by Des Hunt
It was on the night of the first fire of the winter that Mum finally gave us her news. Dad must have known already, because he was wearing a stupid grin as well. That surprised me a little, as I didn’t think he’d want to go into hospital.
‘We’ve got a surprise for you,’ said Mum. I sat and waited. ‘Do you know what I’ve been doing on the Internet?’
I shrugged. ‘Yeah, I’ve got some idea.’
‘Bet you haven’t,’ she said.
I waited some more—she could have her bit of glory if she wanted.
‘I’ve been exchanging emails with Sarah-Lee’s mother, Lucy.’
‘What?’
She laughed. ‘Lucy wrote to me to check that we were OK with what you and Sarah-Lee were doing. I replied and then we started exchanging emails. And,’ she paused for effect, ‘a couple of weeks ago she asked if we would like to come and visit them on the island, so you could see the cuckoo again.’
By then she had my total attention.
‘Graham and I have discussed it and we’ve decided we can afford it, and that you and I should go.’
‘When?’
‘I’ll come to that.’ This was her big moment—she wasn’t going to let me interrupt. ‘Anyway, Graham mentioned it to Bill Wiltshire, and he insisted that his office would make all the bookings and organise the passports and everything. So they did—and we go on Saturday.’
‘This Saturday?’ I was stunned.
She nodded. ‘Yes. I know it’s very soon, but the school holidays come after that and everything is booked out.’
I looked over at Dad. ‘What are you going to do?’
He gave me a half-grin and started to answer when Mum butted in. ‘He’s going into a private hospital. Aren’t you, Graham?’
He gave a little shrug. ‘Yeah,’ he said. Then he tapped his head. ‘I suppose I’d better let the quacks have a look around in here. See if they can find out if anything’s wrong.’ He didn’t sound convinced.
‘How long are we going for?’ I asked.
‘Just over a week. We’ll be back the following Sunday.’
I sat there thinking. The whole package sounded like a wonderful idea: I was getting a trip to the tropics and Dad was finally going to get some decent treatment. Plus, Mum would get a holiday that was fully deserved—she sure was glowing with happiness.
‘Well?’ asked Mum after a while. ‘What do you think?’
I smiled. ‘I think it’s great.’ And at that moment that’s what I thought. I was going to the tropics. I’d be able to lounge in the sun, swim on coral reefs, see tropical birds, and see Bigmouth again. It would be fantastic. It was only later that I realised there could be some difficulties. I wouldn’t just be meeting Bigmouth, I’d also be meeting Sarah-Lee, face to face. And that was definitely going to be a problem. She was expecting to meet somebody a lot older, a lot slimmer, and a whole lot better looking.
That was when I started to feel sick inside. Real sick, like hide your head under the bedclothes sick and hope that the rest of the world will somehow disappear.
Chapter 11
Bill Wiltshire laid on the full works for us. His helicopter landed at 8.00 a.m. on the dot.
It was a difficult farewell. Two years before, Dad and I would have hugged each other, but now we stood looking at our feet, fidgeting with our hands. I’m sure it was a relief to both of us when the pilot said it was time to go. Dad was driving off to hospital later in the morning. A neighbour would come in every couple of days to look after the animals. I’d already said my goodbyes to Peg.
We landed at Auckland International Airport with plenty of time to spare. Bill Wiltshire was there to greet us. He guided us through ticketing, made sure I had a window seat, suggested purchases at the duty-free shop, and escorted us to the departure area.
And there, he gave Mum a mobile phone. ‘This is all set to work anywhere in the world. Remember, if you run into any problems, just give me a call and we’ll sort it out for you.’
Mum was embarrassed. ‘But I won’t know how to use it,’ she pleaded.
He smiled. ‘The instructions are in there. Anyway just give it to Ben. I’m sure he’ll be able to work it out.’
Then he had a gift for me. It was an underwater housing for my camera. ‘There are some fantastic reefs in Vanuatu. I’m sure you’ll enjoy photographing them.’ With that he shunted us through into emigration, gave us a wave and departed. It was all very friendly, yet I knew why he was doing it all: he wanted us to get used to having plenty of money. Then we’d be more likely to sell the property. This was peanuts to him. If we sold, he would get the money back many times over.
For the next hour we enjoyed luxury that we had only ever seen on TV. Bill had given us passes to the first-class lounge. The food and drinks were free, with waiters hovering around to take care of our every need. There was free Internet access, and toilets that almost did everything for you. We sat in an alcove with me sorting out how to fit the underwater gear to my camera, and Mum sitting there with a grin that just wouldn’t go away.
The flight was three long, boring hours. It would probably have been more enjoyable if I’d kept my promise to myself and confessed to Sarah-Lee about my lies. But I hadn’t, and instead I cringed every time I thought of the moment when we would meet.
Part way through the flight we ran into some turbulence. The plane jumped and tossed for a few minutes. It was scary and made me think of Bigmouth and her trip. She would have had to cope with things like that, and she was only tiny compared with the plane. Once again I marvelled at how incredible migrating birds are. This plane would have gyroscopes, compasses, radar, satellite navigation, weather reports, and air traffic control. The birds had only themselves and what was stored in their heads.
At Port Vila, the capital of Vanuatu, we changed planes to a smaller one that would take us to Epi Island, the nearest airstrip to Lopevi.
That was a wonderful trip. Vanuatu has eighty islands and we must have seen many of those. The beautiful blue water and coral reefs looked so inviting, I couldn’t wait to get down there and try out my camera.
As we came into Epi, we passed close to the smoking island of Lopevi. I pointed it out to Mum. ‘That’s where Bigmouth is.’
She looked shocked. ‘But it’s a volcano!’
I smiled. ‘Yes, and sometimes it’s quite dangerous.’
Then she laughed. ‘Trust your bird to pick out one of the dangerous places. What was wrong with all those other lovely islands we flew over?’
I laughed too. What indeed was wrong with them? Yet I was rather pleased with Bigmouth’s choice—I thought the volcano looked a great place to be.
The approach to the airstrip was spectacular. We came in so low over a reef that I could see fish moving amongst the coral. Soon we were alongside a beach of white sand with coconut palms and sunbathers. It was the perfect picture-postcard image of a tropical island—I couldn’t wait.
The touchdown brought me down to earth with a bump in more ways than one. Within minutes I was going to have the most embarrassing moment in my life. Suddenly I wished the plane would just turn around and take off again.
It didn’t. Instead it taxied back to the building that was airport control for Epi Island. I looked at the coconut palms, the back of the seat in front of me—at anything except the small group of people waiting by the building.
When the plane stopped, I stayed in my seat.
‘Come on, Ben,’ said Mum. ‘You’re not going to sit there all day, are you?’
Yes, I thought, I’m going to sit here until the plane flies me away, never to return.
As we finally got off the plane, a woman stepped towards us—it was Sarah-Lee’s mother. Yet I couldn’t see Sarah-Lee. There was a girl behind her mother who had the same family characteristics, but she was about my age. She must be Sarah-Lee’s sister, I thought, though Sarah-Lee had never mentioned one. She certainly was nowhere near as beautiful as Sarah-Lee.
‘Hazel?’ the
woman asked.
‘Yes,’ replied Mum. ‘And I gather you’re Lucy.’
After they had hugged Lucy said, ‘And you must be Ben. Welcome to Vanuatu, Ben.’ She hugged me as well, before turning to the girl behind her. ‘And this is Sarah-Lee. But you two already know each other, don’t you?’
The girl’s face was starting to tilt into a smile as she came forward to give me a hug. ‘My God,’ she said softly into my ear, ‘you’ve changed since the photo was taken, haven’t you?’
It was only then that I realised what was happening. I felt a wave of relief sweep over me. ‘So have you, Sarah-Lee,’ I said. ‘There must be some sort of time warp happening around here.’
She laughed, and so did I. Right then, I knew that things were going to be OK between us; my worries and sleepless nights had been for nothing.
For the next three days we did the tourist bit. We snorkelled, looked at village life, snorkelled, watched steaming volcanoes, and snorkelled some more. I couldn’t get enough snorkelling. Even when the others were resting during the heat of the afternoon, I would be out on the reef, or swimming with the dugongs.
Usually Sarah-Lee would join me. Our first swim had been a little awkward. It was obvious that we both liked eating, and it showed when we were wearing togs. However, the reef life was so spectacular that we soon forgot about what we looked like, and after that it never worried me again.
Dugongs are really something. They’re also called sea cows and that is just what they are. Take a cow’s head, squash it a bit, put it on a seal’s body, and you have your standard dugong. They live on sea grass—lots of it.
One of the males was particularly friendly. We’d be floating on the surface, watching the fish, and suddenly there’d be this weird creature floating alongside you. But there is one big problem with sea cows. All of that grass they eat means there’s a lot of stuff to come out the other end. And I can tell you, it’s not at all nice when that happens in the water right beside where you are swimming.
In those three days I took so many underwater photos that I filled up the camera’s memory card. Fortunately the place where we stayed had a computer, so I was able to burn them to a CD. Then I went out and took just as many shots again.
In the evenings we would walk to the northern tip of the island and watch the volcanoes. Vanuatu has nine regularly active volcanoes, and five of them can be seen from Epi, although two of them are still beneath the sea. By far the most spectacular is Lopevi. During the day it seemed to be only smoking, but at night you could see a red glow coming out of the crater. Every now and then there would be a display of fireworks as the eruption hotted up a bit.
I enjoy thinking back to those nights. It was sort of romantic, sitting beside Sarah-Lee in the tropical moonlight. By then we had forgotten the photo thing and liked each other for what we were—two twelve-year-olds with an interest in much the same things, and—perhaps—with just a little interest in each other.
Chapter 12
We moved to Lopevi Island on Wednesday when Sarah-Lee’s dad came over with a boat to collect us. As we travelled, I remembered Sarah-Lee’s shark photos and asked her about them.
‘Yeah, sure there are sharks here. People even get attacked by them. We won’t be doing much swimming at the camp. Only enough to wash. Anyway there’s no reef to snorkel on where we are. The coastline’s so ugly.’
She was right. We came ashore at a steep, black-pebbled beach. At one end was a bit of a pond and we hauled the boat up into that. The camp was at the other end under a huge banyan tree. I’d thought my puriri tree was big, but four of them could have fitted inside this giant. There was no central trunk. Instead the branches were supported by lots of little trunks that looked like roots. You could actually walk through the middle of the tree. Several tents were arranged in the shade around the edge, with a kitchen, dining area and lounge in the middle.
I was introduced to the two students who were helping with the dig. They could have stepped straight out of one of those computer games that have archaeologists fighting off mummies, snakes and other things that crawl out of buried tombs. They had khaki shirts, skimpy shorts, broad-brimmed hats—the works. Later, when I was helping with the dig, I realised they were a whole lot better dressed than I was.
We went to the dig after lunch, walking a short distance inland to a space that had been cleared of plants. It was just as Sarah-Lee’s photo had shown, except that it was a lot deeper than I had imagined. Lucy Petersen gave me the guided tour.
‘This is a Lapita site.’ She pronounced it as Lah-pee-ta, with the emphasis on the second syllable. ‘The Lapita people lived in this part of the Pacific from about 2000BC to probably 500BC. They are thought to be the great ancestors of the Polynesian people, such as the Maori in New Zealand, though there is plenty of debate about that. They are named after a site in New Caledonia where the importance of some pottery was first recognised.’
I already knew most of that from the research I had done. ‘Have you found any of the pottery?’
She gave a crooked smile. ‘Unfortunately, not yet. We have found cooking stones, pig bones, chicken bones, stone tools and even a piece of bone that may be human. But, alas, no pottery. But I have some I can show you.’
From her pocket she brought out two jagged pieces of red clay. ‘These were found further north.’ She handed one piece to me and the other to Mum. ‘See, they have the dentate marking that identifies Lapita.’ She indicated a pattern around the edge of the piece. It looked like something had been pushed into the clay when it was moist. The resulting pattern was like the email address on Bigmouth’s band. I smiled: maybe there was a similar message in the Lapita pattern, but one we couldn’t read.
For the rest of the afternoon I became an archaeologist with my own little trowel and brush. What boring work it was—boring and extremely hot. I found three things which I thought were something. They proved to be unusual pebbles of ash that the volcano had spewed out a thousand years before.
I was relieved when Steve Petersen called an end to the day and we returned to camp. We sat around a table with lukewarm drinks made from crushed pawpaws that grew in the nearby bush. After the heat of the afternoon, it was one of the most wonderful drinks I have ever had. I was about to pour another when Sarah-Lee nudged my arm and pointed up into the tree. It was Bigmouth, peering down, looking as inquisitive as ever.
My heart missed a beat when I saw her. It was such a thrill. She stared for a while before flying down and perching on the table. She hopped over to me, looked for a moment, and then gave one of her little begging dances. I laughed with joy. There was no doubting that she had recognised me.
Sarah-Lee skipped away, returning with a large leaf that was being attacked by caterpillars. Bigmouth soon showed she hadn’t lost any of her appetite. When there were no worms left, she turned her head to the side, looked at me for a moment, then gave a little tweet and flew away.
After dinner we sat around the table talking about Lapita and the early people of the Pacific. ‘They were such wonderful sailors,’ said Steve. ‘And great navigators.’
‘There is evidence of Lapita all the way from New Guinea to Samoa,’ added Lucy.
‘Why didn’t they get to New Zealand?’ I asked.
‘Who says they didn’t?’ replied Lucy. ‘The fact that we haven’t found them there doesn’t mean a thing.’
‘In fact, it would be surprising if they didn’t make it there,’ said Steve. ‘The distance from New Caledonia to New Zealand is shorter than the distance to Samoa.’ He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. ‘It could have been easier to get to New Zealand. Those winds you had last summer could have taken them there in a matter of days. No more than two weeks.’
‘And,’ added Lucy, ‘those people lived in close harmony with nature. They would have seen the cuckoos flying south. They knew there was land in that direction. It’s almost unthinkable that they didn’t follow the cuckoos and try to find it.’
‘W
e know some people got there a long time before the Maori,’ said Steve. ‘The kiore rat has been in New Zealand for about two thousand years and it could only have got there with humans.’
‘Then why haven’t we found where they lived?’ I asked.
‘Ha!’ replied Steve. ‘We may not have looked in the right places.’
‘And getting there is only part of the job,’ said Lucy. ‘Surviving is another story. You take the climate of New Zealand: they may have found the cold too difficult. One thing we know from our work here is that you need a long-term settlement before there are sufficient artefacts for people to find. If they didn’t survive long, then there is probably very little left of their stay.’
That night I slept under the stars. It was about midnight when people went to bed. The volcano was really stoked up by then. At times the red glow was so bright it lit up the whole area. Every now and again a sulphurous smell would waft through the camp. I settled onto a mat, enjoying the thought of sleeping so near to an erupting volcano.
But as the activity increased, I became alarmed. The low growling I had heard earlier changed to loud explosions and the earth was starting to shake. Sometime around two, Steve Petersen came out of his tent and saw that I was awake. ‘Do you want to have a better look?’ he asked.
