Song of the Sound

by Jeff Gulvin

  ‘You’re doing fine, Bree,’ he told her. ‘We’ll have you herding sheep in no time.’

  Bree beamed at him, delighted with herself. The horse felt good beneath her. She could feel Pinky’s shoulder muscles, the great power in her back and legs: silently she squealed when Pinky responded properly to what she urged with her knees.

  Pole watched her and saw his son. Not as the young man who drowned on the Korimako but the boy who had lived here before his mother took him home to Australia. He saw Eli and he saw himself in Cairns and his father leaning against the fence with a look of pride stretching the skin of his face.

  ‘You’re doing really well, Bree. You’re a natural.’

  ‘It hurts my knees to squeeze her,’ Bree said. ‘I’m not sure how much to do it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. More to the point, she’ll get used to you.’ Pole stepped away from the fence. ‘Rising trot now, remember what I told you.’

  John-Cody was in the office when Pole dropped Bree off and he came out onto the porch and nodded to him. Pole touched his hat and then he backed his truck around and headed for Te Anau. Bree bounded up the steps.

  ‘Good?’ John-Cody asked her.

  ‘Brilliant.’

  ‘You’re not stiff then?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not in the slightest.’

  He nodded. ‘Are you going to go again?’

  Bree looked up at him then. ‘So long as you don’t mind.’

  ‘Why should I mind? Everything’s cool. Take it easy, Breezy.’

  She lifted a palm. ‘Five high, Captain Bligh.’

  He watched her cross the road and head for Fraser’s Beach with Sierra at her heels, then he turned back to the office and found Alex looking at him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  Alex smiled. ‘No reason. Bree’s a lovely girl, isn’t she?’

  ‘She certainly is.’

  ‘She almost makes you wish you were a parent yourself.’

  He turned once more and caught a glimpse of her disappearing into the trees. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She does.’

  Jane was back when Pole got home from Manapouri. Bree had helped him take off Pinky’s saddle and brush the horse down and turn her out in the field. He saw Jane’s car in the drive and as he climbed out of his truck she appeared on the balcony, a sheet of paper flapping in her hand.

  ‘When did this come, Nehemiah?’

  Pole shaded his eyes with his hand. ‘What?’

  ‘This fax from America.’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t been up there. What is it?’

  Jane looked at the paper then back at him once more. ‘Our little pot of gold.’

  The beginning of May and winter was approaching fast. Libby had extracted various bands of sound from her computer recordings and established which were cetacean clicks, which were ambient noise and at what point the engines came in. She worked at the table under the window that faced the back garden and watched John-Cody down by the manuka grove, chopping firewood. He wore jeans and a T-shirt despite the cold and the muscles rippled his arms as he swung the axe, splitting the logs with one smooth blow. Now and again he laid the axe down and bent to the pile to stack the wood in the wheelbarrow. Sierra sat and watched him, tongue hanging out, till her attention was drawn by the movement of rabbit or possum.

  Libby looked back at the computer screen, clicked the mouse and separated the sound waves still further, trying to figure whether Pole’s arrival had sent the pod elsewhere. She knew she could not prove it: that would take years of research under controlled conditions and she needed an acoustic model of the sound first. That alone would take an eternity and all she had was a year and a half.

  She found her mind drifting and her gaze wandering to the woodpile where John-Cody was swinging the axe again. She wondered if he noticed her: the odd look had passed between them but she’d felt no vibes other than that. Normally she was pretty good around men, able to pick up any electricity fairly quickly. She caught herself thinking about John-Cody, snatching the odd glance here and there, but she had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. Mahina dominated his space like an unseen aura, and normally that alone would be enough to put another woman off. But it wasn’t as if Mahina was clinging to him; rather it was as if he still needed to wrap himself in her memory.

  And why not? Mahina had been dead for a year and a half now and John-Cody still loved her in a way that nobody had ever or probably would ever love Libby. She watched him as he loaded another stack of logs then turned with the barrow and made his way up the lawn. She watched him walking, arms taut as he pushed the barrow up the little hill. He didn’t look at her; the sun was above his head and it probably reflected off the glass and made the window opaque. She turned again to her computer screen, but somehow couldn’t concentrate. She was due back at Dusky tomorrow and for the first time she didn’t want to go. Autumn was thinning and winter stalked the horizon and she had enjoyed the past week. Bree had been pleased to have her home when she got in from school and she had told her all about her weekend lesson with Pole. John-Cody had spent time with them in the evenings and they had played board games, talked and laughed a lot, the three of them.

  Getting up from the desk, she went to the front door where John-Cody was stacking wood in the box for her. He looked up and smiled. ‘It can only get colder, Lib. Dusky can be severe in winter, parts of Supper Cove get a film of ice over the water.’

  ‘And the dolphins keep close to the sea.’

  ‘Generally. But I’ve seen the Doubtful pod right up in Hall’s Arm even in the middle of August.’

  Libby nodded. ‘Would you like a coffee break?’

  He smiled and wiped the dust from his palms. ‘That’d be great. Thank you.’

  He sat outside on the little twin-seat and rolled a cigarette. The phone rang and Libby answered it then brought it outside and told him it was Alex.

  John-Cody took the phone. ‘G’day, Alex. What’s up?’

  ‘Ned Pole’s just been in. He wants to see you.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘Well, what he actually said was you need to see him and you need to see him now.’ She paused. ‘It was weird, boss, there was something different about him.’

  ‘What do you mean, different?’

  ‘I don’t know really. He was serious, I mean really serious. It gave me the shivers. He said he was going to sight in a new rifle and you’d know where he would be.’

  John-Cody put the phone down and Libby brought him the coffee. He was silent, staring absently through the trees at the blue of the sky above the lake; birds moved in his line of vision and the clouds scurried towards the western arch. Something about Alex’s tone unnerved him. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he felt a stone move in his gut.

  Libby was watching him. ‘Are you OK?’

  He didn’t answer right away.

  ‘John-Cody?’

  He picked up his coffee cup. ‘I’m fine.’ He drank deeply and set the cup down again. He had rolled a cigarette and now he stowed it in his pouch and stood up. ‘I’ve got a couple of things to do, Libby. I’ll be back a bit later.’

  His shirt was draped over the bonnet of the truck and he pulled it over his head and stuffed the ends into his jeans. Then he got behind the wheel, told Sierra to stay with Libby and backed out into the road. He drove towards Te Anau and took the turning for Balloon Loop, which led him down towards the river. Halfway along the twisting dirt road he saw Pole’s red and silver twin cab hunched to the side of the road. John-Cody slowed, grinding the gears on his old truck, and pulled up behind Pole’s. He sat for a moment and rested moist palms on his thighs. He heard a sharp little report and knew Pole had a silencer on the gun he was sighting.

  Pole lay on his belly and sighted the hunting rifle, using the wooden target set into the hillside at a distance of fifty yards. In the corner of his eye he saw Gibb
s come into view and stop at the lip of the ravine. The unofficial rifle range was cut out of the trees, maybe seventy-five yards long and far enough away from anything and anyone to make it safe. Pole had been sighting his weapons here for twenty-five years. He sighted now on the little disc in the middle of the wooden target and reeled off three rounds in quick succession: they formed a tight ring but slightly high and to the left. Only a small adjustment was needed. It would wait, though.

  He laid the rifle down, being careful not to get dirt in the barrel, and looked at John-Cody where he stood with his hands in his pockets, staring across the expanse of dirt between them. Pole screwed up his eyes: he saw Mahina for a fraction of a second and his breath caught in his throat; he saw his own son lying on the dock at West Arm. He saw himself, hands wrung out at his sides, every muscle tensed, his heart a wasteland of emotion.

  He stood up and held the rifle loose in one hand, the leather strap dangling. John-Cody slid down the slope, dust rising from his boots, and Pole started towards him. John-Cody paused and flipped away his cigarette then walked over to the target. He was inspecting it when Pole came up to him.

  ‘Nice shooting, Ned.’ John-Cody spoke without looking round at him.

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘A little high and to the left, but good grouping.’

  John-Cody looked round now. Pole shouldered the rifle and felt in his shirt pocket for a cigar. John-Cody took out his battered brass Zippo. Pole took the lighter and inspected it.

  ‘Did you get this in the military?’

  John-Cody didn’t reply. For a second the chill in the day was the chill on the Camas prairie as he looked down at the wreckage of the FBI agents’ car. He sat down on a tree stump and took out his tobacco. ‘What’s on your mind, Ned?’

  Pole sat next to him, his legs stretched long, boots crossed at the ankle. He smoked his black cigar and exhaled through his nostrils.

  ‘This is a beautiful place. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Some of us want to keep it that way.’

  Pole looked at him. ‘We’re not so different, you and I.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Then withdraw your application for Dusky Sound. If you and I aren’t so different, do us all a favour and let things stay as they are.’

  Pole laughed softly. ‘Gib, you always were a romantic. You really think it matters whether I withdraw or not?’

  ‘Of course it matters.’

  ‘Then you’re a bigger fool than I took you for.’ Pole flicked ash from his cigar. ‘If it isn’t me then it’ll be somebody else. Southland Tours were champing at the bit before I got my backing. Now they’re only standing back to see how I get on. One way or another they’ll be looking to do the same thing. Then it’ll be the Yellow Boats and Wilson’s Tours from Dunedin. We’ll have companies from as far away as Hawke’s Bay and the Bay of Plenty, even the Bay of Islands.’ Pole sucked smoke. ‘At least I’m a known quantity, Gib. I’m a local. I know the bush better than most. I know the sounds. If I do it strategically then I’ll set the right tone and raise my own objections alongside you if anyone else wants a slice of the action.’

  John-Cody looked at him, arms resting on his knees. ‘Ned, it won’t work. There is no bargaining position between us. There never was. Dusky Sound is sacred. There’s too much activity in Doubtful already, I don’t want the same to happen in Dusky.’

  Pole nodded. ‘But it’s OK for you to operate.’

  ‘I run an ecology tour.’

  ‘It’s still a boat on the water. According to Liberty Bass the engine could be detrimental to the well-being of the dolphins.’

  John-Cody looked at him. ‘Yep, and as soon as she proves it I’ll stop operating.’

  Pole laughed then. ‘You’re lucky you can afford to. Mahina was well insured, I reckon.’

  John-Cody smarted.

  ‘Don’t get jumpy with me.’ Pole blew smoke. ‘Most people round here are trying to just get by, you know. They’ve got debts and mortgages to think about.’

  ‘And that includes you.’

  Pole rubbed a palm across his jaw. ‘Gib, I could show you bank statements that’d make your hair curl.’ He looked sharply at him now. ‘I’ve got nothing against you personally, though God knows I’ve got reason to.’

  John-Cody was silent. ‘I’m sorry about Eli. I’ll always be sorry about Eli. It was my responsibility as skipper. But you know it wasn’t my fault.’

  Pole bit his lip. ‘Elijah made the mistake, but he was inexperienced. It was swelling five metres, Gib. You should never have let him go on deck on his own.’

  ‘If I was truly negligent that’s how the inquiry would have found it. They didn’t. You know. You were there.’

  ‘You really wish you could believe that, don’t you?’ Pole stared into the black of the trees and saw his son’s face in his mind. ‘I could’ve been rougher on you, Gib. A lot of people said I should.’

  ‘I know it.’

  Pole worked his shoulders. ‘I know the sea. I know what it’s like out there when there are only two of you on board. Stuff needs to be done. A jib hank catching like that, it happens.’ He chewed the end of his cigar. ‘But maybe I should’ve been tougher on you. Eli was my only son, my child. I hadn’t seen him since he was thirteen and as soon as I get him back he gets killed working an eco-tour for you.’

  John-Cody looked sideways at him. ‘Eli cared about the environment, Ned. He wouldn’t like what you’re planning for Dusky.’

  ‘Now you’re telling me about my own boy.’

  John-Cody laid his tobacco pouch on his thigh. ‘I’m telling you how I saw it. I’m telling you how it was when he worked for me.’

  ‘If he hadn’t worked for you he’d be alive today.’

  John-Cody said nothing. Pole said nothing. They sat side by side as the sun slipped beyond westerly clouds and the day grew colder.

  ‘Winter’s coming.’ Pole lifted the collar on his jacket. ‘Season’s almost over.’ He smoothed leathery fingers over the butt of his rifle. ‘I will put those lodges in Dusky Sound, Gib.’

  ‘You hope you will, Ned. There’s a hearing to get through. Remember?’

  Pole was silent for a moment then he said: ‘There won’t be any hearing.’

  ‘How do you figure that?’

  ‘Because it’s not going to get that far. You’re the last submitter and you’re going to withdraw your opposition.’

  John-Cody laughed.

  Pole’s voice was quietly menacing now. ‘You see, Gib, I’ve got the backing to buy your boat and your wharf and that’s exactly what I plan to do.’ He paused a moment. ‘I told you once I’d be doing you a favour and believe me now when I tell you I am. When we start down there you can stay on as a skipper if you want to.’

  John-Cody stood up.

  ‘Sit down, Gib. I’m not finished yet.’

  ‘I’ve got better things to do with my time.’

  ‘I said, sit down.’

  John-Cody sat. He didn’t know why exactly but he sat down on the log again. Pole relit his cigar with the Zippo that he’d held on to throughout their conversation.

  ‘How did it feel, Gib,’ Pole said slowly, ‘when you jumped that trawler in Bellingham? How did it feel to leave your mates to do what you were too scared to?’

  John-Cody could feel the pulse thudding blood at his temple. Pole was not looking at him: instead he was staring across the open space of ground to the beech trees racked side by side against the river. ‘We know all about you, Gib. We know why you left the US and what happened to you before you did. There are people over there that would be very interested in talking to you, even after twenty-five years. One of the Feds died in that car crash. Did you know that?’

  John-Cody felt as though he had been punched. He sat where he was, the smoke from the cigar raw at the back of his throat.

  ‘New Zealand immigration would be really interested in finding out about you too. You should’ve married M
ahina properly, legally, instead of some half-arsed hippy whatever.’ Pole stood up. ‘Sorry to lay it so heavy on you, mate, but I need that project in Dusky Sound. I don’t mind telling you my property is riding on it and Jane doesn’t like the idea of being homeless.’ He paused. ‘I told you I was doing you a favour. Right now nobody knows anything, but they will. I don’t want to force you out of the country, but if you don’t back off what choice do you give me?’

  He started up the hill to his truck then he paused and looked back, tipping his hat higher on his head. ‘There’s one other thing I want to share with you,’ he said. ‘The reason I wasn’t too hard on you over Eli.’ He licked his lips. ‘When I came down to the boat that day it was the first time in years that I could look Mahina in the eye.’

  John-Cody was staring at him.

  ‘You see, I had a little something going with her after you and she got together.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘Am I? She liked walking in the bush with no clothes on, didn’t she?’

  John-Cody drove to the office and parked out the back. For a long time he sat in the cab and stared through the windscreen at the houses built on the hill behind Possum Lodge. It was unreal: Pole’s face, Pole’s words. He could feel himself trembling and he got out and sucked breath, but the day was still and stifling; the sunshine had gone and clouds gathered over the Kepler Mountains on the north shore of the lake. Again he was standing on the Camas prairie, ankle deep in fresh snow, looking down on the wrecked car and the two FBI agents, one of them dead now. He was back in New Orleans with the rain battering the building so hard the shutters slammed into brick. He saw the faces of his band, mouths agape, uncertain and certain and terrified all in the same critical moment. Then he was on the highway, thumbing rides through St Charles Parish and up into Texas.

  He could see Alex looking at him through the window. She was frowning heavily. John-Cody tramped along the porch and she met him in the doorway, a crust of bread in her hand for the birds. ‘You look like you’ve seen one ghost too many.’

  ‘I’ve seen Ned Pole,’ he said quietly.

  ‘And?’

  He took a short breath. ‘And nothing. Look, I’m going back over the hill, Alex. I’ve got stacks of work to do on the boat.’