And Did Those Feet ...

by Ted Dawe

  I wasn’t sure if I should be angry or pleased. Angry that he had given me an eight-month-wide berth or pleased that he had finished with the drinking and disappearing. I figured it was best to stand clear from making that call for a while and see how things worked out.

  There followed a few days where Dad seemed to be the centre of attention: holding forth in the evenings about his recent disasters and the moves he had made to save the day…

  Rufus O’Malley and the lost millions: “Yeah, Ruthless O’Malley, I call him. He’s coming up for trial some time in the New Year. I hope he gets done like a dinner. It’s pretty hard when someone you’ve hung about with since you were seventeen turns out to be a habitual liar and thief. He was doing this on a daily basis, Sandy. The money’s gone, that’s for sure, so a conviction won’t do me much good.”

  The house: “Yeah the house had to go. It would have gone later in a bankruptcy court if I hadn’t sold it earlier. It’s only a house, Sandy, and frankly, since we lost your mother, it has just made me sad. Too many memories. You’ll be interested to know that since I moved out I hardly touched a drop of liquor.” Now there was something that I was going to think about.

  And my stuff: “Don’t worry, I’ve got all your stuff in storage. I’ve bought a new place right in the middle of town. Great views but no grounds.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “It’s thirty stories off the ground. You’ll love it.”

  “Oh…”

  So things were different and things were the same. Dad was on the way up again. Dad had solved the problems. Dad had it sussed. But for some reason it didn’t seem to matter so much.

  I mean, I knew he was like that.

  He is my dad after all, and nothing can change that.

  Because I was unable to do any of my usual chores, the other kids were let off theirs too, while Dad took on something of a reincarnation himself. For a few days he became Dad the Child Entertainer.

  He would load all the kids in the 4WD people carrier (high tech space shuttle) that he had borrowed from the yard for a few days and we would go places. Fishing off the breakwater at New Plymouth one day. Off to a surf beach where we got attacked by seagulls. The next night to the stock cars. Iain loved that, I reckon a new life’s ambition was born that night.

  When we all sat down for our farewell feast it struck me what I was leaving. The big family thing. Being an only child, I was used to lots of space and lots of my own this, that and the other. My own room, my own toys, lots of time by myself. When Mum died and we shrank to two, I was by myself even more. Dad had gone mad at this stage: he had forgotten me and become a sort of single guy. Everything turned empty and silent.

  Then I came here.

  The farm, the uncle and aunt, the cousins. There was noise and everything was shared. Even the beds. It had been a shock at first, but now I was used to it.

  And the countryside. I used to have a pretty low opinion of the country and its inhabitants. I thought they were dumb … only good for making jokes about. But I was wrong. They were decent … and when you really needed them … they were there.

  No, I wasn’t looking forward to going back into town. I wasn’t even looking forward to having my own room.

  We all crowded around the six-sided table. The twins acted as waiters and brought in dish after dish. Uncle Frank carried in a huge pork roast and cut us off thick slabs. I had never tasted anything like it. This was followed by a pudding called trifle. Trifle is like custard and fruit and cake, all mixed together. Tasty.

  After we had finished, Uncle Frank recited a few Blake poems. He knew them all by heart and didn’t need much encouragement to jump to his feet and start spouting off. Then Aunty Lorna and Jamie sang “Johnny Armstrong” in two parts like there were two characters talking to each other. In the last part their voices mingled and together they made a sound that seemed to cut into me. Every note pierced me deeper and deeper. It was painful, but a sort of beautiful pain. I can’t think of any other way to describe it.

  Finally everyone sang “Jerusalem”. Everyone except me, that is. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t produce a single note. My throat ached with the strain but it was hopeless. Something was frozen. I could feel my face had become all wet with tears and I had to run outside for a while. I went to the toilet and cleaned myself up as well as possible. I certainly didn’t want anyone to see me looking like this.

  Luckily when I got back, Dad had produced this huge bag. In it there were presents for everyone. It was a big surprise and something completely new because Uncle Frank and the clan didn’t do Christmas like that. For the next few minutes all that could be heard was the tearing of paper. All the presents were electric things he had bought in Japan. It was good to see the cuzzies’ faces all light up as they saw what they were and worked out what they did.

  After this it was time to go. Dad told me it was time to gather up my stuff and load it in the car. Having my arm in a sling made this quite slow and Iain and Jamie ended up doing most of it for me. When the room was cleared I looked out the kitchen window. I could see all the family gathered around Dad’s gleaming people carrier at the bottom of the driveway. Something was bothering me but I couldn’t work out what it was.

  “You take my bags down,” I said to the other two. “I’m just going to the toilet.”

  They both looked at me as if to say, “Again?”

  As soon as they were gone I wandered around the house. It was strangely quiet now. The equal-sized, six-sided rooms and the Palace of Wisdom had become so familiar, so comfortable. I thought of Uncle Frank and the harmonious sixty degree angles. It was going to be hard living in an apartment now.

  For the moment there was something more important. Something that I had not given much thought to lately.

  Pimpernel!

  I hadn’t seen him for days.

  There was the sound of the car horn tooting. Dad hated waiting for anyone but I didn’t care. This was important. I ran out to the paddock, looked behind the barn, checked out the little shed where he often slept in the afternoons. Satan was near the far boundary, but I hadn’t moved him for ages. It had been the twins’ job since I had broken my arm. There was no sign of Pimpernel anywhere. I called and called but he never came. Just then there was the squeak of wire and I turned to see Uncle Frank climbing the fence. Everyone else was gathered around the car watching him walk towards me. He came over and put his arm around my shoulders.

  “Pimpernel has gone now.”

  I wondered what that meant, then I knew and I felt instantly sick.

  “Everything changes, Sandy. We must cherish everything while it is here and keep loving it after it has gone.”

  I thought of Mum.

  “We all have our purpose. You, me, Pimpernel. I have found mine here on this farm. With my family. With the League. Pimpernel was part of that.”

  I looked down to where all the others were watching us from the car. He led me away back towards the barn.

  “You are still searching for yours. Everything passes. Before long you will be out in the world. Maybe at that stage things will begin to make a bit more sense. Your mum dying. Your dad losing his way. Pimpernel. They’re all hard ones.”

  As we walked over, I noticed that the barn was now completely empty of hay bales. We walked inside and Uncle Frank stooped to pick up some loose hay. We went back to Satan, who had climbed on the roof of his little house. For a while we both said nothing but fed the goat hay, a small bit at a time.

  Then Uncle Frank turned to me.

  “You’ll be back,” he said. “And you’ll have another good time, I know you will, but it will be a different sort of good time. It always is.”

  He pointed up towards the old house truck, standing next to the macrocarpas.

  “I loved that truck. I’ve never sold it because part of me hopes that one day Lorna and I will climb back into it. Disappear down the road in a cloud of smoke. Leave all this behind.” He stared at it silently, as if
visualising it.

  He paused and said softly, “And we will, too…”

  He seemed lost for a moment or two and then he continued, real soft. “But it will be a different road, a different bus and a different me.”

  We walked slowly back to the car which was idling impatiently in the driveway.

  One of the twins had let the dogs out and they were jumping everywhere and knocking each other over.

  I put my hand out and two came running over.

  “A few months ago you would have been hiding in the Landrover,” said Uncle Frank with a smile.

  I nodded. He was right, you know, I was a different person now. The road outside the farm, so familiar, was taking me to a new place, and I was travelling there with a new dad. Dad Version 1.2.

  I shook hands with my other two musketeers. Then Ewan and Dougal. Aunty Lorna hugged me and then insisted that Wee Jock kiss my face. I winced as he left a big smear of slime down my cheek. Everyone laughed. Then, after a moment, I laughed too.

  About the Author

  I come from a large extended family and a good number of these were farmers.

  While I grew up mostly in small towns from Ruatoria to Invercargill I did have a few key farm experiences, which, although short in duration have stayed with me ever since.

  I remember those icy country mornings, the thin skinned houses and bulging wall paper, close encounters with animals, the smell of the cow shed and the thrill of driving huge machines.

  I have been to a lot of places since then but these memories always float to the surface… demand my attention.

  Ted Dawe’s first book Thunder Road won the Best First Book Award and the New Zealand Post Senior Fiction award in 2004. His second novel K Road was published to wide acclaim the following year.

  Also by Ted Dawe

  Thunder Road 2003

  K Road 2005

  Copyright

  This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without prior permission of Longacre Press and the author.

  Ted Dawe asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  © Ted Dawe

  ISBN: 1 877361 49 6

  ISBN-13: 9781775530800

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.

  First published by Longacre Press, 2006

  30 Moray Place, Dunedin, New Zealand.

  Book and cover design by Christine Buess

  Cover lettering by Katy Buess

  Printed by Astra Print, New Zealand

  www.longacre.co.nz