A fresh shower of hail rattles down the quay. Mikkel moans.
‘Quick,’ says Con, taking charge now. ‘Where is your ship? We must get this poor bugger under a roof and then a doctor to him. The stories can come later.’
BY nightfall the coastal steamship Waipawa is pounding north in rough seas. Mikkel lies smiling and dreaming on his bunk, loaded to the eyeballs with laudanum but a dreadful colour. The boys, who are signed on as passengers, sit with him. Con is on deck, taking over Mikkel’s duties. Before they left Hokitika the doctor, drunk himself by the smell of his breath, and careless over the fate of a black man, diagnosed broken ribs, bound them and prescribed a heavy dose of an opiate. Announcing that nothing more could be done, he hurried ashore to more savoury patients.
When Con’s watch is over he comes below to the crowded little cabin. He sits on the bunk and holds Mikkel’s cold hand. The broken man hardly raises a lump under the blankets. His breathing is ragged and his cheeks flushed. Occasionally a pinkish foam bubbles from a corner of his mouth. Con tries to prop him up, but Mikkel cries out with the pain. They give him more laudanum.
All night the boys and Con talk in low voices, telling their lives. Sometimes Mikkel smiles. Perhaps Con’s stories are entering his dreams. Con tries a quiet song, but Mikkel becomes agitated, calling for his fiddle and coughing up blood. They calm him, hold his hand.
At one time Con reaches into his trouser pocket and takes out a crumpled piece of paper. Smoothes it, reads and sighs. The boys wait, smiling to each other, recognising the tricks of a storyteller.
‘While you have been pursuing your decent lives in Sydney,’ begins Con, ‘I have been making yet another mess of mine on a high plateau up the coast a way. A hard place.’
Con talks of coalmining and miraculous engineering and whole towns isolated up in the mist. Of the ghosts of dead miners moaning through abandoned mines and of wagons derailing to crash thousands of feet down precipices. He describes a daughter — or perhaps, he says with a fierce growl, not his daughter at all — so pretty and smart that everyone took her to heart. The mother is not mentioned. There is a murder, too, and an evil, Bible-spouting blacksmith.
‘Our lives in Sydney have been plain as milk, to hear you talk,’ says Johan, not quite believing it all.
Con smiles sadly and strokes Mikkel’s feverish brow. ‘Plain can be paradise — don’t forget that, lads,’ he says. But the boys want more stories.
Con reads aloud his crumpled letter, written just six days ago by this same daughter. ‘She took my last guinea, saved in case of further disasters, left the note and disappeared. Only seven years old,’ he says, ‘but more sense in her curly head than both her parents put together.’ He points to her handwriting with pride — a neat, firm hand you would take for someone older than seven. The way the big man reads and re-reads the words, the way his tears run, the boys know some truth lies in the heart of the story.
I am going away, the words in the note say. I don’t want to stay with you and my mother any more. I can look after myself better. I don’t want you to look for me, I will be all right.
Rose
‘She was right to go — she is better off without me,’ says Conrad sadly. ‘I thought I was protecting her but only made her life worse. Ah Jesus, boys, you had better be rid of me here and now!’
But he doesn’t mean it, not for a minute.
LATER, as the Waipawa steams up the coast towards the North Island, and a calmer dawn is lightening the sky, Mikkel Waag smiles in his sleep and dies. They bury him at sea out from the island of Kapiti, close to the place where Anahuia was born.
2.
A letter from
Johan (Jackie) Rasmussen
Karere
3rd December 1884
Dear Mama,
Our new father says I must write to you if I am not coming back so he can at least bring a letter. He is afraid, I think, that you will blame him. But I think you know. That I am not coming back.
I love this country, Mama. It is my homeland and what I have been missing. The soil here has a beautiful smell, dark and sweet. I love to take off my boots and feel it under my bare feet. Mama, I am happy here, please believe this and don’t worry. The country is so open, the sky so clear. On this farm the flat fields and the river and the patches of great trees are just like you described. We all walked down to find where our whenua was buried, but no one is living there — the Maori kainga you told us about has gone, so no one could tell us where to look. We found a tree by the river, a totara, and decided this might be the one and said a prayer there. Noki and I sang the song you taught us. I hope we got it right.
Mama, Sydney is good for you, I know that. But not for me. You must take some blame because of all your stories! I have work here on the Monrad farm for now but later I will go down to the place where you were born and see that. My plan is to one day have a farm of my own somewhere close to here.
We found a sad thing when we arrived at Karere. Herr Viggo Monrad met us at the door of his big house. He looked so thin and tired. His wife, Fru Olga Monrad, who you knew, has died just a few weeks ago. I don’t know how — some illness, I think. There are seven children and the youngest only three years old. Herr Monrad is very sad and also finding it too hard to look after them all. He is going back to Denmark. He says he remembers you well and sends his greeting. He says his father, who you translated for, is back in Denmark and living happily. He is a bishop again, not a politician.
Mama, I have been thinking about how to explain this — why you went away from here and why I must come back. I have met Oscar Monrad. He is Herr Viggo Monrad’s second son and a little younger than me but a big boy like us. We talked about this thing — leaving and coming back. I like him very much. He is friendly and laughing. You would think him older than he is. He loves this land too and knows everything about farming and cows and ploughing and all the things I have yet to learn. He says he must go back to Denmark to help his father with the young ones on the voyage, and to see his grandfather, but he is determined to come back soon. His father, he says, longs to see his homeland again, but Oscar and his brother know they will come back to live here. This is his homeland. And mine now.
In my head I see it as a kind of pattern. You and Herr Viggo Monrad and maybe Onkel Mikkel and our new father are different from us younger ones — your children. You are those who break away. You still have different voices calling you in different directions. It is easier for us. We don’t hear all those distant calls. Maybe we are the ones who will settle, and then maybe our children will become unsettled and want to break away!
Sorry, Mama, this does not make much sense. You will say I am the one breaking away, but it doesn’t feel like that. I feel as if I am coming home. I am doing what you would like to but can’t. Think of me as your bridge. When I have a farm (perhaps you could send some money?) and a wife and children, I think you will find it easy to come back and love this land too.
Noki is angry with me and upset and of course I will miss him, but then he is already a man of the sea so we will be apart anyway.
God bless you, Mama, and keep you well. Please give my sisters a kiss.
Arohanui
Your Jackie
(Johan Rasmussen)
P.S. We all cried when Onkel Mikkel died. But he was smiling. He was happy to know that he was the one who found Conrad. The others will tell you about it. I wonder what you will think of our new father. He is very loud and big but a great storyteller like you said.
J.
3.
ANAHUIA CAN DESCRIBE every detail of the day they came back. Years later, she could tell you what colours she wore (deep purple tussore with narrow magenta stripes; mother-of-pearl locket and earrings to match), describe the day (hot and cloudless with a blessed breeze from the south), and the date (16 December, a Wednesday, close to midday). The grandchildren thought she remembered rather too many details. They preferred the stories about dark bush and savage wars and catching
eels in muddy rivers. But to Anahuia the story of this day is a rich one, full of joy and fulfilment — and of pain. She loves to tell it.
She is standing on her own doorstep, having just seen off a wealthy client, and pauses for a moment to enjoy the fresh breeze on her face. The homecoming is imminent; she can feel their presence. Can almost feel his heartbeat. But also, mixed with the expectation, a loss, which puzzles her. She already guesses that Johan might not be with them and will only be pleased if he has found peace in that country. So what is this other loss? She sighs and shifts on the doorstep, reluctant to go back to work. Inside the house the air is stifling, even though the big windows of the sewing rooms and the cutting room are raised and the back door latched open. The staff are all heads down and fingers flying to finish a rush of Christmas orders, the girls at school. Across the road Mrs Andropoulos, her basket heavy with fresh bread and cheese, waves a hand jingling with gold bracelets.
‘Good morning, Madame Ana. Already it is too hot to walk! What will the afternoon bring?’
Anahuia looks down the street. Looks again, narrowing her eyes. ‘It will bring a husband,’ she murmurs, ‘and maybe a death.’
But her heart lifts to see him.
Far below, the familiar shapes of two men toil up from the railway station, canvas swags over shoulders. Mikkel’s fiddle case swings from Noki’s hand. A sign.
The figures appear to shimmer slightly in the heat off the road. They walk together, stride for stride, talking like friends. She waits. Their heads are down, leaning into the gradient, bowed by the heat. The bigger man pauses to peer this way and that at houses. Every movement is familiar. Then he looks up the street and sees her standing there. It is as if his heart has, for a moment, failed him. He turns to stone. Noki climbs on, unaware.
Anahuia suddenly finds it difficult to breathe.
Noki looks up too, then, and sees her standing, one hand on the door-post, the other at her throat. He turns back, his hand out to Conrad, who is standing stock-still below, in the middle of the road. No one speaks. They could be posing for a photograph.
Noki breaks it. He runs up to his mother, shouting in the thunderous voice so like his father’s, ‘We have brought you a surprise, Mama! We have found our father!’
Anahuia manages a nod.
Slowly the big man picks up his bundles and continues walking, eyes on her every step of the way. He stops in front of her, ready to smile but anxious, waiting for a sign. Anahuia stands, proud in her splendid dress, at the door of her large establishment.
‘Where in the name of all the oceans have you been?’ she asks, her voice stern, tears running down.
‘He thought we were dead!’ shouts Noki. ‘It wasn’t his fault!’
‘I know that,’ says Anahuia. ‘I know that.’
Conrad can hear the love in her voice. And the joy. Wordless for once in his life, he stands there, smiling, his throat aching.
Anahuia longs to touch him, to hold that bruised man tight and stroke away the great sadness in him. ‘Come inside quick,’ she gasps, ‘before my legs give way.’
In the shadow of the doorway he opens his arms to her, pulls her dark head into his shoulder, smelling her fragrance. She rests there. Noki has never seen his mother so soft.
‘Sweetheart,’ says Conrad. And then, ‘Anahuia.’
In other rooms the clatter of the establishment continues: shouts, running feet, the snap of shaken cloth. Here is stillness.
Finally Conrad sighs. ‘We have many stories to tell. Songs to sing.’ He smiles into her hair. ‘Many foolish acts in my life, as you can imagine.’
‘I can.’
‘But marvels, too. Wait till you hear!’
Anahuia stands back from him then, laughing. ‘Conrad Rasmussen, I have waited sixteen years for you. The marvels can no doubt wait another minute or two. Come inside, at least.’
LATER, when the seamstresses have gone home, and the house is quiet, they sit together in the cool back yard, looking over roofs and trees down towards the harbour. Conrad has wept with Mikkel’s beautiful daughters over the death of their father. He has distributed gifts. A comb of carved walrus tooth gleams against Anahuia’s dark hair.
In the fading light Conrad begins to sing. The slow beautiful phrases echo off the bricks of the house. On and on he sings. The others breathe the scented air and listen. To Anahuia the song is part lament, part homecoming. She hears peace in the strange, soft words. Noki hears the sea — he thinks of high-wheeling sea-birds. He picks up Mikkel’s fiddle, fingers the strings, then leans in to whisper to his mother, ‘What is it about? I can’t understand!’
Anahuia smiles at her impatient son. ‘Shh. Listen. The words are from the far north. From his homeland. Listen.’
THUS ends this saga of Enok of Su∂eroy, Faroeman, also known as Køne, Con and Conrad Rasmussen. Storyteller. Carver. Traveller on the whale-road.
SOME REAL EVENTS RELEVANT TO THE PERIOD OF THIS NOVEL
1822 First written form of Faroese published (by Danes): a collection of Faroese ballads about the Viking hero Sigurd.
1849 King Frederik VII of Denmark accepts constitution, largely devised by liberal politician D. G. Monrad. Universal male suffrage. Two elected Faroese and two Greenlanders are included in Denmark’s folk Parliament.
1850 July: Battle of Isted. Danish and Slesvig armies finally repulse invading Holsten and Prussian armies, driving them from Slesvig.
Treaty of London signed: the duchies of Slesvig and Holsten must remain together, neither bound more strongly to Denmark than the other. (Monrad disagreed with this treaty.)
1851 Faroese Parliament (Løgting) reinstated as advisory council to Danish king’s representative.
1855 Danish Trade Monopoly on Faroes abolished. Free trade permitted.
1860 Full-rigged steam frigate Jylland launched at Nyholm naval shipyard, Copenhagen. Jylland took part in Battle of Heligoland (1864) and is now a museum ship in Ebeltoft, Jutland, Denmark.
1862 Bismark appointed prime minister of Prussia.
1863 King Christian IX becomes king of Denmark.
November: Danish Parliament ignores Treaty of London and passes a law giving people of Slesvig the same liberal rights as Danish citizens.
December: Bismark uses this as an excuse for Prussian troops to occupy Holsten.
Monrad appointed prime minister of Denmark. Danish troops withdraw to Dannevirke Line in Slesvig.
1864 January: Bismark gives Denmark impossible ultimatum to revoke Slesvig constitution. General de Meza withdraws Danish army from Dannevirke Line to Dybbøl. Monrad offers resignation: not accepted. Prussian army follows into Slesvig. Digs in at Dybbøl.
March: First major bombardment of Dybbøl and Sønderborg.
April: Danish army defeated, withdraws to Als with many losses.
Battle of Heligoland — Danish navy defeat Austro/Prussian squadron.
London Conference begins, aimed at finding peace terms.
April (in New Zealand) Pai Marire followers in Taranaki, angered at land confiscations, attack colonial forces.
June: Monrad, at London Conference, will not agree to punitive compromise.
Bismark immediately crosses to Als. Danish army routed.
July: Monrad wishes to fight on. King Christian asks Monrad to step down. Other ministers sent to negotiate peace terms.
October: Disastrous peace treaty signed. Denmark loses 40 per cent of its land.
1865–66 (in New Zealand) Pai Marire followers in Taranaki are defeated by colonial troops, who lay waste to Maori villages and crops.
1865 Rangitane chief Te Awe Awe plays major role in selling a large block of land, Ahu-a-Turanga (now Palmerston North district), to the government.
December: Monrad, his wife, sons Viggo and Johannes, daughter Karen and daughter-in-law Olga sail for New Zealand aboard Victory, with six young Danish men and a quantity of equipment.
1866 Monrad buys land at Karere (part of the Palmerston North block). Builds ho
use, breaks in land. Other Danes follow, including Monrad’s daughter Louise.
1868 Pai Marire leader Titokowaru abandons nonviolent resistance and leads several successful attacks in south Taranaki against colonial troops, who retreat to the outskirts of Wanganui.
Many Manawatu settlers, including the Monrad family, flee to Foxton after warnings of an imminent Pai Marire invasion.
Colonial troops mount attack on Titokowaru but find his pa abandoned, and the leader retreated to north Taranaki. Manawatu is never invaded.
1869 Monrad, his wife and daughters leave Wellington for Denmark. Two sons stay to fight in the colonial militia and later to settle. Monrad gifts to the New Zealand government his valuable collection of etchings and other artworks on paper.
1870 New Zealand Parliament adopts Treasury Minister Julius Vogel’s scheme to assist immigrants with their passage. Monrad family helps to persuade government to include Scandinavians in the scheme. Many Scandinavians are settled in Manawatu and Wairarapa. Assisted settlers pay back their loans by building roads and railways.
1872 Disastrous voyage of immigrant ship England. Many Scandinavians aboard. Smallpox epidemic kills many passengers.
1870s (in Faroes and Copenhagen) Faroese students fuel a nationalist movement, focused on preservation of language, poetry and culture.
1878 (in Sydney) The Garden Palace, a huge and ornate wooden exhibition hall, is erected in the Botanic Gardens. Many citizens are annoyed at the loss of the harbour view.
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