Breaking Connections

by Albert Wendt

‘Dr Prasad suggested that name. She said it meant “without-sacredness”.’ He stopped there.

  ‘So why that name?’

  He shrugged and said, ‘Noa sounded great to me. And coming from Noa’s saviour, I just accepted it gladly.’ She sensed he didn’t want her to continue that line of conversation, so she didn’t.

  Phillip brought out their dessert of carrot cake and cream, and freshly sliced mango and papaya. ‘Shit, this isn’t going to decrease my flab,’ Laura remarked.

  Later, while she was scooping up the last mouthful of her dessert, the urge to ask grasped her spoon before she put it into her mouth. She hesitated, but as she chewed the last mouthful – it was a balanced, exquisite sweetness – she had to know. It was unfair of Aaron to tempt her with the claim that Noa was the memory he wanted to be left with when he died, and not explain why. ‘What happened to Noa eventually,’ she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, ‘and to Dr Prasad?’

  She would never forget Aaron’s answer.

  Aaron explained that as long as Noa didn’t get in their way, his sister Ripeka, his brother Mason and his father tolerated her. His mother insisted he was solely responsible for Noa’s upkeep and care, though she helped whenever he asked her. And that suited him: Noa was his and his alone. He knew if he took Noa to school, his teacher and his class and the Tribe would want to love Noa and make her part of their lives, so he didn’t.

  Dr Prasad showed him how to house-train Noa, and gave him a litter box. He built Noa a wide pen in the back of their garage, put her litter box, water tray and toys in there, and kept her there while he was at school.

  Until that point, he hadn’t read much. But Dr Prasad told him if he wanted to take proper care of Noa he had to read up about cats, so he was soon borrowing all books about cats from the school and neighborhood libraries. Noa was a tabby: that wasn’t a breed but a colour pattern; Noa had swirling patterns of stripes and dots in black and white and grey. She also had a reddish sheen and an M mark on her forehead.

  Aaron also learned from his reading that the Egyptians had been the first to domesticate the cat, 4000 years before, and treated them as gods. If you killed a cat in ancient Egypt, you suffered the death penalty.

  When Aaron was home, Noa was with him or around him, and he learned her verbal and body language quickly: the different cries and tones and body movements she used when she announced her presence, when she wanted his attention, when she wanted food, and so on. At night, she slept nestled up against his feet, on his bed, and when she wanted to be fed or go outside, she’d jump on his stomach, waking him.

  As Noa blossomed quickly under Aaron’s care, his aroha for her surprised him with its intensity. Noa reciprocated his alofa, unconditionally. And he began to understand why someone who killed your cat should get the death penalty.

  For the first two Saturdays when he cleaned Dr Prasad’s clinic and back yard, he caged Noa and took her with him, but Noa howled, pitifully, all the time. Dr Prasad laughed and told him that if he believed he could train Noa to do what he wanted, he was sadly mistaken. So he stopped.

  Dr Prasad was barely five feet tall, slender and light-boned. Her ebony skin offset her sparkling brown eyes, which, when they were focused on you, made you feel as if you were being stripped to your basic honesty. Aaron sensed as soon as he was able to look into her face that Dr Prasad had suffered much and was contemptuous of most people. She preferred to live alone and devote her attention to animals because, as she said, they were honest.

  She divulged little to Aaron about her life, views and beliefs. And she made it obvious to him right from the start that she didn’t want to know anything about his life and family.

  He learned that Dr Prasad was not, as he’d expected, from India, but from Fiji. She dismissed that fact by saying, ‘I hated it there, and I’ve never gone back there!’ as if her life had begun in New Zealand when she began to study veterinary science, under a scholarship, at Massey University.

  From the photos in Dr Prasad’s house, it seemed that the only other member of her family was her son Robert, who was finishing his medical degree at Otago. There were no photos of Robert’s father, but Aaron knew from Robert’s photos that his father must be Papālagi.

  Photos and numerous framed awards and degrees revealed Dr Prasad had been very successful at university. So when she urged him, ‘Aaron, to get out of the rut you are in, you’ve got to get the best education possible, and to do that, you have to read and read and read,’ he believed her, and pledged that that was what he was going to do.

  Because he was so happy with Noa, the year passed quickly.

  One day, his mother called him to the phone. It was Dr Prasad, and she wanted him to bring Noa to the clinic the following Saturday morning. It was a surprise, she said.

  As Aaron carried Noa in her cage into the clinic, he recognised the smell of Noa’s favourite food. Walking in, he saw on Dr Prasad’s examination table an opened tin of it, with one candle in the middle. Dr Prasad beckoned Aaron over, smiling.

  She lit the candle, unlatched Noa’s cage and took her out gently – Noa was used to Dr Prasad. She said, ‘Happy birthday, Noa!’ Aaron realised that his cat was now a year old. ‘Aaron, you saved Noa’s life; you’ve cared for her better then anyone else could have, and you now know more about cats than anyone else except me. So blow out her candle,’ Dr Prasad told him. He did so with a joyous blow.

  Dr Prasad placed Noa in front of the food and Noa crouched over it and started eating.

  Nine days later, Aaron woke to an unusual stillness that clogged his bedroom. As he contemplated it, it turned rapidly into the disturbing absence of someone he loved. Morning was slashing through the sides and bottoms of the blinds. He turned on his bedside lamp and sat up.

  Noa was curled up in her usual place by his feet. Across the room, Mason was still asleep in his bed.

  Aaron knew – and didn’t want to know.

  He reached forward and gathered Noa into his arms, expecting to feel disbelief, shock and stunning grief. But as he embraced Noa and buried his face in her furry warmth and breathed in her familiar, comforting scent, he felt instead that he was gathering unto himself the inevitability of the death of a being he loved more than even his life, and, to his surprise, accepting it.

  With Noa’s body wrapped up and secure in his haversack, he cycled to Dr Prasad’s clinic, puzzled but highly upset by his absence of shock, sorrow and grief: he wasn’t normal, not feeling those. Before he entered Dr Prasad’s clinic, he injected all those feelings into his presence and appearance, because he believed that that was what Dr Prasad would expect of him.

  Inside the clinic, Dr Prasad told him, ‘Aaron, the reality is Noa has died, and we don’t know the causes. There are no signs of injury, and we know she ate nothing else but her normal food. So what do you want from me, Aaron? What? She died in her sleep.’ Dr Prasad looked away. ‘Aaron, I’m not a resurrector, a miracle worker. I’m – I’m just a vet – yes, a bloody vet!’ Aaron recognised that she was genuinely upset, and lost as to how to console him. ‘There are things that happen in our lives that we can’t change,’ Dr Prasad said, and he identified a deep resignation in her voice.

  ‘I know,’ he heard himself saying. ‘I had Noa for a year, the bestest year of my life.’

  ‘And you’re thankful for that?’ she asked. He nodded.

  For the first time, she put her arms around him, and her small frame seemed to grow and grow around him until she was an all-enveloping healing embrace. It was the most wonderful surprise of his life up until then – that she was capable of love and consolation and showing it so openly.

  ‘Why have you and the Tribe always had aroha for me?’ Aaron asked Laura. For a moment, she didn’t understand. He continued eating his dessert. Phillip looked puzzled too.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘Like Dr Prasad came to love me? Becau
se I was, like Noa, an abandoned orphan? Is that why? Have you loved me all these years because you’ve felt sorry for me?’ His voice was laced with demand, need. ‘Or is it because I’ve bought – and keep buying – your aroha?’

  ‘That’s bullshit,’ she replied.

  ‘How come you know – yes, you all know – how I make my living, exploiting other people, even selling them drugs that wreck their miserable lives, but you still love me?’

  ‘Are you sure it’s love?’ she confronted him.

  ‘So it’s pity then?’

  ‘It could be. We’re also afraid to expose you to the law because we’d be exposed with it!’ When he didn’t react, she continued. ‘You talk a hell of a lot about the contradictions at the centre of life, so let’s talk about the contradictions in our Tribe. Right, Aaron? Since the Tribe began, we have relied – call it whatever – on what you’ve earned from your criminal life, Aaron. Even when we’ve not needed your help, you’ve made sure we got it. So now the morality of the Tribe is compromised. We continue turning a blind eye to your criminal life and the terrible consequences of that on the lives of others. Worst of all, if we dobbed you in, we’d be betraying our aroha for you. Right? And you’ve known that all along.’

  ‘I’ve also known for a long time now that none of you want to give up your successful, comfortable lives, right? You have too much to lose.’

  She should have been angry but she wasn’t, because it was the truth. ‘So it’s blackmail, eh?’

  ‘No, you all have the choice …’

  ‘Too right, Aaron,’ she said, ‘and you may be surprised to learn that some of us may shortly choose to end the contradiction.’

  Phillip, obviously wanting no part in the uncomfortable conversation, started collecting the dirty plates. Aaron reached over and held his arm. ‘We’ll do that later, Phil. I need to keep talking to you and your mother,’ he said. Phillip sat down again.

  ‘Why did I choose to live beyond the law, at the edge of danger?’ he continued. ‘Because it’s where I feel the most alive; where all my nerve ends feel stretched to their most sensitive extreme. Yes, beyond morality …’

  ‘Where there is no right and wrong, right?’ she interrupted. ‘No sense of guilt?’

  Nodding, he said, ‘Yeah, I once believed that. Or should I say, I once thought I could live beyond guilt – not experience it. And I did; I even came to believe I was a psychopath.’ He stopped, chuckled. ‘My definition of that comes straight out of Law & Order: someone without a conscience, without feelings for others, totally self-centred.’

  ‘Once I think some of us believed that about you, Aaron, but, because we love you, we dared not admit it to one another, or to you. But, if you aren’t capable of feeling empathy for others, how come you are so loving of us and our families and the Tribe? How come you never left the Tribe?’

  ‘Yeah, how come, Uncle?’ Phillip joined in.

  ‘Shit, I’ve tried and tried to leave – those long absences. But I’ve never been able to. Besides, you guys would be lost without me.’ He laughed softly. ‘And the guilt finally got to me. Yes, after years of denying it, I couldn’t any more – the act of denial was wrecking me. So here I am …’

  ‘Who is after you?’ She needed him to be honest. ‘Who do you feel guilty about now?’

  ‘Yeah, Uncle, I can help you fix them up!’ Phillip said.

  ‘It’s all under control – or will soon be under control,’ he said. ‘Most of the people I’ve wronged – is that the word? – will be recompensed; most will be happy with the reparations. And I will be at peace.’ He shut his eyes, his pallor deepening. A light film of sweat covered his face. She realised he had placed himself beyond her reach, and she stretched across the table to hold him, but in doing so she knocked over her glass, and the red wine spilled, like blood, across the white table cloth. She stopped. He dropped his serviette onto the spill and started dabbing it up.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said.

  ‘It’s okay, Laura; it’s only wine.’ He had misinterpreted her apology. Avoiding her eyes, he started clearing the table. Phillip joined him.

  Aaron spent most of the next few days on the computer and phone in the small study in the guest unit. Laura and Phillip prepared his meals and left them outside his door.

  On Sunday evening, he joined them for dinner, glowing with health and vitality. His beguiling confidence was restored, and he was not wearing his uniform but a pair of Phillip’s jeans and a striped long-sleeved shirt. ‘I’m back, Laura,’ he declared. ‘Back in control of myself and my demons. All that other bullshit is behind me.’

  That night he ate heartily, laughed and continued talking freely. As she observed him, she imagined that this was how happy, secure and confident Aaron must have been during the time Noa was the centre of his life.

  After dinner she insisted they have a pina colada. They had two each, joking and reminiscing about their first pina colada session years before. Then Aaron and Phillip washed the dishes and cleared up, while she talked to them.

  It was almost midnight. ‘Sleep time for me: got an important meeting tomorrow morning,’ Aaron said. ‘My first one since I sought sanctuary with you.’

  ‘Thank you for choosing us,’ Laura said, an inexplicable tinge of sadness tugging at her breath.

  ‘Yes, Uncle,’ Phillip echoed.

  Aaron hugged him. ‘You’ve got to forgive your dad, Phil.’

  Aaron moved into Laura’s arms, and she snuggled her face into his warm neck. Breathing in his scent, she said, ‘We will always love you.’

  ‘Thank you, Laura. It is so wonderful we are no longer wary of each other, eh,’ he whispered.

  Next morning when she went down for breakfast, only Phillip was there, and on her plate was a note from Aaron.

  ‘Hi, Sis and Nephew, thank you for looking after me. You have saved me from myself, and restored my courage, and now I am again ready to face the wicked world of wild things. Sis, I know one day you and the wicked Daniel will again live fearlessly in the lion’s den, because you have unbreakable aroha for each other.

  ‘I love you full-speed. I will treasure these few days during which I was wrapped up in your healing alofa, forever.

  ‘P.S. Please do not tell anyone – and that includes the Tribe – that I stayed with you.’

  ‘Uncle gave me this,’ Phillip said, handing her a yellowing hand-size black and white photograph. In it a small boy with a huge head of frizzy hair and a triumphant glow in his beaming face is holding a tabby nuzzled against his face. Both are gazing at the camera, as if to say, ‘This is all we need.’ ‘It’s great seeing Uncle so happy and strong again,’ Phillip added.

  She reached across and, caressing her son’s shoulder, said, ‘Yes. He’ll be fine.’

  Aaron was killed three days later.

  34

  As stipulated in Aaron’s will, Cheryl and Dottie and the other rangatahi arrange Aaron’s funeral service and cremation at Purewa Cemetery. People are notified through email and by phone, and in a newspaper notice that Cheryl wrote: ‘Aaron Whairangi will be farewelled in Purewa Cemetery on Saturday 15 February at 2 p.m. Come if you need to, otherwise stay home and enjoy whatever you enjoy doing.’ When Daniel first reads it, he is shocked. He confronts Cheryl, who looks at him and, in that cool manner the young use to patronise their parents, says: ‘Dad, whose funeral is it? And who did Uncle Aaron want to organise it?’

  ‘Yes, but the notice is so – so …’

  ‘It’s what Aaron would have written, Dad,’ she insists. ‘Besides, it’s what we, the organisers of this farewell, agreed to. And remember, Dad, if you break any of the conditions of Uncle Aaron’s will, you and the Tribe are going to lose out.’ She hurries out of the apartment.

  During the next hour Mere and Keith and Paul ring Daniel, distressed by the notice. He sympathises with them, but then reminds
them about Aaron’s will.

  ‘Auē, I just hope they don’t balls it up any further,’ Mere says.

  ‘Maybe that’s what their dear Uncle Aaron wants,’ Daniel laughs.

  ‘A balls-up for a funeral?’ she remarks.

  Now the long cortège of vehicles, led by the sleek black hearse that carries the body, Ripeka, Mason and Mere – Daniel has politely opted out, not wanting to be with Ripeka and Mason – enters the cemetery gates, and eases up the driveway that is lined on both sides by flower beds, old pōhutukawa and rimu. Daniel continues hoping it won’t be a balls-up. He is profoundly curious about who is going to be there; especially those from Aaron’s ‘other’ world.

  Daniel is in the back seat of Keith’s and Langi’s car, which is third behind the hearse. The summer light is a silver-black sheen on everything, and makes the graves, on both sides of the road, under more pōhutukawa and other indigenous trees, glisten, sparkle and flash as they drive past them. Occasionally Daniel catches the reflection of their car on the headstones. He feels Aaron’s amused presence everywhere, making the morning air feel crisp and invigorating and alive with possibilities.

  The hearse and the two leading cars drive on ahead to the chapel and crematorium, but the rest of the cortège turn into the parking area.

  Daniel doesn’t recognise most of the people around the vehicles and moving towards the chapel – a good mix of Polynesians and Pākehā, with a few Asians. Someone waves. He recognises Katherine Mills. With her is a tall, sedate Palagi man in a dark suit, and two young women of Cheryl’s age; he assumes they are are her husband and daughters. Daniel takes Langi and Keith and introduces them to Katherine and her family. ‘It’s an apt day for it,’ he says to her.

  ‘He would have planned a day like this for his final going away,’ she says.

  ‘Cheryl said they’ve included your daughters in the ceremony,’ Daniel reminds her. The two young women kiss their mother, and hurry on ahead to the chapel.

  As a group they walk to the chapel, which is located at the back of the cemetery, with another parking area opposite it and a large gathering area under the shade of tall rimu before it. The area is already almost full of people who obviously don’t know one another, sharing only Aaron as their reason for being there. Most of them are lining up and going into the chapel. The few Daniel knows come over and greet him and his group. Daniel is periodically gripped by anxiety, expecting Feau and Bonzy, but he can’t see them anywhere. He begins thinking of the people he doesn’t know or recognise as members of Aaron’s criminal family: that ‘other world’ at the edge, beyond the law.