by Bowes, K T
Bile rose into Hana’s throat as he jogged towards her, slipping between her car and the one next to it. As he reached her door, the familiar click of the thirty-second automated central locking device activated itself, right on cue and Hana heard the breath escape from between her clenched teeth. “Thank you, God!”
The blonde man went to the cash point next to the pharmacy, either not seeing or not recognising her for the moment. But Hana didn’t want to risk him turning around and spotting her. At the first available gap in the traffic she reversed quickly out of the parking space and drove up the road. She didn’t dare to use the turning circle and come back onto herself and past the Asian man, so went left at the end onto State Highway 1 and south towards Hamilton. She felt sick, ill and surprisingly old as she struggled to concentrate on the road.
A family stepped out onto the pedestrian crossing forcing her to stop and Hana fidgeted and shifted in her seat, constantly checking the rear view mirror and willing them to walk faster. The dad was a pakeha, a white New Zealander in his twenties and the mum was a brown skinned lady with a tattoo which ran around her lower left leg. Two tiny children tottered across the crossing with them like ducklings, blindly following.
The lull in activity caused Hana’s body to seek its equilibrium and the nerves and shock hit her suddenly as she sat there, waiting. As the family safely reached the island in the middle, Hana tried to take her foot off the brake but discovered her legs had turned to jelly underneath her. She willed her limbs to work and let the brake off far too quickly, causing it to lurch forward alarmingly fast. She followed this with a clump on the accelerator from the jellified foot and the back wheels gave a small screech as she took off.
Pedestrians glanced at her in interest and Hana’s rational mind screamed at her, attention was exactly what she didn’t need right now. Going south out of Ngaruawahia, Hana was reminded of the reason for her errand and knew she needed to get home and give the medication to Logan. Desperately persuading her panic to subside, she tried to take her bearings. She hadn’t yet to explored the town but logic told Hana there must be a way to get over to the Hakarimata Road from further down. Spotting the BP garage, she turned right and bumped across the railway line. Hana Du Rose was rubbish at directions, couldn’t usually find her way out of a paper bag, but she forced her shaking self to focus. Head for the bush, she told herself, follow the line of the range home.
Somehow, by heading for the vast green outline of bush that covered the mountain range, Hana managed to make the correct turns to take her over the Waipa Bridge on Waingaro Road and then right onto Hakarimata Road. The streets around her were wide and green, dotted with houses in various states of repair. But there was an openness about the place. The grass verges were neatly mowed and of enormous proportions compared to those in the city. Outside a cluster of homes, a group of children played touch rugby. Their excited squeals and shouts helped to distract Hana’s sense of alarm and forced her to come back to reality. As soon as she went past the 100 kilometre sign, Hana put her foot down, driving far too quickly for the bends that took her very close to the mighty river at several points. She checked her rear-view mirror constantly and compulsively, almost causing her to pile into a tractor which ambled along on her side of the road.
Finally, she was at the driveway, checking the road before she pulled in to make sure she wasn’t followed. The gates hadn’t quite finished sliding open before Hana squeezed Bodie’s car through and commanded them to shut again. With a shudder, they obeyed. At the top of the drive, Hana brought the car to rest and turned off the engine. She felt sick from holding her breath and her body seemed leaden from the neck down. She sat for a moment before getting out of the car. On an impulse, she grabbed the rear-view mirror and pulled it down so she could see her own face.
Hana was dismayed by the sight of the dirty cloth on her head, streaked with dust and car muck and when she removed the glasses and fumbled them back onto their clip over the visor, she was upset by the old face which stared back at her from the mirrored glass. This whole experience was aging her and the strain told in her face. She pulled off the towel, stuffing it in her pocket so she could wash it and then ran her hand over her face and rubbed at her eyes.
She looked up suddenly at a movement in her peripheral vision and saw her husband looking straight at her from the bay window. The doctor had clearly refreshed the hot water bottle as Logan clutched it to his stomach. He still looked to be in incredible pain bent forwards but for now, he was looking at her oddly. Hana gathered herself together, grabbed the medication bag from the passenger seat and locking up Bodie’s car went into the house.
By the time the doctor left an hour later, Logan spent time throwing up in the bathroom. Fearing for the internal stitches, the doctor gave him an injection to stop him retching and he returned to the bedroom with a bucket. He looked ghastly. There was no point trying to give him the medication which Hana risked her life for and she was dismayed to discover part of the prescription was a heavy duty laxative anyway.
The doctor succumbed to a cup of coffee and some biscuits before he left. Dr Adam Susa was a personable fellow once they got chatting. “I went through uni with Michael and stayed in touch afterwards. I’ve met Logan briefly a couple of times. I was at the hotel once when Tama arrived throwing his weight around, so I can imagine the scene.” He flicked at a speck on the side of the coffee mug and seemed to know much of the inner machinations of the Du Rose family. Currently a locum in Ngaruawahia, he was treading water before heading out to a Christian mission station in Burkina Faso.
On the porch, he paused to scribble his mobile number onto the cardboard from his prescription pad, in case Logan should worsen. “Here, don’t hesitate to call me,” he said with a smile.
As the sporty car shifted gears on the driveway, Hana wondered cynically whether she would get a large invoice from the medical practice in the post but her kinder side reassured her she definitely got value for money anyhow. From inside the house she heard the warning sound as the gates were buzzed open from the inside and then the rumble of them self-closing. Through the gap in the trees, she watched the car flash by, way down on the Hakarimata Road but she stayed outside just standing there on the drive.
The sun tried desperately to push its way through the clouds, bright shafts of sunlight landing unexpectedly on the ground around Hana and then being abruptly doused by the overhead grey. She stood there in a strange need for its warmth, enjoying the feel of heat, which bore down into her head for a moment and then was gone. The sound of birdsong caused her to look upward towards the house and a tui stared curiously back at her. It was a huge bird, ostensibly black with a little white bow tie. Until the sun caught it, however. Then its colours seemed to leap and twist in the light, displaying the most intense metallic blue. It flapped around on the TV aerial, chortling and chatting to itself, occasionally letting out its distinctive call which spoke peace straight to Hana’s soul. She felt a calm descend and was reminded of the constant message of the bible that God causes all things to work together for the good of those who love Him.
In the terrible months following Vik’s death, Hana searched her bible raking it for answers, for justifications, for comfort. What shouted back out at her was all of those things and what stayed with her, was the knowledge that despite present appearances, God is in control. The men would find her. She knew that with certainty, it was only a matter of time. She needed to work out what they wanted from her before it happened.
Still Hana stood outside on the sparse gravel. She looked critically back at the house, loving its angles and the balustrades on the porch and the widow’s walk wrapped carefully around it. The new weatherboards blended perfectly with the old under its new coats of paint and it shone as the sun hit it, reflecting the light and looking cheerful and upbeat. But the garden, if one could call it that was a complete mess. Tufts of grass and weeds pushed upwards, from what once may have been flower beds, forcing its way into the gravel with
a view to taking over entirely. From every angle the growth spilled forward with abandon like a cavalry charge, giving the property an unkemptness, which screamed ‘rental’ from every corner.
As midday passed, the sun won its battle for a few hours and dominated the day, drenching the earth with much needed vitamin D. Hana checked on Logan and found him sleeping. She cleared away the wallpapering stuff and then made a decision. Grabbing the tools from the storeroom off the garage, she marched outside and spent a good hour doing battle with the weeds. It was warm enough to work in just her tee shirt and she discarded the hoodie fairly quickly. A sizeable pile of weed and roots mounted up in the wheelbarrow next to her as she forked through the bed. Disappointingly, there was nothing of any value there. Possibly it was never stocked but the definite shape of a flowerbed emerged, wrapped around the bay window of the living room and stretching to the porch.
Leaving bare earth at this time of year was simply asking for the weeds to return within a matter of days and Hana scrabbled around in the storeroom for the length of weed mat which she knew was there somewhere. She spent another hour laying it down, shaping it to fit the bed and pinning it in place against the heavy winds which could start at any time. It looked so clean with all the hairy weeds gone and just the black of the weed mat. It was a shame she had nothing to put in it but Hana was loath to risk another trip into town. “No way am I doing that again!” she told the talkative tui as he rustled overhead watching her.
Hana moved across the driveway, to the right of the slope down to the garage and began to clear that part too, making a dividing channel between the grass and the weed patch.
A sudden noise made her start with alarm, almost putting the garden fork through her wellie boot. Hana gripped it hard in her right hand, realising she might have to use it as a weapon. Maihi waved enthusiastically to her as she rounded the corner to the left of the bay window and then stopped to survey Hana’s handy work. “Oh my!” she cried and put her hands on her hips. She stared around her, nodding in approval and then came forward to congratulate Hana. “It looks amazing,” she said, hugging Hana, “well done girl, it’s looking good!”
Hana beamed under the spotlight of Maihi’s evident enjoyment of her work, like a child who has produced a painting that pleased the teacher. “What you putting in there?” Maihi asked her, looking expectant and Hana was forced to admit she had nothing as yet. Immediately, Maihi began making suggestions, plant names Hana didn’t recognise, both the Latin and the English and it was apparent the older lady was very knowledgeable.
“I need to go to the garden centre,” Hana began but instantly Maihi grabbed her arm and surprised her by saying, “No! Not today! No!”
Hana was frightened, both by the strength of Maihi’s grasp on her arm and the vehemence of her words. Maihi took a huge intake of breath, collected herself and then made a suggestion. “Lock up here and come home with me. We can take cuttings from mine. I have everything up there,” she indicated the general direction of her home and then waited for Hana to do as she was told, “go then. Lock the doors. Lock them tight mind.”
“I’m not sure. I got the doctor out to Logan this morning. He was real crook.” Hana deliberated nervously. “But last time I checked, he’d stopped being sick and was sleeping quite peacefully.”
“We’ll be quick,” Maihi convinced her. “And youse look like you could use a walk to blow dem cobwebs off.”
Hana took her hoodie off the handrail where she left it, jingling the keys in its pocket. Putting it on, she nipped down to the garage, closing the door from the inside and then ducking out under it. She glanced up at their bedroom window before checking her mobile phone was still in her pants pocket. If Logan awoke and wondered where she was, he could text her. She didn’t intend to be long anyway. Maihi took her up the grass embankment alongside the left of the house. They climbed the back fence and went on into the empty paddock. Climbing steadily, they walked for about five minutes until they reached the bush line. Hana was slightly puffed and felt distinctly unfit, pausing to look down at Culver’s Cottage from this vantage point. The roof garden looked bare and colourless, the black bitumen like an empty eye and Hana promised herself when the spring came, she would fill it with pots and plants and colour. She would retrieve the rimu table and bench seats from the storeroom and put them up there too. “That could be a really lovely space, especially in the evenings,” she said to her companion, puffing as she pointed.
Maihi called her on and they climbed the barbed wire fence into the bush. Maihi sprang over it like a deer, but Hana struggled, getting stuck on the wire and ripping the lining of her hoodie slightly, almost face planting in her effort to un-stick herself. There seemed hardly any room to go forward, but Maihi urged her on, picking her way around and following a path only visible to her. Hana rubbed at her hands and arms, trying to remove the sting of the cuts the barbed wire gave her, stumbling along blindly behind the stout figure of the Māori woman. “Come on,” Maihi urged her periodically as though they were in a race.
They turned sharply downhill, slipping and sliding down a ridge which Hana worried about ever managing to get back up again and then climbed for a further few minutes. Looking up, Hana could see the height of the canopy, the sunlight dappling the ground as it earthed itself between the fronds of the nikau palms and pungas, the silver tree ferns of the bush.
“Watch out for bushman’s lawyer!” called Maihi over her shoulder, just as Hana became horribly snagged by a spindly plant with horrid talon-like thorns.
“Found it!” she called back in irritation.
They crossed a small stream which Hana hadn’t even known was there.
“This is where your water comes from for your second tank,” Maihi called over her shoulder and Hana took another look at its cool, depths.
Then came the first sign of civilisation. A wooden fence with a stile admitted them into the paddock where a herd of Friesian cows looked up enquiringly from their chewing. The cows watched with real concentration and interest as Maihi and Hana strode through their lunch, the long grass being bent and broken underfoot. Hana began to see the path Maihi had trodden only twenty minutes earlier and appreciated how much effort the woman put into her visits to Culver’s Cottage, usually bearing the raw ingredients of a culinary delight. As they proceeded downhill, Hana glanced to her left and could see the tree line which surrounded her home. Culver’s Cottage was much higher on the mountain than Maihi’s home, judging by the hurried descent they were now making and it gave her a childish satisfaction she could not explain.
A large house came into sight. It was made entirely of bare cedar wood and the roof was light blue metal, matching the aluminum window frames. “I didn’t realise it was your blue roof I could see from the kitchen window,” Hana called to the old lady. Maihi looked back and nodded.
They stepped up onto a covered porch and Maihi kicked off her red wellies, leaving them in a heap by the door. Hana copied and followed her host as Maihi pushed open the unlocked door and went into the house. Hana loved the interior instantly. It was cedar clad from the bottom to the top and unusual in design. It was one giant, open space, with beams and skylights overhead. The centre of the house was open to the roof and a staircase from the left carried Hana’s gaze up the handrail to a landing overhead. Open doors could be seen leading off it and the effect was of a log cabin in the hills. In every direction was wood, wood and more wood and Hana thought to herself how much Vik would have loved a house like this. Maihi made straight for the kettle, indicating Hana should sit on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. “Sit youse kumu down,” she told her.
Catching the scent of rosemary and sage, Hana searched for the source and spied bunches of herbs drying overhead, strung from nails hammered into the beam above. “This is a beautiful house,” she smiled appreciatively at Maihi, “I love it.”
Maihi glanced back over her shoulder and nodded, throwing tea bags and milk into mugs. With both drinks in her hands, she in
dicated a sitting area behind Hana with large squashy sofas and a central coffee table and they made their way over. Large French doors dominated the eastern side of the space and the views over the river were spectacular. The sun glinted off its glassy surface, which was more visible from Maihi’s house than from Hana’s and the water wound its steady way north, unconcerned about money, traffic, or life and death matters. “We’re high enough to see the river too,” commented Hana, her face thoughtful, “but the trees get in the way too much in some of the rooms.”
“Clear them,” came the simple answer, as Maihi sipped her hot tea gently. Hana shrugged.
“Just another job on the list,” she said resignedly. “and it’s probably better to leave them as a screen at the moment.”
Maihi smiled. “It can feel that way sometimes the endless jobs. You’re right. Leave them for now. You’ve done so much already. Give yourself a break.”
Hana sat back in her seat, calmed by the peace that enfolded her in the silent house. It felt almost too quiet to her and she began to wonder where Maihi’s husband was. It seemed rude to ask though, so she contented herself with looking surreptitiously around the room at the framed photographs hanging from walls and dotted around the various surfaces. One captured Hana’s attention to the point where she wanted to get up and go and look at it, resisting with difficulty. A much younger Maihi looked out serenely at her, wearing an ivory wedding dress of the simplest design. The man with her was tall and dark, a giant handlebar moustache dividing his face into two, almost as widely as the smile he wore. The backdrop was of the meetinghouse at Turangawaewae Marae and smiling whanau sharing their happy day, surrounded the couple.
Maihi caught Hana looking covertly at it and rose to her feet. She unhooked the picture from the wall and handed it to her guest, looking shy. Hana put her tea down on a rimu coffee table, making sure she seated it safely on a coaster before taking the photograph as though it was made of delicate china.