Keri Hulme - The Bone People

The house has six rooms, the pattern typical older State house, found in thousands all over the country.

A bedroom with a double bed in it, antiseptically clean, with heavy curtained windows.

"My room," says Joe, flicking the light on and switching it off

again.

"His room," gesturing into a small lighted sunporch. "Sweet Jesus, tama, must you chuck all your clothes on the floor? Pick 'em up."

She gets a good look while the child gathers the clothes and dumps them on his bed. The room is on the righthand side of the hall, going in, right at the back of the house. Sparsely furnished like every room she's seen so far; a wooden dresser against the wall, a three-quarter bed. On the bed though, is a bright coverlet made of squares of crocheted wool; all colours, orange and violet, scarlet and shocking pink and vermilion, cornflower blue and sunflower yellow and limeleaf green. It is the only burst of colour she's seen in the house, excepting the budgie.

That's one thing — everything is so drear. Small wonder the brat escapes twice weekly —-

"Nice counterpane," she says, and Joe answers, "O, Marama made him that. She's Piri's mum, and considers herself your nana, right?"

The boy, having rearranged the disorder in his room, nods. He looks resentful at having had to do it.

"Out," says Joe, and waits till the child has gone into the hall before switching the light off.

Next place on the guided tour?

"O, that's the bathroom."

Spruce, clean tiled floor — hellishingcold on these winter mornings because there's not a bathmat in sight.

Simon disappears into the toilet.

"Go get undressed when you've finished," Joe says to him. "You can stay up a while yet."

He whispers to her, "With any luck he'll flake."

For the first time she wonders whether the man has anything else in mind other than conversation. In which case, he has struck out.

"That's the spare room Only junk in there."

But she realises she misjudged the words. In the sittingroom he says,

"I don't want to give him his dope on top of the drink he had. I didn't realise he was getting himself quite so much, or I would have pulled him up short before. But anyway with luck it'll send him to sleep naturally."

The fire brightens this room, but there is nothing in it otherwise that is cheering. A faded sofa beneath the window that looks out into the street. Three chairs with pale spots and rings from slopped glasses on the arms. And a glass-doored china cabinet with nothing in it.

He has been following her guarded survey, and when he sees her glance linger on the empty cabinet, he chuckles.

"Ask Himi where the stuff inside went," he says cryptically.

"O?" but the man just grins.

He sits on the hearthrug, poking at the fire, whistling softly to himself. He makes no attempt to start small talk, and she appreciates the silence.

Simon comes in, his feet bare. The bandage she had put on, is gone.

Joe says, "All right?" and at the child's nod, "Come here, then." He scrutinises the child's heel and comments.

"So far the splinter has grown to be about as big as he is. Wonder where it'll stop?"

"It was about an inch actually. Big enough if you stepped nn it suddenly, I suppose." Joe's eyebrows rise.

"I thought about half an inch, and then I was being generous. Tough luck, tama. Where did you go to step on it anyway? Probably deserved it, eh."

Simon kneels beside him, but disdains to answer. Instead, he reaches up to Kerewin, inside the denim folds of jacket, to where the rosary is lying.

"O," says Joe, surprise and something akin to awe in his voice. "You're giving them away?"

The boy looks at him, still wine-flushed, but now his eyes are dark.

Kerewin says slowly,

"They were his gift to me this morning, and I appreciate them very much. But maybe an heirloom isn't to be alienated?"

Joe shakes his head. "They're his, to do what he wants with them. More later, eh." Back to his son, "Miracles never cease. Do you remember, hey no. Let's forget that a moment. Kere wants to ask you a question."

"I do?"

He weaves a hand at the china cabinet.

"O yeah. What about the cabinet, Sim? Why's it empty?"

Simon's stare at his father is both reproachful and vindictive.

Toe laughs, at him.

It was a sore subject. Once upon a time it was full of trinkets and junky glass stuff, the sort people give you but you never really

need."

"Really? Well, anyway, the cabinet was stuffed with them. One time Simon got wild at me, I even forget what for now, and cleared the whole lot out. By the very simple expedient of throwing them at the walls. There was one hell of a heap of glass splinters. With weird little bits sprinkled through it — some of those uh mathoms are held together with very strange things. Little springs and sprigs of plastic and odd rubber bands."

"Goodbye the debris of years," she says, not knowing what else

"Yeah, that's what I thought too, after I calmed down. Most of the junk had been souvenirs or birthday presents or wedding gifts. A lot of sentimental memories attached to it, but not much other value." He looks down blandly at his child. "There is a moral to that, Kerewin. Haimona is rough on possessions, his own or others'. I was surprised to see his beads as a gift to you, but it's entirely in keeping with this iconoclast." He ruffles the child's hair back into place. "Hana, my wife, hung some pictures in his room, quite colourful and pleasant. I thought he liked them. They went west a year back, didn't they?"

"You just throw whatever's handy when you get wild?"

"Uh huh," Joe answers for the boy. "From your tea to a half gallon of beer a certain Saturday morning. That little effort nearly brained Piri's two year old we had visiting. Lost skin over that, didn't you?"

The boy has the non-expression on his face again. Utter disinterest.

"Okay, I think we'd better change the subject," says Kerewin, "shatteringly interesting and all as it is."

Joe laughs.

An hour later, the conversation has meandered round to fishing: seafishing, which is Kerewin's favourite and speciality, versus river and lake, at which Joe modestly admits being expert.

"Not really," he says ruefully. "I just know where the fish are to be found. It's getting them out in an orthodox manner that bothers me."

"Ministry of Works minnows," chuckles Kerewin, but he affects shock.

Simon is nearly asleep, but he stirs every time one of them moves to stoke the fire, or pass across smokes.

"Excuse me a minute," says Joe at last, and goes into the kitchen, returning with a round bottle a minute later.

"Come on, tama. Bed time."

Two teaspoonsful of what looks like raspberry syrup.

She looks at the label.

"Trichloral!" the word makes her voice resound in a squawk. "Hell, he's a bit young for that kind of draught, isn't he?"

"I said last night about the sleeping bit," says Joe softly. "At least this way we both get a good night's sleep. Otherwise, it's nightmares at two in the morning, and three hours spent getting him calmed back to normality. And that's no joke night after night after night."

"I shouldn't imagine so."

He's holding Simon as though he were a baby. It renews her sense of the boy's slightness.

"E moe koe," says the man tenderly, kissing the child, dark hair overlapping fair.

"See if you can't do something unusual tomorrow," setting him on his feet, "like be good for a change."

Simon grins, nearly out on his feet. He staggers to Kerewin, holding out his arms, and Kerewin ducks.

"E, he just wants to say goodnight," says Joe.

When was the last time I kissed anybody?

as the child kisses goodnight, and winds his arms round her neck. And stays there. "I'll take him if you like," Joe stands quickly and opens his arms, aware of her increasing embarrassment even if Simon isn't. "I'm not used to children," she says, standing too, and holding Simon awkwardly from her. "Ummm-"