The Scent of Apples (15 page)

‘You stupid old fool. I told you to slow down,' Hautai yells from the porch. ‘Now look what's happened. Bring him in, Tama, and put him on the window seat. Tainui, Kawharu, run down and get Amelia. Grab Uncle Joe as well. Libby, you'd better get in the shower.'

In the bathroom, with the door closed and the water running, I can still hear raised voices.

‘I've managed 101 years without seeing a doctor. I'm not about to start now.'

‘Well how many times have you had a bone sticking out of your skin? No amount of cod liver is going to fix this. At least let a doctor have a look.'

‘I don't need someone to tell me it's broken: we can see that. I just need you to help me put it back in place. I'm in pain here, so let's hurry up!'

I have a quick shower, which warms me up a little. As I turn the shower off, I hear a knock on the door and then it opens up a sliver.

‘Libby, it's me,' Charlie whispers through the crack. ‘Are you OK?'

‘Yeah. Fine.'

I hide behind the shower curtain.

‘OK, good. I brought you an extra towel. I'll leave it on the floor.'

‘Thanks.'

‘Libby?'

My heart starts pounding in my chest.

‘Yeah?'

‘Um …'

Koro yells from the kitchen.

‘I better go,' Charlie says. ‘We'll talk later. I made you a Milo; it's on the bench.'

‘Thanks. I'll be out in a minute.'

Steam has fogged up the mirror, and although I can't see my face, I know it's there. No one's asked me about the bald patches on my scalp, but I know that, under a fine mist of courtesy, the question lurks.

I wrap the extra towel around my head as a turban. The steam from the bathroom follows me up the hallway. I sit on the bed and braid my wet hair into a tight French plait. After changing into a baggy sweater and track pants, I tie a red bandana around my head.

I look at the open window and visualise myself jumping out and running down the hill. Never having to face anyone again. I take a big breath in and then let it out again. I'm not that brave, and I've already run away from one home. What sort of spinner runs away from the home they run away to? I look around the bedroom and know that I can't sit here forever. I force myself to go to the kitchen.

Tama leans against the sideboard slurping Milo. Wetekia sits at the end of the table, where most of the books, fruit bowls and things have been pushed. At the other end are bowls of steaming liquids and bandages.

A small squat lady brushes past me, her hands full of frayed towels.

‘Kia ora, love.'

‘Libby, this is my Aunt Amelia – Aunt Amelia, this is my friend Libby.'

‘Hi.'

Charlie's aunt plants a kiss on my cheek and then plonks herself in a seat at the table. She rips the towels into small strips. A man who appears to be even older than Koro – I guess he's Joe – sits beside Koro. His head is bowed and his eyes are closed. He speaks a steady stream of words, quietly and in Māori.

Koro's pale face glances up from a sea of cushions.

‘Charlie, I need you to go and cut some harakeke. Around the back of the garage is a good bush to use. Some of the older leaves will make a strong splint.'

‘OK, Koro.' Charlie takes a knife from a kitchen shelf.

‘And Charlie, don't miss anything out. Say a karakia. Take the outer leaves, and remember to cut downwards, away from the centre. I think it's going to rain, and you don't want the water going into the plant.'

‘I know, Koro.'

He sighs as he leans back on the pillows. The effort from speaking has drained the last of his reserves.

‘Here, drink this,' Hautai says, cupping one hand behind his head as she tips a cup towards his lips.

I take a mug of Milo from the bench and sit in one of the battered dining chairs at the table.

‘Koro's going to get his bone put back in,' Kawharu says beside me. His eyes sparkle with the thought of it.

‘I heard. He must be very brave.'

‘Yeah and there might be some blood,' Tainui adds from his ringside seat.

Charlie comes back in with some strong-looking flax and lays it on the table. She slices the roots off two big leaves, the dirt still clinging to them, and passes the leaves to her mum. Hautai lifts Koro's arm and places the thick part of the leaf just under the break.

I watch, fascinated, as Charlie cleans the roots and chops them into small pieces. She lays them in a pot and, after covering them with a small amount of water, puts the pot on the stove to boil.

Kawharu's brow is furrowed as he concentrates on the mortar and pestle in front of him.

‘What are you doing?' I ask.

‘I'm crushing this bark into a pulp, and then we're going to mix it with water and give it to Koro to drink.'

‘It tastes revolting,' Tainui says. ‘They made me drink it when I jumped off the garage roof and sliced my leg open. It stopped it hurting though.'

A small movement to my right makes me turn my head. I see Joe push down hard on the exposed bone, and Koro go limp on the cushions. Amelia takes bandages that have been soaking in some black liquid and lays them on the open wound. Hautai works fast to wrap the splint around the arm, and holds it while Amelia binds it together.

Hautai holds her hand to Koro's head and pronounces him a silly old fool.

‘I don't know what an old man thinks he's doing in a rowboat at the crack of dawn.' She takes the bowl of crushed root from Kawharu and tips it into a pot of water. ‘I suppose I should be grateful that you weren't all drowned.'

‘It was a freak accident, Mum. A broken bone that's going to heal. No harm's done and we're all fine,' Charlie says.

Hautai pushes her way past Kawharu and plants her hands on her hips as she stands in front of her daughter.

‘Sometimes, young lady, you could take things a little more seriously than you do. The nonsense that you and your sidekick get up to makes me wonder how smart you really are.'

‘Hey, I'm still here, you know,' Koro murmurs.

‘I'm not speaking to you at the moment,' Hautai barks at him, ‘but when I do, I'll make sure you're fully conscious.'

*

All day, Koro sips on the bark liquid, and adds the occasional swig of whisky when Hautai isn't around. He falls in and out of sleep for most of the day. Joe doesn't move from his side until night falls.

Tama helps Koro to the bathroom and into Hautai's bed at night.

‘Because of your stupidity, I lose my bed and get an extra job as a nursemaid,' Hautai says, as she props cushions up behind his back and lifts his arm gently onto another pillow. She picks up three photos from her bedside table, kisses each one and puts them on a tallboy.

She places a small reading lamp on the table and checks that the on/off switch is within easy reach of her father. She kisses his forehead before she leaves the room.

‘Thank God, she's gone,' Koro whispers.

Charlie stifles a giggle. ‘Behave yourself or she'll kick you out, and I'm not carrying you down the hill in the dark.'

She leans in and kisses her grandfather goodnight. I feel like a spy as I watch them together, their heads nearly touching. I remember a quote that Poppa had used about him and Nan:
A single soul dwelling in two bodies
. I think he stole it from Aristotle, a Greek philosopher he used to tell me about.

Something that feels like a mixture of grief and tiredness swamps me. I gulp big breaths of air and try not to drown in whatever it is that wants to take me under.

I flinch as Charlie puts a hand towards my face.

‘Are you OK, Libby?'

I nod.

‘It's been a big day, girls: you'd better get some rest,' says Koro.

‘Yeah, Koro's right,' Charlie says. ‘Let's get you to bed.'

*

Charlie pokes her head in the lounge on our way past. Hautai is curled up in a big armchair with her eyes closed. A dim light comes from a lamp across the room, and a Carole King CD is playing on the stereo.

‘Mum, don't go to sleep there.'

‘I won't,' Hautai says, without opening her eyes.

‘Promise me you won't?'

‘Oh for goodness sake, Charlie. I promise. Now goodnight.'

Charlie takes a shawl from the back of the couch and lays it over her mum's chest, kissing her on the cheek as she does so.

*

Silence hangs like a thin cobweb between our beds. A fragile link between the two of us. I know I need to be the one to cross it, but I don't know how to take the first step.

I pull the blankets tight around me, though the air is still warm. The moon has managed to wiggle its way into the bedroom through a small gap where the curtains don't quite meet. I concentrate on this small shaft of light and force myself to speak.

‘Charlie?'

‘Yeah.'

The darkness covering Charlie's face is the only thing that lets me continue.

‘The bald spots you saw today. Well … I pull my own hair out.'

The words come out like vomit. Blurted out into the air. As soon as I've said them, I want to take them back.

‘Have you always?'

‘No.'

‘Does it hurt?'

‘A little.'

‘Libby, you don't have to tell me anything, but I'm a good listener if you want to.'

Her words travel through the darkness and unlock a secret door to the place where I store all my pain. Sadness that has been banked up comes flooding out in a torrent of tears. My breath comes in short gasps as I try and control my emotions.

‘It's OK, Libby.' I hear some rustling as Charlie pulls a blanket from her bed and wraps it around her. She comes over and sits at the foot of my bed.

‘I wanted to tell you at school,' I say, ‘but I couldn't get the words out – “Oh yeah, did I mention that I'm a crazy freak and pull my hair out?” Most of the time I don't want to believe it's what I do.'

‘Oh, Libby. It's something you do. That's not who you are. Our friendship isn't based on how many hairs you have on your head. I couldn't give a shit if you want to pull the lot out.'

‘That might happen.'

‘So what? You're a good person. You're kind and smart. Everyone's got some shit to work on.'

‘I don't think so. Your family seems normal.'

‘Who's the judge of normal? Our family's just as messed up as the next one. Anyway, the ones that look “normal” are probably the biggest liars. They'll kill themselves trying to make it all look good.'

A picture of Mum pops into my head.

‘Koro says that most people get lost a few times on this big trip called life. Being honest about where and who you are, is the only way to find your way home.'

I listen, as the huddled mass at the end of my bed wraps me up in words of comfort. Generations of wisdom seem to have been infused into her fourteen-year-old brain. She's so like her grandfather.

‘Your grandfather knows so much stuff.'

‘Yeah, but you've got to be careful. He makes a lot of it up. One time he told me that he knew how to catch shooting stars. He showed me a burn on his hand where he said he'd held onto one for too long. I believed him for years.'

Charlie giggles. ‘I remember another time when I was six. Shona Riley, a kid at my school that I hadn't invited to my birthday party, told all the kids that I had nits. No one sat by me for a whole week. I was so mad when I found out. I got home expecting sympathy from Koro or some advice on how to get even, but instead he told me I'd better deal with it. He said that it didn't matter if I was wrong or right, but that if I held onto any part of it, a sore would grow. We have a saying, “you better go pick some plums”, which means you better forgive or let go of something.'

‘Why plums?'

‘We have a beautiful old plum tree out the back of the house. When I was younger and I was pissed off about something, I'd climb up the tree and not come down until I'd let it go. Mum threatened to cut it down one time when I wouldn't come in for dinner. Unfortunately it's got some fungal disease, and it looks like it might die. I feel a bit guilty about dumping and leaving all my evil thoughts up the tree.'

‘My poppa used to tell me to work out what was making me mad and then to let it go. I miss him.'

Charlie wriggles further up my bed.

‘I bet you do.'

It seems that now my emotions have been let loose, there's no roping them in. I sob, and Charlie rubs my back.

‘It's got to come out, Libby. I still grieve for my dad every day, and it's been over six years.'

I swipe at some tears on my cheek.

‘But it's so painful. Surely we can't grieve forever?'

‘I think maybe we do. We just find a way to live with it. Sort of like when some pain-in-the-arse relative comes to stay and you know you can't get rid of them, so you find your way around them.'

‘Most of the time, I feel like I'm a second away from bursting into tears or screaming. I don't know if that's grief or madness.'

‘Could be both. But it sounds like grief. I think we have the big grief and then lingering pockets of it. Some pockets are so deep that we don't even know we have them. Sometimes at the worst possible moment, a sight or a sound can make them empty out their contents. It's not nice, but you won't die from it.'

‘I feel like I have.'

‘You're still breathing, so you haven't. Think of it like being thrown in the river. At first there's the shock of it, and then after a moment you realise that you need to swim to save yourself.'

‘I don't know if I want to. I think I pull my hair out because it takes me away from this world. Like someone inside me has been screaming at me all day, and for a moment I get to silence them and shelter from the constant pain. I like that world, Charlie.'

‘Yeah, I get that. But it's not a real world. You can't live there forever. It's like clinging to a twig on the riverbank. You know you can't climb up it, so you're left with two choices. You can struggle and fight the current and wish you weren't in the river, or let go and let it take you where it will. You have to trust that you'll end up in a better place.'