Song of the Sound

by Jeff Gulvin

  John-Cody parked and got out, grinding the butt of his cigarette into the stones. He leaned on the open door and the wind plucked at the roots of his hair. Pole watched him for a moment then unclipped Barrio’s lunge rope. The stallion bucked and kicked and sprang away up the hillside. John-Cody watched Pole as he made his way to the fence with his long, slightly bow-legged lope.

  ‘You’re pretty good with that thing,’ he said.

  Pole looked at the rope, then back at Barrio. ‘Eli’s horse, Gib.’

  ‘I know it.’

  Pole climbed the fence and dropped beside him. He looked at the battered Ute and raised one eyebrow. ‘You reckon that old wreck’ll cover it?’

  John-Cody smiled.

  ‘It would’ve been just as easy for me to give her a tow.’

  ‘I’m here now.’

  Pole looked at him then, as if sizing him up. He took a cigar from his shirt pocket.

  ‘You want some grog?’

  John-Cody shook his head.

  ‘Coffee then?’

  ‘No, thank you. Let’s just hook up the boat and I’ll get out of here.’

  Pole moved his shoulders. ‘Suit yourself. Back your Ute up to the barn.’

  John-Cody backed up and climbed out again. Pole was standing on the trailer and he told him to come back a little more so he could get the cap on the ball joint. John-Cody got behind the wheel again and they manoeuvred the trailer and truck till the coupling was settled. He killed the engine and hooked up the lights himself while Pole leaned against the hull of the boat and watched him.

  ‘Pretty woman, Gib.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘Dr Liberty Bass.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  John-Cody straightened. ‘I never thought about it.’

  Pole pushed himself away from the boat. ‘Very attractive.’

  ‘I hadn’t really noticed.’

  ‘No life after Mahina eh?’

  John-Cody tensed, the muscles knotting up in his arms.

  ‘She was a good woman, Gib, no doubt about that. Very good woman. But life goes on, you know. There’s other fish in the sea.’

  John-Cody wiped sweat from his eyes. ‘You know what, Ned? You have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  Pole looked evenly back at him and folded his arms across his chest. ‘No idea at all, nobody has but you, huh?’

  John-Cody looked sideways at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘She’s dead, Gib. Life goes on, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s not what you just said.’

  Pole’s stare was chill and cold. He looked at the ground between his feet, and drew his lips back over his teeth. He was about to say something when a car pulled into the drive and the moment was broken. He stepped past John-Cody and looked through the open doors of the barn.

  ‘There’s Jane back,’ he said. ‘I guess she must’ve flown in from Queenstown.’ He glanced at John-Cody. ‘Are you finished here?’

  John-Cody nodded and got behind the wheel of his truck. He eased the boat and trailer into the drive. Jane Pole emerged from her car and went to join her husband. She wore a two-piece suit, and her grey hair was pulled back from her high cheekbones and thin-lipped mouth. They looked coldly at each other as John-Cody passed. When he was gone she turned to her husband.

  ‘What’s he doing with that boat?’

  Pole smiled at her. ‘I rented it to the scientist who’s staying in Dusky Sound. I thought some good PR wouldn’t hurt our application.’

  His wife stared at him. ‘My God,’ she said, ‘you’re actually thinking for once. Pity you didn’t do that before you mortgaged our home for a gold mine without any gold.’

  Pole flared his nostrils, cheeks white at the bones. ‘Don’t start, Jane.’

  She stepped away from him, then paused and turned back. ‘I won’t. You just make sure you pull this off, Nehemiah. Our backers are still keen. Mercifully your reputation is as a hunter, not a businessman, or we wouldn’t see them for dust.’ She turned and walked into the house.

  For a long moment Pole watched the space left behind her, in his head his father’s face and his father’s voice and five gold talents rattling on a table.

  John-Cody drove the boat to Supply Bay where he had arranged to meet Libby and Tom. His heart was troubled and he sucked hard on a cigarette, Pole’s eyes and Pole’s words burning into his mind. What did he mean back there? Nothing, Gib, he told himself. He meant nothing. He’s trying to wind you up, unnerve you: he’s playing mind games is all.

  Libby had asked Alex to pick up Bree from the bus stop, as they would not be back from Deep Cove in time. She told her she thought Bree would come straight to the office anyway, so she could see Sierra, but it might be best to go and meet her. She felt really bad about not being there on her first day, but she needed to get the boat to Deep Cove as soon as possible and a barge was making the crossing that afternoon. It was the age-old dilemma, trying to juggle her work with finding time for Bree. She thought about it for a long while, though, wondering if she might ask John-Cody to take the boat over the hill by himself. But she couldn’t do that, she hardly knew him and he was doing her a favour as it was.

  She hitched a lift with Tom Blanch and liked him immediately. He was a gentle-looking soul with a twinkle in his eye and an easy smile emanating from somewhere deep in his beard.

  John-Cody was at Supply Bay before them, the boat hooked to his truck; he was under the canopy checking the VHF radio when they pulled up.

  ‘You two finally met then,’ he said. ‘No need for me to make introductions.’ The breeze blew his hair about his face and he took a tie from his shirt pocket and drew it into a knot at the back of his head.

  ‘We’re old friends, Gib.’ Tom put an arm round Libby’s shoulders and squeezed. ‘Looks like a good boat.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ John-Cody stood upright. ‘There’s no single side band, but the VHF should pick up Bluff Radio from Dusky.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Mine always did.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ John-Cody looked down at Libby. ‘I guess you’re all set.’

  At West Arm they unloaded and John-Cody rechecked the tow bar then hauled the launch over the Wilmot Pass. It started to rain pretty hard and by the time they passed Helena Falls they were in full flow. At Deep Cove he swung the truck round and backed the trailer right into the water. Libby helped uncouple the bows then he showed her how to pump the fuel and start the engine. She had back-up tanks of petrol and it had been agreed she could store more at Supper Cove.

  Once the boat was in the water Libby backed her out and round, then chugged beyond the line of crayfish vessels that belonged to Pole. John-Cody drove the truck to his wharf and parked by the side of the road. He went down to the Korimako and climbed aboard as Libby drew the launch up to the dive platform. The boat secured, she swung herself over the rail, to where John-Cody stood looking beyond her. He pointed over her shoulder.

  ‘Wave dancers,’ he said.

  She turned and saw half a dozen dolphins blowing against the far wall of Deep Cove. The rain fell as slanted grey drizzle and their blowholes pumped jets of steam into the cooling atmosphere.

  ‘They don’t often get this far up the sound,’ John-Cody said.

  They watched for a while and Libby was a little irritated. Twice now she had seen the dolphins of Doubtful Sound but she hadn’t glimpsed so much as a dorsal fin in Dusky. John-Cody suggested coffee and they went inside. He disappeared below and the deck vibrated as he fired up the auxiliary engine. Libby filled the jug from the tap, then selecting a tape she switched the cassette recorder on. John-Cody lit the diesel stove and when he came up the steps Libby was in the galley spooning coffee into the cafetière.

  ‘You like it strong, don’t you?’ she said.

  ‘Strong as.’ He went on deck and hosed down the for’ard section.

  Libby waited for the kettle to boil, singing along to the t
ape and watching him through the wheelhouse windows. She liked the fluidity of his movements: he seemed so much at ease with himself, even when he was just holding the hose. He looked more at home on the Korimako than he did on dry land: the boat moved as part of him, it felt like him, smelt like him. They had the same sense of quiet, a similar kind of assurance. He looked up, caught her eye through the blurred glass then bent to his task once again. Libby poured the coffee and took his out on deck. Across the far side of Deep Cove the dolphins were moving systematically along the wall; she could see the arch of their backs, the rise and fall of dorsal fins. John-Cody poked the nozzle of the hose through the scuppers and took the coffee from her. Libby was watching the pod: it had turned now and the dolphins were making their way back to the entrance of Deep Cove. She glanced down at the launch bobbing at the back of the boat. ‘Wave Dancer,’ she read.

  ‘That’s what I call them.’

  Libby shook her head. ‘No, I mean my call sign when I’m in Dusky. I’ll answer to Wave Dancer.’

  Bree didn’t have a good first day. At lunchtime Jessica Lowden and her cronies wouldn’t leave her alone and pretty soon the new nickname had worked its way round the playground. During the afternoon she just got her head down and studied hard. The tutors told her they would be making an early assessment of her abilities and she found the work they placed before her pretty easy. Others in the class clearly didn’t and that disturbed her even more. It would not be the first time that ‘Boff’ had been added to the other nicknames she acquired. By the time four o’clock came round she was weary of it all and her horizon looked grey again all at once. She was not sure where to get the bus and had to ask her tutor, who took her outside and showed her. Jessica was hanging round and for a moment Bree thought she would be getting on, but mercifully she didn’t: Bree kept away from her till the bus pulled up then she settled into a seat by the window, while Jessica and her friends made faces at her from their perch on the low wall. Bree ignored them, let the air escape from her chest and closed her eyes. She just wanted to see her mother. It had been bad, as bad as she had thought: no, worse.

  She felt someone sit down in the seat next to her and looking up she saw the dark-haired boy who had watched from the cricket pitch when Jessica first taunted her. She looked beyond him to the seats across the aisle and they were empty: she realized then that he had deliberately sat with her and she shrank against the window, waiting for more barbed comments.

  But he looked at her and smiled, then looked beyond her to the window and stared at Jessica and her friends. They stared back for a moment then moved off the wall and swaggered down the street.

  ‘How you going, Bree?’ the boy said to her. ‘How was your first day?’

  ‘It was OK.’

  ‘She didn’t give you too much lip?’ He pointed to Jessica’s departing back.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good on you.’ He took a can of Coke from his bag and ripped off the ring pull. He drank deeply, wiped his mouth and offered it to her. She took a sip and handed it back to him.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No worries. Are you living in Manapouri?’

  She nodded. ‘Next door to John-Cody Gibbs.’

  ‘I know Gib.’ The boy smiled again and Bree looked at his face in profile, strong and tanned, red at the cheekbones: he must be nearly thirteen because he had soft dark down forming along his jaw and hairs beginning to grow on his arms. He smelled sweaty, but not in a bad way. ‘I’m Hunter Caldwell,’ he said. ‘I live out at Blackmount so we’ll be on the same bus.’

  That was all he said. For the rest of the journey they sat in silence, but when the bus stopped outside the office Hunter moved out of the way and told her he would see her tomorrow. Bree nodded and got off and then the bus pulled away from the stop. She stood in the spitting rain and watched for a moment then felt Sierra at the back of her legs. Looking round, she saw Alex coming towards her.

  ‘How was your day?’ Alex asked.

  ‘All right.’ Bree looked for her mother but couldn’t see her, and dropping to one knee she fondled Sierra’s ears. ‘Where’s Mum?’

  ‘She’s at Deep Cove, Bree. She had to get a boat across the pass. Don’t worry, she’ll be back in a while.’

  Bree nodded, dropping her gaze. The one day she really needed her mother, the first day at a new school: didn’t she think about that? Bree looked at the ground and tears built against her eyes. But she forced them down: she would not let Alex see her cry.

  Alex watched her, head to one side, and sensed her mood. ‘Would you like to take Sierra down to the beach?’

  Bree got up without looking at Alex and called the dog to heel. They crossed the road and started down the track to where the rain was chipping at the surface of the lake. Sierra raced off into the trees to sniff for rabbits. Bree wandered between the trees and stopped just at the edge of the shingle. A solitary boat was crossing the lake, the hull painted red. She thought about her mother and being here in New Zealand. She thought about France and the friends she had left behind: she thought about Isabelle and Sylvie and how it probably would have been better if her mother had just married Pierre after all. She reflected on her day at school, kicking at a stone half buried in the mud at her feet, and then she burst into tears.

  Sierra heard her and looked up from where she was dragging at a boulder in the shallows. Bree stood under the tree and wept, feeling very small against the mountains. Why were some people so horrible? She would never forgive her mother for naming her Breezy: what on earth was she thinking of?

  Sitting on the white stone by the eucalyptus tree, she ignored the drizzle and took a pen and paper from her school bag: she would tell her father all that had happened. She asked him why he had let her mother take her away from him, why he hadn’t stepped in when she wanted to call her such a stupid name. She took her time, watching a pair of scaups skating across the water while Sierra went after the biggest stones. When she was finished she walked up to the shop and asked Mrs Grady to post the letter.

  EIGHT

  ‘WAVE DANCER?’ BREE WRINKLED her nose at her mother as they stood waiting for the bus.

  ‘Yes, I needed a call sign so when I’m in Dusky you can get me on the radio. John-Cody will show you how to work it. We can talk every day and you can tell me all about school and your day, and it’ll be just like I’m with you.’

  Bree looked unconvinced.

  Libby smiled and took her hand. ‘Look, I’m really sorry it has to be like this, darling. But there is no other way. The longest time I’ll spend down there is a week. Then I’ll get the floatplane back and be home in no time. If there’s an emergency or you really need me then the plane will come and get me. It only takes about half an hour by air so there’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘OK.’ Bree tightened her grip on her mother’s hand, suddenly a little frightened. Everything was still so new and difficult at school. The first week was over and nothing had improved: now her mum was off to Dusky Sound and would not be back till the floatplane picked her up next week. That meant Bree would have not only the second week at her new school but the coming weekend without her. She forced down tears, reminding herself that she had been here many times before: not that it made it any easier. She had told her mother nothing of what was going on with Jessica and her gang, the nicknames, the jibes, the bullying at break time.

  ‘Are you going to be OK?’ Libby asked. ‘Alex has agreed to sleep over at our place, as you know, rather than uproot you to hers. John-Cody should be around at the weekend and I’ll be home next week. You’ll have Sierra and you can talk to me on the ship-to-shore as often as you like.’

  The bus was rumbling towards them along the main road and Bree bit her lip. She didn’t want to get on with tears in her eyes or a red face or anything: she would be a teenager next year and crying would be really stupid. Letting go of her mother’s hand, she shouldered her bag and stepped closer to the kerb.

  Libby bent for a kiss and Bree offe
red a quick cheek then moved away and held her hand out for the bus. Libby took the hint. Bree got on without looking back and Libby stood there for a long moment, fighting tears of her own; when she turned she saw John-Cody standing at the corner with a mug of coffee in his hand. She pursed her lips and walked back, arms folded and looking at the ground.

  ‘Tough one, eh,’ he said quietly. ‘She’ll be all right. Sierra’ll look after her. I’ve never seen a more devoted dog in my life.’

  ‘Alex’ll be cool, won’t she, John-Cody?’ Libby looked up at him, a little choking sound in her voice.

  Instinctively he slipped an arm about her shoulders. ‘Of course she will. Alex is more than capable. Last night she told me she was really looking forward to it.’

  ‘And she doesn’t mind sleeping over at our place? She’s only just had her window put in.’

  ‘That’s no problem. She’ll have her window for ever.’

  ‘It’s only till I can get something more permanent sorted out.’ Libby pushed stiff fingers through her hair. ‘God, I hate this. I feel as though I’m abandoning her.’

  John-Cody held her away from him and she could smell the sweetness of coffee on his breath. ‘Don’t worry, Lib. You’re a single mother who works. You’re doing it for Bree, keeping body and soul together. Bree will be just fine. Now, get your gear ready. If we’re going to make Supper Cove tonight we have to hit the road.’

  John-Cody had told Jonah he didn’t need him for the trip to Dusky. Libby could help him where he needed it on the way down the coast and he was more than capable of sailing the Korimako back on his own. He was due in Doubtful for a two-day tour the day after tomorrow anyway, and Jonah had dashed up to Naseby to visit his father while he had the chance. John-Cody half wished he could have gone with him; he hadn’t seen Kobi in months and was mindful of how frail the old man was becoming.

  They cast off from the wharf at Deep Cove, Libby washing down the deck as John-Cody steered the Korimako past Elizabeth Island. He flicked on the autopilot and messed about in the engine room, popping his head up from the for’ard steps every now and again to check their position. Libby stood at the port door, keeping an eye on the pilot: she leaned where John-Cody leaned and studied the water ahead of them. She checked the temperature gauge, making sure it didn’t exceed forty degrees, and watched the compass shift in the alcohol-mounted gimbal. She put water on to boil then went astern to check on the Wave Dancer. The little boat bobbed along behind the dive platform, surfing the wash kicked up by the propeller.