by David Jurk
Then he stood as straight as he could and thrust the cap back onto his wild hair, his eyes fierce. As he spoke, the pipe bobbed up and down in his jaw, his voice at full bellow.
“Ah will hear na mair! Ye’ll take it or it wull rot oan this pier. Dae ye ken me?” He glared at us. “Dae ye?”
We looked at each other, helpless. Her eyes were wet, but she smiled. Reluctantly, I turned to him.
“All right, then,” I said. “We’ll take it, and we’re grateful beyond words.” He started to turn to the wheelbarrow, but I took his arm.
“Charlie…” I began, but he interrupted me, pulling away.
“Shut yer geggy,” he said gruffly. “And gimme some hulp, will ye?”
It took several trips down the cliff trail to get everything onto the pier. I adamantly refused to let him carry anything; we had the high ground, having accepted the food, and he knew it – so though he sputtered and complained, in the end he let Aulani and I carry it all. Piled on the pier, it was an impressive load. When I’d set the last box down, I looked at her and saw her contemplating the new pile of goods, then glance at Windswept, then back to the pile.
I groaned. “No,” I said. “Please, can’t we just put it on top?”
She stared at me.
“Aulani, no,” I pleaded.
“Shut yer geggy,” she replied, and giggled madly.
It was a long morning.
By lunchtime, we’d finally finished. She grumbled a bit that there was still room for improvement but relented when I threatened mutiny. We stood on the dock, looking Windswept over, her sails cleanly furled, batteries full, sheets and lines laid fair. We were ready.
At the cottage, Charlie surprised us with fresh chowder, waiting on the stove, hot and steaming as we walked in. As we sat, Aulani saw only the two bowls on the table and asked if he was not going to eat.
“Ah hae awreddy eaten, lassie,” he said briskly, and rubbed his hands together. “Th' tois ay ye eat noo, an' jist listen while Ah dae some talkin’, awe rite?”
We glanced at one another; she raised an eyebrow, then turned to him and nodded. He hesitated, nervously clearing his throat.
“Ye ken 'at Ah hae great fondness fur ye, an' Ah am woriat abit ye. Th' warld isnae safe an' aam afraid it will kill ye.” He stopped for breath, sucking on his unlit pipe. Aulani tried to speak, but he quickly held up a hand.
“Lani, please lit me spick aw th' way.” We waited in silence, and I feared very much I knew what was coming.
“Thes islain is safe an' aye will be. Thaur is guid timmer haur fur buildin' anither hoose, an' guid lain fur a brammer garden.” He fixed each of us in turn with a fierce gaze, as if daring us to deny it.
“An' nae jist 'at,” he continued. “There's myself, fa hae come tae… come tae loove ye.” He busied himself for a few moments lighting his pipe, then looked up again with a ruddy face.
“Th' tois ay ye coods make a haem haur, hae a wee bairn an' start yer life oan thes guid islain. Yoo'll gie a guid start - Ah will split th' chickens an' th' sheep an' cows; an' in time, thaur will be twice whit thaur is noo.”
He pointed a knobby finger at my face.
“If ye wanted tae dae yer damn huntin', ye cood. Bide until it's safe, reit, 'en gang tae New Zealand if ye want, fin' whit ye can, 'en come back 'er tae yer haem an' yer fowk. But laddie – fur th’ loove ay god - make yer haem haur. Bide haur. Hae yer bairns haur.” He looked at us, one to the other, with those old, fierce eyes.
“Dornt gang intae 'at evil warld, fur Ah fear it will kill ye.” He sat down, spent. He looked to me very tired, and old.
I started to speak, but Aulani took my hand and squeezed it and I waited.
“Charlie,” she said. “Let Owen and I talk this over, all right? It is a very large thing to decide, yes?” He nodded, saying nothing, and she rose and walked behind his chair, bent and put her arms around him and kissed his face, setting the watch cap askew on his head. He sputtered a bit, but I noticed his struggles to free himself were not very vigorous.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I suggested. “Maybe go look at the damn timber trees Charlie keeps jabbering on about.” I smiled at him, and it broke my heart to see the sudden hope rise in his eyes.
Aulani kissed him again, and he reached up, laying a hand on her shoulder. I waited for her, took her hand in mine, and we left.
In the weeks that we’d been there, aside from the two-tracks that we’d jolted over in the Land Rover, we’d not had much opportunity to explore the dense forests that covered most of the island. So now, without much thought, I instinctively headed for the highest ridge I’d seen – a steep, wooded knife’s edge a kilometer or so southeast of the cottage that I’d thought might have a good view.
We were quiet as we threaded our way through the trees, making our way toward it with only a vague sense of how to get there. But after walking for a few hundred meters, we came upon a very old path, faint in the ground, that led us to the top in a series of switchbacks. Once there, we found a small clearing, overgrown with low grass, open to the north and high enough that we stood for a few moments in awed silence at the views. To the south, kilometer after kilometer of thickly green, forested ridges fanned out, presumably all the way to the coast. Northward, the magnificent view of the Pacific and the nearby islets cloaked in the white foam of waves lay before us. And to the east, a look down into the caldera and Blue Lake within, the top third of Windswept’s mast just visible.
I sat down on the grass cross-legged and reached up my hand for Aulani, pulling her down next to me.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” I said.
“Beautiful,” she agreed. “How did you know about it?”
“I didn’t really. I’ve been noticing these high ridges and hoped for a view like this.” I glanced at her. “It would make quite the location for a cottage.”
“Is that what you’d like?” she asked, her voice soft but with an urgency behind it that took me by surprise.
“I don’t know,” I replied. But I’d answered too quickly it seemed, for a shadow came into her eyes.
I tried to read her and failed. “What do you want?” I asked.
Her hand crept into mine, captured it; she watched our fingers and was silent for a long time.
“Aulani?”
She looked up at me and I was startled to see tears gathered in her eyes.
“Do you not know, Owen?”
I stared at her, having just enough sense not to reply without considering carefully an answer. She never asked trivial questions, and I knew with certainty in my heart she wasn’t asking one now.
And in truth, I believed I did know. She was asking about so much more than staying or leaving, about needing to decide between building a cottage on this ridge or simply remembering this lovely place in the days to come.
I searched her face, seeing as though for the first time the green turquoise of her eyes, the full mouth and slender neck, the lovely high cheekbones and copper skin, the waves of long dark hair. I saw the intelligence, the force of life that was expressed in so many ways; her humor, her courage, her endless kindness. I saw the nights that we’d held each other, talking without end and I suddenly saw the days and nights that might yet lie ahead of us. I saw what she’d done for me, the fullness that she’d brought to every aspect of my life. And I let the truth of my desire for her up out of the place where I’d kept it, let myself imagine making love to her.
I tried to recall the moment I’d first laid eyes on her, that first dark speck of the canoe caught in the morning glow of the red star but couldn’t bring the image back into my head. That had happened in a different lifetime – I could no longer imagine a world where Aulani was a stranger, a world that existed without the feelings I had for her, the need I had for her. She sat before me, diminutive, beautiful, our knees touching. A wave of intense tenderness swept through me; I wanted to protect her, care for her. No, that wasn’t it – it wasn’t my protection she needed, that wasn’t what it
was about. I struggled to find a way to think about it, about her.
You’re making it much too complicated, love, Rachel said suddenly. I was startled; it had been so long since she’d spoken, I’d begun to wonder if she’d left me. I answered her in my thoughts.
‘It seems very complicated, Raich.’
But it isn’t at all.
‘Then tell me what to do. Tell me what I need to say.’
Owen – you already know; it’s right there in front of you.
Yes, I suppose it was. If I were honest with myself, I’d known what was growing with Aulani for some time, the feelings I had for her. I’d just not let myself put it into words. I thought about Rachel and tears welled, a bottomless sadness swept over me.
‘Oh Raich, I’m so very sorry.’
And her laughter then, light and joyful, rang through my head so clearly, I felt certain Aulani must hear it.
Sorry because you’ve found love? Oh, Owen – what ill thing could ever come from love? Do you think loving her and being loved changes how we feel about each other or alters the memories of the life we had?
I really didn’t have to think about it. ‘No, Raich, no. I love you this moment as I’ve always loved you.’
Her soft, sweet laugh again.
I saw Aulani watching me, saw in the depths of her eyes the truth. And it all became so simple, so clear.
“I don’t care too much one way or another, whether we stay or go, to be honest,” I told her. “I could definitely see a life here – it’s safe, it’s beautiful, and Charlie; well I think the world of him. I think it’d be lovely to build a cottage up here and watch the ocean, raise chickens and sheep, plant some grapes and make lots of chowder.”
She was silent, just watching me.
“I also understand wanting to go on, to keep looking. If we’re alive, and Charlie’s alive, there must be other places where people have survived. Good people. There must be. I understand the need to, well, to explore. I have a strong feeling that there’s something we’ve left undone, something unfinished. We’ve… we’ve got something left to do, I think. There’s something out there waiting.”
Still, she said nothing. I saw a flicker of something pass through her eyes. Wariness? Approval?
“So, I’m… I’m up for whatever you want to do.” I hesitated, wanting to put my words together carefully.
“But Aulani,” I added softly, “you must understand. What I really care about is that whatever the way forward is, whatever path is chosen, we always, forever and forever, do it together.” There was nothing else to say. No, there was one more thing.
“That’s it, then,” I said. “I love you.”
And I sat back, shivering in the wind and waited.
She closed her eyes for just a moment, and an old insecurity rose in me, primordial, fearful. But when she opened them, I saw the light within, and I knew. I reached for her, but I was too slow, and she knocked me over backwards as she launched herself at me, landing on top of me, kissing me.
She sat astride me as I smiled up at her and she looked at me in a way I’d not seen before and slowly reached and pulled the t-shirt over her head, rose fluidly to her feet and stepped out of her shorts, standing naked in the wind, untouched by the cold, her feet straddling me. I looked at her for a time, then reached down and pulled my own shorts off. She smiled and very slowly, very gently lowered herself onto me, taking me in her hand and guiding me into her. A moan escaped me, and she bent forward and put her arms around my neck. I felt her breasts on my chest, then I felt her lips on mine and there was only her body and her mouth. There was only us.
I don’t remember much of the walk back down the trail to the cottage. We arrived with clothes on, so at some point we must’ve dressed. I know I had hold of her hand.
By the time we reached it, dusk had nearly descended, and it was obvious that we’d given Charlie a bit of a fright – both from the lateness of the hour and the state we were in. I caught sight of myself in the small mirror in his scant foyer; I hardly recognized the face that stared back at me. My eyes were wild and unfocused; as if I’d returned barely alive from some sort of epic battle. The rogue in the mirror smiled back at me.
Charlie bustled about us, grumbling about the madness of being out late in such ridiculous wee clothing in a cold wind, that we’d catch our death with such behavior, and so on. Yet, his tone was gentle, and his touch caring, and in good time a cup of his strong English tea put me to rights, and I felt as if I were returning to myself from some wild dream. And I thought, was it? But I looked at Aulani and found those green eyes softly on mine. And there was a knowing in them, a unity. If it was a dream, we shared it.
“Th' tois ay ye loch as yoo've hud quite th' efternuin,” he said finally, after we’d had some time to sit. He squinted appraisingly at us through the rising smoke of his pipe.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Ye baith swatch wabbit,” he declared.
“Sorry, what?”
“He’s saying we seem tired,” Aulani said. I wondered how she’d possibly decoded that one.
“Well,” I replied brightly, “it was a long walk and a very steep hill.”
“Ay coorse,” Charlie agreed.
We sat there all staring around the room, and I looked from one to the other and before I could help it, began to laugh. And once I’d started, I laughed as I hadn’t in a very, very long time; laughed until tears rolled down my face and my ribs ached.
Through my tears I saw the two of them watching me, Aulani with a sweet smile and Charlie with his mouth agape, staring as if I’d gone completely mad. Finally, he could take it no longer and pulled the pipe from his mouth, jabbed it at me and bellowed.
“Are ye oan drugs, ye looney bird?”
At this, Aulani began to laugh, and was soon nearly as helpless as I was. Charlie watched us both in open astonishment, then rose muttering from his chair, growling that supper needed to be laid and the two loons sure as hell weren’t in a proper state to do it.
Much later, the remains of the day gradually being set aglow by the last of the Laphroaig, the three of us gathered around the wood stove as usual and I could not throw off the sense that it was for the last time. My heart ached.
We stayed up uncharacteristically late, none of us quite willing to rise to our feet to announce time for bed. Charlie was not himself; taciturn and preoccupied. Even his pipe laid forgotten in the huge ashtray. The cat, as usual, sat in his lap, complaining a bit when it became obvious to her that his attention was elsewhere.
Finally, he could wait no longer and spoke up, his voice gruff.
“Aw reit 'en, whit is it tae be?”
We looked at each other, Aulani and I, and said nothing. He took that to mean we had decided to leave.
“Yoo're nae tae gang,” he shouted, shaking his fist at me. “Yoo're nae tae gang!”
I was taken completely aback and looked over at Aulani for help, but her eyes were anguished.
“Charlie,” I stammered. “I…”
“There's naethin' it thaur fur ye, is thaur?” he shouted. “Whit’s th’ bludy point? Dae ye hink yoo'll fin' anythin' guid?”
I searched his wild face; his eyes looked hawk-like beneath the wild eyebrows. He stood gasping for breath after the outburst, his chest heaving. He suddenly sat back down and grabbed his pipe, but his hand shook so badly he couldn’t light it. Then Aulani was next to him, her hand over his, bringing the flame to the pipe, gently holding it in place while he drew life into the tobacco. He sat rigid and unyielding and we waited.
“A’m sorry,” he said at last, his head down. “Tis nae muh business tae tell ye whit tae dae, hey?” He looked up at us. “Ah’ament fowk o’ yers, am ah?”
“Oh, Charlie,” Aulani said, and began to cry, kneeling in front of him. She wrapped her arms around his knees and laid her head on his legs. Her voice was muffled, but I could hear the certainty in her voice, the strength of her words.
“You are fami
ly,” she said fiercely. “Do you think either Owen or I have any family anywhere in the world other than you?” She raised her head and searched his face.
He sat frozen above her, tried to free himself from her arms for a moment, then gave in, dropping his arms to his sides, the pipe scattering embers onto the scarred old floor.
“What family is now,” she said, “is something different, yes? It has nothing to do with the people you’re born with anymore - you have to earn it now, you have to deserve it.” She sat back on her heels, leaving her hands on his knees.
“It’s a choice now,” she said, then leaned in and softly kissed his cheek.
“And don’t you know, dear Charlie, that we’ve chosen you? She turned and looked at me. “Just as Owen and I have chosen each other.”
What grand and selfless thing had I done in some earlier existence, I wondered, that had brought to me the loving grace of not just one, but two extraordinary women? And it occurred to me then, quite abruptly, to wonder if they weren’t the same person, after all, in some cosmic sense. Was it possible that the same spiritual force, the same… the same force of love, could exist in two different bodies, two different lives, two different times? Was that such an absurd notion? What did I know of the universe, after all? Nothing. Less than nothing. But I knew about love.
I struggled to keep my voice light. “That’s it then, old man. It’s official. You’re family.”
He glanced at me with a wicked grin.
“Yoo'll no be wantin' tae be callin' me auld, laddie.”
He sat looking from one of us to the other, fussed with his tobacco, and refilled and lit his pipe. He sighed the first fragrant smoke from it and regarded the two of us studiously.
“Then,” he said, his voice low and gritty, “If Ah am fowk then, Ah teel ye, ye cannae go.”
Aulani sat down, forearms resting on her knees and leaned toward him.
“We have no choice,” she said. “We have to go. I know you understand that.”
“Nay, lass,” he replied quickly. “Ah dinnae at a’.”
“You do,” she insisted. “If it were you, where Owen and I are, you would think exactly as we do.”
