by Bowes, K T
Hana had pulled up close to the machine, obeying the instructions.
1. Pull up close to the ticket machine.
Unfortunately now, it meant she couldn’t quite fit her body between the car and the machine. Going round the back of the machine she tried to take it by surprise, coming at it from the side and aiming to wrestle the ticket out with her fingernails. Feeling a surge of relief and victory as it released itself and the shiny cardboard slid into her hand, Hana looked down to find half a ticket. The other half had twisted and stuck securely in the hole. Scuttling around to the front of the machine and squeezing her body back into the modest space, Hana realised her antics had attracted a crowd.
As time marched on towards the arrival of the NZ001 flight from London Heathrow via Los Angeles, traffic had increased. There were only two ticket machines and so cars and occupants were filing past her on the left, all eyes turned towards her like a bewildered theatre audience and there was a queue built up behind her. Finally, as she rifled through her handbag for a pair of tweezers, somebody became bored with her floorshow and pipped their horn. As always in a panic, Hana couldn’t have found her own nose and so it was no surprise the tweezers eluded her also.
A shadow loomed out of the fog, a large imposing man with a moko tattoo dominating his cheeks and chin. His hair was jet black and tied back in a ponytail. He came towards her, his lips a hard line and his nose, large and almost squashed flat against his brown skin. Hana’s eyes grew wide and terrified and she gripped the handles of her bag tightly but the man smiled and his face instantly looked friendly, gentle despite his enormously framed body and fearsome decoration. He pointed to the sign next to the machine and Hana tried to read it again.
2. Do not get out of your vehicle.
3. Press green button for ticket.
4. Press red button to release ticket.
5. Proceed under barrier.
Hana nodded emphatically to show she understood the instruction finally and scurried around her truck to get back in. The man obligingly pressed the red button and a half ticket popped willingly out of the slot, crumpled and ragged but clipped in a neatly perforated line. Hana gushed thanks and oozed herself back into the car, catching the ticket machine with the door in haste and leaving a dent and a blue streak on its pristine white, metal panel. She grabbed the ticket gratefully out of the man’s hand, but hadn’t taken the gear lever out of park, released the handbrake or done up her seat belt. Removal of the ticket raised the barrier and it pointed jauntily skywards, starting its journey down again as Hana managed to screech underneath it, leaving rubber tyre marks on the asphalt as she fled the scene without her seatbelt. She heard a clunk as the pathetically few remains of her back bumper hit the car park floor.
Her heart pounded as she executed a particularly appalling reverse turn into the last empty space in the arrivals car park, having almost mistakenly driven into the vacant trolley bay next to it by accident. It was not the time for self-analysis, but had it been, Hana could have concluded that the common denominator for her fears seemed to be, herself. Fortunately the thought escaped her as she headed into the terminal to greet her late husband’s parents. Had it occurred to her that public attention and embarrassment were her nemesis, she certainly would not have ventured beyond the sliding doors and into the large and busy space, to put herself through yet more.
Flight NZ001 seemed to be ‘processing’ for an awfully long time. Hana sat on a seat near the arrival doors but fidgeted and fussed, constantly alert to the need to leap out of her chair and intercept her in-laws as they sailed out into the area between the barriers and the door. She tried to watch the feet underneath the blockades for the bottom of a sari; but the feet moved and shifted too quickly. The arrival doors were frosted apart from two small strips across the middle and bottom and Hana stared fruitlessly at those without success.
Auckland Airport was an emotional place as people arrived and were greeted with smiles and tears. Wonderful reunions happened in an area only twenty metres wide as small children ran under the barriers and hurled themselves at adults they had desperately waited for. The wait for small, bored people entailed swinging on the barriers and hanging upside down from the centre rung to the horror of their carers, before surging forward and throwing themselves at Aunty-So-And-So, or Mummy or Granddad. Some laughed as they were reunited with loved ones, some cried. It was human emotion, raw, open and sincere. Next-door in departures there was naked, unashamed grief as loved ones left Aotearoa, tears and promises, sadness and broken hearts. The whole place oozed with the rawness of it, making Hana feel drained and exhausted.
Suddenly they were there, striding out of the sliding doors with purpose and looking around for Hana. Indra was slightly built and beautiful still, post-retirement. Despite the long flight, her skin was the colour of an excellent espresso and her dark eyes were alight. Jet black hair was pulled back into a bun, not a strand of grey daring to show itself and her sari was bright red with gold patterns running through its entirety. The Indian matriarch still had the same imposing presence that had confronted Hana and Vik, when they sat at the family meeting to tell his parents she was pregnant. Indra’s face had been like stone and she let out such a high-pitched wail that Hana was terrified. Moments later, she was led out screaming and crying in Hindi by one of the aunties and taken to another part of the house, from which Hana could still able to hear her. When Hana plucked up the courage to ask Vik later what Indra had said, he replied, “Very bad, very bad.”
She always doubted it was the truth and suspected it was much worse, but Vik stuck to his story for the length of their marriage.
Hana, taken by surprise, jittered to her feet and ran across to the end of the barrier. She took care over her appearance at four thirty that morning, putting on a dress, a nice jacket and heaps too much makeup. The dress was a stunning amber which set off the reds in her hair and matched her pale skin tones, helping her confidence more than the usual pair of jeans would have done. To Hana’s amazement, Indra let out a high pitched wail and ran to her, throwing herself into her arms. She almost picked poor Hana up in her desperation to squeeze the very life out of her. Everyone in the terminal stopped to watch and for the second time that morning, Hana was aware of other people’s eyes staring in her direction. In addition to the loud wailing, Indra gushed huge tears which splashed onto Hana’s hair and ran down her jacket. Her mother-in-law seemed unexpectedly pleased to see her and Hana was completely lost for words.
“Hello my darling.” Deepak strolled over with a laden trolley and held his arms open for a hug also, casually handing over a large, clean white handkerchief to his blithering wife in the same movement. Hana was temporarily incapacitated by their apparently genuine greeting and somehow they staggered and wheeled over to the exit doors and out into the early morning air.
Emerging, Hana realised stupidly she hadn’t taken note of the row number for her parking spot and the car park spread out unhelpfully before her. Deepak and Indra looked tired out in the daylight and the twenty-six hour flight showed in the dark circles under their eyes. Hana tried to look for landmarks to give her a clue as to the whereabouts of her car.
A police car slid into the ‘Emergency Vehicle’ bay next to the sliding exit doors and Indra gave another shriek as the single occupant emerged. Bodie strode confidently towards them, looking more tank than usual because of the body-armoured vest. Even more onlookers stared as Indra practically collapsed in a heap and wailed as she kissed her grandson over and over. Hana’s misery at not being able to remember where she left the vehicle was temporarily over-ridden by the embarrassment of having members of the public think her party of arrivals was being loudly arrested.
Bodie caught her eye and winked at her as she stood feebly toying with the two bits of ticket in her hand. “The car’s in Row 12B, over that way,” he indicated with a jerk of his head as Indra continued dripping and sobbing over his uniform. “Maybe go and bring it here and we can load them up to save
them walking.”
With relief Hana half ran, half walked over to the Serena. She sat for a moment inside before starting the engine, staring at the gleaming dashboard which she had polished at length the previous day in addition to the pristine carpet, shampooed and coiffed especially for the occasion. Eventually, she battled her way back to the front doors through the departing traffic, catching sight of her Māori saviour who had helped her with the ticket machine earlier, as she made an illegal turn to get into the bay despite having been coming at it from the wrong direction.
Pulling up behind the police car, Hana saw her son still holding onto his grandmother’s arm, laughing and sharing some conversation with Deepak. She was instantly struck by the likeness between them, the shared genetics running through their blood. Bodie’s skin was much lighter, the darkness of his Indian heritage tempered and mellowed by Hana’s pale Englishness, but his hair was dark and his brown eyes which flashed like coals when he was angry, unreadable and livid, were his grandmother’s. Now they were almond shaped and happy. His body was formed like Deepak’s, a sturdy frame, solid shoulders and imposing grace, but the perfect skin and delicate features were Indra’s. In all the years Hana had compared her children to Vik, she forgot the exact origins of their beauty. Her fear of her in-laws had jaded her view of them. Despite the advancing years, they were a handsome couple. Hana had never acknowledged it.
Loading the baggage into the car and trying to ignore the absence of the rear bumper, Hana was grateful for the copiousness of the boot space with Indra’s lemon yellow suitcases and Deepak’s light brown ones taking up the entire area. As Hana settled into the driver’s seat, she was suddenly faced with the looming exit journey and contemplated the ticket, still in two-not-quite-symmetrical halves. Detecting her distress, Bodie held his hand out for the ticket. “Here, I’ll sort it out,” he said, oozing confidence and disappeared inside the airport terminal. He was gone only a matter of minutes but emerged with a new ticket, fully paid up and ready to be slotted back into the machine. Hana thanked him. “Didn’t even have to pull my gun,” he stated quietly, for her ears only.
Hana’s eyes widened in horror, but he laughed and shook his head, letting her know he was joking. Or so she hoped.
The journey back to Hamilton was entertaining, with Deepak snorting out some random, snoring concerto and Indra chatting ten to the dozen about the family back home; who had gotten children, their names, what they did for work and where they lived. It seemed there had been more than a few additions to the Johal clan whilst she and Vik had been absent.
Arriving home Hana drove straight into the garage, momentarily disconcerted by the sight of a strange vehicle parked opposite the house. The occupants looked like her nasty visitors of the previous month, but the car was different. With a speeding heart, she dropped the automatic garage door, even before the car stopped rolling forward.
Indra didn’t appear to have noticed Hana’s sudden panic moment and prattled away about the journey and Vik’s older brother Jaspal, who had married a dreadful Hindu girl and how it had ended in tears. “She couldn’t cook!” Indra exclaimed as though it was a deal-breaker.
Upstairs in the living area, the four-thirty start caught up with Hana and she found herself yawning. She settled the elderly couple in a large double room which had once been Izzie’s childhood bedroom and hoped for an early release to her bed for a lie down. But Indra had other plans and Deepak, fully revitalised after his nap in the car home, seemed keen on a trip into the city. Hana recovered over a mug of strong coffee while Indra made a dreadful mess in the bedroom, disgorging her suitcase and spreading its contents over every surface. She seemed intent on Hana examining each article with interest. “This is the special sari from Birmingham for visiting Izzie in the South Island, the special sari for seeing Bodie...” Indra stopped, her face full of confusion at the realisation Bodie had already seen her in the sari she was currently wearing. The elderly woman shrugged off her ruined plans with aplomb. “This is the little baby sari for Elizabeth...” The latter was incredibly beautiful with a dark blue base and golden hoops and swirls hidden throughout the sumptuous and undoubtedly expensive material. After a small altercation with a stray pair of knickers; petite, but definitely more on the elderly person’s style of hold-up-suck-in and don’t-breathe-out kind of panties, which flicked out of the case and landed embarrassingly on the bedside lamp, Indra finished her fossicking and produced a large photo album stuffed with memories.
For two hours, she sat on the double bed with Hana. “Jaspal’s wedding, Jaspal’s two children, Jaspal’s workplace, Jaspal’s luxurious home and finally (yet oddly) a scanned copy of Jaspal’s Decree Absolute,” neatly labelled and compartmentalised as part of the snapshot of Jaspal’s life. Hana felt weary, or as Izzie would have mouthed had she been there, weirded out, after all the admiring of a saga she no longer took part in. Hana was satisfied with the knowledge that Izzie would also have to brave the photo experience with grace and feigned interest. Although maybe she would be interested; these strangers after all were her cousins and uncle.
One meal out, one lengthy trip into Hamilton, afternoon tea in a coffee shop, an incredibly hot curry cooked by an invigorated Deepak and Hana was ready for her bed. She slept like a log, safe in the knowledge that a trip to the Waitomo Caves was on the treat list for tomorrow, waking only once at about two o’clock. Recognising the scraping of bowls at the other end of the house, Hana smiled to herself at two jetlagged travellers eating cornflakes in the middle of the night.
Chapter 22
The visit to the Glow Worm caves at Waitomo was an absolute hoot and Hana vowed she had never laughed so much in her life. Being around Indra and Deepak outside of their natural habitat was like accompanying two small children on a school trip. They asked the most bizarre questions, loudly and without guile or shame and made the most dreadful errors unwittingly, causing complete hilarity. Convinced the female Māori guide was not Māori at all, but actually a closet Sikh, Indra quizzed her repeatedly about her heritage, finally asking her, “Do you know anyone from the Jat clan in Bristol?” and not believing her when she replied that she didn’t.
Deepak, so engrossed in peering down into the water on the underground boat ride through the caves, banged his head on the cave wall in a narrow part and lost his turban with a plop, straight into the water. His incredibly long hair began to unwind itself, but being one of his sacred religious items, he struggled to keep it in check and, thanks to a friendly five-year-old on the boat, came away with an attractive bun ensconced in a Sponge Bob scrunchy.
The Māori guide became fed up with the interruptions and seemed eager to get the party back up on terra firma. Standing at the prow of the boat, propelling it via a complicated pulley system and a series of ropes, she almost fell overboard when she noticed the turban trailing behind the boat, caught on a splinter, especially when a little boy shouted, “Taniwha!” His shrill scream echoed off the walls of the cave. The boat rocked precariously as everyone searched for the water dragon and the guide almost pitched overboard with the rocking motion. Deepak got immensely excited trying to fish it out, but failed and got his sleeves soaked in the process.
The Grand Finale was the glow-worm cave lit by the tiny creatures’ hair-like strands dangling down from the cave roof. It was the actual thing that everyone had come to see. Indra was captivated by the sight and only momentarily silent before deciding to stand up in the already rocking boat and sing a beautiful Indian song as an expression of her admiration and wonder. Her sari swished and twirled with the motion of her sweeping gestures, repeatedly going in front of the faces of those either side of her sharing the inadequate plank of wood that passed as a bench seat. When she finally sat down to muted clapping from the general populace, it was to the horrified glare of the guide who had stated in the very beginning that, “We must be quiet passing through the caves. Glow-worms like the darkness and stop glowing when startled by noise.”
In the engulfing
darkness of the cave the boatful of tourists were forbiddingly silent, as the phenomena which they had driven, flown and bussed to see, made a silent protest at the disturbance of their habitat and slowly turned out their glowing threads. The worms apparently refused to glow for the rest of the day and the boats were on a strict time limit which did not allow for unexpected delays. Three boatloads of tourists were backed up in the gloomy darkness, pointing and whispering at what appeared to be a long roll of toilet paper attached to Hana’s boat, but was in fact Deepak’s unravelled turban, while another fifty people stood waiting and complaining at the ticket office up at ground level. When Hana and her excitable visitors emerged oblivious from the caves, Hana was only vaguely aware of the angry hostility of fellow boatees as they pottered around the gift shop.
Indra shopped enthusiastically for souvenirs and must have purchased around thirty small model kiwi birds for family members, friends and her sewing group.
“Bitch and stitch,” Deepak whispered behind his hand whenever Indra mentioned her quilting group.
Deepak hunted for a replacement for the Sponge Bob scrunchy amongst the souvenir hats and baseball caps, to hide his glossy, advert-smooth locks of hair, now becoming a little frizzled round his face. Eventually, Hana managed to prise them out and they emerged from the tiny shop armed with their purchases. Hana had bought a few little bits and bobs, Indra had practically bought the cosmetic shelf and Deepak was wearing his purchase; a white woolly hat with a silver fern on the front and ‘I love New Zealand’ across the back.