By Cherry Douch
Ted would leave, once more, today. He stood, holding his cordless pyjamas up, looking out the bedroom window. The hills behind his wife's house folded toward each other like a bunched quilt; humps of her violets grew on the edge of the orchard. She was not in their bed. Huia's hand was on Wehe's shoulder as she squeezed the sleep out of her eyes. "It's five o'clock," she said. " Rain's stopped and the tide's right. You want to go with me?" She did. She pulled herself out of bed on Huia's hand. She looked at her mother and laughed. ''You have pikaru,'' she said. "Sh, you'll wake the others." She pressed the crust from the corners of her eyes, and smiled. At the tank stand they shared the same basin of water. Huia poured the wash water around the base of a baby orange tree. Wehe took the spears from the shed and started downhill with her mother. She was a springy reflection of her. They dragged their feet through the wet grass, Wehe a half step behind. They spoke to Bunny and scratched her nose as they went by. Bunny was their cow. Wehe said, ''Doesn't Bunny have the most beautiful eyes?'' Summer hunger was in the air. They crossed the railroad tracks and broke the surface of the sand with their full, flat feet. A few crabs paraded. Wehe wondered how they could see where they were going. The tide was turning, coming in, the water excited, distorting the shapes of the shells beneath. Huia went into the shallow water of her favorite channel, noiseless, spear raised. She whispered, "Look, there's one sleeping in the sand." It all looked like sand to Wehe. Her mother had the flounder speared and in the ket before she could focus her eyes. She followed, trying to be quiet, watching the gulls, thinking how flounder were different from kahawai. When they had caught five they started home, picking mushrooms as they went. Wehe liked the underside of mushrooms. They looked like fish's gills. They didn't see Bunny as they came up the hill, but when they got to the kitchen, she pushed her head over the hedge and mooed through the window. Huia gave the flounder to Wehe, reached for the bucket and rattled it. "I'm coming Bunny,'' she said. Wehe began washing and gilling the fish as Huia put warm water in the bucket, put on a large bath towel apron, and headed toward the bail. She could hear Sam at the woodpile, smell the chips as they flew. Bunny was already standing in the bail, tossing her head, swishing her tail. ''Hang on girl.'' Huia came through the gate, looked at Bunny's tight bag. She pulled one rope around the cow's rump and the low one around the near leg. She poured warm water into a can and washed Bunny's teats. The cow moved and moaned. ''Easy girl.'' She poured the rest of the water over her hands and wiped them on her apron. She pulled the stool under her, the bucket between her legs, pressed her cheek against the cow's belly and hummed poi waiata to the rhythm of her milking. Bunny let down her milk but did not relax till almost a minute later, when she loosed her cud, closed her eyes and began to chew. The cat came for his snack and Huia squirted him in the mouth. The cat seemed to lick to the rhythm of his song. Later, as she came up from the bail, Wehe met her with a small bucket half filled with warm water. Huia poured an equal amount of the milk into the water, and took it to the calf tied to the peach tree. The calf wagged her tail and pumped her front legs. Huia wet her hand with the half milk and put it in the calf's mouth and pulled it sucking into the bucket to drink on her own. The animal kicked and gulped, till, drooling milky saliva, she looked up from the empty bucket. Huia then moved her to another tree for its shade and clean grass. Inside Wehe had put away the milk and Sam had lit the stove and filled the kettle. Ted came in. "No porridge?" he said. "No, flounder and mushrooms," said Wehe. "But I'll make you porridge if you'd rather, Daddy." ''Please,'' he said and smiled at her. Ted watched Sam make the tea. "You going to fix the east fence?" he said. ''Yes,'' said Sam. ''The gate too.'' Ted said, "Good. I guess I'll hoe kumara. Good crop this year." "If they don't get blight," Sam said. ''Yes.'' Ted poured himself a cup of tea, then poured his saucer full, and drank from that. He buttered some bread and worried it while Wehe dished up his porridge. He didn't use the milk she put on the table. Instead he put spoonfuls of porridge on his bread, sprinkled it with pepper and ate it with big bites. Huia came in as he was leaving. ' 'Aren't you running late?'' he said. "Yes, I stopped to weed my flowers. The freesias smell wonderful." "Just don't overdo," he said. "Can we have marmite and lettuce sandwiches with cocoa for lunch? Would be nice,'' he said. "I'm" sorry," Huia said. " The slugs ate the lettuce and we ran out of cocoa. I need to go shopping. You can have marmite though. There's a big jar of that.'' Ted shrugged and left. Wehe watched him walk up to the cliff. He sat under the blue gums for an hour. A train went by. Wehe counted the trucks it was hauling. The train smoke smelled pleasant, not like her father's cigarettes. Maybe she'd suggest a pipe, she thought. Some pipe tobaccos smelled like ripe fruit. She saw a hawk circling over the swamp. She saw her father watching it too. It never dived, just kept circling. She saw him kick a couple of clods off the cliff and head home. Later she watched him check on the graftings he'd done in the apple orchard. The Ballarat had taken well to the Golden Delicious. For lunch there were marmite sandwiches and lemonade, not so bad. They went back to work. Ted didn't ask about dinner. While he was still working Huia brought him a thick crust from the bread she'd been baking, butter melted on it. He smiled his pale smile. "Good bread," he said. "I know," she said. ''Cheeky woman.'' He slapped her behind. She wished she had cabbage to go with the corned beef for dinner. Back at the house, Bunny was mooing through the window again. On her way to the bail she heard the cornstalks rattle where Wehe was collecting puha. "Put it in with the meat when you go up,'' she called. Wehe waved and smiled. Ted was hoeing, his back stiff, his stroke awkward. He had no hat and his bald head was turning red. Sam's hammer was hitting the paddock gate. Huia didn't sing to her milking. When she came back the corned beef and puha were cooking, and Wehe was peeling potatoes. Huia sat and peeled too, her cracked fingers moving fast and easy. Ted came in, dirt freckling his red skin. He sniffed. "Corned beef for dinner?" "Yes. I'm sorry there's no cabbage." ''Puha?'' ''Yes.'' "You going to tell me it's good for me?" he said. "It is," she said. ''I'd rather eat like an Englishman,'' he said. ''Wehe made bread pudding for dessert tonight. Extra eggs in it for you.'' "Good," he said. But his smile dropped. He washed at the tank stand then went for another walk. He was gone a long time. He came back and the others had eaten. He ate meat and potatoes and a big bowl of bread pudding. As he drank his tea, they watched him. Ted got up from the table, went to the bedroom and began putting things in a sugar sack. Huia came up behind him. "Will you come back this time?" she said. "I always have," he said. "Don't go,'' she said. He threw the sack over his shoulder and headed for the door. Wehe blocked his path. ''Daddy,'' she said. ''Pip pip Gadget,'' he said as he stepped around her and through the door. Wehe and Huia stood under the pear tree and watched him go. The calf and her mother watched too. He stopped, picked a barberry leaf from the hedge, then turned and looked at them. He waved the leaf, then continued down the hill. They watched as he disappeared beyond the cliff base onto the railroad tracks. They went inside. Huia picked up a pair of Ted's socks. She sat down on their bed and began to wail softly the way Maori women do at a tangi, swaying with the rhythm of her noise. Her voice was high, sweet, and ragged. She stood up, pulled a blanket from her bed. She put the girl on her back, wrapped them both tight. They looked joined-a hunch-back. She paced up and down, wearing a path by the bay windows. Sam murmured to himself as he washed the dishes. The curlews cried, craning their necks toward rest. Much later, she stopped, brought Wehe inside and put her to bed, like a baby. She skimmed the milk, gave the cat some cream, and went outside again. She spread her blanket and sat down, quiet. Sam watched his mother from the shed, Wehe watched from inside the house. Huia wailed again once or twice through the night, but low, almost under her breath. Sam did not move. When morning came, Bunny went to the bail. Sam found the bucket and started down. "No son," said his mother. "I like to do it." She walked toward the cow bail, singing her poi waiata, the cat padding behind her.
