Dogside Story

by Patricia Grace

  ‘Well there’s other ways.’ This came from Jackson who was sitting under the window with Joeboy. It got everyone laughing. Wai was relieved about that but took the opportunity to reiterate what she’d mentioned earlier, that if they did take on this idea they’d be coming home to work—no holidaying, no alcohol, no celebrating and none of that electric puha either. ‘While we’re at it no patches, no insignia, not if I got anything to do with it,’ Wai said. ‘And remember it’s not the ones living away who cook in the rain, feed people in tents and who could still be doing that in the twenty-first century—if we’re allowed to call it that.’

  There wasn’t much hard disagreement by the time the meeting adjourned for lunch late in the afternoon. They all understood the necessity to rebuild the dining room, which would need to be fully equipped and easy for the home people to manage, all knew they had to get the money from somewhere and that Wai had outlined a good way to do it. Their crook of a relation was no worry because they knew they could deal with him easy. However there was some initial disappointment among those who had been planning on coming home at Christmas to get away from all this Y2K hype.

  If there were some who were still not quite convinced that they were doing the right thing, the smell coming from the pots as they went out to the fireplace for lunch was so good it kind of melted them. Dion, who’d been one of the ones blazing at the beginning when Wai had first put the proposal, felt himself cooling. He dug his food out on to his plate and while eating began putting forward his theory that the closer food was to the fire the better it tasted. He reckoned that food cooked on fired stones in the ground, or food put in ashes, had the most flavour. Next best was food cooked in pots over an open fire like what they were eating now. One-pot soul food tasted great, stayed hot a long time, sat hot in your mouth and swallowed hot. The next best thing, according to Dion, was kai cooked on a wood stove. On from that you were getting on to sad stuff—electric, gas, bloody microwave. Sad food. Those around him thought he was gabbing too much, thought he liked the sound of his own voice, but he’d always been the same—way-out ideas and always going on about something.

  ‘And people. People get sad the higher they get off the ground. People with the beach and trees around, and a little house flat on the ground laugh more. You go and live in a suburb, squeezed in a house or flat where all the paths and roads are concreted over, then your mouth goes down a bit at the corners and you get a wrinkle on your head.’

  ‘Ah, shut up Dion.’

  So Dion kept quiet for while, used his mouth for eating, then helped with the cleaning up. He’d made up his mind he was coming back in the holidays to help raise this money even though he didn’t agree with some things. In spite of his theories about fire-cooked food he knew he couldn’t expect everything to go on as it was. The home people were all getting older and fewer, most with one sickness or another. Anyway, it seemed they were all keen to keep the open fire since there was always plenty of wood but were going to have all the sad food machinery as well.

  It was easy after lunch.

  What the heck.

  They all wanted to be part of it, and there were enough of them around to be watchdogs regarding any of the concerns they might have to do with fish. Anyway it would be unlikely to be visitors who’d be out stealing crays.

  Chapter Twenty

  He decided he’d hear Pop Henry through then go out and find Kid, talk to her—but what to say? A good thing about being one-legged was what you could get away with, people always believing you had good reason for leaving meetings, falling asleep in odd places or going up creek to live by yourself.

  Rolling banks and breathing trees.

  Fire time he’d told Maina what Kid had said. Cracked out of an egg. Shitted by a seagull.

  Earlier, in the water by the weedy shelves he’d crumbled bait in his hands, fine enough so it floated, and the fish had come swimming about them collecting bits, flicking away and returning. She’d said she could bloody drown.

  Old Pop was seeing kehua, talking to the old ones and thinking he was back in the old place.

  ‘Wants something, little Kiri, something from you,’ she’d said and he’d had to look away, lean back taking his face out of the light of the fire, out of the way of her watching him.

  ‘There’s things …’ he’d said from back there out of light, ‘Things can’t be told. Or … could. Could … There’s something …’ Back there against the tree shadow, against the quiet of trees. ‘But what if it’s bad?’

  ‘My first husband was a jerk,’ she’d said at the stubbing-out of a cigarette. ‘He was also father of my kids. I didn’t want my kids to know they had a jerk for a father, that he was the one who I’d let be the father of them—a drug-dealing wife-basher in an Aussie prison for killing a man. Kids had nice photos of him and thought he was great, though they’d never seen him since he slung his hook and were too little to remember. But they kept asking, just like little Kiri. Didn’t want to lie to them. Well, I would’ve lied, but thought they could go looking for him one day and find out I lied. Didn’t want to be caught out, so I told them everything. You know they were devastated at first, and it was like they were mad at me for telling them, but after a couple of weeks they ditched him, shoved the photos away under clothes in their drawer and one day Pare said, “Anyway we got Koro. That makes up for it.”

  ‘We were living with Dad. Dad made up for it, was how they saw it. And he did too, Dad. They were the best days, those days living with Dad. He wouldn’t let me take the kids with me when I remarried, but anyway they were older by then and made up their own minds to stay. I was pleased when we shifted back this way because it meant I could be near him and the kids, who are off flatting now but still around. Made up my mind I don’t want to move again, won’t move again … You know, bad, but there was something to make up for it.’

  Pop Henry was sitting down, and he was just about to leave when Atawhai, beside him, stood to ask about the mobile phone. As Atawhai sat down and the talk resumed he got up onto his sticks, opened the door behind him and went out to where his dog was waiting, face on hands, eyes rolling up.

  What would make up for it?

  Looking out he could see the tide was down. The kids were along by the blowhole, some up on the banks or in and out of the hole, some on the beach and the shore rocks. Georgie was climbing the hill face, turning and calling something down to Hinewai. Behind Georgie were the twins and Te Mana.

  Kid wasn’t on the hill, nor could he see her among the older children at the hole, poking around with sticks. Not there.

  Down on the beach itself he tried to name the kids off as they appeared around rocks, from among dogs, from in and out of the poles and arches of the wood they were carrying to make a tunnel or a house or whatever it was going to be. But there were too many of them and he decided to go along there even though he thought she was most likely at home cleaning up after Floss and Minty’s baking. The Two Aunties had arrived at the meeting armed with cakes as usual.

  ‘Home, mus’ be,’ the kids said looking him up and down maybe wishing they were one-legged, wondering if he would give them a go on his sticks or lay down on the beach and give them a chance. No one had seen her outside her house or going to the shop, or anywhere.

  He found her on her bed with her arm, as though it was something separate from her, resting on a towel. It was like a small fish that had been thrown there dead, cooked and cray-coloured. Her dark skin had paled, her dark eyes had darkened. From the doorway he could see she was damp and shaky, and he felt his breath leave him.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said.

  ‘Hot water on the stove.’ Her voice crept out of her, heavy as though she was bored. ‘My arm in because …’ Eyes bored, looking at him, ‘Arm in because, I felt like doing it.’

  Had to swim, swim up until he found breath. ‘Get Atawhai,’ he said going to the door, then remembering he could ring, he phoned the doctor’s house for the mobile number.

  ‘Darling
Girl,’ Atawhai said when he looked at the arm. ‘We taking you round my place for a little jab. After that it won’t hurt so bad, then we take you to the hospital. Get Girl a bag,’ he said. ‘Get her pjs, toothbrush and things … a bottle of water. Her aunties?’

  ‘She don’t need aunties.’

  ‘Those Two …’ Atawhai said as he helped Kid up, gathering a rug and pillow and taking her out to the car.

  ‘They’re fixing her up, then they’ll take her to a ward,’ Atawhai said. ‘She’ll be in a few days then have to come back for dressings.’ His phone was ringing and he spoke into it. ‘I have to get going,’ he said when he’d finished. ‘You …?’

  ‘I’ll stick around.’

  ‘And The Aunties?’ Atawhai closed the phone and dropped it into the pocket of his track pants.

  ‘OK, I’ll let them know.’

  ‘You can’t always be sure,’ Atawhai said, his marbly eyes rolling upwards as though he was seeing him on ceilings, ‘where the problem is.’ The long hairs combed forward from the back of his head to cover the varnished top had come unstuck and were flopping to one side. Doc sticking up for Those Two, just like everyone else did.

  ‘All I know, she’s not going back there,’ he said, which he could see left Doc with words in his mouth that he was unable to say. Instead Doc asked about money.

  ‘It’s OK, Jase’ll help me out. And, sleep down Nan Tini’s tonight.’

  After Atawhai had gone he realised he should’ve used the cellphone. Jase and Nan Tini were both back at the meeting and he needed to get hold of Jase before he left there, get him to go back to his place for some gear and his bank card. It meant he’d have to find someone home—one of the kids to go and dig Jase out of the meeting to answer the phone.

  Later, when he knew Nan Tini was back at her flat, he’d ring her so she’d know he was coming and wouldn’t get a fright with him turning up there knocking in the dark.

  Once they got Kid settled he’d be able to use the ward phone to make a couple of calls.

  When he returned to the cubicle after ringing Jase, Kid was lying back against a pile of pillows, her black hair in loose strands against it. Black eyes, spider lashes above full cheeks which had some colour in them now. The dressed arm was hooked across in front of her.

  What would make up for it?

  But it wasn’t the time to talk, the spider legs tangled, separated, tangled and soon she was out to it. He sat down to wait by her until it was time to ring Tini, thinking how bullshit he was making out he had to live on his own to stop people doing things for him.

  Bullshit, when he knew he really had people to turn to any time he wanted, places to stay anytime, TV to watch if he felt like it, Jase to run round after him.

  Water? Fish? Physical life?

  One-legged bullshit hero. But what had he done for her apart from nut off now and again about other people’s neglect, other people’s unwillingness? Now it was time to get real. Now he needed what he could’ve had long ago—something to fill the gap below the knee—because now he was going to fix up one of the front houses and needed two legs so he could do it. There were windows and weatherboards that needed replacing and rooms that needed painting. He’d get a car and use some of the bloody ACC money he had stashed away. Leaning forward he removed two pillows from behind Kid and let her head down. It had taken this to move him.

  A baby in a cot in the corner with bandages over his head and ears was starting to cry and the mother was lifting him. Shadows were entering the room, lights were going on round the wards and it was almost evening visiting hour. He went to ring Tini.

  ‘Be back in the morning,’ he said to Paula at the desk when he’d finished.

  ‘Have fun, Rua.’

  He made his way along one corridor and turned into the next, and at the other end of it, coming towards him, was Maina. There were voices coming from reception, a trolley ticking along, a monitor beeping. There because of Kid, because of him?

  ‘It’s Dad,’ she said. ‘We brought him into A & E this time yesterday. They took him to theatre and he’s still critical.’ He could see how tired she was and thought of being away from there in among fish, among rock and weed, up on grassy banks by fire, in under tarps and sacking and in among trees.

  ‘I could wait with you,’ he said.

  ‘It’s all right, my brother’s here. My kids. So … ahh …’

  She turned to walk towards the exit with him. Night time visitors were entering through the sliding doors, making for the lifts and stairways.

  ‘It’s Kid,’ he said. ‘A burn on her arm. Be here a few days.’

  ‘Little Kiri.’

  ‘Asleep. Knock-out dose. Going down Nan Tini’s for the night, me.’

  ‘Can I drop you off? My car.’

  In a car, going somewhere … away.

  ‘Only down the next street,’ he said. ‘But … be around in the morning. Ahh, come and see how you’re all doing.’

  The inner door was open and he was standing in light coming through the steel mesh of grand-aunt Tini’s security door.

  ‘Grandson Albie got it for me from demolition, yeh, a hundred and fifty dollars,’ Tini said as she turned the lock. ‘Come in Rua … And security window fifty dollars, well you never know. On the back door just a lock and chain and I keep this inside door open on some nights so I can watch the old man three doors down who been putting his rubbish in my bin. Mmm, caught him putting his stuff in. I said, “Look here you get your own rubbish bin.” He been going along the rows putting his rubbish in this one, that one, this one, that one, poor old thing. His family come along and take things off him, you know. I reckon they took his bin. Got a bed for you Rua. There. Sofa bed. You pull it out to sleep. From the Warehouse. Finish my payments next month, automatic out of my bank … We get some kai.’

  ‘Should’ve got milk and bread but come without money,’ he said. He was empty, hadn’t eaten all day. ‘Jase calling in here on his way back with my gear and my bank card. Tomorrow I’ll have money.’

  ‘All right, I got blood pudding and bread.’

  ‘Haa, you got tomato sauce?’

  ‘Tomato, Lea and Perrins … Who is she, that one with Jase?’

  ‘Tina.’

  ‘Two kids?’

  ‘True.’

  While she cut the sausage and put it in the microwave with a piece of cooked potato he sat and sliced the bread.

  ‘Why don’t he find a new one, make his own kids?’ Tini asked.

  ‘Bones too. Remelda and a baby.’

  ‘You don’t say … Ahh Rua, your young cousins leaving you behind. When you getting yourself a girl?’

  ‘Mm, true.’

  ‘Aach, never get you a wife living way back there in the bush. You want to come to the city and live, like me. Never mind back home there. Look here, I got everything—electric stove, microwave, television, washing machine, electric blanket, telephone with call-waiting …’

  She was putting teabags into the teapot and waiting for the jug to boil and he wondered if she really had forgotten that it was all electric back home too and had been ever since he could remember, or did she just enjoy showing him her stuff, pleased to have someone to talk to, like him at fire time. Tini was another one living alone, choosing to in spite of others not approving.

  ‘And town water,’ she said. ‘No tanks. No more running out of water in the summer, washing in the creek and can’t have a decent bath. No mud. All concrete paths, lawns all nice and don’t even have gumboots. No gumboots. Each flat got its own little garden, bus stop a few yards down. I go to flea market every Saturday, five o’clock in the morning, to sell my crafts. Seven dollars for my own stall.’

  She poured two cups of tea, left them on the table and began throwing things on to the sofa bed from behind it.

  ‘See here, bath mats, cushion covers, coat hangers and this blanket,’ she said. ‘See here. I sold one already.’

  ‘Give me it,’ he said. ‘Keep me that one.’


  ‘What you saying?’ She moved to the sideboard then to show him what he could already see. ‘My clowns, poodles, dolls,’ which were sitting and standing among photos, calenders and Get Well balloons. More in the glass cupboard among cups, coasters, glasses, jugs and sugar bowls.

  ‘And a doll, hmm.’

  ‘Ahh, which doll?’

  ‘You say.’

  ‘I give it.’

  ‘Nah, I buy it. Doll and blanket.’

  ‘And slippers?’ She was tipping knitted pairs, all colours, from a bag. ‘Taking all my crafts back home for New Year too. Plenty of campers there might want dolls and blankets, townies and tourists, plenty money. My mate, my mate sometimes share a stall with me. Crochet hats from bread bags, her. I told her you never know, all those Hapanihi coming for the millennium might need hats so they won’t get sunburn. Sun might be too hot for those Merikana, those Hainamana. Plastic bread bags, yeh, cost her nothing.’

  A green-faced doll was looking at him out of button eyes. It had hair of all colours, a hat of all colours and yellow clothes. ‘That one,’ he said pointing his stick, giving it a poke. ‘And red slippers, mm.’

  ‘Nephew, nephew,’ Tini said. ‘I could knit you one. A slipper, haa.’

  ‘And one for the stump, what you say?’

  ‘True, true. Keep you warm … And how’s that girl anyway?’

  ‘There a couple of days, then got to have somewhere to stay while she goes back for dressings, or might take her with me.’

  ‘Yeh, bring her here. We get a mattress from Judith.’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  ‘Waiting in the water for a stingray to move away from my possie I saw black hair and white clothes, someone up on the hill. I knew it was Ani Wainoa. Ani Wainoa went into the trees so I watched, saw the way the trees moved, it’s how trees talk.’ Telling her all this when he should be getting straight to the point, right to what it was she wanted to know.

  ‘Ani Wainoa had her own tracks that she’d made through the trees and I could see the tops moving above one of those tracks, just moving, one treetop and then another, real slow. I didn’t know why slow like that because Ani Wainoa always runs.’