Witi Ihimaera - Uncle's Story

‘Looking for me?’ he asked.

He must have looked to Auntie Pat just like Guy Madison.

By the time I reached home it was after six. The night was dark and drenched with impending rain. I had an hour to change before my date with Carlos. First we’d go to Jordan’s for a drink, then I had booked us a table at a new restaurant at the top of Cuba Street and then —

I put the key into the door. Flushed with expectation of what the night might bring, I ran up the stairs two at a time. I reached the landing — and that’s when I realised that things were missing from the flat.

A painting which used to hang on the wall of the stairwell. A piece of pottery Jason and I had purchased at an art gallery.

My mood changed. I began to shiver. I walked into the kitchen and opened the cupboards. One of the dinner sets was gone. In the bedroom closet, bedding, linen and towels had disappeared — small items but, oh, the big gaps they left behind. All gone. All the signs were there of the physical removal of everything that was Jason’s or associated with him. He had done this while I was in Gisborne — Graham had probably come with him. While I was out. They’d come in like thieves — and I felt violated. Not even the courtesy of a note to say they’d been.

I sat down on the bed, trying to take it all in. The telephone rang and, for a moment, I hoped it was Carlos cancelling out.

‘Hello,’ I said.

‘Is that you, Michael?’

It was George.

‘I had a call from Patty earlier,’ he said. ‘Is it true? Are you really going to try to find Woody Woodpecker?’

‘Yes, it’s true.’ I wished George would go away.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Anne-Marie will be pleased.’

I was puzzled. Who was Anne-Marie?

‘She was the girl involved in that car accident when Sam got killed. Did you know he was driving my car? Well, during the police investigation after the accident, that’s when I met Anne-Marie. I still see her now and then, when she comes over the hill from Upper Hutt to visit her daughter in Porirua. She’s never forgotten that night — or Sam. She still feels guilty about what happened.’

‘Why guilty?’ I asked.

The telephone went silent, and I thought we’d been disconnected. Then — was that George sobbing?

‘God dammit,’ he growled as he blew his nose. ‘We’ve all felt guilty about Sam. All of us, for our own reasons. Patty, for what she did. Anne-Marie, for the accident. Me, for —’

I felt as if something was squeezing my heart. ‘For what, George?’

His voice burst like a grenade over the phone.

‘We were supposed to take utu,’ he said. ‘We were supposed to avenge Turei’s death. But we didn’t. Neither Sam nor I made another kill when we were in Vietnam. That’s why the owl tracked us down when we returned to New Zealand. Why didn’t it take me, Michael? Why did it have to take Sam? I’m a cursed man, Michael. Everybody around me dies —’

I put the telephone down. Went to have a shower. My mind was in a whirl. There was so much to deal with. All the puzzles in Sam’s life were getting bigger. And in my own life, just trying to work out what was happening around me was taking all my strength. I huddled under the water for what seemed like hours. I didn’t want to think about anything. I wanted the world to go away for a while and leave me alone. By the time I got out of the shower it was almost seven — and the doorbell was ringing. I grabbed the bathrobe and ran downstairs.

‘You’re on time,’ I said, as I opened the door.

But it wasn’t Carlos. Instead, Jason was standing in the rain.

‘Jason, this is the wrong time,’ I said. ‘If you stay, I’ll say or do something I’ll regret.’

‘This won’t take long,’ he said. His face was as grim as mine must have been. ‘I’ve been around to collect the rest of my things —’

‘So I’ve noticed. It really hacks me off that you did this without letting me know.’

Jason flared. ‘I told you that you would have to pay,’ he said. ‘And this is just the beginning, Michael. I’m taking you to court —’

I leaned against the door jamb. I gave an incredulous laugh.

‘What for!’

‘I’m legally entitled to half of everything that I put into our relationship. Half of everything in the flat, not just my own stuff. Half of everything we had in our joint bank account.’

I stood staring at him. Rain squalls were sweeping across Wellington like spiders’ threads. Was this the way all relationships ended? With this extracting of every pound of flesh? I made a gesture of helplessness.

‘All you needed to do was to ask,’ I answered. ‘You can have everything if you want —’

‘I want my day in court,’ Jason answered. ‘And I’m going to have it.’

I felt myself losing my cool. I flipped.

‘Give me your set of keys, Jason. Give them to me now. If you want to come back for anything else, you can arrange an appointment.’

At that moment Carlos arrived, the headlights of his car sweeping over us. As soon as he stepped out of the car and walked across to me, Jason put it together.

‘You arsehole,’ he said. ‘You couldn’t even wait a week, could you?’

Jason threw the keys at me. They clanged against the door and fell to the ground. Carlos gave him a quizzical look as he shoved past. He bent down and picked up the keys.

‘Are these yours?’ Carlos asked. He was good-humoured, relaxed.

‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Thanks.’

‘Do you always answer the door half undressed?’

I was trying to put myself back together again. I didn’t know what to say. Carlos gave me a hint.

‘I think,’ he said, ‘that this is the moment when you’re supposed to ask me if I want to come in and look at your CD collection.’

‘And what do you say?’

I was warming to his being there. Carefree. Not asking any questions. Uncomplicated.

‘I say I’d love to.’

‘And then what do I say?’ I asked.

To Hell with everything. It was time for me to live the moment.

‘You show me into the house and along the corridor to where the bedroom is —’

‘No, that’s where the kitchen is,’ I said. ‘I make you a cup of coffee and we talk and —’

‘So the bedroom’s upstairs?’

‘Yes.’

Carlos was leaning in to me, staring me down with his sexy eyes. God, he was so pretty, like a mustang, nostrils flaring, impudently posing against the darkness.

‘Let’s skip the coffee,’ he said. ‘Let’s fast forward to the part where we go up the stairs.’

Carlos had his hands under the bathrobe and around my waist. I gasped at their coldness as he slid them between my thighs.

‘Is that the remote?’ he asked.

He pressed it. Looked at the stairs.

‘Stairs are good .’

Around two in the morning, I nuzzled at Carlos’s armpits. He had such silky hair there and, when it was wet, it curled into tight, dark fronds like a fern. With a murmur he moved away and I was able to get out of the tangle we were in and go to the kitchen for a glass of water. On the way I saw the light winking on the telephone, and picked up the message.

‘Hello?’

An unfamiliar voice. A woman’s — quavery, old.

‘Is this the residence of Michael Mahana? My name is Anne-Marie Davidson. I understand from George that you are the nephew of Sam Mahana —’

Of course, the woman involved in Uncle Sam’s car accident.

‘Would you be so kind as to come to see me when it is convenient for you? George tells me you may be seeing Sam’s friend when you go to Canada. I have something which belongs to him. Thank you.’

Later that morning, when I awoke, Carlos was gone. A note was taped to the bedroom door: