Everything was quiet when I woke up. It was Friday. I went off to my classes and when I came home there was a note pinned on my door. It was written in blue pen and it was headed up with my name, Lisa Green, and the words Eviction Notice. It said that Sean was giving me notice to quit under some act or other, and that the reason for this was my 'act of violence'. I didn't think there was anything particularly violent about tossing a cushion, but I didn't feel like arguing. I screwed the notice up and walked into the kitchen. The tap was dripping onto some plastic bags in the sink. It made a hollow, empty sound. A trail of brown liquid came out of the bottom of the fridge. It had been a hot day and the air was stale with the sickly smell of old food.
I went into Sean's room. There was a life-size picture of a man on one wall, with a target printed on his chest and another on his head. There were full ashtrays on the unmade bed and a pile of cigarette packets on the chest of drawers. The bed smelled bad. The room was so bleak and ugly I should have been pleased I was getting away, but I wasn't, I was crushed.
That weekend Reid and Sean went away somewhere and the place was empty. I sat out on the balcony in the nights, looking up at the yellow squares of light around me, all the empty windows. I was afraid of the silence, of the empty corridors when I went down through the building, of the sounds of the city in the night. I was too proud to ring my mother and tell her what had happened. There was a sensible voice in my head telling me I needed to try again, to move in with some women next time, but I was all screwed up with loneliness, and too uneasy to sleep properly, and by the end of that weekend I felt fragile, as if something in me had been broken.
Still, I didn't give up. I packed up my room, and I started looking at ads in the paper again. I wanted to move fast, because my sense of failure had grown and I couldn't shake it off. When I went to meet my next lot of flatmates I was ashamed, and felt as if I had to hide my bad history. I was surprised when they rang me to say I could move in, and that they'd chosen me from a big group of applicants.
All this time I'd avoided Reid and Sean, which was easy because we were all busy. If Sean was around he made the odd caustic comment and I ignored him, but Reid seemed as careless and happy as ever; I had the feeling he liked me, and that he thought Sean had been unfair. In my loneliness I'd done a bit of daydreaming about Reid. I thought about how he was always reading novels, which was unusual for a policeman, and about how handsome he was. I imagined him doing heroic things in his job.
I moved my belongings into the new flat, and one day I came back to get the last of it. Sean had kept asking for the key, but I was hanging on to it until I was finished. I had some kitchen things to get, some bowls, plates and cups. I went up to the flat and put it all in a box. The kitchen was worse than ever. I could tell the rubbish hadn't gone out for days. Everything stank.
The front door opened and Reid came in in his police uniform. I said hello.
'What are you doing?' he said. He lounged against the door.
I told him I was getting my stuff.
'You're supposed to be out by now.'
I looked at him. 'I'm getting the last of my things.'
'Are those yours?' he said, looking at the boxes of crockery.
'Of course they're mine.'
He started opening the lids of the boxes.
'Hey!' I said. I couldn't believe what he was doing. 'Do you think I'm a thief? Get away.' I was furious. I pushed his hand off. He straightened up.
'You'd better get out now,' he said.
He picked up the boxes and carried them to the door. 'Now give me the key.'
I ran to the window and threw the key out. He came at me and started pushing me to the door. I struggled but he was very strong. He pushed me out onto the landing. I started to cry. There was a pause, then he reached his hand towards my face, and I thought he was sorry, that my tears had brought him to his senses. But he put his whole hand over my face and gave a sharp push. I flew back and fell on the floor. He threw the boxes out after me, and I heard the bowls and cups crash together inside. He shut the door.
I sat next to my smashed things. I thought: there is something wrong with me, something bad. The realisation came to me suddenly. My tears dried up and I got a strange, cold feeling. I got up off the floor and walked away, leaving the smashed crockery. I took the bus to my new flat.
***
I did my best to fit in with my new flatmates. I went all out to pretend I was normal. I prayed to God to help me: let them not know that I am wrong and bad, that I am defective. And He did help me. I got on with life. I hid my failures and, after a while, despite my wrongness, I had some successes. I finished my diploma and moved back to Auckland. I got a good job, and one night in a pub in Parnell I met my husband.
James was an engineering student back then. My sense of wrongness was still strong, and I did all I could to cover it up. I set out to please him. He liked strong, independent women, so I acted like that. He liked lots of sex, and I was happy to oblige. I never thought about what I wanted. I wanted my self to disappear, and in a way it did. I turned myself into a good person by acting it, and even though I still felt deep down that I was bad in some way, I started to be happy.
I loved James, but I wasn't comfortable with his family. With them I had to work hard to hide my flaws. They were very educated. His mother, Jean, was an English teacher and his father was a professor at the university. James told me his mother said I was pretty and charming, but I felt a kind of chill at that because I knew she'd picked me as someone who never read books and who wasn't educated enough for her son. His parents met my mother and uncle and they got on well, but you could tell there was always going to be a problem with conversation. Jean wasn't going to talk about fridges and bills and who was sick and who was well; she wanted to talk about the situation in Iraq, and American foreign policy and Maori issues, and books. My mother always rose to the occasion, because she's no slouch really, and in fact she reads more books than I do, but I was always glad when they got onto some topic they could jog along on, like who said what in the Bible. Jean had read the Bible as an intellectual exercise. They could talk about it for hours, even though my mother took it seriously and Jean regarded all religion as mumbo jumbo.
James and I got married. After a couple of years we had our baby, Michael. James had a job, we had a good flat and Michael was a lovely baby. I didn't feel flawed any more. I felt free.
***
A long time ago, when my father and mother first came out from England, they went exploring in the Far North, and their favourite place was a small bay where they camped on Maori land. They made such good friends with the Reihana family, who owned the bay, that they came back every year, and eventually they got the money together and built a bach. They used to get a manager into the shop and we'd go up every holiday. My parents spent their days with Marama and Don Reihana and my brothers and I played with their nine kids. Marama and my mother kept each other company while Don and my father went fishing. The women gossiped and looked after the kids. They talked non-stop. Marama was as churchy as my mother, although she wasn't as strait-laced. My parents used to send me and my brothers to stay with the Reihanas some holidays, and sometimes they came down to stay with us. Don and Marama were my parents' first real friends in New Zealand, and they stayed close all the years I was growing up.
When my father died, the Reihanas came down to Auckland. They said, 'We've come to take Alfred home.' They took his body up north. We had a tangi at their marae, and they buried him in the Maori graveyard, in the Reihana line.
James liked our bach, and he and I used it every summer. The Reihanas were still there, and James loved the fact that we could go over all the Maori land because of my family ties to the place. He wanted to be friendly with the Reihanas, although he was a bit awkward with them, whereas I'd known them all my life and just thought of them as family. Anyway, we went up there often and one year we took Jean.
Jean loved the place too. She met old Marama Rei
hana, and had a long conversation with her about land rights and Treaty settlements, which my mother wouldn't have done; she would just have settled down for a cosy chat about who was doing what in the family, and all the other local gossip.
Jean was very sociable and could get on with anyone, and she was full of observations. She said Marama's grandchildren were good-looking and chic and that they looked as if they had a bit of French in their family, maybe from de Surville's time. She thought it was interesting that some of the Reihana grandchildren were studying at university. One was even doing a Masters degree. She went on like this and it made me a bit uncomfortable, especially when she went on about the university thing. To me they were the scruffy old Reihanas who we used to give our worn-out furniture to, and I wondered if she was having a dig at me, by implying that even the Maoris were more educated than I was.
We took Jean to the Maori graveyard and she enjoyed washing the tapu off her hands afterwards. She squirted some water on Michael's hands, which reminded me of his christening, when she'd kept fidgeting and making rude jokes about the vicar. She'd made James laugh when it was supposed to be solemn and beautiful.
'So you do tapu but not christenings,' I said.
'They're all just rituals, aren't they?' she said cheerfully. Then she gave James a look, as if she was sorry for him.
One day I said I'd ask Don junior Reihana if he'd drive us up to the beach his family had been given in a land settlement. It's a huge, beautiful beach that you can only get to by four-wheel drive.
Jean said, 'Oh, should you ask? They might think it's offensive.'
'Why?' I said, surprised.
'If they think we're ordering them about or something.'
I thought, what's offensive? They're friends. We were always asking them for things, and giving them things, too. If they don't want to they'll say no, like always. So I went ahead and asked, and Don junior said that would be fine, but the next day he didn't turn up. Jean started saying he must be annoyed, but I said not to worry, he'd come on a day when he was ready. I was irritated with her telling me I'd offended someone I knew well and she didn't.
Sure enough, on the third day Don drove up, ready to go. Jean made an elaborate explanation about how we didn't want to be a nuisance. He just smiled and waited for us to get ready.
Jean was delighted to be going on a trip. She got Don talking. He told her how a long time ago his father had gone to the Maori Land Court to protest the sale of some land nearby, but the Maoris who owned it had insisted on selling it to the government, and there'd been bad feeling between the families ever since. I was a bit surprised to hear him talking like this. As long as I could remember, the Reihanas had only talked about fishing and boats and the church, and all the other everyday things that had kept them and my parents absorbed.
We turned off onto a narrow, sandy road. Around the first bend we met a truck. Don stopped to talk to the driver, a one-eyed man. There was a fat woman next to him with tattoos up her arms. On the back were two vicious dogs and a row of silent boys. The boys were ragged and thin, with bad teeth. These people were related to the Reihanas, but they were part of what Marama called the 'bad side of the family'. They lived deep in the pine forest. The children hardly ever made it to school. None of Marama's nine children had a single criminal conviction, and they all, pretty much, had jobs. Some of the 'bad side', on the other hand, were rumoured to be lifelong criminals and, in particular, drug dealers.
Don winked at me as we drove off. 'He's a mean bugger, that Riki. Last year him and his missus were having a fight? He went for her, but she stabbed him in the eye with a toothbrush!' He went off into a big giggle.
Jean said, 'Oh dear. A bit of utu.' They laughed for a while.
We drove into the pine forest. It was dark and cool. The thick pine needles muffled sound and you could only hear the wind sighing. The trees grew so thickly together you could barely see the sky. There wasn't a proper road, only a track that meandered through the trees, over stumps, around bluffs, up and down steep banks. The forest stretched away as far as you could see — dark trunks and orange needles with shafts of light angling down. Sometimes the trees opened out, and there'd be a clearing, and a view of a yard full of old car bodies and a ramshackle house, the windows broken and boarded and the paint peeling, and some kids running towards the jeep, dark little figures against the wall of pines. Sometimes you could hear the whine of a chainsaw, or an axe chopping.
When we passed one of these clearings Jean said in a low voice, 'I wouldn't want to be on my own out here.' There was a house with chickens running about and a face at the window. The wall of the house was green and mouldy. It was hard to understand why anyone would choose to live in such a secret, dark, lonely place.
We drove on for an hour. Then Don accelerated and we roared up a dune into bright light. The beach was beautiful and empty, a stretch of sparkling sea with a little island out from it and lines of long, even waves curling in. Jean ran down the dunes holding Michael's hand and exclaiming how lovely it was. She had a way of throwing herself into things with her whole body, like a kid. 'Let's walk to the end of it,' she called, holding Michael. He put his arms around her and kissed her.
Don wanted to load some wood into the back of the truck so we left him and walked all the way to the rocks at the far end. Jean played with Michael, doing different voices for him and making up a long story. We went for a swim and started walking back.
Jean stopped and shaded her eyes. 'The car's gone.'
'Oh my God,' James said.
'We'll have to walk all the way back. Through those terrible woods.'
'We'll be eaten!'
They went on like this, laughing and joking. Then Jean said, 'It really is gone, you know.'
'Oh shit.'
They looked at me, all giggly.
I said, 'You know he won't have gone.'
James sighed. A special kind of look passed between him and Jean, as if each knew what the other was thinking. Jean went on adding to the story about how we'd been abandoned.
When we got back, Don was driving the truck down the paddock towards the stream. Jean told him we thought he'd gone and made lots of jokes while she got out the picnic and made everyone a sandwich. While we were eating, a big, shiny new SUV came over the dune and cruised down to the flat. Two men got out and Don went to talk to them. He came back.
'That's André and Teina,' he said. 'Bad buggers. They live in the pines further down the coast.'
'How bad are they?' James asked.
'How bad? They're like the Sopranos, bro!' Don said, and went off into a big laugh.
'Really? Drugs?' Jean eyed the two men, who were talking behind their big truck. She was dying to know more.
'Drugs, whatever. You name it.' Don said. 'I keep a polite distance. Hear no evil, see no evil, get no evils!' The three of them laughed at that.
After lunch Jean played with Michael again and we drifted about. James swam and Don and I lay in the grass. André and Teina had moved a bit further off and were sitting in the shade of their truck.
'What are they doing?' I asked.
'They're waiting for some fulla. Someone's cousin from Australia or something.'
I could hear Jean's voice, and Michael shrieking with delight. I went down to look for James. When we came back another car had driven down and André and Teina were talking to a man.
Don was starting to load up. I went a bit closer to the men. André was squat and muscular. Teina was thin, with dreadlocks and heavily tattooed hands. The new arrival was tall and dark, with a bushy beard.
Behind me Jean was telling Don, 'Michael's just like James as a little boy. He's so imaginative.' She often said those things. Michael was handsome like James, stroppy like James, intelligent like James.
I was watching the men. Jean said cheerfully to me, 'Ready for the forest? It's so spooky in there. As if anything could happen. Those terrible little houses. The chopping noises. That face at the window.'
I
turned, with a sensible smile. 'It's just a whole lot of pine trees,' I said.
She gave me a look; there was a sort of incredulity in it, as well as an appeal. Then she looked cynical and resigned.
'Michael! Where are you, you pirate?' she called.
I went towards André and Teina. They stopped talking and watched me. André's eyes were small and calculating. He gave me a malignant smile. Teina looked irritated, as if he wondered how I dared to interrupt. I went close to the man with the beard.
'Reid,' I said.
He made a small movement, jerking his head back, putting out his hands.
'Who?'
'Reid.'
He looked at André and Teina. 'Who's this?' he asked.
'You were in Dunedin, remember? Just before I left the flat. When you were in the police. '
André and Teina looked at Reid. They didn't move.
'Are you still in the police?' I asked.
'I don't know who this chick is,' Reid said. He started to back away.
'Weren't you going to be a detective?'
All three men were very still. Reid looked at me over the top of his sunglasses. His mouth was open, grimacing.
I smiled at André. I said, 'I was sure it was him. He used to have a little star tattooed on his shoulder.'
I shrugged and walked away.
Don started up the truck. Jean was singing Michael a pirate song. He clapped his little hands. James was fussing about the sand in his shoes.
The water glittered in the afternoon light and long shadows were starting to cross the beach. We drove up the dune onto the track, and the pine forest closed around us.
the mountain
From my hotel room I could see the lights of New Plymouth. There was a house facing me with two horizontal slit windows. They stared at me out of the darkness, yellow eyes.
Opportunity Page 14