Sole Survivor

by Derek Hansen

  Col and his wife Jean were mystified how anybody could make a living talking about toilet cleaners. Rosie laughed along with them. Her hosts hadn’t pried exactly, but their questions made it clear they wanted to know more about her, if only to figure out why on earth she’d even consider living at Wreck Bay.

  ‘How do you get to be a market researcher?’ asked Col.

  ‘If you’re anything like me, you get there the long way,’ said Rosie. ‘My family expected me to be a doctor and for years I was one. Even worked as a psychologist and social worker. But, in all honesty, medicine’s not my calling.’ She laughed. ‘I don’t actually know what my calling is. I’ve been a teacher, medical reporter, librarian, waitress and I picked apricots down in Otago. I even went back to university and got an Arts degree.’

  ‘You’re a doctor?’ said Jean in awe.

  ‘Was,’ said Rosie. ‘I did have grand ideas of curing the sick, but do you know what a doctor’s surgery really is? It’s a complaints department. All people do all day is come in and complain.’

  ‘All the same,’ said Jean.

  ‘Leave Rosie be,’ said Col. ‘Her dinner’s getting cold.’

  Rosie battled her way through a mountainous plate of stew and home-grown vegetables. She was trying to find a way to avoid the jelly and custard dessert when someone knocked on the door.

  ‘Now who the hair oil could that be?’ said Col.

  Rosie had a sinking feeling that she knew. Her jelly shivered as Col walked off down the hall.

  ‘Strike a light, Red!’ said Col in amazement. ‘What are you doing here this time of night? Are you out of your bloody mind?’

  Red wasn’t. In fact, he had a very clear idea of what he was doing, even though he knew what he was doing wasn’t right. ‘If you’ll just pass me her things I’ll put them in the boat.’

  ‘Good evening, how are you?’ Col waited for a response but his sarcasm was lost on his visitor. ‘Hang on a tick and I’ll come with you.’

  ‘It’s okay, Col, I can manage.’

  ‘The hell it’s okay! Come in and meet the lady.’

  ‘Just pass me her stuff, Col.’

  ‘Jesus, Red. Here, you take this.’ Col shoved the box of supplies at Red. ‘Hang on. This tin of fuel, too. I’ll grab her bags.’

  Red put the box under his left arm and picked up the jerry can with his right hand. He turned and walked away without another word. Col caught him up at the wharf.

  ‘What the hell you playin’ at, Red?’

  ‘She asked me to pick her up, I’m picking her up.’

  ‘She’s a nice lady, Red. She doesn’t deserve this sort of treatment. She’ll be chucking her guts over the side before you clear Selwyn Island. What the hell’s got into you?’

  ‘Earliest I could get here.’

  ‘Bullshit! You could’ve waited till tomorrow. But no. I can see your game. I know what you’re up to. Get her sick, get her frightened, get her out of your life. Just so long as she doesn’t get a fair go.’

  ‘Just pass the stuff down to me.’

  ‘No! Damn you.’ Col’s anger started to get the better of him. ‘You can just shove off. I’ll bring her around myself tomorrow, or I’ll get someone else to. You can shove off.’

  ‘Okay. If that’s what you want.’

  ‘Hold it. What’s going on?’

  Red looked up as he was about to cast off and saw Rosie for the first time. He couldn’t make out much detail in the gloom, but at least she wasn’t wearing a dress.

  ‘Red, this is Rosie Trethewey.’

  Red climbed back onto the jetty. He reluctantly held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Like hell.’ Rosie walked right past him, ignoring his offered hand. She sensed his surprise. Well, what did he expect? That she’d just roll over? ‘What’s up, Col? What’s this about you taking me around tomorrow?’

  ‘I wouldn’t send a dog out there on a night like this.’ ‘Out there’ apparently meant open water. ‘I was just suggesting to Red that he’s left his run too late, and that I’d find someone to take you around to Wreck Bay tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t know that we should do that, Col. Red’s taken the trouble to come and pick me up so we should let him. As for sending a dog out there, well if it’s good enough for Archie – I assume those eyes down there belong to Archie – then it’s okay by me.’

  ‘You’re out of your mind.’ Col’s wife Jean had wandered down to put in her twopence worth.

  ‘Maybe. But this bloke here obviously wants to show me how hard life on the Barrier can be for a poor defenceless woman. Let him have his moment of glory. Never know, I might surprise him.’

  She already had, but Red couldn’t let on. He and Angus had their plan, such as it was, and they were determined to stick to it. He didn’t enjoy what he was doing but accepted the necessity.

  ‘Jesus, Rosie, you’re as mad as he is.’

  ‘I heard that was the qualification for living here. C’mon Col, pass me something.’ Rosie jumped nonchalantly down into the boat. Her legs were wobbly and her hands shook. But she was determined to show Red she could be just as stubborn and unyielding as him.

  ‘Leave it to Red and me. He knows where to put things to keep them dry. Relatively speaking, of course. Now, do you have any foul-weather gear?’

  Rosie shook her head.

  ‘Jean, you better go get your spare set. And Rosie, you better put on another jersey as well. You might feel warm in here but you won’t out there. And if you feel like throwing up at any time, just throw up in the boat or down the back of Red’s neck. Don’t lean over the side or you might get thrown out. You don’t mind if she pukes her dinner up all over your lovely white boat, do you, Red?’

  ‘I’ve brought a bucket.’

  ‘He’s brought a bucket! How bloody considerate. I told you he was a gentleman. Now, Rosie, sit on the motor housing directly behind Red. The windshield will give you some protection from the spray and you won’t get thrown about so much.’

  Rosie did as she was told. Already she was regretting her bravado. The wind was singing through the rigging of the boats on their moorings, sharp and discordant like a school orchestra tuning up. If the wind was like this in the sheltered harbour, what would it be like ‘out there’? A sudden shudder made her reach for the gunwale. All the talk about puking had already made her feel queasy. She remembered once helping crew a friend’s yacht from Auckland to the Bay of Islands and being violently seasick for all but the first hour of the journey. She remembered how she’d dropped to her knees and begged God to let her die. She wondered if it wasn’t too late to take Col up on his offer.

  ‘Here’s Jean.’

  Rosie looked up at the torchlight flickering down the road towards them. Oh well, she’d played her cards and couldn’t back out now. She shouldn’t have opened her big mouth, but she hated it when any man assumed weakness simply because she was a woman. She was beginning to hate the chauvinistic bastard when she remembered that hate was something she was also trying to get away from. She put on the heavy oilskin coat. It smelled of dead fish and the sleeves were too long. She covered her head with the oilskin hat, pulling it down hard so that the wind couldn’t get beneath it, and tied the cord under her chin. Rosie was glad that it was dark and nobody could see her. She thought she must look like one of the Three Stooges.

  ‘Good luck!’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Col threw the painter down to Red. ‘Look after her, you bastard, or you’ll have me to reckon with.’

  ‘See you,’ said Red noncommittally, and turned the bow into the channel. It may have been Rosie’s imagination but the wind seemed to freshen immediately.

  Col hadn’t been wrong. Red groaned as Rosie reached for the bucket as soon as they cleared the lee of Selwyn Island. She needn’t have bothered. The combination of wind and tossing sea made the bucket an impossible target. He began to have second thoughts himself. He’d expected the going to be rough, but nowhere near as r
ough as it was. The sea would test the fillings in their teeth until they’d rounded Miners Head, and still be uncomfortable until they’d cleared Aiguilles Island. At least they weren’t in any danger. His boat was more than a match for the seas and his Cummins diesel was boringly reliable. He thought he ought to say something to reassure his passenger, then thought better of it. That would defeat the object of the exercise. Get her sick and get her frightened. Then leave her on her own. It sounded good in theory, but putting their plan into practice was something else. What he was doing just wasn’t right. It went against everything he’d learned in Burma. It was one thing to be unhelpful, something else to be deliberately cruel. Yet what he was doing was cruel and indefensible. He heard Rosie retch violently once more and gritted his teeth. It was wrong but it was necessary. Wrong but necessary! Acknowledging the necessity didn’t make him feel any better. He sensed Archie up under the bow gazing back at him reproachfully and felt doubly guilty. Guilty and disgusted with himself. At least he should have left Archie at home.

  Once they’d rounded the island, Red began to feel more at ease. He stayed close in to the shore out of the wind where the black surface of the water was barely ruffled so that his passenger could recover. A quarter moon sat low on the horizon, touching the shore with a wan and watery light. Rosie had stopped throwing up, possibly, Red surmised, because there was nothing left to throw up. His boat was a mess but he accepted that he only had himself to blame. He smiled grimly. That was another of Col’s predictions that had proved accurate. She’d thrown up her dinner, lunch, breakfast and the previous night’s dinner as well. But she hadn’t moaned or groaned or uttered a word of complaint. He respected her for that. He felt he should break the silence.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘We’re just coming into Wreck Bay.’

  ‘What? So soon?’

  Red couldn’t help himself. He smiled. In the darkness with his back to her it was okay to smile. She’d never know.

  ‘And wipe that smile off your face.’

  Red stiffened.

  ‘Don’t think you’re clever, mister. That was nothing. Until you’ve puked out on Pernod you don’t know what puking’s about.’

  Red’s face flushed with embarrassment. There was something about her that reminded him of Yvonne. His mind drifted back to the Alexandra Hospital in Singapore when the Japanese came. He recalled the nurses standing up to the Japanese soldiers, defying them by shielding their patients, and having their faces slapped for their audacity. They never voluntarily took a backward step. He could sense that Rosie was from the same mould, somebody who wouldn’t take a backward step either. It hadn’t done the nurses any good. Ultimately, it wouldn’t do her any good. He slipped the gear shift to neutral and let the boat glide gently on its own momentum up onto the beach.

  ‘Hop ashore and I’ll pass your things out.’

  Rosie got slowly to her feet, praying that her legs could still support her. It had been a long time since she’d felt so sick and been so scared. But she was damned if she’d give him the satisfaction of knowing this. She walked gingerly along the length of the boat, transferring her weight from hand to hand along the gunwale. Her legs threatened to buckle under her. She knew that if she jumped down onto the beach she’d just fold up in a heap. She needed time to pull herself together. Up ahead, two eyes watched her every move.

  ‘Hello again, Archie.’ She pushed past Red and was gratified to hear the dog’s tail thump, thump, thump against the bow planks. ‘What sort of a man takes a dog out on a night like this?’

  ‘Archie goes where I go.’

  ‘Who’s talking to you?’ She reached as far forward as she felt she could without toppling over, and let Archie sniff her hand. ‘It’s a good things dogs can’t talk because I do believe he’d say things you wouldn’t like to hear.’

  Red ignored her. What did she know about Archie? ‘Got a torch?’

  ‘A torch?’

  ‘So you can see where you’re going.’

  ‘Right.’ The moment of truth had come. She sat down on the bow deck and swung her legs over the side. She peered into the darkness to try to judge her height from the sand. A straight drop was out of the question. She twisted, put both hands firmly on the side of the boat, and jumped. Her legs buckled as she hit the beach but her hands held her upright. She straightened. ‘Give me the box of supplies. Col probably put a torch in there.’

  ‘Probably?’

  It was Rosie’s turn to flush with embarrassment. It simply hadn’t occurred to her to bring a torch. What had she expected? Street lighting where there were no streets?

  ‘Let’s hope he probably put batteries in as well.’

  Rosie took the box from Red and carried it up the beach. She started to rummage through, wishing to hell she’d thought to go through the box when Col had given it to her. Any smart person would have. She heard one of her bags thud into the sand behind her and rushed to get it before an incoming wave beat her to it.

  ‘Here’s another.’

  She reached up and grabbed the second carry-all.

  ‘How are you going with the torch?’

  ‘Give me a chance!’ she snapped.

  Give her a chance. Yes, Red thought, he should give her a chance. But what if he did and what if she stayed? Oh Christ! Old Bernie had a lot to answer for. He waited until she’d dumped both bags by the box of supplies. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t let up on her.

  ‘Don’t forget the diesel.’

  ‘Who could forget the diesel?’

  Red reached for the jerry can, not daring to smile. ‘While you’re here, I have something else for you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My clothes.’

  Red peeled off his oilskins and handed them to her. Then his woollen jumper, shirt and trousers. He was determined to do things the way he always did, woman or no woman.

  ‘What am I supposed to do with them?’

  ‘Just keep them dry. Now let me push her out. C’mon Archie.’ Red jumped naked onto the sand, followed by Archie, and began to push his boat off the beach stern first.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To the mooring.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Red grimaced. There’d been a touch of anxiety in her voice when she’d thought he was leaving her all alone. It was enough that their plan worked without having to feel the hurt it caused. He started the motor and ran up to the buoy. The deck was slippery with vomit and it seemed no part had been spared. His instinct was to clean up the mess immediately, but the trip had been hard enough and he couldn’t bring himself to leave her standing alone on the beach while he did. Reluctantly he let things be, knowing he’d have to beat the sun up in the morning and get back to his boat or it would stink to high heavens. He tied off the mooring rope, jumped over the side and swam ashore. When he reached the shallows he stood and waded the rest of the way. A torch beam caught his crotch and held it unwavering.

  ‘Nice penis,’ said the voice behind it.

  ‘If you want me to help carry your things up the hill, would you mind not shining your torch in my eyes.’

  ‘Strange place to have eyes.’ Rosie turned the torch away so that it shone on her bags. She picked up Red’s trousers and held them out to him. ‘Your eye shades.’

  ‘I’ll put them on when I’m dry. Leave the jerry can here and pick it up in the morning. There’s diesel up there. In the end Bernie couldn’t be bothered running the generator. You carry the bags and I’ll carry the box of supplies.’

  ‘Then lead on. Do you need my torch?’

  ‘No. I know the way. C’mon Archie.’ Red set off up the track at his normal brisk pace.

  Rosie followed, trying hard to keep up with the shape in front of her, the smaller of the bags and torch in one hand, the larger bag in the other. The track shone smooth and white in the torch’s beam, well worn and friendly. Then it began to steepen and criss-cross with roots. She couldn’t
keep up no matter how hard she pushed herself and fell further and further behind. She tried to picture the beach and her bach as she’d seen them from the amphibian. She gasped as her legs gave way and she stumbled. ‘Bastard!’ she muttered. But curses didn’t make her stronger or the track less steep. She vomited, and lay down on the track unable to continue. She’d vomited up every last ounce of energy as well.

  ‘Red! Wait!’ she called weakly.

  Red put down the box of supplies and turned back. ‘Stay, Archie.’ At last she’d cracked. Now he could afford to show some kindness. Not too much, but enough to make him feel better about what he’d done. He found her sitting on the track with her back to him, her shoulders slumped, her head in her hands. He thought she was weeping and was stricken with guilt. He’d seen men slumped that way before, their spirit broken and no longer able to drive their weary, wasted bodies. He’d been the same way himself.

  ‘I’ll take your bags.’

  ‘Thanks, Red. How much further?’

  She sounded tired, but her voice didn’t waver as it would have if she’d been crying.

  ‘About halfway.’

  Rosie closed her eyes. How would she possibly manage when she could hardly take another step?

  ‘Need a hand up?’

  ‘Mister, I need a crane, closely followed by a taxi. But no, I’ll manage.’ She dragged herself to her feet. ‘How about slowing down a bit?’

  Red grunted noncommittally. He slipped his arms through the handles of both bags, flipped them over his shoulders and set off back up the track noticeably slower than before. He paused briefly to pick up the box of supplies and then kept walking. He could hear her plodding along slowly behind him, stopped and waited for her. ‘This is where your track branches off. Not far to go now.’ He listened for a reply but Rosie was too weary to give one.

  As they neared Bernie’s bach Archie ran ahead to see if he could surprise a careless bush rat. Red heard him suddenly crash into the undergrowth, so at least he was on the trail of one. ‘Here we are.’

  Rosie looked up wearily and saw the dark, looming shape of the bach and the welcoming glow of a lamp within.