‘What do you think?’ I asked when we were in the car on our way home.
George turned and looked at me.
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘After Nina’s endorsement I can’t imagine it won’t go your way.’
After a little while he threw me another quick glance.
‘And I meant every word I said.’
24.
The call came the following Friday. Such a brief conversation, yet my life was completely changed in an instant. Or perhaps my life had just begun.
I sank down on a chair after I had put the phone down.
It felt strange, the laughter. Hesitant and frail, like the first thin trickle in a dried-out riverbed. But it gained momentum, till it burst out of me. I ran out onto the deck, lifted my arms to the sky. Danced like a madwoman. Then I started to run.
I arrived completely out of breath. I found George in a sunchair at the back of his house, reading the paper.
He slowly stood up as he spotted me. I ran up to him and threw my arms around his neck.
It took a moment before he responded. It seemed as if he hesitated for a second or two, to give me an opportunity to change my mind. To make sure it wasn’t just a rash impulse. Then I felt how he embraced me, hard, lifted me off the ground and twirled around on the grass with me in his arms.
‘It’s done!’ I said when he put me down and I had regained my breath. ‘Ika is staying.’
Then I kissed him.
25.
I walked along the beach. There were a couple of hours until it was time to collect Ika from school. We had agreed to go together – George would pick me up.
There was a nip in the air and the sand was cool under my feet. I remembered the time Ika and I had talked about place. This place and other places, and he had asked me if I was always going to stay here. Then, my answer had come out spontaneously and I hadn’t hesitated for even a second. I had thought that I would stay here until my life was over.
Since I came to live here I had never been further than Auckland. There had been days, sometimes weeks, when I hadn’t left this beach at all.
Now, when I looked around I suddenly saw that my well-known setting was undergoing a subtle change. Not in how it looked, but in how it felt. It felt as if it was retreating. I let my eyes wander over the familiar sand dunes, where earlier I had thought that I knew every line, every shadow, and they looked different. It felt as if I was about to be delivered out of the environment that had protected me for so long.
I had not thought any further ahead than this day. Now that it had arrived, I realised I would have to make plans. Even if they did not include any major changes, my life would never be as before. I am not sure if it had quite dawned on me before that I now had to consider a future.
I had lived for so long without a future, and with a locked-away past. Every day had been a matter of survival, one day at a time. I had never looked back, and never forwards, but lived in some kind of eternal present.
I wandered down to the edge of the water. The odd wave reached me, and the cold water swept over my feet. I looked out to sea. I wondered if perhaps I had finally gained that sense of wholeness that I had always associated with the sea. I wondered whether I now had the capacity to live a life that contained a past as well as a future.
Whatever lay in store.
It is instinct that drives her. She is fighting for her life. For some measure of life. Or perhaps it is not life she is seeking. Perhaps it is a place to die.
So she leaves and travels again to the other side of the earth. It is a pilgrimage, perhaps, and a temple that she is hoping to find.
A place where one day she will be able to open her memories.
If I am not able to live here, and wait for that day, then I can die here, she thinks.
She takes one day at a time.
Walks along her lonely beach. Meandering, tentative walks, searching for something she never finds.
But time passes. And she lives a sort of life in the cocoon of loneliness she has woven around herself.
Somehow, and for some reason, she survives. Creates an existence that isn’t life, but a vague resemblance.
Sometimes she marvels at the fact that she is still here, that she is still alive.
And although she knows why she has chosen this place, she doesn’t allow herself even the slightest recollection of that which has brought her here, doesn’t even brush against it.
But it has happened that she has taken the car and driven to Kawhia. There, she has not even left the car, just parked where she saw him drive away. She sits there and she doesn’t understand why.
But she never returns to the place where they camped.
26.
‘I think this calls for a proper celebration,’ George said after dinner that Friday.
Ika nodded, and he looked like a serious grown-up man. It was moving to see how he had already acquired several of George’s mannerisms.
I laughed this strange, recently recovered laughter that still startled me.
‘But we already have,’ I said, and pointed to what remained of our meal. ‘A superb dinner.’
I lifted my wine glass and proposed a toast.
‘Sometimes we are given exactly what we need. Those precise people that you need the most come stumbling into your life. Sometimes you don’t notice, and this is very sad. Sometimes you lose them again. This is sad too, but not as sad. Because what you have once had together, you have forever. Dear Ika, I am so very happy I found you lying by my feet that day. And I am so very grateful that you have stayed in my life. Now we have each other forever, whatever happens.’
Ika raised his glass and glanced briefly in my direction.
‘And you, George,’ I said, and turned to him. ‘I am so happy that I finally took notice of you. And I am sorry it took so long. And so very grateful that you were still around when I lifted my eyes.’
And so we toasted.
George cleared his throat.
‘I am not sure that it is a great idea,’ he said, ‘but I have something different in mind. Something special.’
Ika looked at George, and his gaze fixed on him properly.
‘I think we should make an excursion,’ George said.
‘Where?’ Ika and I said with one voice.
George smiled his secretive little smile.
‘I thought it should be a surprise. Does tomorrow suit?’
We nodded and I asked if there was anything I could bring.
George shook his head.
‘Nothing at all,’ he said.
We helped clear the table and then we said goodnight.
George put his hand lightly on my shoulder, and again I felt as if he was waiting for my reaction. I put my hand on top of his and then I took a step closer and put my cheek against his.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘For everything.’
He put his arms around me and pulled me close. Then abruptly he let go and took my hand instead.
‘Come here,’ he said to Ika.
To my utter surprise, Ika stepped forwards. George put his hand on Ika’s head and gently brought him closer. For a moment we stood like that, forming a small unity.
Then Ika and I wandered home.
I turned to wave one last time, but George had turned off the light in the hall and I couldn’t be sure whether he was still there on his deck.
I thought so, though, and Ika and I both waved.
It was late when we got home, but it was Friday so it didn’t matter. We sat on the deck for a while, Ika in his usual spot in the hammock and I on the top step.
Suddenly I heard his voice from the hammock.
‘Now we’re home,’ he said.
I nodded to myself.
‘Yes, now we’re home.’
27.
George arrived the following morning as agreed. It was sunny and clear and we had the road to ourselves. We drove north, along the sea. I tried to guess where we were heading. To Ragla
n? But when we reached Raglan we turned east. Eventually I gave up trying to guess and leaned back in my seat to enjoy the journey.
George had brought coffee in a thermos and juice for Ika and a muffin each, and we made a short stop on the roadside and ate and drank. Ika didn’t seem any more curious than I was, and he asked no questions.
Finally we left the main road. Cows grazed peacefully on either side of the narrow road and we travelled slowly.
‘A helicopter!’ Ika called out.
I looked at George and his smile was wider than ever.
We were going to have a helicopter ride.
And George was the pilot.
I stared at him.
‘You have many secret skills,’ I said.
He just smiled.
Ika sat beside George and I sat in the back seat. It was my first helicopter ride. I told myself it was no different from putting our lives in George’s hands when we travelled in his car. Somehow it didn’t quite feel the same though.
But as soon as we gained height and the landscape spread out below us, I forgot my objections and my anxiety dissolved.
It was stunningly beautiful.
I was completely entranced, struck dumb. But George and Ika were communicating with their hands, pointing this way and that. We flew in a wide sweep towards the coast. It took me a while to realise where we were heading.
We flew in over my beach and I could make out my house.
But my house was not our goal.
It was our project.
I could see that Ika had realised this too.
For the first time I could see it as he had always been able to see it.
We descended and it expanded, like a painting under our feet.
Absolutely perfect.
Two trails – waves, I imagined – that belonged together but were distinctly separate at the same time. The impression was so perfect that I almost saw them move, softly intertwining in a constant graceful interplay.
George made several sweeps at different altitudes. It was breathtaking from all perspectives.
I tapped Ika on the shoulder and bent forwards. He turned so that I could see his profile. He was smiling.
We made one last turn and I thought we were heading back, but George continued south.
We flew in over Kawhia and the harbour.
Out towards the sea.
Then we continued in a wide semicircular movement across the inlet.
There it was, the peninsula, framed by the dark blue-green sea. The place I had avoided even thinking about. The place I had convinced myself had dissolved in the dust behind the car when we left.
I could see it, embrace it as a part of a past that I wanted to retain, as well as a part of a future I was now welcoming.
We flew higher, and below us the individual features of the landscape gradually merged.
Everything merged and became a whole.
Acknowledgements
At the best of times, writing a novel is a solitary occupation. The work stretches over a long period of time, and often feels like wandering alone in a landscape that is being created as it is explored – a landscape with no certain pathways, no landmarks, alien and tempting at the same time.
2010 was not the best of times for me and without the support from family and friends, I might have been forever lost in my landscape and this book would not have been written. I wish to thank all of you who kept believing in what I was trying to do, showed me the way and made me believe, too. I am sure you know who you are.
I also wish to thank Lorraine Hoult, who tirelessly talked to me about the work of those who look out for the smallest and most vulnerable in our society. With patience and respect she answered all my questions, however simple and trivial, and in the process she changed the way I view the work of Child, Youth and Family, CYF, forever. In a sense, what I learned opened my eyes and came to change the way I view our entire society.
Finally, my sincere gratitude to my editor, Rachel Scott, who has again miraculously transformed my manuscript, while making me believe it was my own doing.
Linda Olsson
Auckland, October 2011
Memory of Love (9781101603024) Page 19
