Keri Hulme - The Bone People

A little while later, a lot of beer later, small talk under the bridge and the deep talk now beginning to flow, there's another interruption.

A slender man glides up and stands by Joe. He has a permanent smile fixed to his face.

"Well, well… do introduce us, my dear?"

"Jesus! What're you doing here?"

The man smiles a little harder. "Always a case of mistaken identity… I don't know how I do it." The smile razors coldly over Kerewin. "This is a change… aren't you going to introduce us?"

Joe grimaces. "E hoa, this is another Tainui, Luce Mihi by name. Luce, Kerewin Holmes, an artist."

The man raises his eyebrows.

"Really?" His handshake is cool, his hand limp.

Affected twit, she thinks, smiling as artificially back while saying, "Glad to meet you, the place seems littered with Tainuis."

"O, littered's the word, m'dear. Too apt."

He turns his smile deliberately back to Joe.

"Well, shall I sit down, my kissing coz?"

"Why?" asks Joe harshly.

"Thanks, sweeting. What news in the dear old burgh, Hohepa?"

"Nothing much."

The thin eyebrows swoop up again.

"Hohepa! I've only been here two days, and already I've heard the most fascinating things… Sharon told me a little tale yesterday, for instance. The dear saw sweet Simon over at you know who's… following in his father's, well maybe not footsteps but you'll gather my meaning hmm?"

"Who is you know who?" Joe is not smiling.

"Why, Binny Daniels," and the permanent smile widens a fraction to reveal startlingly white teeth underneath.

Joe looks at his cousin, his eyes snapping.

"I'll see Simon about that."

His voice is too tight, too controlled.

"Deary, Hohepa," each word spaced by exaggerated last vowel

sounds, "that's being a little heavy." He slid out of his seat, cool as a snake. "I was just sharing the news, sweeting. There's no need to get all rough."

He flips his hand. "I dare say the child could stand a little gentle handing. You really should thank Binny. If he was cleaner, and touchable, I would. Even though his taste is generally execrable."

Joe grits his teeth.

"Bye for now, my coz."

Luce fed himself back into the five o'clock crowd.

"That bastard is poison." He is squeezing his schooner viciously as though it was his cousin's neck. "He's bloody poison. A bloody poisonous liar."

Kerewin, who has heard about Binny Daniels, is having difficulty swallowing her beer.

"If you say so," she says at last, pacifically. O hell, I hope so. "If you say so." The easy drinking has clearly come to an end.

He knocked on the door.

Shuffle, shuffle.

Pause.

"Hoose there."

"Joseph Gillayley."

Sucking sound and whistle of breath.

"Geezus Mr Gillayley… gee-zus." The voice trails down to a frightened whisper. "Geesuss, what yer want?"

"Has my son been round here?"

He's been round here all right.

Luce wasn't just making it up.

"He just, he just, was over the fence one day an I said Looklwonhurtyerboy, don't jump like that. He was scared."

"Open the door."

"No." Almost a whimper. More sucking sounds.

Joe studies the flaking paint on the door. Pale dirty green, blistered and sunstained.

One minute more, and I'll kick it down.

"Lissen Mister Gillayley, he didn' do nuthin. Nuthin wrong. I didn' do nuthin wrong.

"He was scared about some money stole in school. So I give him a dollar. He's a nice little boy. That's all."

He'd know the little bastard steals… Christ, when's that going to surface?

But it sounds plausible… except not money for nothing. Not charity from this stinking old faggot.

"You expect me to believe that shit?"

"No."

The chain clinks again, and suddenly the door scrapes open.

"No," says Binny again, "I got me reputation. But that's the honest bloody truth, so Jesus help me."

He is trembling at the knees, his chin is wobbling. There are stains all over his cardigan and shiny trousers. He stinks of urine and stale sicked-up sherry. There is a shine of dribble down one side of his bristling chin.

He holds his chin high though, so the scrawny neck stretches.

"No, I got me reputation," he says again, and lowers his head in defeat.

Waiting for Joe to knee him one, or belt him.

"Did he ask for the money?"

"He sez he was scared about it. I think that's what he sez anyway." The old eyes are rheumy and opaque. "I wouldn't touch your pore little boy, not the way you think. He was scared, he wanted some money. I had some, so I give him a dollar. Christ, there's nuthin wrong wiv that?"

Joe looks at him long and hard, and the old man's eyes flinch, and come back to him, and flinch again, and still return.

"No, there's nothing wrong with that for you," says Joe at last.

I

He went home, and prowled through the rooms until he found the boy in his bedroom.

"Where have you been since school finished?"

The boy gets off the bed, looks at his father sideways, moves sideways, gesturing as he goes, moving faster, faster, panicking now, Out, Out, Out. Joe puts his leg across the doorway, blocking it off just before the child reaches it.

"Where's out?"

A blank stare. Not blank. Scared as hell.

Joe reaches out and slaps him across the face.

"You go to Tainuis' when you're told. Or to Kerewin's. Don't have me chasing all round the countryside after you. You get into trouble too easily. And stop the tears. Marama's not here."

YOU PROM, the boy is writing, finger against his hand.

"Shut up." He puts his hands on his hips. "Luce said you were over at that creep Binn's place. Did he handle you?"

The child shudders, shaking his head No No No, so the teartracks skid off at right angles. He writes again, finger on hand, BINN OK.

"What'd you go there for?"

Simon swallows.

"Come on, save some skin."

MONEY fingers Simon.

"Wise. I heard about that too." He unbuckles his belt. "Shirt off, boy."

The boy looks once to the door, once at his father's face.

As he takes his shirt off, Joe thinks, What the hell, he'll do as

he's told for two days and then go his own way again. I might as well not bother. But he's my child, my responsibility. I've got to do it, wrapping the end of the belt round his fist.

Through the beer fog, he was saying, You promised. Not to hit me on the face again.

That's the only thing he'd mean by You prom.

It irks him.

Why should I feel guilty? Why does he always find some sneaky

way to make me feel bad? He's the bad one.

And you don't learn, Himi, that's why you get the hits. You

won't learn. You shiver already, but as soon as it's over, you'll

be out doing some other stupid thing and earn yourself another

lot.

He shrugs his heavy shoulders.

What else can I do, Hana? What else is there to do?

He hits the boy until he grovels on the floor, gone beyond begging for it to stop.

"Don't go to Daniels' place again, hear? He's not a good man. Bloody old pederast," he mumbles as he buckles on his belt. His own hands are shaking now.

He pulls the boy up from the floor, and then because he is suddenly sorry for him as he stands there swaying, white and sick with pain, he says,

"Look tama, that was for your own good. I'm not much drunk am I? I aren't just mad, am I? It's because you mustn't go there, Himi. I'm sorry to have to hit you so hard, but you've got to learn to do as I say."

Like a voice in his head, You didn't tell him not to go there.

Joe shakes his head.

"Otherwise, otherwise," he looks blearily into the child's darkened tear clouded eyes, "you could get really badly hurt. And I don't want you hurt, tama."

Sweet Christ, don't look at me like that.