Death in the Mill by Rowley Habib (John Hannah's Address- to Dudley) I have an ache in my chest for you Is it wrong to love someone so much That when he dies a part of you dies too? Yet in years I had not seen you But the knowing that you were here And that some day it should come To pass we should meet But in death, then full well I know That never again will I see you That is what hurts in death. To the boy it was a beautiful day with the wind and the showers, and the showers and the wind. So he could sit by the fire with the front of the stove down and read through the heap of comics that lay on the floor at his feet. He was vaguely aware of his mother in the room. She had a woman's magazine spread open on the table and was reading it leaning on her elbows. Now and then, she would look up and stare off out the misted window. The wind seemed to blow in spasms. Unleasing in gusts that rang with laughter. The soft leaves of the hedge brushed against the window and the wall boards to the tiny pantry. All this was music to the boy. The singing of the kettle as it neared the boil; the light ticking on the roof as the showers of rain fell upon it; the moaning of the wind as it caught beneath the eaves of the house. A lazy drowsiness had settled over him and all the noises seemed to come as though from a great distance. He heard his mother as she stirred from her reading and came over to the stove. Her dress brushed his legs and he became aware of her standing close to him. The smell of the kitchen was strongly about her. She shifted the lid of a pot and a wonderful flavour of stewing meat and onions rushed out into the room with the warm wet steam. Then she brushed past him and went through the open door into the pantry. The boy heard a cupboard open and the crackling of paper as she went about her work in there. His sisters were still at school for it was only two o'clock in the afternoon, and his father had only come in once from the shop. It was to have lunch. So the room had been in quietness most of the day. Left alone to him and his mother. She had kept him home from school because of the cold outside. That morning she had found him twisted in the blankets, his body wet with sweat, and, his eyes swollen from his crying. He had often become sick in the cold weather so she dare not let him outside in all the wind and rain.

THIRD IN A SERIES OF SHORT STORIES BY MAORI AUTHORS The clock ticked unheard on the mantle piece. Presently the boy's father came hurrying down the passage. Running in his light footed way A cold draught lifted the fine hairs on the boy's legs, as the man opened the door. Then he heard him say to his mother, “Hurry Annie, Dudley's been hurt in the mill. Hurry now girl.” And he turned from the door. The boy heard him fumbling about in the dark passage-way for his coat. His mother had turned from her work and the colour left her face. A flickering of annoyance past her eyes, then she was out the door and hurrying down the passage. The boy got up from the stool and stood for a while staring at the glowing embers that were pressed against the front of the stove. The music of the wind and rain were gone now. The noises and smells that were in that warm kitchen were no longer about him. All feeling for anything else was dead. And he knew only a great emptiness within him. Even then he realized that this emptiness was a feeling of despair. And that it was despair towards his mother. Strange he thought that his feelings should be towards her and not for Dudley. He went slowly down the passage and stood by the centre door. His mother had a large coloured handkerchief covering her hair and tied beneath her chin. She was shaking her arms into the sleeves of her overcoat when she saw the boy. She stood for awhile looking down at him, then she said, “You wait here Curram, that's a good boy. If I'm not back before the girls get home, tell Edith to go and get your auntie Harriet.” She turned towards the door. “Look after the pots now will you?” And she went down the steps, hurrying to catch up to her husband and one of the men who had brought the news from the mill. The boy stood for a long while in the quiet gloom of the passageway, his hand resting on