Where Cuckoos Call

by Des Hunt

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘OK, get your shoes on, because it gets mighty tough in parts.’

  He led the way along the beach by torchlight. At the other end we headed inland and climbed steadily through the bush. When we broke clear of the trees, I could see we were on top of a small hill. And there, laid out in front of us, was the volcano.

  What a sight it was. Lava was spewing from the vent like a fountain. Down one side there was the orange trail of a lava flow. The sky above was glowing red like a sunset. And all the time there was a dull rumble like thunder in the distance. The whole thing was fantastic, and more than a little scary.

  ‘Will the lava get to us?’ I asked.

  ‘No. Very unlikely. There are no signs of lava flows around here. The problem here is the ash.’ He paused for a moment, thinking. ‘And the gas.’ Another pause. ‘Looks like we’re going to have to pull out again.’

  ‘Has it happened before?’

  ‘Yes. Soon after we started, we had to pull out for a couple of weeks. You dig near volcanoes, it’s what you have to expect.’

  By lunchtime the following day we were all back on Epi. It had taken four trips to get everything off. I made every one of those trips, helping Steve with the boat. But mostly I wanted to keep in touch with Bigmouth and make sure that she was all right.

  Before we left on the last trip, we stood looking around to see if there was anything we had forgotten. That’s the moment Bigmouth chose to say her farewell. First she flew past, as if she was checking me out, then she flitted onto a shrub beside me. For a while she sat moving her head around to view me from different angles. When she was satisfied it was me, she went tseeoo, tseeoo and then flew away.

  ‘Goodbye, Bigmouth,’ I said softly. ‘See you in the spring.’

  Back at Epi, the adults entered into deep discussion. We kids took the opportunity for some more snorkelling. I just couldn’t get enough of it. The thing that grabbed me was how clear the water was. When floating on the surface looking down on the coral, I felt that I was suspended in space like an astronaut. And below me was this magical world full of colour.

  When we got back, the adults had made their decisions and it was time to tell us. Steve and Lucy would fly back to the States for a couple of weeks to sort out some business. The students would bum around the islands for a while. Mum and I were going back to Port Vila for the last two days so Mum could do some shopping. That left Sarah-Lee. Would she like to go with us to Vila and then down to New Zealand for a couple of weeks?

  ‘Yes, I would,’ she said with a smile. ‘If Ben doesn’t mind.’

  Ben didn’t mind at all, and so it was all arranged.

  The next day when we flew out of Epi, we had to bank sharply to avoid the stuff coming out of Lopevi. The island was completely invisible under a cloud of ash and smoke. I thought of Bigmouth, and once again I was left wondering what would happen to her and whether I would ever see her again. At least this time I’d had a chance to say my goodbyes.

  Chapter 13

  Those eight days of holiday were a wonderful break from the worries of Mansfield Bay, for both Mum and me. But they say good things can’t last forever, and that was certainly true of that holiday. Reality returned with a horrible crunch as soon as we got home.

  The first thing was Dad greeting us when we climbed off the helicopter. He walked out of the house, smiling and waving, obviously pleased we were back. It was a surprise, as we’d expected him to still be in hospital.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Mum asked in an unpleasant way. ‘You’re meant to be in hospital.’

  Dad lowered his head a little. ‘I didn’t go.’

  Mum’s eyes turned dark and her head tilted up. She was angry, real angry. ‘Why not?’

  Dad raised his head and I could see he was losing it as well. ‘I didn’t want to. I don’t have to do things if I don’t want to.’

  ‘You didn’t want to!’ she screamed. ‘You didn’t want to. What about me? Do you think I like living with somebody who’s half out of their mind most of the time? Did you think of me? Did you think of Ben? Did you ever stop and think of anybody but yourself? Did you? Did you?’

  I had never seen Mum like this—it was frightening. Plainly Dad hadn’t seen it before either. He stood with his mouth halfopen, unsure of whether to say anything or not.

  He didn’t get the chance before Mum started yelling again. ‘No! Of course you didn’t. You never do. Well, if you think I’m going to hang around here looking after you, then you’ve got another think coming. Unless you do something to help yourself, I’m leaving. I mean it. I will go. And Ben will be going with me. So you had better think about that, the next time you don’t want to do something.’ She glared at him for a while before bursting into tears and running into the house.

  The rest of us stood in shock. What a welcome it was for Sarah-Lee. I had told her about Dad being ill. I had also said that things would be better when we got back. This wasn’t better—this was worse than it had ever been.

  We were brought back to life by the pilot saying we needed to unload the bags so he could go. After installing Sarah-Lee in the spare room, I fired up my computer to check my emails, hoping that there might be one from Cole: if ever I needed one of his stupid jokes, this was the time. There were ten emails, but none were from Cole. Four of them were from school, with the rest from an assortment of hotmail addresses, none with subject lines. I opened the oldest.

  From: asdfgh@freemalez.com

  To: bb@ins.ac.nz

  Subject:

  hi bird boy

  gez wot only 6 daze 2 go

  then we goin 2 get u

  ull never set traps 4 us agen bird boy

  c u in 6 daze

  BIKIN IS 4EVA

  I read the email three times before it fully sank in. It was from the bikers. They were coming back for the midyear school holidays, and they already had plans for my future. One by one I opened each of the other messages. They were all much the same, except each was sent from a different email address and the number of ‘daze’ got shorter. There had been none for the past two days.

  In a way it was easier getting them all at once instead of spread over a week. I could imagine it would be horrible checking your mail each day knowing that one of them was there. This way I got the shock over in one go.

  My first move was to reply to each with an explanation that I had not set a trap for them—that the logs were washed there by the sea. Almost immediately each of my replies bounced back, with the message that the email address didn’t exist. It didn’t really matter: I’d worked out that the messages had stopped because the school holidays had started, and the bikers probably didn’t have a computer at the holiday house.

  I then started thinking about how they had got my email address. First, they would need to know my name. That wasn’t difficult as I’d foolishly put it on the signs by the spit. I went into Google and searched for ‘Ben Mansfield’. There were a few other Ben Mansfields in the world, but only one hit referred to me. It was my teacher’s homepage, containing a display of students’ work. Unfortunately, the email address on one of my drawings hadn’t been blacked-out. ‘Thank you, Ms Young,’ I said sarcastically. ‘You’ve been extremely helpful. I don’t think!’

  Dinner was a frosty affair that night. Mum and Dad didn’t talk to each other, which was a slight improvement on the yelling. Both Sarah-Lee and I went to bed early, claiming that we were tired. I don’t know about her, but I lay awake for hours worrying about things. Somehow I had to do something to stop the bikers. Asking Dad for help would be next to useless, and the only other person I could think of was Cole—it was unlikely that he’d have the time to do anything.

  It was something I had to sort out for myself, and quickly, because I suspected they’d be eager to get on with the job. I probably wouldn’t have worried so much if there had only been me to look after. However, Sarah-Lee would be involved as well, and who knew what these thugs would do to her
.

  By morning I’d thought of two things I could do to protect myself and Sarah-Lee. Number one was to go everywhere using the tractor. It might not offer much protection, but it would give us a better chance of escaping from the bikers, and they’d have trouble giving the tractor the ‘rock and roll’. Number two was to take Jake as a bodyguard. Last time the bikers had been scared of him—maybe they still were.

  Peg was funny when I turned up with Sarah-Lee. At first she greeted me as a long-lost friend. Then, when she saw I wasn’t alone, she gave a long, low growl. I think she was jealous—she wanted me to herself. When I let Jake out, she got really grumpy, snapping at him every time he got near.

  I fixed the old calf pen to the back of the tractor and we set off for Treetops. Both Sarah-Lee and Peg were in the calf pen, Jake was screaming around everywhere, and I was in the driver’s seat—trying to make out I was the best tractor driver in the world. As soon as we reached the beach, I saw the bike tracks. The bikers had been here already. I was scared—it would be stupid not to admit it. They had already attacked me three times, and I could see no reason why they wouldn’t do it again; if not that day, then some day before the holidays finished.

  At the puriri there was a note at the bottom of the ladder, weighted down with a stone. I picked the note up and read it.

  ‘What does it say?’ asked Sarah-Lee.

  ‘“Hi, Bird Boy. Sorry we missed you. Ha! Ha! But we left you a present in your hut. Hope you like it. We’ll be back later to finish the job.”’

  With sinking heart, I climbed the ladder. The lock on the door had been forced open. Inside was chaos. They had trashed the place. My collection was scattered everywhere. Some of it was smashed. It was a vile and vicious attack of vandalism.

  ‘Why would somebody do such a thing?’ asked Sarah-Lee.

  ‘They’re just animals,’ I answered. ‘They only like bikes. That and destroying things. They’re thugs.’

  I was so upset, I was almost crying. I had looked forward to showing Treetops to Sarah-Lee. The place was my pride and joy—and now it was just a rubbish dump.

  I turned and climbed up to the lookout, fearful of what I might find there. Yet the place seemed untouched. The only bad things were out on the spit: bike tracks everywhere, plus the logs had been burnt in a bonfire. Now there were only ashes where the bike had crashed.

  The rest of the place looked much the same as usual. The bay was in its winter mode: lots of dotterels, oystercatchers and wrybills. Sadly, I could not see Tiny-M. She must have finally realised that she should be somewhere else, and flown north. Yet there was no chance of her being able to make it to the Arctic in time for breeding.

  At least Sarah-Lee was impressed with the view. Most of the birds were new to her, and I had to identify each breed and give all of their details. It was something I enjoyed doing, and it helped me forget the chaos down below.

  Over the next few days we tidied the mess. Sarah-Lee wanted everything classified: seashells had to be with seashells, bones with bones, and strange things with other strange things. I suppose it was the female touch—everything neat and tidy, and in the right place. Secretly, though, I would have preferred them all jumbled up as they usually were.

  She showed particular interest in the adzes and reels, quizzing me in detail. Finally, just to shut her up, I took her to the clay bank where I’d found them. There, she turned into the visiting expert. You would have sworn it was her mother talking. She’d spent so long around archaeological digs that she knew more than most teachers would.

  ‘See that brown mark?’ she pointed. ‘That’s from a piece of buried wood. It could have been a post hole to a house.’

  ‘What’s this white layer above it?’

  She looked closely at it for a while. ‘Hey,’ she said, excitedly, ‘that’s the top of the Taupo ash layer. We saw that in a dig near Opotiki.’

  ‘What’s so special about that, Miss?’ I asked in a silly voice.

  She smiled. ‘Lake Taupo last erupted in 186AD. It was the most violent eruption in the world for thousands of years. Ash was scattered all over New Zealand. So the importance of this layer is that we can date it at exactly 186AD.’

  ‘And how do we know it’s exactly that date?’

  ‘That’s a very good question, Ben. Good boy. It shows you’ve been paying attention.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss,’ I chuckled. ‘But don’t you know the answer?’

  ‘Of course I do. So much ash went into the air that it caused bright red sunsets and sunrises all over the world. It was so special that people wrote about it. That’s how we know it was 186AD.’

  I stood staring at the clay bank for a while. Something was puzzling me. ‘What about that brown stain? Because it’s below the ash layer, does that mean it was dug before the eruption?’

  ‘I wish,’ she said. ‘It was probably dug through the ash layer.’

  ‘But there’s no brown above.’

  ‘Yeah and the bank isn’t straight up and down either, so we’re only seeing the bottom of the hole. I bet those things you found were from above the ash layer.’

  ‘They were lying in the stream after it had flooded, so I don’t know exactly where they came from.’

  ‘They’d be from above. Nobody was living here when Taupo—’

  ‘Shhh,’ I hushed. ‘What’s that noise?’ But I already knew what it was: the bikers were coming. ‘Quick, get into the calf pen.’ She must have heard the urgency in my voice for she hopped in without comment. After shunting Peg in, I slammed the door, climbed up into the seat, and started the tractor. I doubted that we could get away before they arrived, but at least they couldn’t run over us.

  Yamaha was leading the way, followed by Blue and Red.

  ‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t Bird Boy,’ said Yamaha.

  ‘Yeah,’ added Red. ‘And the little fat slob has got a little fat girlfriend.’

  ‘We’ll be able to make them rock and roll together. They can do the roly-poly.’

  ‘Did you get our emails?’ asked Blue.

  ‘Yes, I did.’ My voice came out as a squeak.

  ‘You’re almost wetting yourself, aren’t you, Bird Boy?’ Red jeered. ‘You should never have made that trap.’

  ‘I’ve told you already that I didn’t make it. The sea did it.’

  ‘Oh yeah! But who shifted the logs around in the first place? Eh?’ asked Yamaha. There was nothing I could say to that. ‘So now you’ve got to pay for it.’ He put his bike on its stand and climbed off. The other two began to do the same.

  As they moved towards us, I called, ‘Jake! Here!’

  Nothing happened.

  Red gave an evil laugh. ‘Trying to trick us were you, Bird Boy? Make us think your mongrel was around here.’

  ‘Yeah. We ain’t scared of your dog. Look she’s wetting herself.’ And she was: Peg was peeing in the calf pen. The three bikers thought this was a hell of a joke.

  Once again, Jake’s timing was perfect. He flew out of the bushes, stopped, looked around for a moment, and then transformed into the vicious beast I’d seen last time. Red Honda was the closest. He panicked and kicked out at Jake. Instantly, Jake had his leg. Red yelled in pain.

  ‘Leave!’ I shouted. Jake let go, but he didn’t back off. He stood rocking back and forth, snarling and baring his teeth.

  ‘Jake! Sit!’ I ordered. He did and the snarling stopped. I turned to the bikers. ‘Now get out of here while you can.’

  They remounted their bikes and gunned them into life. ‘You’ve made a big mistake, Bird Boy!’ shouted Yamaha over the sound of the bikes. ‘You might think you’ve won, but we’re still going to get you. That mongrel won’t be around all the time.’ Then they roared off, going back the way they’d come.

  ‘Yes, he will,’ I said, to myself as much as to Sarah-Lee. ‘From now on we don’t go anywhere without him.’

  Chapter 14

  In the middle weekend of Sarah-Lee’s stay we watched a rugby match on TV. The
New Zealand Maori were playing Australia in Sydney. All week the news had been about the game. Cole was playing and, according to the reporters, big things were expected of him.

  Sarah-Lee knew less about rugby than I did, which is not saying much. Yet, you didn’t have to know the rules to get involved, and she was soon cheering and groaning as much as anyone. By the middle of the second half the Maori were ahead by thirteen points. Then came the disaster.

  There was one of those things where lots of players are piled on top of each other. Something happened and suddenly there were players fighting everywhere, with the referees trying to sort it out. When things calmed down, one of the Australians was pointing to his eyes and screaming at the refs. The commentators were talking of eye-gouging, which was one of the worst things you could do in rugby.

  After the refs had conferred, one of them called Cole over. We couldn’t hear what was said, except it was plain that Cole was being blamed. He was shaking his head and protesting. Eventually the ref put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a red card. Cole’s head slumped as he turned and walked slowly off the ground, still shaking his head. That’s when the crowd started booing. By the time he’d disappeared under the grandstand, the voices of the commentators were drowned by the booing from the huge crowd.

  I was shocked. I just couldn’t believe that he had done such a thing. The Cole I knew would never have done that. In fact, when we had interviewed him at school, one of the kids had asked if he’d ever hit another player.

  ‘No, and I never will,’ he had replied.

  ‘Not even if they hit you first?’

  ‘No. What would be the point?’

  ‘To get even,’ said the kid.

  ‘What! And get sent off as well? No, that’s just stupid. If I don’t hit back, the other player will be sent off, and that gives me the advantage. Anyway,’ he’d added, ‘I’ll never make the All Blacks if I get a name for hitting people. I’d never reach The Goal.’