ON THE OPEN ROAD

Taranaki Daily News, 14 May 1932, Page 1 (Supplement)

ON THE OPEN ROAD

INNOCENTS ABROAD

(By

“Juvenis.”)

Purring softly in the cool night air, the car carried Murella and Scipio down from the hills into Rotorua. There is a charm in entering a new place at night when the features of the place are masked in the darkness. The wise traveller should always enter new places at night and go to bed with that feeling of rich expectation for next day. From the hills above Rotorua they had seen in the gathering dusk the signs of mystery. Steam spiralled up from the earth at Whakarewarewa and Tikitere. Then the darkness had fallen and they had come through the heavy, sulphurous air into broad lighted streets which gave no hint of the trembling crust of earth over which they were laid. One had been given a hint of strange excitements.

"Where do we stay here?” asked Scipio. Murella consulted the list of places which will take in wandering motorists. “At Darnley House,” said Murella.

“Who is the proprietor?” asked Sci-

pio. “Mrs. Carkeek,” said Murella. “Sulphur in the lungs,”. said Scipio, diagnosing the sound. “Tr; again.” “That is the name,” said Murella distantly, “stupid.” They had an impression that Rotorua, which seemed specially designed by Providence for the plucking of American millionaires, would be the costliest town in New Zealand. As it happened, they found that its charges were more reasonable than those of many of the smaller towns. Murella decided to prepare for bed. Stiff and travel-stain-ed, Scipio said he intended first to go to the baths. “The process,” murmured Murella, after viewing his appearance, ‘‘of Turning the Blue Bath Black.” On entering the building of the Ward Baths for the first time, Scipio had the feeling of one venturing into a temple of the East. The large vestibule, brilliantly lit, was filled with pilgrims who sat on long seats in a state of languor and repose, cooling after the rigours of the bath. They spoke in tired whispers. In the centre of the vestibule was a woman under glass. There was a little circle in the glass through which the faithful might speak with her. From both sides of the vestibule came the sounds of gently plashing water. Straight through the vestibule one came upon the courtyard of the temple, a long, cool corridor where ferns hung in baskets and fountains of cool water bubbled. In the vestibule some of the flock were .drinking Te Aroha waters, doing penance. Scipio crept up to the miniature conservatory, peered through the circle until he caught the eye of the hothouse flower within, and muttered something about a bath. The high priestess rapidly named a dozen different varieties. “'Something warm,” said Scipio. “Rachel’s bath,” said the priestess. “First turn to the left and straight along.” It seemed to Scipio when he got there that in all modesty they might have called it Jacob’s. In the green pool of the bath he sat with his head just above water, breathing mostly steam. The water was silky against the skin and seemed to draw weariness even from the bones. There was an elderly man paddling about the bath. In the Rachel one does not swim, one simply shifts about. Anxious to observe the ritual of the cult, Scipio watched him narrowly. Bid one speak, for instance, to strangers without the formality of an introduction? But the elderly man gave no sign. In spite of the intimacy of . the bah, it seemed one did not. Together they shifted gently about in the green, silky water, breathing heavily, coming to the surface for air. The elderly man opened his mouth only to breathe. Soon he got out and dressed, walked round the edge of the bath and paused. Now, perhaps, thought Scipio, he will give a sign. The elderly man kneeled, leaned over and drew out the large thermometer cased in wood. Silently he looked ■■* * the reading, silently he lowered the thermometer back into tlie water* and still silently walked out. There was a gentle plop beside Scipio as another body entered the water. Scipio shifted to port and saw a thinnish, middle-aged man with sharp, inquisitive features. Soon, he said to himself, he would get out because the heavy pall of silence was more than ho could bear. It was too much to expect any man to go through the ritual of silence all over again. He was going to crawl out, get dressed and read the thermometer when the newcomer suddenly spoke. The fellow*, thought Scipio, must be a common stranger like himself. “Good water,” said the thinnish. man. “Very clear.” “Very,” said Scipio. The thinnish man cruised round for a while. “Nice and warm,” said the thinnish man. ‘■Just right,” said Scipio. The thinnish man went under and came to the surface. “Tastes good, too,” he said, announcing the discovery with pleasure. Scipio got out and went home. .The next day they rose early and set off to find a place for breakfast by the roadside. They found an inviting patch of grass and soon the good smell of bacon and eggs floated on the sulphurous air. It floated along io a tumbledown cottage, and soon a stream of small Maori children flowed out of the door and made an interested gallery. From the scarcity of garments Scipio judged it must’ be washing day. After Murella had given the children breakfast Scipio shooed them away, but then the sandflies came to breakfast. “We fed the Maori children,” said Murella later, “but the sandflies helped themselves.” In the distance the tribe held a whispered consultation and returned shyly to wait as a deputation on the travellers. After a good deal of shoving and kickino- from the others, the spokesman stepped forward and was understood to say that, in return for the biscuits, the party was prepared to render a song. Scipio, having fed, lit a cigarette and lav 1 back in the morning sunshine to enjoy the Maori melodies. The song ■beo*an, and after a while it became recognisable.

"When it’s springtime in the Rockies “I’ll be com-ing home to you ...”

Scipio sprang to his feet with murder in his eye. “Why in heaven and earth do they teach these children this sort of thing instead of their native songs?” “Hush,” said Murella, passing round the biscuits again. “‘Don’t you see? The little darlings think we are American millionaires.”