The Smoke Jumper (43 page)

‘It is neither good nor evil. Like fire itself. My people have a story which I will tell you. But now the day grows hot and we must go back to the shade of the valley.’

Kocha didn’t tell him the story that night, as Connor had expected. Nor the next. And he began to wonder if the old man had forgotten. But he didn’t remind him, for in his heart there was a trace of fear that the story might turn out to be one that he would regret having heard.

But now they had reached the ocean and their journey was all but done. And with the mantis shoe moon curving high across it and the chill air filled with the rhythmic thunder and draw of the waves, Kocha leaned forward and the glow of the fire glinted in his black eyes and unprompted he began.

‘Long ago, after Kaang made the world and every creature that lived there, he gave to men the gift of fire. But men grew greedy and disobedient and fought among themselves. So, to punish them, Kaang decided to take back his gift and he sent the Flame Spirit in the shape of a great kudu to run around and scoop all their fires onto his horns and bring them to him.

‘Tchue, who was a great hunter and leader of his people, saw Kudu doing this and shot him in the heart with his bow and arrow. Kaang was very angry and demanded that Tchue make amends by giving to Kudu his own heart. “But how am I to live without a heart?” Tchue asked. Kaang plucked a stone from the ground and said, “This shall be your heart.” So Tchue delivered up his heart and put the stone in its place and returned to his people.

‘But because the stone was so heavy, he could no longer hunt and feed his people and they turned against him and banished him. For many years he wandered alone, eating only flies and what the crows and the jackals left. One day Kaang spied him drinking from a river and, still angry with him, hurled a bolt of lightning at him. The bush all around Tchue caught fire and the only escape was across the river. The river flowed fast and dangerously. There were some stepping stones but the nearest one had been swept away. Tchue thought that if he used every last bit of his strength he might just be able to leap to the next one.

‘As he was about to jump he heard a terrible wailing and he looked down and there was a praying mantis sitting at the water’s edge. “Help me, help me!” he cried. “Or I will drown or perish in the fire!” Tchue offered to carry him, but warned him that even with the little extra weight, he might not be able to make the jump. “Then find another stone, you fool!” shouted the ungrateful mantis (who, of course, was really Kaang).

‘Tchue looked around but there were no stones to be seen and the fire was burning closer and closer. Then he remembered the stone that was his heart. And he took it from his chest and tossed it into the water to make the first stepping stone. Without so much as a thank-you, the mantis hopped onto it and scampered across all the other stones to the far side where he disappeared into the bush.

‘Tchue tried to follow, but because he now had no heart at all, he had not even the strength to make it to the first stone, his own heart. And he sank to his knees and prepared to die in the fire. Then, behind him, in the burning bushes, he heard a sound and he looked up and saw the Flame Spirit, with his blazing horns, standing over him. He had been sent by Kaang and he gathered Tchue up and put him on his back and carried him over the river to safety.

‘And because Tchue had shown such great courage and generosity, Kaang forgave him and broke off a piece of Kudu’s fiery horn and placed it in his chest for a heart. And Tchue went home to his people and they welcomed him as a great hero. And, with Kaang’s blessing, he lit their fires again with his heart.

‘And that is why when you see a kudu, you will notice how his horns have been twisted by the heat and that he bears the mark of the flames upon his sides.’

He paused awhile and smiled and looked deep into Connor’s eyes.

‘I think maybe you know this story.’

Connor shook his head.

‘Not until now. Thank you.’

They sat for a long time staring into the embers of the fire and spoke no more. Before they turned in, they stacked the fire with the rest of the driftwood. The wind had dropped and the flames rose without waver into the night and the two men stood back and watched. Just as the fire was settling, Kocha gently touched him on the elbow and made a little gesture with his chin and Connor turned and looked where he was bade. It took a while for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. But then he saw it. Some thirty yards along the shore, beyond the moonlit cage of the whale’s bones, a lion stood staring back at them with mirrored eyes.

He was an old male and even by the modest light of moon and fire, Connor could see that his coat and mane were past their prime. But his manner more than made up for it and he studied them both with a regal disdain, swishing his tail from side to side. How long they stayed like that, Connor couldn’t say, for time seemed suspended. Then, with a final flourish of his tail, the lion turned and made his stately way up the shore and into the dunes.

At the edge of darkness he stopped and stared back at them one last time over his shoulder. And then he turned away and was gone.

25

J
ulia put on the leather gauntlets, lowered the visor of her hardhat and picked up the chainsaw.

‘Okay, buddy. Keep that rope taut, do you hear?’

Amy nodded. She was standing about twelve feet away, holding onto the other end of the rope that was attached to the post that Julia was about to cut down. She leaned back and took the strain and grinned.

‘What are you smirking at?’ Julia said.

‘You. You look so funny.’

‘I think I look pretty darned cool.’

‘You look hot. You’re all sweaty and yucky.’

‘Well, thank you, Missy Prissy. Okay, get ready.’

She yanked the cord and the chainsaw spluttered and roared into life. It was a hot August afternoon and she was indeed all sweaty and yucky. A job that she had expected to take a couple of hours had taken almost the whole day. They were removing the posts of the old rope rail that Ed had always used to find his way to the river. But they had found them so securely rooted in cement that each one required a major excavation. Amy had suggested they simply cut the posts as close to the ground as possible and leave the cement footings in the ground. But Julia wanted to dig them out. Otherwise they would forever be tripping over the stumps.

Starting down by the river, they had worked their way up toward the house, refining their teamwork and technique as they went. The post through which Julia was sawing now was the last. The symbolic significance of the job wasn’t lost on either of them.

People were full of wise advice about the big issues that surrounded the death of a loved one. There were books galore about the importance of proper mourning and about the open resolution of grief and guilt and anger. But it was the little things, the trivial details, that Julia found so perplexing. When was the right time to remove Ed’s coats from the pegs by the door? And his muddy boots and his cane from the corner? And should she discuss it with Amy or do it furtively so that they could both pretend not to have noticed? Perhaps time alone was the judge of these things.

The first six months had been a matter of plain survival for both of them. When the shock wave of Ed’s death subsided, it left Julia feeling oddly separate from everyone and everything but Amy. They clove to each other like abandoned creatures in a nest and when Julia peeped out at the world it was as if she saw it through a cold haze. She had always known, of course, that Ed’s life hung by thinner strings than most, that with his diabetes there was always the chance of some perverse and potentially fatal new glitch. But she realized now that deep down she had always thought of the likelihood as remote, almost academic, like the chance of life being discovered on another planet. Perhaps she had done this to protect herself and Amy. Or perhaps it was because Ed’s lust for life, his energy and optimism were simply so great that they masked the reality, for how could a man so vividly alive be at any real risk?

During those first cold months, it hadn’t occurred to her to start removing or rearranging his things. It was crazy, she knew, but it seemed perfectly possible that one day he might reappear, as if nothing had happened, that she might come home one afternoon and there he would be, beaming at her from the piano, asking her in one of his impromptu librettos what kind of day she’d had. Even if it had occurred to her to move his things, it would have struck her as sacrilegious.

So his clothes stayed in the closet, his shaving things in the bathroom cabinet, his sheets of music still stacked on the lid of the piano, which Amy rarely played anymore. Julia understood why and didn’t push her, hoping that in time she would come back to it. Meanwhile, the piano stood like a solemn black mausoleum, gathering a dust of memories on its closed lid. And as the months passed, so the echo of its silence grew ever more deafening.

On the night Ed died Amy had slept in Julia’s bed and she’d slept there ever since. Again, Julia worried if this was right, if it would somehow hamper the child’s independence. But the truth was, they both enjoyed the comfort and the company, enjoyed having someone to hug in the middle of a cold night when either one of them felt lonely or sad. At weekends they would have breakfast in bed and lounge there half the morning sometimes, reading their books and chatting. And it was while doing that this morning that Julia had casually floated the idea of removing the rope rail. It was no big deal, she said, but maybe it would give them more space for Frisbee and ball games and so on.

‘Would we get a man in to do it?’

‘A
man
? Are you kidding? This is no job for a man. You and me, sister. The gals is gonna do it.’

Amy grinned. ‘Cool.’

‘You don’t think it matters that it was, you know, well, Daddy’s thing?’

‘Do you?’

‘No.’

‘Nor me. He’d say it was the right thing to do.’

Now, six hours later, the chainsaw was almost through the last post.

‘Okay!’ Julia yelled. ‘Get ready. Here she goes!’

‘Timber!’

The post toppled slowly and as it landed on the grass with a thump, they both cheered. Julia killed the chainsaw and when its noise subsided they heard the phone ringing.

‘Honey, would you get that?’

Amy ran up onto the deck and into the house while Julia took off her hardhat and, picking up the spade, started to dig around the foot of the post to loosen the cement footing.

‘Mommy? It’s for you.’

From her voice, Julia knew there was something special about the call. She took off the gauntlets and stepped up onto the deck.

‘Who is it?’

‘I think he said he was your dad.’

‘Well, there’s a thing.’

She made a comical face and ruffled Amy’s hair as she walked past her toward the deck doors, trying to look unruffled. In fact her heart was doing cartwheels. She hadn’t heard from him in five years and it was probably more like fifteen since she had last seen him. When they invited him to the wedding, he had written back with some feeble excuse. He had never met Ed and never met Amy, his only granddaughter. By the time Julia picked up the phone, she was already seething.

‘Hello?’

‘Julia?’

‘Yes, who is this?’ It was mean, but she couldn’t resist it.

‘It’s your father.’

‘Oh. Hi.’

‘Hi. How are you?’

Julia laughed. ‘Well, I’m just . . . Completely fine, thanks. How’re you?’

‘I’m okay. That was Amy, I imagine.’

Imagine.
Of course, that’s all he could do, never having laid eyes on her.

‘Yep. That was your granddaughter.’

There was a pause. She wasn’t going to make it easier for him by filling it.

‘So, listen. I’m calling from Seattle.’

‘Oh, nice.’

‘Yeah, I’m over here for a couple of days on business. And, well, I wondered if I might hop on a plane and come down and visit with you.’

It almost floored her. She couldn’t think what to say. She looked around and saw Amy standing in the doorway, watching and listening.

‘Of course,’ her father went on, ‘if it’s inconvenient or you’d rather I didn’t, I’d absolutely understand.’

‘No. Well. I mean, God, it’s just been such a long time.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

There was another pause, while Julia’s mind scrolled on overdrive through all the conflicting emotions he had managed to stir with so few words.

‘Listen,’ he went on. ‘I know how you must be feeling—’

‘Please don’t presume to know how I feel,’ she snapped.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Look, maybe it was a bad idea to call.’

‘I don’t even know where you live nowadays!’

‘I know.’

‘I mean . . . Jesus!’

She was about to ask who the hell he thought he was, calling out of the blue like this and thinking he could just breeze into their lives when it suited him. Then she turned and looked again at Amy and saw how worried she looked at hearing all this. She reached out an arm and Amy came over and nestled against her. Julia took a deep breath and said quietly into the phone:

‘Come.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Come and see us. We’d like you to.’

He flew in the following evening.

His hair was completely white and he was shorter and slighter than she remembered him. She had worked out that he must be in his mid to late fifties but he was still a goodlooking man. Above all, she remembered the crooked smile and the blue, faintly melancholy eyes. He saw her as soon as he came through the arrivals gate and headed toward where she stood with Amy tucked under her arm.

On the way to the airport and all the time they had been waiting, Julia had been lecturing herself not to cry when they met and as he drew near she could see he was fighting tears and she guessed that he had probably made the same resolution. He hugged her tightly and for a long time, neither of them saying a word, and the smell of him came back to her and it was that, more than anything, that nearly set her weeping. But they both just about held out.