by Hager, Mandy
‘Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player …’ she starts.
‘That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more …’ he intones in his Kiwified Dutch accent. ‘It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.’
‘So true,’ says Jiao a little pretentiously. ‘Which play?’
‘Easy,’ Travis interrupts. It’s the first thing he’s said for over half an hour. ‘Macbeth, Act Five, Scene Five.’
‘How the hell do you know that?’ I turn to stare at him.
His ears go pink. ‘Drama was my best subject at school. I wanted to take it further, but Mum said I’d never get a decent job.’ He snorts. ‘Go Mum.’
Bit by bit I’m starting to unravel the disconnect between these two. Jeannie all protective and trying to do what’s best for him all on her own: Travis feeling thwarted and pissed off. The worst part is, I bet she doesn’t understand why he’s so aggro. Note to self: nobody is as straightforward as they first seem — even pissheads (and big-busted girls originally from the UPR). In fact, there’s a load of bloody closet-dwellers lurking in this fry-up of a car: Jiao (closet gay, or so she says), Travis (closet drama queen and alkie), Mikey (closet human being) and Erich (spitting hippie). Except for me. I’m too boring. Ash by name, ash by nature. The stuff that gets discarded. The lightweight residue of other people’s fiery lives.
Mikey starts to sing one of his favourite movie themes. ‘Long go and far way …’ He mashes the words into unintelligible sludge but the tune is clear, and soon Erich and Jiao join in, flitting from one song to the next, punctuated by Erich’s wheezy cough and the odd hoik out his window. The car winds along beside a slow-moving river, accompanied by this unheavenly choir, and the gentle weaving motion lulls my brain. I close my eyes and drift into a peaceful doze.
Next thing I know the singing’s over and the car’s come to a stop. We’re in the main street of Raetihi, its run-down buildings like the set of an old-time Western. There are boards over shop windows and mangy dogs shred rubbish outside a shabby pub. All that’s missing is the tumbleweed.
We pile out to stretch our legs and use the public toilets (which are a goddamned health hazard), while Erich tops up the car with oil. Then we’re off again, up past the three big mountains, trundling through the never-ending pine plantations. No one in New Zealand can afford to build with timber any more — instead, we’re stuck slaving on subsistence wages to chop the bloody stuff down for the UPR. Same story with our farms — something that pissed off Dad so much he boycotted all dairy products until Mikey and I staged a bloodless coup and convinced him to buy milk for porridge and tea at least. Don’t get me wrong, I understand why Dad was so septic over the cost but, damn, I miss our old midnight snacks of cheese on toast. Last year he gave me a 500 gram block of Edam for my birthday and we devoured the whole thing in three days. Sheer bloody luxury.
At last we reach the junction at Raurimu and turn off on to a winding gravel road. The pine plantations give way to rugged farmland fenced off into paddocks filled with scrawny sheep. The few houses we pass are so weathered they blend in with the rocks, their windows either broken or patched with rusting sheets of corrugated iron. You’d think no sane person would want to live here, but there are clothes strung out on washing lines, neat rows of veges, even the odd kid who waves through the dust cloud as we drive past.
The road improves at Kaitieke, but after the next few kilometres it’s back to rutted gravel as we follow one of the small tributaries up to where it meets the Whanganui River. Bloody hell. We’re nearly there and I still have no idea what to do once we arrive. The bumping up and down’s not helping, and I have to ask Erich to stop so I can puke. No one says a word when I climb back in, not even Mikey. It’s really weird. It’s like they’re all embarrassed on my behalf.
When we finally drive past the sign announcing Maungaroa, there’s bugger-all to show we’re here until we turn a corner. A once fancy-arsed building that’s now in need of paint announces itself as the Maungaroa General Store. There’s a big canoe up on its roof, beneath a sign declaring: Canoe the Mighty Whanganui.
Erich stops the car outside, and we sit listening to the tick of the motor as it cools. Mikey, Travis and Jiao climb out and wander into the store to look around. I’m stuck here, frozen, my head pounding so hard I can hardly think.
Erich swivels in his seat. ‘So what’s the plan?’ There’s no kind of judgement in his eyes at all, just stillness, as he waits for my reply.
I take a deep breath. ‘Step one: I ask around.’ I sweep my hand to indicate the store and its two adjoining houses.
‘Logical, and not too time consuming, it would seem.’
‘Yeah, I know. It’s hardly difficult, just terrifying. Then, I guess, we’ll hang a bit, and see who shows.’
‘You had this tip-off from a credible source?’ Erich coughs again, his face turning an ugly florid red. He looks like shit.
‘Yeah, yeah, but that’s not what I’m worried about at the moment. Are you okay? Shouldn’t you see a doctor? … Oh, right, you are a doctor!’
‘Was, my friend. Not any more.’ He scratches his beard. ‘Don’t worry about me. You’ve got enough on your plate right now.’
‘Yeah. I guess I’d better go inside.’
‘Do you mind if I join you? I’d like to stretch my legs.’
I nod. Just knowing he’s around makes it a little easier to leave the sanctuary of the car. I climb the steps up to the long veranda and push open the door. The place is fresh and bright, and full of photos of the river. Now it all makes sense: this must be the starting point for some poncy outfit that guides rich tourists down the river in canoes. There’s a little café in one corner, heaps of overpriced groceries, and an area stuffed with wetsuits, tents, camping equipment, canoes and outdoor clothes.
Mikey and Jiao are rifling through a stand of postcards while Travis checks out a kayak. There’s a hard-faced girl behind the counter of the shop and two more lurking in the café, all watching Jiao and Mikey as if they’re eyeing up thieves.
‘Ashy, look!’ Mikey tries to pull a postcard out to show me, but he screws it up and tips the whole thing over, postcards flying everywhere. He panics, wrestling with the metal display unit, and only makes things worse.
Ms Hard-face strikes. ‘Get out!’ She scuttles from her corner like a spider after a fly. ‘You stupid moron. Leave it be!’
‘I’m sorry—’
‘Get that retard out of our shop.’ She sweeps past me and snatches away the few postcards Mikey’s managed to collect. ‘And, as for you—’ she turns to Jiao ‘— your kind’s not welcome here. Piss off!’
‘Hold on. You can’t speak to her like that.’ I step between Bitchface and her prey. ‘It’s just an accident. Look, nothing’s broken—’
‘I don’t care. I want her out! And him! Get the fuck out and crawl back into your cave.’
‘Jeezus, girl …’ I don’t know what else to say. I give Mikey a quick hug and tell him to wait out in the car, then I turn to Jiao, who’s standing there, postcards in hand, her face all closed and inscrutable (which means she’s really hurt — at least I’ve learnt that much.) ‘Can you take him out?’
Her eyes turn from brown to black, and I realise I’ve just made things a whole lot worse. She thinks I’m a coward. She grabs Mikey’s hand and drags him towards the exit when Erich, who’s been watching from the entrance, slams the door so hard everyone stops.
‘You,’ he says, pointing to Bitchface. ‘Go and get your manager now.’ He’s transformed. No longer hapless hippie but a senior health professional who expects to be obeyed. It bloody works. Bitchface flushes a most gratifying mottled puce and storms out the back. Erich, meanwhile, turns to the two goggle-eyed girls smirking in the café. ‘Coffee, now. And menus.’ He points to a table by the window. ‘Jiao, Mikey. We’ll sit there.’
Way to fucking go! I right the metal stand and shove the postcards back in as fast as I
can — by the time a thin middle-aged woman appears, order is restored. She catches sight of me, then Mikey, and does a double-take. If she insults him like her dickhead of a shop assistant, I’ll set Lucinda on to her. Screw them all.
‘What’s going on?’
‘You’re the manager?’ Erich asks. He casually pulls an old leather wallet from his pocket and glances down at it, making sure everybody can clearly see what’s inside. The bloody thing’s stuffed full of cash. Big notes.
‘I’m Monica, the owner here. Is there a problem, sir?’ She’s addressing him, but her gaze flits between Mikey and me. What is it with these country hicks? Haven’t they ever seen someone with Downs before?
‘Perhaps you’d like to ask your young assistant standing behind you there,’ says Erich. ‘She demanded that my friends piss off.’ He coughs. ‘Such a colourful vocabulary. Moron. Retard. And what was that other charming phrase? Ah yes, I believe it was get the fuck out.’
Travis chokes back a snigger from the corner as the poor woman’s mouth drops open. She’s sure as hell looking at Erich now.
She turns to Bitchface, who’s suddenly not quite so smug. ‘Would you care to explain?’
All Bitchface does is shake her head. At least she’s bright enough to know when she’s beaten.
‘Go out the back. I’ll deal with you later.’ She watches the girl slink out. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over her. You’re quite welcome here. Please, all of you have afternoon tea on me.’
‘Only if you’ll join us … Monica,’ Erich says, winking at me while he plays the magnanimous card. I know he’s trying to help, but I’m not ready to ask about Mum. I feel sick.
We cram around a table as the other two girls now compete for the title of world’s best waitress. Erich and Monica do small talk about what’s in the news while we get stuck in to hot drinks and scones with real cream and jam. I let Mikey eat most of mine — my gut’s a mess.
‘So, what brings you here?’ Monica asks at last — the question I’ve been dreading. ‘Are you planning on a trip down the river?’
Erich smiles and looks at me. ‘Off you go, lad. Carpe diem.’
Seize the day. Jeezus, I didn’t think that it would be this hard. I meet Jiao’s eye and she glances meaningfully at Mikey. I nod.
‘Come on, Mikey,’ she says. ‘Let’s go for a walk outside. Travis, I could do with a hand, if that’s okay.’
Travis gets her drift, and follows Jiao and Mikey out the door. Erich stretches and auditions for the world’s fakest yawn. ‘I think I’ll join them or else I’ll drop off.’ He takes up Monica’s hand and kisses it. ‘Thank you, my dear. It’s been a pleasure.’
Monica’s watching these desertions with a wry smile. I pick up a teaspoon and smear a spill of hot chocolate around my saucer. If she says she doesn’t know Mum, I have no idea what to do next. Right now it seems easier not to ask.
‘I bet I can guess why you’re here,’ Monica says.
I laugh, trying to cover my nerves. ‘I’m tempted to accept, but I’d hate to take your money.’
She leans over the table until she’s really close. ‘You’re Grace’s boy.’
‘P-p-pardon?’
‘I knew it the minute I saw you and your brother. You look so much like her.’
I’m staring at her like a stuffed dummy.
‘I heard about your dad on the news. It’s bloody criminal she’s not been in touch.’
‘You know her?’ Never in a million years did I expect this. Oh god. Oh bloody, bloody hell. I need to pee. To crap.
‘She lives with Ray, my shit-head of a brother.’
‘You mean she lives round here? She really is alive?’
‘Oh, she’s alive all right.’ Her eyes flick over to Bitchface, who’s snuck back to her position behind the counter. She frowns.
Now it’s my turn to go all close and secretive. This is the question I really need to ask. ‘Is it true about Muru?’
Her eyes widen, but she nods and mimes zipping her lips.
‘So you’re not one of … them?’
She splutters out a dismissive laugh. ‘Not bloody likely.’
‘So how come when Dad’s lawyer, Lucinda Lasch, came up a few years back, no one told her Mum was here?’ I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation. Talk about surreal. I stab the handle of the teaspoon into my thigh. Nope. No dream.
She shrugs. ‘My brother Ray is a vindictive prick. I didn’t dare.’
That makes no sense. ‘So why are you telling me?’
‘Because it’s not fair. I could handle it when you still had your father, but now he’s gone it’s just plain wrong. She should have to take some kind of responsibility.’
‘I don’t need her to look after us. That’s not why I’m here.’
‘Then why?’ Her gaze pins me to the spot.
She seems a good person. I don’t like to lie. ‘Dad always told us she was dead. I didn’t even know she might still be alive until this week. I want to see her for myself, that’s all. To make it real. Then she can go to hell. Mikey and I will be fine on our own.’
‘She doesn’t know what she’s missed. You’re a real nice kid.’ She reaches over and pats my cheek. ‘Life’s a bitch, huh?’
For the first time since we started talking, I want to cry. ‘Nah, life’s just life. It’s Mum who’s the bitch.’
She laughs and raises her empty cup. ‘Cheers to that!’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MONICA SAYS SHE’LL GET A MESSAGE to her brother, making it clear to him that I’ll only meet Mum face to face if I can bring Mikey and Jiao as well. I know it’s crazy to set conditions, but if Mum won’t agree then stuff her. I’m not prepared to go along with any anti-Mikey bullshit, even if she can help Jiao. It’s all the more important to stay staunch, I reckon, now that Monica’s told me Bitchface is Ray’s daughter. If her shitty attitude comes from him, then chances are Mum will think the same. It’s insane: my own mother might be a bigot as well as a bitch — about as far from Dad as she could get.
Monica suggests that while we wait for word from Ray we stay at the campground down the road. She owns it too and is happy for us to stay a few nights for free.
It’s a far better outcome than I’d expected, even if it is totally bizarre. I go outside to tell the others, and find them sprawled in Erich’s car, listening to some random story from his younger days: ‘… and then you enter the skull as if you’re cracking the top off a soft-boiled egg …’
Travis winces. ‘I’m never going to eat boiled eggs again … Hey, man, how did it go?’
Travis, Jiao and Erich look at me anxiously. Mikey just keeps on pasting snot-balls to the door handle on my side of the car.
‘She knows her,’ I say. ‘She’s going to make contact.’
Jiao gasps.
‘Wasn’t me,’ Mikey pipes up, looking distinctly pink. Here I am on the verge of something huge, and he’s worrying he’ll be sprung for snot.
I tell the others most of what Monica said, but hold back on Muru. No point in freaking Erich.
‘Is it as you thought?’ Jiao narrows her eyes. I know exactly what she means — that Mum might be in a position to help. I nod. Her eyes flare open but I can’t tell if she’s pleased or scared.
‘Well, well,’ Erich says. ‘Nice to know our little jaunt is not in vain.’ He tries to turn around in his seat but he’s too stiff. ‘Shall I drop you off at the campsite then?’
‘Yes, but only if you agree to stay the night as well.’
‘We’ll see,’ he says, though I can tell he’s chuffed. He dons his crazy cap, starts up the car and putters down the road, whistling under his breath.
The campground sits beside the Whanganui River: just a couple of toilet blocks and two large bunkrooms, each with a fireplace, a cooker and a dozen beds. Basic but clean. We pile our gear inside and Mikey runs from bunk to bunk. I try to convince him to choose one of the lower bunks, in case he needs a leak in the night. Inste
ad, he pats the top bunk furthest from the door and launches himself up on to the bare mattress. ‘Bags this.’ The whole thing creaks under his weight.
‘Then bags I don’t sleep underneath.’
The little douche gives me the finger. I flip one back.
Jiao takes one of the bottom bunks and tucks one side of her sleeping bag under the mattress of the bunk above her, making a screen. There’s a frantic rustling from behind it, and when she emerges she’s changed into her togs and wrapped a towel around herself, revealing her stupendous cleavage and bare legs. ‘Anyone want to join me in a swim?’
I have to say her girl-on-girl thing seems a real waste. Travis obviously hasn’t clicked yet. As we walk down to the river he postures like a pink-faced baboon — any moment now I swear he’ll beat his sunken chest. He runs the last few metres, then does this really freaky stripper act till he’s down to lime-green undies. Yodelling, he throws himself into the river, bombing everyone in one hit. Wanker.
Mikey and I peel down to our undies too but, unlike Stripper Smith, I race into the water as quickly as I can. He might think his tackle is worth advertising, but I’m buggered if I want to display my family jewels. That only leaves Erich wavering on the bank, though after a few minutes he strips down to his tragic old-man’s Y-fronts too. He’s so skinny he looks like one of those poor bastards from Auschwitz. That can’t be healthy. He eases in, gasping when the water hits his nuts. It’s not nearly as warm as it first looks, but it’s grit-your-teeth refreshing after the long drive — and, though the Whanganui River has a reputation for being murky, the water’s still the cleanest I’ve ever seen.
Once the dust and grime is off (and we no longer smell like chip-shop oil), we stretch out on the river bank to recover in the fading sun. After last night’s sirens and explosions this is total heaven: only the chuckle of the river and the chatter of the birds. I close my eyes, the light glowing soft yellow through my lids. My mind’s a whir.
I must be mad. Why have I opened myself up to this shit when I’m already overwhelmed? What if Mum refuses to see us? Or to help? Or, even more scary, what if she actually says yes? This Ray’s obviously a dodgy prick, so chances are Mum’s either just as bad or trapped under his spell. I’m not sure which is worse. A mother who doesn’t give a stuff, or one who’s so weak-willed she lets some shit-head rule her life.
