Three Times Dead (7 page)

I woke up yelling, thrashing out, my skin clammy with sweat and my whole body aching.

“Bevan, Bevan! What’s the matter? What is it?”

I opened my eyes and my bedroom appeared. Gina’s face hovered above me, not artillery shells.

“Shit!” I said, sitting up and wiping the sweat from my face. “Those bloody dreams – they’re back.”

“Dreams? That was a nightmare. You were rolling all over the bed and you were yelling so loud – in Maori.”

“I spoke Maori?” I was surprised. I’d not spoken any Maori since primary school.

“It sounded like you were swearing.” She sank down on the edge of the bed. “You hit me!” She put her hand to the side of her face where there was a red mark.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it was the dream.”

“It was scary. I was trying to wake you up but you just wouldn’t.” She started to cry and I gathered her into my arms.

“Now you see why I was asking Mark about it.”

“Can you get him to make them stop?”

“I thought they had.”

Her shudders stilled. I must have really freaked her out. I was a little freaked out too. My stump was throbbing and it felt like I had a bruise on my shoulder, but that feeling faded as I shifted; a remnant from the dream perhaps? I looked over towards the cabinet at the side of my bed. “Can you pass me that bottle of pills there?”

Gina looked around to where I was pointing, then leant over and picked up the bottle, looking at the label. “What are these?”

“Painkillers, really strong ones. I think I need a couple.”

She gave me the bottle and I took two, swallowing them with a swig of water. They were a morphine derivative and they would ease the ache as well as calm me down a little. I eased myself back onto my pillows, waiting for my heart rate to slow.

“Man, that was so mean. I was right there, in this pa, which was being shelled.” I remembered the last part of the dream. “I think he’s dead.”

“Who’s dead?”

“Haki, the guy in my dream. He was hit by a shell and he landed on his head. That’s when I woke up. Maybe that’ll be the end of it. If he’s dead, then he won’t be in my dreams any more.”

“What you’re saying doesn’t make sense. You’re saying that like he’s a real person, when he’s only in your nightmares.”

I knew she was right, but I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that what played out in my head wasn’t a dream but a memory – a memory of a long-dead warrior fighting in a war that took place 150 years ago.

I asked Mark to visit me the next day. The vision had unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

“Interesting that they should start again after such a long break – what started it?”

I wasn’t about to tell him about what me and Gina were getting up to, so I said, “It just started,” which was true.

He took one of the books off the table where I had left them from the last time he visited. He paged through it and then held up a picture for me to see. It was a sketch of a boat on a river, with plumes of smoke rising from it and drifting towards the riverbank. It wasn’t quite like what I had seen in my dream, but it was close enough for me to be able to recognise the boat.

“That’s it!” I said. “Where is that?”

“Meremere. The boat is the HMS
Pioneer
, an iron-clad steamer.” Mark read over the text and summarized it for me. “She was brought up the Waikato River and bombarded the pa at Meremere with 12-pounder howitzers. It went on for nearly two hours, it says here. That must have been what hit Haki. I wonder if he survived?”

I shrugged. “Who knows? It was pretty bad, that’s all I can remember. But why the long break in between visions?”

Mark skipped back a few pages.

“The attack on Camerontown was on 7th September, the attack on Meremere wasn’t until 29th October – maybe a break in the visions represents the break between one battle and the next.”

“Great, so now my dreams are in sync with history. When’s the next battle?”

Mark paged forward. “Rangiriri on 20th November.”

I sighed, “Something to look forward to.”

Mark looked grim. “Even I’ve heard of the battle of Rangiriri. It was a brutal one and not something to look forward to at all, that’s if your warrior is alive to take part.”

“Yes, well, I suppose I will find out.”

“If he died, then maybe you won’t have any more visions.”

“That’ll be a relief,” I said. “I’ve got enough to deal with in this world without dealing with another.”

At last my leg was ready. Mum had to take time off work to run me into the Artificial Limb Centre so I could have it fitted. I was so nervous. I didn’t really know what to expect, but at the same time I just wanted to get on with it so that I could start to walk.

When the prosthetist brought out the plastic socket that would go over my stump I stared at it, unable to speak for a moment. This piece of plastic was going to be a part of me – a part that didn’t exist any more. That was hard to figure out.

“We’ll start you off with a fairly basic leg to begin with and adjust as you go along,” he said. “This part here,” he said as he showed me the plastic socket, “will fit onto the residual limb. Then the pylon, that’s the pole from the socket downwards, will fit into the foot. Suction will keep the residual limb in the socket, but we will fit a neoprene cover that will go up over the socket and onto the top part of the residual limb so that it feels more secure. Ok so far?”

I nodded and watched as he laid out a series of cloths on the desk.

“This is a silicone sock,” he said, pulling what looked like a piece of soft grey rubber over the end of the stump. “It’s soft and eases friction on the stump. Then we have two socks, but I’ll start you with one and you can add the second as the stump shrinks. Now we fit the socket and see how it sits.”

He lifted up the plastic socket and firmly pushed it onto the end of the stump. I felt pressure immediately, but on either side of my leg rather than on the end of the stump.

“The end of the stump is actually suspended inside the socket,” the technician said, “and the weight is taken on the sides of the socket so that there is no pressure on the very end of the stump at all.” He lifted my leg slightly and looked all around the socket. “Seems to fit all right, but it will need adjusting over the next few weeks. You’ll need to come in regularly.”

“How regularly?” Mum asked. I saw that she was worried about how much time she was going to have to spend taking me backwards and forwards.

“About once a week for a couple of months until we get it right.”

“So he’ll be spending a lot of time here?” Mum asked.

“Yes, we’ll be seeing a lot of Bevan over the next year or so,” the technician said with a smile.

I heard Mum sigh heavily, but along with the technician, I ignored it.

“Right, I’ll attach the shaft and then we’ll get you upright and see how it all fits.”

He eased the socket off and picked up a slim metal pole with a piece of plastic roughly foot shaped at the end. Using spanners, he quickly attached the shaft to the socket, and then fitted the gadget to the end of my stump. The whole thing looked unreal attached to my leg.

“Now I’m going to get you to stand up. Try to take most of your weight on your right leg first, and then slowly transfer weight to the left leg. It’s going to feel strange, but I will need to see how the leg settles into the socket with your weight bearing down on it.”

I used the arms of the chair to push myself onto my feet, or foot to be exact, and wobbled there for a second while the technician grabbed my arms and steadied me. The pressure on my stump increased as the blood rushed down and met resistance from the plastic socket.

“Ok, you’re doing well, Bevan. Now transfer weight to the left leg.”

It hurt when I did that, the sides of the socket pressing against the sides of my calves and the blood pushing back, but I grimaced and put up with it. I was going to have to get used it if I was going to walk like a normal person again.

The technician glanced down. “Are you ok standing there, Bevan? If you feel like you need to sit down, just do so, the chair is right behind you.”

I remained standing as he crouched down and examined the leg.

“Mmm, it’s just a little too long. “I’m going to have adjust the length of the shaft and refit it.”

“Can I wait?”

The technician laughed. “No, you’ll have to leave it with me, Bevan, so I can make the adjustments. I’ll see you again next week, but this time I’ll book you in with the physios so that you can learn how to walk with it.” He must have seen the look of disappointment on my face for he said, “This is a long process, Bevan. It’s going to take a long time to learn to walk again with a prosthetic foot, and we need to get everything right before you even start or else we set you up to fail. But it’s worth the effort, believe me. We’ll have you running marathons by this time next year!”

He laughed, but I didn’t laugh with him. I found that statement hard to believe.

I was keen to start walking, not just so I could be normal and join the rest of the population, but because of the weight I was putting on. I tended to avoid moving around because the only way to do so was on crutches, and they were a pain. So I spent long hours playing games, eating and drinking, making love to Gina and doing very little else. Gina noticed.

“You’re getting a little tubby,” she said one day as she patted my stomach. “You need to do more exercise.”

“I have all the exercise I need with you,” I said, encircling her with my arms.

She wriggled away. “You’ll be squashing me flat if you carry on like this. You need to get out more.”

“Maybe I need a mobility scooter.” I said jokingly. I’d already run through the gamut of mobility aids for older people.

“Or a car,” she said. “You turn eighteen next week. Didn’t Rhys get his car when he turned eighteen?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’ll get one. Not sure that I can drive it anyway.”

“You can if it’s an automatic. You only need your right foot.”

“I guess. So yeah, a car would be nice,” I said. And it occurred to me that it could be an option, as then I could drive myself to all my medical appointments. I could tell that Mum was already getting tired of the necessity of getting me to wherever I needed to be.

“You should have a party. What have you got planned?”

“Nothing yet.” The truth was, I wanted as little to do with people as possible. Somehow losing a foot had made me feel less whole, less of a human being. I didn’t want people feeling sorry for me or, even worse, making fun of me. I was now classified as “disabled” and that stabbed me to the core. And wallowing in self pity didn’t make my life any easier either.

But it didn’t matter what I wanted, because a party was planned regardless. At least my folks held it at home, which was within my comfort zone. And they sweetened the deal by buying me a car. I didn’t have any input into it, of course, but at least it had four wheels and an engine. It came with car seat covers from Katie and satnav from Rhys. Mitch and Scott thought it was way cool, and I saw it as my get-out-of-jail-free card – once I got my leg and could drive it.

Of course I got totally wasted by the end of the night, but that was ok because at least I was at home. It didn’t take much because I had hit on the painkillers beforehand so that I could get through the evening, and then hit on the booze, so I was pretty much gone before the end of the evening. I remember Dad helping me to bed, and Mum tucking me in before leaving me to sleep it off. The party finished without me.

“Rangiriri has fallen,” Matiu said.

Haki struggled to rise from his bed, but the effort was too much and he slumped down, his breathing laboured.

“Rest, you must rest,” said Reka, who knelt beside him.

“I’ve had enough of rest, woman,” Haki lashed out. “I must join my brothers so that we can fight these Pakeha scum.”

“You are too late for Rangiriri, there is no hope of regaining it,” Matiu said, hanging his head. “We are pulling back to Paterangi. Already the king has left Ngaruawahia and has been taken to safety over the Mokau River, deep inside Rewi’s territory. The white soldiers march to Ngaruawahia but they will find it deserted. We will hold them back at Paterangi. We are strengthening the pa at Pikopiko and Rangiatea so we can protect this area while our king moves south. We must stop them from moving past Rangiaowhia. If they defeat us here, we are destroyed.”

Haki looked over at Reka. Rangiaowhia was her land; her hapu had lived in this area for years and now the army advanced on it. He had to get better so he could defend it from the invasion. He was frustrated at his feebleness. He had been unconscious for days after the explosion, and even now his head throbbed. His chest was bandaged where he had broken some ribs, and his left leg was still mending. It would be some time before he could fight again.

“Thank you, Matiu,” he said eventually. “Although the news is not good, I thank you for bringing it to me. And thank you too, for carrying me from the fight at Meremere. Without you and the other men, I would have died there.”

Matiu glanced over at where Toa slept in a basket and smiled, “We could not allow the little warrior to grow up without his father to train him.”

Haki gave a little laugh and clutched at his chest as pain stabbed through him.

“The women will give you food after your long journey,” Reka said while Haki regained his breath. “And my grandfather is in his whare; he’s had so few visitors lately and he’ll be keen to hear of the battles. With so many of the warriors away, he gets tired of our women talk.”

“I’ll keep him busy for a few hours then,” Matiu said with a laugh, and he left the whare.