Keri Hulme - The Bone People

To ring or not to ring?

Envision the breeder from the bred, and find if the reality corresponded with the vision?

Hmmm.

She stared at the spiral.

It was reckoned that the old people found inspiration for the double spirals they carved so skilfully, in uncurling fern fronds: perhaps. But it was an old symbol of rebirth, and the outward-inward nature of things-

Half an hour of your time, my sweet soul. That would be all. You might even learn something new.

She doodled a finger in the centre of the spiral.

You might, says the inner voice, find out where guttersnipe Gillayley lost half his teeth. And get your queen back into the bargain.

"True," says Kerewin, "I might at that."

"This evening" by Gillayley time, was half past six.

She hears the crunch of gravel through one slit window. It has been a dreary and tiring afternoon, pinching clay, punching clay, trying to make a worthwhile shape. Nothing grows under her anxious hands. She feels empty and sour.

To hell, why didn't I ring and say No? Perhaps I could hide and they'll go away?

But she goes down a level, and washes her hands; down another level, and stirs the fire along.

She squints out the livingroom window. Hard to see in the dark, but she can make out two figures, one half the size of the other. The urchin back as well… let's hope there's not going to be a scene of any kind. Now why should I think there's going to be a scene?

As she opens the door, Simon stumbles in.

He has apparently been leaning against it, knocking on the wood.

Remembering Piri Tainui's remarks, she had listened for knocking, but it hadn't been audible until she was nearly into her entrance hall.

Hoowee, remind me to install a bell, an alarm, a photoelectric eye-

she steps to one side to avoid the child's entrance, but not fast enough. He is mysteriously happy to see her, taking her free hand and kissing it, grinning widely, his eyes sparking green in the lanternlight.

"Uh yeah, and how are you?" embarrassed by this wholehearted greeting, lowering her eyes.

His foot is still bandaged, still lacking a sandal. She raises her gaze, and Simon's gesture leads it on to the other person, waiting quietly on the threshold.

"Urhh," says Simon — it is a sound: his fingers snatch at the air and swing abruptly to his throat. The person reaches down and takes hold of his shoulder gently.

"I'm Joseph Gillayley. I'm glad to meet you."

A deep voice. She is looking at the hand, and wondering at the way it has suddenly linked them all.

A dark hand, broad and strong-looking, with neat blunt nails.

Her eyes travel rapidly up the arm and flick to the man's face.

"Hello… o," she gestures with the lantern, and Simon swallows audibly, and draws her hand to his shoulder.

"Kerewin Holmes," she says as their hands touch.

A hard warm hand, and her eyes go back to his face.

He smiles, an amiable grin.

Hell unholy! It's that joker from the pub-

and the pink paper plus the stream of fucks becomes a roaring ribald laugh in her mind. She grins hurriedly back. You and your berloody doorway Vikings Holmes, and uptight dignities… though it's a nice grin, merry as his fosterling's, it must be fostered, and her smile grows, rounding her cheeks and squinching her eyes narrow.

"And I'm very glad to meet you," she says, the laughter in her mind sneaking into her voice. "Both," she adds to the boy, and he

chuckles, strange little sound in the shadows.

Joseph Gillayley laughs quietly, bassing behind it.

"Well come!" says Kerewin. "Come on up. There's coffee at the top, and it'll be a helluva lot warmer."

Simon drops by the fire, spreadeagling himself.

Joseph stands in the doorway, his black eyebrows quirking.

"Well, I like it," she says defensively.

"O?" he asks. His big hands spread. "O, the room? It's magnificent… that window-"

He stands still a moment, then shakes himself. "No, I was watching my son. Sorry," again the odd shaking. "I can't get over the way he's made himself at home."

"O. O yeah," she shrugs and pours a cup of coffee. "You drink coffee, Mr Gillayley? I know your son does."

He turns from contemplating the boy's relaxed sprawl, biting his lower lip.

"Yes, I do, thank you." He looks down at the grass matting. "Urn, would you mind calling me Joe? This," pointing at his son, "refers to you as Kerewin." He glances up, checking for approval, disapproval.

"Good. It'd please me if you called me that too." She pours coffee into another mug. "I don't like getting mizzed or mistered either."

Joe smiles. His lips are full, and beautifully outlined.

"Joe," he says, pointing to himself. "Kerewin," he bows gracefully, "and Simon pake."

He straightens swiftly. "Did it surprise you, the contrast?"

His smile has deepened, not with derision or hurt or contempt, but as though it is a good joke.

"You bet!" She leans back against the bench. "You know what? I was expecting something big and blond, and for some unaccountable reason, dumb and boisterous to boot. And aside from the blond part, I couldn't reasonably justify… o God! I didn't mean dumb that way, I meant stupid-"

Joe says quickly,

"It doesn't worry either of us. Truly."

He looks back to his child.

"Simon, get up from there, and come and give," he hesitates, "give Kerewin a hand. And can I help you too?" he asks. "Yeah, grab your cup. Do you have sugar? Because the only stuff I've got is brown. I've got a few kinds of honey though."

"Brown sugar'll do nicely." He spoons two measures into his cup and Simon's.

"Listen you," he calls. "Come over here. At once."

The child rolls to his back and shakes his hands in the air. He gets to his feet in a hurry though.

"That bit of byplay meant Okay," says Joe, staring at the boy. He switches his gaze back to Kerewin, mellows it with a smile, "or shall we say, I'm coming or doing, so you needn't yell."

"I know this bit," and she snaps her fingers for Yes and No.

"Most of it is shortcuts." He blows on his coffee. "One time we tried proper sign language. It got him good at spelling, but it was too slow. He likes to say things as fast as possible, preferably without having to write them down. All you need to know about his hand-language is that it's mainly derivation. You know, from an object, or a way of doing things that is ordinary, or from ordinary things, or things… O b, bother," and the bother sounds so forced after the fluent stream of obscenity a few nights back that Kerewin laughs out loud.

"A right mess-up," says Joe, his face darker by a flush. "Was it the bother?" She nods.

"Well, I'll admit that it's not what I'd ordinarily say, but I was getting mixed up. I was lecturing, or trying to." He is looking down at the floor again. "Umm, Kerewin?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd like to talk to you a bit if you've got the time to spare. Otherwise, I'll just say thank you properly, and we'll go?"

"By all means, talk."

They went to the fire and sat down round it.

"Well, it was this chessman, the queen. Borrowed," he says with a grin, handing it back. He lets his hand drift down to settle on his son's shoulder then. "I was going to give him a hiding, because that seems to be the only way to get across the message that he's not to go roaming off to other people's houses and burgle them or whatever… and he produces the chessman. Sort of like a truce-flag?" Joe's hands go up, imitating Simon's gesture. Simon is still, holding his cup.

"Up till then, all I knew was that he had gone to your place and broken in, and that you'd looked after him until Piri picked him up. Piri said you seemed a nice sort of person. A lady, he said you were. Sim wasn't sure whether you were man or woman until Piri said that," the man's grinning again.