by Karen Zelas
Five letterboxes huddled together at the side of the road for mutual support, or for the convenience of the rural postal delivery. On either side of the road, a handful of houses was scattered among lawns and trees, while above, bush and scrub crept down the hill to meet them. A lean ginger cat slunk along the shady side of the road, retreating from the midday sun, while a kingfisher surveyed the scene from the safety of the telephone wire. The creek beside the marae gurgled.
As Sue passed one house, a sprawling bungalow, a man came out and leant in the doorway, cigarette in hand. He waved a friendly salute. She smiled and returned the greeting, then paused uncertainly. There was no fence demarcating his property. She took a few steps towards him. The man straightened and came to meet her. He was solidly built, broad shouldered, gut hanging over his jeans, with a lined face of indeterminate age. His broad smile displayed two black spaces among large, even teeth.
‘Kia ora,’ he said, in a gravelly voice. He dropped his cigarette butt on the path and ground it under his boot.
‘Hello. Ah, kia ora,’ Sue responded, feeling a bit foolish.
‘Looking for something?’
‘Ah, no. Well, yes, I suppose I am. But I’m not sure what.’ She laughed disparagingly at herself.
‘What’s up?’
‘Well, I’ve recently discovered that I’m descended from Maori in this area, perhaps from Onuku. Tātahi and his son, Waihau. Waihau was born in 1858. His granddaughter, Ngaire, was my grandmother, but she died long before I was born. Listen to me,’ she said apologetically. She extended her hand. ‘My name’s Sue.’
‘Hone.’ His grip was like sandpaper. ‘Tātahi. Tātahi. Sounds familiar. I think there were people of that name here when I was a boy. We should ask Uncle Haire. He doesn’t know what he had for breakfast, but he remembers way back, the whakapapa, no problem. Come on. I have to wake him for lunch, anyway.’ Sue followed Hone into the house. Its internal appearance parallelled her initial impression – long, low and rambling; she suspected several generations lived here. ‘Hey, Kati. Come and meet Sue.’
A handsome woman of about Sue’s age, wearing navy tracksuit pants and a Queen T-shirt, appeared from the kitchen. ‘Kia ora,’ she said, sweeping wisps of long black hair off her face and tucking them behind her ears.
‘Kia ora, Kati.’ The words came more easily second time around.
‘Sue might be whanau,’ said Hone.
‘Yeah?’ Kati’s eyes opened wide.
‘Well, I don’t know for sure.’ Sue was taken aback to be called “whanau”, surprised at how ready these strangers were to accept her as family. She doubted she could have been as welcoming to someone appearing out of the blue on her doorstep.
‘We’re going to check it out with Uncle. See what he can tell us. Want to come?’
The three trouped through the house, apparently the only ones at home, aside from Uncle Haire. Hone led them into a lean-to at the far end of the house. It was a bed-sit, with two cane armchairs positioned behind a large window at the far end of the room. A wizened old man was sleeping in one, his chin slumped on his chest.
‘Hey, Unc. You’ve got a visitor,’ said Kati, crouching in front of him and gently stroking his arm. ‘Wake up.’ The old man opened his eyes and gazed into her face, giving her a beatific, toothless grin. He looked beyond Kati and caught sight of Sue. He frowned. ‘He’s just trying to work out who you are,’ Kati reassured her. ‘This is Sue, Unc. She’s come to see you. Say hello.’
Uncle Haire smiled and nodded. He tried to get up from his chair to greet her.
‘It’s all right, Unc. Stay there.’ Hone put a restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘I want to talk to you about the old days.’ Interest sparked in Uncle Haire’s eyes. ‘Do you remember people called Tātahi, Uncle?’ Hone asked.
‘Tātahi. Of course. Of course.’ He leant back with a self-satisfied grin, as though he had correctly answered a winning question.
‘What can you tell us?’ Hone prompted. Sue leaned forward to catch the old man’s words.
‘Old Tiaki Tātahi. He lived over there,’ he pointed out the window.
‘Nothing there now.’ Sue strained to hear him. ‘Married a Kahununu – Bessie … Bessie Apeta. His brother, Henare, he left when he was only a lad. Don’t know where he went. Tiaki’s father, he was already an old man when I was a boy. What was his name? Waihau. That’s it. Waihau. His father went off and left his wife and children for Waihau’s mother, some woman with a French name. Came back here when she died. Tiaki died, too. Fishing, he was. Boat capsized in a storm. The weather changed quick in those days. Body washed up a week later – never found his son. Bessie was never the same again. What a tangi.’
Sue’s head spun, trying to assimilate the information that had issued in an unhalting flow from the old man. ‘Did you know a Ngaire Dujardin Tātahi?’ she asked. ‘She was my grandmother.’
‘Ngaire? Ngaire was Tiaki’s daughter. She married a pakeha, and off she went. Ngaire. I fancied Ngaire. Ngaire and Haire.’ He made kissing noises with his loose lips.
‘Did Tiaki have any other children,’ Sue asked.
‘Kids everywhere. Who knows who they belonged to? They’re all gone now. All gone.’ He slumped back in his chair, exhausted from the effort of recall and speech. He closed his eyes, a smile on his lips. Sue wanted to reach out and hug him but restrained herself. She watched his furrowed lips twitch, perhaps in response to some old memory of himself and her grandmother.
Sue was readily persuaded to stay for lunch. She was excited, her mind jumping with new pieces of information. Suddenly, her Maori heritage was no longer an idea. It was a living, breathing reality – and comfortable, like an old cloak wrapping around her, holding her.
‘So it seems I’m a thirty-second Ngai Tahu,’ said Sue.
‘And this is your marae, your turangawaewae,’ added Hone.
‘I’m also one thirty-second French. My great-great-great-grandmother, the woman Tātahi went to, was called Brigitte Dujardin. She was one of the French settlers in Akaroa. When her husband died,’ said Sue, slightly distorting the facts, ‘she married Tātahi, and Waihau was born. I’ve just bought the cottage they lived in.’
‘So now you’re our neighbour,’ said Kati. ‘What goes around, comes around. I hope we see more of you.’
‘I’d like that,’ Sue replied, and meant it.
27.
What do you think of it?’ Sue asked.
Jason shrugged. ‘Okay, I suppose. Be better if you’d got something more modern.’
‘But that’s the whole point, dill-brain,’ Charlie retorted. She caught Sue’s warning frown. ‘Sorry. But, you know.’ She flounced out the door.
‘Brett’s parents have a cool place on the hill up there.’ He gesticulated vaguely.
‘That wouldn’t have any meaning for me,’ Sue said, desperately wanting her son to understand. She had been pleasantly surprised when he volunteered to help load old bricks into the trailer and even to accompany them to Akaroa and unload. It made her wonder whether he had just a little curiosity about the cottage and the past; those who had lived in it. ‘So long as I can use it for parties,’ said Jason, clearly trying to get a rise out of her.
She turned to Ben. ‘Do you two want a snack before you head back to town?’
Charlie arrived inside with her overnight bag and camp bed. ‘Where shall I put these, Mum?’ She and Sue were going to stay and lay brick paths in the potager.
Sue closed the gate across the driveway after Ben backed the empty trailer onto the street. There was a pause while Jason moved into the driver’s seat. Then, with a squeal of tyres and an agitated response from Ben, they headed for home. Sue was pleased she was not in the car. Besides, she relished the thought of spending time with her daughter. The two women walked down the side of the cottage to the back garden. The sun was high and the temperature rising. They marked out the paths between the herbs Sue had previously planted. ‘I know I’m doing this the wrong way round,’
she said.
‘Not like you to be impatient, Mum.’
‘The herbs are coming on nicely though, aren’t they?’ It pleased Sue to see things grow.
Mother and daughter worked well together. Sweat tracked down Sue’s face. She could feel it trickling between her breasts and down the sides of her chest. ‘That’s enough for now,’ she said.
‘Thought you’d never blow the whistle. Don’t know where you get the energy at your age.’
‘Come off it. I’m only old enough to be your mother.’ Sue slapped her daughter playfully.
The cool interior of the cottage was a relief. They assembled plates of salad and cheese and glasses of orange juice. ‘Shall we sit under the apple tree?’ Sue asked. ‘There’s a rug in the car.’ As they ate, leaf shadows played on the women, damping the harshness of the midday sun. It felt good, sitting there with her daughter.
‘Tell me what’s happening with Ra.’ Sue still had not met him. Nor had she discovered Charlie’s definition of “mature”. She thought she had held back her concerns very well and exuded acceptance. ‘You’re obviously not seeing him tonight.’
‘Very astute, Mum.’
‘Well?’ Sue’s voice was light and encouraging, a conspiratorial we’re-both-girls-together voice.
‘He’s fine. Really cool.’
‘But?’ Charlie shrugged, crumpled a lettuce leaf and stuffed it in her mouth. ‘You don’t seem to go out with him as much as you did with Patrick.’
‘I thought you’d be pleased about that.’
‘Depends on the reason.’ Sue eyed her daughter carefully.
‘Well, I’m not the only friend he’s got.’
‘He’s got other women?’
‘No, I don’t think so. He says he hasn’t.’
‘You haven’t met his friends?’
Charlie shook her head. ‘He doesn’t want me to. He says they’re not my type. He’s trying to give them up and says I am helping him do that. I’ve got to be patient.’
Sue tried to quell her alarm. ‘What’s wrong with his friends? Are they … addicts?’
Charlie shrugged. ‘I suppose I may as well tell you. He’s been inside.’
‘What for?’ Sue could not disguise her alarm. Her daughter consorting with an ex-prisoner.
‘He says it doesn’t matter – it’s in the past now. He started doing university papers while he was in there. He’s really, really bright, you know, and gets good grades. He’s really turning his life around. I feel so sorry for him, Mum. He had an awful childhood.’ There were tears in Charlie’s eyes. ‘He says he’s done his time and he’s not going back again.Everyone deserves a chance, Mum,’ she pleaded.
Right. Everyone deserved a chance. But not at her daughter’s expense. Sue was at a loss for words.
‘Don’t tell Dad.’
‘I wouldn’t be comfortable keeping it from him, Charlie. You’re his daughter as much as mine. Perhaps it would help if we met Ra. Maybe I could keep it to myself until then.’
‘You’ll like him.’
‘I hope so.’
The silence that followed amplified the distant susurration of the sea, while emotions surged and swirled within Sue. She wanted to be her daughter’s confidante, not her accomplice. She wanted to do away with secrets. But …
‘I know what we can do after lunch,’ she said. ‘There’s a man down the other end of town who makes garden furniture. I’d like one of his picnic tables with bench seats each side, to stand under this tree. We can lay the bricks later when it’s cooler.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
Dusk was seeping into the living room when Ben entered. It was Sunday evening. The sliding door was open and the scent of roses filled the air. Sue started. Ben crossed the room and bent over her. He kissed her forehead and ran his fingers through her brown hair. ‘So soft,’ he said.
Sue smiled and put down her book. ‘What time is it? I should be getting dinner.’ Jason was at a friend’s for tea and Charlie was with Ra.
‘No. Let’s go out for a Chinese.’
‘Or an Indian.’ Sue laughed. It was a long time since there had been any reference to Alisha. ‘Only joking. Don’t look so mortified. If we have to pretend things haven’t happened, how can we relax together?’
Ben did not look convinced. ‘I still wish you wouldn’t.’
‘Okay, Leopard.’
‘What?’ Ben looked puzzled. ‘I’m going to take a quick shower.’
‘Your spots won’t wash off,’ she called after him, adding quietly to herself, ‘Ever.’ But she could not expect to change him, should not expect to change him.
Sue was surprised when Ben drove past their usual Chinese dine-in-takeaway place – it barely warranted the title “restaurant”: a kitchen, a counter, a few tables, and food adapted to the western palate. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Wait and see.’ Ben found a parking space right outside the pagoda-style building.
‘This is a bit upmarket. What’s the occasion?’
‘Do I need an occasion to take my wife out?’
Sue shook her head and slipped her hand into Ben’s as they climbed the carpeted staircase and emerged into the oriental atmosphere: plush red walls, red and gold lanterns and carved wooden screens between tables covered with white linen. Sue was content.
They sat opposite one another, faces illuminated by candlelight.
‘My beautiful wahine …’ Ben leant across the table and laid his hand on top of Sue’s.
She gave a throaty chuckle. ‘You don’t mind?’
‘Why would I?’
‘Not that I could change it, if you did. That’s the thing about the past.’
‘Perfect.’
Sue hesitated. She had something to tell Ben, something she thought he would not think perfect. She did not want to hurt him, did not want to see his brow furrow in pain, his pale eyes deaden, but it could not be avoided.
‘Ben,’ she said, ‘I have decided to apply for a position as archivist at the Akaroa Museum. It’s a one-year contract and I don’t know what it might lead to.’ She watched his features dull. ‘If I get the job, I’ll live in the cottage during the week and either come to town at weekends or you can come over.’
Ben’s stillness alarmed Sue. Eventually he spoke. ‘You mean … you mean you’re leaving me.’
‘No. That’s not what I said,’ Sue said firmly. ‘In some ways, I love you more than ever. This is about me.’
They made love that night with an intensity that Sue thought had forsaken them. It was as if discovering new things in themselves and each other had blown on embers almost cold and coaxed them back to life. Sue allowed herself to succumb to her senses. Ben left his bedside lamp on – so he could enjoy watching her, he said. His hands brought her skin alive. He lingered over her body, in no rush to enter. When he did, his movements were slow and rhythmical, as if he were savouring every sensation. Sue felt beautiful and wanted. When they came, they did so together, like the confluence of two great and turbulent rivers.
Next day, Sue felt tall, with a lightness and a spring in her step.
28.
Towards the end of Sue’s first week of residence in the cottage she rang Ben.
‘Would you like to come over for the weekend?’ she asked. She did not feel ready to go home yet. She had spoken to Jason each night and he seemed to be coping with her absence. Charlie was grumbling about being expected to do the family washing, but that, Sue thought, was something they could sort out among themselves. Sue wanted Ben to feel welcome in her cottage. ‘It would be nice to see you,’ she added.
‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t get in your way. I can bring some work with me.’ Sue wanted to quell his anxiety, but at the same time there was something engaging about his uncertainty, his wish to please. Suddenly he blurted, ‘But what about Jason? His curfew.’
Sue felt something fall into place. ‘It will be a test. It has to happen some time.’
‘And if he breaks it?’
‘That will be his responsibility. You’ve done your bit. He knows the rules, whether we are there or not – and the consequence of breaking them.’
‘That sounds like a change of heart.’
‘It sounds like being a responsible parent.’ Sue was surprised how calm she felt. She discovered she had confidence in Jason again. Perhaps she could not have made the move to Akaroa otherwise.
‘There’s a parcel arrived for you. I’ll bring it over,’ said Ben. ‘It’s from France.’
Sue knew who the sender would be: Gérard. She felt a twinge of guilt, a pang of guilt even – guilt mixed with the memory of desire. What had he sent? ‘What does it say on the customs declaration?’ she asked.
‘“Memorabilia.” That’s all.’
How discreet is that? Sue thought; she would have to wait.
On Friday evening, Sue heard Ben’s car and was on the veranda to meet him. Although she had been busy all week and loved the work she had committed to and the environment in which she was working, she had missed him. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him long and hard.
No sooner were they inside than Ben handed her the package from Gérard. Sue tore it open and withdrew a letter.
Chère Suzanne,
I was sorry you were not able to keep our dinner engagement. I believe I understand the reasons. There is nothing to forgive.
I made enquiries, as I had said I would, and last weekend went to visit my Great-aunt Sophie in La Rochefoucauld, near Charente. I had received a message from my cousin that Tante Sophie might have some old letters that had come from New Zealand. I found that to be so and managed to persuade her to relinquish them. I have kept the originals, in case this package should go astray. As you will see, the letters are in quite good condition. I doubt that they are all there, but I am sure they will prove of interest to you. The letters stop abruptly when Bibi’s mother is ill. Perhaps she died.