Dogside Story

by Patricia Grace

  ‘Well … I don’t know. Bad-mouth yes, but …’

  ‘Rotten in the middle.’

  ‘Deep inside …’

  ‘Fly blow … shit gone to the brain.’

  ‘You know, it was Lady,’ Tini said. ‘If there was anyone bad it was her …’

  They came to the hills and began to wind upwards. They’d lost sight of the sea again but there was the big sky dipping beyond the hills.

  ‘Mean,’ Wai said. ‘And they got their own disappointments. They want the campers back but no support for that. Like we took something else off them.’

  ‘Well all their lives, all their lives same story. But in their hearts …’

  As they were about to turn into their home road Wai remembered she needed milk, so they crossed the bridge and Wai went into Bay Dairy where she met Pani from Other Side who was pleased to ask, ‘What’s with that boy of Tamarua, that one-legged, that haua? They should lock him up.’

  ‘Lock your tongue up,’ Wai said. ‘Or you find it coming out the back of your head.’

  Pani went out the door feeling good and being sure to show it, but she had enough sense to make sure to be out of earshot before making her next utterance which was equivalent to: A dog will do what a dog will do. Sister, mother, grandmother, mother-in-law, it makes no difference to a dog.

  ‘What’s this, the whanau police?’ Babs asked as Tini, Wai, Arch and Atawhai walked in with Rua. ‘What’s this, the vigilantes or the village aunties?’

  It wasn’t a good start. The Big Four were put off guard by this entirely unwelcoming attitude, this unexpected attack on elders. Nevertheless they disregarded rudeness for the time being while they really searched for this deep-down good place somewhere in hearts of The Two, for this little bit of shine that they really believed was there.

  But The Two, from the vantage point of Babs’ initial attack (which had made Amiria, who at other times would’ve thought her sister too big in the mouth, giggle behind her hand), had their theme song ready. This was—‘If you don’t want all this coming out in court, tell him,’ their two heads swinging in unison to nod, downmouthed, in Rua’s direction.

  After a time when the talk became more animated and persuasive, The Two’s response became abbreviated to, ‘Tell him.’

  So when they were challenged regarding truth, when they were told over and over they had no right telling family business they kept it up, ‘Tell him.’ When they were called out as liars and troublemakers and when one of the four lost her head and began to swear and threaten and tell the two to get that up-you look off their faces, Babs and Amiria opened their mouths only enough to say, ‘Tell him.’

  It was no good. They got nowhere. But it wasn’t the end of it. Tini decided she was going to stay a while. She knew The Two better than anybody and intended keeping at them until they cracked. They would. They had to.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Kid.

  Daylight was sliding away from ceiling and walls and taking itself out wide-open windows. He moved about the house notching them in.

  Kid asleep.

  He could pick her up and go, but it was only a thought.

  ‘You have to get in there and fight,’ Heke Norman had told him. ‘Give me every bad thing you know, the lot, then let me sort it.’

  He’d done that as best he could, remembering the way the Aunties had treated Kid, the things they called her, and how she’d never been able to do what other kids did. There was the dead cat, the home-alone, the lock out, the burn—told it all even though he didn’t want to. It was all wrong, all this court business and now there was a case building up to be ten times worse than when they started if what Tini and the others were worried about was old bones being let out to dance on prime time television and talkback.

  It was two weeks after they’d all gone to talk to Amiria and Babs that The Big Four had walked in on him and asked him to change his mind about going to court. Tini had been unable to persuade Amiria and Babs and now they had come to ask him to give up his daughter—just in the meantime—and they’d see to it she was treated all right. In a few more years she’d make up her own mind and come to him of her own accord, they believed. There was no way that they could have Those Two going to court spreading their evil and their lies, digging up the past, having their family business all over the newspapers, on the telly news and all over talkback radio.

  ‘No way,’ he’d told them. ‘I’m not leaving her, not giving her up.’

  ‘All that and you could lose in court anyway.’

  ‘Lose, then there’s all that family business all up and down the country, all for nothing.’

  ‘Don’t see how I lose,’ he’d said. ‘Only if you say you don’t back me, only if you reckon I …’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, but we think it’s better … better you back out. What people say …’

  ‘Let them …’

  ‘Whanau dragged through the mud.’

  ‘All for nothing, could be.’

  ‘But,’ Atawhai had said, ‘if you want to go through with it, go to court … maybe … just for court … maybe you want me to have a look at her.’

  ‘Nope. No way.’

  Heke Norman believed the four were overreacting about their case making it into the news. ‘The court’s not here to crucify people,’ he’d said. ‘Though it might look like it. No, our case won’t rate. You’re not criminals after all.’

  ‘But … a brother and a sister … have people flapping their ears.’

  ‘Well … Irrelevant to suitability now etc. As I said we’ll keep it out … unless they want to be sneaky and try to attach it to …’ and that’s when Heke Norman had brought up again the possibility of a psychologist’s report, an examination for Kid. That’s what made him feel like picking her up now, and going.

  ‘We have to do everything we can to rule out interference, and having done that it wouldn’t leave them much to hang their case on. Who knows they might give up, if you’d reconsider.’

  How could he? How could he explain something like that to Kid? What reasons could he give her? Why should he have to when Babs and Amiria knew.

  But now he thought he might have to. Those Two were never going to give up the idea of going to court and from what he could tell they seemed to be looking forward to it.

  Bad time. They had it in for him and he didn’t know why. Worst time of his life.

  Heke had asked him to name witnesses, anyone at all who could back up any of the statements he’d made, anyone at all who would give a character reference. ‘One or two from outside the family would be good,’ he’d said. ‘Give me contact numbers.’

  So he’d given Heke Maina’s number, but so far, even though Heke had left messages for her more than a week ago, she hadn’t called in to see him. Nothing from her.

  And it seemed that no matter what information he gave, and even if he agreed to the examination, Heke was unable to tell how the case would go.

  ‘You just can’t predict outcomes with these custody cases,’ Heke had said. ‘And you can’t stop attitudes coming into it. Outcomes should be based on suitability, where Kiri’s lawyer’s report would play a significant part, along with other firm evidence. The report from her lawyer is in your favour, I think. But there’s also evidence that she’s grown well and healthy in her situation so far, and is seemingly well adjusted—although there’s the burn incident. We’ll make as much as we can of that for evidence of emotional disturbance, as well as evidence of neglect. But we don’t know … You can mud-sling all you like, but most of it can usually be countered in some way—unless there’s something really serious, and provable.

  ‘Otherwise, if there’s nothing too drastic, too obvious, then you’re up against attitude, depending on the judge—towards your sex, your age—the idea that a man can’t manage kids especially a daughter, that a girl must have a mother, or that mature parents are preferable. Who knows?

  ‘And for us … what I have to make sure I get
across is that Kiri is part of a whanau, that she has you as biological father and that she has plenty of mothers as well, also plenty of older people who are also her parents and grandparents. Cultural stuff. You can say that sort of thing a hundred times and mostly it doesn’t sink in. There’s a tunnel-visioned attitude that believes that a person has only two parents at most … in this case only one.

  ‘But then again, it doesn’t help any of our cases if there’s something amiss, something gone wrong in the whanau.’

  ‘A brother and a sister …’

  ‘Let’s put that one aside. Let’s say whanau into drug dealing …’

  ‘All the same whanau. Their whanau too …’

  ‘Or whatever, but you see what I mean.’

  ‘And it could all blow up in my face if I go too hard at it. Like, if there are all these so-called parents then why haven’t things been better? They could think it’s six of one, half a dozen of the other and finish up with some joint arrangement since you live practically next door to each other. Not what you want.’

  None of it was what he wanted.

  The door opened. Jase came in switching the light on. ‘Bad,’ he said, ‘what they been blabbing, Those Two.’ Bones came in behind Jase carrying the baby who was asleep, followed by Remelda.

  ‘I should pick her up, get out, take off for Oz,’ he said, knowing he never would. It wasn’t what he wanted for Kid, or for himself—hiding, being on the run. What he wanted was a life here, a life for her growing up with cousins and doing what other kids did.

  ‘Anyhow they can’t take her. You’re her father, that’s it,’ Bones said.

  His cousins and Remelda moved in and settled themselves, Jase taking up the guitar and picking at it. The door opened again and Eva came in. ‘Need putting out of their misery Those Two,’ she said. ‘And as for these so called kaumatua, Nan, Uncle Arch and Nan Tini, what’re they on about? Dodgy, them. You don’t know which way they’re facing. Say they support you, same time as they want you to give up your daughter.’

  ‘Give up on me you think?’

  ‘Seems like.’

  ‘Them, and Maina too,’ he said.

  And just then Maina came in. ‘Ha ha all having a tangi here,’ Eva said. ‘Join the party.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ she said, moving round to make her greetings then sitting at the far side of the table facing them. ‘What’s all this shit flying round all over the place … Look, Eva, go and get Nan, Arch, Tini if she’s around. I got something to say.’

  ‘My father went back into hospital two weeks ago,’ Maina said. ‘Back into intensive care. Pulled through all right, again … well, so far. It’s not what I’ve come to talk about, but I was hardly home over the last two weeks and that’s the reason I didn’t get to answering Heke Norman’s message until today. Anyway I got to see him this afternoon.’ She was looking down on her hands which were spread in front of her on the table, then she looked up, at Wai, and from one to the other, ‘What’s going on? What sort of a whanau is this? Is this supposed to be a family, or what?’

  No answer from Tini or Arch or Wai.

  ‘Heke Norman went through the lot,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t believe … Well, never mind all that now. You know all that. What I’ve come to say is … I’ve come to get him.’

  Nothing from Tini, Arch or Wai.

  ‘Because how can I leave him here if you don’t support him, if you’re telling him to give up his daughter as if he’s done wrong, if you’re letting all this rubbish fly around all over the place and doing nothing about it. So, I’m taking him with me, taking his daughter with me, if they’ll come.’

  Nothing.

  But there was a shift from Arch as he lifted his head and looked around the room. Wai and Tini lifted their eyes too, glancing Maina’s way as she paused, keeping her eyes on her hands.

  ‘And if they’ll come then at least no one’ll be able to keep on saying what they’re saying about him and his daughter. Will they … ? I mean … I know here is where he wants to be, know he’s got plans for here, for his daughter growing up here. We’ve talked. We know we’ve … well … got different pathways. But … I can’t … I can’t leave them here … someone I love, if his own family don’t … if it’s how he’s going to be treated.’

  Nothing to say Wai, Arch, Tini.

  ‘For as long as he needs, or as long as he wants, if he’ll come.’

  Arch shifted his feet, leaned forward while Tini and Wai sat back, doing the circuit with their eyes but not speaking. Rua felt himself moving, standing, a weight lifted. ‘I’ll pack our things,’ he said.

  ‘He goes, I go,’ Bones said. ‘Back to Reld’s old place, ay Reld?’

  ‘That’s me,’ Jase said. ‘Not stopping here, no way.’

  ‘Not me either,’ Eva said. ‘Not sticking around. I’m off.’

  ‘Not going anywhere, Granddaughter,’ Wai said.

  ‘I’m off Nan … going with Cousin and Reld. Anyway it’s nearer the Polytech.’

  ‘Dining room?’ Jase said, following the others out. ‘Youse can do it yourselves.’

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  All throughout the fundraising project and the events that occurred during that time, Wai, Arch and Tini had forgotten to remember their deaths. Life had been too interesting to think of leaving it.

  Not that any of the three were in the habit of dwelling on the time when they would achieve their ultimate chieftainship, but having reached a certain age or state of health, it was natural that dying came into their consideration from time to time.

  Wai, for example, had looked death hard in the face on more than one occasion, but a triple bypass had put her on her feet again. At those times she’d found the face looking back at her to be undramatic, disappointing, kind of goofy she reckoned.

  Arch would regret leaving Cass behind when his time came, though he knew she’d manage all right without him, that there’d always be someone to clear debris from the creek and buy the Lotto tickets. ‘Only wanted a cook and look what I got,’ he’d say and she’d give him that snooty look of hers that took him right along with it, put the two of them in some secret place as if she was a waitress who was really a queen giving him food. But how could he want to leave her? She was like a sunny room, made him feel like bending double and groaning. Bloody hell, little fish swimming in his furry veins. She killed him every day.

  However, he knew he couldn’t expect too much more time and work from his smoked lungs and pickled liver, which had become a kind of party piece duo that he liked to pay tribute to in song from time to time.

  Tini, at eighty-three, older than Wai and Arch by twenty years, was dwindling in every way but faculty. What she was now, was a few sticks tied together with a nosy bird perched in among them. She understood, as she became smaller and smaller, that she would one day come down to nothing. Didn’t care really.

  But now Maina had walked in and caused a walkout.

  All three were jolted by it. All three lay awake, that night and on many nights afterwards, considering their deaths. Everything that happened or didn’t happen in the week that followed, served to throw their deaths up in their faces.

  Tini, Wai and Arch were upset at first that blame had been dumped on them—on what was seen as their lack of action, their lack of support. If there was fault on their part, if there was blame due to them, it was for what had happened ten years earlier. What they were trying their best to do now was some kind of damage control, wanting to protect people from the venom of tongues, protect the family. Maybe they could’ve done more about the present situation if there’d been more time, but with court coming up they knew there was no time and believed they’d done the best they could under the circumstances. What more could be expected of them?

  Experience had shown them that matters righted themselves given time and if you didn’t jiggle them too much. Could they just wait and see? In time Kid would leave her aunties and go to Rua of her own accord. In time the young ones who
had left would come home.

  But they all knew there was no time if they were going to see all this with their living eyes. Also they were afraid there’d be too much fall-out from playing the waiting game and none of them wanted to leave a mess behind.

  Another alternative was to just forget it, let it all go to heck. They could sit and watch television, go lala like Pop Henry, match their footsteps into his even though they knew the old man was well ahead of them on that particular path. If they chose to forget, the tide would still come in, go out, twice a day.

  These were tired thoughts however, and in the end they had to admit there was something not right that had to be put right, and that it was up to them to do it. They couldn’t allow themselves to sleep, die or go gaga until they’d given it their best shot.

  Besides there were other consequences as well if it wasn’t sorted. For example there was a dining room to build. All the materials had arrived but now there was no work force, or only a small and disabled work force to build it—blocks and timber, bags of cement, stones in piles, and silence. There was only so much that those with frailty and crook internals could do, though they might carry blocks and mix cement up to a point. There was only a certain amount that mothers with babies could do, and though there were others, young and more able-bodied, who had said they could spend weekends working, once they found out what had happened they had become disinclined. These ones wanted everything sorted first.

  The big question that everyone was asking was, what was the use of having a kitchen and dining facility if the houses were all emptying out leaving no one behind the pots, no one catching fish, collecting watercress, no one to help put the hangi down?

  For that matter what was the use of the wharenui itself if there was to be no family, if there were to be no speakers, no one to call the people home, no one to look after the visitors or to retell the stories, no one under the beams to create the up-draughts and down-draughts. Where would be breathing?

  OK. Tini, Arch and Wai had to pick themselves up out of tired thoughts and find a way. In order to do that they had to seek inside themselves and remember who they were.