by Jeff Gulvin
They were silent then, a fractured space between them as they drove down the road to Te Anau. Bree felt suddenly very sad: she touched John-Cody on the arm where he held the wheel. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Hey.’ John-Cody smiled. ‘Forget about it. Accidents happen at sea. A lot of time has passed since then. People blamed me at the time but then they were bound to.’
‘But it wasn’t your fault,’ Bree said. ‘You said it was an accident.’
‘I was the skipper, Bree. Technically it was my responsibility.’
‘And Ned Pole blamed you,’ Libby said.
John-Cody sighed. ‘He’s hardly my biggest fan, and I guess he blamed me, yes. But he kept quiet about it. Or at least he didn’t say anything to my face. Other folk did, but not Nehemiah. I’ve always wondered why.’
They drove on and he pointed across the fields to their right. ‘Manapouri airport,’ he said.
They saw a dirt road leading beyond a five-bar gate that was locked with a chain. What looked like a prefab building stood at the head of the track and a windsock beyond that.
‘Bigger than Heathrow,’ Libby said with a laugh.
John-Cody laughed too. ‘Mount Cook fly in from Queenstown when the weather permits it.’ He gestured beyond the airport. ‘There’s a wonderful place just the other side called Kepler Mire, an intricate series of marshlands that’s a protected area now. Amazing from the air. If you go up in the floatplane you’ll be able to see it, a network of silver lines like mercury in the earth.’ He looked at Libby again. ‘I don’t know what your budget’s like but a floatplane is the quickest way in and out of Dusky. Once you’ve got your boat down there I guess you’ll want to leave it at Supper Cove.’
They were coming into Te Anau now and John-Cody pointed to a wooden building between some conifer trees on their left: it was the local Department of Conservation office. They swung left on Lake Front Drive and headed past various motels and a backpackers’ hostel: John-Cody showed them the underwater trout aquarium and told Bree it would cost her a dollar to visit, roughly 30p. On the left Lake Te Anau was mottled with whitened dots of spray where the rain bounced hard now, slapping off the water like concrete. They saw a floatplane moored alongside a wooden wharf and a scenic flight helicopter tied down against, the wind. Nobody was flying today and one of the pilots waved to John-Cody as they drove past.
John-Cody fumbled in his shirt pocket for the list that Alex had given him and Bree flattened it so he could look. ‘Shopping and laundry,’ he said. ‘Sounds familiar.’
‘Do you run lots of tours?’ Libby asked as they parked in front of the supermarket.
John-Cody thought about that. The season had been chock-a-block when Mahina was alive: trips running into each other with barely a day in between to restock the stores, and clean the boat. ‘Not so many these days,’ he said, and opened the driver’s door.
The supermarket manager was ready for them, a small man with a deep suntan and white hair combed over a bald spot.
‘G’day, Gib,’ he said. ‘Alex phoned ahead so all you have to do is load it in the truck.’
‘You’ll bill us?’
‘Of course.’ The manager smiled at Libby and John-Cody introduced them and told him what she was going to do.
‘That’s interesting,’ the manager said. ‘The fishermen have known about the pod in Dusky for years. It’s a pity it has to take someone with letters after their name to verify it.’
Libby laughed. ‘Not for me, it’s not.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound…’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not offended. I know what you meant.’
She looked at the revolving cigarette dispenser above the checkout. ‘You don’t sell Camel Regulars, do you?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘You should give up, Mum,’ Bree said, her mouth turned down at the corners.
Libby bought a pack of cigarettes and stuffed them in the pocket of her shorts. Then she helped Bree and John-Cody load the boxes into the back of the truck.
‘There’s no grog on the boat,’ he told her, ‘at least none provided. There’s an off licence over the road if you want any.’
‘What’s grog?’ Bree asked.
‘Alcohol.’ Libby shook her head. ‘I’ll be all right. I might pick up some wine tomorrow.’
They climbed back in the truck and drove to the fruit and vegetable shop on Milford Road, then turned into the industrial estate road and stopped outside the meat wholesalers. Libby and Bree waited in the truck while John-Cody picked up the fresh meat order and stowed it carefully in the cool boxes. After that it was Fiordland Laundry for the bedding they would need for the bunks. John-Cody got back behind the wheel and blew out his cheeks. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I fancy a flat white in the Olive Tree.’
‘Flat white?’ Libby squinted at him.
‘Coffee.’
‘That’s a great idea. But could you show me the high school first?’
He smiled. ‘Sure, it’s on the way back.’
Bree watched carefully as they drove back down the main street and turned onto Howden Street. The school was a series of grey and green buildings on the right-hand side of the road. Children in grey and green uniforms were milling about on the forecourt and playing fields. John-Cody pulled over and switched off the engine.
‘Do you want to go in? I know the headmaster pretty well. Mahina used to teach an ecology class from time to time.’
Bree looked at him then. ‘Was Mahina your wife?’
‘Yes. After a fashion anyway: we lived together for twenty-two years.’
‘She’s dead now, isn’t she?’
‘Bree.’ Libby went very red, but John-Cody lifted a palm.
‘It’s OK. Yes, she’s dead, Bree. She died just over a year ago.’ He looked beyond her at Libby. ‘Do you want to go in?’
‘Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose.’
John-Cody opened the driver’s door and Bree slid across the seat on his side. They walked up the concourse and Bree felt every eye upon her. She had been through this many times before, other people’s scrutiny, and yet she always had the same sense of dread in her stomach. Involuntarily almost, she reached for her mother’s hand.
John-Cody knew everyone, or at least that’s how it seemed. Most of the kids yelled out to him and they called him Gib or Gibby as if he were an old friend. The teachers they met en route to the principal’s office called him Gib, although some of the women used John-Cody and Libby could see concern in their eyes. She realized then the kind of position this man must have had in the community.
She had noticed it in the supermarket and the vegetable wholesalers, and the women at the laundry had all looked slightly gooey-eyed at him. Was it his loss that moved them or something more maybe? She had never seen so many people taking such an interest. It’s a small town, she told herself. He’s been here for years. He’s a fixture, that’s all.
The principal was a small man named Peters. He had grey hair neatly combed back from his face and a thin moustache sprawled the length of his top lip. He looked across his desk at them as John-Cody made the introductions.
‘I’ll meet you outside,’ he said. ‘See you around, Mike.’
‘Good as. Take care, Gib, and give my best to Jonah.’
‘I’ll do that.’
Bree watched Peters as he sat down again, fisted his hands under his chin and looked at her. ‘Well, Breezy, is it?’ He lifted one eyebrow.
‘We call her Bree,’ Libby told him.
‘Bree then. What’s your favourite subject?’
‘I haven’t got one.’ Bree shifted forward in her seat. ‘I like science, I suppose. I must take after my mum in something.’ She glanced at her mother then back at him again. Clear-eyed, she spoke with confidence. ‘I like all subjects.’
‘Bree’s been to school in quite a few countries,’ Libby explained. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing really. My job takes me
around the world a lot.’
‘Can you speak any languages?’ Peters asked Bree.
‘French and Spanish fluently.’
‘Really?’ He sat back and drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Well, there’s not much call for either of those here, although we are a tourist town. We do teach Japanese, though.’
Bree’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Wow. That sounds great.’
‘What about sport?’
Bree shrugged.
Libby explained that she had never been that sport-minded. Peters looked at her then.
‘This is New Zealand, Dr Bass. Everyone’s sport-minded.’ He turned to Bree again. ‘The girls play the same sports as the boys, and that includes rugby. You’ll be expected to join in.’
Bree didn’t say anything, trying to keep the fear from her face. She hated games, had always done so: the only thing she had been vaguely good at was lacrosse and they only played that in the school at Vimereux. The thought of being flattened in the mud with a dozen girls climbing on top of her was appalling. Libby sensed her reaction and quickly intervened. She explained that they had the trip to Dusky Sound to make and then Bree would begin lessons.
Peters looked less than impressed. ‘The half-term holiday is over, Dr Bass. She really should be in school.’
‘Yes, I know that, Mr Peters.’ Libby looked evenly at him. ‘But my research is going to keep me in Dusky Sound a lot and Bree needs to know where I am. Her life’s been turned upside down just lately and it’s important she has a bit of a break before she starts again.’
‘Even so, it’s not good to miss lessons. The curriculum waits for no-one.’
‘Bree’s a bright girl, Mr Peters. She arrived in France not knowing the language and a year later she was fluent and in the top three of her class.’ Libby got up and held out her hand. ‘We’ll see you after we get back.’
‘All right.’ He shook her hand. ‘If you’re going to be away a lot, though, we’ll need to know details of Bree’s child care.’
Outside, John-Cody was waiting for them in the truck and he leaned over and opened the passenger door. ‘Everything OK?’
Bree made a face at him. ‘They’re going to make me play rugby.’
‘No worries: you’ll be wearing an All Black jersey in no time.’
They had coffee in a little restaurant at the back of a small parade of shops, and were joined by a wild-eyed Maori with long black hair tied at the neck. John-Cody introduced him as Jonah, Mahina’s younger brother, and told them Jonah would be cooking on the boat.
‘So you better eat it,’ Jonah said, thinning his eyes at Bree. ‘Or I might just eat you. You look like you’d make a good feed.’
Bree looked terrified and Jonah laughed out loud. John-Cody rested his chin in his palm and looked at Libby. ‘As you can see, Jonah has no children of his own.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jonah said to Bree. ‘I don’t mean anything. Ignore me.’
‘I will.’
‘Good on you.’ He looked at Libby then. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘It’s just that the old man here has been perched on that boat for so long I never thought we’d leave Deep Cove again. I’m excited, that’s all.’
John-Cody looked at him. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he said. ‘I need a hand to load the stores.’
They drove back to Manapouri and dropped Libby and Bree off at the house, then John-Cody and Jonah took the truck down to Pearl Harbour and transferred the stores to the boat that would ferry them across the lake in the morning.
‘That Libby looks like one sweet wahine, Gib,’ Jonah commented as they loaded the last of the boxes.
John-Cody leaned on the rail and looked across the inlet where evergreen trees shrouded the far bank. ‘You think so? I can’t say I’ve noticed.’
Back at the house Libby made some phone calls and Bree went into the garden. She took her paper and envelopes down to the hut and lay on the bed. She could hear the leaves being blown about on the roof above her head.
Dear Dad,
Well, we’ve arrived in Manapouri and it’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be. We’ve met this really cool guy called John-Cody Gibbs. I think you’d like him: he’s old and his haircut is awful, far too long, but he’s really nice. Sort of quiet and friendly and cool. He’s got a boat called the Korimako. I’ve got a new room. The house is a bungalow so there are no stairs or anything. Mum’s busy, but we‘re all going on the boat tomorrow to a place called Dusky Sound. I’ve told you about that before. It’s where Mum’s going to study dolphins. There’s a lot of us going down there tomorrow for a week. I hope I don’t get seasick. I’m sure I won’t.
Anyway there’s this great dog called Sierra. She’s here with: me now. I think she likes me. I don’t think John-Cody’s taken a lot of notice of her lately so she hangs out with me. He can’t have because he’s been living on his boat and Alex told me that dogs aren‘t allowed in the national park without a special permit. Alex is cool, she lives by the lake and has this huge window in her attic. She says I can go round any time and look at the view. Maybe I will.
I’ve been to my new school but I’m not starting till we get back from Dusky Sound. You know what a sound is, don’t you. Of course you do. Anyway the school seems OK. I’m going to learn Japanese and there’s a bus so Mum won’t have to take me. I still don’t know who’s going to look after me while she’s working. At least I’ll have Sierra. She’s been staying with Alex, but John-Cody says she can stay here tonight. This is her house after all. By the way, I’m writing this in the hut. That’s what it is, a hut, but it’s got a bed and a shower and toilet. John-Cody says I can use it for a den. He’s a really cool guy actually. Anyway, they play rugby at school, even the girls. I’m useless at games except lacrosse and I’m terrified of playing rugby. It’s really bad news, but at least I’ve got a week on the boat before I have to think about it. We should see dolphins and seals and maybe even whales. I’ll write again when I get back.
Love always, Bree
FIVE
THE LETTER FROM THE bank was what pole had expected, no more, no less: they wanted their money back and they wanted it soon. Folding it away, he climbed the stairs to his study and stood in the window, looking out across Lake Te Anau. Jane had redesigned this window for him. She was good at things like that, making the most of the house he had built after his first wife took off to Australia with Eli when the boy was nine years old. As soon as he hit eighteen, though, Eli was back in New Zealand, working first with his father then with Gibbs of all people. Pole glanced at his smiling face in the photo on the desk, and wished his son had remained in Australia. To this day his mother blamed him for Eli’s death.
Barrio stood in the field and snorted up at him as if he could smell his presence, and Pole went out to the barn where the horse tack was hanging. He led the horse, saddled and jangling his bit, out of the field and walked him in a circle. Jet black and big-boned, he stood over eighteen hands in height; his mane was long and uncut and it flew as he tossed his head in the wind. Pole stepped into the left stirrup and Barrio walked on so he had to hop on one leg before hoisting himself up.
No sooner was he in the saddle than he felt the beast tense to spring away, but Pole had been riding almost as long as he had been walking and he checked Barrio’s zeal. He made him walk backwards then sideways, then in a small circle to show him who was in charge. Then he settled into a rising trot towards the road. A grass verge bordered the tarmac virtually all the way to Manapouri, and as they turned right Pole squeezed the horse into a canter.
Now he was in the dust-blown hills of the Northern Territory, riding out after pigs with his father, just a few days before he went to Vietnam. He had been in the army for three years when the war blew up and his father was telling him how to look after himself in the jungle. ‘You’re a big man, son. Make sure they know it. Don’t stand for any nonsense and trust the Lord to guide you.’
He would never forget his father, tall and thin and very uprig
ht. His chin jutted at the world and he took the ribbing from his mates about his Sunday churchgoing with a calm assurance, as if he knew things that they did not. He was teetotal and never smoked, but he hunted and fished and was a mean fast bowler for the local cricket team. Pole had watched him take five wickets in two consecutive overs one Saturday afternoon. Expectation surrounded him like an aura. Ned was his only son and he never let him forget it. Stand up straight, boy, and look this world in the eye, was his attitude. Your real reward is in heaven, but God isn’t going to thank you for wasting your time down here. Remember the parable of the talents. Get things done, Nehemiah: be somebody I can be proud of.
Pole galloped along the road to Manapouri, feeling Barrio’s immense power with every loping stride. He rode low in the saddle, preferring the longer stirrup used by the stockmen rather than the English version. He knew the parable of the talents by heart. Matthew 25: For the kingdom of heaven is as a man travelling into a far country, who called his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods. And unto one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one … Then he that had received the five talents went and traded with the same, and made them other five talents… He rode on, his father’s face in his mind and those words ringing in his head.
Tom Blanch pulled over in his Triumph and Pole reined Barrio in.
‘G’day, Ned. That’s some kind of horse you got there.’ Tom leaned one arm out of the window, his white hair standing up from his forehead, lips hidden in the thickness of his beard.
‘I reckon: that old brumby I bought for my son, remember.’
Tom looked beyond Pole to the Murchison Mountains, part of the Southern Alps that straddled the west coast of the South Island.
‘How long has it been now?’
‘Five years.’ Pole let Barrio’s head drop and dismounted. From his shirt pocket he took a black cigar and offered it to Tom, who shook his head.