by Else, Chris
In the end it seemed like there was only one way through. I bought Scotty's share in the Riley, quit the job at Finch Street Auto and became Gith's official caregiver. The Health Board gave us an allowance and we got a bit more money from the trust. Michelle thought the arrangement was weird and she wasn't happy about the loss of income but she could see that it was the only way to get some peace in the house.
'We should never have taken her on,' she said one night when we were in bed.
'But we have.'
'Yes, I guess so. But why?' She sighed. 'I mean, we're only young. Twenty-four. Why should we be saddled with that?'
'I don't mind.'
'No. You don't.' That's the trouble, she might have added, but she didn't need to.
'And I worry, you know?' she went on. 'What if she gets loose or something? What if some bloke gets hold of her and knocks her up? Then we'd be into abortions and things — or, worse still, have a baby on our hands.'
'She can go on the pill.'
'Oh God. Would she remember to take it? Maybe we should get her tubes tied.'
I couldn't believe that. I didn't know what to say. I started to boil. 'For Christ's sake, she's not a bloody animal. You talk like she's a dog or a cat that you can just get fixed.'
'She may as well be for all the use she is.'
4
THE TE KOHUNA Annual Show is always on the first Sunday in February. It's held in the Domain, which is to the north of Anzac Street beyond the war memorial. In the old days it was all agricultural, with the local farmers showing off their prize bulls or their ploughing. There was still a bit of that, but now there were also a lot of other things, like the classic car parade and the skeet shooting. People turned up from all over the district to flog off their arts and crafts or their tomato relish. The guy from Bibliotalk had a stall for his books, and the Smeeles usually brought along a bunch of stuff from Bank Antiques. There was live music and plenty of food and a big tent with a bar in it. Generally, the whole thing was just everybody walking round and having a good time.
Ma and the Old Man got to our place first thing. Ma was already dressed in her Victorian outfit and the Old Man had made a special effort too. He was wearing his tweed suit and a shirt and tie. There was even a hankie in his top pocket. He had a walking stick to help with his sore ankle. He was still limping a bit but he wasn't complaining.
Ma and Gith went into the living room to get Gith's outfit sorted out and the Old Man and I stood on the back verandah and looked out at the sunlit paddock. He raised his stick and pointed at our sheep.
'How's the faecal consistency?' he asked.
'All right,' I said.
'Hmmph.'
The Old Man has a thing about faecal consistency. And faecal egg count. For a good few years he and Bill had only been putting their ewes to rams that had droppings like marbles and the lowest egg counts. The aim was to cut the need for drenching and dagging. I never bothered with the ins and outs of it but I knew they were happy with the way it was going. One of the Old Man's proudest boasts is how little dagging they do.
When Gith was ready we found we had time on our hands. Pita Ratene, who mans the pumps for us on weekends and when we need a break, hadn't turned up.
Pita was in his mid-fifties. He used to be an office administrator at the freezing works in Katawai until they had a reshuffle and he was given the push. Somehow he never got round to finding another full-time job. I guess he figured the kids were grown up and his mortgage was paid off so why should he bother? He finished up spending most of his time doing the garden and working his TAB account. Plus he did odd jobs here and there, a bit of book-keeping or minding the store now and again.
While we waited for him we made a cup of tea and sat down in the kitchen. Gith was excited, wriggling around in her chair. It worried me a bit, this mood. If she got too wound up she could easily get pissed off with her lack of words and flip into a black rage. Ma and the Old Man were good with her though. They could both get what she said and read her hands pretty well by now, and if one didn't get her meaning the other would generally pick it and keep things going.
'Are Bill and Leece coming down?' I asked.
'Leece'll be here. A bit later,' Ma said.
'What about the kids?'
'They'll be here.'
'They've got jobs to do.' The Old Man made it sound like it was good for them. What he didn't say was that Bill wouldn't be coming because he had too much on his plate. I thought about saying something but stopped myself. Keep the peace, you silly bugger.
Ma said she wanted to pop in and see how Len was doing but the Old Man talked her out of it. There wasn't time now.
Pita turned up, said sorry for being late, and we set off. Ma and the Old Man went first, and Gith and I followed behind in the Riley. It was a pretty short trip from our place, maybe fifty metres along the main drag to the war memorial and then left another eighty down Anzac Street to the Domain gates. Gith took it at a steady twenty-five mph by the Riley's old speedo.
There was a big crowd already. Dally Yankovich was acting as main marshal, directing visitors to the car park and the people who were doing stuff to wherever they had to go. Gith wound down the window and he leaned in, pointed her to the left to the line of pine trees on the western boundary where the classic cars were getting together. I could see Oliver Marsden's 1927 Phantom, and the Packard that belonged to a bloke from up Tapanahu way. Giving Oliver a chance to show off the Phantom was the main reason there was a car parade at all.
Gith drove slowly through the crowd. The grass seemed dry and the ground underneath firm enough. With luck we wouldn't finish up in a bog like we did one year. There were six cars there already, including the Smeeles' 1937 MG TA. Gith stopped and backed into the place at the end of the row so that the Riley's bumper was half a metre from the fence. We got out.
My sister Joanne had already spotted us and was coming towards us. Dressed up in her riding gear and with her blonde hair bouncing with each stride, she looked like the mistress of the manor, which in a way she was. Oliver, I saw, stayed by his car, guarding it maybe, even though I was sure he'd have somebody else to do that — and to drive it for him. Where was my nephew Matthew?
'Hello, brother mine,' Joanne said.
'Hi.'
Joanne looked Gith up and down. 'And aren't you the picture? Very authentic.' She turned back to me before Gith could make a move. 'Where's Mother?'
'She'll be along. The Old Man's still hobbling a bit.'
'Right. Well, the Victorian ladies need to drop into the RW tent, which is over there by the food marquee. Dreadful smell from all those sausages and onions but there we go.'
'Gith will want to drive in the parade,' I said. 'And maybe look around.'
'Of course. All she has to do is pick up a collection bucket whenever she feels like it. You can manage that, can't you dear?'
Gith rolled her eyes just a bit.
'Gith,' she said.
'Fine. Good. Well, you can give Mother those instructions too. Tell her I'll catch up with her later. All right?'
'Sure.'
'Good.' Joanne turned away and headed back towards where Oliver was standing.
'She's in one of her bossy moods,' I said.
Gith grinned. Then she turned and looked at the car next to ours. It was a Zephyr Zodiac, brilliantly restored, in white paint with gleaming chrome. The Riley looked a bit scrubby in comparison. In seven years Gith and I still hadn't finished it. The bodywork looked great, done out in maroon panels with black posts and roof, but there were a lot of spots on the bumpers where the rust had been. We had never got round to sending them away to be rechromed.
The Zodiac driver was about my age and wearing a leather jacket. He had blond hair and a down-turned mouth that made him look grumpy, but he caught my eye and grinned. Friendly enough, then.
'What is it?' I asked. 'A Mark III? '65?'
'Well picked,' he said.
I held out my hand. 'Ken McUrran.'<
br />
'Jim Parline.'
I remembered the name. 'You've got a brother. Rick?'
'That's right. He's here somewhere.' Jim looked around, scanning the crowd.
'He drives a white van, right?'
'For work, yeah.' He was frowning, trying to figure out what I was getting at maybe.
Let it pass, I thought.
'This is Gith,' I said. 'She may be dressed like Queen Victoria but, in fact, she's a shit-hot mechanic.'
Gith grinned at that.
'Where are you from?' I asked.
'Palmerston North. I come up to see Rick now and again. It was him told me about the parade. I know it's for locals but I thought, shit, why not?'
'All welcome,' I said.
'Hmm.' He gave me a sideways look. 'Except for hitchhikers maybe.'
'Well . . .' What he said pissed me off. It was like he was running Te Kohuna down.
'The cops making any progress?' He sounded keen to know and I thought maybe this was the real reason he was here. I checked on Gith but she wasn't listening. She was looking through the window of the Zodiac.
'What does Rick say?' I asked.
Jim just laughed. 'Rick lives in a world of his own. Everything's strictly business. His business. He reckons you've got a sex offender living here though.'
'Could be.' It was weird but I didn't want to talk to him about Billy Cleat.
'Likes slicing girls up?'
'Something along those lines.'
He grinned like it was a real neat idea. I didn't like him. I'd almost rather have Billy Cleat. No, that wasn't true but still.
I had nothing to say but it didn't matter because Ma and the Old Man turned up right then. Just in time. He eased his backside onto the wing of the Riley to take the weight off his foot.
Ma fanned herself with her hand. It was going to be warm in those outfits.
'Joanne was here,' I said. I turned and looked up the row of cars towards the Phantom but she and Oliver had gone. 'I guess she's off somewhere bossing people round.' I passed on the message about the collection buckets and the Rural Women's tent.
'Yes, I know all that,' Ma said. 'Six people have told me already.'
'What's the plan?' the Old Man asked.
'Looks like you should find somewhere to sit down,' she told him.
'Nah. Bugger that. I'm here to enjoy myself. I want to have a go at the skeet shooting.'
Gith made a move.
'Thoot,' she said. I wasn't sure what she meant.
'You want to come too?' he asked her.
She lifted her hands like she was pointing a gun into the sky.
'You want to have a go?' He gave a big laugh.
'I'm not sure about that,' Ma said.
Neither was I.
'What time does it start?' I asked.
'Beginners are at nine-thirty,' he said.
'The parade's at ten.'
'Well then. Perfect timing.'
'We'll have to get lined up first. Sort out the order of the cars.'
Gith was watching us like we were a tennis match.
'She can come with me,' the Old Man said. 'Guarantee I'll have her back here by ten.' He turned to her. 'What do you say?'
She nodded. 'Gith, gith.'
'See?' He looked at me, pleased with himself.
Shit, I thought. Gith's sense of time was not her strong point. Whatever she started into she was usually there till the finish. There would be hell to pay if she missed the parade though. On the other hand, there didn't seem much I could do about it. She was old enough to make up her own mind. I looked at Ma. She shrugged. Gith laughed.
It was then that I saw Monty Praguer standing next to Jim Parline's Zodiac. Jim had gone off somewhere and Monty seemed like he had something on his mind.
'Gidday,' I called to him.
For a second he looked at me like he didn't know who I was but then he grinned.
''Ello, 'ello, as the cops would say.' He came over, shook the Old Man's hand.
'They're not here, are they?' Ma asked.
'Oh yes they are. Inspector Ryan, for one. And a couple of others going through that car park with a fine-tooth comb.'
He turned to Gith. 'And how are you, girl?'
She smiled, gave him her okay move. Then she lowered her hand and made a stroking move down beside her right knee. 'Tham.'
'Left him home,' Monty said. 'He'd get too excited here. Might finish up doing some damage.'
'Would you like a dog?' Ma suddenly asked Gith.
Gith stared at her like she had never really thought about it and then she smiled.
'Bill and Leece's bitch is due to pup any day,' Ma said.
The Old Man laughed. 'Christ, you're free with Bill's money! That's a prize-winning huntaway. Those pups'll be worth five hundred apiece!'
Ma wasn't to be put off. 'But still. The principle of the thing. It would give Anna something to think about — an interest. Other than cars, that is.'
'She's got another interest,' the Old Man told her. 'Shooting.'
'Don't be ridiculous!'
'Ah-ha.' Monty looked at Gith. 'If you're as good with a gun as you are with an engine, you can come out with me any time. We'll bag us a big fat pig, for sure.'
And then he started to tell us about his last hunting trip — no, his last successful hunting trip, when he and the bloke he was with bagged a hundred kg porker. Once he got started on this sort of thing Monty could be a bore (no pun intended), and there was a long story of how they'd tracked this animal into a gully up the top end of Pakenga Valley Road. He got so into the swing of it that he didn't feel somebody coming up behind him, a tall bloke with a short army-style haircut. Moss Vield. Monty just went on talking and Moss just kept on standing there. After a while the rest of us started to get a bit uncomfortable. Moss was taller than Monty by a good ten centimetres and it seemed like he was staring down on the top of Monty's head. Nothing in his face. He barely moved a muscle. Finally, Monty got to the point. Sam and Blackie had the pig bailed up. Monty and his mate both got in a shot, dropped the porker stone dead.
Silence. Monty looked from one to the other of us — maybe he was waiting for us to clap. I pointed to Moss. Monty turned round, found Moss almost on his heels.
'Jesus!' he said, jumping sideways.
Moss swallowed, still standing ramrod straight. 'You want that quad bike?' he said in a tone so flat it hardly seemed like a question.
'No, mate. No.' Monty told him. 'Decided against it.'
Moss turned and walked away.
'Shit,' Monty said, 'he's a weird bugger.'
Suddenly there was a burst of music: trumpets, sax and slide trombone with the beat and shuffle of the drums behind them. It was the Mangatiki Jazz Quintet with 'Chatanooga Choo-choo', their signature tune.
'Here we go,' the Old Man said, doing a little shuffle in spite of his crook foot.
***
WE STOOD AROUND just talking, and then Gith and I went over to the food tent and got us all a cup of tea. Ma moaned because it wasn't hot enough and said we should have gone back to their car where she had a thermos. Jim Parline came back and chatted for a bit before he drifted away again. At nine-twenty the Old Man figured it was time for the skeet shooting.
'There'll be a queue,' he told Gith. 'We'd better move it.'
She drank the last of her tea and put the cup down on the grass.
'Be careful,' I said.
She frowned and stepped towards me, pushed me in the chest. Then she waved me away with the back of her hand. It was the second time in a few days she'd made that move, telling me to back off or go away. Just for a second it was almost like she didn't need me any more.
'Come on,' the Old Man said.
I watched them go. It felt weird — kind of scary and worrying. I wasn't sure why. It wasn't the guns. Or not especially. Then I thought about it and figured this was maybe the first time in eight years that Gith had done something new without me being there. In fact, except for the odd
times I went to the pub or took a trip to Katawai without her, we spent just about all our time together.
Ma was watching me. She picked my thoughts easy.
'You need to let go a bit,' she said. 'The girl needs her freedom.'
'You think it's a good idea now then, do you? The shooting?' It came out sharper than I intended. I sounded like the Old Man.
'I'm not talking about clay pigeons,' she said. 'I'm talking generally. Maybe it's not my place to say, but Anna needs a life . . .'
'She's got a life.'
'. . . and you do too. Maybe there's a nice bloke somewhere for her, and I'm quite sure there's somebody nice for you, if you only care to look.'
I didn't want to hear words like that.
'You say she's independent —' Ma went on.
I stopped her. 'She is.'
'And yet you worry about her constantly.'
No I don't, I wanted to say. But she was right. And there were reasons. There were still times when Gith got to doing something that seemed seriously odd. Like a couple of months ago she'd gone to make a cup of tea in the back room of the service station and she'd finished up making seven of them, all in a row. The only reason she had stopped at seven was that there were no more cups.
'You really need to get over Michelle,' Ma said.
That wasn't the point, not at all. But suddenly I was trying to dodge a whole lot of feelings that were coming at me.
'I was over her before it started,' I said. 'We were bad news right from the beginning. Chalk and cheese. Shit and sugar.'
'That's not a very nice thing to say!'
'Don't get me wrong. I was the shit, not her.' This was making it worse. The last place I wanted to go was my breakup with Michelle. 'Anyway,' I said, bullocking on, trying to get away. 'I'm not that over the hill, am I?'