Keri Hulme - The Bone People

The boy shook his head. I caught two fish, he said, showing off again.

"I heard. Too many times already. That wouldn't make her wild, though."

Kerewin had stalked off to the old bach looking as sour as curdled milk, and she hadn't said a word before she went.

Simon sighed, and wrote BROTHER.

"Hers? Here?"

He took his father to the door, and pointed out where, exactly.

"And so?"

They talked, said the boy, flapping his fingers open and close.

"And that made her mad?"

Simon frowned. It hadn't seemed as though the woman was upset.

She and the stranger had looked at each other for a minute without saying anything. Then the man had said,

"Is, umm, yours?"

"No. A friend's." "You staying here?"

"For another week or so." "You're well?"

"Yes." Long pause. "Everyone?"

Dot and Celia are dead. Mag's married. Two kids. Everyone else is okay."

"Mmmm," said Kerewin. The man sighed. 'I don't suppose you're coming…?"

"I'm not."

He sighed again. Okay then."

"Okay… Sim, get a move on home." She had turned on her heel, walking back fast to the baches.

He stayed, flashed the man a smile, watched him till he went out of sight. He had been a peculiar looking person, a foot taller than Kerewin, with black eyes and reddish brown hair, as thick and as curling as Kerewin's.

He had given the boy a sad smile back.

Funny, thought Simon, and ran to catch the woman up.

Who? he asked.

"A brother of mine," and she began kicking the sand, sending it flying in sprays and showers.

Simon stopped dead in his tracks.

"Didn't you know I was part of a family?"

No he didn't. Questions are sprouting from him like fungi from a stump.

"Well, I am. I have a mother and half a dozen siblings and about a thousand other relations most of whom I only meet when I'm doing something wicked in front of them and they say, I'll tell your mother, Kerewin Holmes. I'm your great-aunt Tilda on your father's side." She booted more sand, viciously. "Now get along home before those fish go off."

He told the gist of this to his father, and Joe said, "Well. I dunno… I better go and see if I can smooth things over. Have a wash, put your new duds on, and I'll see if I can't talk our grim lady into having an afternoon out somewhere."

He asks her now,

"What's wrong? What can I do?"

"I'm just playing bad music and — "

"Himi said your brother was here."

"Bloody little telltale." The tone is light.

"I asked him why you'd gone away looking mad. More or less."

"That's the reason, more or less."

"So I thought I better come along and see if you'd like to come with us to that Hamdon tavern, where I'll offer you all the drunk you can drink and all the comfort you want."

Very subtle, Ngakau. Now she'll probably jump all over the top of you.

But she leans against the bunk post, and lets the guitar rest belly down on her knees.

"You know what, my friend Gillayley? A family can be the bane of one's existence. A family can also be most of the meaning of one's existence. I don't know whether my family is bane or meaning, but they have surely gone away and left a large hole in my heart."

She is very close to weeping and he has never known Kerewin to cry.

"I dunno," she adds. "Maybe they took the heart and left the

One thing about having Himi for your child: you learn to read what people meant but didn't say.

"I am Kerewin the stony and I never cry. I want to like or even love you, but I don't trust anyone now."

He waits the space of three breaths before saying, casually, kindly, "And I thought my tribe were the devout cannibals. At least they used to check first whether the dinner still had a use for the heart

or not."

He would dearly love to hold her in his arms, as though she were Simon needing comforting. He would dearly love to kiss her, and use the endearments he hasn't said since Hana died. But that would upset her, not help her, and with all his heart he wants to help.

Kerewin makes a sound that could have been a gulp of laughter or a half-swallowed sob.

"Those bastards, and I mean my tribe, never worried about such small tripes or trifles-"

He laughs. He makes sure it doesn't sound like obliging laughter. But he thinks, Aue! Trust her to wriggle away under cover of words. And if she could turn the situation into colour, she'd overwhelm me with rust and verdigris or some such rainbow-

"Aiiieeee-" She lets her breath out noisily, sniffs once, and

stands. "It's a good idea, man… but what about half-pint? I don't know whether they'll let him in up there."

"You know Sim… if we wanted his heart in aspic, to fill a gap so to speak, he'd hand it to us on a plate."

"E you bastard! You're pinching my style!"

"No, no," he says blandly. "It's merely contagion… Himi'll stay quite happily by himself in the car, if that's the way it's got to be. We can ferry drinks out to him, and let him get merrily plonked on coke or something."

"After some of his recent performances, it'll take more than coke to set Sim on his ear."

"Or something, I said," grinning.

"Yeah, well… heigh ho for revelry and loud indecent cheer." She fits the guitar back in its case and bangs the lid down. "You fellas getting fancied up?"

"Course… we'll startle the natives eh?"

"You may. I shall be as conservative as a Tamaki pig."

He thinks, when she gets into the car ten minutes later, that it depends on what your idea of conservatism is — sure, she's wearing a sober denim suit, and a prussian blue highnecked jersey, but it's conservative to wear six large rings? Her left hand is studded by four silverset cabochons of greenstone, and there's a star sapphire with three dolphins circling it deiseal in gold on her right hand.

The massive gold signet she always wears is on her right middle finger, and he privately thinks that's enough by itself.

He just says, "You expecting a fight, eh?"

"Tcha, Gillayley. I'm a pacifist, remember?"

"I remember," he says wryly, "very well."

There's no-one but the barman in the bar.

"Gidday," he says smiling. "Nice weather we're having eh?"

"Best winter I can remember for a while," says Joe. "Can I have a jug and two sevens, and you want anything else, Kere?"

"Not at the moment."

"Two beers coming up." The barman draws the jug. "Nice to have someone in the bar this time of day. It'd make a man cry, the quiet of it normally."

"No afternoon regulars?"

"Not for half an hour or so yet."

Simon slides in round the door, and stands just inside.

"I thought," Joe begins, but the barman grins. "Yours?" he asks, thumb to Kerewin.

"Mine," says Joe. "I'll throw him out eh?"

"Nah, no way. Wanna raspberry drink, ummm?" The barman hisses to them, "Is it a boy or a girl?"

Kerewin guffaws.

"He's a boy," and Joe waits resignedly for a crack about the length of the child's hair.

"Nice kiddie," says the barman. "Got one of me own about his size. What's your name?" he asks Simon.

The boy edges closer, his eyes flicking around their faces.

"Bit shy eh?"

The barman's beaming fondly. He obviously dotes on children.

"I wouldn't call him shy," says Joe. "He can't talk though."

"O hell," the man is blushing as though he should have known about it, "jeez, I really put my foot in it, didn't I?"

"I'm sorry," he says loudly, then drops his voice to whisper level "Is he ahhh backward? He don't look it."

"A little too forward if anything," says Joe. "Come on Haimona, don't skulk."

"Looks like you're allowed in after all," Kerewin turns to the barman for confirmation.

"Yeah yeah, sure, nobody minds. Lotsa them bring their kids in on the weekend. Gives the place a real nice feel if you know what I mean."