The Scent of Apples (17 page)

A cream-coloured Austin A40 is parked in the driveway. Charlie recognises the car as the local doctor's, and runs the last few feet to the house.

‘Mum, where are you?' she yells from the porch.

‘Shh, Charlie, you'll wake the dead,' Hautai says, appearing from the hallway carrying a cardboard box containing black bandages and old flax strips.

‘Is Koro alright?'

Hautai brushes a strand of hair back from her face.

‘He's fine, Charlie. I asked the doctor to come and have a look at him, more for my sake really.' She bends down and puts the box by the door. ‘I'll get you to bury these later,' she says to Charlie.

As she washes her hands, a man who looks older than Koro and wears a crumpled brown suit emerges from the hall. He snaps the locks on a shabby leather bag and clears his throat.

‘He definitely has a broken arm.'

I have to turn away from Charlie to stop my laughter. Her eyebrows shoot up in pretend surprise. Hautai gives her a look that can only mean
don't you dare say a word.

‘I would still recommend he goes to the hospital and gets it set properly. But I realise from my short time with him how difficult it may be to convince him.' He turns his face, full of sympathy, towards Hautai. ‘I will say that, as primitive as it is, what has been done to his arm has stabilised the fracture. My concern is that it's still open to infection.'

Hautai pushes the hall door shut, drowning out Koro's yelling.

‘Well, thank you for coming, doctor. I think we can manage to keep the wound clean, but I'll be in touch if anything changes.'

The doctor looks bewildered as he gets ushered out the door. Hautai waits on the porch until he gets in his car and waves out to him as he chugs off down the hill.

‘Thank God for back bedrooms.' Hautai slides the ranch slider closed and opens up the hallway door.

Koro is propped up by pillows. He has a little colour back in his cheeks and a smug look on his face.

‘Well, would you believe? I've got a broken arm!'

Hautai shakes her head and ignores his comments. On the bedside table she has placed a pot filled with more black liquid. With some tongs, she takes some swabs of cotton that are soaking in it and lays them on the wound. Without a word between them, Charlie and her mum work together to bind another splint to Koro's arm.

‘A few days' rest and I should be as good as new.'

‘Yep, a few days' rest and a sprinkling of fairy dust should see you out digging in the garden by Wednesday,' Hautai says.

‘I don't like your tone,' Koro says. ‘I think I'll fire you and find a nurse with some tenderness in her heart. Charlie, Libby, anyone want to volunteer?'

‘Charlie has school tomorrow and Libby is our guest. We only put up with you because you're family. Did you two get the stuff for the stings?'

Charlie removes the books from the canvas bag. A heady aroma of spices precedes the ring binder, which she lays on the bed beside Koro. The vine is wrapped up in a side pocket.

‘What part did it say to use, Libby?'

‘We have to get the gel stuff from inside the stem.'

I blush as all three look at me.

‘Another helper,' Koro says.

‘You leave her alone,' Hautai says. ‘You have to watch him, Libby. He'll have you collecting plants from all sorts of wild places and at all times of the day and night.'

‘It's true,' Charlie says. ‘That reminds me, I saw a kawau-pū on the beach yesterday. Autumn's going to arrive early.'

‘What's a kawau-pū?' I ask.

‘A black shag.'

I imagine the bird flying along the beach dragging autumn behind it. I'm not sure how everything is connected, but I'm starting to get the feeling that it is. And that I just haven't been paying attention.

‘That's early; are you sure it was a kawau-pū?' Koro asks.

‘Pretty sure.'

‘Oh God, I nearly forgot to tell you,' Hautai says to Charlie. ‘Jessie Hemara died yesterday.'

‘That's sad. She taught all of us kids,' Charlie tells me, ‘and was about a hundred when I was a five-year-old.'

‘Charlie,' says Hautai.

Charlie shrugs. ‘Sorry, Mum.'

‘They were taking her body to Poihākena Marae this morning. I'll take you kids down this afternoon so you can pay your respects. Actually, Libby, would you mind looking after Koro while we do that?'

‘Sure.'

‘You can just text Charlie if Koro causes you too much trouble.'

Koro gives her a smile. ‘We'll be fine, don't you worry.'

‘Have you rung your mum, Libby?' Hautai asks.

‘Um, not yet.'

‘Do you want me to talk to her? You can't go back to school with that rash, and they'll be expecting you back tonight.'

‘I'll ring her.'

*

After the family leave for the marae, and with Koro asleep, the house feels like it's lost its breath. Then Koro yells out from the bedroom and the house inhales again.

By the time I get to the bedroom door, he is struggling to push himself up with one arm.

‘Here, let me help you.'

Between us we manage to sit him upright. He gives me a weak smile, but I can see the pain in his eyes.

‘Can I get you something for the pain?'

‘Yeah, Hautai will have something brewing on the stove. Can you bring me a mugful?'

‘Sure.'

‘And pass me that.' He points to the gourd shaped like a fish.

When I come back in with the mug, he has spilt black seeds all over the duvet.

‘I dropped the bloody things.'

I put the cup on the bedside table and start to pick up the seeds.

‘What sort of seeds are they?'

‘You'll need to find out for yourself. You won't learn anything if I just tell you.' He pushes the ring binder towards me.

I pass him the mug with the painkiller in it. He gulps it.

I sit on the end of his bed. ‘How can I tell from such a tiny seed what plant it came from?'

‘By using all your senses. You can never tell what something – or someone – is just by looking at it. You have to get inside to see what it's made of. That's where the treasure's to be found.'

He takes another big gulp of liquid, leans back on his pillow and closes his eyes.

I hold the seed between my thumb and forefinger and examine it closely. It has a small raised line running around the middle. It is blood red, not black like I first thought. The smell, as I hold it to my nose and sniff, reminds me of a pink smoker lolly.

Koro opens his eyes and peers at me over the rim of his cup. I turn the pages in the folder and read the descriptions. I try and find a likeness in the drawings, but after fifteen minutes I still haven't worked out what plant the seed comes from.

‘I can't find it.'

‘Maybe it doesn't exist,' Koro says.

‘It does, but I just haven't found it.'

‘So, that's your answer, Libby.'

‘I don't understand.'

Koro's eyelids look like they are about to close again.

‘No matter what the problem is, just because you can't find an answer straight away, it doesn't mean there isn't one. You may have to look a little harder or a little longer.'

Koro isn't talking about the seed. A memory of me standing by the river, my bald spots on show for the entire world to see, races through my mind.

He starts to cough. I see he's tiring.

I take the mug from his hand and the pillow from behind his back.

‘I think that bloody daughter of mine put a sedative in with the painkiller. She's a true witch that one.'

I put the ring binder on the floor and tuck the covers up around him. I think he's already asleep as I tip-toe out of the room. But just as I get to the door, I hear a whisper behind me.

‘If you hold on too tight to the past, Libby, the future can't come in.'

*

My mind is replaying Koro's conversation when a car pulls into the driveway. I see from the kitchen window that it's Weketia. I haven't seen her since we capsized. Just as I'm wondering where to hide, she sees me and waves out.

‘Hi Libby. Where is everyone?'

‘They went down to the marae. Should be back soon.'

‘Cool. I just came to raid the freezer before I go back to Hamilton. How's the patient?'

‘He's gone back to sleep. He thinks your mum dropped a few leaves of something in with the painkiller to make him sleep.'

‘She probably did. I don't know which one of those two is the most stubborn.' She opens the kitchen cupboards and finds a half-eaten chocolate cake in one of the tins. ‘We better have coffee to go with this.'

She flicks the kettle on and gets two cups from hooks hanging under a shelf. ‘How do you have it, Libby?'

‘White and one,' I say, never having had a cup before.

She brings both cups back to the table and sits down. She wraps both her hands around the mug. ‘How's your rash? Mum said you got stung by some jellyfish.'

‘Yeah, it's nothing.'

‘Good. I hope Charlie warned you about the madhouse before she brought you out here.'

‘It's been fun.'

‘If you call a near-drowning fun.'

I hope that the thin wisp of steam from my coffee hides the blush that comes to my cheeks.

‘Shit, did I say something to embarrass you?'

‘No. I just blush a lot.'

‘You're embarrassed about your bald spots, aren't you?'

Charlie's family sure know how to say things as they see them. I nod.

‘Charlie told you I'm a hairdresser, eh?'

I nod again.

‘So, I see all sorts. Nits, alopecia. I have one client like you, with trich.'

‘With what?'

‘Oh God, sorry Libby. I just presumed you had trichotillomania.'

‘What's that?'

‘I don't know much, but it seems that some people have this compulsion to pull out their hair. You know how some people pick their skin, and others can't stop swearing: it's like one of those things.'

‘You mean like an obsessive compulsive disorder.'

‘Sort of, but different. My client said she used to think she was the only one in the world to do it. She said once she found out that thousands of other people do it too, it made it easier to deal with. She's an amazing woman. Married, children, high up in a dairy company – and she just happens to pull her hair out.'

I try and soak up what I'm hearing. The shock is like being told I've got a twin. Thousands of other people do it? Maybe I'm not nuts. I'm excited and confused all at once. ‘Did the lady say if there's a cure?'

‘Sorry, Libby. I didn't ask her. She did say there's a really good website, if I wanted to know more. I don't remember what it was but I can find out.'

‘That's OK. I can Google it.'

‘Yeah, just type in Trichotillomania. I'm not sure how you spell it but it should come up. Look, I better get going. Here's my salon number if you want to get hold of me. I'm always looking for models to practice on. You have a beautiful face.' Weketia passes me her card.

‘Thanks.'

She kisses me on the cheek like we're old friends before she flits out the door.

I sit at the table for ages. Soaking up all I've just learnt.

I walk slowly down the hall to the telephone. I lift the receiver and ring Mum. Then I wait.

Boys' faces are the first thing I see in the morning.

‘See ya,' Kawharu says, handing me a chook feather. ‘It's from Molly.'

I'm barely awake but sit up in bed. I have a dull headache from sleeping with my hair tied up. I remember that Mum is picking me up this morning, and the dullness turns into a thud right in the middle of my temple.

I slide my fingers along the feather, and it comforts me. I have an urge to feel the softness against my lips, but a small face in front of me, with one missing tooth, waits for me to respond.

‘That's so sweet. Thank you, Kawharu.'

He shrugs his shoulders like it's nothing.

Kawharu had taken me to see his bantam chooks when he got back from the marae. His chest puffed out as he showed me the chook run he helped to build. I got the long tour, which included seeing which boards he nailed in, and being introduced to each one of the bantams. Molly was the mother and also his favourite.

Tainui holds out a present, scrunched up in Christmas paper.

‘It's a wētā,' he says.

When I hesitate, he grins. ‘Go on, open it.'

Inside a matchbox, nestled in cotton wool, is a small dead weta. It must be from Tainui's collection of coloured glass, birds' nests and small skeletons, which crams a shelf in his bedroom.

‘Thank you both. I'll treasure these.'

Unlike Kawharu and his coolness, Tainui looks like he's just given me a diamond. Charlie ruffles his hair as she sits down on my bed.

‘You two better hurry up and get changed or Mum will drop you at school in your pyjamas.'

Tainui and Kawharu study each other. One has a pair of pyjamas with cowboys on it and the other has aeroplanes. They both run out of the room giggling.

Charlie passes me a present wrapped in purple tissue paper. A coloured rose made from flax is tied to the parcel with flax fibres.

‘Rukawai made you the flower.'

I untie the rose and place it beside me. Under a layer of tissue paper is a small notebook. Painted on the black cover, a bright orange monarch butterfly spreads her wings. Charlie's signature is scrawled at the bottom.

‘I thought this might come in handy.'

I hug it to my chest, not trusting myself to speak.

‘I'm not saying goodbye, just see you later.' Charlie wraps her arms around me. I'm starting to get used to all their hugging.

Hautai pokes her head around the door.

‘Come on Charlie, we'll be late. I'll be back soon, Libby.'

‘OK. You better go, Charlie. Thank you. For everything.'

‘I didn't do anything, but you're welcome. Don't forget to warn your mum I'm coming to stay.'

*

I wrap up my gifts and lay them gently in my suitcase. On my way to say goodbye to Koro, I pass the photographs hanging along the hallway. After spending only a few days with the family it's easy to see which ancestor left a fingerprint on which child.

Koro sits in a wicker chair by a huge picture window. Morning sunlight is captured on the side of his face and in his thinning grey hair. He doesn't turn to look at me as I come into the room, but starts talking while looking at the sparkling waters in the bay below.

‘I was just thinking how every new day offers us another chance to start again.'

He turns to face me.

‘It's time for you to leave, isn't it Libby?'

I nod.

Koro leans forward in his chair and speaks in Māori.

‘Maranga mai, kia kaha.'

‘What does that mean?'

‘Stand up and be strong. I'll see you when you come back.'

I've learnt enough in my few days in Whāingaroa to know that if Koro says I'm coming back then I'm coming back. I kiss him on the cheek.

‘Thank you.'

‘You better go make friends with your mum.' He winks at me as I leave the room.

Tyres crunch on the gravel outside.

*

Mum storms up the path. Every part of my body is on high alert, like it's just had a blast from a cold shower. I know I'm in deep shit, and I haven't got a clue how to dig myself out. I suck in a big breath and open the ranch slider.

‘Hi, Mum.'

‘Are you ready?'

‘Yes, but Hautai's not back from dropping the kids off at school.'

‘I told you I'd come to get you at nine and it's nine.'

She turns and marches straight back up the path to the car. I quickly scribble a thank you note and prop it up on the kitchen table beside a vase of wild daisies that Kawharu picked for his mum.

Mum throws my suitcase in the boot and slams the lid down.

I slide in to the passenger seat, and stay as close to the door as possible. She starts ranting before I've had a chance to put my seat belt on.

‘What the hell did you think you were doing, Elizabeth?'

‘I just wanted to stay at my friend's.'

‘So you chose to lie about where you were, instead of asking me?'

‘You wouldn't have let me come if I asked.'

‘You have no idea what I would have said!'

The kānuka trees scratch at the side of the car as we wind our way to the bottom of the hill.

‘Be honest, Mum.'

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?' She glares at me.

‘You don't really want to hear what I have to say. You've never really wanted to listen to anyone else's views.'

‘That's not true!' she yells.

‘Yeah it is, Mum. Especially if they're black or poor.'

Her face is all red, and I heard the tremble in her voice. It feels great to be making her mad, and so I push her more.

‘It's a pity God's already taken, as he's about the only person that would be perfect enough for you. No wonder Dad had to leave you. I will as soon as I can. Patrick was the lucky one!'

Bullseye.

I see the hurt look in her eyes, a second before the road disappears and is suddenly replaced by toetoe and flax bushes. Everything goes in slow motion. We slide off the road and into the ditch. I feel like I'm watching a movie as I see Mum's head hit the side window and watch the blood trickle from the cut.

The car comes to a standstill just before the sewage pond.

‘Shit. Mum.' I unbuckle my seat belt and lean over towards her. ‘Say something!'

Nothing.

‘Mum!'

She nods.

Thank you, God
. ‘Are you OK?'

‘I think so. My foot's stuck.'

I look down and see that her foot is stuck under the brake pedal and has a large gash on it. I push my door open and run around the car to her side. I use all my strength to pull open her door through the dense kikuyu, and drop down on my knees. She winces with pain as I lift the pedal up and release her foot.

‘Mum?'

‘You alright, Elizabeth?' She sounds like she's woken from an anaesthetic. It seems to take forever for her to focus on my face.

‘Mum, I'm fine. I'm so sorry.' I am crying: huge hiccupping sobs.

‘Shh. It's not your fault. I wasn't watching the road.'

‘I didn't mean what I said.'

‘It's OK, Elizabeth.'

‘No. It's not. Mum, I'm so sorry.' I want to take my words back, but words have a no-refund policy: you don't get to take them back and swap them for something nicer. I feel a drop of wet on my hand. Blood. Shit.

‘I've got to get some help. I'll be back.' I disappear before she has a chance to protest. As I clamber out of the ditch, I hear her yell out to me to be careful. A car comes around the corner. I start waving like a lunatic and then recognise Hautai.

She pulls off the road immediately, and then sees our car in the ditch.

‘Is that your mum's car? Are you all right? Is your mum OK?'

I nod in answer to all her questions and follow her as she pushes through the grass to the car. She leans down and starts talking to Mum. I hear something about an ankle, and then Hautai makes Mum put her right arm around her neck and pulls her from the car. She wraps her arm around Mum's waist and helps her to walk to her car.

‘Open up the back door for me, Libby. Careful of your head,' Hautai tells Mum, as she helps her into the back seat. I slide in beside her and take her hand.

She pats the top of it. ‘It's just a bang on the head; stop looking so worried.'

‘What about your ankle?'

‘It's not broken. It just needs a bit of ice.'

We wind our way back up the driveway. I'm surprised to see Koro sitting out on the porch.

Hautai leaps out of the car. ‘What on earth are you doing out of bed?'

‘You're not going to be able to hide me in a back bedroom forever. Libby, nice to see you back. I wasn't expecting to see you quite so soon, though.'

‘Koro, this is my mum.'

Mum leans on Hautai's arm for support as she hobbles up the path. ‘Hi, I'm Anne.'

‘Nice to meet you, Anne. Libby, go inside and put the kettle on for your mum.'

By the time I get back, Mum is sitting in one of the armchairs with the stuffing oozing out. Her foot is up on an overturned crate with a pillow on the top. Hautai has covered a bag of frozen peas in a tea towel and wrapped this around Mum's ankle.

‘Here, Libby,' Hautai says. ‘Hold this on your mum's ankle and I'll ring Tama at work and get him to pull your mum's car out.'

‘I can just call a tow truck.'

‘It's no problem. He works at the mechanic's at the top of the hill. He's got a winch on the front of his ute, and he can check if anything's damaged.'

I sit on the ground beside the crate, and look up at the cut on Mum's forehead. Thank God, it's stopped bleeding.

‘So, where did you come off the road?' Koro asks.

‘Down by the sewage ponds.'

‘Oh. Taniwha corner. We get a lot of cars going off there. Years ago a lady and her baby fell out of a bus on that corner. Apparently the doors just flew open and she fell out.'

Mum and I look at each other. We both know that it wasn't a taniwha that made us crash. It was me. Me being mean to Mum so I could feel better.

‘I'm just grateful that nothing happened to Elizabeth.'

For a moment we both just look at each other. My shame makes me speechless.

Hautai comes in, adds a few crushed leaves to the pot and pours us all a cup of tea. While we drink it, she bandages Mum's ankle. I'm relieved to see the cloth bandage, as I don't think Mum could cope with some flax being woven around her foot today. A few minutes later, Tama drives up the driveway in our car, and another boy follows in the red ute.

‘She's all sweet,' Tama yells out to us. He thumps on the bonnet and then jumps in his ute and heads off down the hill.

‘I didn't even get to thank him or give him any money,' Mum says.

‘Don't be silly, he wouldn't take any money. We better get you to the doctors' and get them to check out your ankle,' Hautai says.

‘I'm sure I'll be fine to drive.' I see Mum scan the room and take in the overflowing washing in a wicker basket and the newspapers piled up high beside an armchair bathed in sunlight. ‘I'm sure you've got enough to do.'

‘Nothing that can't wait. Come on, let's get you in the car. Libby, I'll get you to keep an eye on Koro.'

‘Yeah, in case I try and escape,' Koro says.

Koro and Hautai look at each other, but both their eyes are smiling. I wouldn't be surprised if either one of them poked their tongue out. Hautai eases Mum out of the chair, and between us we manage to get her into the passenger seat of the car.

Hautai squeezes her ample frame into the driver's seat, and after a few crunches from the gear box sets off down the hill. Mum looks worried as she stares out the passenger window at me. I want to run and tell her she'll be all right, but they disappear from sight before I get a chance.

Koro slurps a cup of liquid that he's poured from a pot simmering on the stove. After only a few minutes he says he feels drowsy, and goes back to bed. While they're gone I fold up the washing and do the dishes. I make piles of letters and books on the table, and put the vase of wild flowers in the middle. The box of flax and bandages is still by the front door.

I spot an old spade standing up in the veggie garden, and take this and the box around the back of the house. I'm not sure how deep the hole is meant to be, but I dig until I hit a rocky base. I figure the box will just disintegrate, so I throw it all in and cover it up with dirt.

A branch from a gnarly old tree swipes at my arm as I try and pass it. The sprawling tree has a few bloated plums on the top branches, and cankers have formed along the limbs. I know from my experience of our apple trees that these will eventually strangle the life from the tree.

I grab hold of a branch and place my foot in a V shape on one of the lower limbs, and keep climbing until I find a hollow in the tree to nestle into. I tuck my legs into my chest and, like the king of a castle, survey the kingdom below.

The ocean stretches from the horizon all the way up the inner harbour. I watch the movement of the sea as it sneaks along the shore, wearing down the rocks as it travels by. Driftwood hitches a ride to its next resting place. Maybe the only thing in life you can count on is the fact that nothing ever stays the same.

Further down the branch I'm on, a large lesion leaks sap. Bacteria would have entered and infected the bark through the open wound. An image of Charlie up this tree plays over in my mind. Her legs dangling from the limbs, swinging backward and forward until she let go of whatever it was that was pissing her off.

I shimmy along the limb and let my legs straddle either side of the branch. I think I'll have to live up here for a year to let go of all the bits that I'm holding onto. I'm like the Kenyan dung beetle, piling up bits of crap into a tight ball and burying it deep so no one else can get at it. I inhale a huge breath of salty ocean air. I'm not sure if it's being up a tree or the air that clears my head.