Let me tell you what my thing is. S.e.c.r.e.t.s! I love everything secret. And I can keep secrets. It’s a very important job. It might just be the most important job of them all. It’s like finding a treasure and making sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. There is this new secret I’m very excited about.
It happened this morning. I played with Prince in the backyard. He’s a bit lost since Elise went all gaga over Scott and the cabin burning. (Sorry, I’m not allowed to use that word, but it’s the truth.) Prince always hides his tennis balls in the backyard. Sometimes they end up even farther into the bush. He’s naughty, because …
“We can’t keep buying balls for him,” said Lilly. Huh, she always acts as if she’s the boss. But she isn’t. Sky said nobody is the boss but she must have forgotten to tell Lilly.
So with me being good at finding things, guess who gets the task to hunt for the lost balls? Yes. Good old Mikey. After I had already found about a dozen and put them into the basket, I heard a whistling sound. I once heard lemurs in the zoo whistling like that. It would be awesome if there were lemurs in our forest. But there are no wild lemurs in New Zealand. One could have escaped from a zoo, though, but I’m not a dumb child. It’s most unlikely.
The sound came from this prickly blackberry bush. I had to crawl on the ground to see what it was, but I got stopped.
“Psst. Is that you, Elise?”
“Who’s talking?” I will not tell a talking bush who I am. We are just not that kind of crazy.
“I’m a friend. Who is it?”
“It’s Mikey.” Darn, that slipped out.
“I should have known. You’re the brave kid who found the photos.”
Now that was a bit spooky because nobody knows about me. Perhaps this is like the burning bush in the bible where God talks to you. And God, they say, knows everything. You don’t want to rub him up the wrong way. Just in case. So I nodded. Don’t they say God sees everything? But perhaps he can’t see very well through blackberry bushes.
“Yes.” I whispered, just in case someone else was spying.
“Mikey, I need your help, but it has to be our secret. You can tell nobody about it. Will you help me?”
It must be God because just a moment ago I had thought about how good I was at keeping secrets. So it is true what they say about God seeing and hearing everything. It’s good to know. I was pretty stoked he talked to me and not to one of the others. About time someone took notice of me.
“How can I help?”
“Bad things happened. Naughty people burned Scott’s cabin three days ago and he got hurt. You guys are not safe and I’d like to help make sure you are. The bad people are after your treasure.”
“What treasure? I have no more treasures.”
“There must be at least one more treasure because bad people always look for things they can take.”
“If there is, it must be in a super good hiding place, because I’m good at finding treasures and I haven’t found it.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to look again.”
I’m a little annoyed with God. If I tell you I’ve looked everywhere, I have and there is nothing to find. But if I remember right, you don’t say things like that to God. You might end up in some kind of burning hell. Maybe that’s what happened to Scott? I better be nice. You never know what happens next.
“I’ll take another look. How else can I help?”
“To help you, I need to know what is going on in the house. Who comes and where people go. Can you do that?”
I’m not sure what I’m dealing with. If this is God, he should know it’s easy for me to find out these things. It’s almost too easy. Like a child’s game. I mean, games a tiny child plays. Perhaps I should tell Sky about this?
“How shall I let you know those things?”
“You can leave messages for me in the tin I’ll leave under the bush. You can write, can’t you?”
That was not a clever question. God should have known I could. But, being God must be a pretty busy job with all the stuff going on everywhere, so I’m happy to let it go.
“Lilly wants to go to the hospital tomorrow and Tom, the lawyer, goes home tomorrow too. He likes Elise’s idea to sell the homestead. He said we are not safe staying here. You mean telling you stuff like that?”
“Exactly. Thank you. You’ll be a great help. I can already tell. I’ve gotta go. Don’t forget, tell nobody about this.”
A hand stretched out from underneath the bush and held a piece of meat under Prince’s nose. It’s gone in no time and he licks the hand for a thank-you-very-much.
“What’s your dog’s name? He’s cute and so well behaved.”
“His name is Prince.”
I’m proud that Prince is behaving and that God seemed to take a liking to him. I crawled out from under the bush and sneaked back to the house. It’s a pretty good feeling to be told by God you are a great help. I think I’ll even go to church on Sunday. See what else he has in store for me.
So that’s what I would write about. Nobody in the Tribe cares about me and I have a new secret that’s just between God and me. I have to keep my eyes open and find out what the others are up to. It’s a new thing for me. I never used to pay much attention to what everyone else is up to. It doesn’t mean I can’t learn. Sure I can.
It turned out that keeping the eyes open isn’t as easy as I thought. I had the whole morning to look for the treasure God talked about, but something happened. It was suddenly dark and Ama called us for supper. That was a big setback. Someone else had pushed me aside and used the body. It was like stepping into a booby trap and bang you can’t go any further.
I didn’t realize that whenever I’m in the tree house, someone else is gallivanting about in the body. I have to figure out how to get more body time, as Lilly calls it. I asked Luke, and he said it has to do with paying attention when someone else is out. I never used to because it’s unbelievable how boring people behave when they are using the body.
Yawn! Nothing happens. Nothing.
For example, they say Scott is improving and everyone has a little happy dance about it. For once I paid attention. If you ask me, I saw nothing. The man is still hooked up on ten thousand machines that keep him alive. How they can call it an improvement, I will never understand. Lilly said he had a rosy glow in his face. She always exaggerates, but this is even super exaggerated for her. Rosy glow? Not in a million years. My white t-shirt has a rosier glow than Scott’s face.
Still, I had one tiny success today. I hope it’s something God likes. Elise buried the gun Tom gave us so we can defend ourselves. What a silly idea. Tom’s not all that clever as he makes out. Nobody in the Tribe knows how to use a handgun. I’m sure they can’t even figure out where the back or the front is and where the bullets come out. I know what to do with a handgun and how to use it, but nobody asks me. As always.
Tomorrow I’ll sneak out and dig up the gun. It’ll be easy to find. Elise didn’t show great creativity when she looked for a place. She put it smack in the middle of the roses. What kind of hiding place is that? I don’t understand people who don’t put some thoughts into finding a good hiding place. Why hide something if you put it right where everyone will stumble over? I’ll give it to God and let him decide what to do with it.
There’s something else I have to talk to him about. I’m not sure if I want to do more spying for God. Paying attention is much harder than I expected. Someone always pushes me aside. But most of all, spying isn’t honorable. I’ve worried about it a lot since this morning. I even asked Luke if he knows of an honorable spy. He said, James Bond. That’s not helping, because James Bond is not real. I guess, when you are a Russian spy, you are a good guy in Russia and a bad guy everywhere else.
The problem is, I don’t want to spy on the Tribe. They are my friends. Miss Marple even told me they are me, which is ludicrous. How can that be? Luke is Luke and I am me. I guess the Marple lady wasn’t as clever as everyone took her for. But then, you
often get that with old people. They lose their grip on what’s going on. Perhaps she just needed a pair of new glasses? I’ve seen it with old people back when we lived with Horace. Old folks had to get new glasses all the time.
If I have to spy, I’d rather spy for my family and not on them. Life can be really hard for them. Like when Scott’s cabin burned down and he ended up in the hospital. They would be so disappointed if they found out I’d spied on them. Even if it’s for their own good, as God says. But if he wants to help them not to get hurt, he can do the spying himself. He doesn’t even have to do it himself, busy as he is with all the looking after the world. He could send one of his angels to do it for him.
So, that’s my decision. I’ll give him the gun and tell him I’m not doing any more spying. I just hope I won’t get punished for it. Ama read us horrendous stories from the bible where people got punished for displeasing God. But I’ve tried so hard all these years to be a good boy; I hope he still likes me.
I did my duty and followed Sky’s order to write in the black book. But just like the other time, I’m tearing out this page and putting it in my secret space between the roots of the old tree in the backyard.
Chapter Eleven
Ama: 9 March 2017, Very Early Morning, Wright’s Homestead
I can’t sleep. I’m surprised the Tribe can. After we’ve found Scott and brought him to the hospital, the Tribe came back. One by one, reclaiming their place.
Yesterday was a big day. Tom left in the afternoon. That created an unexpected stir among the Tribe. Not as much, though, as it did when Lilly found out at the hospital that the doctors had removed Scott’s breathing tube. Just picture Santa Claus teaming up with the Easter Bunny for a combined holiday … that kind of excitement. It’s only a short matter of time until he’s expected to wake up. Lilly has been sailing on a high up and down the stairs ever since.
Elise was excited about Scott’s progress too … until she found the gun Tom left behind for us. I’d say she was upset. Lilly said she went ballistic. I agree with Elise. The idea alone of a gun in the house with all the kids … I shudder. With non-existent firearm skills, we are bound to do more harm than good. After she had her moment, Elise marched into the garden and buried the thing where nobody could find it!
She hadn’t counted on Mikey, though. He found it in no time and stuck it under the blackberry bush at the end of the back garden. I’ll have to tell Sky that the boy is up to some mischief. He sneaks about the house as if he’s looking for something.
I prepared a stack of peanut-butter-jam-sandwiches for them for supper. That always gets them into their rooms without complaints. I’m surprised they left two for me. They wink at me from the plate on the nightstand.
Of course, they don’t wink at me. They are sandwiches. No winking involved. But in the flickering light of the candle, it seems as if they do. I put the book I’m reading aside and pull the blankets up. There is a cold bite to the night air that sneaks in through the gaps and cracks around the window and makes the curtain waft in the draft. I don’t mind. What are blankets for if not for keeping us warm?
The bedroom looks inviting, half-lit in the candlelight. There is a cozy armchair Elise found at the Salvation Army shop in Port Somers next to the small table under the window. It has our black book and some pens on it. Did I bring it upstairs? I couldn’t remember.
Auntie Amanda’s wardrobe with the hand-carved panels on the sides dominates the opposite side. I like the homestead as it is, old-fashioned and without all the modern trappings Lilly, Elise, and Scott are planning for the renovation. At least, renovating was the plan before Scott’s cabin burned down.
I pick my book up again. Wild Pork and Watercress by Barry Crump. They turned it into the movie Hunt for the Wilderpeople, but I prefer reading books. We all do. Cinemas are creepy. Too dark and too many people. You never know if and when someone might sneak up on you. And then getting away quickly? A nightmare!
We all relate to the storyline of running away into the wilderness, feeling the freedom, but ending up being chased. By the looks of it, we are about to run again, if Elise has anything to say about it. She’s dead-set on selling the house.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Alarmed, I sit up. My book slips off the bed.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I’m a light sleeper. Amadeus thinks I’m always sleeping with one eye open. That’s what you do as the mother of fifty souls. I can’t tell you how many times I stop kiddies from creating havoc at night. It happened more often when we lived with Horace. He had a cunning way of scaring the little ones, so they only came out at night. Thank heavens that time is behind us.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I’m not mistaken. A soft knocking coming from downstairs. Did I leave a window open that is now banging about in the night breeze? Or did kids sneak past me and create a mess in the living room? At two in the morning? I’m not keen on leaving my warm bed but we have to have order. I reach for my dressing gown and put on my slippers.
The house is dark and whispers are coming from our living room.
I hold my breath.
Goosebumps are forming on my arms and warning lights go off inside my head.
Danger!
It can’t be us making the noise because I’m in the body. No matter how we move through space and time when we are in our tree house, the rules of physics restrict the body. It can only be in one space at a time.
I step onto the landing and take a peek. All I hear is a clatter and muffled talk.
“Have you found it?”
“Shut up and make sure nobody pays us a surprise visit.”
Someone stands outside and whispers through the open front door.
Open front door?
I’m sure I closed up before I went to bed. Why is Prince not barking? And why didn’t the alarm go off? I’m trembling. I’m not a ninja fu fighter or whatever they call them.
Help!
I spot a shadow leaving the pantry and going into the laundry, while another is moving to the bookcase behind the loom. He picks up one book after the other and leafs through them, shaking them out. What on earth are they after?
I’m holding on to the banister so hard, my fingers hurt. What shall I do? What can I do? Adrenaline washes through me, making my heartbeat frantically. Part of me wants to run and hide and part of me wants to leap down, maul the intruders, and throw them out like yesterday’s trash. I have to do something. I can’t let the Tribe down. I just can’t.
A surge in my energy tells me Amadeus is close. As the body shifts and goes into fighting mode, I slip into the background. Not quite gone, but also no longer in control. Amadeus is.
“Did you find it?”
“No, nothing. It would be easier to burn this place down. We’ll never find it. Who knows where the old bird hid it.” The shadow returning from the laundry knocks a chair over as he comes into the living room.
“Idiot, can’t you watch out?”
A feeling I didn’t recognize is growing inside the body like an avalanche that takes trees, boulders, and houses with it. Amadeus is stretching and getting ready while I try to blend into the background.
“Who is down there?”
Amadeus’s voice echoes through the house like rolling thunder. I get a little fearful, even though I’m hiding in our tree house now, waiting. He might need help. Not that a two-hundred-pound woman past her fifties could do much in this situation.
He storms down the stairs, taking two at a time. Limber like a panther in his black jeans and black T-shirt signature outfit, he’s hard to make out in the dark. Two of the lowlifes stand like pillars of salt next to the bookcase and drop the books they have in their hands.
Amadeus grabs the poker from the cooking range and swings it at the men. They stumble a few steps back and one falls over the weaving basket in the corner. He grabs that one by his collar and pulls him up.
“What are you doing here? Who are you?” The rage in his voice is reach
ing the point of a ticking bomb about to explode at any moment. All he gets from the man is defiant silence.
He drops the poker and lands a right hook in the guy’s face. It came so unexpected and with such force, that the man’s head jerks back and he slams to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
“Pete, it’s just a woman.” The other man shouts as he sneaks up behind Amadeus, and slings his arms around his upper body.
He shouldn’t have said that. Oh no! The last person who called Amadeus a woman spend half a day being bandaged up in the emergency room and limped for a month. He’s normally just a grumpy teddy bear and we all love him. But when he comes out, all guns blazing, when there’s a reason for him to protect the body, then … well, let me put it this way, you don’t want to be around when that happens.
Amadeus slams his left elbow into the man’s body right where I think his liver would be. The intruder squeals in pain and folds to the ground. Before my boy can catch his breath, the third man approaches, wielding one of our chairs like a sword. I shout a warning to Amadeus but I’m too late. The chair crashes over his head and, caught by surprise, he sinks to his knees.
All three scumbags rush to the door and into the darkness, more limping and hobbling than running.
Amadeus gets up, pulls the chair to the table, and sits down. Blood is dripping down his cheek.
“I should have seen the third man coming. I’m out of practice. Should have been much more vigilant, much fitter too.”
He walks to the front door and mumbles his frustration into the night, massaging his right hand. The dirtbags are gone and the night is soundless again. Not even a cracking of twigs or crunching of the forest floor troubles the silence. Only a few disturbed birds skitter up into the air.
He closes the front door, checks the windows, locks up, and sets the alarm. I understand why he’s extra careful. Having three people marching into our house without any effort is worrying.
If they had started a fire, we would be dead now. Amadeus comes up to the bedroom and nods in agreement.
Beyond the Tree House Page 7