Fathers Read online

  My childhood, although reasonably happy, was what you would call average. I was closest to my mother due to Dad being away a lot and because she was easier to talk to. She would always listen and take interest in anything I was doing at the time. Mum was a loving and caring person and she rarely got upset or angry. I guess I was probably spoiled as a child, being their only one. I had plenty of friends as I grew up and we did the usual things kids did in those days like played sports, swam in the river and local pool, rode bikes, skateboarded and just hung out together. Funny, but I can’t remember much about school - wasn’t really that keen on it- but I do remember some of the good teachers and of course, the really bad ones. I was more interested in eating my lunch and in playtimes, than learning anything useful. After school, I did all sorts of jobs to get pocket money like paper rounds, milk runs, mowing lawns and working in the local supermarket. At college I made friends with a different crowd and we continued to be mates long after leaving school, although recently I had lost touch with them. They were all too busy with their careers and families. I wandered through college getting average grades and had no idea what I was going to do when I left. Then I stumbled through university, eventually graduating with a handy certificate that said I could add and subtract, and it was there that I met my wife Carole. She was studying psychology and graduated with her masters and went on to become a successful Child Psychologist focussing on child and adolescent mental health. Probably her influence has set me on this path of discovering all about my father. Something she probably said one time about kids and parents and relationships that got stuck in my subconscious, and that set me on this journey to learn about Dad, when I had run out of the answers to everything in my life.

  Carole and I did have a loving marriage until the realisation of not being able to have children began to gnaw away at us. Our love for each other was forgotten and trying to get pregnant became our sole purpose for living and for making love. Looking back on it, it was inevitable the marriage ended the way it did, although my indiscretions certainly didn’t help. Anyway, after leaving school I worked at various places. Shops, petrol stations, a library and some other odd places, but I could never settle into anything. I eventually ended up in the finance industry only because I had the qualifications, not because it was a calling or anything like that.

  And now?

  I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do, job wise. I didn’t think I could do anything that involved my hands. I wasn’t the most practical person, and I didn’t own many tools. I wasn’t your typical Kiwi bloke. Didn’t have much to do with the Great Outdoors; never went fishing, until now, and if you gave me a gun I’d ask you, ‘Where do the bullets go?’ Perhaps I needed to learn some stuff from Dad.

  “Oi! You’ve got a fish on ya dreamer!” Yelled Dad.

  The line was screaming off the reel as he yelled at me, “Tighten your drag ya clown! You’ll end up losing it!”

  “What’s a drag?”I yelled back.

  Dad rushed over and handed me his rod grabbing mine at the same time. He quickly adjusted something on the reel and the line became taut. He handed my rod back and said, “Hold on tight, try to play the fish a bit, pull the rod up and then wind down, don’t give it any slack, watch the rocks, don’t let it get in the weed, walk over that way, no wait, come back, now start winding, no, stop winding, now loosen off the drag a bit, no, too much, tighten it up, shit, keep the line tight, it’s a big bastard! Wind, wind, wind, wind! Lift the rod up and then wind down. Shit, shit, shit! It’s heading towards the weed, you’ll lose it in there! Walk over that way with the rod, keep winding, you’re letting the line go slack, keep the pressure on!”

  And the line snapped.

  “Fuck!”Exclaimed Dad.

  “Shit!”Said I.

  “Tell me about it,” he said.

  “Sorry Dad.”

  “Yeah well, don’t be sorry son, just learn from it. I just took it for granted that you would know what to do.” He shook his head and I wasn’t sure whether it was meant for me or for himself, for his failings. I guessed he was more annoyed at himself and it showed when he muttered, “I s’pose I should’ve taught you this stuff when you were growing up.”

  There was a long silence as we both stared down into the water and then I asked quietly, “Whatta we do now?”

  He straightened himself and said, “We get you a new trace, you bait up again and you get your line in the water. You won’t catch fish standing there staring at your shoes!”

  The lines were back in the water after my first lesson on how to set up a trace. I asked “What do you reckon it was Dad?”

  “Snapper, a wise old man that knew exactly what it was doing... To tell you the truth I reckon I’ve hooked up on him before, several times, and he always gets off. The bastard. Torments me he does. But I’ll get him one day, mark my words, I’ll get him. He’ll be back, not today probably, but he’ll be back. I reckon he’s over twenty pounds that one. Might even be twenty five.”

  “Sounds like Jaws!” I quipped

  Ignoring me Dad said, “Hello, I’m getting a few nibbles here.” And with that Dad expertly played and landed a nice eight pound snapper.

  The next fish attacked my line with a ferocity that nearly took the rod out of my hands. I was actually dozing a bit when the rod jerked me awake. Holding on for dear life I tried to remember all the things the old man had yelled at me. The most important thing that went through my mind was, ‘Keep your line tight’. The line started heading up towards the surface at an alarming speed and then the fish jumped right out of the water in an attempt to shake the hook. This time it didn’t head into the seaweed but shot through the gap in the rocks and straight out to sea peeling the line off the reel. I thought I had a Marlin or something the way it took that line! I started reeling like mad pulling up on the rod then winding down. I was gaining ground as the fish started to lose its strength. I looked across at Dad and grinned but he just said ‘Don’t get too cocky you haven’t landed it yet!’ but I could tell he was just dying to grin as well. All of a sudden the line went slack, the weight of the fish had gone, I stopped winding and I said, “Shit it’s got off, I’ve bloody lost it!”

  In a calm voice Dad replied, “Wind real fast son, the fish is swimming towards you.”

  So I did and sure enough the weight came back on and off it went again! I played that fish like a pro. One man against a mighty creature from the ocean depths but I knew I had it under control this time. This will not be another one that got away! I would like to say the fight went on for hours but the reality was that the whole thing only lasted about two minutes. After a few more anxious moments the fight went from the fish and I landed it safely on the rocks. “Nice Kahawai Keith!” Said Dad, I think a little mockingly.

  “Thanks, she put up a bit of a fight though, bloody good, I really enjoyed that, I’m so rapt! I think that’s the first fish I’ve ever caught!” I was rambling with excitement. I was a kid again. Calming down I asked, “Are they any good to eat?”

  “I tell you what, there’s plenty of people who would disagree with me but when they’re fresh they can beat any fish. It has quite a dark flesh and is strong flavoured but fried in flour and a little butter it’s absolutely delicious. Good smoked too!”

  I sighed with satisfaction as a cloud passed in front of the sun and a gust of wind ruffled the water. “Alright,” said Dad. “Let’s pack it in. Time to go. We’ve got ourselves a feed and by the look of that cloud rolling in I would say, hopefully, were in for a bit of rain this evening.”

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  We were driving back to the house when skidding to a halt, Dad reached behind the seat of the Landrover and grabbed the shotgun. Two shells were quickly loaded into the breaches of the double barrels. A large cock pheasant had scooted across the road twenty metres in front of us and into some bracken that bordered the road. Scrappy was off in an instant and into the scrub. Dad was
out of the car and had the gun to his shoulder in the same movement. The bird burst from the bracken in a flurry of bright colours and beating wings as it took flight. The gun exploded and the shot hit the pheasant in the rear. In a cloud of feathers it dropped instantly from the sky. The bird landed clear, in a paddock beyond the scrub and Scrappy darted through the fence and began mauling the carcass and growling and barking at it like he was the one who had just killed it.

  “Get that for us son,” said Dad as I sat there with my mouth agape.

  I waded through the scrub and climbed the fence into the paddock. Prising the dog off the bird I gingerly picked it up by its legs and returned to the vehicle. I said, “Good shot Dad! What are you going to do with it?”

  He broke open the gun and removed the spent shell. He took the live shell out of the other barrel and then closed it up again. He said “We’ll if its innards are intact I’ll hang it for a while until it’s nice and tender then cook it up. Probably slow roast it, maybe casserole. Bloody good tucker!”

  “Hang it? Wouldn’t it be better fresh, like chicken is? I’d of thought it’d go off?”

  He put the gun in the rack. “Nah, it improves the flavour. You can hang it for up to a week or even longer if it’s cold enough. You leave the guts in and the feathers on and hang it in a cool place, anywhere between ten and twelve degrees does the trick. I’ve got an old fridge in the garage that I use for hanging game.”

  “Yeah, well I might pass on that,” I said with a grimace.

  “What? Even after you’ve spent all that time and effort plucking it? I tell you they’re a bastard to pluck but you’re just the man for the job!” He chuckled as we got back in the vehicle. “By the way keep this under your hat. It’s not actually pheasant season yet,” he added as we headed for home.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  T

  he beer was like nectar after the heat of the day. We sat on deck of the house in silence and watched dark storm clouds gather out to sea and slowly rumble their way towards land. Closer to the shore a flock of terns dived into the sea that bubbled and boiled with the Kahawai chasing its prey. A hawk soared over the land searching for its quarry with its keen eyes until a couple of magpies came from nowhere and swooped down it, chasing it all over the sky, pursuing it, harassing it, like two Spitfires on a Dornier bomber in the Battle of Britain. Cattle bellowed from some far off place in the hills and a rooster that was just over the fence crowed and puffed itself up, shaking its feathers as it strutted around and tried to impress a brace of hens. I sunk into my deck chair as the feeling of tranquillity overwhelmed me and I reflected on today’s events. I smiled when I thought of the one that got away and felt a sense of satisfaction that I managed to land my first fish. I wondered why I had waited so long to visit my father as he really did seem to have his life sussed. There were lessons to be learnt from him I felt and I began to believe that maybe I was heading in the right direction just by being here. Maybe this is what I needed. Maybe this is what’s been missing all this time - being out in the country, away from the pressures of city life and the pettiness of it all. Maybe this is what counted; this is how man was supposed to live, especially in a country as beautiful as ours. Too many of us are caught up in our own little worlds of money and bullshit success. Success which is only measured by what we do for a job and how much money we make. Surely it is whether we are happy or not? If we have all the money in the world but aren’t happy then is that being a success? I doubted it. Thinking about it on the deck of my father’s modest home I began to realise that I had been chasing the wrong dream, looking in all the wrong places for a meaning to my life. I thought everything I needed was to be found in money. I had forgotten about appreciating the little things in life and being thankful for what I had. Not constantly worried about things that weren’t possible to have. I threw away my marriage because I was so hung up on having a child that I forgot the real reason I got married. I married my wife because she was beautiful and I was madly in love with her, not because I thought she would be able to supply me with children at some later date. And if I’d thought about it, the fact that we couldn’t have children gave me the opportunity to do anything I wanted, to work at any job I wanted, because I didn’t have any major responsibilities and I didn’t really need alot of money. But I was in a job I hated and I stayed there, miserable with everything because I thought that was the expected thing to do. Because I got paid a lot of money. And that money could buy happiness. I was caught in the trap. I believed all the propaganda about being successful. I should’ve got out of the city and come and seen my father regularly. I should’ve quit my job ages ago and found something worthwhile to do. Something that made others happy. That made me happy. And I should’ve worked harder at my marriage, and together, my wife and I should’ve moved on and concentrated on making ourselves happy and forgot about what may or may not ever happen. But I was there now and maybe this was it. Maybe this was where my life would change, would begin again, and I’d learn the true meaning of happiness... Maybe.

  “I miss her terribly you know,” said Dad breaking into my thoughts.

  “Sorry, what’s that Dad?”

  “Your mother, I miss her.”

  I nodded. “So do I Dad.”

  “That’s why I moved here, to forget. They say in time it gets easier and I s’pose it does but I would give all of this up to have her back for one more day.”

  I remained silent as I felt there was more he needed to say. He took a sip of his beer then continued. “You know we were married for over thirty years and in that time I could honestly say that I never once heard her say a bad word about anyone. She was always happy. She always seemed satisfied with life, no more than that, at peace with life. She always saw the best in people and the positives of any situation, no matter how challenging or overwhelming. She was a beautiful person son, and it was an honour to be her husband.”

  “You really loved her didn’t you?” I said.

  He nodded “More than life itself. There’s not many woman that would’ve stuck by me like your mother. I really had it all. She gave me the freedom to do anything I wanted. I was at sea a lot of the time but she was always there waiting for me with a smile on her face when I got home. She used to write me letters when I was away telling me what was happening at home, all the good things mind, nothing bad. I know she had a hard job raising you, basically by herself I mean, and running the house with what little money I was making and sending home. But when I was back home she treated me like a king and I don’t mean that she was subservient or anything, far from it. It’s just that she made each day special, kept our relationship fresh, you know. We never got bored with each other, the relationship always felt alive and exciting.” He sighed, a shuddering exhalation of breath and his bottom lip quivered as he said “She was my rock.”

  The pair of magpies that had chased the hawk had returned. They coasted into the large macrocarpa that stood in the paddock and landed on a branch. They started warbling, a victory song. Dad looked up at them and took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. Then he continued. “When your mother became ill I was beside myself. The doctor’s had diagnosed breast cancer. It had gone right through her body and it was too late to do anything about it. They gave her three months to live. Three months! Huh! I actually went to see her doctor by myself without your mother knowing, and threatened the poor bastard. I told him to fix it or else! ‘Or else what?’ he said to me. I broke down then, right in front of him, blubbing like a baby. I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t cope with it. Couldn’t cope with it at all...”

  He sighed then continued. “Do you know your mother stayed the strong one throughout all of that? She kept telling me that she would be all right; that God will fix it; that He would make everything better. She told me to be strong, be there for her, and be her rock. She convinced me for a while and I actually thought that she may make it. When you visited, it always comforted her and it always seemed to be on her ‘better days’ a
s she called them. We’ll as you know God didn’t fix it and she got rapidly worse in the last couple of weeks. The only thing she asked of me was to let her die in her own home. The home we had since we were married. I got a nurse in to help me as by now I just couldn’t cope, I didn’t recognise her. The cancer had eaten away her body and she was just a husk. My beautiful bride was being destroyed before my eyes and I couldn’t do anything about it...” He stopped and wiped his eyes. He had a sip of beer and then said, “On the last night she was in terrible pain and the nurse had administered a lot of pain killers. She was delirious and was mumbling a lot of ridiculous things. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I went over and hugged her as tight as I could without hurting her. I tell you I even considered smothering her with a pillow at that stage as she wasn’t the person I knew and loved anymore. But I couldn’t do it. I was too much of a coward or perhaps I still held a glimmer of hope that she still may make it. It was then that she stopped her ranting and it got very quiet. I could just hear her shallow breathing in the silence of her room. Then, quietly but quite coherently she whispered: ‘I love you fisherman’ then she died in my arms.”

  I looked across to my father to see a tear trickle down his face. I went over and put my arms around him, sharing his grief, sharing our tears, both of us crying for a lost wife and mother.

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  The storm hit in the middle of the night, wind and rain lashed at the windows causing me to wake. I could hear my father get up and pad his way down the hall. I called out, “You okay Dad?”

  “Fine son just going to the bog, must of had too many beers last night... See you in the morning.”

  “Night Dad.”

  CHAPTER SIX