And Did Those Feet ... (3 page)

I'VE always had this thing about the country. Not a bad place but full of thickos. Big friendly types but in the
barnyard
animal sort of way. Your brain, which usually operates at about 100 ks in the town has to do a steady 20–30 ks in the country otherwise you've got all these country types
standing
around saying “Eh? Eh? What's that again?” It's like living life in slow motion.

I'm not one-eyed about this, though. There are good points to living in the country. There's no law out there, so you get to drive things way before you're fifteen. The Landrover. The tractor. The quad-bike. As well as getting to drive anything with a motor you get to ride quite a few things without motors; horses, goats and if you're a bit on the weedy side (and I suspect that you are) sheep. Yeah you didn't know that did you? Most farm kids ride sheep. You don't see much of that on
Country Calendar.
You can bet it's frowned on by the “be nice to our four-legged friends” brigade.

I might mention at this point that you get to shoot guns too. Try doing that around your neighbourhood, they'd call out the armed offenders squad before you can say
Kalashnikov
.

But the country has a down side too. It's called work.
Unlike
city kids, farm kids have to work all the time. Being brought up on a farm means that adults get you working. Long hours too. Hard work, for no pay. That's why I believe most farm kids are a bit slow. You know, dim. They don't know their rights. Any city kid would strike if faced with a deal as bad as this.

As everyone knows, another drawback about farms is that they are always far from anywhere civilised. That's what makes them a farm, right? As a result a trip to town is a big deal. Our woolly farming friends become filled with
excitement
and fear at the thought of it. First they always get dressed up in their best clothes so they won't look like
country
hicks having a trip to town. But it doesn't fool anyone. Anyone knows you can spot a farm family fifty yards away for just this reason. The men wear these tweedy sports coats, with a shirt and tie of course, finished off with brown
trousers
which won't show the you-know-what. They wear these ankle boots with elastic on the sides. Your average farmer can't handle laces, his fingers are too thick.

The women wear a bigger range of garments but you can spot them easily enough if you know what to look for. They are at least two styles out of date and you can bet the brand name Swanndri will feature somewhere.

The kids? It's not the clothes with them, it's the haircuts.
All I will say about the haircuts is this; their mums are
responsible
for the crime and a pudding bowl and sheep shears are the weapons of choice.

However it is not just dressing up and going in. That's the fun part. There is the fear side too. The hayseed is
terrified
of
all those people
. Even if the town – like say, Eketahuna – has only about a thousand people in it. The sort of
one-horse
dump you flash through in the car so quickly it's gone before you've finished getting your mouth around the name. However to farm folk … whooa! To them it's still downtown Tokyo on Friday night. Crazy huh?

So where was I? Oh yeah, the country. I was being sent to stay with Uncle Frank, Aunty Lorna and the five freckled terrors, my cousins. As I said it was not like I had any choice in the matter.

IT'S a long way from Auckland to Taranaki, especially on an Intercity bus. I had plenty of time to think over my
options
as we droned our way to my uncle and aunt's place. Underneath it all I knew what this was all about. Back home it seemed that I was turning into something that couldn't be controlled. A bit like those dogs that come running up. Sometimes they wag their tails, sometimes they bite you. I was like that. People found me a bit unpredictable. I'm not surprised,
I
found me a bit unpredictable too. I guess out in the country, out amongst all the wierdos, I would sort of fit in, or at least not be noticed.

The school agreed; they had said I “needed space”.

The counsellor said I had to “work through issues”.

Constable Keith said that I needed to “see where I was headed on life's road map”.

Dad thought “I needed to be amongst my own blood”.

There you have it. What all these statements have in
common
was that no one wanted me around any more. I may not be too bright, but I knew that much.

I could have flown down to Taranaki but for some reason Dad couldn't make it happen. Maybe it wasn't his fault, there could have been some local problem, like cows on the runway. Maybe he wanted me to think through things as we rolled through the endless muddy paddocks and small towns. People climbed off and on this smelly old bus and most of them seemed to think they were the driver's best friend. What this meant for everybody else was that they stood around the sort of flap thing where the bags were stowed, and yakked for ages before the driver climbed back in and headed on down the road.

Dad had given me ten dollars to spend on the way and an envelope for Uncle Frank. I blew most of my money on chocolate and Coke, so by the time we began to thread our way through the Awakino gorge I was ready to chuck. Never had I felt such an evil feeling in my gut. The road followed the dirty river and the bus lunged in and out of all these blind corners throwing my chocolate-filled stomach all over the place. Just as I was sure I was about to douse the grey head in front of me, we came out by the sea. The driver stopped at some tea rooms and suggested it was time for us to “stretch our legs”. That's country talk for “have a pee”. I know this because we all stood around in a bunch
outside
the only toilet. I imagined everyone in there before me stretching their legs. I wished they would get on with it.

There were thirty minutes to kill so I walked down to the sea while everyone else queued for their scone and cuppa. The beach was black and covered in shells and bits of old wood. There was a cold wind whipping along the sand and
the waves were huge. I waited on the edge of the wet zone while each wave stood up and roared at me like an angry bear in the distance. I couldn't take my eyes off them. For a moment I had this freaky feeling. You know when you are in a high spot and you feel some invisible hand trying to push you over? Well I felt that same invisible hand trying to push me into that cold sea. Those huge waves. I imagined
walking
along the bottom of the ocean and never coming back. I could almost feel the water swirling around me and then hear the silence beneath the waves. It was a powerful feeling, both frightening and exciting at the same time. It swallowed me up.

After a time (was it a minute or was it twenty?) I became aware of a noise and when I looked around I saw the bus flashing its lights at me in the distance. The driver had been tooting at me. I ran back and clambered aboard, trying to duck under the staring eyes of all the other passengers. The driver said something about it being a bit cold for a dip and I slumped lower in the first available seat.

For the rest of the trip I watched us heading towards this angry mass of cloud heaped over what I was sure must be Mount Taranaki. The farms changed from being mostly sheep to being wall to wall cows. And then we came to the outskirts of this little town. I took a deep breath. We were there.

As we slowed down, the twins, Ewan and Dougal, burst into view, running alongside the bus, waving and jumping. What a shrink! They were like those dogs that chase cars. Totally crazy, but impressively fast. Especially as they were
both wearing gumboots. The moment I stepped down they grabbed an arm each and dragged me over to where Jamie and Iain, the older two, waited quietly by Aunty Lorna. She stood leaning against the door of this battered old Landrover with the baby, Wee Jock, in her arms. She was really pretty and wore a sort of head scarf that covered most of her neck too. It looked a bit like what Indian women wear. That and the big gold earring in her left ear made her look a bit like a gypsy. They all stood around for a while in a sort of
circle
. You could tell they were a family, they all had the same smile, a sort of simple, wide-eyed one. I had to fight my city nature which told me it was my duty to mock them.

The two older boys stuck their hands out to shake. I was impressed: people my age in the city never shook hands. Aunty Lorna leaned forward and gave me a kiss. I gave a jerk and a bit of a yelp. I didn't see it coming and I got a fright. It had been a while since anyone had kissed me. The twins roared with laughter and the older boys grinned and looked away. I felt a bit of a dick. There was a moment of
embarrassment
as we all stood around staring at each other, then we all thawed and it was like “no problems”.

Iain was about my age, and Jamie a year younger. They were both stocky: little muscley dudes. Scotty types. Short legs, sandy hair. The twins were like a matching salt and pepper set. Difficult to tell apart unless you knew what to look for. There was one way I remembered. I'd heard about it in a letter. Only Dougal talked. Ewan could but wouldn't, except in extreme emergencies. Dougal talked for both of them. Then there was Wee Jock, which is Scottish
for what's-his-name. He was at the crawling and gnawing stage.

Aunty Lorna was the first to talk. “I suppose I shouldn't say this, Sandy, but you've grown a foot since I saw you last.”

“Hey, I've always had two.”

They all paused for a moment trying to work out where I was coming from, then realising it was one of my witty
one-liners,
all laughed on cue.

She gave my shoulder a shove the way that boys do when you get one past them. “You know what I mean, last time I saw you, it must have been a few years ago now, you were smaller than the twins.” She had a sweet, sing-song voice with a bit of an accent, maybe Aussie, maybe Irish, I don't do accents.

“How was the trip? We all thought you'd fly down.”

“I tried but my arms were too weak.” They laughed, they were ready this time. “It was long. I tell ya, you can fly to Fiji in half the time.”

“You been to Fiji?” Dougal asked his eyes round with
excitement..

“Oh yeah lots.”

“Where else?”

“Oh Bali, Vanuatu … we used to travel a lot once…” then I couldn't carry on. There were always these little dead ends I came up against.

“Well, you are going to find our place a bit different from Fiji, no coconut palms, no ‘Isa Lei'.”

“You've been there, Aunty Lorna?”

“Oh yes, Frank and I had our jet-setter phase. Then we stood still for a while and when we went to move, we found that we had put down roots.”

“When you bought the farm?”

She smiled and opened the door to the Landrover. “No. It was when we had this little posse.”

Everyone piled into – and onto – the dented old beast. Dad used to bring home 4X4s but they were nothing like this. They were thick carpets, sat-nav and CD stackers; this was primitive. The seats were just squabs covered in this
really
prickly nylon, the dashboard tray was full of tools and strange farm-type equipment. The big tyres made a lot of noise on the road and cold air leaked through gaps in the floor.

There were four of us squashed into the cab; Aunty Lorna driving, Iain holding Jock in the middle and me crammed up against the window. The rest of them bounced around on the back. Aunty Lorna drove like there was no
tomorrow
; you could tell the boys liked it. She hooned this crate around corners really fast and bashed the gear stick back and forth to keep the revs up. We all flew around a bit in the cab because there was nothing to hold on to. It must have been even harder for the twins and Jamie who were on the back. Every now and then I caught glimpses of them shooting past the back window as we rocketed around corners.

After about ten minutes we got off the sealed road and headed for the wild farms tucked into the ranges below Mount Taranaki. I could see the mountain, looming up
before
me, shrouded in white and gleaming in the early evening
light. It was simple and impressive, like those mountains you draw when you're a young fulla. A real upside down “V”. But it was more than this, the snow seemed to drape over its shoulders like a cape or a wedding dress. Against the pale pink and blue sky this huge shining pyramid made me feel that I was an ant crawling on an elephant. That I didn't
account
for much.

I couldn't take my eyes off it.

By the time we reached the farm gates it was getting dark. The sky was now brighter than the road which threaded darkly through endless hedge-rimmed paddocks. It was hard to talk over the noise and Aunty Lorna's Formula 1 style driving. I felt a bit nervy about what was going to
happen
. How was I going to get by? I had never been away from my home by myself before. Maybe the farm would be real backwards, you know, water out of a well in a bucket,
everyone
riding a horse. I didn't know what to expect.

After a while we began to slow down. Aunty Lorna didn't seem to like using the brakes, she just flicked down through the gears. As we slowed to walking pace I could see some white gates up ahead and this sign which said Jerusalem. The next moment I was amazed to see the twins both leap off the moving truck in an attempt to be first to get to the gates. They both rode the gate open and we drove on past without them. It was obviously some family tradition.

We pulled up at the tractor shed and I spotted the house up on top of a small hill. In front of us was another gate and a road which led to the milking shed and then on to the back of the farm. It was hard to see much but I guessed
the silhouette in the paddock next to the house belonged to Uncle Frank's house truck.

Next thing I see is a pack of huge dogs bounding towards us. They must have been down at the milking shed with
Uncle
Frank – and smelled the new guy arriving. I have always been a bit nervous around dogs, and the sight of four black dogs leaping the gate at the same time was enough to get me back inside the cab of the Landrover quick-smart. They were eager to check me out, see if I was edible. They jumped up on the truck door, their shaggy faces dribbling on the window and blocking the view. First one would be leering at me, then another would jump up and biff it out of the way to get its five cents worth.

Iain came over to the truck and said, “What's the matter?” He seemed puzzled, like he didn't have a clue why I had climbed back in.

Jamie picked up one of these huge black wolves and
carried
it over like it was an enormous baby. “They're harmless,” he said.

The twins grabbed a dog each and tried to lift them off the ground but they could only get their front legs clear
before
it turned into a sort of wrestling match. Aunty Lorna, who was halfway up the hill to the house, stopped to see what was going on. Even she seemed puzzled.

Iain opened the door. “Honest man they're big but they're harmless … watch this.” He turned to one of the twins. “Ewan, take down Tine.”

Ewan dropped his dog and did a sort of rugby tackle on the biggest dog with the white flash on its chest. I had never
seen anything like it. One moment the dog was standing staring at me in the cab, the next it went flying wrapped in the arms of this little kid. It was so fearless and funny I thought it best to put on a brave face and get out. I didn't want them to think I was some sort of city wuss, which I probably was.

Once the boys had got over their amusement (like how could anyone be scared of their semi-tame wolves?) we all followed Aunty Lorna up to the house. It was cold out of the cab and the grass was muddy and soft. So this was my hello to country life. It was a relief to get into that house, I can tell you.

But the strangeness of everything just kept on coming. I suppose, looking back on it now, it was in the house where it all got really weird. Their house isn't like other houses. All the rooms are hexagons. Six equal sides. I knew that much from mathematics. The doors are hexagons too, so are the windows. Everything you can think of is six-sided. It's like a giant piece of honeycomb. The six-sided table has a
table
cloth which is a patchwork job. It is full of thousands of little hexagons made from scraps of every garment ever owned. Bits of underpants jostled for attention next to a bit of a football jersey or maybe a bit of someone's tweed sports coat. I figured that in this cloth was the history of every
garment
the family had ever owned. A sort of graveyard for old clothes.

But it didn't stop there. The plates were hexagons, as were the glasses. My uncle and aunt must have cruised the shops for ages, hunting for anything six-sided. I must say
this: there is a point where a hobby gets out of control and becomes an obsession. The six-sided thing was one of those. There are some places where they have had to give in and go with the flow. No six-sided toilet. Or beds. I remember wondering whether the wheels on the truck weren't six-
sided
, it had been such a bumpy journey.

Soon after that Uncle Frank showed up. I heard him coming for a long time before I saw him. First there was this really loud chuff chuff of the tractor, then the noise of him in the yard calling the dogs, and finally the sound of him kicking his gumboots off in the porch.