He stares. Not rudely; apologetically.
"Well, would you like to learn chess? That's a game I like, and I think you will too."
After all, the Russians teach their babies to play-
The green in his eyes seems to be ebbing out of them, leaving them dark blue holes.
He raises both hands in the air, a strange gesture of surrender, and lets them fall.
Although close to the fire, he's shivering.
What in the names of all gods and little fishes is the matter?
She shakes chess from her mind and looks down at him.
A pair of dilapidated sandals, brown, left foot holed and losing its buckle strap; jeans, denim, once green, now worn to a dun no-colour in most places. Frayed at the cuffs, and torn on the left inner leg;
elastic belt, dark green, missing buckle decoration. Ineptly put on leaving out two belt loops;
a t-shirt, originally cream or white presumably, although they might make them that off shade of grey (and the rest of you could do with a wash too, boyo);
and then there's this flannel shirt, grey and thinnish, with no cuff buttons.
That outfit can't be overly warm, even with some ounces of hair to help.
He stares her scrutiny out, bleakly.
She picks up her jerkin, laid on the table by the child when they re-entered the room, and throws it at him.
"Put that on for a while, eh? And would you like a coffee before I start to teach you chess? It was a bit cold out there, huh?"
She saw I am cold She saw I am cold
He is exultant with the attention. The defensive tautness of his face eases, and his smile is soft and incredibly young.
Brilliant, touchingly grateful, and toothless, she thinks, grinning back to him, but blinking at the age the smile seems to reveal him as.
I am in her jacket to warm, he croons inside himself,
She saw I am cold
and I am in her jacket to warm.
It runs through his mind like a refrain. Warmness begins to seep back into him, easing the terrible ache, relaxing him like a drug.
"Hey!" calls Kerewin, and whistles, a piercing sound like a shepherd calling his dog.
The boy sits up suddenly, shaking his head.
"Oath, I do believe you were nearly asleep," and Simon grins sheepishly, clutching the mug of coffee to him.
She sets out the chessmen, naming them as she does, and demonstrating the move of each piece. She is patient and gentle, intent on sharing the pleasure the game gives her. Over the chessboard she is completely relaxed: the barriers of unequal intellect, and the child's dumbness, have ceased to exist. He is a person to whom she is teaching chess, and the thing that matters is that he enjoys his initiation.
He picks up the moves of bishop and rook, king and queen, in what seems to her like a surprisingly short time. But the way a pawn captures, and the eccentricity of the moving knight befuddle him.
"No, one ahead, and one to the side," showing the move for the fifth time. There is a scraping sound behind her. She swings round to it, and freezes.
The man standing in the doorway smiles benignly.
"Sorry to creep up on you like that, eh. I banged on your door the last five minutes till it swung open, but nobody came. So I just came up, hearing the voice."
He is a thin little man, with large brown eyes. He stands at ease, watching over her shoulder as the boy gets to his feet.
"James Piripi Tainui," he says, not looking quite at her. "Piri, they call me." He lifts his hands. "Come here you. You're for the high jump, I think."
Kerewin says slowly, not at all friendly,
"I was expecting his father. I was told the Tainuis were all over in Christchurch. And it's one helluva early."
The man smiles, a pink gummed grin, gentle and considering.
"Haimona, do some explaining eh."
The boy folds his arms and spits on the floor.
Piri Tainui groans.
"Here we go again," he says, "Look Himi, Joe's in bed and I just come home last night. There's this bloke on the phone at some horrible hour saying you're round at that queer place, excuse me, on the Paeora beach, and someone's to pick you up. Well, Joe's out cold, it's got to be me. Don't make things difficult, Himi."
Kerewin frowns, Himi? O probably transliteration for Sim but where've I heard it?
Piri turns to her, hands beseeching aid.
"Lady, I don't know who you are, but thank you for keeping him the night Joe'll be round later to make things right, eh, but he can't come now. I thought I had better get here first thing in case there was any trouble. Sorry it's so early."
"There's been no trouble." Her frown vanishes. She stands up, holding out her hand.
"My name's Kerewin Holmes, Kerewin or Kere is what I get called. I'm glad you've come, early or not," and Piri shakes her hand murmuring Howd'y'do? and still not looking right at her.
She turns to the child.
"Well, it looks like someone else is going to have to finish teaching you that game. You left anything behind?"
The small face turns masklike. He shakes his head briefly, and shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, strolling across the floor to Piri Tainui with only the suggestion of a limp.
Faker.
But she shrugs.
"Been nice knowing you, Simon Gillayley," and belatedly offers Piri a coffee. He shakes his head, still smiling, still avoiding her eyes. He says to Simon,
"Say thank you to the lady eh," and the boy flashes her a brash smirk.
"That's all?" asks the man, and the child turns fast and angrily on him, digging two fingers veed in an obscene gesture at his face.
Piri doesn't move. "E, it's not that bad," he says, very quiet, very gentle, then picks him up.
"Well thank you," he says, stroking the boy. Simon's face is unreadable, still as stone, as though it is frozen.
"That's okay. Sorry you haven't got time for a coffee," leading the way downstairs.
Across her bridge she can see a car.
"You got here all right, no bogging down?" making polite conversation as they walk over the frozen lawn. "I keep on meaning to get that track graded, but you know how it is."
"O yeah. It was a good trip though. No trouble at all." Okay, well we'll see you again some time, Mr Tainui. Thanks for coming." The man grins elfinly. Goodbye Simon."
he boy gets woodenly into the car, making no gesture of farewell.
Berloody stuff yourself then, thinks Kerewin as the car drives on. Good riddance, you sullen little creep.
us when she's putting the chess pieces away that she notices the boy has left his sandal behind.
And taken the black queen.
2. Feelers
On the floor at her feet was an engraved double-spiral, one of the kind that wound your eyes round and round into the centre where surprise you found the beginning of another spiral that led your eyes out again to the nothingness of the outside. Or the somethingness: she had never quite made her mind up as to what a nothingness was. Whatever way you defined it, it seemed to be something.
The spiral made a useful thought-focus, a mandala, anyway.
She brought her eyes back to it, and reread a letter in her mind. Written on pale pink paper, unfranked envelope and no stamp, the whole therefore delivered by hand. Envelope and paper the same genteel pink: the best matched stuff for refusing invitations and writing duty letters.
The writing was firm and flowing. Nicely sloped, easy to read, looked curiously delicate. Small' letters and the pink paper maybe made for that impression. A prim hand.
Dear Ms Homes,
(a fair enough phonetic rendering of her name, presumably extracted from the urchin)
Thank you very much for looking after my son this weekend. His impromptu 'visits' seldom have such a happy result. He enjoyed himself so much that he has indicated he'd like to return!