staying at a guest house on the Via Cavour, I asked a well-dressed man for the time.

Imagine my delight then, when months later, deputizing for Esther at the Brisbane Film Festival, I identified the man in Rome as none other than the great Marcello Mastroianni. My aunt almost fell into a swoon when I told her, and she pledged right there and then to put a bonus thousand dollars into the account.

Over the next few years, my passport filled up with stamps. My frequent flyer points were accumulating in leaps and bounds, while at home, Esther was shuffling even more slowly around her apartment, humming to herself as she made the arduous daily trek out to her balcony to water her geraniums and cacti. But she was content. On one of our regular phone calls she assured me was thriving. "You're living my dream but I'm feeling it!"

"Yes," I replied, "I'm having the time of your life. Or is it, that you're having the time of my life?"

The day after I had spent hours at the Louvre, soaking in every detail of the great Leonardo's works and registering every emotion they stirred in me, I got a telegram from my aunt's neighbor. The news wasn't good. Esther had had a stroke and wanted me to come back immediately.

72 hours later, I was back in New Zealand. I went straight to the hospital.

I found my beloved aunt lying in the ward - motionless, pale and no longer able to speak. But she was able to hold tight to my hand. Her eyes were glowing, her face alight and eager. I began my final report.

Her gaze never wavered. As I said, she was an avid listener.

At some point in my narrative, Esther began to smile. It was a smile as mysterious but infinitely more beautiful than the one I was attempting to describe to her - that of the legendary Mona Lisa.

As she faded away, it seemed to me that her smile continued to radiate softly in her wake.

Months later, I received a phone call from my brother Allan in Vancouver to say he had been named the major beneficiary of our aunt's estate.

But among Esther's effects, he informed me, there was a little black note book, itemized thus:

Pamela

For 19 Vicarious Adventures = $19,000

For asking Marcello Mastroianni the Time in the Eternal City = $1,000

Grand total = $20,000

There followed details of a bank account to be accessed only via a special password.

Veronica.

My mother's name.

.