August 1956
Jack Leonard’s gratitude towards Ana for bringing him home from the hospital hadn’t lasted long. It couldn’t, because he was unable to remember he’d even been there. In fact, he didn’t know where home was, either. When he’d woken after his long sleep the day she’d brought him back, Ana had asked, ‘Do you know where you are?’ and he’d replied, ‘No. Do you know where you are?’ So he was back to his normal, shitty self. Anna had sighed but her conscience felt eased. At least at home he’d be fed well and kept relatively clean. She did wish she had a supply of the adult nappies that nice Sister Simpson had talked about, but perhaps they’d been a tall story anyway, as Jack certainly hadn’t been wearing them the day she’d brought him home. Anyhow, she’d worked out how to make them herself, out of sanitary napkins wrapped in flannels pinned into his underpants. As long as she could get the pants on him without him noticing the pads he was fine. If he spotted them, though, he fiddled and fiddled until the pins popped open and poked him somewhere painful. They weren’t perfect but they certainly helped contain the mess.
When David had come home in the weekend she thought he might have been cross at what she’d done, but he wasn’t. Instead, after tea on the Friday night, he’d sat the whole family down at the kitchen table — except for Jack, who was walking up and down the hall — and said, ‘Well, what are we going to do?’
‘What we were doing before, I suppose,’ Ana had replied.
And David had said, ‘No, that isn’t fair on anyone. I’ve been thinking. I’m getting a bit fed up watching blokes shear when I can’t do it myself.’
Ana had been quite shocked. It was the first time she’d ever heard him speak negatively about his handicap. The kids had been taken aback too; she could tell by the looks on their faces.
‘So I think I might ask the board if they can give me a job here in Auckland. A normal nine to five spot, where I come home at the end of every day.’
The kids had all started jumping up and down and cheering. Ana had thought she might start to cry. In the hallway Jack plodded up and down, up and down.
‘Wait on, wait on,’ David had said, laughing and raising his hand. ‘It’ll probably mean less money. Can we live with that?’
‘We can sell our bikes,’ Rowie had suggested. ‘They might be worth something.’
Jo had said, ‘I’m not selling mine.’
That had made Ana want to laugh.
Then David had said to her, ‘And I can be home to help with Jack. Would that be a good idea?’
Ana had thought that would be a bloody good idea, and so it had proved. Jack no longer recognised his son, but he did appear to understand that David was bigger than he was, and these days stronger despite having only one arm, and as a result his aggressive behaviour was easier to manage. Now, when Sid from next door came over, it was usually for a cup of tea, a smoke and a natter, though he still came in handy when David was at work.
The children were much happier too, knowing they only had to help babysit their grandfather for a few hours until their father came home. As a result their fear of him had diminished a little and the house was happier all round. True, money was tight as David did have to accept a significant pay cut to take a position at the Wool Board’s offices in town (and he hadn’t said so outright but Ana suspected he really wasn’t happy with the job), but the compensations of having him home every night far outweighed the inconvenience of always having to buy the discounted products at the grocer. Also, she still wasn’t sure what to do with Jack when the knitting circle’s wool arrived, but she’d worry about that when the time came.
But still, Ana wondered how long they’d be able to care for Jack. On one of her visits to the hospital Sister Simpson had told her, very kindly, that in the not too distant future Jack would become bedridden, forget how to eat and probably die of pneumonia or blood clots. He’d definitely have to go back to the hospital if that happened. But surely, if it did, he’d be completely off with the fairies anyway and wouldn’t know anything about it? She hadn’t mentioned Sister Simpson’s comments to David, but it was obvious to everyone that Jack was going downhill. Perhaps the only person who didn’t know it was Jack himself.
*
But Jack does know. In a place deep in his brain where small clusters of cells still now and then function in an orderly fashion, he knows. He can never articulate the fact, but, in occasional flashes of perception that come like distant lightning, he knows that something terrible has gone wrong with his mind, and that his body is failing too.
It’s a shock, this knowledge, and it frightens him and disturbs his happy existence on the farm where he belongs with his horses and his dogs and his beloved wife, Mary. People he doesn’t know intrude and demand things of him, and things aren’t where they should be and the world is strange, and he just wants to be left alone to bring the sheep down and muck out the horses. But sometimes his mind plays tricks and he can’t trust it, and his arms and legs and insides won’t do what he tells them, and none of that’s any use to a man who works on the land. He’s like a good dog too injured to work any more, and you don’t let them suffer. You put them down.
So one day he climbs a fence and starts walking. He crosses a stretch of grass then randomly follows some streets until he comes out onto a much bigger area where there are no houses. The grass there is nice on his feet, which are getting sore because he’s come out in just his socks. Looking down across a long grassy bit he sees the sea at the far end. It looks grey, like silver that needs a polish, and there’re waves farther out. He’s very, very tired now but he sets off again, not stopping when he reaches a road. Something makes a loud honking noise but he keeps going.
The sand on the beach slips and squeaks beneath his feet and there are little rocks everywhere. It’s hard to walk on them and he stumbles. At the water’s edge he takes off his ragged socks and leaves them on the wet sand.
Then he wades into the cold, winter water and strikes out for the golden hills.
*
All the Apanuis and Irwins came to Jack’s funeral, including little Vincent, now eight weeks old and wrapped tightly in a blanket. It was cold out today. Kura and Wiki arrived at the church in their black tangi clothes with greenery tucked into their hats, their men suited and hatted, and the younger family members in their Sunday best.
Ana was delighted to see them and there was quite a bit of crying in memory of Jack, and for Hawke’s Bay, which they all missed.
Colleen, Sid and Pauline Roberts had also come, as had Allie Manaia, who apologised for Sonny’s absence — apparently he’d just started a new job. A good handful of David’s friends and colleagues had come from the Wool Board too, which was nice, and, to Ana’s surprise, Sister Shirley Simpson was also here.
As Ana sat in the church looking at Jack’s coffin, not really listening to the minister drone through the service, she wondered, as she had since they’d learnt Jack had died, whether it was her fault. If she hadn’t brought him home from the hospital, if she hadn’t been in the washhouse rinsing his shitty pyjama trousers, if she’d bloody well tied him to the kitchen table, would he still be alive? David hadn’t blamed her and, knowing him as she did, she suspected he never would. Nobody at all was blaming her. She almost wished they would. And was it awful of her to feel, beneath her genuine sadness and guilt, an element of relief? Yes, she and her family had been released from their burden, but so had Jack. His life had ended horribly, not in the waters of Okahu Bay, a death she fervently hoped had been quick, but in a long, drawn-out shambles of confusion, fear and indignity. It had been so cruel and undeserved, especially for a man who had been so competent and self-contained and respected for most of his life.
Thank God my parents are still fit, she thought as she opened a hymnal to ‘The Lord Is My Shepherd’ and pretended to sing. Her father was in his mid-seventies and her mother ten years younger, but her father was still belting around Kenmore on his artificial leg, as fit and as hale as a man in
his fifties. He wasn’t, though, she reminded herself, and that worried her. Her parents weren’t here today because it was lambing time, and she missed them both and hadn’t seen them in ages, and . . . She shut her mouth. Why didn’t they just go home? Suddenly excited she glanced at David sitting beside her but he was frowning and staring down at his hymnal not even bothering to pretend to sing.
Then she remembered the awful argument they’d had after Jack messed up the lease on the farm and they knew they’d lost it, and the excitement faded a little. She’d wanted to ask her father to hire David at Kenmore, but David wouldn’t let her because he’d been so embarrassed by their predicament. He’d thought it would be charity and had gone mad at her for wanting to interfere, and accused her of not believing he could provide for his family, which hadn’t been true at all. She’d only been trying to help. David was a damn good sheep farmer and her father would have been pleased to have him on the station, and had said so on several occasions, but no, David got on his high horse and stayed on it. And then he’d been offered the job with the Wool Board and they’d all had to uproot themselves and come to Auckland.
But he was stuck pushing papers around in an office now, so would he still feel the same way about working at Kenmore? Probably. Ana sighed. There were the kids to think about too. They’d made so many friends at school, which they loved, and along the street. Would it be fair to return them to the backblocks of Hawke’s Bay and correspondence school and a limited social life? Perhaps she’d leave it for a while until everything settled down, and then raise the subject. Things would be different now, anyway, with Jack gone.
She realised everyone was rising, and quickly stood. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about Jack’s funeral service, but the minister had never met him and was churning out the usual trite remarks, and as far as she was concerned the man who’d drowned in Okahu Bay wasn’t the Jack she’d known. That man had left them some time ago and she’d been grieving ever since. This bit was just a formality.
As Jack’s coffin was carried from the church, the Apanui and Irwin men, young and not so young, performed a noisy and rousing haka, which made David blot his eyes with a handkerchief. Ana was extremely proud of her relatives, and proud of Jack for eliciting such an honour.
While David was shaking hands with various folk, Ana caught up with Sister Simpson. ‘Hello. I believe you have a new surname?’
‘Yes, I’m Mrs Hunt now.’
‘Well, congratulations, and thank you very much for coming. Jack would have appreciated you being here. I think he liked you.’
Shirley Hunt laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t know if Jack liked anyone, but I quite liked him. He was a character. I suspect he was a fine man before he fell ill.’
‘He was. He really was. We’ll miss—’ Ana stopped, flustered. ‘Well, we miss the old Jack.’
‘I expect you do. He’s one I certainly miss from the mental hospital. I’m working at Middlemore now.’
‘Oh. I was given the impression you’d stopped work,’ Ana said.
‘Only at the mental hospital. I hated it there. It was an awful place.’
‘It was, wasn’t it?’
Shirley hesitated, then asked, ‘I read in the paper that Jack drowned. May I ask, do you think he did it deliberately?’
‘Do you think he did?’
‘Well, I didn’t look after him for long, but I wouldn’t have thought he’d be capable of it. I wouldn’t have thought he’d have known how ill he was, to want to, you know, put an end to it. It’s so hard to tell.’
‘So he might just have got it into his head to go for a swim, and got into difficulties?’ Ana asked.
‘Honestly, Mrs Leonard, I really don’t know.’
‘I was only in the washhouse for a few minutes. I don’t even know if he wandered out the front gate or hopped over the fence or . . .’ Ana tailed off. ‘I should have been watching him.’
Shirley put a hand on Ana’s arm. ‘You can’t watch them all the time. You just can’t. We never could at the hospital and that was our job.’
‘But still—’
‘But still nothing. You did your best. You cared for him and you cared about him. You couldn’t have done more than that. And now it’s finished and you and your family have lives to get on with.’
Ana was relieved. And impressed. ‘How can you be so wise at your age?’
‘I’m not wise,’ Shirley said. ‘I’m hard, and that’s why I had to leave the mental hospital.’
Ana didn’t know what to say.
‘Anyway, I must go or I’ll be late for work,’ Shirley went on. ‘Nice to see you again, Mrs Leonard.’
‘Yes, you too. Thanks for coming.’
Shirley waved as she walked off.
‘Who’s that?’ Kura asked, settling a hand on Ana’s shoulder.
‘One of Jack’s nurses from the hospital. She’s lovely. Works at Middlemore now.’
Wiki drifted over, and soon a group of women had congregated. Outside the church Jack’s coffin lay in the back of the hearse. Ana wondered what the undertaker was waiting for. Jack was bound for the crematorium, a final destination many, she knew, would think unconventional, but if they did decide to go back to Hawke’s Bay they wanted to be able to take Jack’s remains with them. It was, they were sure, where he’d rather be.
The men had also gathered in a group, smoking or standing round with their hands in their pockets. Ana could do with a rare cigarette herself but none of the other women were smoking; nice women just didn’t, not out in public. She also spotted one of Kura’s younger boys surreptitiously sticking his used chewing gum to the tyre of the hearse, the little bugger, and marched over.
‘You get that off right now, Sam Apanui.’
He looked at her, his eyes innocently big. ‘It tastes yuck. I didn’t know where else to put it.’
‘I don’t care. Get it off.’
Reluctantly, Sam gouged the gum out of the tyre’s treads and stuck it in his pocket. Giving him a look, Ana returned to the women.
Kura said, ‘Oh, I forgot to say, Joshua says our wool’s arrived and we have to hurry up and collect it. And it’s a half-bale. That what you ordered?’
Ana nodded. A full bale of wool would be far more than they needed.
She, Kura, Allie and Wiki looked at one another.
‘Hell,’ Allie said. ‘I’d better learn to drive, then.’
*
Sonny wasn’t sure if he liked his new job, but the money was much better than his wage had been at Smith and Caughey, so he was sticking with it.
He tried not to look down. That was the worst part. If he didn’t look down he was OK. He supposed he’d get used to it but for now he’d focus on keeping his head up and looking out across the harbour or over at the city, or at what he was supposed to be doing, which was driving rivets into steel.
He was working on the northern anchorage at Northcote Point of the new bridge across Waitemata Harbour, and wasn’t really that high up, but he’d never been that good with heights, though he’d lied and said he was when he’d applied for the job because he’d heard the money was great. It was bloody cold and windy too: his ears had nearly frozen off during the first few days so he’d bought himself one of those hats with the flaps like the ones they’d worn in South Korea. He wasn’t a steelworker either, but he had an army mate on site who’d vouched for him, and the work wasn’t that complicated, just physically demanding, so he was doing all right. And the job would go for years as the bridge wouldn’t be finished till 1959, though he wasn’t sure what would happen when they got right up and out over the water. He hoped he might have conquered his fear of heights by then.
So apart from having a job that made him nearly shit his pants every time he looked down, things were good. The money was coming in again, and plenty of it, and Allie seemed a lot better since she’d chucked her job at Smith and Caughey. Even her bad dreams seemed to be going away — she’d only had two lately, two which had woken her up, anyway. She
hadn’t found another job, except for this knitting circle thing she was doing, which wasn’t really a job, but that didn’t matter much at the moment. Gina appeared to have forgotten all about her trip to Napier, which, Sonny thought, was an indication that nothing awful had happened to her there except homesickness.
He and Allie had received a letter from Duncan and Claire Murdoch the other day, which he’d thought was very nice of them. It had said:
Dear Allie and Sonny,
We hope your journey home went well and that Gina is happily settled back with her grandmother. This is just a note to let you know what happened after you left. As you can imagine, my mother and father were somewhat surprised to learn Gina had gone back to Auckland. Actually, I don’t think my father was too upset as I suspect he’d always been a little uncomfortable with the idea of adding Gina to our family, and also separating her from her mother (though I’m surmising here), but my mother certainly was. She demanded that my father and I come to Auckland to retrieve Gina, but obviously we said no.
Anyway, regarding the matter of the money paid to your sister, I think what I said to you when you were in Napier stands. My parents have been fools and I can more or less guarantee they won’t be pursuing your sister for repayment, to avoid the affair being made public. My father could probably bear the embarrassment as, unfortunately, he’s no stranger to shame, but my mother certainly couldn’t, not now at her age.
So I think we can consider the whole business over and done with. We’re very sorry it happened in the first place, and we hope that everything is back to normal at your end. It was very nice to meet you, Allie and Sonny, and thank you for your understanding and patience.
Kind regards,
Duncan and Claire Murdoch
So that was that. He couldn’t tell Polly because nobody knew where she was. He thought she was probably wise not to show her face for quite a while. He didn’t even know if she knew Gina was back in Auckland. Awhi still wouldn’t speak her name.
And there he was, travelling to and from the north shore every day on the Devonport ferry for work, with a tram ride from Newmarket to the wharf both ways as well, so that by the time he got home he was so knackered he could hardly eat his tea and collapse on the sofa, but it was worth it. Another five or six months of this and he’d be able to buy another motorcycle. And if Allie did find a job they really would be quids in.
From the Ashes Page 30