The Last Time We Spoke (23 page)

Twelve bodies, chests bare, thighs spread solid, arms reaching up to the heavens to pull down the ancestors. The chant, hands slapping, tongues protruding, eyes ablaze. Ben could feel a formidable force pulsing as he moved in unison with his brothers. Sweat ran down his body, and inside, something was exploding. It was hard to describe. He wondered if the spirits Chalkie so often talked about were in fact real. Perhaps they were in the room with him right now.

At the front, standing apart from everyone, was August. Chalkie moved up beside him.

‘August Honatana,’ he said, his voice deep and strong. ‘You have heard the words. You have heard the pre-battle challenge:

His voice held the entire room in its reach.

‘Today, as you leave prison, the real battle begins. Your enemies are out there.’ Chalkie pointed into the distance. ‘Drink, drugs, all the temptations … They are lying in wait for you. Be strong. Hold your head up high. It won’t be easy, but you
can
come through.’ He paused. Looked about the room.

Perspiration was pouring off Ben’s forehead, and not just because of the war dance. It had been over a month since he’d been high – six weeks without weed, ice, or even glue – and he was still edgy. Tears came for no reason and irritability crawled over him like a disturbed nest of ants.

‘Remember, stay with your people, stick with your history, and make your ancestors proud.’ Chalkie was speaking to August as if no one else was in the room. He had that way of directing his attention so absolutely. Like a searchlight, he’d find you and hold you in his gaze, making you feel special, but at the same time sprung.

‘And don’t come back! We don’t want to see you here no more. Not unless you come back as a teacher, or a warden.’ He laughed. ‘Or maybe a policeman.’

August shifted uneasily.

‘God watch over you, man.’ Then he pulled August into him, nose to nose, eye to eye, and they held each other with the strength
of equal men. Both August and Chalkie’s staunch eyes were shining with tears.

‘Now for the best part,’ Chalkie said, his sternness breaking into a grin. ‘
Kai!
’

Everyone clapped.

‘August’s
whānau
has provided us with a mean feed.’ Chalkie bowed his head to the elderly couple. ‘Thank you.’

August’s mother’s serious expression unfurled. Like a ball of paper set alight, happiness and tears curled the edges of her wizened face.

What would his own mother have looked like now? Ben wondered. He didn’t have a single photograph of her.

Recently, she’d been showing up in his head at random times. Just the other day a memory pitched up of the time she took him and Lily with her to work. Ryan had been drinking at the house with his crew and she didn’t trust leaving Ben and his sister alone with him. After she had more kids, she became less vigilant. Or maybe she just grew tired, because she started leaving them alone with Ryan a lot, even after he broke a chair over Cody for soiling his pants.

It was a long night traipsing after their mother as she moved through the office blocks on Wellesley Street, vacuuming and dusting and emptying bins. He and Lily had found a carpeted corner where they’d dozed for a while, Lily curled up beside him, sucking her thumb.

They were all heading out of the building into the grey light of dawn when his mum spotted a fifty-dollar note lying in the crease of the concrete steps. She couldn’t believe it, laughing and whooping all the way down Queen Street. ‘What about I treat you to a special breakfast, kids,’ she’d said, leading them into a proper sit-down cafe. ‘Our little secret, okay?’

As Ben moved through the memory, he could again taste the smoky sweet maple syrup on the hotcakes and smell the strips of bacon grilled all wavy and crisp. His mum asked the waitress for a beer, but the place didn’t serve alcohol, which Ben was pleased about; his mum was nicer off the booze. After she’d paid for the breakfast, there was still enough money for ice cream. Fifty dollars felt like a fortune. It was the best day ever.

Then Lily went and ruined it all. It wasn’t really her fault; she was too small to understand the keep-a-secret bit. Their mum got smacked about by Ryan for not bringing home the cash and spewed up all her breakfast, the ice cream too. So it was a proper waste of the money.

August’s father now waddled over to Chalkie to shake his hand. He was short and round, with a shiny brown scalp and a circular smile that looked like he was saying the letter O … He kept saying over and over again. ‘Thank you. Thank you, sir. Thank you for saving our son.’

Ben wondered if August had been saved. Most of his mates at Pare would usually be back inside within a year of their release. The only reason Ben ever used to watch
One News
was to see who was coming back.

‘Before we eat,’ Chalkie said, raising his voice above the din. ‘I nearly forgot. Ben, our newest arrival at the unit, has composed a rap for the occasion. Danny helped write it.’

The room with the blue carpet and big windows went quiet. Ben’s legs went bendy. He held up the paper, pretending to read it even though he’d memorised most of the words. The sheet shook in his hands. He started to move to the beat in his head.

Then everyone was clapping and whistling, and shouting. ‘Choice!’

‘You da man!’

‘Cheers, bro.’ It was a good feeling.

Ben dunked a sausage roll into a bowl of tomato sauce and stuffed it into his mouth. He was sad to be losing August – over the past six weeks they’d become tight – but at least he could move down to the unit permanently into the dude’s vacated cell.

I
feel the excitement that comes with the anticipation of something new. The same excitement I feel seeing small flecks of green on the skeletons of wintered trees. You have reached the
waka
, and can surely feel the embrace of
kaupapa Māori.
But my eagerness must be tempered; you are not yet on board, and there is still such a long way to haul you home. So much can happen in between.

Home, Benjamin, will not be the world of before, the place I told you about. That no longer exists. Such is the nature of life; nothing remains the same for ever. Colonisation wrought changes, both good and bad, changes which cannot be undone; time moves in one direction only. However, you can still carry with you packages from the past. Take with you the best of your people’s beliefs and weave them together with the peculiarities of others that you will meet.

Just now I am looking down on Te Noho Kotahitanga Marae and see a central brass pole around which two brass vines intertwine. The great master carver, Dr Lyonel Grant, depicted these as two individual plants with separate roots that come together around one central pole. They twist over and under each other until you cannot discern their separateness. Yet still they must be tended individually, or else one might die and the other grow rampant.
8
True unity embraces separateness.

Chalkie knocked on the open cell door. Ben was lounging on his bunk.

‘What’s going down, Chalkie?’

‘You got a visitor.’

Ben swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Not expecting no one.’

‘I’ve persuaded the screws to drop some of the formalities,’ Chalkie said. ‘Kinda turn a blind eye to the paperwork and all that shit. Don’t let me down.’

Ben stood up, his interest hooked. ‘So you gonna tell me who it is?’

Chalkie paused. ‘Carla Reid.’ The words dropped into the room like a corpse.

‘Driven all the way up from Auckland to see you, she has.’

Ben stood fixed to the spot and stared at Chalkie’s two short fingers.

Neil, the warder, appeared in the doorway swinging a pair of handcuffs. ‘Sorry, Ben, but gotta stick to the rules.’

Ben put out his hands. ‘It’s okay, Neil. I’m cool with it.’

She was standing near one of the windows in the meeting room, her back to him, light pouring in around her. Someone had left a
plastic water bottle on the window ledge and the sun drove straight through it, coming out the other end split up into colours, which trapped her inside the rainbow.

She turned.

He stopped.

Then she was walking towards him, her hands outstretched. He lifted up his manacled wrists. They both smiled at his predicament. She brushed her hands momentarily over his, the touch running through him like an electrical current.

She smelt nice. Of the outside.

Suddenly he was a kid again.
He’s fallen out of a tree and is bleating like a baby. His mother wraps him in her arms – skin on skin, the smell of shampoo, her warm words.

‘Good to see you, Ben’ the Reid woman said, her voice a gentle catapult bumping him back into the room.

He didn’t know what to say.

‘I thought it was time to continue with our lessons.’ Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if they’d just seen each other the previous week. ‘Chalkie tells me you’re managing to read quite a bit on your own now.’

Ben looked across the room at his mentor, then back to her. ‘Sort of.’

‘So I’ve brought some of Jack’s old books with me.’ She pointed to two chairs. He sat down slowly. It was weird sitting next to her.

‘I brought something else too.’

He looked away. He couldn’t handle any more stuff. No games. No more record of his badness. He already knew what an evil bastard he was.

‘Neil and Chalkie have turned themselves inside out to make this happen,’ she said, bending down to take something out of her canvas carrier bag.

He frowned. He understood the unspoken warning:
Don’t fuck this up
. But what was she on about?

It was a brown cardboard box with the picture of a food processor on the side.

A food processor? What on earth was he going to do with one of those? Not another cooking story!

The box was punctured with hundreds of holes, as if someone had sprayed it with an air rifle.

‘What the …?’

‘Aren’t you going to take a look inside?’ she said, putting the box in his lap.

It was lighter than he’d expected. He lifted the cardboard leaves. ‘Jesus!’

Inside was a grey bundle of fur with ears as sharp as the corners of a page. Two big round eyes looked up at him.

‘
Please, Ma, can’t we have a cat? Pania’s cat’s borne kittens. Six of ’em. Just one. Please
.’

Pania was Ben’s girlfriend from when he was just six years old. She’d lived next door.

‘
Ask Ryan
.’

‘A cat? You gotta be joking. The only fuckin’ cat coming in this house will be a feed for Diesel.’

Ben opened his hands, which were still joined at the wrist, and closed them round the small creature. It was soft. Nothing in prison was soft. His fingers fizzed as the softness seeped into him, and negatives that had been in a dark room of his mind for so long were instantly developed.

Pania’s heavy black hair falling to her shoulders …

Driving the clapped-out wreck in the garden – Pania in the front, Lily in the back, laughing and laughing till Lily spewed …

Pania holding his hand in the playground …

Pania reading to him behind the dairy, spinning long, silky words around him … Pania and her family moving away.

‘I’ll bring her with me each time I visit,’ the Reid woman said, ‘but she’s yours.’

She’s yours
. Ben hadn’t owned anything important ever.

‘She doesn’t have a name yet.’

‘Pania,’ Ben said. ‘Her name is Pania.’

‘So how did it go?’ Paul asked, folding away the newspaper and pulling his car seat into the upright position. The convertible’s hood was down, inviting the glorious day in.

Carla kissed him. ‘Well the kitten was a hit,’ she said, carefully lifting Pania out of the box and putting her into the cat cage on the back seat. ‘He didn’t want me to take her away again.’

She opened the passenger door and dropped into the seat with a sigh. ‘Hey, thank you, Paul. For everything.’

‘All I did was play chauffeur,’ he said, starting the engine. ‘The rest has been your doing, and don’t you forget it.’

As they drove back to Auckland, she recounted the events of the morning. Finally she fell silent, her mind coasting in neutral as the breeze rifled her hair. She was tired, but in a good way. She’d worried all week about how the visit would go.

Next thing she knew, Paul was stroking her head.

‘That was quick,’ she said dreamily, looking around. They were parked under a giant pohutakawa tree, its gnarled limbs dipping down to finger an expansive stretch of grass that sloped down to a river. Yellow umbrellas dotted the lawn like buttercups.

‘Not home yet, but I thought we could stop for a bite. I don’t know about you, but I could eat a horse.’

So they ordered lunch from the nearby cafe and found a free table close to the car, so that they could keep an eye on Pania.

The cafe was busy for a weekday and she and Paul people-watched as they ate their lunch.

A baby girl, all strawberry-blonde curls and cherub cheeks, was crawling along the grass under the watchful eye of an older child, who intermittently reprimanded her in an exaggerated, grown-up tone. ‘No, no, no. Not that way, young lady!’

Carla saw who she thought was likely the mother sitting some distance away, a large straw hat canopying her face.

‘Bit too much chilli on the squid,’ Paul said, washing down a mouthful with a swig of ale. ‘Nice, none the less. Want to taste?’

As Carla leant towards his outstretched fork, she saw that the toddler had ventured right down to the water’s edge. Its distracted young minder was scaling the branches of a tree.

‘Careful!’ Carla cried, knocking over Paul’s beer as she jumped up and raced down the slope.

As Carla scooped up the child, the wee girl let out an ear-piercing yowl, which brought her mother running.

‘Thank you!’ she said breathlessly, lifting the bawling child out of Carla’s embrace. ‘I’m so sorry!’

Hearing the commotion, the boy dropped down from the tree, but hung back.

‘I asked you to look after your sister!’ his mother shouted. ‘She could have drowned.’

‘It can happen so easily,’ Carla said, trying to calm the moment. Her eyes met the mother’s. They were unmistakable in their hue. Carla knew those eyes. That face. The long auburn hair.

‘Don’t I know you? I …’

The woman flushed.

‘Weren’t you at Jack’s funeral?’ Carla said slowly.

The woman nodded.

Then Paul was upon them, a large ale stain down the front of his shirt. ‘Everyone OK?’

There was an awkward pause, filled only by the little girl’s whimpering.

‘Mrs Reid?’ the woman finally said.

Carla nodded.

‘You two know each other?’ Paul asked, bemused.

His intrusion was suddenly an irritation for Carla.

The woman stretched out her long, pale hand. ‘I’m Myra.’

‘We never got to talk that day,’ Carla began. ‘I … I wanted to ask … I always wondered. You were his girlfriend, weren’t you?’

Myra’s teary eyes answered Carla’s question.

‘Why don’t you join us for a drink?’ Paul suggested.

The woman hesitated. ‘Olivia is due for her nap, and—’

‘Olivia,’ Carla repeated, with a smile. ‘She’s very sweet. How old?’

The mother smoothed her little girl’s hair. ‘Twenty-three months and quite a handful.’

Carla looked over at the youngster still skulking behind the tree. ‘And your boy?’

‘Seven,’ Myra replied briskly.

‘Don’t be too angry with him,’ Carla said. ‘Boys can be quite oblivious to what’s going on around them.’

The young woman’s smile did not camouflage her tense expression.

‘
Do
join us,’ Carla said, gesturing to their table.

‘We really must be on our way. Olivia needs her nap and—’

‘Not even a quick drink?’ Paul chimed in. ‘I’m going to get another beer.’

Myra faltered. Then her son was running towards her, his hands cupped against his chest. ‘Mum, look what I’ve found!’

Carla felt the colour drain from her face as the lad approached. Her gums tingled.

‘You alright, Carl?’ Paul said as she leant against him.

Swimming-pool-blue eyes. Long lashes. A craze of blue-black hair. A wide grin.
That
grin.

‘A praying mantis, Mum! I think it’s hurt,’ the boy said, cautiously opening his hands.

‘Oh dear,’ his mother replied distractedly.

‘Can we take it home and make it better?’

‘Josh, uh …’

Carla kept staring.

‘Muuuum, are you listening?’

‘We should talk,’ Myra said quickly. ‘But not now. Sometime when we can be alone.’

‘I could take the kids for an ice cream, if that would be easier,’ Paul said.

The woman looked around, panicked.

‘You’ll be able to see us from where you’re sitting,’ he reassured.

So the kids ran up the slope to the cafe with Paul, and the two women sat down.

‘Is he …?’ Carla finally said, her voice faltering.

Myra nodded, the rims of her eyes reddening.

‘I don’t understand. How? I mean, when?’

‘Mrs Reid,’ Myra said, stretching across the wooden table to grasp Carla’s hands.

‘Call me Carla, please.’

‘Carla. I only found out I was pregnant the week before Jack died. I was in a terrible way. I couldn’t believe it. First discovering I was pregnant and then losing Jack.’ Her words spilt out. ‘I couldn’t tell you. I’d never even met you before. And my parents – they’re Catholic. Jack was my first boyfriend. I asked Jack’s friend, Russell, for help.’

‘Russell? You mean Russell Catchpole?’

‘Yes. Of course you’d know him. Jack’s best mate. We were kind of like the Three Musketeers that year – him, Jack, and me. We did everything together. Anyway, Russell offered more than I could ever have hoped for. He offered to marry me.’

‘
Marry
you?’ Carla repeated, incredulously.

‘And Josh was born seven months later.’

Russell, who had practically lived at the farm for most of Jack’s school years. The lad they would collect from the school hostel almost every weekend after his parents moved to Kerikeri. The Russell, who’d gone flatting with Jack.

As if travelling through some theme-park maze, Carla’s bewildered thoughts careered around her head. ‘So he … So Joshua is
my grandson
?’

Myra closed her eyes and tears spilt onto her cheeks.

She had a grandson! No one had told her. Jack’s son! How dare Russell have kept it from her. How dare sh—?

‘Mrs Reid. Carla. Josh doesn’t know about Jack. Not yet. Russ has always been so good. A great father to him. It’s easier this way. Less complicated. We plan to tell him when he’s older. He’s only seven; you understand.’ Her blue eyes were pleading.

‘Did Jack know?’ Carla asked, her mind trawling through the fragments of memories leading up to Jack’s death, searching for the clues she had missed.

Myra nodded. ‘And his GP. No one else. Jack was planning to talk to his dad about it, but I know he didn’t want to worry you until we had proper plans in place. I’m so sorry. Then everything changed.’

Carla stroked the surface of the table, her eyes navigating the dark grooves running between the strips of wood.

‘What a terrible thing to have to cope with,’ she finally said. ‘I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you, unable to
share a secret like that on top of all your grief. You poor girl.’

Myra’s face momentarily loosened. She blew her nose and cast an anxious look towards the cafe.

‘He’s the spitting image of Jack, you know,’ Carla said, shaking her head. ‘The spitting image.’

Myra nodded.

Jack’s boy. Jack’s boy. Jack’s boy.

‘Mama, look! Twiple chocolate!’ Olivia waddled across the lawn towards them.

The boy hung back. He was talking with Paul. He walked with a slow sort of Jack lollop.

‘Mum, Paul owns a Ferrari Testarossa. He’s restoring it,’ he said, out of breath, just an arm’s length from Carla.

‘Is he indeed?’ Myra said, trying to smile.

‘Can we go see it one day? Can we? Please.’

‘Josh is car mad at the moment,’ Myra said apologetically, taking her son by the hand. ‘We’ll speak to Dad. He’d be jealous if he couldn’t go too, wouldn’t he?’

Carla flushed.
Dad
. The word stung.

‘We really should be going,’ Myra said, her clipped tone ring-fencing any emotion. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ She touched Carla on the shoulder. ‘You still out in Dairy Flat?’

‘Oh no!’ Carla said, scrambling for a pen in her bag and jotting down her phone number on the back of a supermarket docket. ‘How do I get hold of you? Do you live nearby?’

‘I’ll give you a call,’ Myra said, gently. ‘Nice to meet you, Kevin.’

‘Paul,’ he corrected, with a perplexed smile.