Dogside Story Page 3
In the meantime people didn’t stop dying or getting married, and now here they all were in this last year of the millennium, with another wedding and still without a wharekai, still putting up marquees for their visitors and having to prepare food on rigged- up benches under plastic flaps and tarpaulins, not too much different from cross-over days.
On this morning of the wedding Babs, who was over the gas ring burning sugar for the steam puddings, pushing the spatula so the sugar wouldn’t stick on the bottom of the pot, was thinking that if it hadn’t been for this marriage she and Amiria would’ve been off to the tournament with number one and number two dart players. She’d been telling everyone all about their night out and how they were expecting Andy and Dave to come along and party-up later. She turned the gas down.
Her sister Amiria, flouring raisins and sultanas, was fed up with Babs and her big mouth. Babs was telling it all round, and now if the men didn’t turn up how did that make them look? This lot, who were taking in everything her sister was saying and already rolling their eyes at each other, already silently busting themselves laughing, would be wisecracking as soon as their backs were turned. She drove her hands through the fruit and flour. Her sister was brainless.
But Andy and Dave weren’t the only friends Babs and Amiria had invited to the wedding.
In her job as the local Post Shop supervisor Babs came into regular contact with most people of the district and was the first-call information link between Southside and their relatives on Northside, as well as with other residents of the town.
Post Shop was also the place where Kid went every day after school to sweep out, empty paper bins and slot junk mail into the post boxes, and where occasionally, on opening the back of the box there would be a face looking back at her, voices to be heard, or a hand coming through as her own hand reached in to deposit fliers, Warehouse and supermarket ads, shop-by-mail catalogues, coupon books and holiday programme leaflets from the Info Centre.
Post Shop, being situated in a corner of Mil and Milly’s general store, meant that Babs also met with most casual visitors to the town—people calling in on their way round the coast, summer holiday makers, sales people. Of those who stayed, visits were seldom long, some staying for a night, a weekend or maybe a week at the camping grounds or the nearby motel.
There was one visitor however, who had taken a unit for two months at what had previously been called Bay Motel. Because of the approach of the new millennium the proprietors had renamed it Firstlight Motel in the hope of attracting those with an interest in being among the first in the world to see the first sunrise of the year two thousand.
Dawn Anne Brown of Warkworth, writing her twenty-fifth romance, though entrenched in old themes and storylines, had come to the district in search of new backdrops, new characters, a new outlook, different colour.
She quickly realised the place was a mine. There were horses galloping along sandy beaches, boats on water, far and near horizons, waves crashing up over the rocks and onto shores, moonlit banks, shadowed bridges. It was really only the people who needed making over.
Babs was a mine as well. To a lesser degree, so was her sister Amiria who worked across the road from Mil and Milly’s, at Bay Fish. Dawn Anne couldn’t believe her luck. Not only had she found a willing informant, but she’d also found her olive-complexioned, green-eyed heroine, only needing to strip off years and weight, re-outfit her and place her in a earlier time. She was going to call the new work ‘Tides of Ecstasy’.
‘Dawn Anne and I are like that,’ Babs would say, crossing a middle finger over a first finger and holding her hand up to show her relatives how close she and her new friend had become. It was natural that she would want this author of twenty-four books, many of which Babs had read even before meeting the writer, to come to the wedding. People would see for themselves how ‘like that’ they were.
‘So-o-o-o, there you are,’ Babs said, as Kid lifted the flap and came in.
‘Who said you could take off?’ Amiria asked.
‘She’s been helping me,’ Rua said coming in behind her.
‘And she can get helping at home right now,’ Amiria said swiping her hands. Dustings of flour clouded the space in front of her face for a moment then floated down, settling into the large basin that she’d been working her hands in. She scooped sugar from a bag and scattered it in handfuls.
‘She’s having a feed first,’ Rua said.
It was the first two words of Rua’s sentence that caught people by the ears—‘She’s having’. Not asking, just telling. This was pretty sharp coming out of Rua who they knew must be wild about something. Teria, who had peeled twenty-four onions and was crying and chopping them, stopped what she was doing, washed her hands in a bowl, damped down a cloth and began dabbing her eyes so she could see better what was going to happen here. Brig and Moana let up on the noise they were making counting out bowls for the salads, and Awhina cutting rewena, stopped being so vigorous about pulling and pushing the knife. Mereana paused in her tin buttering, rolled her sleeves and waited. Pita and Joyleen who had been asked to bring in a form for people to sit on came in carrying it between them. They put it down and sat.
‘She can eat at home,’ Amiria said biffing a fistful of salt in with the rest of the dry ingredients and shuffling a hand in the basin to make a well for the milk and burnt sugar as Babs came across with the pot.
‘Then she can clean up the dog hair and kitten mess all over the place,’ Babs said.
Everyone had heard all about this earlier from Babs too, how Kid had locked the kitten in a room and it had messed, how there was dog hair all over the settee and how Kid was now off somewhere hiding.
‘She’s having a feed first,’ Rua said.
Wai, outside the tent arranging a space in the hangi baskets for the pudding tins, was saying to the two men attending the fire, ‘Still no wharekai, no roof over our fires, no roof over our cooks.’
‘Well, not raining at least,’ one of the men said.
She could hear the exchange going on inside the tent and was glad young Rua was standing up to The Sisters. There was something she wanted to say to them too and she might as well say it in front of everybody as soon as she got a chance.
The men at the fires also heard what was going on, lifted their eyebrows at each other and let their ears hang open as Wai went to the opening and looked in.
The burnt sugar liquid and the milk with soda dissolved in it were all in the well now, and Amiria and Babs with ruby and amber rings removed and resting on the bench beside them, were pushing their lovely hands through the wet mixture. Both their mouths were open.
‘Come on you two,’ Wai, from the flap, said to Rua and Kid, ‘Boil-up for the cooks out here on the fire.’
‘She can eat at home. It’s none of his business,’ Amiria said.
Those listening noticed the word ‘his’ rather than ‘your’—cheeky enough they thought, though Amiria had not been willing to directly challenge Wai who was a generation older than she was.
‘She’s not going anywhere ’til she’s had a feed,’ Wai said.
‘None of his business.’
‘It’s everyone’s business who eats,’ Wai said. ‘And another thing … You don’t leave her home on her own when you go out, you hear. You send her over my place. Told you before.’ Wai put a hand on the back of Kid’s neck and turned her towards the fireplace.
So, it was all over. The talk started again, as did the chopping, cutting, counting and carrying. The Two with their hands sliding in the pudding said nothing more, knew they were on shaky ground even though they did believe Kid was big enough, old enough to stay home and look after a cat on her own, big enough, old enough to keep the place from getting messed up. She was sly. And it was nobody else’s business. That young Te Rua Tapaerangi was getting too smart for his boots.
Or boot.
One leg and he thought he could get away with murder.
But it wasn’t quite all over.
‘Like we’re still back last century,’ Wai was saying to the men. ‘Outdoor kitchen. One drop of rain, up to our ankles in mud. No rain and we got dust over everything.’
Jackson and Joeboy came up from the hangi area, slinging a basket down between them and returning at a fast walk to the pit. Other men came after them taking baskets away. Babs and Amiria in their rosy aprons, their Starboks, their high-up hair came out with the foiled tins, their angry puddings, and stacked them in the last of the baskets, then the two men who had been looking after the fires took this remaining basket between them and followed the others to the pit, leaving the newly filled pots on the fire for the crays.
Down on the marae atea the groom and his family were being welcomed, and through the fringe of trees at the edge of the marae, those at the fire or coming to the flap of the tent could see one of the visitors on his feet, pacing, talking. He had everyone laughing.
‘It’s that blow bag from the other side who married my mate Neta,’ Wai said. ‘Hasn’t showed his face round here since he was treasurer of the rugby club and absconded with the funds years ago. Praise the Lord through Sunday, him, rip off the people Monday. Been up and down the country into one rip-off scheme after another, one wife after another too, and never been to jail once. Now he’s big chief, I heard, Piiki Chiefy, some wallah wallah in the Corrections Department, some sort of kaumatua. And now … now little Tia’s marrying one of his nephews. God almighty that kid she’s marrying better be better than the uncle.’
The hangi makers were returning from the pit slow legged, cooked looking, eyes bugging, taking turns at the hose flushing out their faces and washing their heads. They sat on the bank in the grass from where they could watch proceedings through the trees.
Chapter Five
He sat on a box by the fire keeping it stoked until the water was at full boil before lifting the first of the crayfish out of the sack by its feelers. Thought he should’ve put them in fresh water to drown first but there hadn’t been time.
As soon as they arrived back Arch had gone home so that he could clean up and get back down to the marae before the visitors arrived, leaving him there with the boat and the crays. Jackson and Joeboy had come over from the hangi to unload the bags and carry them up on to the grassy patch by the fire for him. Now he could see Jase coming.
As he lifted it the cray opened itself out in air, reaching out its jointed legs, flicking its tail down segment by segment until it was fully stretched, fitted and fluted like a musical instrument. ‘Mind out,’ he said to Kid who was still picking away at her food and as he let the cray down into the pot, swinging himself away as it tucked its tail and pushed, splashing the boiling water. It tucked again and then stopped. ‘Where’s your aunties?’ he asked.
‘Home getting dressed.’
He began stacking the crays in, holding the lid of the pot up like a shield against the hot splashes. ‘Go home and change too,’ he said. ‘Wait ’til you see them coming back then go and get a dress. Go and see the wedding.’ When he finished he began spreading the embers with a stick, bringing the water in the first pot down to an even simmer as the crays began to lighten in colour. ‘And,’ he said, ‘take Kutu along and tie him up at Aunty Wai’s or he might go down and jump all over the bride.’
‘You shoulda got me,’ Jase said, emptying one of the bags out on to the grass.
‘Too late. Tide already down,’ he said.
‘Who? Who went?’
‘Me, her.’
‘Just youse?’
‘Just us.’
‘But Maan … But Bro you were pissed as.’
He boosted the fire under the second pot while Jase began untangling the second lot of crays and letting them down into the water. ‘What about the car?’ he asked.
‘Rocks under the wheels and Tina’s sister give us a tow … What you think, Tina?’
‘Aaa. Shitty when she woke up,’ he said, ‘Supposed to drop her off, you.’
‘Nnn … Well … Didn’t tell me where, did she? Somewhere down Ludfield all I know. Bones and Remelda gone, you out of it, her out of it. How was I to know?’
They left the first lot of crays cooking and went to sit with the workers on the bank who were resting and watching through the trees. The crowd down on the marae had gone quiet, the singers were arranging themselves and the kaikaranga was standing ready to call the bridal party.
‘My volley ball shorts I’ll have you know,’ his cousin Eva whispered beside him. She was dressed in a black skirt and white top ready to be a waitress.
‘Too bloody small, your shorts,’ he said,
‘Don’t bust my shorts, you.’
‘Chopped in the goolies when I sit everytime.’
The shorts were chafing him now that he’d steamed and drip-dried. Kid was down there, up in one of the trees with Georgie and Hinewai getting a good look at everything. No dress, just clean shorts and a tee shirt like the other kids. Kid with other kids, Kid with her cousins doing what other kids did, watching the bride come in.
Discarding one of the crutches he leaned himself against the bench and propped his left elbow into the other crutch because he wanted to do the job himself. Jase was too heavy, too rough, and the crays could end up smashed, legs missing or busted. Jase went round to the other side of the bench to turn the crays over, lay them out and hold the legs away. ‘After this,’ Jase said, ‘ring her … Might.’
He pushed into the cray’s head with the knife that had been sharpened so many times it was like a needle, bringing it down through the centre of the body, down through the length of tail, then after completing the cut pressing the two sides apart until the back shell cracked. White flesh, shitty heads still steaming. Picking up the knife again, he got his balance and pushed the point hard into the next one. ‘You got no phone number,’ he said as he drew down.
‘Hnnn,’ Jase spread the next cray. ‘Sister going off her nut about her not coming home, sister babysitting for Tina.’
It was meant to be a night out at the local. They were meant to get home and have a sleep then get themselves off to the cove this morning. Instead they’d ended up in the city at an all-night party getting stewed with friends of Remelda’s.
‘Out of it, her. Up and down Ludfield,’ Jase said. ‘Asking … but she’s out of it.’
‘Aaa … You kept filling her glass all night.’
‘How do I know?’
‘Mmm.’
It was true. His cousin was clueless when it came to all that. ‘You got the wobbles on the way home. Wobble wobble, next thing wheels up in sand, you asleep. Remember that much, me.’
‘Hnnn, well anyway what about you? What about that one, that one …?’
True, what about him? What about that one, Donna. Him being one-legged hadn’t put her off, didn’t put any of them off, he didn’t know why.
‘What we doing with these here? Trays? Basins?’ Jase asked.
‘None left. We got to empty the water out the big pots and stack our crays back in. They send someone when they want them down there on the tables.’
‘You know, that one … Donna … I reckon you coulda got lucky anytime.’
If he wanted.
Looking in under the flap of the marquee, he felt satisfied about the way the crays had been set in the middle of each table on the platters with lettuce, tomatoes, parsley. There was condensed milk and vinegar dressing in glass bowls by each one.
Everyone was seated now, and at one end of the main table the minister was tapping a glass with a spoon and beginning grace while Eva and the others in their black and white clothes went from table to table, reaching across to remove the gladwrap from the salads, creamed paua and fish, and the tinfoil cover
s from the bowls of hangi. He stank of crays and the shorts were choking him but he was free to go now, get back to Wai’s to shower and change, or better still he could go back to his own place for a sleep then stoke up his bath. When he came back they’d give him a barman job, stick him behind the keg.
He made his way along the track over the hill and through the manuka to the deeper green of karaka, ponga, nikau, rangiora, akeake and the black bush floor. The black earth of the track, criss-crossed with tree roots, was packed solid even though it didn’t get used much. Only his one-legged self and his four-legged mate came through here now that there were easier places, easier ways to the eel spots and the watercress. Kutu was keeping within sniffing distance of the hangi bone he’d wrapped and put in the backpack.
They had come this way twice a week when he was little, Mum, Moananui and himself, to bring Nanny Blind’s bread and fish, and each time they came he’d heard his mother trying to persuade Nanny Blind to come home with them because her house was too damp in winter, too old, too cold, too far in the trees, no electric. ‘Leave me, leave me,’ Nanny Blind would say.
‘And Ani Wainoa. You and Ani Wainoa come and live with me.’
‘Leave me, leave me and my girl.’
‘Or Wai’s place, or Archie’s, whatever you want. They all want you to come and live with one of us now that your sister’s gone.’
‘Leave me and my girl. Leave me and my Toss.’
Before going home they’d go up the creek for watercress and on their way back along the track his mother would call through the trees to Ani Wainoa on her way home from school with books she stole. ‘You tell Nanny Blind you want to come and live with us now,’ his mother would say. ‘Tell Nanny you want to come home to Mummy now, Ani Wainoa.’ And Ani Wainoa would slit her eyes, look sideways out of them and bite her big teeth over her bottom lip as though she was thinking hard, as though she was giving the idea all her consideration. She always was bullshit that Ani Wainoa. ‘Now that Nanny Ru’s dead and there’s only Nanny Blind we want you to come,’ his mother would say. ‘You tell her, you tell her Sweetie you want her to come, tell her you want to come home to live with Mummy now.’