Four

Children were pelting towards a jetty, their shouts carrying on the still air. They’re back … Yay!

Cassy tried to look in all directions at once. Gauzy mist had crept across the lake, so that the whole scene seemed wreathed in magic. The forested hills here opened into a cleared and cultivated valley in which quite a large settlement had been built. She could see goats grazing and washing hung on lines beside low buildings. When they reached the jetty, Aden lobbed a rope to one of the children—a stocky, blonde girl in blue trousers—who caught it competently and turned it around a post.

‘That’s my friend Malindi,’ said Suva.

‘Are all these guys your friends?’

‘Yep! All of ’em.’

‘Lucky you. So you’re never bored?’

‘Bored?’ Suva’s pale eyebrows shot up. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

The travellers dispersed, telling Cassy they’d see her later. Cargo was passed from person to person and then to the children, who formed a procession and set off up a grassy slope. Cassy reached for her backpack but Aden was there before her, swinging it over one shoulder.

‘Welcome to Gethsemane,’ he said.

‘I’m so happy you’re here!’ Suva was hugging herself.

They led her across the pasture to a wooden cabin with a long front porch. Of all the cabins, this was closest to the lake. Aden and Suva sat on the porch steps to take their shoes off, so Cassy followed suit. Then she leaned back on her elbows for a moment, taking in the sheer peace. No traffic, no shouts; just the calls of birds and the sigh of ripples on the shore. As she watched, evening sunshine lit up the torn summit of Tarawera.

Shame Hamish missed seeing this. I wonder if he’s tried to call me?

‘No signal, I’m afraid,’ said Aden, when she squinted at her phone. ‘Did you want to contact someone?’

‘No problem.’ Cassy resolved not to think about Hamish again that night.

‘Suva will look after you,’ said Aden. ‘I’ve got a couple of chores to do before dark.’

‘Come in, come in.’ Suva was hopping from foot to foot, twisting her hands around each other. She’d removed her hat to reveal short, sandy hair. ‘Come and see our home.’

The porch door led into a tidy kitchen-cum-living room, warmed by a pot-bellied stove. Suva stopped to stoke it while Cassy looked around her. A pine table filled much of the space; it was pulled alongside a window seat, cushioned by a squab with flowery fabric. The layout reminded Cassy of Hamish’s parents’ yacht.

‘Right,’ said Suva, smacking wood ash off her hands. ‘So this is our kitchen.’ She opened all the cupboards. ‘Mugs in here, breakfast things in here, you can make yourself tea or anything, the kettle’s beside the stove—but beware!’

‘Beware?! Why?’

‘Because this stuff is—ugh—nettle tea.’ Suva screwed up her face as she brandished a jar. ‘Dad says it’s like drinking a cowpat. Monika gave it to him, so he pretends to like it when she comes around. We buy in tea and coffee and chocolate and things we can’t make, but Monika says we have to be self-sufficient. She keeps trying her own inventions! Come and see your bedroom.’

To reach the rest of the cabin they had to go back outside, turn right, and walk along the front porch.

‘Dad’s room,’ said Suva, opening the first door.

No frills. A double bed, a folded blanket. Two sheepskin rugs were the only covering on the bare floorboards. Canvas trousers and a dark blue knitted jersey hung over a wooden chair. There was no sign of a Mrs Aden.

The next room was little more than a cupboard.

‘Mine,’ said Suva.

Suva’s bed, neatly made, sat under a window framed by flowered curtains. As in the rest of the cabin, the walls were tongue-and-groove boards. There was nothing hanging on them: no posters of pop stars, no photos, no mirror. Then again, the view through the window was so stupendous that there wasn’t any need for decoration.

‘A million-dollar view,’ breathed Cassy, looking across the lake to the mountain, now rapidly fading into dusk.

‘Much more than a million dollars!’

The room next door was bigger, with a set of bunk beds.

‘Who sleeps in here normally?’ asked Cassy.

‘Nobody.’

‘Don’t you want this room? It’s bigger than yours.’

‘I like mine. Top or bottom bunk?’

‘Um … top, please. I’ve got a sleeping bag.’

Suva said there was no need for that, and promptly disappeared. A few moments later she was back with blankets and sheets.

‘Where d’you go to school?’ asked Cassy, as the two of them began to make up the bed.

‘Here.’

‘There’s a school here?’

‘Of course.’

The child was plumping up a pillow—very adult in her actions, very busy. The pillowcase had been patched in the same flowery fabric as the curtains, and Cassy wondered about Suva’s mother.

‘Did you sew that on?’ she asked, touching the patch.

‘No.’ Suva threw a sheet across the bed, and together they tucked it in. ‘My … someone else did.’

They’d finished the task and were pushing the bunks back against the wall when Suva slapped her own forehead.

‘The bathroom! Sorry, you must have been wondering if we even have a toilet. I’ll forget my head next. You’ll need this torch.’

She took Cassy outside and pointed to a wooden hut, raised up a few steps. ‘It’s a composting toilet, so throw a cupful of sawdust down after you’ve used it. Our shower’s in there too—it’s lovely in winter, because the water’s heated by the stove. I’ll leave you in peace.’

The little shed was perfectly civilised inside, clad in wood. The only mirror was just big enough for a man to use for shaving. A bar of handmade soap smelled of lemon balm, and there was what she assumed to be toothpaste in a small pot on the basin. No electric light, though, so she was pleased to have the solar-powered torch.

By the time she’d made her way back to the kitchen, Aden was home and lighting a hurricane lamp.

‘Dinner’s ready,’ he said. ‘Bali’s parents are there. And Rome.’

Cassy’s spirits nosedived. She thought of her peaceful little bedroom. She wanted to lie down under a warm blanket, close her eyes and forget her troubles for a while. She couldn’t face the social effort of an evening with strangers.

Someone touched her hand; looking down, she saw that Suva had taken it.

‘Hungry?’ asked the child, with her wistful smile.

‘Starving! Let’s go.’

The smell of casserole met them as they approached Bali’s cabin. It perked Cassy up. She hadn’t had lunch, she’d felt too nauseated to eat breakfast, and she felt hollow. Monty was sitting patiently on the porch steps, so miniature that his feet only just reached the step below. He held out his arms to Aden.

‘Hiya, buddy, you waiting for us?’ Aden squatted down, his own arms encircling the tiny boy as he swung him up.

‘It’s like you’re all family,’ said Cassy.

‘We are all family.’

‘Is Monty short for Montague?’

‘Montague?’ Aden laughed. ‘No! Montreal.’

‘Are you kidding?’

‘You commented on it, in the van. And you’re right—most of us are named after places. Not all, but most. It’s a bit of a tradition.’

Bali’s parents turned out to be a Maori couple, Hana and Dean. Hana was the only teacher at the school. She too had short hair and wore dark blue. Like all the men, Dean was clean-shaven, and dressed in canvas trousers and a knitted jersey. He peered through the thick lenses of his glasses, smiling peaceably. They said they’d lived in Gethsemane since the community was founded. It was Hana’s family who had sold the land to a European farmer, back in the 1950s. The farmer’s grandson had gone on to gift it to Justin.

‘So this land came back to my family, in a way,’ said Hana. ‘There are four generations of us here. My mother Netta—you’ll meet her—and Bali, and this little fella.’

She smiled at Monty, who’d settled on the window seat with Rome and Suva on either side. They cut up his food, poured his water and let him climb all over them.

Meanwhile Dean was opening a bottle of Gethsemane peach wine. Cassy discovered that it slid down rather easily; they were soon on to a second bottle. The casserole had been on the stove since six that morning: venison, slowly simmering with carrots, yams, kumara and other vegetables Cassy didn’t even recognise.

‘You’ve no electricity here?’ she asked.

They were clearly proud of their system, and spent some time explaining how it all worked. There were solar panels on almost every roof, they said, and small hydro-turbines. They used solid fuel in rocket stoves for cooking.

‘We store power in massive batteries,’ said Bali. ‘Up at the big kitchen we’ve got fridges, even a freezer. My brother Seoul is catering chief. He knows everything there is to know about preserving food.’

‘And venison? Where does that come from?’

‘Hunting. The hills are full of deer and pigs. Beyond us it’s Crown land, and we can hunt there too. Every now and again a group goes out to restock the larders.’

‘So the food’s all communal?’

‘Everything’s shared. And we have a community meal at least twice a week.’

The conversation moved on. Hana asked Cassy about the animal sanctuary in Thailand. Everyone seemed fascinated by the project, horrified by her tales of abused and injured elephants—smiling at her heavily censored description of what tourists got up to on Thai beaches. She felt as though she was in a room full of friends she’d never met before that day. There was plenty of laughter, but these people weren’t vying to be the funniest or the most outrageous or the loudest. It felt like a good dream. As time passed, Monty closed his eyes, snuggling up to Rome.

‘Aw, he’s going to sleep,’ said Cassy.

Suva kissed the toddler’s head. ‘Isn’t he cute? He’ll wake up again when the night bell rings.’

‘Night bell? Is this a monastery?’

‘Definitely not a monastery,’ said Bali, who was ladling more stew onto everyone’s plates. ‘We’re not a Christian community. Nobody’s taken a vow of chastity—as you can see!’ She giggled, gesturing at Monty.

‘Whew. Good. God’s a dirty word in my family,’ said Cassy. ‘I was brought up by evangelical atheists.’

‘What’s an evangelical atheist?’

‘I mean they’re devout atheists, not hedge-your-bets agnostics. Mum’s been one all her life. Dad was brought up Catholic, finally lost his faith when he was posted to Bosnia. So my sister and I never had the luxury of believing in fairytales.’ Cassy thought about it, sipping her wine. ‘Actually … except Santa Claus. For some reason they were prepared to fib about him.’

Aden leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head.

‘Mm, well, fair enough,’ he said lightly. ‘The world’s religions have caused havoc. It’s okay, you haven’t landed yourself among a bunch of monks.’

‘So why the bells?’

‘We just choose to follow some of the rhythms of monastic life. We like to have structure to our day, our week, our year. So from time to time you’ll hear the bell tolling over at the wharenui.’

He pronounced it fah-re-nui. Cassy copied him.

‘Means the meeting house,’ he said. ‘A whare is a house.’

‘And how often does the bell ring?’

‘At least five times a day: Early Call, Morning Call, Meridian Call, Dusk Call—you might call that one teatime—and Night Call, which is last thing before bed. The times vary according to the season. But it’s an invitation, not a command. We only go if we want to.’

‘Which we normally do,’ added Suva, ‘because it’s fun.’

‘Are visitors allowed?’

Aden smiled. ‘More than welcome.’

With darkness came torrential rain. Water bucketed down the roof, along the guttering and into water barrels. It made the lamplight seem more mellow, the stove luxurious.

‘How’re you going?’ asked Bali, as they drank coffee. ‘Tired?’

‘Yes—but very happy to be here, not in some miserable hostel.’

Bali had dimples in her cheeks. ‘You won’t want to leave.’

A bell began to toll. It was a single, low-pitched note, repeated at a walking pace. In Cassy’s state of exhaustion it seemed exotic and yet comforting, echoing steadily through the dark and rain. It called to her. Everyone immediately stood up. Even Monty rubbed his eyes.

‘Cassy, stay here if you like,’ suggested Aden. ‘Or head back to our cabin and turn in.’

‘She wants to come!’ Bali lifted a woollen cloak from a hook. ‘Hide under this with me and Suva. We’ll all run across together.’

The night air revived Cassy. She and Bali each held an edge of the cloak while everyone scampered through the darkness, whooping when they splashed into puddles. The yellow light of Aden’s lantern danced in a wild arc. The bell was still tolling as they crossed a covered verandah and crept through a door.

It was an airy, high-roofed space, filled with rows of large cushions. At one end a circular dais, perhaps a foot high, was lit by a ring of candles. There were more candles on every surface. Shadows leaped and flickered on the walls, and the air was scented with honey. It seemed a little gothic but the effect was calming. Cassy felt safe; she felt hidden.

The room was full of people, many of them children. Several smiled and waved when her group arrived. Cassy did a quick head count. There must have been over a hundred gathered in that room, but the only sounds were the tolling of the bell and rain tapping on the tin roof.

‘Wanna share a cushion?’ whispered Suva, plumping herself down and tugging at Cassy’s hand. They were joined by Suva’s friend, Malindi. The bell tolled. The rain drummed. The candles threw their shadows. The people were silent silhouettes. It was all so very peaceful.

By contrast, Cassy’s thoughts began to yell at her.

Did Hamish get to Taupo? I wonder if there’s a phone signal if I climb a hill? No, I’ll get lost if I try that in the dark … I wonder what happened to Suva’s mother? No woman in her right mind would walk out on Aden—kind, competent … sexy smile … I’m probably not pregnant. Hell, I hope I’m not; no no no, I won’t be … please, God, no. Break Dad’s heart. He’d despise me. Have to have a termination, I’ve got too much to lose. I wonder if it looks like a baby yet? Where’s Hamish now? Did he get to Taupo? … and on and on, a ghastly merry-go-round in her mind.

The bell had stopped tolling.

From out of the silence, a tenor voice began to sing. It was a poignant melody, just four phrases long. The words were about the lake, and the mountain, and the spirit that lived in the human heart and in all things. It made the hair stand up on the back of Cassy’s neck.

Then she realised that the singer was Rome. He began the song again, and this time Otto lifted a flute and played a descant. The third time through, everyone in the room joined in, along with a flowing piano accompaniment. Cassy felt a stirring of her blood as she sang along—quietly, in case she got it wrong. Next, the voices broke into harmonies and a set of drums added a new pulse. By now, Cassy knew the song and was belting it out with the best of them.

The final repetition was deafening, with cymbals and a trumpet added to the mix. It felt exhilarating. People had scrambled to their feet and were linking arms, swaying as they sang. Suva pulled Cassy up; Malindi danced with little Monty. The clamour of worry in Cassy’s head was drowned out.

‘That was fun!’ she gasped, as they burst into the night. The rain had stopped. People milled on the verandah, chatting. It was long after midnight by Cassy’s watch but there was a party atmosphere. Everyone wanted to meet her. She discovered that it was Bali who’d been playing the piano and Washington the trumpet. The drummer was a recent arrival at the community: a drooping, sallow young man they called Dublin. He said he’d been addicted to any drugs he could get hold of, including pure meth. He seemed edgy.

‘I was messed up,’ he confided to Cassy, and looking at his painful thinness she could well believe it. Lank hair flopped over one eye. ‘Whole months I can’t remember. Justin saved me.’

Otto clapped her on the shoulder. ‘I heard you singing—we need singers like you. So it’s decided! You have to stay!’

‘Okay.’ Cassy laughed, holding out her arms in defeat. ‘Why not? Bugger my degree.’

Fatigue was beginning to creep up again when Aden sought her out.

‘You must be shattered,’ he said quietly.

‘You too?’

‘No, no. We’re used to it. I have a few more things to do here. Suva, will you take Cassy home?’

Their kitchen was cosy, the stove gently glowing. Suva made them both hot water bottles.

‘Rome’s got a lovely voice,’ ventured Cassy.

‘I know!’

‘Which of those people were his parents?’

‘He lives with Hana and Dean. Soon he’ll move into a cabin with Dublin and some other single men.’

‘Oh. So … no parents?’

‘I’ll be right next door. Do you have everything you need?’

‘I’m fine. Thanks so much.’

‘Can I show you around Gethsemane tomorrow?’

I should leave in the morning, thought Cassy. Do a pregnancy test. Find Hamish. Make decisions.

‘We’ll see,’ she said.

•

She lay under heavy blankets, delighting in the intensity of the darkness. It felt strange to be in a place with no streetlights, no car headlights, no electronics. Even at the wildlife place in Thailand a generator had rumbled constantly. But here the night wasn’t treated like an enemy.

Suva’s mother. Rome’s parents. Where were all these people?

She could hear Suva moving around in her room, and then the springs as she got into bed. Later still, she heard Aden returning to the cabin. She wondered what he’d been doing.

Exhaustion was a soft cloud in her brain. She was floating in calm, warm water. It lifted her, and she drifted away.

Sometime in the night she was woken by the call of a waterbird. It sounded as though someone were playing an oboe, on just one note. It took her a minute to remember where she was. She let herself melt again, soothed by the lapping of tiny waves on the shore. She felt such peace.

It’s over with Hamish, she thought. Why don’t I care more? He couldn’t possibly understand what I’m experiencing here. He wouldn’t get it at all.

For the first time, she found herself imagining what might be happening inside her. Perhaps cells were dividing; perhaps life was forming. Unwanted life. Unplanned life. But life, nevertheless.