by Joanna Orwin
That shrug won’t take long to get on my wick, thought Hamish, as he watched the unlikely pair vanish down the track, Tama’s arms reluctantly wrapped round Kirsten’s solid waist. Hamish did a shrug of his own, admitting some disappointment. For a brief moment there he had thought the newcomer might be an ally.
≈ TWO
HAMISH DIDN’T GET BACK up the hill until the next morning. Dumping his bag, he systematically checked the rock face for a better way up. A more promising crack that angled from the scrub-filled runnel beside the overhang proved easier to climb. He was soon back up to that last difficult stretch. Even that wasn’t quite such a struggle. Familiarity, he thought, not having to search for each new foot or handhold. He heaved himself over the final ledge onto the shelter floor.
The black dots and lines were still there, much easier to see in the flat early morning light. Scattered across the rough creamy surface above the back wall of the overhang. Just where he would expect to find them. Most of the markings were obscure, smudges and smears of charcoal intermingled with the grain of the rock. He couldn’t make out any obvious patterns or shapes.
Hamish swallowed. If there had been anything of real interest here, it’d flaked off with the fragile surface of the rock years ago. What a bummer. Fragmented rock drawings like these were quite common. Thoughts of glory faded.
Half-hearted now, he checked out the rest of the shelter. Beyond the more open section where he was standing, the height of the roof increased. He scrambled up a pile of rubble in the corner to get a better view. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a dark shape tucked away high on the curve of the overhang above the entrance. He twisted, trying to see it square on. There was definitely something there.
He stretched as high as he could. Yep, there it was. A bird-like head turned to the right, long outstretched wings, a large body with … His boot slipped on the loose rock and he sprawled backwards onto the shelter floor.
Hamish lay spread-eagled, cursing. Then a grin spread slowly across his face. From where he had landed, he could now see other clearly defined clusters of dots and lines. Protected from the elements, a whole series of black and red drawings covered at least a metre of the overhang roof. The bird-like form was accompanied by some stick figures and lots of concentric circles and other patterns he hadn’t seen in any of the published rock drawings. ‘Man!’ he breathed. ‘Awesome!’
Lying flat on his back amongst the rubble proved to be the only way he could see the drawings. When he sat up, the black and red markings merged into the texture of the rock. When he stood up, the drawings were hidden by the angle of the curve of the roof. He was lucky to have spotted them at all.
It was as if the person who had drawn them didn’t want anyone else to see them. How weird. And another thing. Access to the shelter was particularly difficult, even up the better route he’d found. Hamish sat down on the rubble and absently rubbed his knee where it had collided with a piece of rock. This needed thinking through.
If someone had gone to all that trouble, the drawings had to mean something. They couldn’t just be prehistoric graffiti. What if they contained a hidden message of some sort? Hamish’s eyes gleamed behind his glasses. Perhaps he really had chanced on the find of the century.
He took out his camera and lay on his back again. But even with the zoom at full extension, he couldn’t get close enough to see more than a faint scatter of dots. Bugger! Thwarted before he could even start. He needed some sort of scaffolding. Maybe get his gear-head brother to rig up something for him, using his rock climbing equipment. Tod might take some convincing. And he would have to ask his mother for a loan of her professional medium-format camera.
In the meantime he could record accurate site details, something he hadn’t been able to do on his last visit because of the fading light. That finished, he wrote a brief description of what he had found so far: ‘Ceiling above entrance contains an apparently linked series of charcoal and ochre drawings of bird and human figures, with sundry other patterns.’ It looked scientific enough – cautious and neutral. He hesitated, then signed and dated the entry with a flourish, one eye on posterity.
It was time to make for home. He had some begging to do.
Halfway down the final slope, Hamish spotted the farm bike on its way back from feeding out. This time Tama was driving and Kirsten was on the back, the three dogs running behind. He stopped, a frown on his face. He’d managed to forget about the newcomer. Dinner last night had been strained. Despite the best efforts of the two women of the household, they’d not got much beyond monosyllables out of Tama. He’d been polite enough, just not giving anything away. Hamish had made his excuses as soon as he could. And he’d sneaked out this morning before even Kirsten was up.
At lunch, he had to wait before he could broach the subject of borrowing equipment. First Tod droned on about his climb at the Pass the day before. Talk about boring! Nothing but technical detail, every move spelt out chapter and verse. Then Kirsten took over. It was Tama this and Tama that. Tama was good with the dogs. Tama had cleaned the points on the bike. Tama was the best thing since sliced bread. Greaser, more like.
‘Know it all by now, I s’pose?’ Hamish said to him when she stopped at last.
Tama shrugged. ‘I’m learning,’ he said, not rising to the bait.
‘He’s more use than you,’ retorted Kirsten.
‘Good-oh!’ It was Hamish’s turn to shrug. ‘You won’t need me then. Suits me – I’ve got plenty to do.’
He told them about his find, keeping to the bare facts. He’d no intention of sharing his speculation about the significance of the drawings. Not at this stage. ‘My camera’s not nearly good enough. Can I use your Hasselblad, Mum … please?’
‘Shouldn’t you contact the museum or someone?’
‘Sure I’ll tell the authorities – eventually,’ said Hamish. ‘But lots of amateurs like me do this stuff. It’s just taking photos – I won’t be touching anything.’ He tried to sound casual.
‘I suppose there’s no real harm in it,’ said Jane.
‘Does that mean I can have the camera?’
‘Yes, with the usual provisos.’
‘Cool!’ Hamish turned to Tod. ‘Can you help me rig up scaffolding and stuff?’
‘You expect a lot.’ But Tod was in a good mood after his successful climb. ‘How about suspending you from the roof of the shelter?’
‘No way,’ said Hamish, not liking the glint in his brother’s eye.
‘Just joking,’ said Tod. ‘We could use those aluminium trestles out in the shed.’
‘Don’t forget the camera needs to be on a tripod,’ said Jane.
Kirsten added her bit. ‘I could knock up a trolley.’
‘Cool!’ said Hamish again.
‘Right,’ said Tod. ‘Let’s get at it. Clear the lunch things, Hamish. We’ll need to work out some dimensions.’
The three of them bent over the table, intent on their calculations. None of them noticed that Tama hadn’t said a word. It wasn’t until he pushed his chair back and left the room that Hamish gave him a thought.
‘Bugger,’ he said, straightening up. ‘What’s up with him? Doesn’t like not being the centre of attention?’
‘Hardly fair, Owl,’ said Jane.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Kirsten. ‘He’s Maori, isn’t he.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘Those drawings might’ve been done by his ancestors. You should’ve asked him what he thought.’
‘Stuff that,’ said Hamish indignantly. ‘What would he know? Anyway, what makes you think he’s Maori? He sure doesn’t look it.’
‘His grandfather,’ said Kirsten. ‘I asked.’
‘You’re game,’ said Hamish, remembering the silent challenge Tama had issued on their first meeting. ‘He’s actually talking to you then?’ As well as being a greaser, he added, but not out loud.
‘Not much,’ she admitted. ‘Just when he needs to know something or I ask him straight out. He’s the silent type.’
‘It’s not my problem if he’s offended or something,’ said Hamish. ‘He should’ve said.’
‘Why not just ask him what he thinks, Owl,’ said Jane firmly.
‘S’pose,’ muttered Hamish. He had no intention of doing anything of the sort.
When Tod vanished up to his room to sort out ropes and hardware, and Kirsten to the workshop to make a start on the camera trolley, Hamish reluctantly went to find Tama. He was propped against the side of the house, smoking, his eyes hooded against the low winter sun. That was another sore point. Tama’s smoking. His mother had not said a thing beyond asking him not to smoke inside.
‘I’ve got to chop wood for the fires,’ said Hamish. ‘Wanna give me a hand?’ A stint with the axe would sort this townie out soon enough.
But Tama just said, ‘Sure,’ and followed him round the back to the wood shed. He took off his sweatshirt and rolled up his sleeves. ‘Got a spare axe?’
Hamish handed him one of the two axes, then couldn’t help himself. ‘How long have you had the tats?’
A phoenix, it looked like, rising from the ashes, decorated one of Tama’s forearms. The other sported a pair of crossed spears and various abstract patterns.
‘Mum would kill me if I did something like that.’ Hamish couldn’t keep the note of envy out of his voice.
‘My old lady doesn’t know, does she. I keep ’em covered. The kids don’t dare tell. They’d be dead meat if they did.’
Hamish believed him. Tama was running his thumb along the blade of the axe to test its sharpness. He looked quite capable of using it for purposes other than cutting wood.
They began splitting rounds of old man pine, quarters for the living room fire and stove lengths for the range in the kitchen. Things didn’t work out quite the way Hamish had expected. Tama knew how to use an axe. Despite being so skinny, he was strong. Uncomfortably strong. Hamish upped his own speed and strength so that he was splitting each log with one blow. Tama followed suit. They worked in silence, each keeping an eye on the other’s performance. The pile of split logs steadily grew. It was more than a metre high before Hamish stopped, conceding defeat.
‘That should just about do it,’ he said, waving wryly at the huge pile.
‘I reckon,’ said Tama, leaning his axe against the chopping block.
The two boys looked sideways at each other. Tama was the first to laugh. ‘Man, I thought you were never going to stop.’ He wiped his face with his sweatshirt, then put it back on. Fishing the makings out of his pocket, he rolled himself a cigarette. ‘Want one?’
Sensing another challenge, Hamish hesitated then said quietly, ‘Thanks, but I don’t.’
Tama finished lighting up, and blew out his first lungful of smoke. He looked at Hamish consideringly, then shrugged, but it didn’t seem so dismissive this time.
As they worked side by side to stack the split wood, Tama asked casually, ‘Your old man – bugger off, did he?’
‘He’s dead,’ said Hamish. It was the first time he’d said it out loud. The finality of the words hung in the cold air.
‘Yeah?’ said Tama. ‘Mine walked out on us.’ His voice was nonchalant, but Hamish’s new sensitivity caught the undertone of pain.
After they had done the dishes that night, Jane MacIntyre chased them out of the kitchen. ‘I’ve got phone calls I can’t put off any longer and it’s too cold in the office.’
A southerly wind had got up soon after sundown. It battered at the old house, forcing its way through every crack. The heavy curtains stirred in a particularly strong gust, and Tod built the fire up. The four of them drew the shabby sofas close to the flames.
Kirsten shivered. ‘Might be a day or two before you get back up the hill, Owl.’ She tucked her chin deep into the collar of her polar fleece.
‘Means you’ll have a chance to sort that trolley for me.’ Hamish was resigned to losing a day. The winter was the most severe recorded for the high country this century, according to the weather bureau. People said it was a sign of global warming – that was a joke.
‘Been there, done that!’ Kirsten fetched her handiwork from the back porch. ‘I used that old extension ladder. The camera mount runs on its outside rails, see.’
‘Brilliant!’ Hamish tested it out.
For the first time, Tama spoke without being prompted, his curiosity getting the better of him. ‘How come you do metalwork? I mean, er….’
Kirsten grinned, not taking offence. ‘It’s the twenty-first century, you know. Our school’s had a metal shop for years. We’ve just finished building a kitset plane – it had its test flights at the end of last term.’
‘She does all that sort of stuff around here,’ said Tod. ‘She was Dad’s right hand man, sorry sis – person.’
‘None of your chauvinistic bullshit from him, eh,’ said Kirsten. ‘Dad taught me heaps, soon as I was big enough to handle the tools.’ Her voice was full of affection.
‘My old man’s a right bastard,’ said Tama. ‘Taught us nothing.’
‘Where did you learn to use an axe then?’ asked Hamish. ‘You could go in for chopping contests with a swing like that.’
‘Did a bit of time, one of those residential centres,’ Tama said. ‘One of the punishments, chopping wood. “A suitable outlet for aggression,” that’s what they called it. I got plenty of practice.’ He stretched his legs out towards the fire.
Kirsten took advantage of his uncharacteristic chattiness to ask more questions.
Hamish only partly listened. Both his brother and sister had spoken quite naturally about their father. That was a first. None of them had found it easy to talk about Alex MacIntyre since he’d died. Three months ago now. Dropped down dead in the yards, just like that. Massive heart attack, the doctor had said. Hamish still expected him to walk through that door, shedding his townie jacket and tie on the nearest piece of furniture, as if he’d been away to some stock sale. It was hard to believe he was never coming back.
‘There’s six of us,’ Tama was saying. ‘Me, then five younger ones.’
‘Geez, that’s a lot for your mother to cope with by herself.’ Hamish was thinking of his own mother left with the three of them.
‘She’s got another bloke.’ Short, terse, thin face tense again.
Uh-oh. Dangerous ground. But before Hamish could change the subject, Jane MacIntyre came into the room. She closed the door quietly, and Hamish sat up, alert. Something was up.
‘That was Reg Hudson on the phone.’
Kirsten scowled. ‘What did he want?’ She resented the lawyer and the demands he made.
‘It’s not great news,’ Jane said.
‘Spit it out, Mum,’ said Tod. ‘We can cope.’
‘He’s been through the spreadsheets you sent him, Kirsten. He says we have to face selling The Pinnacles.’ She sank down in the big chair beside the fireplace.
Hamish stared at her. ‘Sell the farm? Why? I thought … Kirsten said … aren’t we managing okay?’
‘Nothing more than a holding action,’ said his mother heavily. ‘We can’t afford to employ anyone and it’s too much work without Alex.’
‘But, Kirsten….’ Hamish looked hopefully at his sister.
His mother shook her head. ‘She’s got her whole life ahead of her.’
‘I can do it,’ said Kirsten, her face white. ‘I want to do it, you know I do.’
‘You might want to now, but in five years time, in ten years?’ Jane spoke gently. ‘What about university and all your plans? You would have to abandon them. That aside, you couldn’t do it on your own.’
‘No use looking to me,’ said Tod defensively. ‘Don’t even think it.’
Jane shook her head again. ‘It’s okay, Tod. I wouldn’t hear of it. The last thing Alex would’ve wanted was for any of you to be trapped here.’
They all knew Tod’s heart wasn’t in the farm. He’d been talking about adventure tourism, training as a guide so that he could work in some remote corner of the w
orld.
‘How much time have we got?’ Kirsten clenched her jaw. ‘Dad thought this was going to be the best lambing yield for years.’
‘Nothing needs to be decided until after lambing.’ Jane hesitated. ‘But I should tell you that Reg already has a prospective buyer.’
‘He’s what?’ said Hamish. His voice cracked with angry disbelief. ‘What right has he got to make that sort of move?’
‘I asked him to put feelers out,’ said Jane. ‘I had to explore all the options. I’m sorry, but ultimately I have to do what’s best for all of us.’
‘Who? Who’s this prospective buyer?’ Tod, still aggressive.
Jane looked at them helplessly. ‘You’re not going to like this. It’s a tourist venture of some sort, an Asian consortium.’
‘Damn right I don’t like it,’ Kirsten said. ‘This is a working farm. Dad put everything into building it up. I’m not aware his dreams included pathetic demonstrations of “farm life” for busloads of gawking tourists.’
There was silence while they all pictured this.
‘Great. That’s irony for you,’ Tod said. ‘I can be a guide for slanteyes right here then.’
‘That’s enough, Tod,’ said Jane.
There seemed nothing more to say. They sat on as the fire died down and the room grew cold. Tama slipped away, and they didn’t notice that he’d gone. The old house creaked and shifted as the wind steadily increased. At last Hamish got to his feet, restless. He went to the window. Thin cloud scudded across the half moon. To the southwest, the stars were blotted out. He could just make out the shape of the Seven Sentinels against the milky sky.
‘That wind’s getting up all right. We’ll have to shift the ewes to better shelter in the morning.’ Hamish heard it himself. He had sounded just like his father. Familiar words, familiar intonation. No one else said a thing, then behind him Kirsten burst into tears.
