by Derek Hansen
She couldn’t help noticing that her body was changing. Parts that sagged had either toned up or disappeared. She’d lost weight and found muscles she never knew she possessed. She’d never felt so healthy and full of energy in all her life. Regrettably, her breasts had also adapted to the new regime by losing some of their fullness, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that there was no one around to care. She doubted that Red would notice if she woke up one day as flat as the wall she was scraping. She could hear him high up on the ridge above her, taking his parang to the scrub. She smiled. She found it hard to think of Red and not smile. She liked having a man in her bed and wanted him there more often. Sleeping alone seemed to her a waste of her God-given talent. Red was kind, strong, sensitive and undemanding. He was everything she wanted and more. It was the more that was the problem, and she wished her father would hurry up and answer her letter.
As she sanded the weatherboards she glanced at the back of her hands, one braced against the wall while the other rubbed. They were no longer the soft hands of a doctor or office worker but two indispensable tools. They’d become chafed, calloused and wrinkled, work-worn and weathered by sun and wind. In a perverse way, she was proud of them. They were no longer hands that wrote reports but working hands that baited hooks, hauled in hard-fighting fish and filleted them. They were the hands of a survivor.
She worked her way down from the eaves to the cement block foundations and prepared to shift her ladder, but her thirst got the better of her. She washed her hands in the laundry and stripped off her overalls. They were so masculine and functional, simply pulling them on made her feel competent. She threw a couple of sticks of hakea into the Shacklock and opened the vent. Then she collapsed down on a chair on the veranda while she waited for the kettle to boil. The cicadas had gone with summer and the bees had vacated her neck of the woods for others in blossom. There was nothing to interrupt the silence of the bush, except the occasional bird call and the distant, lonely, chip-chop-chip of Red’s parang. She knew what he was doing, cutting a trail through to the top of Tataweka Hill so that he could watch for Japanese trawlers, but had no idea why he would want to. She mistakenly dismissed it as another of Red’s eccentricities, another hangover from the war. She put her head back and closed her eyes, as happy as a lizard on a hot rock.
Whoop, whoop, whoop!
The sound made her leap bolt upright. High on the hill, Red had stopped chopping. She wasn’t imagining things. The terrible noise, wherever it had come from, was real.
Whoop, whoop, whoop!
It took her a moment before she remembered where she’d heard the sound before. In war movies. Her head swam with images of submarines diving, charging destroyers and sailors rushing to action stations. For reasons she couldn’t begin to imagine, the Navy had come calling. She forgot about her tea and set off down the trail, checked and remembered that she was only wearing bikini bottoms and a ragged work T-shirt in which her breasts flapped around like snapper in a sack. Hardly proper attire to greet the Navy, although, given her current state of near celibacy and the reputation of sailors in port, she thought it might actually send an appropriate message. Despite this, she raced back to her bach to change. She took her kettle off the heat as she passed by and opened drawers of clothing. She settled on white shorts and a halter top which showed off her new slim-line waist and made the most of what remained of her breasts. She tried to run a comb through her hair but it jammed in the paint dust.
‘Oh, bum!’ She looked in the mirror and saw that the dust had turned her dark Spanish hair prematurely grey. She had no choice but to try to sluice some of it off. Better she look a mermaid than a painted lady, she thought savagely. She gave herself one last check in the mirror, shook her head in despair at what she saw, and set off.
Red hadn’t recommenced chopping, so she figured he was also heading for the beach. She’d stuffed around changing and washing but she still thought she could beat him. She had no idea why this should be important, but it was. Perhaps because she was so unaccustomed to living alone she wanted first call on any fresh faces that showed up. She discounted Angus, deciding he’d be content to stand on his veranda and shake his fist at the intruders. Nevertheless, she ran as fast as the track would allow, dodging the stumps and roots and the dried-up puddles where the clay was still damp and treacherous. She slowed and composed herself before calmly strolling onto the beach. The patrol boat was standing off in the deeper water, its crew lowering a tender. Red and Archie were waiting patiently on the beach in front of her.
‘I assume they’re ours,’ she said.
‘They’re bringing my radio.’ His voice was flat. Cold.
‘I would have given you mine if you’d asked.’
‘Not that kind of radio, Rosie. He promised me a radio so I could report on the Jap trawlers.’
‘He? Who is he? Father Christmas?’
‘Lieutenant Commander Finn.’
‘First name’s not Huckleberry, is it?’
‘No, it’s Mickey.’
‘That’ll do, that’ll do.’ Rosie couldn’t help smiling. She turned to look at Red to share the joke, but could see immediately that the elsewhere look had crept back into his eyes. And something she hadn’t seen before – a hardness. His face was set grim and stony, and the lines that wrinkled on the few occasions he smiled revealed their true origins. She wondered if she’d finally glimpsed what it was that held his body and soul together against the ghosts that inhabited him. She took his hand in hers and squeezed hard. He neither resisted nor reacted. She wanted to give him a reassuring hug but the hardness in his face dissuaded her. Rosie kept her eyes on the tender, the rating at the helm, the other standing at the bow, and the officer sitting nonchalantly between. She was suddenly aware of the fact that she was holding Red’s hand and let go. The helmsman cut the engine and the tender ran up onto the sand.
‘Morning, Red. Morning, Archie. Sorry for the intrusion.’
‘Morning, sir.’
Sir? Rosie looked around at Red as if expecting him to have suddenly acquired a uniform.
‘And good morning to you, madam.’ Mickey held out his hand towards her. ‘I’m Lieutenant Commander Finn and . . . ?’
‘. . . And everyone calls you Mickey.’
‘Ahhh. Yes. And you are?’
‘Rosie,’ cut in Red. ‘She’s my neighbour.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Rosie.’ Mickey looked enquiringly at Red as if he’d been withholding vital information.
‘I’m pleased to meet you too, Mickey,’ said Rosie. ‘We don’t have many visitors here. Do your friends have names or are they too insignificant?’
Mickey turned to the two grinning ratings. ‘This one’s Gary and this one’s Gavin. It’s naval policy to put men with similar sounding names together to cause maximum confusion.’
Rosie shook hands with them both. ‘Nice to see you, boys.’ She gave them her best smile, something for them to fantasize about during the long nights on watch. Something for her to fantasize about on the long nights when Red kept his distance.
‘Did you bring my radio?’
‘Yep, and your binoculars.’ Mickey dragged himself away from Rosie and back to the reason for his visit. He hadn’t expected much of a welcome and hadn’t got one. It was clear Red was determined to keep strictly to business and not keep them a second longer than was absolutely necessary. ‘I suppose I’d better start showing you how to use it. Is there somewhere we can go?’
‘There certainly is.’ Rosie smiled engagingly.
Mickey was sure Red wouldn’t allow him to go any further than the long grass bordering the beach. He seized on the prospect of a better alternative. ‘Where do you suggest?’
‘My place. I’ll make lunch while you show Red how to play with his new toy.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Gary and Gavin can carry the radio and batteries. I’m sure I can find ways of amusing them while you and Red do what you have to do.’
‘Thank you. Red, do you have any objections?’
Red did, but shook his head nonetheless as if he didn’t. The two ratings looked at Rosie, their mouths open as each speculated on the type of amusement she had in mind. Not surprisingly, worn guttering did not feature in any of their frantic speculations.
Red led the way up the track, wondering how something so simple had suddenly become so complicated. He’d thought that the Lieutenant Commander would just hand over the the radio, show him which knobs to turn, give him a frequency, a call sign and sched, and sail off into the sunset. Instead he was escorting him up to Rosie’s bach with two grinning ratings in tow. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t what they’d agreed. They’d barely made it to the old pohutukawas where the track split when Angus stepped out onto the trail in front of them.
‘That’ll do! You’ve come far enough. Be gone the lot of you or I’ll be forced to defend my property.’ He waved his rifle menacingly. ‘Go on! Be gone! You’ve no right to be here!’
The column stopped dead in its tracks. Mickey turned to Red for inspiration. Rosie started laughing.
‘Lieutenant Commander Mickey Finn,’ she began, ‘please meet ex-Inspector Angus McLeod.’ Neither man took a step towards the other. ‘Angus is the director and organiser of our social club.’
‘That’s enough! I’ve told you before. I’ll not be mocked by the likes of you!’
‘Then listen carefully, Angus. One, this is crown land we’re standing on. These men have every right to be here. Two, they’ve brought Red a radio so he can report on foreign trawlers in the area. Three, if Red doesn’t do this for them, they’re going to set up a permanent watch on Tataweka Hill. Would you like that? A permanent naval presence in our backyard?’
‘Is this true?’ Angus turned to Red for confirmation.
‘Use your eyes, Angus!’ Rosie didn’t trust Red to continue her little fiction. ‘Would the Navy send a Lieutenant Commander if they weren’t serious?’
Angus lowered his rifle. ‘Aye, I suppose you have a point. Let me see the radio.’
Gary held it up for Angus to see.
‘I’ve seen the likes before. I accept your need for a lookout, but there’s no cause for you to proceed any further. I used similar equipment in the war. I’ll teach Red how to use it. You can all go. You’re not needed. Just give me the frequencies on the way down to the beach.’
‘I’ve invited everyone to lunch and they’ve accepted. So stand aside, you old fart, or I’ll start telling stories. Stories, Angus, about little boys and fearsome griffins. Are we on the same frequency?’
‘God damn you, woman!’ Angus’ eyes flared wide in anger.
Rosie pushed past him and the rest followed. Mickey rolled his eyes. The two ratings were trotting after Rosie like dogs after a bitch on heat. What the hell was she doing here, he wondered, a beautiful woman with two madmen for company? ‘Does Angus normally greet visitors with a rifle?’
‘Angus doesn’t normally greet visitors.’ Rosie laughed again. ‘I don’t know why, but for some reason we tend not to get many.’
‘The rifle is for shooting feral cats,’ cut in Red matter-of-factly. ‘The safety catch was on.’
‘Relieved to hear it.’ Mickey sighed, wondering how to approach Red in light of Angus’ revelation. ‘Red, do you think you could encourage Angus to assist in spotting trawlers? There’ll be times when you’ll be out fishing or around at Fitzroy when he could cover for you. What do you think?’
‘If you say so.’
‘Good.’ Mickey decided to leave things at that. He’d planted the seed and knew Red was incapable of not following up on his suggestion. Besides, the trail was steeper and longer than he’d expected. He was fast running out of breath and what little he had left he didn’t want to use up talking. He heard a bird call high above them on Tataweka Hill and glanced up to see what all the lines on the survey maps had been trying to tell him. Tataweka hadn’t looked quite so dominating on the map nor from sea level. As the track opened up into the clearing in front of Rosie’s bach, he stopped to take a longer, more critical look. He closed his eyes, pictured his maps, and looked once more. ‘God Almighty,’ he murmured.
‘Pretty, isn’t it?’
‘More than that, Rosie.’ Excitement crept into his voice. ‘That hill overlooks the entire entrance to the Gulf. Red, how far north can you see?’
‘Way past the Mokes.’
‘And south?’
‘Only south-east past Arid Island.’
‘Doesn’t matter. I’ve got a man on the hill at Mercury Bay to cover your blind spot.’
‘I’ll take you up there. I’m cutting a path through to the Tataweka trail.’
‘Not necessary,’ said Mickey hastily. He’d done all the hill climbing he was capable of. ‘Maybe you can show Gary and Gavin.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on while you set up your gear.’ Rosy turned and gave the two ratings her best smile. ‘Come with me, boys, I’m going to take you to heights you never imagined.’
Rosie sat in a shallow bath and did her best to make herself presentable. The two young ratings had clipped her new guttering into place and splashed paint on the parts of the wall she couldn’t reach. She’d rewarded them with a lunch of curried eggs and rice, after which they’d set off up Tataweka with Red. Mickey dozed in the sun on her veranda with his feet up on the rail. She washed her hair under the tap and threw on some eau de cologne, shorts and a shirt knotted at the front. All in all, she had every reason to feel pleased with herself. Her guttering was finally fixed permanently, and the covert looks from the two ratings were proof she still had what it took. Mickey also fascinated her. When he’d wandered out onto the veranda and rocked back on the chair, she’d suddenly realised how long it had been since a man had relaxed in her company. What’s more, she was thoroughly relaxed with him, despite the fact that he wore a uniform and was a senior officer in the armed forces.
Ever since her student days when she’d marched to ban the bomb and war in general, she’d always distrusted anyone in uniform. Yet Mickey contradicted all her preconceptions. He was a big cuddly bear, charming and disarmingly off-hand, not disrespectful towards his uniform but he didn’t exactly dignify it either. She decided to join him on the veranda. His eyes were closed and he hadn’t moved. He didn’t bother opening his eyes when she spoke to him.
‘Hope you don’t mind my taking advantage of your men.’
‘Not at all. It’s the job of the armed forces to serve.’
Rosie smiled. That was precisely the sort of response she’d expected, flippant and lightly facetious. She couldn’t help liking him. ‘I can handle most things, but there are some jobs I can’t do.’
‘I think you’re doing brilliantly.’ He turned to look Rosie in the eye. ‘Anyone who can make it out here has my unqualified admiration.’
Rosie blushed. ‘If the gutter had broken anywhere else I think I could have managed.’
‘Rosie, relax. You don’t have to apologise. Gary and Gavin are good lads, they were happy to help out.’ Mickey looked at her quizzically. ‘It sounds like a really bad line, but what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Why aren’t you married to a disgustingly rich, embarrassingly handsome man who is devoted to you and your amazingly well behaved children?’
Rosie laughed. ‘Tried that but it didn’t appeal.’
‘Can’t think why not.’
‘I come from a family of doctors and over-achievers. My brothers captained the first fifteen and first eleven, were dux or damn near to, became doctors and each married a brainless beauty with flawless complexion, long legs and conversation that centred on the Women’s Weekly. I was expected to marry a doctor, too, and I did. He was handsome, talented and bound for riches, and, if I’m totally honest, he was a genuinely nice guy. But he had an orchardist’s view of life, narrow and mono-directional. One day he expected me to have his child and I saw myself turning into the same sort of silly, vacuous woman that my brothers married. I looked at where my life was heading and decided I wa
nted out. This is where it got me.’
‘Abandoned and penniless,’ said Mickey.
‘Not exactly penniless. My grandfather provided for me in his will by setting up a trust fund which earns just about enough for me to get by on, and I do have some money of my own in the bank.’
‘So just abandoned?’
‘Like Orphan Annie,’ said Rosie. She really enjoyed the banter. That was something else she missed. ‘What about you?’
‘Also abandoned.’ Mickey closed his eyes as if the subject was both boring and tiring. ‘Married during the war, came home to a wife who’d fallen in love with a Marine lieutenant. She now has three kids and lives in Fort Lauderdale. She left me the dog but it got run over.’
‘Maybe we should team up,’ said Rosie. ‘We could always get another dog.’
‘Too far to go to work,’ said Mickey. ‘Besides, I can’t mend guttering.’
‘Pity,’ said Rosie. ‘Can you move toilets?’
‘Far too hard.’
‘I suppose it would be pushing it a bit to ask Gary and Gavin to do it?’
Mickey smiled. ‘Yes, I think that would be pushing it. That’s a big job and I think they’re planning on diving for some crayfish. Why don’t you get Red or Angus to help?’
‘Angus doesn’t want me here.’
‘And Red?’
‘He doesn’t object. But his life wouldn’t change if I left.’
‘He’s madder than I thought. Why don’t you hire someone to move the toilet for you?’
‘Who?’
‘I assume one of those boats in the bay is yours.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not yet confident enough to take it around to Fitzroy. I don’t want to sink like the Wairarapa.’
‘Then why don’t you walk?’
‘How?’
‘Well, if Red’s cut a path through to the Tataweka trail, all you’d have to do is turn down the trail to the road. It goes all the way through to Fitzroy. Take you three hours at the most.’
Rosie looked at Mickey in absolute astonishment. Trail? Road? How many days had she heard Red chopping away at the scrub above her, not realising for an instant that he was also providing the means of her salvation? Her original vision of herself tramping the hills as a latter day Heidi sprung back into her mind. Yes! All things were now possible. She had a supply route and access to workmen. Her permanence was guaranteed. Her joy boiled over and descended on Mickey.