He remembered the bird’s pierced eye, the red centre of the black hole.
Simon lay in the shade watching the swimmers. Even the Cock had waded in up to his waist, his hands hovering over the surface of the water, his large, pale body mottled pink with sunburn. Karen was swimming strongly. Near her David floated on his back, watching. He turned and swam after her.
Roza patted the top of a sand castle with a plastic spade. Johnnie silently placed a shell and looked at his mother, eyes narrowed.
‘Make Soon talk.’
Simon dozed. Words, the sea, the crunch of feet on shells, the crackle of cicadas, sounds carrying him out of consciousness and back again, in and out, words, his own breathing, the waves.
They assembled in front of the castle, and though the battle had been long and hard and men had been lost, the mood was triumphant. The enemy had been driven a long way to the south and even if they and their henchmen regrouped and rearmed, they wouldn’t be able to attack again for some time.
The Ort Cloud made a speech thanking all who had had the courage to fight his terrifying wife, and the Village Idiots sang a song of praise to their God, the Great Wedgie. Crackers got into the Bachelor’s drinks cabinet again and had to be imprisoned for drunkenness after shouting from the tower, “Green Lady, I love you!” The Bachelor proposed a toast to the Green Lady that went on for so long the Cassowaries nearly hissed themselves to madness, and the Red Herring made the following observation: “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” His colleague, Tiny Ancient Yellow Cousin So-on, added, “A drowning man will clutch at a straw.” After that there was feasting and merriment.
The Bachelor recited poems, got drunk and drove his bed wildly over the treetops in an attempt to impress the Green Lady. His Cassowaries clung on, their feathers flying. The Guatemalans let off their shotguns, the Village Idiots danced. They all farewelled the Ort Cloud, who went whirling off into the Universe.
Then the Green Lady called for quiet. “I have grave news.” She looked around the group. “There is a traitor in our midst. One of our number is in the pay of Barbie Yah.”
For a time in the slow, drugged afternoon the sun rode like a white-hot coin behind a bank of thin cloud, but an hour later it had burned away the haze and directed its full glare on the cliffs. The trees made patterns of light and shade on the sand. Gulls picked their way along the shore, pecking among the seaweed.
David held a briefing paper in front of him but his sunglasses had slipped down his nose and he was looking over the top of them at the sand dune, where Elke lay on her back having her legs buried by Johnnie. Out in the water, between the Gibsons’ boat and the shore, were the small dark heads of swimmers: Karen, Juliet breaststroking after them in a hat and shades. Ford was swimming to the boat and back, part of his new fitness regime. He had a powerful stroke, overarm, no sign of slowing. The Cock, disturbed to find there was limited reception for his phone, fussed and fiddled with it before wandering off to try high points along the beach.
Sharon Cahane’s harsh voice: ‘Honestly. The way he goes on.’
The Cock had now climbed up a bank at the end of the beach and was hanging onto a branch for balance.
Roza said something. Sharon Cahane cackled. The Cock slipped, clutched at the foliage, righted himself. From across the water came the sound of a door slamming on the boat; a figure appeared and emptied a bucket of liquid over the side. Ray and Jon were walking slowly towards the Cock, who was bending to look at something on the sand.
Simon slept, then surfaced; some remnant of his dream had returned, May pulling down her mask, the bloodied figure on the table. He looked up and saw dazzling light between branches, a kaleidoscope of flowers and trees and sky. There was something missing.
He raised his hand to his eyes, felt the thump of displaced sand as someone flopped down beside him. The lost fact came to him: May was dead.
The walk back, for those who hadn’t opted to go in the boat, was rugged and exhausting. Simon slogged behind Ford, enjoying the heat and the tired ache in his legs, Ford setting the pace, not slowed by all his swimming. A stingray as big as a door had swum under him, he said; it had followed him, like it was using him for a sun shade.
‘Could have Steve Irwinned you,’ Simon said. He imagined Arthur Weeks: dragged ashore, blue-faced and rigid, a long barb in his heart. Suddenly he wanted to tell Ford about Weeks and Mereana, ask for his help, unburden himself. But silence was wiser, if you talked about things you gave them life, better to stifle the whole problem with denial. He fixed his eyes on the back of Ford’s shirt as he used to when they were boys, walking home from the mudflats, Ford leading, Simon silent, daydreaming. Ford taking charge, out the front of the house hosing the mud off their legs, ordering him to go and wash his stinking hands, spraying Simon’s sandals, laying them out to dry.
‘It’s good you came,’ Simon said.
Ford didn’t slow down. ‘Nothing else to do,’ he said.
Karen had opted to go in the Gibsons’ boat. When he got back she was lying on the bed in the Little House, a flannel over her eyes. ‘I got windburnt,’ she said. ‘Janine was flirting with Ray. Outrageously. Johnnie’s been stung by a jellyfish.’
Ford went for a shower and Simon joined her on the bed. He said, ‘You look so smooth and brown.’
She threw the cover over them and he pushed up against her. Her body was hot, she smelled of suntan lotion. He peeled off her shirt, pushed at her shorts, felt her hands moving down over his stomach. After a moment she said, ‘Quick. Someone. Ow. Fuck.’ He kissed her, held her hard, she said, ‘No, there, yes.’ She pressed her forehead against his, they were trying not to make any sound, she suppressed a giggle and said, ‘no, what if the kids . . .?’, she went silent, clutched his arms, they moved together, he came and lay still. They could hear birds squabbling on the roof, Ford humming in the shower. He rolled on his back, his hand across her stomach. They lay in silence for a while; she stretched out her arm and examined her hands, the manicured nails.
‘We’ll have to go to dinner,’ she sighed.
After they’d showered and dressed and were walking with Ford through the grounds he thought, Sun, exercise, sex — I’ll be serene now, nothing will bother me. He had armed himself.
They joined the group. But after the first glass of rocket fuel he was irritated rather than soothed by the booze. Sharon Cahane’s laugh was too loud; he hated the way Ed’s eyes slid around the company; and Ford’s pent-up silence made him worry there was some embarrassing argument on the way. Karen was flushed, voluble and clearly under surveillance by Ed, who gave Simon a deadpan look, lips parted, eyes deliberately void. Ford noticed, and looked curiously at Simon.
Roza said, ‘Simon, Karen, it’s so sweet — Johnnie’s been waking up in the night and asking for Elke. He wants her to come and stay with us in the big house.’
Karen frowned. ‘But Elke needs her sleep too.’
‘I told Johnnie he’s not to wake her up. She can stay in the bedroom next to his.’
‘We’ll send her up to say goodnight. She’s happy where she is.’
Roza said, ‘It’s all arranged. I’ve already asked her, she’s keen to change. It’s so nice she and Johnnie have got close.’
Karen looked down.
Simon felt Ed’s eyes on them. He smiled blandly. ‘That Johnnie. He’s a great little kid,’ he said.
It would have been wise to stop drinking. He accepted another of Troy’s cocktails, and drank wine through the meal. Karen was strained, brittle and drinking a lot too. Her laughter was forced.
Afterwards he stood out on the veranda and looked at the first stars and the sky streaked with skeins of black cloud near the moon. The sea was unusually still and full, a brimming high tide, and there was a glimmer over the sand, shapes moving down there, couples walking along the water’s edge, a lone jogger, and a swimmer splashing out with
strong strokes, riding over the gentle swell. Across the dunes he could see the glow of a floodlit tennis court, figures moving silently in the unnatural green light behind the wire. Closer, the Hallwrights’ pool was lit up chemical blue by lights hidden in the surrounding ferns, and Marcus and Elke and other teenagers were messing around in the pool house, banging doors, talking loudly, a splash, a shriek. Boats were making their way out of the estuary for night fishing, testing their floodlights.
Smelling smoke, he went silently to the side of the deck. Below, Karen and David were sitting on the wooden seat where David liked to smoke his cigars. He could hear the booze blur in her voice as she said, ‘One puff, that’s all I can stand. I don’t know how you do it.’
‘You gotta be tough,’ he said, passing her the cigar.
She puffed, coughed. ‘No. It’s too strong.’
Simon was going to move away, but David said, ‘Like me.’
‘Yes, like you. Dear Leader.’ She giggled.
Simon hesitated. It wasn’t her flirting that bothered him, it was David’s tone. He sounded stone cold sober.
‘You like strong men?’ Teasing, ironic.
‘Oh, of course.’
‘I like strong women.’
Simon was caught between needing to hear and wanting to break it up. Karen said something he didn’t catch.
‘That sounds very naughty,’ David said.
‘It’s a double entendre,’ Karen said.
‘Is that right.’
After a silence Karen said, ‘Roza’s a strong woman.’
‘Yes. She’s the boss.’ David’s tone altered.
She tilted her head, ‘There’s one thing I’ve never been able to get my head around.’
‘What’s that, darling?’
Her voice turned coy, sugary. ‘There’s one thing that would take incredible strength. I’ve never been able to understand how you, how you . . . could give up a baby for adoption. Once you’d given birth to it, surely it would be—’
Simon coughed and jogged down the steps onto the lawn. ‘There you are.’
David looked up at him, calm, his cigar clamped between two fingers.
‘You as knackered as I am?’ Simon said. ‘I know Karen’s shattered — it’s the sun partly, and the big walk. It’s good, but it’s lethal to drink afterwards.’
‘Fatal,’ David said.
‘Shall we go to bed?’ Simon said.
Karen hadn’t noticed David’s stillness, his lack of expression. She was annoyed. ‘I’m not tired, Simon. Actually. You go to bed.’
David stood up and stretched. ‘Well. It’s late.’
He stubbed out his cigar and shook Simon’s hand, gripping his shoulder and looking into his eyes in the way that moved Simon. He was understood. David cared about him, they shared something.
‘Goodnight Karen,’ David said, and moved neatly away as she positioned herself for a kiss on the cheek. He glanced at Simon again, the look of charged complicity.
The Lamptons stood alone together on the lawn. Above them the rotund moon, like a button made of bone.
He wanted to say, you stupid, stupid woman. To think she could gain something with David by criticising Roza. But she was massaging her temples, looked exhausted and crumpled, and vaguely troubled, as if she sensed she’d misjudged something, and he felt sorry for her; she wasn’t equipped to deal with these complicated people, his poor, straightforward, innocent Karen.
These people. He stood looking out at the sea, the moonlight on the vast, moving stretch of water. She’d tried to ingratiate herself, she’d wanted to flirt; as Ford had said, she had a crush on him with the power, but there was something else — in her dim-witted way she’d been trying to make a point about herself and Elke. She was saying, ‘I love my children and I love Elke. I would never give her up.’ But it was a point made at Roza’s expense and David wouldn’t tolerate it.
‘Come on, let’s go down the beach. Look how beautiful it is.’
She consented, still grumpy, and they walked slowly through the grounds, out the gate and along the path through the dunes, taking off their shoes to feel the cool, sliding sand, down to the water’s edge.
They didn’t talk. She was thawing out, put her hand on his arm, but he was thinking about David. Karen had been shut out just then, but the channel between David and Simon had lit up. He felt a thrill from it, as if he’d been blessed, and it made him feel merciful. He put his arm around her.
The entire court, including the Cock, was nervous around David. Even Ford’s silence was a kind of wariness. The only people who behaved like David’s equals were Simon and Roza. It was a fact Simon secretly contemplated, hoarded to himself like money in the bank: that he’d been singled out as the friend of the country’s most powerful man. He had achieved the position by straightness. He’d never ingratiated himself or played power games. He was the only one who argued with or contradicted David, who treated him without reverence. He felt he’d been tested by the friendship, he’d held his nerve and been rewarded, and he was thrilled.
And he knew what David had just signalled to him. No matter what blunders Karen made, Simon’s place was safe.
They went back up to the Little House. He steered her through the gate. Ford was sitting on the veranda.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ Simon said.
‘Would you mind,’ Karen said, ‘not putting on that tone. Like you’ve just been given a prize by the headmaster.’
He was suddenly angry too. ‘Don’t blame me if your little chat didn’t go the way you wanted.’
‘What d’you mean by that?’
‘Trying to ingratiate yourself. I heard you. David didn’t like it, and now you’re taking that out on me. Because you’re pissed off with yourself, and you’ve had a few drinks.’
‘You patronising shit.’
Simon stumbled on the uneven path and lurched sideways. Pain stabbed through his knee.
‘You all right?’
The pain made him angrier. ‘See, I treat David like an equal. You’re all either flirting or grovelling. I have his respect.’
Ford’s deep voice came out of the dark. ‘You sure you’re not bending yourself into whatever shape he wants?’
It wasn’t worth answering. Disgusted with them both, Simon left them on the veranda and limped off to bed.
Rage
At six in the morning he put his feet on the floor and winced. He tried again after an hour; the pain was sharp. Karen was restless and sighing, looking for the cool side of the pillow; she would be hungover, she couldn’t drink much without suffering the next day.
In the hot bathroom, sun already shining through the blind onto the wood panelling, little thumps and scrapes of birds squabbling on the roof, he hitched his heel on the edge of the bidet. The knee was swollen but not too dramatic and he decided to ignore it, taking his towel and limping out into the bright morning. The air was still and pure, and the pine-covered hill at the end of the beach stood in sharp outline against the perfectly clear sky.
Dwayne came around the corner of the pool house carrying a clipboard and a coffee mug. Trent and Shane were conferring at the door of one of the equipment sheds; Troy had set a portable stereo on the concrete and was listening to rap music while stacking a pile of orange life jackets. From across the grounds came the sound of an early morning tennis match.
It was already warm in the dunes, and it felt good wading into the sea, the water soothing his aches, lifting his spirits. He swam beyond the breakers, looking along the sweep of coast. The sand was damp after the high tide, a crowd of oystercatchers browsed along the water’s edge and a fishing boat headed into the estuary, sending up spray as it chugged against the outgoing current.
He sank under the water, a million bubbles rising around him; he listened to the sea. He thought about Ford and Karen. His anger had sub
sided, he was magnanimous. Karen, ridiculously, tried to patronise him, and Ford couldn’t stop treating Simon as his inept, dreamy little brother. But they were both naïve, and neither was equipped to handle Rotokauri. He would forgive them, protect them.
Roza emerged from the dunes with Garth. They talked on the beach, the trainer giving a long-winded exposition, then set off towards the northern end, slowly jogging.
And now he saw Elke, in white bikini, a white towel turbaned on her head and sunglasses with white rims. Shading her eyes with a languid hand, little movie star . . .
‘Like them? Mum says they’re too short but Roza says they’re cool.’ Elke clicked the seatbelt, leaned back and hiked her feet up on the dashboard.
‘Yeah, nice,’ he said, glancing at her incredibly brief shorts. ‘Get your feet off.’
He’d tried to be positive about the knee but it was bothering him now, not just the ache but the frustration that he hadn’t been able to go for a run. He’d got addicted to exercise. A run out to the Kauri Lake in the heat left him spent, satisfied, fulfilled. Jogging was good drugs. It was also a preventative measure: against anger.
Now he thought, Why the anger? He dealt with it every day. Jogging, sex, work, drinking/not drinking — all were strategies for controlling his anger. He hadn’t seen it clearly before.
‘Feet,’ he said.
‘Yeah, yeah.’ She searched in her bag. ‘Want some gum?’
He took a piece. Father and daughter chewed silently as he drove towards the gate. She blew a bubble, popped it with a cracking sound, waved at Ray, who raised his forefinger, butch, expressionless. Simon had noticed this about Elke: she made men snap to attention. Their eyes followed her. She seemed unaware of this. She had Roza’s unaffected presence; it was one kind of charisma.
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