Conrad Cooper's Last Stand ePub (2 page)

To be honest, Tane, Jasper Harris isn't impressed. He stands on the edge of the school field with his arms folded over a filthy rugby ball. ‘You're an idiot.'

‘Why?'

‘Tane's not real for a start and if he was, you couldn't worship him.'

‘Why not?'

‘'Cause he's a Maori, egg. And you're not.'

That's true, Tane. Seeing as my parents don't believe in anything, I might've missed out on learning important rules about religion. But I didn't think it would be a big deal; I mean, Jesus was Jewish and most Christians don't come from Israel. But religiously speaking I could be on dodgy ground. I need to know, Tane – do you care that I'm not Maori?

Yes?

No?

You're not much of a talker, are you?'

Folding my arms, I lean close to Jasper, so none of the
other kids hear me. ‘You think it really matters?'

‘Are you kidding? Why would he want some white kid? He's probably got his hands full taking care of the Maori ones.'

‘Maybe I need to look into that.'

‘You do.' He frowns, sucking in the corner of his lip. ‘Hey, has this got something to do with that Maori protest, the one on the news?'

‘No.'

He's talking about the cliffs at Bastion Point; there's heaps of Maoris living up there in caravans and stuff. Dunno why, it's something to do with land. None of the grownups want to talk about it, and Dad says he spends half his day going up there, seeing as he's a cop.

Jasper's grin widens, no wonder he looks excited. We've all been warned not to go up there. Weird thing is I've seen it on the news, and they don't seem dangerous. It looks more like a camp and they're singing songs and smiling; you can't hurt people with a guitar, can you?

Jasper looks hopeful. ‘You sure? Reckon I'd make an all right protestor. Might even grow my hair … Bastion Point's not far from here.'

‘
No
.'

‘Okay, fine.' He sighs, waving his ball under my face, glancing back at the other boys in our class. ‘Look, do you wanna play or not?'

‘Well …'

I suck at rugby, but there's nothing else to do. Behind him the boys are waiting; they only want me to play 'cause I'm a slow runner and they're keen to tackle.

Jasper glances over his shoulder again. ‘Look, you throw the ball around now, and tomorrow at lunchtime I'll help you out with this Tane business. Deal?'

‘Okay,' I say slowly, the words crawling down my tongue, ‘but do you think I could play a different position for a change? Maybe a back?'

‘You? Playing a back?' Jasper is grinning, but that's okay. It beats eye rolling, which is what most people do when I'm around. Laughing, he claps me on the shoulder. ‘
That
would be a miracle.'

Well, that's your department, Tane. Right?

There's probably a limited number of miracles, like three wishes, and I don't want to waste one on rugby. So I run around the field with the guys – okay, it's more like running
away
from them – until the ten-to bell goes.

The other kids head off to wash their feet, but I run for the library. I want to get out
Rangi and Papa,
in case I missed any rules about Maori religion, and I'd better grab a book on trees too, just in case I need to start a forest. Jasper follows close behind and keeps grinning, which worries me. Whatever he's planning, I hope his ideas don't involve us getting detentions. But, come to think of it, Jasper avoiding detention
would
be a miracle.

I head back home and I'm through the ranchslider when a voice says, ‘What're you up to?'

Dad, who I get to call Gaz, stands in the dining-room doorway, wearing nothing but rolled-up jeans. The hairs on his chest curl like Steelo and he smells like grass and motor oil; guess he must've been working in the garden. Weird thing is, he's got a book in his hand … oh, no.

‘Me? Nothing.'

‘Yeah, well.' He waves an open copy of
School Journal
Part 4 and a Margaret Mahy poem flaps at me like a paper wing. ‘What's this?'

‘Just a school book.'

He can't get mad at school stuff, can he? I borrowed it from Miss Cody, fair and square. But he frowns and runs a hand over his head. ‘You left it on the table. Don't leave your stuff lying around, Conrad. We're not running a hotel here, right?'

‘Yep.'

‘I mean it.'

‘Uh … okay.'

He turns and walks off, grunting as his bare feet slap against the polished wooden floorboards. Uh-oh. I know where he's going.

Hurrying, I follow him into the kitchen. Mum stands in front of the sink, peeling carrots. ‘What's up?' She glances over her shoulder and Gaz leans against the fridge, running a finger over my star chart. Rubbing her
chin on the back of her wrist, Mum says, ‘He's done it all. See?'

‘Yeah,' Gaz mutters, ‘we just need to add one more, for putting books away.'

He nods to himself, counting off ticked boxes. My ribs start aching, like I've been kicked in the chest. I've got tons of jobs to remember; Mum used a ruler and turned each box into two, so we can fit all my jobs on a single sheet of lined refill. Last time I counted thirty-two. It's easy to forget but I haven't, not this time. I dunno why my chest feels like my lungs are gonna burst – oh.

I kinda forgot to breathe. I open my mouth and swallow a mouthful of air. Now the air feels thin, like there isn't enough, so I need to take a couple of quick breaths, and Mum says, ‘You all right, love?'

‘Mmhmm.' I don't wanna answer straight away or my breath'll come out all raspy.

It's stupid. Nothing goes wrong when I follow the rules and I did, every last one. But my chest still feels tight, so I take another deep breath. Weird though, maybe I'm developing asthma – can that happen?

Gaz taps the fridge with one hand, looking at Mum. ‘Okay … while we're at it, how about we add the knives and forks? That should do it.'

‘What?'

He doesn't look at me, but keeps talking to Mum. ‘When he sets the table it looks like he's dropped them.
Half the time I've gotta walk behind him and straighten up the cutlery. Don't look at me like that, you
know
it does. He can line up the bottom of the cutlery with the edge of the table, that'll help.'

Mum looks back at him for a second, then sighs. ‘Well … I guess it won't hurt him to be tidier.'

He nods at me. ‘It's really not up to scratch, mate. We've all gotta do our bit, right?'

‘Oh. Sorry.'

‘Yeah, well.' He rubs his chin. ‘I'm not angry 'cause it wasn't on your chart, see? But now you know.' Gaz's eyes move back to Mum. ‘That's fair, isn't it?'

Mum nods, seeing as it's true. Gaz's very big on being fair. His star chart is seriously helpful. I can tell if I'm being good, so long as I tick everything in the boxes. I bet other kids wish their parents were as reasonable as mine, this way I hardly ever get into trouble.

Gaz seems to be waiting for someone to say something. So I nod my head. ‘Thanks, that's really handy.'

‘Yeah.' Gaz's mouth stretches and the lines on his face crack open, bending into a smile. He says to Mum, ‘See?' And then he walks off into the lounge. ‘Bring me in a beer, hey love? I'm whacked.'

Mum stands at the sink, rubbing her arm and watching the space where he was standing. She doesn't say much but looks hard, like she's trying to remember where the beers are. Sometimes Mum can be really forgetful.

‘Mum?'

‘Hmm?'

‘I'm gonna read my book in my room, okay? It's for, um, homework.'

She frowns, but doesn't turn around. I dunno if she's listening, so I test her and say, ‘An alien landed in the backyard and it's eating our dog.'

‘Hmm.'

Okay, she's definitely not paying attention to me. We don't have a dog for a start. So I go to leave and she starts rummaging through the biscuit cupboard looking for those beers, which is silly; Gaz'll get upset if she keeps him waiting.

‘Mum, I'm sure they're in the fridge.'

‘Yes, I know,' sighs Mum, but she's still looking through the tins. ‘You're a good boy, Conrad … you know that? Such a good kid.'

‘Yeah, I know.' Which is true. I've got a star chart to prove it.

Right now, I'm under the bed covers with a torch and I must've read this picture book a hundred times. Tane, there's not one word in here about you not liking white people. It definitely doesn't say we're not allowed to believe in you, so I guess it's okay.

Isn't it?

Outside my room, I can hear the TV blaring and under
it, Mum and Dad are talking. I'm reading a poem which I've gotta copy into my homework and a man's voice says, ‘You
never
listen –'

That's Gaz.

Oh.

The voices get louder and so does the TV. Good thing Gaz finally caved in and bought one, it's way better for watching the footie. We'd never see guys getting their faces messed up in the scrum or notice other teams cheating. Those radio guys leave out the best bits and if you ask me –

‘
Don't talk stupid –
'

That's a bit louder than the telly. I stuff my ears under the pillow. Mum says I shouldn't eavesdrop when grownups are talking. It's one of our rules … but I can't stop my ears from working, Tane. Maybe we'd better talk instead, so I won't be tempted to listen.

Umm … Dear Tane,

Sorry, I don't know the words to any proper prayers, is it okay if we just chat? There's stuff I wanna tell you about.

Hear that guy in the other room? He's my dad, and he's got two names. One is Dad and the other's Gaz, and I can call him either, seeing as he's my stepdad. He says he doesn't care what I call him, which is real nice. That way I never get confused. Gaz's been around for ages, like since I was four years old or something, and Mum
says it's good 'cause boys need fathers. I don't know my real dad, he left when I was a baby, and Mum says I can't miss what I never had. Still, I wouldn't mind a photo … Wait, where was I?

Um … right, Gaz. He's got a lot of stress on right now. It's something to do with banks, his job as a cop and those protestors up the hill. There's also this guy in his footie team who isn't pulling his weight – and, quite a lot of the time, it's Mum. He reckons she's been giving him a hard time.

Tane, do you reckon you can help Mum? See, she needs to stop making Gaz angry, but also, I'm worried 'cause she cries a lot. It's not always when she's sad or cutting onions, either. Sometimes I walk into her room and she's just sitting there, leaking from her eyes. I try to think of something helpful to say like, ‘Mum, want me to get a hanky?'

‘Pollen,' she says. ‘Auckland's got a lot of pollen.'

Maybe that's it. Flowers come from the ground, but also from forests, right? So, I was thinking, can you cut down on the forest pollens this year? Hope you don't mind me asking, but I know gods take care of problems and, well, Mum's hay fever looks nasty.

As for Gaz … well.

Mrs O'Leary, you know her? The old lady from next door? She squirts lavender on her pillows and reckons it's very calming. Maybe we could use a bit of lavender
around our house. I know you do forests, but you've got a brother in the gardening business, right? Maybe you could talk to him.

I think we're going to need a really big bush.

Um, in the name of the Father … okay, whose dad are you? I'm not sure, but Mrs O'Leary signs off her prayers with a cross. Do you mind? Kind of like, ‘over and out' for pilots, so you know when I'm done. She seems to think there's only one God, so maybe we're both talking to the same person but calling you different names … just don't get mad if I mess up, okay?

There's a lot I don't know.

Tane, my plastic lunchbox stinks. Egg sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper – again. I drop them on my lap and reopen my book on Rangi and Papa. I got it out yesterday and it's different to Miss Cody's story, the covers are red and your name's way longer, Tane Mahuta, and your parents are called Ranginui and Papatuanuku. I hope you're cool with me calling you Tane for short. It's like I gave you a nickname before I met you, but I didn't mean to be rude. Maybe the people who wrote this book know you really well and thought it would be okay but –

‘Ow, Jasper!'

‘What?'

‘You just hit me in the nose with a sandwich!'

Jasper grins, talking at the same time, which makes his freckles bounce around his face like they're playing a mini game of dodgeball. Jasper's got more freckles than anyone I know, but he's not worried. He reckons they'll join up and make a tan.

‘Did not. You just moved your head at the wrong time.' Jasper waves his sandwich again, over the edge of my book. ‘Swap you for a Marmite and chip?'

‘Oh …
done
.'

We trade and he sniffs my lunch, breathing in the parsley and eggs like perfume. I think he's mad. Whoever came up with the idea of putting chips in bread was a genius worthy of the Nobel Prize for services to taste buds. I stuff mine down my throat fast, before Jasper changes his mind.

‘Right,' he says, taking a huge bite. ‘Let me get this straight. You want help with this whole Tane thing?'

‘I didn't say that.'

‘Didn't need to.' He wipes off crumbs with the back of his hand. ‘You
really
think there's a god called Tane?'

‘Yep.'

‘And I'm your friend, right?'

‘I s'pose.'

Me and Jasper have been in the same class since our first year, and we've never been enemies, but I'm not sure about friends. He only wants me around when he needs something, like an extra for rugby or a crash-test dummy for his homemade go-cart. And it's not like we hang out after school. I'm not allowed friends around – Gaz reckons they're too noisy. Mind you, we've made forts down in the gully plenty of times, and once shared a jam sandwich. Are we friends?

Jasper raises his eyebrows but keeps talking. ‘Well, as your
friend
it's my duty to save you from embarrassing yourself. So I will.'

Dunno what he means, but I'm not very bright. I know 'cause last year's teacher told my parents I wasn't reaching my ‘full potential'. I'm not worried, I plan on working in a supermarket where machines do all the maths and I'll get half-price chocolate bars, but Gaz keeps bringing it up every time I ask to use his new mower. Apparently it's a very complicated piece of equipment and way beyond my capabilities.

‘Jasper, what're you on about?'

‘It's simple.' He shoves his Dukes of Hazzard lunchbox back into his bag. ‘All I have to do is prove that Tane doesn't exist. Then you'll stop acting like a dork – and quit reading at lunchtimes.'

‘But I always read at lunchtimes. It's what I do.'

‘I
know.
'

‘And I'm not a dork, I'm just … Wait. How're you gonna prove Tane isn't real?'

‘I dunno … hang on.' Jasper's eyebrows shoot up, scattering freckles across his forehead like confetti. ‘Yeah, I've got it!'

Uh-oh.

Jasper's ideas usually end in lunchtime duties, doing lines after school, or worse – the strap. Not for me, of course. None of my teachers ever seem to think I can
do anything wrong. Jasper, on the other hand, spends so much time in the principal's office his mum says he might as well take a sleeping bag and move in.

I'm just not sure how I get dragged into everything.

‘It's easy.' He leans back against the concrete steps of the art room, squinting at the sun. ‘We'll ask Tane for a favour. If he does it, he's real. If he doesn't, he's not.'

‘Okay.' I take a second to think about it. ‘But what if he's busy? I don't know him real well, not yet. He mightn't do favours for strangers.'

‘Course he will, if he's real. Gods grant favours all the time, so long as you're a good person. Everyone knows that.'

Hmm, that's the second time someone's told me about being good. Thing is, I don't reckon Jasper knows much about planting forests, so how can he help?

‘Okay, but
how
good?'

He blinks, slowly. ‘Oh, pretty good. But you're a kid so you can't have done anything really bad. Can you?'

I swear he looks a bit hopeful, like I'm gonna spill my guts and confess to murdering the PE teacher.

‘No,' I say, making my voice sound strong so he won't start asking stupid questions. ‘But don't I have to do good deeds and stuff? I mean, gods don't go around handing out freebies, do they?'

He looks at me. ‘Don't they?'

‘My neighbour's got this book on saints and they're
always doing good stuff; I think that's how they get their powers to do miracles. It's kind of like a trade.'

‘Okay, so give stuff to the poor.'

‘Hmm … there was this guy, St Francis, who gave all his stuff away. He seemed pretty cool, and he talked to sparrows, which Tane would like seeing as birds live in trees. But I don't have any money. How am I gonna help poor people?'

Jasper frowns, squishing his freckles back together. Leaning forwards, he rests his chin on my school bag. ‘It doesn't have to be money. You've got chocolate chip bikkies, right?'

I look down at my lunchbox. ‘Yeah. So?'

‘Well … I'm keen on the Griffin's ones.'

‘Hang on,
you're
not poor.'

‘Depends on how you look at it. I don't have any biscuits and you do. So, when it comes to morning tea you're rich and I'm poor. Got it?'

I can't argue with that, so I don't. Jasper's staring at me and I guess sharing counts as being ‘good', so I hand over my Chocolate Chippies. ‘Here you go.'

‘Excellent.' He looks down at the package, wrapped up in greaseproof paper and sellotaped on both sides, 'cause Gaz's got this thing about airproofing everything, so our biscuits won't go soft. ‘And your apple?'

I pass it over; being good is easy. I don't even like apples, well not much. But I can't help feeling that
Jasper's getting a great deal – no wonder he wanted to help.

Jasper takes an enormous mouthful, his lips smacking against the green skin. ‘Great, thanks. Um, seeing as you're into being very, very good … can I have your rocket-shaped pencil case with the matching rubbers?'

Uh-oh.