The boy, the Tree and the Fence

Summer feet smell different. Sturdier, rugged,  a shiny honest dirt smell.  At the start of summer we inch and pick our way in  bare feet across the stones to the sand. By the late summer we stream barefoot across the carpark, through the beach weeds, over the gravel and through the hot sand to the tide. Our feet glide, no longer feeling the prick and jabs of the irritated recalcitrant beach. All we feel is anticipation.

It was mid summer. We were way into the glide. The children and I had spent all day at the beach. We had arrived back to the big farm house on the orchard late in the afternoon. Hot and delicious from the sun and sea. We had not worn shoes for days. My feet felt cool on the kitchen floor. My bare feet on the floorboards reminded me of that saying my ex husband  had, that he would repeat with a laugh, something about keeping your wife ‘barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen’. It was quite funny at the time.

The boys were under the big tree in the backyard with the usual instructions to strip, hose the beach off each other, hang up their togs  and come in for a bath, dinner and bed. The big tree spread wide over the garden, its trunk was the width of a two seater couch and its ancient branches had the girth to support a family of children. If it were a horse we would call it a Clydesdale with too much white in his eye. Under and around the tree ran the remains of an elderly wrought iron fence. This was one of those old indestructable fences that stand erect for a hundred years never giving up an inch of  ramrod pride.  Part of this fence had even become part of the tree, they had been together that long.  The top of the iron fence was lined with disarmingly dangerous hearts.  Insidious hearts like knives.  The most archaic of security systems. The weather that had stripped it of paint had sharpened these decorative blades to points. The tree with its summer ravaged leaves swaying gently in the breeze above it.

I lugged the beach bag into the house.  All I could see of my tiny daughter were her dirty shiny bare feet as she lay under a bright cover on the couch. Fast asleep, breathing the summer air softly.  I guessed I probably had 20 minutes to get all the beach clothes into the washing machine, her brothers cleaned and dinner on the way before she woke up.

I leaned out the big sash windows and called into the garden softly so as not to wake her. “Did you hose yourselves? Oh that breeze is nice, it is cooling down .. excellent.”

Three small boys, crouched around a watering can, under the tree, turned their heads in surprise. Three sea blown blonde heads, three sets of pale startled blue eyes and a tangle of summer browned limbs all rose and sighed as one wild barely tamed animal, the mass of bodies drifted into three parts at the sound of my voice, paused, then rejoined, twisting, craning, bending and lowering until the whole mess of limbs and faces settled back down into one again and each little brothers face refocused on the watering can.

“What’s in there?” I said.

“Nothing” they answered in unison.

“Hmm” I said.” Get those togs off. Hang them on the fence. Hose each other down  and into the bath. It is almost time for tea. You can eat in your jarmies. Come on now, the sun is going down.”

The three headed boy nodded automatically.

“What is in that watering can?” I said again. I heard the baby stir behind me at my raised voice.

The phone rang. This was an old fashioned phone.  Heavy. Important.  It’s bells rung loudly from the corner of the kitchen bench, like an insistent under fed black cat.

“Hose!” I called “Wash that sand off.”   I pulled my head back into the kitchen.   One hand reached for the phone while the other hand opened the fridge door and searched out pastry, a bowl of eggs and a packet of bacon. I looked at the baby, still asleep, I could  hear small boys voices outside. Everyone was where they should be. I nudged the cats head out of the way and shut the fridge door with my foot as I dropped the food onto the bench and dragging the phone with me, walked into the bathroom. The golf ball that served as a plug rolled into the plughole and I turned the bath tap on. Cold first, always cold first when there are kids around.

“Hullo?” I said into the phone as I walked back into the kitchen and turned the oven on.

So what are you making?  Donna said. Donna was my friend. She and Deb were my dearest women friends.  When you are young and alone raising children then your friends are like gold. Deb had moved away but we talked every week and Donna and I talked on the phone every evening. My father used to say when you find a good friend bind him to you with a steel girder. We three were bound from the beginning.

“Bacon and Egg Pie. With peas”. I said.

“You can’t put peas in bacon and egg pie.” Donnas voice always had a hint of gravel in it, a touch of red earthy lipstick and more that a smidgin of tongue in cheek!“How was the beach?”

“They need their greens.”  I said, reaching for the flour. “We timed it right, the tide was low when we got there, by the time we packed up there was almost no beach left, the tide came up so high. Perfect day really. No drownings. ”

I tucked the phone  in between my shoulder and my ear. It was quite comfortable. Old phones were good like that.  This was our evening call, we could relax. I sprinkled flour on the board and began to roll out the pastry.

“Did you wear your shirt, you didn’t get sunburnt did you,” Donna was younger than I was but had always acted like our mother.  She was good at being the mother. “Did you eat today?”

“I am cooking” I said hoping that would answer the question.  She worried that I was too skinny.  “Wait.”  I called out the window again. “Hey you lot, the hose, then the bath”. I walked back into the bathroom and turning off the cold, began to add the hot water. A stream of summer air gusted through the house, pushing the scent of ripening apples ahead of it. Then it was gone, replaced by the click of the heating oven.

At the bench I tucked the phone back between my ear and shoulder . We chatted as I rolled out the pastry and fitted it into a baking dish.  What did you do with your day? Isn’t the weather gorgeous? How did you make that kumara curry.  Did you hear from Deb today? How is that tree you planted on Saturday. There is something so comforting about this kind of undemanding connection.   So decent and good. So complete. Friends like this only come once. Each question could come from either of you.

I heard a commotion outside.  My head tipped sideways.  The phone slipped. A pause.  I shuffled it back to my ear. “Something is up.” I said to Donna, rolling the flour bag closed.

“Can you hear them?” she said.

“Oh Yup’. I opened the bacon. “They are under the tree.  The big tree.”

‘What are they doing?”

“Something bad”. Counting out 6 rashers.

“When it is quiet then you can worry.”

“I say that all the time.” I said

“I heard it from you.” she answered.

“Mum.” The youngest of the little blonde haired sons was at the door.

“Are you hosed?” I said.

“Did you get the manuka honey on the way back?” said Donna.

“No, they were closed we were too late.”

I’ll bring you some tomorrow. I’ll pick it up on the way.

“Mum,  Sam wants you.”

“You guys need to hose off then come inside for a bath. Tell Sam to hurry up. Just get the small jar though Donna, it is expensive. Thanks honey.”We laughed.

“MUM. ”

“You are still full of sand, go and hose yourselves, your bath is ready.”

“What are they doing?” said Donna.

“Not what they were told  to do.” I said.  The son had disappeared. I laid strips of bacon across the pastry.

“I love them.” Donna said. “They will be my babysitters when I have kids. If I have kids.”

“You will Donnie” I said. “It will work out.” Dragging the phone with me I turned off the bath taps.

Another small boy was at the door. “Hold on Donny,” I said.

“Sam is stuck in the tree,” he said.

“What did he say?,” said Donna

“Can you get him down?” I answered.  The small boy ran back out. “I am coming”  I called. “Tell him to hold on.  Just let me get dinner in the oven! No-one is listening” I said to Donna.

“They will” she said.

I cracked a dozen eggs on top of the bacon, then with a fork I broke  the yolks of six of them. I sprinkled a little salt and lots of pepper over the whole dish. I could hear the music from Donnas stereo over the phone, the clank of dishes in her sink and the tap of a spoon.

“What are you making for dinner?”  I asked Donna.  “Couscous and sea weed?”

“Close.” she said and proceeded to talk about small and clever things.

I  popped my head out the window again and called “Someone bring me in some parsley, pick it from the plant by the tap.”

Soon a small boy ran in with two tiny sprigs of parsley.   “Tig, that is not enough, bring me some more.”

“Sam is stuck in the tree.” he said, handing me the parsley. Ducking down to catch my eyes.  He was becoming insistent. “He needs you to get him down.  He might fall.”

“I know darling, I am coming,” I said. ” Just tell him to wait. And tell him not to stand on a branch smaller than his ankle.  Don’t worry.  None of you has ever fallen out of a tree. Now you go and hose yourself and your brother and get in the bath, it is going cold. I will get Sam in a minute.. Go on. ”

Baby woke up and toddled groggily into the kitchen, only to be  knocked down by the wake of her passing brother. Stoically she stood back up again, reached for and arrived on my hip with out any conscious decision on anyones part. I set her on the bench to help make the  bacon and egg pie.

“Talk to Donnie, honey” I said and gave her the phone.

I called out the window again “Tell him to get out of the tree, get hosed and come in for the bath, you will all have to get in together now, dinner will be ready soon.” I chopped the parsley up  and sprinkled that over the eggs, laid on the top sheet of pastry, quilted the edges, brushed it with egg  and into the oven. One hand on the work, one hand guarding against a falling child. I could hear Donna talking loudly to the silent girl. The babies eyes round as she listened. She handed me the phone and I listened to a little bit of baby talk myself.

“Go on” I laughed “I am listening.

“I was telling her that I am a better cook that her mother.” We laughed some more.

Another little blond headed son at the door.

“Mum, Sam is really stuck, he wants you.  He is going to fall!”  He ran off.

“MUM”. The youngest little sun boy was immediately back at the door.  He was shouting now.  “Sam needs your help, Mack can’t reach him! Now, Mum” he said” You have to come now, he is falling out!”

“Out of what?” I said

“Out of what?” said Donna

“THE TREE!” said the tiny son.

He fell out of the tree? said Donna.

“No he has not fallen out of the tree” I said. “these kids are monkeys, anyway they bounce when they fall.” We laughed.

We both listened.

“Can you hear anything?”   she said. “It’s gone quiet.. It is quiet. Run c.. RUN!

And  scooping up the Baby, dropping the phone in its cradle,  I ran through the kitchen door, down the steps and outside to see what was going on and why haven’t you hosed yourself and look the sun is almost gone and no-one cleaned or in their jarmies. I rounded the corner and there, quite literally hanging from his finger nails, was Sam.   My senior son was about 10 foot up the big tree, he was now underneath the branch and hanging directly above the sharp pointed iron hearts. His face screwed up into a terror of concentration, his young fingers clutching the bark. And he was losing. Mack was laid out on a branch above him grabbing at his brothers T shirt, which came off in his hands as Sam in slow motion lost his grip on the branch and fell.   He twisted his head to me just as he let go. All I saw was eyes.  With no time to put the baby down I was suddenly under the tree. I fled to him like a mother. He fell silently.  And impossibly his little summer feet dropped  straight to my shoulders just as I reached the treacherous fence.  With one arm holding the baby and one arm reaching up to my son, he landed with a thump on his mother, his bare summer feet curled for purchase into my shoulders, his hand shot onto my arm, his other hand around my head and  he shakily slithered down my back like an eel, his arms going from my arm to my shoulders around my belly and down. Then he stood very still holding onto my knees. Our bare summer feet on the ground together.

For that moment we were all completely alone. Completely individual and absoutely fragile. Then one son moved in and another son came down the tree and moved in too. We stood like that for a minute. Baby reached down and patted her big brother’s head.

For a breath, for a moment in time, for a horrible second we saw him fall straight onto the spikes of that fence. We were all deeply silent. I should have come sooner I said. Yes, said said the youngest sun child. We tried to tell you.  His words were gentle though.

Then we all filed back inside to the bath. Too cold for the hose now. Too dark.  Too afraid. The points of the iron fence under the tree glinted in the dark behind us as I shut the kitchen door.

There now I said, as I told the story again at the dinner table a few years ago.   We all raised out glasses for a wee sip. Mothers are not always good.  They all crowed and laughed and jostled as one grown child. Donna laughing out loud at them. Still fighting and pushing and calling out, Mama you almost killed me, you almost let me fall out of that tree and I would have been impaled.    Think of the family jewels. You were on the phone! Chatting with  Our Donnie. I always shudder as they laugh because sometimes it is that close.

I went back out that night, after they were all in bed and the night went quiet, to look at that tree and that fence joined and fierce in the moonlight. On the way back in I peeked into the watering can and with the gentle glow of quiet light that drifted out of the window and into the garden I could see a puddle of dirty water. Whatever had been there was gone.

celi

PS. Donna died suddenly not long ago.  I began to write this story before I remembered who was on the phone. Isn’t that funny.  A memory story has a slow reveal.   Suddenly she was there. Our lost mother/friend. I found myself struggling to write it because having her on the phone again was really hard.  I did not mean to hear her voice and there it was. She was on the phone and wonderfully ordinary. So somehow this story lost its funny. But there you are.

This is why I have posted it separately.