"You just throw whatever's handy when you get wild?"
"Uh huh," Joe answers for the boy. "From your tea to a half gallon of beer a certain Saturday morning. That little effort nearly brained Piri's two year old we had visiting. Lost skin over that, didn't you?"
The boy has the non-expression on his face again. Utter disinterest.
"Okay, I think we'd better change the subject," says Kerewin, "shatteringly interesting and all as it is."
Joe laughs.
An hour later, the conversation has meandered round to fishing: seafishing, which is Kerewin's favourite and speciality, versus river and lake, at which Joe modestly admits being expert.
"Not really," he says ruefully. "I just know where the fish are to be found. It's getting them out in an orthodox manner that bothers me."
"Ministry of Works minnows," chuckles Kerewin, but he affects shock.
Simon is nearly asleep, but he stirs every time one of them moves to stoke the fire, or pass across smokes.
"Excuse me a minute," says Joe at last, and goes into the kitchen, returning with a round bottle a minute later.
"Come on, tama. Bed time."
Two teaspoonsful of what looks like raspberry syrup.
She looks at the label.
"Trichloral!" the word makes her voice resound in a squawk. "Hell, he's a bit young for that kind of draught, isn't he?"
"I said last night about the sleeping bit," says Joe softly. "At least this way we both get a good night's sleep. Otherwise, it's nightmares at two in the morning, and three hours spent getting him calmed back to normality. And that's no joke night after night after night."
"I shouldn't imagine so."
He's holding Simon as though he were a baby. It renews her sense of the boy's slightness.
"E moe koe," says the man tenderly, kissing the child, dark hair overlapping fair.
"See if you can't do something unusual tomorrow," setting him on his feet, "like be good for a change."
Simon grins, nearly out on his feet. He staggers to Kerewin, holding out his arms, and Kerewin ducks.
"E, he just wants to say goodnight," says Joe.
When was the last time I kissed anybody?
as the child kisses goodnight, and winds his arms round her neck. And stays there. "I'll take him if you like," Joe stands quickly and opens his arms, aware of her increasing embarrassment even if Simon isn't. "I'm not used to children," she says, standing too, and holding Simon awkwardly from her. "Ummm-"
How to pass across one nearly comatose brat who is quite
securely entwined round my vertebral column?
His arms are anyway, scores the snark snidely. A child as a
muffler? Come now-There was a young lady, from Munich
I think, who anxiously said, with embarrassment pink, I can see that you're staring, at the scarf I am wearing. Well, it's kidstuff arranged in a rink.
Ooouuhh.
She stares into the fire as Joe takes the child to bed.
The last time I kissed was with my elder brother, before the big breakup. His kiss tasted of rum. That one's kiss tasted of raspberries, from the drug to keep away dreams. What sort of dreams does he have that are so terrible?
Jetsam, she ponders. The old meaning was goods thrown overboard to lighten a ship… dreams of being left, bereaved, dreams of drowning while your people sink in the hungry waves?
"Joe," as he comes back and closes the door, "do you mind me asking about what you said last night?"
"Not at all. What was it?"
"When you said, apropos of Simon's age, meet some jetsam?"
"O that. Well, it was strictly true for one thing. It'd take a while to explain… are you really interested? I haven't had anyone aside from people in pubs to talk about my odd child for months and months and months."
"I like listening. I we got time. And I'm curious to know what makes him dream nightmares at his age."
"Don't ask him," he says seriously. "He can't explain it to himself, let alone me, and he hasn't enough words to tell other people about
"
He stretches.
"Ooooweee… e, would you like some more wine while I talk? There's a bottle left still, and I meant it all to go with dinner." He stands waiting. "O, and just in case you think I have bad designs, I don't think you do, but just in case and with apologies for raising the subject, I'm not intending to take advantage of you in any way. You know," he has darkened with embarrassment, and fumbles for more words.
"I didn't even think it."
You lie in your teeth.
"You said tea, Joe. It was delicious. My mind ends at my stomach anyway, but I certainly didn't think you were playing some underhand game with it. Like the old-fashioned Drink is the downfall of many a nice girl," she throws back her head and laughs. "Besides, I think I could drink you under the table where wine is concerned. I've had lots of practice."
"So have I," says Joe sadly, "but you'd like the wine?"
"A very good idea."
He lay on his back on the floor,' his arms crossed over his face, and talked. Or rather, recited, as though he had memorised what he wanted to say a long time ago. "Three years back, in early spring, we had a storm of unusual intensity. That's what the radio called it. We called it a bastard. Quote: The town of Whangaroa in the South Island was lashed by a storm of unusual intensity today. Several houses lost their roofs, and a garage near the centre of the town was totally demolished by fierce gusts. Two people are believed to have drowned when a launch was driven onto the southern tip of Ennetts Reef about two miles north of the township. The police are seeking information on the survivor of the wreck… That's getting ahead of things, so I'll unquote." Joe smiled over his arm. But they also mentioned that one of Ben Tainui's prize heifers was; a casualty. They raise Charolais, y'know.".Yeah really?"
Yeah, really. Anyway, about four that afternoon, one of the s round the Head phoned the police to say a launch was in
difficulties off the reef. The sea was rough but the coppers asked a friend of mine, Tass Dansy, if he'd take the boat he used on the Chathams run, and go and have a look. See if he could get a line to her. There were no other craft here anywhere near as good as Dansy's for heavy seas, eh. They tried, Tass and his mate, and two coppers, for over two hours. Tried to get close enough to send a line over for a tow, and by that time the wind had reached sixty knots and was still rising. Eventually, the launch banged into the end of the reef. The coppers and the mate saw three people go overboard, a man holding a child, and a woman. But Tass swears to this day that he saw another man slip over the bow, and he thought there might have been someone else as well. He was in the wheelhouse and had the best view, so he's probably right. But we only found three. They put out a call for volunteers to search the beaches after the launch went down. I went. Hana was seven months gone at the time, but she was okay, and I didn't worry about leaving her alone in the storm. This old place'll stand up to more than that sort of wind."
He sighs.
"Here I am, walking the beaches in a bloody howling gale with seven other mugs, and wondering what on earth possessed me to do so. We were strung out in a long file along the shore. Trover, he was a constable here then, shouted out after about half an hour. I never heard him above the wind, but I saw his arms wave us in and came running. He had found the man, and a very obvious body he made, too. His head had split open on a rock when he came tumbling through the surf. The cap of his skull was sliced off and his brains washed out. It was like a cup, his open head, with the face still there on one side."