Past Perfect

by Karen Zelas

  Suddenly she felt light, as if she were escaping the anchoring pull of gravity. She wanted to shout, to laugh, to cry; to jump up on the doctor’s desk and dance a fandango, stamping her heels and swinging her hips. But she restrained herself. She turned to Ben. He sat inert in the upright chair beside hers.

  ‘Aren’t you pleased?’ she asked, as he followed her out into the passage. She searched his face for a reflection of the excitement and relief she felt. Ben’s brow furrowed and tears stood in his eyes, as if he had heard quite different news. Sue had not realised how worried he must have been behind his pragmatic exterior. She slipped her hand in his and kissed his cheek. ‘It’s all right now,’ she said.

  Ben’s sudden movement startled her. He grabbed her to him and held her tightly. From within the folds of his jacket, Sue could see the curious glances of waiting patients. But she did not care.

  That evening, Sue cooked a celebratory dinner. She had been bursting to tell Jason when he arrived in from school and had watched the clock as it showed 4:00, 4:15, 4:45, 5:10. They lived only a ten-minute bike ride from the school; he was not usually late.

  Finally the gate clicked, a bicycle clattered against the side of the house, the door banged and Jason appeared in the kitchen, dumping his satchel on the table.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Sue could not keep accusation from her voice.

  Jason shrugged.

  ‘Jason?’ Irritation had replaced the anticipation of telling her son that he would not be losing his mother.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you, that’s what,’ she said. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Nowhere.’

  Sue could see the conversation proceeding this way for some time.

  ‘I’ve had the all-clear,’ she said. ‘So I’ll be here to annoy you for a long time yet.’

  The good news had not emerged as Sue intended, and it elicited barely a grunt from Jason on his way to the fridge. Still, she told herself, it was impossible to know what might be going on inside him. Maybe it was no longer cool to show your mother you loved her or still needed her.

  Charlie’s response, when she came in soon after, was quite the opposite. She danced around the kitchen with Sue, hugged her, squealed, laughed and cried. ‘Awesome! Oh, Mum.’ She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed. ‘I’ve got to go, or I’ll pee myself.’ She rushed from the room. Jason rolled his eyes to the ceiling; usually that was Charlie’s gesture of disdain.

  ‘Aren’t you pleased, too, Jase?’ Sue could not help herself.

  Jason shrugged again. ‘Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?’ He curled his legs under the chair and pushed himself erect, his palms on the edge of the table, like a long snake uncoiling. ‘Got things to do. So don’t disturb me,’ he added, heading for his room. Sue waited for the slam of his door and the base boom of his stereo, and was not disappointed. She felt her son moving further and further from her. Even when they were in the same room he was often out of her reach these days. She knew less and less about him, what was going on at school, who his friends were. He never brought James or Connor home now. Perhaps this was just the way teenage boys were; other mothers seemed to complain of much the same thing. But Sue had expected something different of her relationship with her son. She thought it was solid enough to weather the storms of adolescence that everyone spoke of with apprehension. But now she was not so sure. Lately she had felt she was living on a fault line. Today, with Dr Clarke’s pronouncement, she had thought things were stabilising, but it seemed she was wrong; as one tremor settled, another commenced.

  After dinner, Sue rang Jayne. It seemed like stirring up a storm for nothing, now the cancer scare was over. She wondered if Jayne would think she was being a drama queen, looking for sympathy. But Jayne should know, she decided finally; Sue’s scare should sound an alert for her as well. Jayne should be having regular mammograms and breast examinations and Sue did not know whether she was. She had to tell her.

  Sue was not prepared for the anger that burst from the telephone when she recounted the story of the routine mammogram, the repeat, the lump, the biopsy and, finally, the clearance.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’ Jayne shouted. ‘You always treat me like a child. I can’t stand it. I’m a grown woman.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I … I didn’t mean …’ She was the one who had had the flirtation with death. She deserved the sympathy and here she was apologising. Her view of Jayne as a self-centred child was confirmed yet again. She was only wanting to protect her sister, she tried to convince herself, knowing that it was not entirely true. If Jayne behaved like a child, she should expect to be treated like one. Sue felt quite justified in her stance, at the same time not wanting a rift to grow between them.

  Silence dragged on. Sue wondered what Jayne was waiting for her to say.

  ‘Sue?’

  ‘It’s … it’s been a hard couple of weeks,’ Sue said.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s just … Would you like me to come over? I can’t really afford it, but …’ Her voice trailed away.

  Sue was surprised at the offer, although she clearly did not want or perhaps expect to be taken up on it. ‘I’m all right, now the wait is over,’ Sue assured her, meaning it.

  ‘Really?’ Jayne sounded relieved.

  ‘I’ll just have a small scar on my right breast. But I haven’t been sleeping. Dreaming lots. It’s been an unsettling time,’ Sue added, immediately regretting the opening she had offered.

  But she need not have worried. Jayne made it clear that she was thinking of herself.

  ‘I can’t imagine having a breast removed,’ said Jayne.

  Akaroa,

  10th September, 1840.

  Ma chère Maman,

  Day after day the same thing: digging fern roots, clearing bracken, removing stumps. It is so exhausting! The most I can say for the weather is that it enables us to burn the debris without fear of fire spreading. My husband’s hands have hardened with thick yellow calluses on his fingers and palms. My arms are covered in scratches and sores from gathering the cuttings into a bonfire, and my clothes and hair are thick with smoke, a sweet smell which I do not mind. I have become fit and strong and work alongside my husband most of the day, as well as joining the other women in the kitchen and beside the stream with the laundry.

  The area cleared grows little by little, but at least we have more to show for our labours than do most of our fellow citizens. Some seem overwhelmed by the task and by our conditions; they sit and do little. I said to Rose and Madeleine, only today, that they will never have a warm, weatherproof home unless they are prepared to get rough hands like mine. Although Rose can be excused for now, as she is expecting another child any day, Madeleine’s youngest was born on the voyage. She is a good wee soul, and Cathérine, the oldest, at nine years, could care for her much of the time. But Madeleine did not appreciate my comment.

  It is hard work and at times my spirit almost fails, too. I have little left for anything else. I take strength from thinking of you, Maman, of your love and what you would want for me.

  All my love,

  Bibi

  Next evening at dinner Sue watched her daughter sparring with Ben. Charlie had been among students picketing the visiting Minister of Education about student fees.

  ‘I thought the Minister acquitted himself very well,’ Ben said.

  ‘Da-ad! He did not. Same old platitudes. Makes me want to –’

  ‘You’ve no need to protest. You don’t pay your fees. And you don’t see your mother and me out there protesting.’

  ‘That’s not the point, Dad.’

  ‘It’s very much the point, my girl. And it’s embarrassing.’

  ‘Embarrassing?’ Charlie hooted.

  ‘How do you think it makes me look?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with you, Dad. You’re not that important. If you don’t like it, just stay out of the way.’

  Jason snorted, almost choking. He watched the sparring inten
tly. He did not need to participate, Sue thought; Charlie was doing it for him.

  There was no way Ben was going to concede territory to his daughter. Gone were the days when everything Ben did was right in Charlie’s eyes and nothing Charlie did could be wrong in his. Sue wondered why this struggle was necessary; she did not remember anything like it from her own adolescence.

  Positioning her knife and fork symmetrically on her empty plate, Sue spoke to everyone and to no one in particular. ‘I’m going to research my genealogy,’ she said. The heated discussion continued unabated. Sue noted the tight defiant expression on her daughter’s face, the up-tilted chin. She was a force to be reckoned with. Sue could not help admiring Charlie; she did not always agree with her, but she admired her spunk. She waited for a lull in the voices.

  ‘I said,’ she began again more firmly, ‘I have decided to research my genealogy.’

  ‘What’s that? Another disease?’ Jason leant forward, anxiety compressing his face. Perhaps he cared after all.

  ‘No, you idiot. Her family tree.’

  ‘That’s no way to speak to your brother.’ Sue put an admonishing hand on Charlie’s arm, while unburdening Jason with a smile.

  Ben examined his wife intently, his brow furrowed. ‘Why?’ he asked after a considerable time.

  ‘Why what?’ Sue wondered if she was expected to submit a proposal in triplicate.

  ‘Why would you want to do that?’

  Sue leant back in her chair, folded her arms and wondered what her husband was thinking. She watched as his brow released and amusement tracked across his face. She had been right; she had said to Annie that he would think her a joke. But she was not going to let that stop her. It was a perfectly reasonable interest to follow. ‘It won’t affect any of you,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, but –’ Ben persisted.

  ‘It interests me,’ Sue interrupted; she could hear the edge in her voice.

  ‘Why now? All of a sudden?’

  Sue shrugged. She did not know that she could be bothered to explain. Ben should be able to see it for himself, and if he could not, then he should accept it as something his wife wanted to do, support her interest; welcome it even. But, in the interests of peace, she put her irritation aside, taking his enquiry at face value, treating it as reasonable. ‘I suppose it’s been brewing for a while,’ she said in an even tone. ‘I want to know more about the people in my past. More about my origins.’

  ‘I thought it was supposed to be adolescents who had identity crises.’

  ‘Don’t be rude, Charlie. Your mother’s entitled to pursue something that interests her.’ Sue silently thanked Charlie for provoking Ben into shifting through 180º. Frowning at his daughter, Ben scraped the last of his food onto his fork. ‘Well, if you’re determined to go ahead, you should start by getting on the internet and –’

  ‘I’ll work it out.’

  ‘Just trying to help. All my research experience –’

  ‘I know. Thanks. But I can do it.’ This was to be Sue’s project, and she was not having Ben take it over. This was about herself. She could not profess to understand in exactly what way it was about herself, but she knew she had to find her own way through; that the journey was as important as the destination.

  ‘Sounds bo-o-oring to me,’ said Jason.

  ‘What do you hope to find that we don’t know already?’ Charlie asked, genuine interest in her voice.

  Jason pushed his chair away from the table and rocked on the back legs. Sue frowned and shook her head. He made an emergency four-point landing.

  ‘We know where Nan and her family came from,’ Charlie continued.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll have to go over to England and Scotland and look up records in tiny country churches. Now, there’s an idea. Can I come, too?’ she ended, the pitch of her voice rising with enthusiasm.

  ‘I’m more interested in the French connection –’ Sue started, pleased at her daughter’s interest.

  Jason turned to his father. ‘Isn’t that a movie?’

  ‘With Gene Hackman,’ said Ben.

  ‘– at Akaroa,’ finished Sue.

  ‘I didn’t know it was filmed in Akaroa. It wasn’t, was it, Dad?’

  ‘The French settlers at Akaroa,’ Sue said, cutting through their conversation. ‘Your great-great-grandparents or great-great-great-grandparents on Poppa’s side of the family are said to have come from France. I want to find out if it’s true and learn what I can about them.’

  ‘The French? That was a fiasco. They weren’t aristocracy, you know. You’d be better researching the British connection.’ A complacent expression settled on Ben’s face, fuelling Sue’s irritation. ‘You’re more likely to find a family castle there, if that’s what you’re after, than a château in France.’

  Sue spent the following afternoon reading in the basket-chair, suspended in dappled shade at the end of the garden. The morning had seen her in the library exploring books on the early settlement of Canterbury, in particular, Banks Peninsula.

  It had not been long before she had discovered the list of passengers who had sailed from Rochefort in January 1840. And among them were a Claude Dujardin and his wife Brigitte!

  Together with the family whisper of French ancestors, the passing down of the unusual family name of Dujardin, Sue was satisfied that there was a valid connection and she would eventually be able to trace the lineage down the generations.

  A sense of pride and excitement swelled within her. She needed to know more; she needed to know why they made such a courageous decision and embarked on a fraught and dangerous journey across the world. She wanted to know something of the politics of the emigration and to understand how life would have been for them when they arrived in New Zealand.

  She had searched out all the available literature. It was difficult not to be side-tracked into all manner of fascinating areas from Maori history to local flora, whaling to the “first four ships”. Though Sue had a Masters in History, she knew so little about this fascinating history so close to home, so relevant and suddenly so personal.

  She became engrossed in reading about the politics of colonisation, and the manner in which it was acted out in this tiny theatre so far from Europe. Overall, Sue thought the French came out in a better light than the English. Especially Captain Charles-François Lavaud of the French naval ship L’Aube; she liked what she read of him. He seemed pragmatic, fair and respectful of both the British and Maori. She became angered by Lieutenant-Governor Hobson’s duplicity, the half-truths it seemed he had told Lavaud.

  Sue learned that on arriving in New Zealand, Lavaud had taken L’Aube into the Bay of Islands to make a courtesy call to Hobson. Captain Stanley of the Britomart spoke French and acted as translator. When Mrs Hobson indicated she had never been aboard a French man-of-war, Lavaud invited Hobson and his wife to dine aboard L’Aube. Lavaud had already learned from the French Bishop Pompallier of the Treaty of Waitangi signed with the Northern Maori Chiefs. But, it seemed, Hobson neglected to mention to Lavaud during their collegial discussions that Major Bunbury was recently returned from the South Island with further signatures to the Treaty. As a consequence, correspondence from Lavaud to the French Minister of the Exterior made it plain that he believed it still possible to claim the South Island (or “Middle Island”) for France. Hobson then sent the Britomart, with newly appointed Police Magistrate, Charles Barrington Robinson, to sail to Akaroa ahead of Lavaud, to visit settlements, hold Court in the name of Queen Victoria, and raise the British flag, claiming sovereignty of the South Island. On finally arriving in Akaroa, Lavaud found the British coup to be a fait accompli, but was unable to concede until the French Government agreed to acknowledge British sovereignty. With the traditional enmity between England and France, this did not occur until six years later.

  So, it had not exactly been a race between the French and the British, as Sue had believed, but rather, it seemed to her, a subterfuge by the British. The strength of Sue’s feeling surprised he
r, and was not in keeping with the laziness of the afternoon. Had Lavaud not diverted in order to extend to Hobson the courtesy of one naval captain to another, he would have arrived in Akaroa well before the British, and may have succeeded in claiming the South Island, despite a few signatures on a piece of paper. Then Sue might have been a citizen in a French colony, she thought.

  Meanwhile, Sue read, a reluctant Lavaud was made King’s Commissioner by King Louis-Phillipe and given the responsibility of administering the French settlement at Paka-Ariki.

  It was complicated. As she swung herself gently, Sue concluded she had absorbed all she could for one day. Her mind was bulging and she felt strangely disquieted; captured by something that felt larger than her understanding of it. She closed her eyes, forcing her mind to drift. As she floated, she listened at first to the world around her, but then, increasingly, to something inside herself. Something elusive, beyond her grasp. She became aware of tension in her jaw and let it go slack. Gradually, she relaxed, her breathing slowed and, before long, she was asleep, the book securely between her hip and the woven cane.

  The breeze arrived, chasing fallen rose petals across the deck like confetti. A strong grey arch of cloud reached across the western sky, powder blue below.

  Sue woke suddenly, squinting up at Charlie’s silhouette. ‘I fell asleep. It must be getting late.’ She made to get out of the swing.

  Charlie put out a staying hand. ‘Relax, Mum. I’ll get us a cold drink.’ She was back before Sue had gathered her thoughts. ‘Lemonade.’ Sue accepted the tall glass gratefully. Charlie settled herself in a low wooden chair boasting gaily-coloured squabs. She kicked off her sneakers and tucked her feet up. Like mother, like daughter. Charlie’s attitude toward Sue had softened, even as her attitude to her father had become more tense and provocative. It felt to Sue that she was sitting with a friend rather than a daughter, a recent experience, and one she appreciated but could not yet take for granted; she still could not predict whether she would meet an adult, a provocative teenager, or a self-centred and obstreperous toddler. So she savoured moments like this.