by Baker Chris
Later that day they took the river road out to Wilf’s house.
‘That’s where Wilf rescued me,’ Kevin said to Sean when they passed the spot where he’d been dragged out of the water. ‘I was knackered from diving for Hoheria. And that guy had shot me in the leg.’ Sean raised his eyebrow. ‘Wilf patched me up. I reckon we owe him a lot.’
Kevin’s thoughts suddenly focussed on how far they’d shifted from the certainties of the Old Times. In those days people shot each other on the telly, not in real life. Magic happened only in books. Nobody lived underwater. There weren’t any sea demons. He wondered how much Hoheria’s life had changed.
‘How do you cope with everything being tipped on its head?’ he asked.
She was silent for nearly a hundred metres, then she laughed.
‘So what’s new?’ she said. ‘Nothing’s really changed.’
Hoheria was enchanted by her first sight of Wilf’s cottage, almost invisible among the apple trees. He’d built the dwelling from old packing crates and pieces of scrap timber, inset with leadlight windows and painted with creosote that had faded over the years to a silvery grey. It was the house she’d dreamed of when she was a little girl. It was almost a toy house, a fantasy dwelling with flowers growing in pots and troughs on the verandah. She imagined smoke curling from the chimney.
‘I never realised,’ Kevin was saying beside her. ‘It’ll break the old guy’s heart to leave here.’
Chooks had been roosting on the verandah rail. Hoheria could see the long grass around the house waving and twitching where they were fossicking for grubs. Kevin found a sack of wheat in a shed and tossed them several handfuls. They were far from starving, he noticed.
Inside the house, everything was tidy and smelt of apples and leather. Sean did a double-take when he saw the carved wooden bowl on the table. ‘That’s Kurangaituku,’ he said. ‘What’s she doing here?’
Kevin shrugged. ‘Wilf seems to know a lot about her. Maybe the two of you should have a chat some time.’
They looked at Wilf’s books, wondering if he’d want them to bring any back to Kokopu Waters.
‘Leave them for now,’ Kevin said. ‘We can always make another trip.’
When they were riding back along the riverside road, Hoheria turned to Kevin.
‘You know what?’
‘I know exactly what,’ he said. ‘We bring Wilf home and live here with him.’
Hoheria laughed. ‘Those apple trees need pruning. The garden needs digging over too.’
Epilogue
In the front of the house a big old dogwood tree grew. She’d never bothered to climb it. The limbs were too high and smooth and she didn’t have the patience to stalk birds in its summer foliage. One night the tree fell over. She thought it was the end of the world.
Storms usually came not long after that year’s kittens were born. One year, the thunder gave her such a fright she had the kittens on the back porch. When each litter came and it stormed she usually took her kittens and hid inside, till the wind and rain, thunder and lightning stopped. This time she huddled under the couch with her kittens. All day the wind blew, gusts that shook the house and blew branches off trees.
It was still blowing after dark and there was a huge crash as a branch punched right through the roof above the couch. Tiles fell with a crash and a clatter, bouncing off the cushions and shattering on the floor. She wanted to flee but she had to keep her kittens safe, so she stayed under the couch with her teeth bared and her ears low and flat while her kittens cowered against her. While she crouched the wind slowed, then stopped altogether. Then the rain started.
It came in a rush, like one of the two-leggers had flung a bucket from the back door. It poured through the hole in the roof, soaking the couch and a big part of the floor.
She stayed under the couch till the water soaked right through and started to drip on her. Then she left her kittens with a severe warning not to move and crossed the room to one of the armchairs. It was dry and comfortable and felt safe with the arms rising on either side. She couldn’t smell anything dangerous, and she couldn’t see anything wrong either, when lightning flashes shone through the hole in the roof and lit up the room. One by one she carried her kittens to the armchair, jumping up and dropping them in a heap on the velvet plush. They mewled and cried till she hopped up with them and lay down so they could nestle into her.
In the morning the sky had cleared. Light shone through the hole in the roof and reflected off a big pool of water on the floor. She got up and had a drink. The kittens raised their heads and looked at their new world. A branch had come right through the roof and was hanging down to where it almost touched the couch. She turned and saw the kittens staring, then jumped up on the couch to examine the branch.
The couch was all soggy underfoot. She had to shake her paws to get the water off. She stretched up and sniffed the branch. Nothing there but tree, and musty roof smells. She couldn’t see anything wrong. The kittens across the room were okay. So she leapt, and with her claws secure in the bark she started climbing.
It took her only a couple of seconds and she was through the hole in the roof. The sun was bright and she could see all around. Birds fluttered and squawked with alarm at her sudden appearance. Mice moved about in the long grass below her. Dead thunderscreeches sat at the roadside, shiny from the rain. She could feel the warmth of the sun as she stepped out onto the flat section of roof around the hole. Fresh dirt showed below where the storm had uprooted the whole tree and blown it over so that it leaned against the house. The kittens would soon be able to climb the branch and sit in the sun. And she had another way in and out of the house now. She purred with contentment.
