by Des Hunt
‘I thought you looked good. Do you think you could teach me?’
My jaw dropped. ‘Me? Teach you?’
He laughed. ‘Yes! What’s so strange about that?’
‘You could have the best teachers in the world,’ I explained.
‘Yes,’ he agreed quietly, ‘and also have half the photographers in the world taking photos of the lessons. I don’t want that. This is something I want to do in private, just for me. Something I will do only in this bay. So, do you think you can do it?’
‘I suppose so,’ I said, uncertainly.
He smiled. ‘Are you worried that I’ll be hard to teach?’
‘No!’ I said, quickly. ‘I don’t know if I can do it.’
‘Let’s find out together, shall we? What sort of kit will I need?’
‘Did you body-board as a kid?’
He exploded in laughter. ‘I’m from London, Jake. The only place I ever swam was in the pool at school.’ He laughed again. ‘Assume I know nothing.’
For the next few minutes we discussed what he would need. I suggested that he start with a boogie-board, a wetsuit and a pair of fins. There was a sports shop in Lyall Bay, Wellington, which had good gear. He could get the surfboard either now or later.
‘I’ll get it all tomorrow,’ he said excitedly. ‘Can you make it again tomorrow afternoon?’
I nodded.
‘Great! See you then.’ He began to walk away, then had another thought and turned back. ‘Oh, and Jake? Please keep this to yourself. As I said, I want this to be something that I do for myself. I don’t want the whole world to know about it.’ He smiled. ‘The last thing I want is a photo of me falling off a surfboard plastered all over the covers of magazines.’
‘I won’t tell anyone,’ I said quickly. ‘I won’t even tell my dad.’
He laughed. ‘There’s no need to go to that extreme. Just don’t go talking about it at school, or we’ll have photographers all over the place, and I’m sure neither of us want that.’
Chapter 6
Milton was waiting on the beach when I arrived the next afternoon. With both my surfboard and boogie-board, it was more than the usual struggle climbing down the path. Milton left the beach and rushed up to help me.
‘This is not right,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have to clamber down here to give me lessons. Come to the house in future.’
‘And use the elevator?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘Cool!’ I replied, not so much thinking of myself, but of Stephanie. Maybe if I told her about it, she might begin to forgive me.
When we got to the shore, Milton pointed to his gear and asked, ‘Is this stuff all right?’
I picked up the boogie-board and found that it was the best you could buy. Then I studied the surfboard; it too was top-of-the-line. ‘They’ll do,’ I said in a matter-of-fact voice.
He stared at me. ‘Is there something wrong with them? The man in the shop said they were the best you could get.’
I laughed. ‘They are. I’ve only ever seen them in magazines. None of the surfies around here have that sort of gear.’
He nodded slowly. ‘What you’re saying is that it’s probably too good for me?’
I shook my head. ‘No! It’s just so expensive.’
‘Jake, if you teach me to surf, I’ll give you something expensive. Something that you want, but couldn’t normally buy. How about that?’
And so the contract was set, although I’d expected to do it for nothing.
That day we just used the boogie-boards. We didn’t need fins, as the surf was breaking in water no higher than my head. Milt—as he insisted I call him—was a quick learner. He was much more athletic than I had expected him to be. Like many people, the image I had of pop stars was alcohol, drugs and bad living. While I knew that he’d left Total Abstinence because of the drugs, I suppose I still believed the magazines that said he’d also been part of that scene. I don’t think he could’ve been, though, or he wouldn’t have lasted as long in the water as he did. In the end, I was the one who had to call the lesson to a close—I was knackered.
My first ride up the glass elevator was fantastic. As we rose, the bay opened up below us. I’ve known Whale Pot Bay all my life, yet I’d never seen it like that before.
The elevator is more like a vertical cable railway. Two rails have been cemented into the cliff, and the glass cage gets pulled up on this. There are controls in the cage, but none at the bottom of the cliff, so if other people come onto the beach they can’t play with it.
At the top the doors open into a hallway, just like in a hotel—a very, very expensive hotel. There had been photos of the inside of the house on television, yet nothing could have prepared me for what I saw as I went into the lounge.
All of the side overlooking the sea was a wall of curved glass, at least ten metres long. Through it there was a great view up and down the coastline and out into the empty Pacific Ocean. There wasn’t a single sign that any other human lived on this part of the planet. This was the isolation that Milt valued so much.
While Milt went to get me an orange drink, I studied the inside of the room. The most noticeable feature was the space: there was no squeezing between chairs or clambering behind tables, and yet it had enough armchairs for a dozen people or more.
On the walls I found photos. The surprising thing was that none of them indicated that this was the home of a megastar. There was nothing from Hollywood or the world of rock music. The only personal photo was of a young Milt with a man I took to be his father: the similarity in appearance was striking. They were looking at something to the left of the camera—something very funny, for they were both laughing. I wondered if that was the laughter that had sparked ‘Laughter in the air’. It clearly was an important photo for Milt, as it had the best place on the wall.
The rest were all scenes from around Whale Pot Bay. Some were landscapes; others were close-ups, such as an extremely close view of fossils in the sandstone on which the house was built.
There was only one view of the house, yet it was stunning, and also most unexpected. The photo was taken from some distance out at sea, looking back towards the house which was on one side of the photo. In the foreground was a giant whale. Only its head was visible, but that was huge, with a great bulging nose; part of an open mouth was above the water, with the inside glowing white against the blue-grey body.
However, the most remarkable thing about the animal was the eye, which was tiny compared to the rest of the head. It was open and clearly focused on the photographer, as though the whale had just popped up out of the depths to take a look at what was going on.
‘You like it?’ said a voice from behind.
I had been so mesmerized by the photo that the question made me jump. ‘Yes,’ I replied, turning around to find Milt with my drink.
He handed me the glass. ‘It’s a sperm whale and it’s spy-hopping. That’s what it’s called when they gently rise out of the water to have a look around. It probably came up the coast from Kaikoura. It would be after squid in the Hikurangi Trench, which is not far offshore from here. We’d been fishing and were about to come in when I decided to photograph the coast. Then after I’d taken a couple of shots, this fellow pops up and poses for me. I think it’s the best photo I’ve ever taken.’
‘You took all of these?’ I asked, indicating the wall of photos.
He nodded. ‘All except the one with my father. It was he who taught me how to do it. Nature photography was his passion. We were always going to out-of-the-way places, photographing things. He would have loved it here.’ Milt’s expression softened in recollection. ‘Nowadays, this is the only place I get a chance to take photos. That’s one of the things that makes coming here so special. It helps me remember some very happy times.’ He breathed deeply for a moment, before adding, ‘And also some sad ones.’
I looked back at the whale. An idea was beginning to form in my head. ‘Could I have a print of this?’
> He thought for a moment. ‘Yes, so long as you keep it for yourself.’
‘Actually, I was wanting to give it to a girl, as an apology.’ Then I surprised myself by telling him about Stephanie, and the disastrous day of her visit.
When I’d finished, he looked at me for a while before saying, ‘Yes, it’s so easy to do something wrong, and so much harder to put it right. But if you think a copy of my photo can do it, then we should at least try.’
Ten minutes later, armed with an envelope containing a print of the whale, one of Milt’s staff drove me back to the jeep.
At home that night I typed a letter to go with the photo. It took me over an hour to create half a page. That was not because I’m a hopeless typist; it was because I had trouble finding the right words. In the end I started with my apology. That left the rest of the letter to describe the surfing lessons and the trip up to the house. At the bottom I asked her not to tell anybody about any of this, and to keep the photo to herself, as that was what Milt wanted.
The surfing lessons continued every afternoon. Milt would be already dressed in his wetsuit when I arrived as soon after school as I could. We’d travel down in the elevator and get on with the job. After three days he could paddle out on the surfboard, pick the right wave and board-surf to the shore. A couple of days later, he got onto his feet for the first time and remained balanced for about three seconds. He was so elated you would have thought he’d just won the world champs.
Each day when I arrived home from school I would first check the mail to see if there was a reply from Stephanie. I was becoming increasingly concerned that there was no response to my apology: an apology doesn’t make you feel much better unless it’s accepted. All sorts of ideas were forming in my mind about how she’d reacted to my letter.
A week after the first surf lesson, I arrived home from school to find a vehicle parked opposite our house—a black SUV with a guy sitting behind the wheel, smoking. It was the same vehicle I’d seen on the day the women had arrived.
Instead of going over to find out what he wanted, I went straight to the mailbox to collect the mail—still nothing from Stephanie. Disappointed, I went inside, thinking that if the man wanted to see us he could come and knock on the door.
A note on our kitchen whiteboard told me that Dad had gone to Masterton for some supplies. He’d be back about six with takeaways.
I was just about ready to head off to Milt’s when the man finally came to our door. Although he was no longer smoking, the lingering smell of cigarettes was sickening.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I’m Stuart Weston from SoilSeek, and you must be Jake Wrightson.’
I agreed that I was.
‘Good! Good!’ he said with a big smile. ‘I was hoping to find your dad in, but there seems to be nobody around.’
I’ve been taught to be polite with strangers, but to treat them with suspicion until I’m sure that they’re OK. Telling a stranger that Dad was in town was not the right thing to do, so I said, ‘He’ll be around somewhere. If you tell me what you want, I’ll pass it on.’
‘It’s about the soil testing on your land back there,’ he said, nodding towards the coast. ‘Your grandad wants it tested to see if it’s being looked after properly. I need to collect some samples.’
I looked at him, digesting what he’d said. After a while, I asked, ‘Have I seen you around here before?’
‘Yeah, you might’ve. I’ve been doing quite a bit of work in this valley lately.’
That sounded fair enough, but I still wasn’t going to let him into the house or onto the farm without checking with Grandad. Unfortunately, Grandad wasn’t home when I called—he was probably out having afternoon tea with Dad. Neither had a mobile phone, so contacting them was impossible. However, there was still something I could do: I could check out this SoilSeek company. I returned to the verandah and the man willingly handed over a business card.
The telephone number of the card got a reply, but the woman who answered didn’t seem to know if they were SoilSeek or not. Then a man came to the telephone and apologized, saying that the office girl was new and didn’t yet know all of the people in the building. Yes, Stuart Weston did work for SoilSeek, and today he was doing some testing on the Wairarapa coast.
What else could I do but accept that the man at the door was who he said he was? So I told him it was all right for him to go onto our land.
‘You couldn’t show me around, could you?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ I replied, ‘seeing I’m going that way anyway.’
‘Excellent!’ he responded. ‘I’ll just go and get my gear out of the car.’
On his suggestion, I ended up taking him all the way to Whale Pot Bay. He said he would start taking samples there and walk back. After dropping him off at the end of our property, I headed over to Milt’s place.
The surf was higher that day, and at first I was reluctant to go in. But Milt was so keen to try his new skills that we decided to give it a go. It was exciting, especially when I caught the perfect wave and stayed upright for what seemed like ages.
Then Milt got one and rode it like a champ…until the wave crashed down, and he, along with the board, was thrown high into the air. While it looked spectacular, it was also dangerous, and I was worried he might have been hurt. I quickly body-boarded into the shore to find him lying in the spent waves with a huge grin on his face.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
‘Mostly,’ he replied. ‘A few bruises perhaps, but it was worth it. That was awesome. I reckon I could easily become a surfing bum, given half the chance.’
‘You could also become dead,’ I said. ‘I think we should give up for the day.’
He agreed, and we walked up the beach with him raving about his totally awesome ride. He carried on so much you would’ve thought he was a kid.
We were part-way up the beach when he stopped dead and pointed towards the boats. ‘There’s someone hiding in there,’ he said.
I looked but couldn’t see anyone. ‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure. Come on. Let’s get him. You flush him out, and I’ll cut him off from the track.’ Without waiting for a reply, he dropped his surfboard and started jogging along the beach.
I kept walking, not at all sure that I wanted to be the one who flushed the intruder out. What if he decided his best escape was over the top of me and up the elevator? While I might be big for my age, that didn’t mean I could deal with an adult. However, I tried to ignore the tightness in my gut and kept on walking, albeit a little more slowly than before.
It wasn’t until I was almost alongside the boats that I saw him. He was crouching down with his back to me, fiddling with something on the ground. I stopped and stared, trying to get enough courage to confront him. For all I knew it could be a gun he was fiddling with.
I was about to yell out when he stood and moved away from me. He then looked up and must’ve seen Milt running towards the track, because he turned and ducked around the back of the boat. Next thing he was running towards the elevator.
Now that he was running away, I found the courage I needed. ‘Milt!’ I yelled. ‘The elevator!’
Milt turned, saw what was happening, and started sprinting after the man. I followed the path he’d taken behind the boat, telling myself that I was making sure he didn’t double-back. But really I was filling in time so that I wouldn’t be the one who had to confront him.
I need not have worried. Milt was much faster than me, and caught up with the guy well before he’d got to the elevator. Milt dived and lowered him in a classic rugby tackle that any All Black would’ve been proud of. By the time I got there, Milt was standing over the man, who was still sprawled on the sand, breathing heavily. It was Stuart Weston, the SoilSeek guy.
For a moment I thought we’d got it wrong, and that all Weston had been doing was collecting soil samples from around the boat. But then I saw the camera, and my stomach started doing flips. Stuart Weston
wasn’t a soil-testing man at all. He was a photographer, and the only soil he ever wanted was the dirt he could dig up on the celebrities he photographed.
Milt bent over, picked up the camera, opened up a slot, and pulled out the memory card. While he looked at it, trying to decide what to do, Weston got to his feet. ‘You take that and I’ll have you charged with theft. Then I’ll make sure it gets published in every magazine in the world.’
Milt glared at him, before putting the card back. But instead of handing the camera over, he turned it on and began pushing buttons. ‘Then I won’t take it,’ he said. ‘I’ll just reformat the memory and wipe all your photos.’ After he’d done it, he took out the batteries and handed the camera back.
‘So now I’ll charge you with stealing the batteries,’ Weston said calmly.
‘But I’m not stealing them,’ said Milton, swinging his arm back and scattering them across the beach. ‘I’m just making sure you don’t take any more photos before you leave, which you’re going to do right now. And if you return, I’ll have you charged with trespassing.’
Weston stuck his chin out. ‘I’m not trespassing. This beach is public land.’
‘The beach may be, but you came over private land to get here.’
‘Yes, but I was guided here by the owner’s agent.’
‘What! My manager led you here? I don’t believe it.’
By then my stomach was tumbling like a clothes drier. I’d hoped that my part in the matter might be kept secret, but Weston clearly wanted Milt to know.
‘No, not your manager—this young man here,’ he said pointing to me. ‘He helpfully gave me a ride in his jeep.’
Milton spun around to me. ‘You brought him here.’ It was an accusation, not a question.
‘He said Grandad had sent him to test the soil.’
‘And you didn’t check him out?’ By now Milt was almost shouting at me.
‘Yes, I did!’ I protested. ‘I rang his firm and they said he was all right.’
‘Well, he plainly isn’t, is he?’
