by Jeff Gulvin
Bree looked at the picture on the desk. ‘Who’s that?’
Pole’s eyes glazed. ‘That’s Eli, my son.’
Bree looked up at him then and she could see the same hurt in his eyes that she sometimes saw in John-Cody’s. ‘The one that died?’
‘The only one I had.’ Pole held out a hand. ‘Come on, I’d best get you home. They’ll be worrying about you.’
As they crossed the yard Barrio snorted and came down to greet them. Pole rested a booted foot on the lowest rail of the fence and mussed his mane with thick, callused fingers. ‘Hey, big fella: say hello to Bree.’
Bree twisted her face up to Pole’s then and saw the lines in the skin, like wrinkles in old leather beneath the blue of his eyes. ‘I know what roller reefing is,’ she said softly.
Pole looked down at her.
‘I asked John-Cody. It’s where the jib doesn’t have hanks. There’s a drum fixed to the luff spar with a retrieving line on it.’
Pole was staring at her, eyes glassy now.
‘It means you can pull the jib in from the cockpit or just by the wheelhouse,’ Bree went on. ‘Nothing can get snagged. You don’t have to go to the bowsprit.’
‘That’s right,’ Pole whispered. ‘You don’t have to go to the bowsprit.’ His eyes were flat slits and he saw Eli’s white-fleshed face in death.
‘How old was he?’ Bree asked him.
‘Twenty-one.’ Pole nodded to Barrio. ‘I bought this bloke for him. He only got to ride him one time.’
‘Do you ride him?’
He nodded. ‘Sometimes I do.’
‘Are you good?’
‘I don’t know. Not bad.’
‘John-Cody rides horses, doesn’t he?’
Pole nodded. ‘I think he used to.’
‘Is he good?’
‘Yeah. I reckon.’ He looked at her then. ‘If I taught you, you could get good.’ He took her hand once more. ‘Come on. You must be hungry.’
Bree sat by the fire in their side of the house, with just Sierra for company. Alex had been really busy in the office and had barely noticed that she hadn’t phoned to say she would be late. She had glanced up and frowned when she saw Ned Pole drop Bree off further up the road, then turn his truck around and head back towards Te Anau. Bree had walked to the office and told Alex she had missed the bus. Alex was fielding phone calls for Possum Lodge next door so Bree took the opportunity of not having to explain any further and walked home with Sierra.
Now she sat by the fire, burning the letter she had written to her father. She held it by one corner till the flames caught then dropped it on the logs and took up her pen again. Gone was the contentment she had felt earlier; things were as bad as they had ever been, worse now because somebody knew and that was bound to make Jessica ten times worse. But she told her father everything, told him what had happened and how Pole had been there and how he had offered to teach her to ride. She told her dad how she would love to learn to ride but how could she ask her mother?
She got the bus in the morning without having spoken to either her mother or John-Cody on the radio the previous night. She had had a shower and gone to bed really early and fallen asleep straight away with the weight of Sierra on her feet. Now she stood on the corner with her bag still sandy on the inside, and waited till the bus came. Her face was stiff and cold this morning, there was a chill in the air and she knew she was close to tears.
Getting on the bus she saw Hunter and her heart lifted when he smiled and shifted in his seat to make room for her. Bree sat down, trembling a little, and he asked her how yesterday had been and told her how he hated missing the first day back at school: everybody else was over the sudden newness of it all and he still had to go through it. Bree told him it was all right and he would be fine. His mates had all asked her where he was, forgetting that he was visiting relatives in the North Island.
The bus pulled up outside the school and Bree saw Jessica sitting as usual on the wall. Hunter glanced at her then moved into the aisle. As she stepped past him he took her hand and held it. Bree felt her heart leap against her ribcage.
Are you OK, BB?’
‘I’m fine.’
They got off the bus together and still he held her hand. She could feel the sweat building against her palm and she thought the moisture would make him let go for sure. Jessica had seen her and she and her friends got up from the wall. They looked at one another, then Jessica saw Bree’s hand in Hunter’s and she faltered. Blood flooded her cheeks and she stood with her mouth open. Hunter stepped past her, holding Bree’s hand even more tightly than before.
‘Catching flies, Jess?’ he muttered. The colour burned deeper and Bree stalked past feeling as tall as Leaning Peak though her head barely reached Hunter’s shoulder. They walked into the concourse area, up the path and into school. At the door to their classroom Hunter’s mates were waiting for him. Still he held Bree’s hand and let go only when they were inside the room itself. ‘Let’s get a Coke at break,’ he said.
‘That’d be great, Hunter.’
‘See you later then.’
‘Yeah. Later.’
Libby was attempting to calibrate information she had picked up from boats and floatplanes moving round Dusky Sound, when Alex called her on the radio. They talked for a moment and Libby asked her how Bree was and Alex told her she was fine, and that she had come home with Ned Pole.
‘Pole.’ Libby stared at the radio. ‘Why?’
‘Apparently she missed the bus. It was OK, Lib. He just gave her a lift.’
‘Pole did?’
‘Yes. I thought you’d like to know.’
‘Was Bree OK?’
‘She was fine, why?’
‘No reason. I just don’t think Pole’s my greatest fan, that’s all.’
‘Well, he gave her a ride home.’
Libby hung up the transmitter and considered Alex’s words, not really knowing what she thought or felt. She went outside and smoked a cigarette; felt a little dizzy and wished she could really want to quit. But what would she do when she was stressed, she asked herself.
She took her boat out and hunted for the dolphins. They didn’t seem to be around today and she eased off the throttle at the bottom of the Acheron Passage, sitting wrapped up against the cold that blew in from the sea. The sound was a different place as winter approached: the trees were not deciduous but some of the beech was dying and this added a mottled brown to the green, somehow casting the vegetation more starkly against the mountains. Cloud hung lower and thinner like fingers of mist and the stillness of the water was flat and loose and reflected the ice grey of the sky. As she sat there deliberating she heard a floatplane heading in from the sea.
Shading her eyes, she looked for markings, recognized the plane and was filled with a sense of dread she did not understand. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Ned Pole had been alone in his truck with her daughter? Perhaps it was something else? Things were suddenly different and she could not fathom exactly why.
The plane circled then headed up the fiord and for a moment Libby thought it wasn’t going to land, but it banked into the wind and slipped below the mountains to the north of Cooper Island.
The wind was due west and the pilot touched down and the wake slapped the hull of her boat. She sat and watched as the plane got very close, the engine idled and the passenger door swung open. Pole stepped onto a float with a rifle over one shoulder. Libby gazed at the windscreen but it was too dark to see who was with him.
‘G’day,’ he called, not smiling.
‘Morning.’ Libby looked back at him, unable to see his eyes under the rim of his hat. ‘Alex told me you gave my daughter a lift home.’
He nodded.
‘She missed the bus or something. Do you know why?’
Pole tilted his hat back and now she could see his eyes, blue and sharp like two shavings of ice. ‘I reckon she was messing about with her mates and forgot the time.’ He gripped the wing strut as a gust of wind ca
rried the full length of the channel. ‘I was heading for Manapouri anyway.’
‘Well … thank you.’
‘No worries.’ Pole looked evenly at her. ‘I’m not an ogre, Libby. Just a bloke trying to make a living.’
‘I know. I have to fight you though.’
‘I understand.’ He paused. The wind lifted the back of his hat. ‘You’re not going to win, though. Jobs, that’s what people want.’
‘We’ll see.’
Pole looked beyond her. ‘Your daughter would like to learn to ride properly so she can help out at the Caldwell place.’
‘She told you about Hunter?’
‘Sort of: you know what kids are like.’ Pole licked his lips. ‘I’ll teach her if you want. To ride, I mean. I bought a brumby for my boy but he never got to ride it.’
Libby felt her heart quicken. This was suddenly complicated. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.’
‘Whatever. She’s keen though.’ Pole climbed back into the cockpit.
Libby went home at the weekend and spoke to Bree. They were sitting on the bed in the hut John-Cody had given her to use as a den; Bree was doing some homework and wasn’t in the mood for heavy discussion.
‘Everything’s cool, Mum. Don’t worry about it. He just gave me a lift, that’s all. He was nice. I don’t know why you’ve got such a big thing against him.’
‘I don’t have a big thing against him, darling. I’m in opposition, that’s all.’ She frowned. ‘Why did you miss the bus?’
Bree flushed. ‘Oh, I just did.’
‘Bree?’
‘It’s cool, Mum. I just missed the bus.’
‘Is everything all right at school?’
‘Of course.’ Bree got up and moved to the door, trying to think of something to say, to shift the subject before her tears betrayed her. ‘Mr Pole said he’d teach me to ride.’
‘I know. He told me.’
Bree turned then. ‘You won’t let him though, will you?’ She said it sharply, an edge to her voice.
‘Do you want him to teach you?’
‘Yes. Then I can help Hunter and his dad at the weekend.’
Libby nodded, pursing her lips. ‘OK,’ she said stiffly, ‘if you want to. I’ll see what I can arrange.’
FOURTEEN
JOHN-CODY DROVE BREE to Ned pole’s house and she felt a little awkward. He sensed it and ruffled her hair.
‘Take it easy, Breezy. Everything’s cool over here.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I am. It’s good of Ned to teach you to ride.’
‘Do you think my mum minds?’
‘Not at all: she’s pleased for you. You know she doesn’t like having to spend so much time away from you. She’s glad that you’re getting to do things you want.’
‘Are you sure?’ Bree sighed. ‘I’m not sure. You’re both going to be fighting Mr Pole.’
‘That doesn’t have anything to do with this, Bree. It’s got nothing to do with you.’ John-Cody turned into Pole’s driveway. ‘You enjoy yourself. OK?’
‘OK, captain. I will.’
He parked and switched the engine off and then Pole came out of the big barn, leading Pinky on a short rein. Bree looked through the windscreen, reached for John-Cody’s hand and squeezed it. ‘I’m nervous. Will you stay with me for the first bit?’
‘Sure.’ John-Cody got out of the truck and looked at Pole. Pole looked back at him for a moment and then he smiled at Bree.
‘G’day, little lady, how you going?’
John-Cody pushed his hands into his pockets and wandered over. All at once this was more difficult than he had thought. Unlooked-for emotions lifted as he watched how Pole smiled so warmly at Bree and Bree ran her hands over the horse’s neck as she bent her head, the bit and bridle jangling as she nuzzled. Bree laughed out loud. ‘She’s so cool. Can I ride her now?’
‘Sure you can.’ Pole looked at John-Cody. ‘Are you sticking around?’
John-Cody was about to say something when Bree answered for him. ‘It’s OK, John-Cody, I’ll be fine now.’
He stood there for a moment and he and Pole regarded each other and there was something a little smug about Pole’s expression. ‘Don’t worry, Gib. She’ll be just fine. I’ll run her home when we’re done.’
John-Cody left them then, drove back to the main road and swung right for Manapouri. He pulled off the road on the Rainbow Reach track and parked in the spot overlooking the nameless place. Bree with Ned Pole: and the two of them looking at each other across the yard like old sparring partners. He half closed his eyes and the horizon dulled to grey and the Korimako’s engine thundered in his ears. Eli was in the wheelhouse and they were almost at the Hare’s Ears. John-Cody was below deck, fixing a leaking gate valve, and he could feel the full force of the swell against the hull.
The sea was much rougher than he had thought when they entered the Tasman from Breaksea Sound. But he had seen worse and it was only four hours’ sailing to Doubtful and calm water again. They could have sat it out in Breaksea but the likelihood was they’d be sitting there for the next two days, as the weather was not about to change very much. Eli had been in rough seas many times before and John-Cody had thought nothing of it.
‘Gib!’ Eli’s voice came from the bridge, then he appeared in the engine room doorway. ‘I reckon we can get the jib up again.’
‘Then hoist it, boy. Don’t wait for me.’
Eli smiled his dark-eyed smile and gave a quick salute. John-Cody shook his head and grinned to himself. They had been running with the engine and the jib, but the jib had started to luff badly and he’d asked Eli to bring it down and tie it off on the bowsprit so they could hoist it again when they needed to. He turned his attention back to the leaky gate valve.
Raising the jib should have eased the roll a fraction, steadied the barrelling of the boat, but he didn’t feel any difference under his feet and he knew he normally did. It didn’t bother him at first, his ears thundered with the sound of the Gardner and the gate valve was being a bitch. It wasn’t leaking badly but once he was on a job like this he kept on till it was fixed: you could not afford to leave anything on a boat. But the roll still didn’t alter and after a few minutes it concerned him. Ducking his head out of the engine room he called out for Eli.
The boat pitched hard and he was knocked off his feet, grabbing the lip of the freezer bunk for support. Eli must still be on deck. Securing the steel door to the engine room he went up the for’ard steps and swung round to face the bows. The jib was half up, luffing against the halyard, and there was no sign of Eli.
He yanked open the leeward door and gripping the rail for support he staggered up the deck.
‘Eli?’
No answer. No sign of the boy.
‘Elijah?’
Nothing save the wind, which howled through the sheets and slapped the furled canvas of the mizzen: nothing save the metallic rattle of the jib hanks on the halyard, the chink of metal on metal where a hook was snagged against the forestay. John-Cody stood rooted, the wind in his face, clothes soaked by spray as the waves crashed over the bows. The swell was almost five metres: he should never have let Eli do this alone.
‘Eli?’ He grabbed the twin rails of the pulpit where the jib had been tied off. He saw where the hank had snagged and he saw the flapping halyard line trailing through the rails into the foaming rush of the sea. No Eli. He turned around, scanned the empty deck and thought about going astern. Then he looked down again and Eli’s white hand lifted against the hull of the boat. John-Cody felt the shiver rush through him: Eli was caught in the halyard.
Instinct took over and grabbing a boat-hook and lifebelt he leaned over the side, the sky scarred purple above him, weighted cloud bearing down on the pitching, tossing boat. Eli’s face lifted from the waves, his hair washed over his skull, skin deathly white and eyes tightly closed. John-Cody tossed the belt over the side but Eli couldn’t get to it. He was unconscious and snagged in
the rope; coils of it had wrapped round his chest and kept him close to the boat. John-Cody reached down with the boat-hook and after a few attempts managed to secure a coil of rope. He hefted upwards, lifting Eli’s face out of the water, then he tied the boat-hook to the rail.
Now he ran astern and attacked the shackles that held the dinghy to the transom. There was no way he could hoist Eli over the side by himself. The dinghy dropped with a slapping sound into the waves, and taking the bowline in his hand, John-Cody swung over the rail and jumped in. He had the outboard working with a yank on the cord and fought to spin the dinghy so it was not beam on to the waves. He headed round the leeward quarter to the bows.
Eli half floated, half sank, his face the chalked white of death that John-Cody had seen once before at sea. Still he grabbed him and despite the fury of the waves he managed to haul him into the dinghy.
When he touched his skin, when he prised his eyelids apart, he knew that no amount of heart massage would bring him back. Elijah Pole was dead.
He relived that moment now as he sat at the nameless place and thought about the strange feelings of jealousy he experienced knowing that Bree was riding horses with Ned Pole. He sucked on his cigarette, let the smoke go and was back on the boat with the wind in his hair and Eli lying dead at his feet. He knelt on deck over the boy’s sodden and lifeless body and stared at the flesh of his face. The life was gone: the boy was gone. He didn’t even look like Eli. Slowly, wearily he got to his feet and called the news in on the radio.
Mahina was waiting for him at Deep Cove along with the police and the coastguard. Everybody looked very small against the hillside and Deep Cove itself was as silent as the grave Eli would be placed in. John-Cody eased the boat alongside the wharf and threw the spring to Mahina. Across the pass at West Arm, Ned Pole was waiting.
Pole watched Bree ride Pinky in circles round the corral. She was doing well, using her knees and keeping her hands at the base of the horse’s neck. Pole stood by the fence, talking to her in a low and gentle voice and commanding Pinky himself when Bree got mixed up.