Keri Hulme - The Bone People

And why why why did he have to laugh at it?

His rage mounted. Laugh at me, will he? Laugh, eh?

(And remembers this with most shame next morning, because it was only Luce's words, and Luce was born to make trouble.)

The child had crawled part way back to his bedroom. The tired sick way he moves, the mess of him, his cringing, the highpitched panting he makes instead of any normal cry — e this thing is no child of mine, levering the boy to his feet and pinning him against the wall, and punching him in the face and body until he whitens horribly and faints a second time.

And he had picked up the unconscious child with no feeling except hate in his heart, and thrown him on the bed. He had fallen loose and broken, and lay unmoving, sprawled still as if dead for hours.

And while he was full of remorse for what he had done to Haimona in the daylight, he couldn't bring himself to seek help. Aiiiee, imagine what they'll say, they'll do… so it's lies in notes to school, Simon P has the flu, excuse, and lies to Marama, O Himi has a friend, neat eh, he likes going there, lies to all and sundry for two weeks. Then Piri finds out, and now they all think I am sick, am warped, am a monster of cruelty. No blame on him, he's a godgiven angel to them… and what does Kerewin think now? Aue, don't think about that.

The child heals, at least his body heals; but then, and each time after, he becomes both more diffident and more unruly… and the worst part is that he still loves me. And what else can I do but kiss him back, hold him tight, and hope that the bad times will finish soon.

I kiss him too much. I hold him too much. Don't think on it, play each day as it comes… don't drink so much, don't do such things again. Forget it.

He bites his hand hard, and screws his eyes shut against tears.

Aroha, the child said, while smiling that wicked challenging smile, aroha.

"Ka nui taku mate, ka nui taku mate," and stops his whispering in horror as Simon touches his face.

"Aie tama, it's just a nightmare…" he can feel the child's eyes on his face, "… just a bad dream."

it.. and Kerewin turns to him saying, "That's okay with you then sunchild?" from the top of the building where she's standing.

Joe is nodding, pleased and proud in the background, and he can feel the sun on his shoulderblades, and he can scarcely contain the bounding joy he feels. He throws off the chains from his head and his feet and he cries "I'm home!" and Kerewin yells, "Hey Clare says Homai!" and Joe says proudly, "I hear! What joy!"

He opens his eyes.

It's grey outside, he can see through the gap in the curtains. He can hear the rain beating down. Underneath that sound, the sea hushes up and down the beach.

He sighs.

It's the first day here, but already time is running out.

He leans over the bunkside.

Joe's head is practically buried under the blankets. All you can see are long strands of black hair… hey, wait a minute, didn't I go to sleep down there? His father's hand is curled tightly above his head.

Must have put me back here again-

He glances at Kerewin.

She is tucked up neatly, her head on her arm. She doesn't sleep with a pillow at all. She seems to do without a lot. She doesn't sleep with pyjamas on either. She'd gone out while he and Joe got ready for bed, and coming back, turned out the remaining lamp, and got undressed in the dark. There was enough light from the range to show him that she didn't bother getting dressed again for sleeping.

Now she lies curled and still, her hair thick and curling round her face.

He sighs again.

In that dream, she had cut her hair very short. He hopes she doesn't. He can't bear his own hair being cut.

I don't see why it needs cutting, he thinks resentfully.

But Joe says, When you're old enough to take care of your own hair, you can decide how to wear it. Till then, I decide. Right?

You didn't say No to that, not without a fight happening. From experience, you should learn not to say No-

He stretches, leaning an arm out to touch the green wall beside him, and the other to touch the yellow wall at the back of his head.

I wish somebody would wake up.

He turns carefully over onto his back, wincing. Still… he looks at the roof. There's the lamp hooks, and hundreds of spider webs… all Kere's people must be like her and grow spiders in their houses… he wonders if Kerewin knows about the little brown man with blue lines across his face who seems to sleep in the floor. Not on it, the floor looks like it's not hard for him, he just lay down, and went halfway through it. Then he became aware that Simon was staring at him, and grinned at him, and said something in a soft indistinct guttural voice.

It was Maori, like Joe when he's in a good mood at home, or in a bad mood and wants to yell me out with other people around. But, thinks Simon frowning, it wasn't quite the same. Some of the words sounded funny. Besides I can't remember what he said. It was just before I got sick.

Ho hum.

There's a lot of shelves here. Some over the bunk across the way, and at the end of the room near the range, and above the sink, all of them piled with books, and more books, and candles and lamps and boxes and tins of food. You could tell this was a home of Kerewin's family… books and lights and food, all the same.

The cloth Joe used for wiping up the sick has dried crinkly on the string above the range. Above it, on the mantelpiece he supposes, are more lamps and candles and boxes… anana! that's a mouse! A live mouse-

It sits on the mantelpiece, and apparently doesn't see him watching. It cleans its paws, and sits back on its haunches, nose twitching, ears alert, eyes bright and beady and ready for any movement.

But Simon doesn't move. The delight is back. Hey, a live mouse! I never saw one before-

He levers himself up with infinite care, slowly, slowly — but the mouse drops to all fours and flicks away out of sight behind a lamp.

Aue, he thinks, but not with much disappointment, It'll be living somewhere in the bach, and I'll see it again today maybe. Or tomorrow… I won't tell Kerewin or she'll set a trap.

She'd exclaimed with disappointment over the empty traps in the new bach.

He's sitting now, the over-blanket drawn up round his waist. Am, as he straightens. I wish for one day it didn't hurt. But it's not all that bad, shrugging tentatively, experimentally. You'll do Claro, you'll do.

He leans over the side again.

Still nobody's moved. They're breathing very quietly, no snores. If he listens intently he can hear Joe, but the gusting rain drowns Kerewin out.

I might as well get dressed.

He's shivering.

He burrows for his T-shirt, takes his pyjama top off, and pulls the shirt on. The bandages Kerewin had taped on are loose now. Sometime today, I'll tell her. Or maybe I do something else? He closes his eyes and waits for an idea, but it's too cold to concentrate for long.

Where the unprintable as Kere says did I put that berloody jersey? I remember, end of the bed. Crawls out of the warmth of sleepingbag for it, but it's not there. Looks over the edge. Yeah, I'd believe it. On ther berloody apricock floor.

So he creeps down the ladder, pulls on his jeans and his jersey,

and sits gingerly down to put on his socks.

Now what?

Will Kere get mad if I try lighting the fire? No, it'll make a noise.

I'm thirsty.

He sneaks over to the tap and draws himself a glass of water.

It is cold, cold, cold.

I'm hungry.

He stamps lightly on the floor. Harder, but no-one stirs even then.

O to hell with this lot. I better wake someone up.

He blows on his fingers. They're starting to freeze too.

He thinks grumpily, I could freeze to death for all they care.