Passing Through by Fiona Kidman And the world was a new day, the sun a golden apple hovering over the broomstick tops of the poplars. A thrush settled himself, comfortably slung in space between telegraph poles, so that he could sing sweetly to her. Fat notes dripping honey mead, morning had broken all right. Roimata lit another cigarette. The bank she was sitting on was not quite dry yet. Instinctively she pulled out one of the parcels from the heap beside her and slid it under her bottom. Mrs Allen, her mother-in-law, always said one should never sit on wet grass. Upon which thought she replaced the packet with the others. Not for her, thank you, she wasn't here to do what Mrs Allen thought she should any more. No fear, that was all over. She trickled fine blue veins of smoke out of her mouth and watched them go curling above her. She must be nearly out of smokes, she thought to herself, and reached into her jeans pocket for her tobacco. Might as well roll a couple to pass the time. Pity she hadn't changed out of her jeans, but then again, what the heck, there just hadn't been time. When the shearing gang finished up at Utiku the day before it had been one mad rush to get into Taihape before the shops closed. ‘What's your hurry mate?’ they'd asked her. ‘Plenty of time to celebrate. They don't shut till ten.’ ‘Not the pub,’ she'd told them. ‘I gotta go shopping.’ Boy, how she'd needed to go shopping, with that great roll of notes burning holes in her pocket. More money than she'd had since, oh goodness knows how far back, long before she'd married Robbie, that was for real. Get to the shops and use it for what she had planned on. Spend it before the merry night took hold and it went sliding through her fingers, the way it used to. Robbie said she was careless with money. He forgot easy how she'd picked him up when he was broke. Times his mother never knew about, his wild days, their best ones, before they loused it all up with marriage. Oh, but he was a sweet beautiful boy though, hanging tight to his dreams and hard to wake in the dawn of whatever place they happened to be, those times. A dozen different places, construction sites, farms, in a car at Waikaremoana one winter night and hadn't it been cold, cold all over they'd been, and when he did wake up, it was with never failing surprise that she was still there. When Debbie was on the way, it was then he got the call. He'd been expecting his mother to sing out that she needed him sooner or later. Being a widow and brought him up, what could he do? Couldn't let her down could he? They had gone to his home together. A-e, but it was good to be back with the shearers though. The fleeces thick and pungent, the floors of the shed heavy with oil, the noise, the laughter, the bleating of the sheep, the cussing when one got away. The money too. Tai, in the gang, was married. He knew how she felt about things, so he gave them the hurry along, so that they got down to Taihape by half past four. It wasn't too long to do shopping for two kids. The toy shops were that busy with Christmas only a couple of weeks away that it took her all her time to get served. Probably didn't think she'd be much of a customer. That's until they saw the money, more than any of the farmers' wives were handing round. They mostly said ‘Charge it’ anyway. Half of