Three Times Dead (10 page)

I cruised around for a while, aimless, just going wherever the traffic took me, playing my music loud and trying not to think, but it was impossible to turn off my brain. The sun set and the rain came down and the car lights dazzled me as I drove. I needed dope and plenty of booze so I could get totally wasted. I pulled up at Mitch’s house and phoned him from my mobile while I sat in the car, watching the windscreen wipers arc back and forth.

“Bevan, what’s up?”

“You got any dope?”

“Not here, but I know where to get some.”

“I’m sitting outside, in my car, let’s go cruising.”

Five minutes later we’d picked up Scott and were on our way to Mitch’s connection for the dope. I bought as much as I could afford with the cash I had in my wallet, then we headed for the liquor store. We were the only ones in the car park.

Mitch leaned forward from the back seat as I stopped. “Give us the cash,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Sorry, mate, but I spent all my money on the dope,” I said. “You’re gonna have to pay for the booze.”

“Not sure that I’ve got enough - what about you, Scott?”

“Nuh, I got nothing,” Scott said as he got out of the car. “Bevan, can you open the boot?”

I reached down and pulled on the boot lever, hearing the boot spring open behind me.

“Get some spirits,” I shouted through the open passenger window as they went past.

“Sure thing,” Scott said. “We’ll get as much of the hard stuff as we can grab.”

People asked me afterwards how I could have missed the fact that Mitch had taken the wheel spanner from the boot. Or how I had misunderstood what Scott had said to me. It’s because I wasn’t really listening, wasn’t paying much attention to what they were doing or saying. As soon as they got out of the car, I sank into misery, my eyes filling up with tears that I didn’t want them to see. Their bodies were a blur as they went past the car and into the shop. I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel, trying to pull myself together before they came out, longing for the moment we could get to a quiet spot where I could bomb out on the dope and the booze. I didn’t much care what happened after that. I just wanted oblivion, and I wanted it fast.

I still didn’t figure it out when they came running out of the store, their arms filled with bottles of booze. Mitch got to the car first and struggled to open the door because he was carrying so much. Scott was close behind him. He didn’t bother opening the door, just dived into the car through the open window, scattering bottles into the footwell.

“What the hell?” I said as Mitch finally got the door open.

“Drive! Drive!” Scott yelled out.

Mitch hadn’t managed to close his door but I threw the car into reverse and skidded away from the store. As I put the car into forward gear, his door slammed shut on its own and then we were out of there, fast. I raced down the road and drifted around the first corner. I quickly corrected and lined the car up to head down the road at speed. I had no idea where we were going.

“What the hell happened?” I asked.

“We ripped the place off!” Mitch said from the back, his voice high with excitement. “Man, you should have seen his face.”

“Oh yeah, man, I think he pissed himself,” Scott said excitedly

“You robbed the store?” I asked.

“Look at all the stuff we got. Did you get the whisky, Scott?”

“Right here, man, we’re going to get so wasted tonight.”

In the distance, I heard sirens; my mind, so keen to embrace oblivion, kicked up a gear.

“Wait, you robbed the place? When were you going to tell me this?”

“We just did, man. Chill out. We’ve got the booze you wanted, what more do you want?”

I remembered that they had gone into my boot before going into the shop.

“What did you take out of my car?”

“The wheel spanner.”

“Did you threaten him with it?”

Mitch giggled, I mean, he really giggled, just like a girl. “We beat him with it.”

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, feeling my temper rise for the second time that day. I realized that these guys had bombed out on harder stuff before I had picked them up.

“You beat him?”

“He wouldn’t hand over the cash from the till, so we hit him about a bit.”

“Where is the spanner now?”

“I dropped it,” Mitch said. “I dropped it in the store so I could get more bottles. I couldn’t carry it all.”

I slammed my foot on the brake so hard that Mitch hit the back of the seat behind me and Scott smashed into the dashboard.

“You fucking wankers!” I screamed at them. “Get out of my fucking car!”

“What?” Mitch said.

“I never asked you to rip off the fucking store, did I? I just wanted some hard stuff. I just wanted to forget, that’s all, and now you’ve gone and fucked it all up. Get the hell out of my car.”

“Can we take the booze?”

“I don’t give a shit. Just get out and fuck off.”

Both of them tumbled out of the car, grabbing as many of the bottles as they could. The sirens were getting closer. When they slammed the doors, I took off, tyres throwing up clouds of smoke as they fought for traction. I needed to get out of there and I needed to get out of there fast. As I drove, I knew I had to get as far away from the store as I could. Had someone taken my number plate? Could they trace my car from the wheel spanner? Were there CCTV cameras inside the store? Outside? Was there a helicopter above me? Were the cops behind me?

I drove from street to street, aimless, scared, and mad. Everything had turned to perfect shit in a very short space of time. If I stayed here, the cops would catch me for sure. I guessed they had a description of the car by now, even a number plate, and if I didn’t get away, they’d pick me up and throw me in jail. Escape, I had to escape.

I realized that I was on the road that would take me to the motorway. I looked at the overhead sign – SH1 South; Hamilton. When I reached the intersection, I turned onto the glide-on, joining the traffic on the motorway heading south.

I didn’t know where I was heading, just took the car onto the motorway and put my foot to the floor.

My phone rang. It was Gina. I let it ring. When it stopped, it was followed soon after by a text message. I ignored it. The phone rang five times between the on-ramp and the Bombays. When it rang for the sixth time, I picked the phone out of its cradle on the dash, wound down my window and threw it out, hearing it smash to pieces on the road behind me.

I wound the window up, brushed the remains of the tears from my eyes and concentrated on the road, wondering where I could run to, where I could hide.

As I reached the top of the Bombay Hills and saw the Waikato spread out in front of me, I knew where I had to go. I looked at the petrol gauge – plenty. I’d make it there easy. I put the destination into the satnav and settled in for the ride. When the radio gave out at Pokeno I slipped in a CD and let the music envelop me. The road ahead was dark and traffic was light as I drove off into the night. I couldn’t see any cop cars – maybe they were all at the liquor store.

Once I hit Hamilton, I took the ring road as I figured there’d be fewer cops there than in the town centre. I had a scary moment when I cop car came towards me but he passed me by and continued on without stopping. I watched his lights disappear behind me, relieved.

On the other side of Hamilton, I hit SH1 again to head towards Cambridge. The town came up on me fast in the dark, and I turned to the right to head through the centre of the town and over the bridge. It was quiet, hardly anyone about at that time of the night, which suited me fine; the fewer people who saw me, the better. Once out of Cambridge I encountered the farmlands, and darkness descended once more, broken only by the lights of the farmhouses and the headlights of cars coming towards me.

From the satnav I saw that I was getting close, so I slowed as I rounded a bend. A road appeared on my left and the satnav told me to head that way, so I did. I drove slowly past a farmhouse, then a stretch of farmland, before I topped a rise in the road and the church appeared before me.

Even in the dark, I recognized it from my dream.

I braked in front of it. The fence was back from the road, allowing a bit of space in which I could park the car. The white walls of the church reflected back the car headlights. From what I could make out in the dark, the church was isolated – no buildings close by, just farmland, almost invisible in the dark. I turned off the ignition and tilted my head back against the headrest.

I couldn’t believe what had happened that day, how I had ended up here … but now that I had, there was not much else I could do but wait until morning. I was badly in need of a pee. I stepped out of the car, the warning signal pinging, telling me I’d left the lights on. I didn’t switch them off.

It seemed disrespectful to urinate in front of the church, so I crossed the road and relieved myself against the hedge on the other side.

I walked back to the car. In Auckland, if a car had been left with headlights on and keys in the ignition, it would have been stolen within seconds. But here there was no one about. I climbed back into the car and stared at the church. If only the walls could talk, I thought; if only they could tell me why I saw a Maori warrior in my dreams. I remembered the last dream in which I had seen this church, of Reka standing with her baby in her arms while the women said a waiatia of farewell to Haki. Just as in the dream, I felt his sorrow at leaving her, and I thought of the baby that had been mine, that had been growing in Gina’s stomach and that was now dead. I let the tears flow and didn’t wipe them away. Out here in the farmlands, there was no one to see.

My stump was throbbing; it had been in the prosthetic leg for too long. I racked the seat back as far as it would go, then hitched up my trouser leg and slipped the prosthesis off, feeling relief as the pressure eased. I dropped it into the footwell of the passenger seat, hearing it clink as it hit a bottle that still lay on the floor. I reached over and picked it up – whisky. I broke the seal on the cap and took a swig, feeling the burn as it scorched its way down my throat. I felt sick. I swallowed quickly, trying to fight the rising nausea. I put the cap back on the bottle and dropped it back into the footwell. I looked for the dope, as it would relieve the pain of my throbbing stump, but I couldn’t find it. That’s when I realized that my so-called mates had run off with that too. Unless I was prepared to cruise the streets of a small rural town, I wasn’t going to get any drugs, and besides, I had no money left. I looked out at the church, lit by the headlights, and tilted the seat back until I was almost horizontal, tucked my hands under my armpits to keep them warm and closed my eyes.

“Right, I’m here now,” I said to the night. “Show me what happens next.”

“Bastards!” Matiu spat out the word as he crouched down beside Haki.

“What?” Haki said, rousing himself. He was supposed to be on guard duty, watching out for any movement in the bush, but he had let his eyelids fall. It was the early hours of the morning and sleep tugged at him.

“They’ve gone around us.”

“Who?” Haki was alarmed at Matiu’s tone. Something was wrong.

“The General’s soldiers, they’ve gone around us. They’re heading for Rangiaowhia.”

“You lie!” Haki cried as he stood up, the blanket slipping from his shoulders. “They’re in front of us here. We are waiting for them to attack.”

“No. A scout came in earlier and I overhead him talking to Rewi. They’re trying to get word out to the other pa so that we can organize the men, but I came straight away to tell you.”

Haki looked at Matiu and knew what he meant – Reka and the baby were at Rangiaowhia.

“We leave now.”

“We’ll be too late and there are only two of us. It’s a long way to go – we’ll not get there in time.”

“I will not stand here while my wife and baby are in danger. Are you coming with me?”

Matiu held his head high. “Where you go, I go, brother.”

“Then let’s not waste any more time gossiping like women.”

The mere burned in his hand as he held it against his chest. The mere knew there would be battle, and Haki had to carry it there or risk losing his family.

I woke to a tapping sound. I opened my eyes. It was morning. A thin white mist obscured the countryside, with the church the only thing visible in front of me.

The tapping started again and I looked to my right. An old man stood there, using a key to tap against the window. I tried to wind down the window but the car battery had run flat, so I opened the door and cool, moist air rushed in.

“Are you all right, young man?” the man asked. “I saw you arrive last night as I went to bed. Are you lost?”

“No,” I answered, but then thought the answer should be yes. While I wasn’t lost geographically, I was certainly lost emotionally and spiritually.

“Well, looks like your battery has died. It’ll do that if you leave your lights on all night. Do you have family here?”

“I used to,” I said. I guessed my family had been here, if you counted my dreams as evidence. “They’re gone now.”

“I’ve got a battery charger in my shed. We can get the battery out and put it on charge. I’ll get some spanners. Come on, let’s get you sorted.”

“Have to get my leg first,” I said as he turned to go.

“Leg?” he asked, turning back.

I picked up my leg from the footwell and showed him the lifeless bottom half of my trouser leg.

“Oh, my dad had one of those,” he said “He lost his in the war. How’d you lose yours?”

“In a car accident – a guy crossed the centre line and hit us. We were coming back from Mystery Creek.”

“I think I remember that. I read about it in the newspaper. You were coming back from that festival.”

“That’s right, from Parachute.”

“Sorry to see how it ended up. Come on, I’ll take you back to the house.”

I had the leg on now and pulled myself out of the car. I followed him to a derelict ute parked just in front of my car, and we drove off the way I had come last night, but turning left after a short distance to travel down a hill before turning into the driveway of an old-fashioned farmhouse. We got out of the ute and I followed him up the steps to the door, which he pushed open.

“Let’s have a cuppa first. I’d just put the kettle on when I saw that you were still there. I figured you had to be lost, or something.” He waved his hand at the large wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. “Sit down, make yourself at home.”

He turned to the bench and flipped the kettle on. The newspaper lay on the table. I opened it up, prepared to see my face all over the front page, but there was nothing. The report of the robbery was on the second page. It was a small report, no pictures, just a few lines on the side, as if it wasn’t important. It said the shop owner was in hospital with serious head injuries. I swore under my breath and folded the paper up again. I realized that the old man had been talking to me.

“Sorry?” I said, tuning in.

“I said do you want coffee or tea?”

“Coffee,” I answered.

“I’m Ted, by the way.”

“Bevan,” I said, and then cursed myself for giving my real name. I was failing as a crim. I would have to do better at it or else I would be caught.

A middle-aged man came in. He looked like a younger version of Ted.

“Is this the bloke in the car?” he asked as he grabbed a mug from the counter and began to drink. Ted was putting toast in a toaster next to the kettle. “Bevan, meet Peter, my son. Peter, this lad’s got a leg like your grandfather’s.”

“A plastic one?”

“A bit more modern than the one the old man had.”

I laughed at the old man calling his old man an old man. Then I had to show Peter the “modern” version of his grandfather’s leg.

“Of course, Gramps had his off above the knee, didn’t he?” Peter said to his father.

“Yep, lost it during an attack on the Mareth Line. Lucky to be alive, he reckoned. Lots of limbs lost during the war. People always talk about the lives lost, but no one ever counts the limbs lost. Same in any war, I guess.”

As the two men talked, they took pots of jam out of the fridge, as well as a block of butter. We never had butter at home. The toast piled up on a plate next to the toaster and, as the smell filled the room, I realized how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten since lunch the previous day.

The three of us sat around the large wooden table in the kitchen and spread butter thick on the warm toast and then layered it with whatever was on the table. The coffee kept coming too. I had three slices of toast before I even slowed down. They asked what I was doing there and I struggled to come up with an answer. I couldn’t tell them what had driven me there; neither could I tell them about the dreams, so I just said that I was looking for my family who used to live in the area.

“What were their names?” Ted asked. “It’s a small community here. I’m sure we’ll know the name.”

“They were Maori.”

“What’s the iwi?’

“Ngati Apakura.”

“There’s something on the board in front of the church about them. If that doesn’t help, I might have to put you in touch with Henry. He’s the kaumatua from the local marae. He might be able to help you.”

“Are there any Maori buried in the churchyard?” I asked.

“Not as far as I know, although there could be some in the Catholic churchyard up the road.”

“I only saw one church.”

“There used to be a Catholic mission station here, but all that remains is the cemetery.”

Peter put his mug down on the table. “Best get back to the chores. You need any help with the battery, Dad?”

“Nah, we’re good.”

Peter left and Ted turned to me. “That battery will take all day to charge. Is there anyone you want to phone, someone who can come and fetch you?”

“No, I’m stuck here, I guess, until the battery is charged. Not sure where to go. Is there a town close by?”

“Te Awamutu is just down the road. Be a hike on foot though, especially with only one.” He laughed at his own joke. “You could stay here today while the battery charges, but be careful, this is a working farm and I’m sure Peter will find you something to do, even if you are a townie.”

I smiled at him. I didn’t mind being called a townie, because I knew I was. I looked out of the window. The mist was burning off and I saw that it was going to be a clear winter’s day. I felt safe here. If there was a way I could avoid the world outside, then I was willing to take advantage of it, even if I ended up mucking out a pigsty somewhere. It felt like I belonged here.

I helped Ted clean up the dishes, and then we went outside to the shed where he collected a few spanners.

“I hope I’ve got the right size,” he said. I was absolutely no use at this. I couldn’t have told him one end of a spanner from another. “That should do,” he said, as he looked at the few he had in his hands. “Come on, let’s get this sorted.”

We drove back to the car. The mist had gone, revealing a landscape of gentle rolling hills. I tried to match up this picture with the one I had in my dream, but couldn’t. The church was much as I had seen, but back then the road had been just a track and the land had had more vegetation than I saw around me now. The whares had been further away, perhaps in the dip beyond the church but I couldn’t recall the details from my dreams. The landscape looked so different.

“Pop the hood,” Ted said as we returned to the car.

I got in and pulled the lever that opened the hood. He fiddled around under the bonnet and then pushed it open, finding the rod that held it up. I came to the front of the car and watched as he tried all the spanners that he had in his hand.

“Of all the spanners I bring, I leave behind the one that I really need. Wait here, lad, while I get the right one.”

He drove back down the road, and I turned and read the noticeboard that was in front of the church:

Rangiaowhia

The Anglican mission church, built with the help

of local Maori and opened in 1856, is the only building remaining

from the time when Rangiaowhia was a centre of Maori agriculture.

The graveyard to the north marks the site of the Catholic mission.

Here in the 1840s and 1850s the Ngati Hinetu and Ngati Apakura cultivated

hundreds of acres of wheat, maize and potatoes for the Auckland market.

Their settlement, set amongst peach trees,

extending for two miles, included a racecourse, flour mills,

schools and two churches.

Part of the village was destroyed during an attack by British and

colonial troops on 21 February 1864. Following military occupation

the Maori settlement ceased to exist

I stood and read the last three lines again. The words “destroyed” and “attack” and “ceased to exist” cut through me. Haki had left Reka here because he thought she would be safe, yet these words seemed to say that the village had not only been attacked, but also destroyed. What had happened to Reka and Toa? Had they been in the village when it was attacked? How would I know?

In a daze, I opened the small gate into the churchyard with its worn gravestones and walked around the outside of the church building. I was in an elevated position and from here could see the sweeping valley below and the hills rolling off into the distance, rising to a mountain on the skyline.

I walked forward to the fence at the edge of the churchyard and placed my hands on the top rail. As I did so a shiver ran through me and the ground beneath me seemed to tremble. I clung to the wood, but it seemed to slip beneath my fingers. I could feel myself falling, the ground rushing up towards me, and I had no time in which to put out my hands to cushion my fall. I hit the earth and immediately was in another world.