"O, vaguely."
"Well, a gale caught a boat here then. A stranger cruiser. It sank off the end of Ennetts Reef. Everybody aboard came ashore. One way or the other."
The man has been talking quickly, almost convulsively, his eyes on the boy who is uncaring, not hearing, it seems.
"Well, meet some jetsam," he says, and his eyes glint, belying the callousness of the flippancy. The deep lines round his mouth are charmed into emphasis for his smile.
I bethought you grim and forty, but now I doubt you're much older than me. Maybe not as old as me.
The lines on his face seem drawn by an inward corroding bitterness, not age. A carelessness of life, an abandonment, death of wife and death of him, she thinks, as her answering smile begins.
"I see. Wreckage washed ashore as opposed to goods found floating. Thanks for answering. I shouldn't have been inquisitive, but it intrigued me. I don't have experience of children of any age group, but his years seem to vary a hell of a lot. One minute he looks about five, and the next he acts as though he's ten times as old."
"Excuse all this," she adds to the boy, who had sat up at the last exchange of smiles, proffering his father the black queen Kerewin had left on the floor.
"That's the way it seems to me every so often too," says Joe agreeably. "Ahh yes Haimona, the chess-"
The grin slides in again, above the strong spade-shaped chin.
"No," he says, "it's maybe seven, possibly eight, but probably six. Maybe even younger, but not likely. God knows. Nobody was at all sure how old you were originally," talking now to Simon P, "and you weren't much bloody help," says Joe.
Simon smiles a bland smile that somehow makes his face seem empty.
Joe turns the queen round in his fingers, examining it from all sides.
"Kerewin, politeness aside, was he good?" His voice deepens further, sounds less strained. The scarring lines that run down his
cheeks and embitter his eyes and the corners of his mouth, lighten a moment. "You see, you-"
She says hurriedly,
"O, he was an excellent guest. He slept most of Saturday, and Piri Tainui arrived before lunch yesterday. At breakfast practically. He was no trouble, I assure you."
"Lucky for you," says Joe to Simon. "Good for you," he amends, and shuffles the child's fringe back off his face. "Hell, I feel as awkward as a cow in a bog… I was going to say that you strike me as someone who'd accept a nuisance, and not make a fuss about it, Kerewin. So, for a beginning I thought, if he'd made a pest of himself, I'd fix that up before we went any further."
Fix it up how? And where are we going? And me not make a fuss? Sheeeit,
but she smiles nastily, while saying,
"I had every intention of shunting him outa here within minutes of his discovery. But then there was his foot. And it started raining. So we had lunch. And then there was the question of who to send him to. All in all, he stayed. If he had made a nuisance of himself or pinched something, or something," now she can feel herself starting to blush, "I would just have dropped him quietly from the top of my Tower."
Joe laughs.
So does Simon, but stops his laughing short.
"Save a lot of future trouble too, eh," says the man. "Look, would it offend you if I offered payment, say for his board?"
"Yes."
"Back in the bog," he says and laughs again, humourlessly. "Well…" dark head downbent, long brown fingers still fiddling with the chesspiece, "that's some of the background. It happens often enough, eh, but generally me or one of my Tainui relations pick him up and bring him home before he really gets anywhere. Or the police," he says, staring at the boy again.
Simon is tracing the intricacies of the tatami mat with his forefinger, absorbed in doing so.
"O."
"You know, this is the first time he's ever ended up really staying with someone." Joe is still frowning at his son. "I was very curious to find out what was the attraction," glancing at her. Again that charming unlining smile.
"Surprise, surprise, nothing sentient. It was the Tower itself, I expect. I've had other people come and gawk at it, but never anyone inside before. Now, that's a thing," she looks at the child. "Is he good at climbing?"
Joe shrugs. "Not particularly. Why's that?"
"Because he managed to get up into a window that has only a chest below it, and the distance between the chest and the sill is rather more than he is, and it's all smooth stone wall. If you follow?" "O?" says Joe, but enquiringly to his son, who sits up and gestures something too fast for her to follow.
You need eyes like an archerfish, able to see what happens on two planes at once. One set for watching the hands, and the other for watching whatever it is he mouths.
Joe interprets, after looking at her puzzled face,
"He stood on the upraised lid of the chest and hoisted himself up. But the lid fell down and he wasn't game to jump to the floor."
"Of course… simple and obvious when you know how." She grins, more to herself than either of them. "The only way I could see him doing it was like some kind of caterpillar with suckerfeet, humping up the wall."
The man guffaws unrestrainedly, "Hear that, e tama?" and the boy smiles, politely, a mere facial twitch that lasts physically for two seconds but somehow lingers.
"Anyone like more coffee?" asks Kerewin hastily. She gets up before they answer, and brings the pot across. The trip is mainly to hide her face. There is something rather hardboiled about that brat, who can smile as he's bid and wind up looking like he's wondering how you'd taste.
As she tops up the cups, the boy stands and limps over to the shelf with the chessboard. From the corner of her eye, she watches the limp. Much reduced, indicative of a mild twinge in the heel. Bloody little fraud, she thinks, but nods to him when he turns round, questioning with his eyes for permission to take the set down.
"You were being taught to play… here, show us what you can do, eh." Joe slides forward to lie at the boy's side, picking up chessmen and placing them in the formal double drawn ranks.
It's the evident familiarity, she tells herself, fingered communion with knight and king and queen. She has a sudden longing to talk with someone and play live chess, rather than the mummified games set and dried in books.
Simon, after watching what Joe is doing, sets up his end of the board. He kneels up, shifting a shoulder hesitantly, and points to her.
"Ah sheesh," says Kerewin. "I caught three flounders a day or so back, and I've been keeping them fresh in a water-safe. I'm going to stuff 'em with celery and crushed pineapple. I'll serve them with a salad and baked potatoes." She stands, and the little errant vertebrae in her neck and back snick into place. She is looking at the floor now. Or rather, at her boots.
Kaibabs of cut gold suede, creased and scuffed to bare feet fineness by long wearing. How well shoon you are-"Actually, this is an invitation to tea if you haven't already had it, and I can thereby bribe you to have some games of chess with me. It won't take long… unless of course you have something else to do, in which case I apologise for being importunate."
The red tide pours into her face and she shrieks at herself, inside herself, You never meant to say that! You meant to get them out of the way-
The child is begging Can we stay? with his hands.
Careful. I might end up by liking you, brat, if I'm not careful.
Joe stands, and places his hands over the child's hands.
"It doesn't need you to plead it, boy… what can I say, Kerewin? I'd stay here all night and play chess with you if that's what you want, and it doesn't need an offer of tea, either. Because you looked after Himi, and I'd like to do that."