The Bone People (35 page)

Simon shakes his head frantically. The rod is jerking down, down, down, in hard insistent tugs. The tip is

under water, but the child clearly wants to catch whatever it is by himself.

"Okay, this hand's just here in case." He straddles the seat and holds the upper grip of the rod loosely. "When you want a rest, I'll take the strain." Sim nods. He's doing all he can, bracing the rod back.

"Looks a weight." She takes a waddy from under the stern seat, and slides the gaff up from the centre of the boat. "Keep it on, Sim... it's probably just a largish shark, but it might be a groper...."

The tugging stops and the rod straightens. Simon's face is misery incarnate. "Wind in," urges Joe. "Wind in quick, he might just be tired."

The boy winds in hopelessly, shoulders sagging. Three turns of the reel, four, and five, and wham! down goes

the tip again.

They all yell.

This time the fish pulls for over five minutes before the line Slackens once more.

Joe braces the rod with both hands, and Simon winds in until again the fish hauls down.

"Oath, I wish I had a camera," says Kerewin.

The boy is gritting his teeth, hands whiteknuckled round the butt Of the rod. Just as well Joe has him caged in

his arms, she thinks. If that thing pulls really hard I'll bet the urchin wouldn't let go even if he went in the

drink... wonder how much longer he can hold out?

It's a grim death struggle: the fish might be tiring, only might, but the child definitely is. Sweat streams down

his face, overflowing his cheekbones and dripping off his chin. All his effort is concentrated on holding,

waiting for the next period of grace when the fish will cease struggling for deeper water. feel crook?"

Kerewin picks

Just as well the reel's star-drag geared... you'd have lost a finger by now, or skin at least, the power dives this

fish is making.

Twice more Simon gets to reel in line, the second time making tens of feet, and each time after, the enemy on

the other end drags the rod tip down again.

"Sweet Lord, my wrists are getting sore," says Joe, and Simon groans in real anguish as the fish beats down again.

But it is near enough to the surface now for Kerewin to glimpse it.

"Not a shark, boy! Lean the other way, Joe." She balances against the gunwale, ready with gaff and club.

Simon is breathing raggedly, heavily, but he's winding up steadily now.

There's a brief flurry as the fish breaks water, but it's finished.

"Groper!" screams Kerewin, and slides the gaff in at the mouth edge of the gills.

"Keep on winding, fella. Ah you beauty!" whacking the fish hard, "You beauty!"

"Himi or the fish?"

"Both! O my oath, superb."

Simon is laughing, eyes closed, head back against Joe.

As she brings the stunned fish over the gunwales, the man sees its full size for the first time.

"Sweet Lord, it's about as big as he is--"

"And weighs a bloody sight more," grunting with the effort of lifting the groper inboard. "Okay maestro, you can put your rod down now."

The boy opens his eyes, and stares, awed. Bluegrey, massive, huge mouth, that's all he can take in at the

moment. He's shaking now the long struggle is over. He lays the rod down on the bow side of the seat: there

is enough slack nylon for Kerewin to manoeuvre the fish.

"Is it really your first catch?" and when the boy nods, still looking dazed, "Well, that's the best first fish I've seen in my life. Big, and the best eating kind in the sea, for my money. Beats Joe's trevallies, even," she grins.

He smiles, tipping his head back to catch his father's reaction.

"Ka pai," says Joe and gives him a kiss.

The groper chooses that moment to thresh convulsively in a final bid for escape.

"Ye gods!" from Kerewin in a highpitched shriek as the gaff twists loose.

"Getit!" roars Joe and dives to grab the tail.

The groper's head is on the middle seat and the tail is flailing the deck: a few inches more and the fish will

make the sea. Simon

seizes the nylon, Kerewin seizes the waddy and belts the fish viciously hard thunk thunk thunketty thunk, the

beat shivering through the boat. The groper's eyes become rigid in their sockets and protrude. The gills rasp

once, then clamp together. It falls back into the bottom of the boat.

"Wow," she says weakly, lost for once for words.

"I think you've pulverised its skull," Joe is staring at the fish with horrified fascination. Then he shakes himself. "Hoowee, if we'd lost that after all," turning smiling to his son, "I don't know how we'd ever...

"O God," he says in a sickened voice, several seconds later. "Look what he's done."

Put a hook deep in his thumb.

The spine of the groper was severed. It was bled, wrapped in the remaining wetted sack, and stowed under

the middle seat. She chopped the trace off, leaving the hook still in its mouth. She cut through the nylon

above the hook in Simon's thumb with more care, holding it below her cut so the hook didn't move. She

examined the thumb very quickly. "It's in too deep," she said, and put the first aid kit back in the locker.

The boy sat and looked at his hooked thumb. His face was back to being a waxen mask.

Kerewin wound the starter cord round, and the motor started first go. She kept it in neutral.

"Ready?"

Joe picked up his son, saying, "All right, stupid," as he did. But he held him as though the child could break in his hands. "Ready," he answered.

She slipped the motor into gear, and swung the bow round for Moerangi beach.

Joe steps onto the sand, still holding his son.

"Take the car. The keys are on the old bach mantelpiece."

He frowns. "What for?"

"The nearest doctor is at Hamdon. That's too far to walk."

"The nearest doctor he won't fight is three hundred miles away. I'll take it out here."

"Ah, come on, that's minor surgery. He needs a doctor."

She turns round as a wave breaks near the stern of the boat.

Simon swallows. He whistles for her to look, but his throat is too dry.

"Ah, Kerewin...."

She turns back. The boy shakes his head, deliberately, emphatically.

"And that means no doctors eh?"

They stare at her, same set faces, drawn mouths.

"Aue. Well you better go away and do it then." She shrugs and sighs. "I'll put the boat away and fix up the fish."

"You manage the boat by yourself?"

"There's a winch up there. I can do it, easy enough."

"Okay." He turns away.

"Uh Joe.,." and he swings back quickly.

"There's a flask of brandy in the top cupboard. If you give him quite a bit, but slowly, it'll probably make

things a whole lot easier. For you both."

"Yes." He turns for the baches again. "Thanks."

She removed the gills from the groper head, and put it in a separate bucket. Good for soup, and plenty of

pickings in groper cheeks.

She gutted the fish itself and thought in the middle of doing so, "Damn, we should have a picture of it whole.

Though if I stick the head back by it, it might give an idea of the size--"

Gutted, and the head off, it weighed over forty pounds.

"Impressive, urchin, impressive."

The gulls that have gathered shift off at her voice.

The cod take longer to process. She fillets each one, and the gulls return, swooping and shrieking over long

pink intestines and yellowish glands and skeletons and skins.

She saves a few filleted bodies for cray pots.

The trevally and the terakihi are simple to do: she removes the heads, and flicks out the entrails, and scrubs

the bodies clean.

She packs all the fillets and bodies, except the groper, into three buckets, and trudges back to the baches.

Joe is playing his guitar in the new bach. She kicks on the door.

"Ju-hust a minute!" he sings out. "Hello!" he says gaily, opening the door wide, "that didn't take too long."

O star of the sea, who got the brandy?

"No," she says warily. "Would you put these in the fridge," poking at the terakihi and trevally, "and just leave the rest in the buckets? I'll be back in a bit. I've got to collect the groper yet."

She passes the buckets over. "Sim okay?"

"Fine, fine. Grogged up to the eyeballs, and an interesting slice out of his thumb, which, curiously, he seems

quite proud of. He wants his fish, I'm not sure whether to take to bed or not." Joe smiles and smiles at her.

"I'm getting it."

"Good." He picks up the buckets and shuts the door.

"That was very bloody peculiar somehow," she says to herself, and stamps away back down the beach.

Inside the bach, Joe pours another glass of mixture, for himself. Port and brandy, horridly sweet, but he

swallows it straight down. He's buzzing with anger inside, like a stirred-up wasp nest, but he's determined not

to let it out.

She could have thought. She could have offered. If there was two of us, one could have held him steady, and

the other cut. Even Himi can't hold himself still while someone's hacking into his hand.

The boy had been passive and giggly with drink when he laid him on the sofa.

"Do what you like, yell or kick me, Himi, anything. I'll be quick as I can." He had held the boy's hand in front of himself, so Simon couldn't see what he was doing. Cut, and hold the cut wide, so the barb pulled out

doesn't rip flesh further.

He had thought it all out carefully, coming back in the boat, everything: what knife, which antiseptic, what to

staunch the blood with, even how to make butterfly stitches -- because he couldn't see either of them using

needle and thread to seal the cut.

Blessing the first aid course taken so long ago at Teachers' College, he had got it all in his mind, so they

could get it done quickly and smoothly, with as little hurt as possible. But he hadn't thought of Kerewin

choosing to ignore them. Or that the hook would be rammed into the soft bone. Two yanks to get the bastard

thing out. It makes him sick to remember it, and he can't stop thinking about it.

"Another one for you, e tama?" his voice is controlled, his smile in place.

After four glasses of port and brandy, Simon's nearly out to it. He's feverishly flushed, and his eyes keep

closing when he wants them open. He makes a very limp Yes with his right hand. At the moment, all he

wants to be is asleep. His left hand aches abominably. He keeps starting to think about why Kerewin wouldn't

help, about what she said in the boat -- he shies away from the words again, but the voice is back, and the

songs are starting to sing themselves in the dark that is growing around.

("You sweet effall useless Clare, you caint do no thing right.")

Joe comes in slow motion, saying something gentle, and holds the glass steady for him to drink from. He

smiles hugely at him to show that every thing is allright.

She sneaked back to the old bach for her camera. At the boatshed of the black bach, she arranged the groper

corpse so that it looked

intact if you didn't look too closely. She laid a yard rule alongside it, and took shots from three different

angles.

"Now you'll have something permanent to show for your efforts, Simon P Gillayley."

As well as another scar, says the snark.

Ah shut up, Kerewin tells it. I don't want to think about that.

She struggles back along the beach, weighed down by the groper, telling herself all the way to forget it,

getting more upset and angry with every step. Coward, coward, you can't stand anything else's pain, hide it

away, darken it, sweep it outa sight and mind.

Why did the stupid brat have to grab the nylon anyway? I was managing it okay... just when everything is

starting to flow nicely, that berloody kid turns it into a disaster area again.

She sticks the groper in the freezer in the new bach boatshed. He wants the damn thing, he can go get it for

himself.

She pushes open the door belligerently, daring the boy to make any fuss, the man to make any fuss, anyone to

remind her of what happened.

Joe looks up and smiles.

He lays his guitar down and stands.

"Have my seat and I'll make a tea," he offers kindly. "You've been doing all the work."

"Thanks."

She glances at the sofa. The boy's a hump at one end, covered by a blanket.

"He asleep?"

"More like deep in an alcoholic stupor, eh," he says it easily, grinning all the while.

More like pain and shock have finally got him,

seeing Simon slip into unconsciousness again, in the middle of his smile,

and bewilderment as to why you wouldn't help.

"Brandy and port?"

"It made it sweet for him. He gagged on just brandy. Don't worry, I'll get another bottle of each." His smile is becoming fixed.

Kerewin frowns and picks up the guitar. "To hell with that... if he wanted my tokay, he could have had it and

welcome." She runs her fingers over the strings, still frowning to herself. "I can't understand why you didn't put your foot down and just take him to the doctor. I mean, they're used to kids being scared of them. They

can cope with that sort of thing."

He drops the smile.

"He would either have fought all the way, or got hysterical. If he fought, he would have got hurt. If he started a screaming fit, well it doesn't just last for a few minutes. It takes hours for him to get over it. This way might

have hurt him a bit more initially, but it was quick and he didn't mind. Believe you me Kerewin, he's not just

slightly scared of medics. He is terrified of them."

"Why?"

"I don't know," and hopes she'll drop the subject. "What's he terrified of then? The surroundings? The doctors themselves?" He shrugs and doesn't answer.