And Did Those Feet ... (13 page)

WHEN the last of the adults climbed up onto the bank, Boyne didn’t have to say anything. We set off down the mountain, not racing or in little chattering groups but in one tight serious group, closely bunched. The going was still slow even though it was downhill. The two barefoot girls were really struggling and both fell over frequently but this time their friends picked them up. The path we walked on was like a shallow stream and washed out in places. It was never going to be easy. Every step was made slowly and our legs were now heavy and weak. Sort of rubbery. I fell over a few times: once so heavily I was winded, but I got straight up and kept going.

Every now and then we would stop, giving everyone a chance to regroup. I watched the faces emerging from the shadowy trees. Lara had a distracted look, like her mind was far away; the barefoot girls were just blank: it was all they could do to keep going. Jamie and Iain were at the back, making sure no one got left behind. Long before I could see them I could hear their voices just singing softly
now, giving everyone a rhythm.

When we reached the steep part where the track had zigged and zagged its way up from the road, I knew we were almost clear: the stile would be no more than a few hundred metres away. I turned back for a moment to yell to the
others
: they needed all the encouragement they could get. In that brief moment my foot caught on a root and I plunged forward, into this long, steep slide.

It was the sort of thing that would have been fun in
better
conditions but I was exhausted and I was facing forward. When I reached the bottom I felt this thump on my right arm. It didn’t hurt much but I knew it was bad: I could no longer move my fingers. The others slowly and tiredly
assembled
around me as Boyne examined my injury.

“It’s broken,” he said, as if that was the last straw.

Someone shouted and all the attention turned away from me. People were coming.

“Dad!” someone yelled.

It was Jamie.

Sure enough there were Uncle Frank, Lara's dad and a couple of his other Jerusalem League friends.

“Doctor Livingstone, I presume,” said Uncle Frank to Mr Boyne, who just stared at him with open mouth.

“We thought the big wet would be causing a bit of bother so we were coming up with supplies. What's the matter with you, Sandy?”

“It's broken,” I said.

He crouched down and had a look at my arm.

Meanwhile Lara's father had a thermos flask of soup which he was taking around the trampers. Then Uncle Frank made me a sling from his scarf; the weaker kids were hoisted up onto the adults' backs and we hobbled the last part of the track to where it led to the road.

I heard noises up ahead from the front of the line but it
wasn't until we got to the stile that I could see why. It was the sight of Uncle Frank's house truck, our journey's end. What made it even better was that there was smoke coming out of its little chimney.

They had a fire going!

Mackthuselah was warm and dry and filled with the
delicious
smell of soup. We all sat along the floor and shared cup after cup of the stuff as the truck slowly made its way back to the school.

In the car park a small welcome party waited. Kids began to cry in all directions and I realised now how much
everyone
had been holding back. How scared everyone had been. Boyne tried to make a little speech before he climbed out but all he could say was, “The power of song … the power of song …”

The day hadn't finished for me of course. I had to strip off, shower, and then carefully put on some fresh clothes. After we had eaten I got ready to go with Uncle Frank and Iain to A&E. I remembered that Jamie had said that he wanted to come too. When Iain and I went to get him there he was asleep in a chair in the sitting room. His face was peaceful and his mouth slightly open, as if he was singing still from the depths of sleep.

FOR the last few days school was a different place. It had changed from being a place where I was always on my guard, always ready to defend myself, to a sort of happy place. Sounds cheesy eh? I knew it couldn’t last, I’m not that innocent, but soon after that, the year finished: so in a way that mood did last.

Noel Cudby and I used to sit together and I would help him with his maths. He liked that. I would point out some really obvious way of solving a problem and his face would light up … like I was a boy genius.

On the last day of school there was a big assembly and prize-giving that seemed to go on forever. The events of the school year were all mentioned and not much was said about the camp other than it had been “unfortunately washed out after one night”. We all knew that there was much more to it than that.

At the end of the assembly we all sang the national
anthem
and were about to leave when Lara put up her hand. Hec Gundeson, the chairman of the board, looked a bit
bewildered, I mean they don’t usually have questions at this sort of thing, but she was so insistent, so urgent in the way she waved it about, that he acknowledged her.

When everyone had stopped shuffling about she spoke out boldly in a good clear voice.

“I would like all the people who were on the camp to come out the front.”

And, while Hec Gundeson was thinking about it,
everyone
stood up and began to make their way to the front as if it was a done deal.

“You too, Mr Boyne,” said Lara, after we were all
assembled
.

He climbed down from the stage with this real stupid grin on his face. The principal, Mr Carson, didn’t look at all
impressed
. This was his show. Then Lara stepped out in front of us and with her back to the audience said, in a loud
whisper
, “‘Jerusalem’. On three.”

There was no time for discussion or agreement because she got right into it and when her third finger went up we all belted out “
And did those feet
…” at the top of our lungs. I don’t think anyone in that hall had ever heard anything like it, our singing was usually a bit half-hearted. This time, though, we found our power and really blasted them.

When we finished we were all a bit breathless. Mr Boyne, who like most teachers, loved explaining things, looked as if he was about to give some little speech. Then he decided against it. No explanation necessary.

Uncle Frank and Aunty Lorna were laughing about it all the way home. They were really chuffed to see their own
William Blake put in an appearance so unexpectedly. “That’s the wonder of William Blake,” said Uncle Frank. “When you need him, suddenly, he’s there.”

DAD showed up again a week or so after the prize-giving. It was the first time I had seen him in over eight months. Strangely enough, I found that I was no longer angry with him; I was even sort of pleased to see him.

He just stepped back into my life as though he had been in the other room for five minutes, getting himself a glass of wine. I was in the cowshed in the afternoon watching the milking. I wasn’t much help these days, being a “one-
winger
”, as Uncle Frank called it, when Dad stepped out of the vat room.

“Well, look at you in your gumboots and Swannie. Makes me want to believe in reintarnation.”

“What’s reintarnation?” I groaned.

“Being reborn as a hill-billy.”

I guess I should have been pleased that his sense of humour was still intact.

I wasn’t sure if I should be angry or pleased. Angry that he had given me an eight-month-wide berth or pleased that he had finished with the drinking and disappearing. I figured it
was best to stand clear from making that call for a while and see how things worked out.

There followed a few days where Dad seemed to be the centre of attention: holding forth in the evenings about his
recent
disasters and the moves he had made to save the day…

Rufus O’Malley and the lost millions: “Yeah, Ruthless O’Malley, I call him. He’s coming up for trial some time in the New Year. I hope he gets done like a dinner. It’s pretty hard when someone you’ve hung about with since you were seventeen turns out to be a habitual liar and thief. He was doing this on a daily basis, Sandy. The money’s gone, that’s for sure, so a conviction won’t do me much good.”

The house: “Yeah the house had to go. It would have gone later in a bankruptcy court if I hadn’t sold it earlier. It’s only a house, Sandy, and frankly, since we lost your mother, it has just made me sad. Too many memories. You’ll be interested to know that since I moved out I hardly touched a drop of liquor.” Now there was something that I was going to think about.

And my stuff: “Don’t worry, I’ve got all your stuff in
storage
. I’ve bought a new place right in the middle of town. Great views but no grounds.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s thirty stories off the ground. You’ll love it.”

“Oh…”

So things were different and things were the same. Dad was on the way up again. Dad had solved the problems. Dad had it sussed. But for some reason it didn’t seem to matter so much.

I mean, I knew he was like that.

He is my dad after all, and nothing can change that.

Because I was unable to do any of my usual chores, the other kids were let off theirs too, while Dad took on
something
of a reincarnation himself. For a few days he became Dad the Child Entertainer.

He would load all the kids in the 4WD people carrier (high tech space shuttle) that he had borrowed from the yard for a few days and we would go places. Fishing off the breakwater at New Plymouth one day. Off to a surf beach where we got attacked by seagulls. The next night to the stock cars. Iain loved that, I reckon a new life’s ambition was born that night.

When we all sat down for our farewell feast it struck me what I was leaving. The big family thing. Being an only child, I was used to lots of space and lots of my own this, that and the other. My own room, my own toys, lots of time by myself. When Mum died and we shrank to two, I was by myself even more. Dad had gone mad at this stage: he had forgotten me and become a sort of single guy. Everything turned empty and silent.

Then I came here.

The farm, the uncle and aunt, the cousins. There was noise and everything was shared. Even the beds. It had been a shock at first, but now I was used to it.

And the countryside. I used to have a pretty low opinion of the country and its inhabitants. I thought they were dumb … only good for making jokes about. But I was wrong. They were decent … and when you really needed them … they
were there.

No, I wasn’t looking forward to going back into town. I wasn’t even looking forward to having my own room.

We all crowded around the six-sided table. The twins acted as waiters and brought in dish after dish. Uncle Frank carried in a huge pork roast and cut us off thick slabs. I had never tasted anything like it. This was followed by a
pudding
called trifle. Trifle is like custard and fruit and cake, all mixed together. Tasty.

After we had finished, Uncle Frank recited a few Blake poems. He knew them all by heart and didn’t need much encouragement to jump to his feet and start spouting off. Then Aunty Lorna and Jamie sang “Johnny Armstrong” in two parts like there were two characters talking to each other. In the last part their voices mingled and together they made a sound that seemed to cut into me. Every note pierced me deeper and deeper. It was painful, but a sort of beautiful pain. I can’t think of any other way to describe it.

Finally everyone sang “Jerusalem”. Everyone except me, that is. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t produce a single note. My throat ached with the strain but it was
hopeless
. Something was frozen. I could feel my face had become all wet with tears and I had to run outside for a while. I went to the toilet and cleaned myself up as well as possible. I certainly didn’t want anyone to see me looking like this.

Luckily when I got back, Dad had produced this huge bag. In it there were presents for everyone. It was a big
surprise
and something completely new because Uncle Frank and the clan didn’t do Christmas like that. For the next few
minutes all that could be heard was the tearing of paper. All the presents were electric things he had bought in Japan. It was good to see the cuzzies’ faces all light up as they saw what they were and worked out what they did.

After this it was time to go. Dad told me it was time to gather up my stuff and load it in the car. Having my arm in a sling made this quite slow and Iain and Jamie ended up
doing
most of it for me. When the room was cleared I looked out the kitchen window. I could see all the family gathered around Dad’s gleaming people carrier at the bottom of the driveway. Something was bothering me but I couldn’t work out what it was.

“You take my bags down,” I said to the other two. “I’m just going to the toilet.”

They both looked at me as if to say, “Again?”

As soon as they were gone I wandered around the house. It was strangely quiet now. The equal-sized, six-sided rooms and the Palace of Wisdom had become so familiar, so
comfortable
. I thought of Uncle Frank and the harmonious sixty degree angles. It was going to be hard living in an apartment now.

For the moment there was something more important. Something that I had not given much thought to lately.

Pimpernel!

I hadn’t seen him for days.

There was the sound of the car horn tooting. Dad hated waiting for anyone but I didn’t care. This was important. I ran out to the paddock, looked behind the barn, checked out the little shed where he often slept in the afternoons. Satan
was near the far boundary, but I hadn’t moved him for ages. It had been the twins’ job since I had broken my arm. There was no sign of Pimpernel anywhere. I called and called but he never came. Just then there was the squeak of wire and I turned to see Uncle Frank climbing the fence. Everyone else was gathered around the car watching him walk towards me. He came over and put his arm around my shoulders.

“Pimpernel has gone now.”

I wondered what that meant, then I knew and I felt
instantly
sick.

“Everything changes, Sandy. We must cherish everything while it is here and keep loving it after it has gone.”

I thought of Mum.

“We all have our purpose. You, me, Pimpernel. I have found mine here on this farm. With my family. With the League. Pimpernel was part of that.”

I looked down to where all the others were watching us from the car. He led me away back towards the barn.

“You are still searching for yours. Everything passes.
Before
long you will be out in the world. Maybe at that stage things will begin to make a bit more sense. Your mum dying. Your dad losing his way. Pimpernel. They’re all hard ones.”

As we walked over, I noticed that the barn was now
completely
empty of hay bales. We walked inside and Uncle Frank stooped to pick up some loose hay. We went back to Satan, who had climbed on the roof of his little house. For a while we both said nothing but fed the goat hay, a small bit at a time.

Then Uncle Frank turned to me.

“You’ll be back,” he said. “And you’ll have another good time, I know you will, but it will be a different sort of good time. It always is.”

He pointed up towards the old house truck, standing next to the macrocarpas.

“I loved that truck. I’ve never sold it because part of me hopes that one day Lorna and I will climb back into it. Disappear down the road in a cloud of smoke. Leave all this behind.” He stared at it silently, as if visualising it.

He paused and said softly, “And we will, too…”

He seemed lost for a moment or two and then he
continued,
real soft. “But it will be a different road, a different bus and a different me.”

We walked slowly back to the car which was idling
impatiently
in the driveway.

One of the twins had let the dogs out and they were jumping everywhere and knocking each other over.

I put my hand out and two came running over.

“A few months ago you would have been hiding in the Landrover,” said Uncle Frank with a smile.

I nodded. He was right, you know, I was a different
person
now. The road outside the farm, so familiar, was taking me to a new place, and I was travelling there with a new dad. Dad Version 1.2.

I shook hands with my other two musketeers. Then Ewan and Dougal. Aunty Lorna hugged me and then insisted that Wee Jock kiss my face. I winced as he left a big smear of slime down my cheek. Everyone laughed. Then, after a moment, I laughed too.