by K T Bowes
Chapter 22
The visit to the glow worm caves at Waitomo proved entertaining and Hana didn’t remember the last time she laughed until it hurt. Being around Indra and Deepak outside their natural habitat felt like accompanying two small children on a school trip. They asked the most bizarre questions without guile or shame and their lack of political correctness left her weak at the knees.
Introduced to the Māori guide who steered the underground boat, Indra grew more like her old self. “What is this Māori?” she complained, waving her arms. “You can’t be one. You look just like a member of the Jat clan from Bristol. There must be some mistake.” She wagged an elegant finger. “You’re a closet Sikh, I know it. There’s no need to be ashamed. It’s a free world.”
The female guide looked horrified at the affront to her cultural heritage and edged away from Indra, the action difficult in the restriction of the boat.
“This water is deep,” Deepak yelled into the darkness, alarming the other tourists on the boat.
“No shouting!” the guide implored. “The glow worms don’t like noise. They turn their lights out.”
“Sorry!” Deepak called, the sound echoing around the underground cavern. Hana squirmed in the seat next to Indra and tried to pretend they weren’t with her. She looked up as the guide yelled out a warning but Deepak appeared so engrossed in peering into the murky water, he cracked his head against an unforgiving cave wall in the narrow tunnel. He gasped in horror as with a plop, his turban fell into the water like a floating helmet. “Oh, no!” Deepak yelled. “Bibi ji, look!”
Indra appeared scandalised as Deepak’s seventy years of hair growth unwound itself into the boat. She tried to hide it under her sari and the flimsy wooden vessel tipped from side to side. Passengers screamed and Hana sank lower on her portion of the bench seat, hiding beneath the folds of her warm jacket.
A five-year-old girl came to the rescue, snatching the hair bobble from her ponytail and offering it to Indra. The boat tipped and rocked while they wound Deepak’s mop into a tress thin enough to fit into the elastic band. The guide hung onto the underground rope system with both arms outstretched and a face expression of pure malice.
“I’m fine now.” Deepak sank onto his bench and gave everyone a magnanimous wave. Indra’s eyeballs looked strange in the darkness, the whites glinting like shiny orbs as she tottered back to her seat.
“It’s his Kesh,” she said to Hana, wrinkling her nose. “It represents the love of God.”
“Well, for the love of God, sit down!” an English tourist hissed and Hana covered her mouth with her hand. The boat lurched as the guide resumed hauling it along the tunnel using the rope pulleys.
Another boat passed them in a wider part of the tunnel, returning the way it came. The guides had a whispered conversation. Indra looked over the side and screamed, taking to heart the ancient Māori legends of taniwha and water dragons. “Taniwha!” she screeched, mangling the word with her accent. “It’s chasing you!”
The other boat tipped as its members leaned over to look, adding their terror to the mix. A man at the back pointed to a white shape moving behind the boat. “It’s chasing us!”
Hana closed her eyes as Deepak made a swipe for his turban, trying to unhook it from the back of the other boat. It slid around in the water like an oversized eel and Hana felt the boat lurch beneath her. “I can get it!” he complained as the guide forbade him in a tight, high voice. She slapped his fingers as he reached back into the water and he sulked all the way to the mouth of the biggest cave.
“This is meant to be the grand finale!” The guide glared at Indra and Deepak. “The cave is lit by the hair-like strands of tiny glow worms which dangle down from the cave roof.”
“Ooh, this is what we’ve come to see.” Indra hugged herself as her words echoed around the dark, empty space. She tilted her head and peered upwards. “I don’t see them.”
“Nobody can see them!” the guide hissed. “They’ve stopped glowing because of the noise.”
The guide spat them out at the gift shop amidst the foreboding silence of angry tourists. They’d bussed, flown and driven to see the famous glow worms which refused to glow. Confusion began in the ticket office as staff debated closing for the day. Three boat loads of tourists already sat in boats in the gloomy darkness, pointing and whispering at Deepak’s unravelled turban, while another fifty people complained outside. Hana beat a hasty retreat into the gift shop with her guests, avoiding the ugly glares of her boat companions.
Indra shopped for souvenirs, snatching up thirty small plastic kiwi birds from a tray. They didn’t fit in her slender hands so she tipped them into her sari. A child next to her burst into tears. “That lady took them all,” he sobbed. “I wanted one.”
Indra glanced down at his wide mouth and considered the indignant look on his mother’s face. Deciding they didn’t deserve her clemency, she shrugged and tottered across to the cashier.
“Why does she need so many?” Hana asked, watching as Deepak held his hair in one hand and tried on baseball caps with the other.
“For her sewing group.” He winked. “I call it Bitch and Stitch.”
Indra continued shopping and purchased most of the cosmetic shelf. When a near riot ensued, Hana opted to wait outside in the sunshine, listening to disgruntled tourists as they emerged, complaining about the woman who bought everything. Deepak followed her out, wearing his new hat. It sat about ten centimetres off his actual head, his long locks filling the gap between. Sweat frizzled the stray ends and he laughed at his reflection in the windows of the shop.
The visit flew past at speed. Hana lent Deepak her car so they could entertain themselves while she worked and they ventured to the popular tourist destinations on day trips. Hana asked Deepak about Indra’s illness one evening and he waved off her concerns. “It’s a little problem with her pancreas,” he said, minimising the painful condition with mediocre words. “This is our last chance to catch up with family.”
Hana nodded, unsure how to answer. Deepak smiled and patted her hand. “Seeing you has been good for her. In the absence of your own parents, we regret not making more of an effort.”
Hana gulped. “I’ve thought a lot about how shocking it must have been for you both. With hindsight, I should be more grateful. You undid a long-standing betrothal and allowed Vik and I to marry. It can’t have been easy. I know you suffered repercussions within your community because of it.”
Deepak shrugged and looked suddenly old. “What does it matter now? Indra regrets it and it’s not how she wants to be remembered. Losing Vikram changed us all.” He reached across and gripped her fingers. “He rang us the night before he died. Jaspal spoke to him but won’t reveal what he said.” He leaned closer. “Do you know why he rang? The time difference meant we were at morning prayers and it’s pained us ever since. The not knowing is destructive.”
Hana shook her head, her expression sympathetic. “I wish I could help, but I wasn’t well that night. I suffered a problem with my kidneys and Vik fetched the children from school and took them to dinner.” Hana breathed through pursed lips, forcing herself to remain calm and not make an audible sound. The remembered events of the next day rose up to meet her like a slap from the past, robbing her of feeling in her extremities. Deepak smoothed her hair back from her forehead and guilt formed a knot in her chest. She swallowed. “Indra blamed me for Vik’s death at his funeral.”
Deepak nodded. “I’m sorry. We travelled for two days and almost didn’t make it in time. We raised our son a Sikh, yet you farewelled a Christian. She felt we lost more than just his physical body.”
Hana took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry.”
Deepak nodded and squeezed her fingers. “We know that now, Hana. It’s okay.”
The conversation left her numb inside and an unease settled over her. When Logan picked her up the next morning so Deepak could use her car for a trip to Rotorua, Hana remained silent throughout the
journey to work.
“Did I do something wrong?” Logan asked, his voice low. He stopped at the traffic lights and Hana sighed, feeling his gaze on her.
She shook her head. “No. Don’t worry.” But when Logan reached for her hand, she withdrew it, the tumult in her heart overwhelming and painful.
New dents appeared in the bodywork of her car, one of them bearing the imprint of a parking meter. Hana let it go, adding it to the list of the vehicle’s misfortunes. She kept everyone else at bay, investing time into her relationship with her in-laws, growing more silent and distant as the week passed. Memories of Vik assailed her, happy times filled with love and the sound of children’s laughter. It made her ache as though his death happened yesterday and she forced herself to relive it over and over in the lonely double bed. Indra watched from the sunroom window as Logan pulled onto the driveway the day before they left. Hana waved at the window, but Indra didn’t wave back. It compounded her guilt and left her floating in a sea of emptiness.
Deepak and Indra flew to Invercargill after a week in Hamilton. Hana woke with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Leaving everything on the other side of the world, she’d discovered the goodbyes got worse instead of better. It wasn’t something which became easier with practice, only harder as advancing years made the likelihood of meeting less. Some of her goodbyes proved to be more final than she realised.
Hana lay in bed feeling tearful and wondering how she would keep it together long enough to get them to Hamilton airport. Their trip to Wellington and on to Invercargill stung, as it took them to Isobel. Hana ached to hold her daughter with a tangible pain. So many things grieved her that she felt overwhelmed and only a sheer act of will pulled her from the bed and into the shower. The wasted years groaned with the weight of lost time, time she spent dreading her in-laws’ interference instead of valuing their support.
“This is so unfair,” she whispered into the bathroom mirror. “After a quarter of a century of avoiding them, I fall in love with them and risk never seeing them again.”
An unwelcome voice in her head began its whispered mantra. ‘They always leave you in the end.’ Hana banished the tape which played on a constant loop in her brain, pushing it aside for the moment. But she knew it would return in the darkness and taunt her with her aloneness.
Hearing the sound of plates and cutlery in the kitchen, Hana dressed and joined Vik’s parents for their last breakfast together.