Out of Here

By Paul Maunder

Out of Here is the third part of a trilogy called Moments in Time. It is a ‘working class’ romance set on the remote West Coast of New Zealand’s South Island. Phill’s come home from a failed marriage to an Australian to tend to his dying mother and is working in the freezing works. Rylee has had to care for her father and younger brother since her mother died. She’s working as a checkout operator for a local importer of Chinese goods. They meet at the pub and hit it off - they both know about emptiness. His mum dies and after the funeral, Rylee persuades him to steal a boat from a resort. Helped by her teenage brother, they head for the remote Fiordland. The boat sinks and they almost drown before finding a track through the bush. They start living off the land and encounter some strange people: an East German violinist who’s trying to rediscover the meaning of music, a party of millionaires on a hunting trip, one of whom has a heart episode, a couple of ferals who test their patience, a ranger who has learned some wisdom... The natural world is extreme in this part of the country and their journey is being watched over by the pantheon of lesser gods. Phill is bitten by an eel and it turns septic and he almost dies before they are rescued. She finds she is pregnant and they will return to civilization, having learned some boundaries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Maunder
• Release date: Aug 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463805213

Paul Maunder

Paul Maunder has worked in theatre and film as writer and director, winning many awards. He has published a book of short stories, a reflection on the Pike River disaster and a study of NZ Community Theatre. He has written articles for various publications, both local and international, and many of his stories have been read on radio. He is involved in his local community and in national political organisations. He is interested in exploring the way historical circumstance and individual lives intertwine.

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Out of Here

Paul Maunder

Te Puawai Publishing

PO Box 2 Blackball New Zealand

Copyright 2019 by Paul Maunder

Cover design by Jerry Fulford

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2019

Out of here

When the slaves were brought to Cuba in the 17th and 18th centuries they were forcibly baptized. They integrated the Catholic divinities into their traditional belief system as Orecha, or spiritual archetypes. Thus Santeria was born. Two of the Santeria Orecha relevant to this story are: Yemaya, patroness of water and the surface of the sea; and Osain, conceived of the earth. Osain lost the use of an arm and a leg during a forest fire, but his hearing is acute.

‘They were always looking for each other, He and She. The night was always pursuing the day. They both knew, She and He, the quest for what can never be found. It seemed as if it would never happen, it seemed impossible.; it seemed never ever…And then the dawn came, for Him and for Her. Always, forever.’

Marcos, The Tale of the Ever Never.

Part One

possession

At one am, on the dance floor of the Railway Hotel in Greymouth, Phill had a fit. He was dancing with a hard-faced girl who kept looking around for someone her own age. Only the fact she was half pissed kept her next to him. He couldn’t feel one leg and arm and his left eye seemed to be filled with milk. He flapped his useless limbs to try to get some feeling back and groaned a high pitched groan. He could hear the sound of heartbeats and the whistle of breathing from those around him. It was as loud as the amplified music provided by a band from Westport. The hard-faced girl, who was called Rylee to prove her parents had thought about it, looked at him dancing his strange dance with snide judgment, then gave into the purple alcoholic concoction she’d been drinking all night and grinned for the first time.

But then he accidentally belted the bloke next to him in the eye and found himself falling beneath a hard muscular t-shirted body which was shouting at him, ‘Fucking arsehole, why’d you do that for?’ The bloke was dragged off and Phill was lifted to his feet and bum-rushed to the door. ‘Go home,’ the bouncer instructed as he threw him out. He looked up from the ground to see his attacker, similarly evicted and very pissed off, about to kick him in the head, but a cruising cop car slowed and the bloke cursed and lumbered off.

‘You alright?’ It was Rylee. Her pants sagged and he could see the strip of pink knickers and her shivering navel. Her breasts were strapped down in some sort of sports bra and she was smoking a cigarette. He liked her better through the milky eye. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘I’ll take you home.’ She helped him up and they staggered to her vintage Honda Civic. ‘That bloke’s an arsehole. He date raped a mate of mine.’

He could hear the fish singing as they crossed Cobden Bridge. But the life was slowly coming back to his arm and leg. By the time they got to his place he was feeling almost normal.

a moth fluttering

Most people were asleep, but in the distance, some bloke bayed like a wolf, before a car started and squealed away. It was a cloudy night with a hint of drizzle and the sea rattled the stones on the beach. Phill opened the door and switched on the light. It was a neat cottage which hadn’t changed much from when he was a kid: the same pristine carpet worn a little in doorways, the same doilies under vases, the same embroidered head rests on the backs of armchairs, the same formica kitchen. Rylee, used to flats with soft porn calendars and old takeaway cartons spilling out of the rubbish tin, looked suspicious. ‘You still live with your Mum?’

‘She’s had a stroke and gone into a home. I came back from Aussie to be with her.’

‘You not got a sister?’

‘Just me. She thought she couldn’t have kids, but then she had some treatment and I turned up.’

Rylee hovered over a picture of his Mum and Dad above the mantelpiece, then turned away abruptly and sat down. ‘Can I smoke?’

‘She won’t be back.’ He didn’t know what had come over him at the pub. Maybe he should have a checkup. ‘You want some baked beans?’

She nodded and puffed at her fag. As he pressed with the tin opener, she came over and put her arms around him and rested her head against his back. Because it was expected, he supposed. She’d told him she worked in the Warehouse and was twenty two years old. Whereas he was thirty five for Christ’s sake.

‘You want me to do that?’

‘It’s okay.’

She went and sat at the table and put her head on her arms. By the time he’d made the toast and dished up, she was asleep. Phill shook her bony shoulder. Her eyes glazed open and she began to eat voraciously. ‘I didn’t have much for tea.’ She paused to study him. ‘What happened back in the pub? You suddenly went funny.’

‘I dunno. My arm and leg got numb and I could hear things.’

‘What sort of things?‘

‘People breathing. And one eye was strange.’ She didn’t know what to say. ‘How you have your tea?’

‘Black and half a sugar. I don’t like milk.’ He brought it over and sat down. ‘You married?’

‘Have been. Aussie Sheila.’

‘What happened?’

‘We were living in a mining town in Western Australia and it all turned to shit.’

‘Kids?’

‘No. That was part of the problem.’

‘Couldn’t have any?’

‘Something wasn’t working.’

A moth fluttered to the light and he could hear its blood circulating like the softest whisper. Rylee yawned. ‘I’m buggered.’

‘You want to stay?’

She yawned again and gave a little smile. ‘I’m too tired to drive.’ Their eyes met. ‘Can I use the bathroom?’

He pointed to the door. ‘You want a t shirt or something to sleep in?’

‘That’d be good.’

She disappeared and he got her a towel and t shirt and wondered about sleeping arrangements. He was in his old room, there was his mother’s bedroom, and there was a spare room, but the bed wasn’t made up. He put his head down and closed his eyes. The next door neighbour’s hip replacement ground in its joint as he got up to have a pee. He wished his hearing would return to normal.

Rylee shook his shoulder and he woke up. Wet hair fringed her face. She looked even thinner in his t shirt and her face was shiny now the makeup was washed off. ‘You’re nice,’ she said. ‘Normally by now I’d be having to watch some porno video and have someone’s fingers up my fanny.’

He showed her to his Mother’s room with its neat dressing table and the photo of his Dad on the wall.

‘Your Mum won’t be pissed off?’

‘As I said, she won’t be back. Make yourself comfortable.’

She looked at him strangely, almost regretfully and nodded. He went out, closed the door and put the plates in the sink, switched off the lights and went to the bathroom. In the yellow light he had the appearance of a seedy Italian. He watched himself yawn and cleaned his teeth. Now the visitation felt okay. He was more than himself. He slipped into bed and fell instantly asleep.

rain

When Phill woke up it was raining. He remembered the events of the previous evening and wondered whether it had been a dream. But then he was aware of a knee touching his leg. He turned over to find Rylee lying next to him. She blinked open her eyes and he smelt her smoky breath.

‘There was thunder and I got scared,’ she said, ‘so I come in.’

‘You’re still a kid.’

‘I’m me,’ she replied, looking hurt. Her hand rested on his stomach and he realized he had a hard on. ‘You want to do something about this?’

Her skinny thighs pressed against his. He rolled her on top of him and held her face.

She looked at him trustingly and he kissed her.

‘I’ve never been with an old fulla before,’ she said. ‘I think I prefer them.’

‘Is that right?’ He slapped her bum and she straddled him. Her breasts were surprisingly perfect.

‘It’ll be alright,’ she said.

She slid him in with a surprising dexterity. As he let her lead the way, she made love with concentration and came with a series of little whimpers followed by a single cry. Then he rolled her over and quickly reached his own climax. It felt good and afterward she looked pleased with herself and stroked his back maternally. ‘You still hearing things?’

He listened to the rain but the West Coast symphony on the roof was of normal volume. ‘No, I’m back to normal.’

‘Is this normal?’

As he shook his head, he realized she was smarter than she presented. He released himself and rolled onto his back. She curled against him, head on his chest. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

‘Phill,’ he said.

‘Not as flash as mine.’

‘I don’t have to spell it all the time.’

‘You got a point there, mate.’

They dozed, listening to the rain.

what’re you talking about?

Mid morning he felt hungry and got out of bed, Her eyes flicked open, like a cat’s when the lap it’s sitting on shows signs of movement.

‘I’ll get some breakfast.’

Rylee frowned. ‘How come you do everything?’

‘I’ll make a pot of tea and pour you a cup. Put in two more slices of toast. Not back breaking is it?’

She considered this, then closed her eyes. He sat on the bed and stroked her cheek. He saw she was crying. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I dunno. Just crying.’

Her face had turned vulnerable and they were making love again, together, unseparate, melded, welded, she looking at him with surprise. He couldn’t imagine his own face, as their bodies arched and strove.

Afterward they both needed to retreat in order to recover themselves. She went to the shower and he made the breakfast. Later, he should go see his mother. Outside, the sky was bruised and swollen. He set the table with a couple of plates and cups and got the milk out of the fridge. She came in and her clothes looked thin as she shivered. ‘You want a jersey?’ She nodded and he fetched one and she tossed it over her head. She glanced at him uncertainly as he poured the tea, her hands fingering the table. He didn’t know whether she was uncomfortable with what had happened or just nervous. She buttered her toast, spread the honey and took a bite.

‘You reckon we could work out?’ she asked.

Phill didn’t know. They’d been thrown together, that was all. ‘Maybe.’

‘What would your Mum think?’

‘She’s ga ga. What would yours?’

‘She’s dead. I live with my dad.’

‘And what would he think?’

‘Probably try and plant you one.’

They sipped their tea and the rain continued. Rylee looked at him again. ‘You been overseas apart from Aussie?’

‘Cuba.’

‘Cuba!’

‘Couple of summers ago.’

‘Why’d you go there?’

‘I went with a mate who was the union delegate. He’s a bit of a leftie. He’d decided to go and I was earning so much money I thought I better spend some. Cuba was good.’

‘I dunno what you’re talking about,’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Union, leftie –?’

‘It’s politics.’

‘I dunno anything,’ she said.

‘Most people don’t.’

Rylee considered this, like a kid considers something. ‘I’m still hungry,’ she said.

‘Better cook us a feed then.’

wrapping and zapping

Rylee dropped him off at his ute, which was luckily still in one piece, drove into the Warehouse and slotted her car into the staff park down by the garden center. She wasn’t looking forward to the next six hours of wrapping and zapping and saying have a nice day to the army of overweight shoppers. The staff were all right but she felt like a machine, even when she had a break and sat down with a coke.

It’d been a funny night with Phill. It was like she’d dreamt the whole thing. She looked at herself in the rear vision mirror to make sure it was her. Sometimes she felt the urge to leave everything behind, to run on ahead of her life. Last night she’d been present and it’d been a shock. This morning even more so. Had she really cried? Bloody idiot. She felt something warm inside of her. She smiled and looked herself in the eye again. But she had to go and get into her uniform. Some group had sausages going on a barbie out the front, trying to raise some bucks. Another lot would be selling raffle tickets. This was the place to be on a Sunday. She yawned and got out of the car.

I won’t tell your mum

The rest home never changed–rain, sun, day, night–the same sitters watching TV, the same slow potter of an old lady in a walking frame, the same bright voices of the carers, the same pad and swish of the cleaning staff. Life ended here, like a car with a broken cam belt, that’s it, nothing to be done as you coast to a stop. Phill was a familiar face now and the woman at reception smiled as he signed in. They were all good capable West Coast women, doing what women have always done. But now they went on courses, got certificates and were underpaid.

One of the carers stood outside his mother’s room, wriggling her shoulders to relax. He paused, trying to remember her name. Helen, that was it. ‘Hear you going on strike?’

‘Probably,’ Helen replied cautiously, wondering whether she was in for an earful. ‘We need an increase.’

‘You deserve it.’

She stared into the distance of the garden. ‘Been here fifteen years and still on the minimum wage.’

‘How’s she been?’

‘Doesn’t know shit from clay, but she’s peaceful.’ He nodded and moved into the room. ‘Hear you got into a bit of trouble at the Railway last night?’ She’d followed him to the doorway and her face twitched into a smile. ‘Cradle snatching as well?’

He looked back at her sheep’s face, framed in a curl of dyed hair. ‘This town’s too small,’ he said.

‘You’d be right there, mate.’ She bounced off and Phill sat down by his Mother, who was lying in her usual daze. Her flesh was pale and her face was twisted beneath the thinning hair. The mauve nightdress had a lace neck and when she opened her eyes at the sound of his voice she stared at some screen of the soul he knew nothing about. He wondered what words were written there. She wasn’t old yet, seventy two that was all, but the stroke had left her half paralysed, and then another, and another. Her once stout body had collapsed.

She half raised the hand with the