Drifting

Te Ao Hou, March 1974, Page 25

Drifting by Patricia Grace They were up while it was still dark, running through the wet lupins with the tin of herrings, over the black stones to Uncle Kepa's hut. There, they put the tin under the step, pushed the door open and went in. Still asleep. But his morning wood was ready on the hearth. Mereana opened the grate and put the wood in on top of the crumpled newspaper. She lit the fire and moved the kettle over. Lizzie was mixing porridge. ‘Hullo my babies. You got our bait?’ ‘Yes Uncle. Plenty herrings.’ ‘Stoke up then. Your funny uncle will get changed.’ They heard him moving around in his other room, then he went outside and filled his basin at the tankstand. Uncle. He had a wash for going fishing, but just as well she and Lizzie hadn't wasted any time washing this morning, or brushing their hair. Just as well they'd slept in their clothes to make sure about being early, because Uncle had forgotten to wake up. Get up, straighten the blankets, out over the verandah and away. Now Lizzie was spooning porridge into three enamel plates. ‘Come on Uncle,’ Mereana called. He came in making the room small. The skin on his face was mottled with the shock of cold water. His eyelids were rimmed with red as though his eyes had been always shut and forgotten, but had now suddenly been slit open with a sharp blade to reveal surprised and bulging brown eyes, the whites all yellowed with waiting. His lashes too seemed as though they had this minute been put there, standing stiff and straight like glued bristles. Mostly Uncle's face was long and thin, with big folds of skin hanging down, but his cheekbones were round and jutting. His nose was hooked at the tip, with a big bubble of flesh at either side. He wore the top half of a football jersey with the bottom half of a black singlet sewn onto it; and he carried a billy of milk which he had brought in from the outside safe. The room swung back to its normal size as he sat down, and there was a grey light coming in through the one little window high up on the wall. Uncle Kepa leaned over his dish and stuck his bottom lip way out like a shelf, then rested the spoon with the hot porridge there and sucked. The spoonful of porridge was gone. ‘Ah. Ah, good my babies.’ Mereana stopped staring at her uncle and began pouring tea while Lizzie ran to rescue the bread that was toasting by the grate. The little bit of dirty sea in the bottom of the dinghy swung and eddied with each push. Then away, rocketing down over the stones until the bow crunched into sand at the tip of the water. One more big push and it was flying out into the lagoon with Mereana and Lizzie throwing themselves in over its sides. Uncle Kepa who had rolled his trousers up and whose legs were white stepped in over the back and sat down on the middle seat to take up the oars. They were soon through the channel, pulling out over the belt of brown kelp where the sea changed to a dull navy blue, then further still to where the water became thick and green. The day was alight now. Far away, back on the shore the sun was sending silver off the roofs of all the tiny houses, and streamers of smoke leaned from the morning chimneys. As they rounded the point they could see the large patches of brown rock below them in

the water, while rocks closer to land and not yet warmed and browned by the touch of sun stood black with the cold of night on them. At the feet of each was a white lacework of smashed sea. Out on the water, so far away that it was like being nowhere, and like being no one; where even Uncle Kepa wasn't big any more, they let the rope down with the bag of stones on it and began baiting their hooks. Mereana watched her sinker break the surface and felt it take her line deep down into the sea. Who would be first? She could see a few feet of line before it disappeared, and could feel a small tingling. A quick glance at Lizzie. Lizzie was looking into the water too. Wondering perhaps who would be first. Thinking perhaps about all the fish in all the sea in all the world … One of them will get on my line. I will pull it up quickly, and I will be first. Who would? Uncle Kepa was leaning forward with elbows on his knees. And gee. Uncle Kepa, he was asleep. What if a big fish got on Uncle's line and he didn't know. What if a shark came and bit the boat in half, who would save them. And if an albatross as big as the one in the museum came and took her and Lizzie away, who would fight it. Mereana forgot her line for the moment. ‘Lizzie, Uncle's asleep.’ But then Uncle's hand with the line in it shot up above his head. His eyes popped open and he began to pull in. Uncle was first. Mereana and Lizzie watched him bring in his tarakihi then went back to their fishing. ‘I got one. I got one Uncle. I got one Mereana.’ Lizzie's face was all red and she was zipping her line up. Now Lizzie had a fish and Mereana didn't. She could feel some little nibbles on her line but the fish kept going away and getting on Lizzie's and Uncle Kepa's. Perhaps she was on the wrong side. ‘Change seats Lizzie.’ But Lizzie wouldn't. She knew the good side. Lizzie used to be her best cousin and her best … Got one. ‘I got one Uncle. I got one Lizzie.’ Hand over hand, hand over hand. Watching in the water. Far down a shadow moving, coming closer. There was her fish. Nearly to the top. Waving in the water like a big shiny hand. Then, as the fish broke the surface her line went slack. The shadow that had been her fish was speeding back to the deep. ‘Never mind baby. Catch another one soon.’ And there was Lizzie who used to be her best friend pulling in another one. It didn't get away from Lizzie either. As she watched her own line go down again she saw a tear drop into the sea. Never mind. They were there again. Nibbling, pulling, snatching. And if only the boat would keep still for a while, or was it herself. Just her, going up and down up and down. The sun was above them now bouncing its heat at them from off the surface of the water. And the sea. The sea was rocking them from side to side. Up and back, up and back … Uncle had tied his line to a rowlock. He was taking some old crayfish out that he had brought for bait. ‘Waste of good crayfish,’ he was saying. ‘Waste giving it to the fish.’ He snapped the legs and began sucking the rotting flesh from them. Suck. Suck. ‘Waste of good crayfish for those fish down there. Waste of good kai, ne ra?’ Something was wrong with Mereana. Her stomach was all pinched up and she had no spit left. ‘Up and back, up and back,’ said the sea. The sun was going on and off and she could hear Uncle saying. ‘Put your head over baby. Put your head over,’ so she did. Her throat was stretching out wide. And there she was, sicking onto the sea. She watched the sick floating away like a little white nest on the water. But what was Uncle doing? Pulling in the anchor. ‘No Uncle.’ She wiped her mouth on the bottom of her dress. ‘No Uncle. I want to catch one. A fish. A fish Uncle.’ Letting it down. Letting the anchor down. ‘A little while, a little while,’ he was saying. Well that's good. That's all right. Her line tinkled and rang, then suddenly it swam away.

‘I got one. Got one, see.’ She pulled quickly. ‘Got one Uncle. Got one Lizzie.’ She could see it now nearly at the top. Don't get away. Bigger than Lizzie's. Bigger than Uncle Kepa's. And Uncle Kepa, he was leaning over the side with a gaff hook. Don't … Her line was empty again. She saw her fish flip and dive. Then. Then there was a great crashing in the water and the sea had turned white. I had Uncle in it. ‘Uncle.’ Uncle Kepa's head popped out of the water. ‘I got it baby.’ And he held up the gaff with her fish flapping and gasping on it. Her fish. And it was bigger than Lizzie's. Bigger than Uncle's. He reached over the side and put the gaff with the fish on it into the boat. He turned the boat and took hold of the anchor rope and began easing himself up. Uncle was brave you know. What if a shark came and bit his legs off, or a whale, or a giant octopus like the one that picked up a whole submarine in the pictures. The back of the boat rose as he levered himself up over the bow. He was in. He made it and his legs were still on. The back of the boat came down with a slap and a wave whacked against its side and splashed in. ‘Bail out mates.’ Mereana and Lizzie took the bailing tins and began throwing the wave back. ‘We got it Uncle. We got my fish.’ ‘We got it baby. We got that big fullu.’ He was pulling up the anchor now. Never mind. ‘These funny fishermen are all wet,’ he said. Out from the point they watched him take his spinner from his fishing bag and let it for a hard pull homeward. Then shinning out into the water. He tied the end of the line to the seat and straightened the boat over the water, which now that they had rounded the corner was quiet and unruffled in a windless afternoon. Mereana watched the spinner sending out a fine white spray behind them. Would they catch a kahawai as Uncle said. Because fish don't eat paua shells. ‘Uncle, kahawai don't eat paua shells.’ With each big pull Uncle Kepa's breath was hissing out between his teeth, ‘The kahawai … he think … it … a herring.’ Gee Uncle. Anyone could see it was a paua shell with holes in it spinning on a line. Most of the time Uncle was clever and strong, and he could row fast, and he had jumped in the sea and saved her fish. But now … Uncle thought … The kahawai struck. There was a green-silver flash, and spray ribboned up and out as the boat dragged the fish through the water. ‘We got one. We got one. The kahawai he thought it was a herring. Gee he thought the bit of paua shell was a herring. Dumb ay Lizzie? Dumb ay Uncle?’ ‘Dumb ay Mereana.’ The lagoon was full of children, waiting to see how good the catch had been. Mereana and Lizzie were tired that night. They had been up early and out fishing. So many things had happened that the other kids hadn't believed them. They lay side by side on Lizzie's little bed. It was a warm night. They could hear the sea scrambling up the stones. ‘Mereana.’ ‘What?’ ‘I wonder where your sick is.’ ‘Something might've ate it.’ Because fish were dumb. They didn't know one thing from another. ‘I think it's still there on the water.’ But Mereana was tired. Her eyes closed. Away, away, in a dark place far at the back of her eyes there was a little nest drifting … Drifting. Somewhere far away on a dark, dark sea …