a Breed of Women (4 page)

The tractor came to a halt, and Jim climbed down and headed over towards them, followed by his father and Harriet’s father.

Harriet supposed that Jim and his father were both very old. There seemed little difference between them — both were burly with peeling noses, great thick brown arms and chests like barrels.

As they sat and ate and drank, little was said. Once Jim said, ‘It’ll be a good crop, Gerald.’

‘I’m lucky,’ said Gerald. ‘It could have been bad. Is there any cheap labour round here?’ he added, too sharply.

The Colliers looked at him curiously. ‘Isn’t our labour good enough for you?’ asked the father.

‘That’s not the point,’ replied Gerald. ‘I can’t afford a lot, and don’t like charity. What about the Maoris? There must be a few round here.’

‘You don’t get ’em cheap. They come dearer than us,’ said Jim.

‘What he means is, you have to pay them,’ his father put in.

‘Well, that’s better than charity. I know you’ve got work to do on your place.’

The two men got to their feet. ‘Best be getting on with the job seeing as how we’ve got that much to do,’ said Jim.

‘I didn’t mean to offend you,’ Gerald began, uncertainly.

‘Look, you play it any way you like, mate,’ said Jim. ‘But don’t go looking for cheap darkies if you’ve got any sense. The only ones I know round here I went to school with, and we sat in the same desks at school, and I reckon they don’t come no cheaper than the rest of us.’

After the men had gone, Harriet said, ‘Don’t you like Maoris, Mum?’

‘Of course I do,’ said Mary. ‘It’s just that they’re different to us. They belong with the workers.’

‘But what about us?’ said Harriet

‘We’re landowners,’ said Mary.

‘Did you and Daddy think you’d have a lot of people working for you when you came to New Zealand?’

‘Oh, I expect we will. Some day. It didn’t work out quite the way everyone thought when your Dad and I were a bit younger. The Depression, the war, you know. Things changed.’

‘Would you have been landowners if you’d stayed in England?’ asked Harriet.

Her mother blushed. ‘Come on, help me carry the things back. We can rinse the cups in the river first.’

Down at the river they plunged the plates into the cool water. Crumbs of scone floated away. Suddenly there was a scurry through the water, and a lithe black shape streaked into the debris, scattering spray as its ugly black head broke the surface. Before Harriet could move or cry out, the eel had fastened itself into the side of her foot where she stood, ankle-deep in water. She kicked her foot high, and for one moment the creature hung suspended above the water joined to her, then collapsed backwards, thrashing away.

As they walked back to the house, mother and daughter both shaken, Harriet thought, ‘I will always dream of that shape. Always, as
long as there is evil in hidden places, I will remember the eel. When I have nightmares, and black shapes walk abroad in the nights, I will see the eel.’

She did not return to the river for several days. When she finally went back, it was night The sun had burned with a high fierce intensity all day, and there seemed to be no escape from it at the house. At night when it should have been cooler, a hot wind spread from the north where her room faced, and the sleeping house was like an oven. Her face was burning, her skin felt so dry to the touch that she did not recognise her own body. Sleep was impossible.

She got up quietly and slipped into her dress. The door was unlocked. Even the Wallaces, who were regarded as strange by local folk, knew that you did not lock doors in the country, that it was a sign of bad faith to the neighbours if they found a locked door. Outside she started to run, the river drawing her like a magnet. On and on Harriet ran, across the paddock stubbly with the mown grass lying in heaps waiting for the baler. Behind stood the small house, huddled between the trees, the moon slanting across the roof. There was no other sign of human habitation; she might have been the only person alive, running across a moonscape bounded by bush.

The river talked gently under the fallen poplar tree, welcoming her back. She climbed up to the hollow and lay back in the wooden hammock.

With enormous concentration she turned her eyes to the stars. The whole experience of the night sky crowded down on her. Primeval forces were surely at work. An enormous voice spoke to her. It said, ‘Come to me.’ It was definitely the voice of God. Great exaltation filled her. It was just like Bernadette of Lourdes — not that she was a Catholic, only Anglo-Catholic. Her father said Church here was
low-caste.
It only understood the simple pastoral things, but then one had to make the best of what one had. Well, she certainly had a real mystical experience. For the moment, one could banish the eels in the water below.

Feeling much better, Harriet climbed out of her perch and made her way back to the house. Before she slipped inside she turned and took one last long look back over the paddocks and the moon.

Harriet woke the following morning to find Gerald shaking her roughly. Her first thought was that he had somehow discovered that she had been out of the house in the night.

‘Wake up, you lazy little cow,’ he said. ‘Just get yourself out of that bed and do some work for a change.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Harriet, scrambling out. ‘Haven’t I been doing enough?’

‘Your mother’s ill and we’re bringing in the hay today. You’ll have to cook for the men.’

He turned away with his back to her as she started to dress. There was suddenly an air of weariness and despondency about him.

‘What is it, Dad? Is Mum very sick?’

‘Sick enough.’

‘Will she get better?’

‘Of course. She just needs a rest.’

‘Is it her head? She gets awfully bad heads sometimes.’

‘I know. But it isn’t her head this time. Now don’t worry about it, just get on and help me out, eh?’

He turned to go out the door. ‘Dad,’ said Harriet. ‘Is it my fault she’s sick? Haven’t I helped her enough?’

He turned back to her, his face full of pain. They studied each other across the room. She sensed some loss, some bewilderment, with himself, with her, she could not really tell. At last he said, ‘I don’t know whose fault it is, Harriet I suppose it must be mine … if it’s anybody’s.’

‘I’ll go and see her and ask her what to do,’ said Harriet.

‘No,’ said Gerald quickly. ‘No, on no account are you to see her.’

Frightened, Harriet hurried out to the kitchen. She desperately wanted to see her mother. Once she went to the door of her room. Inside she heard low moaning. She called out softly, ‘Mum, Mum, shall I come in?’

‘Go away,’ her mother said.

‘Don’t you want me?’ whispered Harriet, afraid that her father would come back and catch her.

‘Not now, not now. Later.’

‘Promise?’

‘If you help your dad. Promise.’

There seemed little for it but to start making scones. She faithfully followed what her mother had done a few days before but doubled the quantities, for Gerald had told her that there would be twice as many men in the paddock today. Some of the neighbours from up the road were coming to help.

The day was long and hot, and it seemed that hardly had she put one lot of tea and scones down in front of the men and got the dishes
collected and back to the house than it was time to set off with the next lot. By afternoon tea, she was exhausted. She hardly noticed the men, so busy was she providing. As she cleared away the cups for the last time, Jim Collier said to her father, ‘She’ll make a good wife for someone.’

‘Time enough for that,’ said Gerald.

‘She oughter be broken young,’ replied Jim seriously.

Some of the men laughed. Her father didn’t join in. ‘You’re married, are you?’ he said rather stiffly.

After hesitating Jim said, ‘She’s gone off looking for a bigger dong. Reckon we’d better finish off them last bales before the dew starts, eh?’

The men got to their feet. Gerald hung back a minute. ‘Harriet,’ he said in a strained voice.

‘Yes, Father?’

‘You’ve done well. Thank you.’

‘That’s all right, Dad.’ She had never had such praise from him before.

‘You can take a bit of time at the river if you want. I know you like it.’

‘Shouldn’t I be getting back to Mum?’ she asked doubtfully.

‘She wants a bit of a rest still.’

‘Will I see her then?’ said Harriet. She was beginning thoroughly to mistrust the whole situation. ‘When we go back?’

‘Yes. Yes, you’ll see her. Just give her a bit more time. All right?’

‘All right,’ she agreed.

When he had gone and she’d gathered in the cups once more, she went down to the river. It had never seemed cooler or more inviting. For a long time she lay on the hollowed tree letting the sweet summer soak through her. After a time the noise of the machinery went away, and she peeked through the branches to see that the paddock was really empty. Out there, the once beautiful silk grass was now harsh stalks. Only here, under the trees on the river bank, was it still rich and soft, luxurious and green, shot with the stars of flowers, and with the underside of each blade sleek as the river water. She wanted to lie close, close like the first day here, or closer, if that were possible.

Harriet slid her dress over her head. It was so tight against her chest that she had had to struggle with it for weeks past. When she had dropped her panties on the ground, she stretched herself in the
grass. ‘I am a lizard,’ she thought, and pressed herself closer against the earth.

‘Going to swim then, are you?’ said a voice.

She shrieked and reared upwards on her knees. Jim stood in front of her.

‘There’s eels in the water,’ she stammered.

‘Never fancied them much myself. What you doing here in the nick, then?’

‘The what?’

‘The nick. Without your clothes.’

‘I wanted to get cool.’

‘That’s an idea. Wouldn’t mind getting cool myself.’ He put his hands on the ends of the shirt tails hanging out of his dirty old pants.

‘No, please don’t,’ Harriet whispered. ‘Why did you come here?’

‘Wanted to see what sort of a kid you were. Didn’t expect quite such an eyeful.’

She reached for her dress. Jim put his foot on it

‘Please. Please let me put my dress on.’

‘What’s your hurry?’

‘I just want to put it on.’

‘Stand up.’

Her skin, pleasantly cool only a minute before, had turned to goose pimples. Slowly she got to her feet, with her arm across her chest, her other hand trying to cover her pubic area.

‘I don’t reckon you’re shy. That’s a lot of bullshit You musta wanted it.’

She shook her head uncomprehendingly.

‘Coming down here, and taking your clothes off. You wanted it.’

His clothes had funny bumps, she noticed. He lifted her hand away from her chest; she didn’t seem to have the strength to resist His lip curled.

‘When did you stop growing?’

‘I don’t think I have,’ she said. ‘I mean, I think I’ve only just started.’

‘Oh, yes. How old are you?’

‘Going on thirteen.’

His hand dropped away. ‘Jesus,’ he said softly under his breath. ‘You sure you’re not putting me on?’ Harriet shook her head. ‘Jesus,’ he said again, under his breath.

‘You don’t want to say that,’ said Harriet. ‘My father says you should
only say things like that if you’re talking about the Bible and the real Jesus.’

‘Oh, but I am,’ said Jim. He surveyed her with wonder, holding onto her hand. ‘What about Jesus wept? That’s a whole sentence outa the Bible. I remember that from the parson what used to come round school. We all kept saying it for weeks after.’

‘I suppose that’s all right,’ said Harriet.

Jim shook his head in slow wonder, then lifted her other hand away. ‘I might as well get a good look, mightn’t I?’ He stroked her new pubic hairs with the top side of one finger, rather as if he was stroking the nose of an animal.

‘Real Siamese pussycat,’ he murmured. Somewhere round her pubic arch she felt a strange warm little quiver. Suddenly he twisted back the arm he was still holding. ‘You little bitch, you’re having me on. Aren’t you?’ She shook her head.

‘You bloody are. You liked that didn’t you? Eh?’

‘It was just that it felt like …’ she floundered for words. The closest she could come was the night before up in the tree. ‘It felt a bit like God,’ she offered, at last.

He looked at her blankly. ‘You’re a queer one, aren’t you?’

‘Well it was like this, see, I was up here in this tree, this one alongside of us, last night … you won’t tell Dad, will you?’ She took his silence for assent. ‘Well, see, I reckon God spoke to me. It was good, it felt a bit like that.’

‘I reckon I better give you a bit of a feel and leave it at that, eh,’ he said uneasily.

‘You’re not going to feel bits of me, are you?’ She wasn’t sure why this seemed so important, but she knew it was necessary to check.

‘Oh, no. None of that stuff. Here, like this.’ He drew her hand onto one of his bumps. ‘Go on, hold onto it. That’s right.’

Through the cloth of his trousers the bump felt very strange.

‘Jesus,’ said Jim again. His hand dropped hers. ‘I mean … he wept. Put your clothes on, kid.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, starting to shiver violently.

‘It’s all right, I won’t look,’ he said.

‘I wouldn’t think looking’d make much difference now,’ said Harriet.

‘You don’t want to be smart,’ said Jim. ‘That could get you into trouble. Being smart It’s not good for you. I mean, I could have got you, you know.’

‘My father might have come down,’ said Harriet, reprovingly, now that she was covered again.

‘Nah. I knew he was seeing the doctor about your ma. Knew he’d be up at the house while Doc was there.’

‘Is the doctor there?’

‘Yeah, didn’t you know?’

‘Why? Did he tell you?’

‘Haven’t they told you nothing?’

‘I’ve got to go,’ said Harriet. Her mother had never had the doctor to the house in all her life.

She remembered the cups and plates and picked them up with awkward, hasty movements, trembling more violently than she had done when he touched her. Taking pity, he helped her gather the things and shoved them into her arms. For a moment they stood looking at each other, then she turned, stumbling as she started across the paddock with her load.