Fathers Page 2
He ignored my comments and asked, “How’s ya wife, what’s her name? Carole isn’t it?”
I said, “Yes, its Carole and she’s good I s’pose...” And then I said, “We’ve split up.”
He nodded, “Thought you might’ve.”
“Why’s that?”
He handed me my cuppa as he sat, and said, “Well things didn’t seem that rosy between the two of you last time I saw you. And now you’re here by yourself. You’ve never visited before, with or without Carole.”
I was embarrassed. “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy and we’d been concentrating too much on having kids. Next thing, ten years have gone before you know it,” I mumbled.
And the silence descended on us like a fog as we found interest in our cups of tea; both staring at them as if we held something fascinating in our hands. I put down my cup and pulled my cell phone from my pocket and flipped it open. Still no signal. I slapped it shut and put it away and sighed. I watched the ducks flying across the wall and remembered when I was about ten years old and Dad took me white baiting on a river near our home. We sat there the whole day and the only thing he said to me was ‘Don’t make any noise, you’ll scare the bait.’ For a young boy that’s the last thing I wanted to hear. I thought it was going to be a great adventure going white baiting with my Dad. We should have had fun and talked the day away, not really worrying whether we caught fish or not, just enjoyed each other’s company. Sitting in his kitchen thirty years later, I felt ten years old again, scared to make a noise, scared to disturb the silence. Afraid to ask a question, should I frighten all the fish in the river away, never to return. I didn’t travel all this way to sit here with the old man so I could live in the past. I needed him now. Needed him more than ever before in my life. I wanted to get to know him; I wanted to know what made him tick. What made him who he is today? Is he a good man? Did he have regrets? Was he lonely since Mum died? Was he disappointed in me? Did he wish he had grandkids? I knew nothing about my father. It was crazy but I didn’t. All the years of growing up in the same house as him and I only really saw him as a stranger that lived with me and mum, when he wasn’t at sea. Almost like a lodger. Not my perceived idea of a dad. A good provider and protector for sure, but not someone I really knew. I mean he spoke of course, but only when necessary and certainly not about himself or others. Or not so I noticed anyway... Perhaps he was just quiet when I was around? Somehow, I figured, knowing him would help to know me. That it would help me through my problems and help me understand myself. I cleared my throat and said a little hesitantly, “Dad, we need to talk.”
“You want another cuppa?”
“Um, yeah sure, but I think we need to talk...I feel I don’t know you?
He frowned and stood up. “I feel I’ve got to feed the pigs; they’ll be getting upset if I don’t get there tucker to them on time... You know where the jug is, help yourself.” And with that, Dad walked out the door and left me once again, staring at my teacup.
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“They like a scratch behind the ear,” said Dad.
He had poured the pig tucker into the trough; a mixture of pellets, cray bodies, fish heads, potato peelings and other vegetable scraps. Five small pigs were busily tucking into their feast while dad scratched one of them behind the ear. “Weaners,” he continued. “Should be ready in about four to five months.”
“Ready for what?” I had followed him out the door after passing on a second cup of tea.
“Pork; eating.”
“Ah Jeez Dad, how could you eat these cute guys?”
“You like bacon?”
“Yeah, sure, but that’s different. You’re having a relationship with your food though. I mean, you’re patting them. That doesn’t seem right.”
Dad looked me in the eye and said, “Listen. They have a good life and I treat them well. They’re well fed and watered. They have a run in the paddock, most days, and they’ve got somewhere warm and dry to live.” He waved his hands in the general direction of the pigs and carried on with his speech. “At least I know where my food is coming from son, and that it lives and dies humanely. When was the last time you asked how the animal that provided your meat for your hamburger or hotdog was treated, before you scoffed it down?”
A little embarrassed I said, “Um, well, I never thought about it like that before... I guess you’re right.” And then to get my point across I asked, “What about names. Do you give them names?”
Dad just looked at me and shook his head. He mumbled something like ‘stupid bugger’ and then turned and walked towards the rusty old barn. The little fox terrier was close behind him nipping every now and then at his heels. I followed him. “What’s the dog’s name?”I asked.
“Scrap or Scrappy, or little bastard when he chases the chooks.”
I smiled, “He seems kinda small. I thought Fox Terriers grew bigger?”
“He’s a miniature, bred by the Aussies for rodents. He’s keeps the rats in check so he does come in handy sometimes,” replied Dad.
Not being a fan of that rodent, at all, I asked, stupidly I suppose, “You get rats around here?”
“It’s a farm son. I keep chooks and pigs. The food attracts the rats. We also get ‘possums, rabbits, stoats and hares. That’s what happens when you live in the country, you have to share your life with other country folk. Up to a point that is. When they become a nuisance then they have to be dealt with.” And as if to prove a point, as we walked in the barn, Scrappy shot out in front of us and zipped around the back of a bag of chicken feed stowed in the corner. The largest rat I had ever seen in my life ran straight towards me and over my feet in its desperation to get away from the dog. I guess I screamed a little which didn’t endear me to my father at all. The rat shot down the side of the house with the Foxy in hot pursuit yapping with excitement. As the rat was to slip around the side and under the deck to safety, the large ginger cat pounced from its favourite shrub and fell onto the unlucky rodent with an arsenal of claws and teeth. The high pitched squeal from the rat was soon silenced as the cat chomped through its neck, pulling its head off its writhing body like a cork from a bottle. Scrappy skidded to a halt and then circled the cat and its kill, like a hyena would a lion, not daring to get too close. The cat uttered a low growl and slinked off under the deck with her prey.
“That’s the cat. She’s quite handy too,” said Dad.
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After following my father around the farm watching him do his chores like feeding the chooks and checking on his sheep we ended up back in the kitchen. I had put my suitcase and gear from the car in the spare room and was now sitting at the table watching Dad prepare dinner. He had obviously aged in the last ten years and his grey hair was now almost white, yet his green eyes sparkled like emeralds; the eyes of a young man. I knew he was seventy something; having been born sometime in the thirties, but he was still in good shape for his age and carried no extra weight. He was a little shorter than me, probably just under six foot and he was clean shaven as he’d always been, as far as I remembered anyway, and his hair was closely cropped. He wore a blue polo shirt with shorts and had jandals on his feet. His skin was tanned from the sun and held himself straight and tall, not showing any sign of a stoop that is so often seen in the elderly. “Beer?” He asked.
“Thanks Dad. Is this your famous home brew I’ve heard about?”
“Where did you hear about that?” He asked as he went to the fridge.
“I met Bill um, something or rather, on the way here when I stopped him to ask directions to your place. He seems a bit of a character.”
“Bill Hokianga. He’s a good bloke,” said Dad as he came to the table with a bottle and two glasses.
“He asked us around there for a meal sometime, said to bring your home brew. Lager he said.”
“Cheeky bugger. I’ll bring him lager all right,” he smiled
. “I go there most Fridays for a feed and to catch up, something I’ve done since I’ve been living here. They’re good neighbours both Bill and his wife Hine. Treat me like family.” Dad poured two glasses of beer with a good head and placed one in front of me. “Cheers,” he said and downed half the glass with one swallow. The beer was cold and refreshing and just the thing after another hot day. “Tea will be ready in half an hour. I hope you like snapper; I’m baking one in the oven,” he said as he walked to the kitchen bench and began filling a pot with water.
“Love it; you pay big bucks for that in the city, where’d you get it from?”
“I have a spot. Went there this morning and set the cray pot as well. I always come home with a feed.” He smiled and added, “I’ll take you there tomorrow if you’re lucky.”
“I’d like that,” I replied. Then I said, “Dad I’ve made this trip just so I can spend time with you. I’ve got all the time in the world now... I got made redundant at work you see and I took this opportunity, since I’m not working, to visit and to get to know you - if you don’t mind.” He turned and stared at me; a stern look on his face. I was undeterred and continued with my diatribe. “I know we haven’t been close in the past but I feel this could change. I’m looking forward to talking to you Dad and really getting to know you, and perhaps, you might get to know me a little better too.”
I think he only heard one thing properly. “Made redundant?” He said. “Well things are a little worse for wear aren’t they? Wife leaves you and no job. Am I your backstop son? I don’t know what you expect from me apart from company. I’m not much of a talker Keith as you well know,” he replied.
I pleaded. “Dad I don’t know anything about you. There will come a time when you will be gone too and I will look back and think I never really knew him at all. I’m not asking much but a little of your time and that’s it. I think this will be good for both of us. I mean how did you cope with Mum dying? I know I wasn’t there for you. At least I had Carole to help me grieve. What did you do Dad? Who helped you through that?”
He shook his head and turned away. “I don’t want to go into this now. Look the past’s the past and I’ve moved on. Finish your beer, tea’s ready.”
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After a couple of beers and a delicious feed of baked snapper, new potatoes and corn on the cob, I was ready to call it a day. The sun was setting and it had been a long day and night of travelling. I said goodnight to my father and feeling somewhat depressed made my way to the bedroom. Dad was sitting in the lounge reading a novel with Scrappy on his lap.
“Keith?” He called out as I was about to enter the bedroom.
“Yeah Dad?”
“We’ll talk when the time’s right.”
“Sure, thanks Dad... Goodnight.”
“Goodnight Son.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I
had fallen into a deep sleep with the soothing sound of a morepork calling over and over in the night and I awoke the next morning refreshed and in high spirits. The smell of fried bacon drifted into my room and I followed the tantalising aroma out to the kitchen. Dad was at the stove breaking some eggs into the pan. The jug was on the boil. I said, “Smells good Dad, can I help with anything?”
“You can make the tea son; jug’s boiled, teabags are in the container next to the jug, cups on the rack.”
“No worries. You eat like this all the time?” I said as I went about my task.
“Hell no. I’d be as big as house if I did. Usually just have toast. Or porridge in the winter. Every now and then I like a fry up though.”
“I notice you don’t have a T.V Dad. What do you do for entertainment?”
He broke the eggs into the pan. “I’ve got the radio and I read a lot. I keep busy during the day. Got my fishing and there’s always something to do around the farm. Do the odd bit of hunting too, although not much recently.”
“What do you hunt?”
“Oh, rabbits, possums the odd deer or pig.”
“Deer and pigs? Where do you get those?”
“Have a look out the lounge window. That bush you can see borders my property. There’s plenty of game in those hills.”
“How much land have you got?”
“Just over twenty acres. That’s enough for me. I run a few sheep and cattle; the cattle are in the back paddock next to the bush. The grass is getting pretty low so there’s not a lot of feed about for them.” He looked out the window and said, “We need some rain soon or I’m going to have to sell them or send them to the works and get what I can for them. But hopefully the rain’s not far away. I can feel it coming. Feel it in my bones.” He looked at me and winked and smiled.
I smiled back and handed him a cuppa and sat at the table. “What’s on the agenda for today?” I asked.
“Thought I might take you to my fishing spot. Have to check the cray pot anyway; it’s been in overnight... Here get your laughing gear around that!” Dad placed a plate of bacon, eggs, hash browns, baked beans and toast in front of me and then joined me at the table.
“Do you expect me to eat all this?”I asked jokingly.
“You’d better, that’s all you get until tea time, so do your best. By the way this isn’t free accommodation here. You’re on dishes!”
Chores done, animals checked and fed, we loaded up the Landrover with fishing rods and tackle and headed off to Dad’s fishing spot. Scrappy stood on my lap catching the breeze through the open window and barked at anything threatening we saw on the way, like seagulls and butterflies. Dad pointed out Bill’s place and gave a toot on the horn as we went past. I noticed he had a shotgun in a rack behind the front seats and asked him what that was for; he said, ‘You never know what you might come across’ and grinned at me. That look in his eye and the boyish grin he gave me told me that Dad was in his element here; this was what he lived for. This place in the country. For him it was paradise. Being who he was, he would never express it in words, but his face told me everything. Without even having an
in - depth discussion with him I think I was beginning get a grip on what made him tick, albeit ever so slowly. I thought the more time I spent with him the more he would reveal himself to me. And I hoped with patience the walls between us would start to crack and eventually tumble down.
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“Pull on that rope!” Said Dad.
I was standing on a ledge about a metre from the water. A rope tied to a jutting rock trailed into the sea below. Dad was about three metres above me standing on a flatter and more substantial part of the large rock formation that if seen from above, would look like a horseshoe. This formed a large deep pool between the two out-crops, and it was from there that I pulled up a large cray pot.
And, with some difficulty I might add.
I was struggling with the weight as the rope cut into my hands. I nearly slipped on a couple of occasions but I finally got it up and almost onto the ledge. Inside the pot were two large eels. ‘Shit!’ I cried and immediately let go of the rope. The cray pot plunged back into the sea.
“What the hell did you do that for?”Asked Dad.
“Did you not see those bloody eels, they were massive!” I yelled excitedly.
“Yeah, so are we just going to leave them there? You’ll have to pull the pot up again and get the bastards out.”
“What do you mean I’ll have to get them out; they’re fucking huge!”
“Pull the pot up again and I’ll explain,” said Dad.
So once again I heaved on the rope, blistering my hands and straining my back and arms as I finally pulled the pot up onto the rock. Gripping the cage I manoeuvred it onto the flat part of the ledge I was standing on. “Don’t put your fingers in there; they’ll have them off in an instant!”Said Dad.
I whipped my fingers out of the cage. “Jesus Christ Dad, do you want to come and do this, t
his isn’t really my sort of thing. I’m from the city, remember? The closest I’ve come to fishing is opening a can of sardines!
“They’re only congers and they won’t hurt you if you’re nice to them,” said Dad with a grin. “Just open the latch on the top of the cage and tip it over. They’ll slide out into the sea.”
“You don’t want to keep them for something. I was thinking I could leave them in the cage and you could get them out at home.”
“I could do son, but I’ll only take them home if you promise to eat them!”
I stared at the slimy creatures. “Ok, ok, I’ll get them out, there’s no way I’m eating these ugly bastards!”
“They’re not bad smoked, if you’re desperate,” said Dad with a chuckle.
The Conger eels slid easily out of the cray pot and fell back into the sea and thankfully no fingers were lost in the process. Dad hauled the pot up to the higher ledge where he was standing. “You going to set the pot again?” I asked.
“Nah, might try another spot on the way home. We’ll get the rods out and try for a fish,” he replied.
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After stabbing my fingers with the fishhooks several times I managed to get the salted mussel bait onto the hooks and cast my line into the pool next to Dads, but ‘not too close to get tangled’, he reminded me. The swell of the ocean came in and out of the deep pool and gently slapped the rocks below our feet. The sun reflected off the water like a mirror, causing the heat to intensify around us before a light breeze arrived and cooled the air slightly, making the conditions far more pleasant. Gulls lazed over head, catching the thermals from the land, making their flight appear effortless. We sat in silence enjoying the tranquillity of our surroundings. Scrappy wandered off up the beach sniffing at dead things and peeing on logs and rocks. The fish weren’t biting but it didn’t matter, and I just appreciated having this time together. I was going to get Dad to talk about things again but decided against it at the moment, hoping that in time he would open up on his own accord. I thought about my own life and how I had arrived here, at this particular point. At these crossroads.