by Jack Lasenby
“Grab his legs,” I shout, but Ansik has them, and we are rounding up in the lee of the boulder spit. We drag and tumble Jenek aboard with the help of a wave. I leap, bring the tiller over, and stand out into deep water, Tobik, Ansik, and Jenek a sprawl of arms and legs in the bottom.
A few moments were all it took, but I knew how lucky we had been. The others surrounded him, patting, covering him with sacks. No, he’d had plenty of water. He wasn’t hungry. He was shivering, even more excited than the rest of us, and we had crossed the rough stretch and were back into the bay and the protection of the cliffs before he started to make sense. Every time he tried to speak, somebody interrupted.
“Sit down, the lot of you.” I laughed because it sounded crazy. “Or we will lose someone over the side.”
But we still jabbered, all of us. It was not till we were back at the inlet and sitting around the fire that Jenek could tell his story.
“We saw you being swept around the spit, swimming after the boat,” said Tobik.
“You and Larish took the breaker and went to find water and a place to camp,” Jenek croaked. “You were away ages.” He coughed. “I swallowed some salt water.” The children shrieked, as if he had said something funny.
I thought to myself the gods must have been helping. “Eight,” I whispered under my breath. “We can start building a village.”
Chapter Seventeen
Flint and Steel and Knife
I got cold, waiting for you and Larish to come back, and lit a fire.” Jenek coughed, and his voice cleared. “In a dip over the back of the beach, where I could just lift my head and keep an eye on the boat, and still be out of the wind. There was plenty of dry grass amongst the driftwood, and I shaved dust and little curls off a piece of tote. I fetched the flint and steel out of the boat, and got the fire going, no trouble. Everything was so dry, I didn’t need tinder.”
“We saw you swimming after the boat,” Tobik said again. “By the time I climbed on top of the boulders, the boat was halfway across the bay, and there was no sign of you. I ran along the rocks yelling, but it was no use. When I got to the cliffs, I thought you must have been swept past. I went back, and Larish had your fire going again.”
Jenek looked at Tobik. “The tide seemed to be going out,” he said, “so the boat should have been all right, well up the beach, anchor driven in. I went to get some mussels off the rocks, looked back, and it was sliding down the shingle on a wave, dragging its anchor. I tore along and dived in after it.”
“How’d it get away?”
“I didn’t think about that, only how I was going to catch up.”
“It must have been a big wave.”
Something in Tobik’s voice made me listen.
“One that swept right up the beach, but I didn’t have time to think about it then.”
“It’d have to be a very big one.”
Tobik was keeping on about it, so I spoke.
“That sort of steep beach — you all saw how the waves break and shoot up it. Just one big one is all it would take to lift the boat and drag it off, even with the anchor out. It could have slewed the boat, tipped it over, and stove in the side.”
“We wanted to land on that beach, but Selene wouldn’t stop,” said Peck.
“Selene knows,” said Lorne.
“I swam and swam,” said Jenek, “but the boat was getting further away. Then I couldn’t see it. The island was off to my left, and the current was carrying me past.
“I tried to head in at an angle, to make the island before I got swept past the cliffs at the north end, but I was getting tired, and the water was that cold. Just when I thought I’d missed the tip of the island, something slimy rubbed against me.”
“Ooh.” Lorne put her hand to her mouth.
“Kelp. I wound it around my arm and hung on for ages, getting my breath, pulled myself along to a rock, and on to another. The current was ripping through gaps between them. I climbed ashore at the foot of a cliff, that shaky I slept; when I woke there were bits of skin off all over me and I was frozen.
“I was stuck there two days, no way up the cliff, eating crabs and licking water from a drip. A seagull dropped a herring on the rocks — a blackback was chasing it — and I beat them both to it and ate the whole thing raw. I picked a dry log out of the driftwood, slid it in, and tried swimming around the next point. All I found were more cliffs, the log was drifting out, and I had to let go and swim back in. I scrambled and climbed along. A couple of times, I came to deep holes that looked full of monsters, but I swam across and climbed out the other side fast.”
Jenek shivered. “In the end, I found a crack like a chimney in the cliff and climbed, back against one side, feet against the other.
“I pulled myself over the top, stuffed my tunic full of tussock, crawled half inside an old muttonbird burrow, and slept again. When I woke, I tramped across the island, looking for you two.” Jenek looked at Tobik and Larish.
“I found a huge heap of ashes where you’d kept my fire going. There weren’t any embers, but it was still warm underneath. That made it easier, getting it going again, and I sent up smoke in case you were searching the island. Perhaps you’d come back, found the boat gone, and thought I’d abandoned you. I didn’t know what to think. The wind had covered any tracks in the sand. I cooked some crabs and mussels, and went back and got some spinach and chard, and some potatoes.”
“Potatoes?”
“Where I came down off the cliffs, there’s a little creek running past tumbled stone walls and the remains of gardens, even some old fruit trees. That’s where I found them, little ones, but still potatoes.
“I searched the whole island, worried you’d seen the boat and dived in and swum after it, too.” Tobik and Larish shook their heads. “Then I thought perhaps you’d built a raft and tried to drift across to the mainland in spite of the rough water. I didn’t know what to think. It was lonely at night, specially when the wind blew. I heard voices and ran after them; I thought you were hiding and calling out, punishing me for losing the boat.”
Ruka and Peck stared at Jenek.
“One day, I saw a sail.” Jenek looked at me. “By the time I built up the fire and heaped on stuff for smoke it had disappeared, and I wondered if I’d imagined it. Then I saw there was a headland the sail must have gone behind, and I thought it might be Selene looking for us.”
“We were.”
“I burned half the logs on that beach, throwing on grass and rushes for smoke. When it was southerly, the smoke seemed to drift right across the bay. I hoped you’d see it from wherever you were.
“I started building a raft. There were several totes, all about the same size, but it was going to take ages to work them down into the water and get them together. Near the old gardens, I’d found a rusty axe head with the handle rotted out, and I made a new handle of white marnoo, rubbed the edge sharper on a bit of sandstone, and started trimming the logs. I’d lash them together with flax, rig up a mast, and try to sail on the westerly and an incoming tide.”
“Just as well you didn’t,” said Tobik. “That water’s too rough. If it didn’t break up your raft, the currents would be against you anyway.”
“I was desperate. I put up smoke this morning, and went back to shifting a log down. Then I saw your sail.”
“We saw your smoke,” Ruka and Peck shouted together.
“We tore back and told Selene,” said Ruka. “We knew it was you.”
“I threw on bigger driftwood, then all the grass and rushes I had ready, anything that looked damp. I couldn’t see for smoke and ran for more driftwood, grass, rushes. When I saw the boat, you seemed to be heading south. I thought you must be looking for another place to settle, and I’d be stuck here alone till I died.”
“We headed south,” I said, “to pick up the wind and run across to the island.”
“I realised that when you came about. I was so excited, I ran out on the boulders and slipped and cracked my shoulder.” He rubbe
d it and gave a sort of grin.
“I couldn’t see anything for smoke, then it lifted and there you were coming in. I could see you all waving and shouting, but couldn’t hear anything because of the waves crashing on the boulders.”
Jenek was near tears. Larish stirred and leaned, as if she would comfort him, but Jenek straightened and made himself laugh.
“You did well. I was scared we might lose you in those waves, and we could not slow down, then Tobik grabbed you, and Ansik was holding on to his legs. But we are all together again. Eight of us. And both boats.”
“What did you eat?” asked Peck.
“I told you.” Jenek gave a half-laugh, half-splutter, and Ruka crawled over and leaned against his brother. “Spinach, chard, potatoes. Soft thistles. And some other green stuff I hadn’t seen before, but it was all right. And there were a few carrots, woody old ones.
“I ate crabs. If you smash one, others come out to feed on it. And I hit a seagull with a stone and broke its wing. It had come to eat the crabs, too.”
“Did you cook it?”
“On a stick over embers. It was tough but it tasted all right. And there were pooks, swamp hens. I caught them running across an open patch and threw a stick, spinning, and knocked one over. They’re full of sharp bones, pooks, not much flesh, but a change from crabs.
“By then, I’d gone back to the ruined walls and brought a couple of old cooking pots across to my shelter. I stewed another pook in salt water, and it tasted a lot better.
“There were plenty of old seagull nests on the cliffs. In spring and summer, they’d be full of eggs. And there’d be teetees. I saw their burrows in the scrub behind the cliffs. Well, I told you I slept in one after I climbed the cliff.”
“No flatties?” asked Tobik.
“I sharpened a stick for a spear, but there’s only that little stretch of shingly sand, and it’s rough just about all the time. I didn’t see any.”
“You had your knife.”
“I didn’t have time to take it off before I dived in, which was lucky — all the things you can do with a knife. Shells might cut fish, but they’re not much use trying to sharpen a stick, or to feather one for getting a fire going.
“And I ate lots of mussels, oysters, sea eggs — but they aren’t much good now. And the pars. I found a place where I could just reach down in a rock pool, when tide was out, and there were lots of big pars there. I slipped my knife under one, saw a pair of feelers under a rock, and pulled out a crayfish. I didn’t go hungry.”
“You managed well,” I said again.
“But I lost the boat.”
“Ansik spotted it on the reef; I thought it was just a log.”
“I knew it wasn’t a log.”
“So the cooking pots are behind the beach, where you had your fire?”
“Cooking pots, the old axe head that I put a handle in, and a couple of knives, half-rusted away but still better than nothing. And I found some old whale bones. Those huge round ones out of the whale’s back, big enough to sit on, and long rib bones so old they were powdery.”
“Where did you find those?”
“The other side of the boulder spit.”
“Could you carry one of the round ones to the beach where you landed?”
Jenek nodded. I looked away and spoke before he could.
“The fruit trees you found, what sort?”
“They looked like apples, plums, figs, lemons, some sort of orange, I think. Maybe a couple of pears.”
“We might get seeds, or cuttings. If there’s anything small enough, we could transplant it.”
“I thought you didn’t like landing on the island.”
“Pick the right weather, land a couple to bring the stuff down to the beach, while the rest of us stand off. Back in just long enough to take everything aboard, and go for it. We might as well have whatever is out there.”
Jenek had become downcast, but now he cheered up. He and Tobik sat side by side, shoving each other with their shoulders, grinning, and I thought how lucky we were to have him back. I got so tired sometimes.
“What happened to your flint and steel?”
Jenek smiled. “I put them on a log while I finished lighting the fire. They were still there when I swam after the boat.”
“We didn’t see them. We built up your fire from the embers and never let it go out, because we knew how hard it would be to get it going again.”
“When I got back, you’d burnt the log I’d left them sitting on, but I found the flint and steel in their pouch.” Jenek patted his pocket. “It had been covered with sand, and the wind blew it off again.
“That’s how I got the fire going again, that and the warmth under your old ashes. Otherwise I’d have had to find some dead whitewood and keyekor and start rubbing, and that takes ages. The flint and steel, and my knife, they made it a lot easier.” He smiled, but his face looked thin, his eyes hollow.
“Let Jenek have a rest,” said Larish. “You can see he’s feeling tired.”
“I’m all right. You found a good place, Selene. We need to build ourselves a house.”
He was trying to sound confident, but his voice broke, his eyes lost their bright grey flash. For a moment, he looked defenceless. I wondered if something had gone wrong between Jenek and Tobik out on the island, or during the journey from Rabbit Island, something to do with Larish; it would be like her to play off one against the other. I thought again of what Tobik had said about the boat getting swept away.
“We can talk about building a house later,” I told Jenek, but he was already asleep.
Chapter Eighteen
The Old Man’s Story (2) The Cannon Ball
I was walking home around the harbour when old Mrs Black called out.
“Will you look at this, Mr Rotherham?”
She pointed at a border of marigolds along the bottom of the cliff behind her cottage.
“I was just loosening the soil with my trowel, and it rolled out of the cliff, squashed my flowers, and cracked my ankle.”
For a moment I was a child again, standing over the blazing border under Mum’s bedroom window, wrinkling my nose and telling her, “I don’t like those flowers. They smell.”
“The folk before us, the ones who built our place, she talked about digging out a couple of the ugly things—”
The picture in my mind faded but the smell remained. Among crushed orange petals and green leaves, I saw a cannon ball, and I was listening to Mrs Black’s voice again.
“—but that must have been a good forty years or more ago. Why anyone would want to go firing them into our cliff, heaven alone knows. The blessèd thing gave my poor old ankle such a crack, I’m sure it’s going to come up in a bruise.”
I helped her inside, put her foot up on a stool, and made her a cup of tea.
“Would you take that nasty thing away? Drop it out in the harbour. I don’t want to see it again among my marigolds.”
“Of course I will. My mother loved marigolds, too.”
I’d read in Cowan the story of the skirmish on the beach between a British naval pinnace and a Maori party, and how it ended with the sailors firing several twelve pound balls into the scrub after them. According to my bathroom scales, Mrs Black’s cannon ball weighed twelve pounds.
I made a sketch map and a few notes and was going to hand them with the cannon ball to the local historical society. Instead, don’t ask me why, I borrowed an auger from my neighbour, drove a hole into the cliff, shoved in the cannon ball, rammed the hole full of sand, tamped it with a clay plug, and forgot about it.
Not long after that I heard the same hubbub of children’s voices again, glanced out of the window by my desk, and saw a second shabby-looking boat pulled up beside the first. There were two more of the strangers, a quiet-faced older boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen, and another young woman, pretty enough in a lumpish way, but lacking altogether the distinction of the other. A few days later, I saw the first boat come into the beach again,
the whole lot of them aboard with another boy of about thirteen. They were kicking up such a shindy, I couldn’t make out what they were on about, but it looked as if he’d been lost, and they’d just found him again. That made eight of them.
Much of the time the strangers carried themselves and acted older than they really looked, till I realised they had to: the one I’d taken for a woman when they first arrived was probably no more than fifteen or sixteen, if that, and she was their leader, as near to an adult as they had. After watching her a while, I realised they didn’t need anyone else.
I said earlier that she moved subtly, something like that. Perhaps I meant she moved rhythmically. There was a litheness to her. As I said, I’m getting old now, but that hasn’t given me any particular wisdom that I’ve noticed. The knock and tug of beauty still have their curious effect.
The lot of the strangers were in shabby tunics, and they all wore knives and were forever using them for something or other. It reminded me of my time in the bush as a young man.
At first I took them for a family. Except for the other older girl, the sly one who could be a bit bolshy, they obeyed the leading girl without question.
They came and they went. Old Mac didn’t say anything, but I thought he knew there was something strange going on. Nobody else along the beach seemed to see them. They fished, netted, speared: and they got fish. There’s nothing much to be caught in the harbour now, but they never missed, not just kahawai but blue moki, trevally, kingies, dogfish, and flatties galore. They collected mussels, cockles, pauas, oysters, and whatever they didn’t eat at once, they strung and dried on frames and lines rigged to catch the sun and wind. They didn’t waste a thing. Later, when the sea warmed up again, they caught snapper and tarakihi, and brought in hapuka, blue cod, and crays from outside.
Their sentences were a bit cockeyed, around the wrong way, and they spoke a sort of dialect, but after a while I hardly noticed. Some of our words were modified, like karfish for kahawai, and par for paua, and a few were new to me. They talked of a place called Hornish, and another called Lador.
