Land of Milk & Honey

by William Taylor

  Jake’s grin spread right across his face. He said nothing.

  ‘Well, what d’you say?’

  ‘You said to say nothing,’ said Jake.

  ‘Fair enough. Your Cheshire cat grin says it all. Last, and not at all least, time you did a bit of reading. Haven’t seen you with a book since you got here and, God knows, this house has more books than the town library.’

  Jake’s grin had gone.

  ‘You can read? Of course you can read. What’s up?’

  ‘I can’t find my glasses. I don’t know where they went.’

  ‘You stupid little devil. Stupid old devil, too, for not thinking. You wear glasses?’

  ‘Yes. Just for reading.’ Turning his ten-shilling note over in his hand, he added, ‘I’ll save up to get some more.’

  ‘Like hell you will. I shall see to that. Half a dozen pairs somewhere, floating around in the surgery…Hmm, short-sighted?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’ll get ‘em tested and sort out a pair of specs for you. Your ten bob a week is certainly not for things like that.’

  ‘Can I go and see my bike now?’

  ‘Certainly you can, but kindly use the King’s English,’ said Dr Mac.

  ‘May I go and see my bike now?’

  ‘Yes, you may go. Good lad.’

  Later, in his own room, he sat on the side of his bed, holding his ten-shilling note in his hands, turning it over and over. A feeling of absolute well-being filled him. He stood up and looked out into the moonlit garden. ‘Shit hot!’ he whispered, using one of Robert Te Huia’s favourite expressions. He opened the French door and went out onto the terrace outside his room. Jumping up and down with absolute delight and glee and joy he used every other bad or foul word he could think of to celebrate his great good fortune.

  VI

  Just before Christmas he began to see Gary Miller, almost every day it seemed. At first Jake thought he was imagining that the other was following him but, as the time passed, it seemed that, most days, he would spot Miller. The once daily trips out to old Mrs Sykes had dropped off to twice a week. The healing was as complete as it would ever be and no amount of massage would erase the last of his scars. On one occasion Gary Miller sat on his motorbike, fifty yards or so from the gates of the old woman’s cottage. He made no approach. As he rode the couple of miles home again, Miller gunned his bike past him not once, but three times. Jake, head down, biked on. Another time he saw him, again on his motorbike, outside the gates to the doctor’s house. One day he walked down to the post office for Molly Henderson. There was no option but to pass the garage where Gary Miller worked, but Jake crossed to the other side of the street to avoid the place. No sign of Miller. Not then. But on his way back, there he was, leaning against the petrol pump, arms folded, his eyes on Jake, staring.

  He tried to put it out of his mind, but it bothered him. No more so than one night when he read late, very late, curled up on his bed, with Little Black Sambo stretched out beside him. Near midnight, he discarded the temporary glasses given him by Dr Mac, stood and stretched, then walked over to the French doors, wearing only his underpants. He opened the doors and breathed in the night air. There was a figure standing stock-still in the moonlight down by the lily pond. Jake closed his eyes, rubbed them, shook his head and looked again. There was no one there. It was his imagination. There was no way Miller had been standing in the middle of James McGregor’s garden. No way.

  Christmas hummed and buzzed as much as it possibly could in the home of an old doctor who worked a full day, every day, right up until the event. ‘As old Charlie Dickens had someone saying; Scrooge, if memory serves, Christmas is humbug. We’ll take a little holiday in January, boy, just you’n me, if I can find a locum.’

  ‘What’s a locum?’

  ‘Generally some young saw-bones, still wet behind the ears and fresh out of medical school who could do with a spot of work. What do you make of Christmas? You a Christmas sort of feller?’

  ‘No,’ said Jake, firmly. Most certainly not in this upside down place at the bottom of the world where it was the middle of a very hot summer. ‘We didn’t go in for Christmas very much, well not for a long time. We never had much money, and when the war came it wasn’t easy.’

  ‘Molly tells me you and she have sewn up a nice parcel of bits and pieces to send to your old man. Bit of tucker he might not otherwise get.’

  ‘Yes. The lady at the post office said it wouldn’t get there on time but that doesn’t matter,’ Jake smiled. ‘My old man will enjoy them whenever they get there. I paid for the things.’

  ‘Good man.’

  ‘Mrs Te Huia said Robert was to bring me to their place so she could say Happy Christmas,’ Jake blushed slightly. ‘And have a little Christmas drink. If that’s all right. Is that all right?’

  ‘Of course it’s all right, lad. You don’t have to ask me. Don’t you hit the sherry bottle too hard,’ he chuckled. ‘I don’t want that grinning brown face leading you astray. Not that his mother would let him! Fine woman. A pity about her son, poor soul.’

  Jake laughed out loud. ‘I think you like Robert very much indeed.’

  ‘Do you just? Oh, and one other thing, Jacob, my boy.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Christmas and everything, well, if you want to go to church, you just sort it out for yourself and take off if you see fit. Me? Well, lad, no use beating around the bush, I’m a bloody heathen.’

  Jake looked at the old man and a broad smile spread across his face. ‘I’m a bloody heathen, too, Dr Mac,’ he said. ‘We can be a couple of bloody heathens together.’

  ‘Good man. And don’t bloody swear.’

  ‘I only bloody swear if you bloody swear, Dr Mac.’

  ‘No need to copy everything I do. Thought you said you spent some time with the nuns?’

  ‘They took Janice and me when my gran died and after Mum had gone…’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘They were quite good. I went to the brothers’ school.’ He smiled. ‘They could bloody swear! The bloody brothers!’

  ‘Not surprised, poor devils, if they had a school full of the likes of you. Come on, let’s get inside. Time for my whisky, and don’t be looking at me like that, you’re not getting one!’

  ‘I’ve been telling him for weeks to bring you round and introduce you. It’s all ‘Jake this’ and ‘Jake that’ and not enough manners in him to see that we meet. Sit down and help yourself to a mince pie; they’re fresh from the oven.’ Mrs Te Huia bustled around her tiny kitchen. ‘Come on now. Eat up. I’ve not made them for myself.’

  The woman fitted her kitchen—small and bird-like, a head shorter than her son. Jake was amazed. This little creature controlled Robert with a rod of iron? He couldn’t believe it! ‘They’re very nice mince pies, Mrs Te Huia. Thank you.’

  ‘Have another,’ she said, pushing the plate at him, ‘Help yourself, lad.’

  ‘That’s my mum,’ said Robert. ‘She likes people to eat.’

  ‘It shuts them up is why,’ said his mother. ‘Seems I failed with you, though,’ she smiled at her son.

  ‘What d’you think, Jake?’ Robert stood up, gave his mother a hug and dwarfed her. She pushed him off. ‘As like as two peas in a pod? My mum’n me?’

  ‘Get away with you, boy,’ she said.

  ‘Except I’m brown and she’s white. Pale as a sheet. Poor old Mum!’ and he gave her a hug.

  ‘And I’m a good host and you’re a bad one. Offer the lad a drink.’

  ‘Beer, Jake?’ asked Robert.

  ‘A cup of tea is what I meant, as well you know. You’ll not be offering the poor lad hard liquor in my house.’

  ‘It’s Christmas, Mum. Beer isn’t hard liquor and I know you got some.’

  ‘For your uncle when he comes. And I don’t know where the dickens they’ve got to.’ She peered out of the window. ‘Late, always late.’

  ‘That’s us Maoris. Time to us is a different dimension. You should know that, Mum,’ an
d he pointed to a large, oak-framed photograph hanging on the wall. ‘That was my dad,’ he said to Jake. ‘In his uniform, before he went away.’

  The picture showed a broadly smiling soldier, an older image of the boy now sitting at the table. ‘What Robert might not have told you is that he was killed, near the beginning of the war. North Africa. Second battalion, not the Maori one. We miss him,’ Mrs Te Huia said simply.

  ‘Robert didn’t tell me,’ said Jake, not knowing what else to say.

  ‘You’ve been through enough without me telling you that. I would have. You lost your mum. I lost my dad. You sort of lost your dad, too.’

  ‘Go and get a bottle of beer, Bobby, and bring me that bottle of sherry I was saving, the nice South African one with the deer on it. Maybe we could have just a little drink and blow your uncle and aunty for being late.’ Mrs Te Huia got back to bustling.

  They wandered the one-horse town together, Robert and Jake. The post office, the hotel, the bank, three churches, the library and the council office and the shops—Jake had already counted the whole eleven of them. Night was coming on. A hot night. A still night. The only evidence of any life, apart from themselves, was the hum of industry from the dairy factory that overlooked the town. They parked themselves in the band rotunda that sat in a small and dusty garden at the intersection of the two main streets. ‘Not even Mum’s eyes can see around a corner, I hope,’ said Robert. ‘We’ll have a smoke.’

  ‘She’s a very nice lady, your mother,’ said Jake, not knowing what else to say.

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if she’d chased you with a wooden spoon for the whole of your life,’ said Robert, with great feeling.

  ‘Poor little Bobby.’

  ‘Don’t you dare call me that.’

  ‘OK, Bobby. I like your uncle and auntie, too.’

  ‘They’re OK. I’ll take you out to their place one day. They’ve got a farm. Only Maoris left round here with a bit of land.’

  ‘A cow farm?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Dairy farm. Yep. I’ve got to go out at the weekend and help him do the chooks for Christmas dinner. Want to come and give us a hand?’ Robert asked.

  ‘What d’you mean do the chooks for Christmas dinner?’

  ‘Wring their necks, pluck ‘em and take their guts out. Don’t mind the first bit and the last bit but the plucking takes for ever. Want to come?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Jake, with some feeling.

  ‘Well, it’s gotta be done. Only time we ever get chicken is at Christmas. My mum can cook chooks real good.’

  ‘Well, I suppose, if you do need a helping hand…‘ Jake was reluctant.

  ‘It’s OK. You couldn’t kill a chook, anyway. You’d cry.’

  ‘I would not,’ said Jake. ‘As you say, it’s got to be done.’ He laughed. ‘It’s just that I’d rather have someone else do it. I’m not soft.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? Look at that horrible kitten of yours. Any sensible bloke would’ve finished that sod off the day it was born!’ Little Black Sambo liked Robert Te Huia as little as he liked Dr James McGregor. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not gonna touch him. And uncle and me can do the chooks. We always have,’ he sighed. ‘Guess we always will,’ he sighed again. ‘I’ll end up an old man, still livin’ round here and good for nothing except killing old hens at Christmas. That’ll be my life.’

  ‘It’s very sad, Bobby,’ grinned Jake. ‘Very, very sad.’

  It was the strangest Christmas Jake had ever experienced. James McGregor worked through until Christmas Eve and was on call all Christmas Day. As the only doctor for miles around, neither high day nor holiday made a great deal of difference. As he said, ‘If a baby wants to arrive on Christmas Day it will. Right back to when the damn fool season got started. We can blame the Infant Jesus!’

  Since the death of his wife he had spent the day with Molly Henderson and her family; a daughter, son-in-law and three small children. Gifts were exchanged, tempers frayed, the elaborate roast meal was cooked and eaten on the hottest afternoon of the year. Everyone, except the grandchildren who were busy playing with and breaking each other’s small gifts, took a late afternoon snooze before gathering around the radio for the Christmas message from the King before sitting down for a further feast.

  Jake’s fortune was extended by a one-pound note from his guardian, a shirt from Molly Henderson and handkerchiefs from the grandchildren and their parents. He had pondered hard on what he could possibly give either Dr Mac or Molly. The shops in Weatherley didn’t offer a wide assortment when it came to gifts. In the end he settled on a cup and saucer for Molly and a book for James McGregor. ‘It’s a good juicy murder one and you’ve got lots of them.’

  ‘Thank you, Jacob. A sensitive gift for Christmas.’ He looked at the book. ‘Who d’you reckon did it? The doctor?’

  ‘More than likely,’ said Jake. ‘They do, you know. I read all about Dr Crippen.’

  VII

  On Boxing Day James McGregor drove himself down to the city. ‘Going to spend the day with a couple of old cronies. I’ll probably spend the night and be back lunchtime or so tomorrow. I won’t take you, lad, you can stay with Molly if you want.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘If I were you I’d have a nice quiet day to meself, pottering around here. Have an idle day. You’ve done enough work for two men. Lie out in the sun, or whatever it is you feel like doing. Shouldn’t be any calls. I’ve told the exchange where I’ll be and they’ll put ‘em on to the hospital or, if needs be, refer them to young Sandy over at Pukeonake.’

  It felt good being by himself. It was almost as if the whole place was his very own property. The big wooden house, its grand verandas, the sweeping driveway and the old trees and the park-like gardens. In a way it was all his. This was his home. Just looking around him, revelling in it all, he felt, for the very first time, remarkably secure. He was happy, living here with this funny, crusty old codger of a doctor. The old man made him feel like a young man—and that felt just right!

  Jake didn’t obey James McGregor. He mowed the lawns and raked the driveway before he lay in the sun down by the lily pond. He made himself lunch. Bread and raspberry jam. More bread and raspberry jam—and a cup of tea. He curled up on a sofa, out on the veranda, read a book, snoozed.

  In the late afternoon he went outside, down to the little lake with its lily-pads, iris and croaking frogs. He fell asleep in the sun.

  Jake woke with a start, turned face up, lay on his back. There, standing above him, staring down at him, was Gary Miller. ‘Get away. Get away from me! Get out!’ Jake yelled. He trembled, sprang into a crouch, arms crossed over his bare chest, a pathetic, protective reaction. ‘I’ll call…I’ll get…‘

  ‘There’s no one to call ‘cos the old doc’s out. I know. You’re by yourself. I been watching all day,’ Gary said quietly.

  Miller’s words made it worse. Jake backed off in a half crawl, slowly. ‘Please go away. Leave me alone.’ He was cornered.

  ‘I gotta talk to you,’ said Gary Miller. His hand came up to his face and rubbed his brow. ‘I gotta talk. I’m not gonna hurt you. Please believe me.’

  There was something in Miller’s voice that made Jake relax his guard a fraction. He looked more closely into the face he remembered so painfully well. He remembered, as if it were just a moment ago, the sneering, jeering look and the grip of those big hands.

  ‘Please just listen to me for a minute,’ said Miller, pleading.

  ‘What d’you want?’ Jake was less fearful.

  ‘Come back here and sit on your rug. I won’t touch you. Don’t you be scared.’

  ‘I’m not scared,’ Jake lied.

  ‘Yes you are,’ said Gary. ‘I’ll sit here and not move.’ And he did.

  Jake relaxed a degree more. ‘What d’you want coming in here?’ His confidence increased. ‘You’ve got no right!’ And then all of a sudden he realised there was nothing to fear. ‘You bastard! You cruel, bully bastard!’

  Gary turned slightly to look at Jake, his face seri
ous. He spoke levelly, with no rise or fall to his voice. ‘You can say to me what you like ‘cos you’re right.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I looked at you while you were asleep and I looked at your back.’

  Jack pulled the rug around him and sat, staring straight ahead. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘And I thought I done that to you, sort of in a way. I know I didn’t really do that bit but it’s been in my mind since that day in the court when they made you show what was done and now I can’t even sleep.’

  Jake looked at him. ‘I hope you never bloody sleep again.’ He saw tears on Miller’s face. ‘You sook! What are you crying for? Nobody hit you.’

  ‘I can’t get it out of my mind.’

  ‘Good. I hope you never do.’

  ‘I gotta say these things. I been tryin’ to say them to you for weeks.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘No one’ll talk to me, almost no one in the whole town, and my mum says I’m disgusting. I’m tryin’ to get outa here and get a job down the city. I had to see you before I go.’ Gary Miller dug in his pocket and found cigarettes and matches. ‘D’you want one?’ His hand trembled.

  ‘I don’t smoke.’

  ‘Yes you do. I seen you with Te Huia in the band rotunda just before Christmas. You were laughin’ and jokin’ with him.’

  ‘So? I can laugh with people who don’t torture me.’

  ‘I come here today to say I am very sorry for what I done. I know it was wrong. The more I think about it the worser it is.’ Gary spoke at length. He was quiet for a couple of seconds. ‘How’s your cock?’

  Jake blinked. ‘It still works.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Gary, seriously. ‘Dunno what you’d do if it didn’t. What Darce’n me did was very wrong. It’s OK to have a bit of fun with a dumb calf or a few cats or shoot rabbits and shit, but what we did to you…’