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Rose stood in the yard and glanced off toward the far field where Trevor John’s trailer stood sentinel. His car was not parked there. She heard footsteps behind her. She turned, but it was Edwin.
He brushed his hand through his hair, graying at the temples, and nodded to her.
“My sister’s still not packed. I hope you have a good trip back to the us”
“Thank you.”
“Yours?” he pointed to the two suitcases on the verandah.
“Yes, I was just waiting for Nora.”
“Here, I’ll put them in the boot for you.” He popped the trunk and retrieved her suitcases from the verandah, and loaded them in the car.
“Thanks,” she said, “I’m very glad to have met you,” she extended her hand, “and I wish all the best for you and Sue.”
“Ah, thanks,” he said, shaking her hand, “I’m sorry things weren’t too pleasant here.”
“No, no, I understand.”
They stood quietly a moment, ill at ease, both wanting to say more and not knowing what was appropriate.
“Would you like the rest of your father’s letters?” she asked.
“Oh, no. No, thanks. The one was plenty, wasn’t it?”
“Hope it helped.”
“Yeah, it did. First time the old man was ever there for me, poor old bugger. Well, better late than never, right? But Sue has always been right there.”
“She’s wonderful.”
“Yeah. Getting this sale behind me, I think I’ll feel a lot better about moving on with Sue.”
“You’re quite a guy, Ed. You’ve got a lot of guts.”
He looked directly at her, evenly, making the eye contact he had so far not been able to do, yet there was still a lost look in his eyes.
“I don’t know anymore. Still, if there’s anything there, maybe it’s from my old dad. My son Andy is with the army in East Timor, with the United Nations. We expect him back in New Zealand in a couple of months, he should be rotated home. I don’t know what it’s been like for him, even when he describes it. I didn’t know what it was like for my dad.” He stopped, and seemed not to know what to say, afraid that he was saying too much and that it still wasn’t enough.
He took a deep breath to focus, with a look almost of pain on his face.
“They’re real New Zealanders, both.”
“So are you,” she said quietly to his shoulder.
He briskly kissed her cheek. Then he turned and walked off up across the sun-filled paddock. The mother horse was nursing her baby by the far fence. He strode out across his great-great-grandparents’ land and prepared to take the two horses in the trailer to their new home on another farm.
She took another, less casual, look around for Trevor John, but his car was nowhere.
***
Rose held her breath as the plane lifted its nose off the runway at Christchurch International Airport and leaped into the air with that always astonishing burst. She glanced out the window briefly, but the green and greener-green patchwork of farmland and pasture below her were lost to sight when the plane banked.
Like people whose conversations cease while in an elevator, Nora waited out that same imaginary period of propriety until they had leveled off before she spoke.
“I never properly apologized for my inebriate remarks against your country that night. I am sorry. I did want you to know that before you left us. As for Jess, well, she’s...she’s Jess. A bit of old U.S.A. bashing was probably not required at that particular moment, I know. Don’t take it seriously.”
Rose shook her head, and looked back out the plane window.
“I can remember being poked in the chest at a party some friends of friends brought me to when I was traveling in Greece, where a very snide and awesomely intellectual guy accused me of thinking I won World Word II all my myself.”
“You look a bit young for World War II.”
“Could have been the lighting. It was very harsh. Another time I was in the Middle East with my boyfriend.”
“The bloke you were to marry?”
“No, this was a long time ago, just after college, he was Canadian and he managed to convince a bunch of rowdies about to flip over our rental car we had gotten lost in the wrong place at the wrong time. I think CNN was there, too, only they weren’t lost. I think it was ‘sweeps.’ Anyway, he managed to convince this really seriously anti-American group of men that I was Canadian like him. He showed his passport to them like it was an Olympic gold medal.”
“What happened?”
“We were allowed to go on our way. They were just posturing, I think, and didn’t really mean any harm. I’ll never know. Still, thank God for Canada. I mean, really, thank God for Canada. The only people on earth I could be mistaken for. Nobody hates Canadians. God bless them.”
“How do Canadians feel about being mistaken for Americans?”
“How do you like being mistaken for Australian?”
“Good God, don’t tell me you’re always in such danger when you travel.”
“Oh, no, not usually. I always end up having a great time. But it would be a lot easier if I just bought an RV and did the contiguous States and collected refrigerator magnets in the shape of each one, like my friend’s Aunt Mildred. She has no interest in ever leaving the country,” Rose said. “She’s perfectly happy, even if she doesn’t feel quite so safe as she once did.”
“Since 9/11?”
“At home, yes. Abroad, no,” Rose said, “it was always dangerous traveling abroad, 9/11 notwithstanding. You always had to be careful about not letting it known you’re an American in some situations and places. That includes some London pubs and Paris street markets by the way, not just around American embassies in Muslim countries. My niece was taking her first trip to the U.K. as a student a few years ago and asked me for advice.” Rose laughed. “Poor girl, I think she wanted me to tell her about pubs and where to meet cute guys. I told her not to wear her college sweatshirt around Heathrow or any clothes which might identify her as an American, to keep her passport to herself, to keep her voice low in crowded public places so no one could identify her accent, and to learn as much about Canada as possible.”
“Get away.”
“I’m being flippant, okay, but you know what I mean. Even if someone means you no harm, there are those that like to make the odd cutting remark or insult. Or sometimes it’s just some rude joke at your expense you’ve heard too often, and you stand there wondering how you should react so as not to be the Ugly American or look like you have a chip on your shoulder. That’s the most draining thing about it. Especially for somebody like me. I’m too big to hide, and I grew up with a family of passive-aggressive types around me, so I tend to be more mistrustful and paranoid than I probably should be. Seriously, as a New Zealander, how many jokes about having sex with sheep can you stomach in one week?”
“I never claimed to be good natured.”
“Trouble is,” Rose said, “people with gripes against the us, a lot of them legitimate, I know, have this stereotype ugly American already in mind. Then suddenly you come walking down the concourse, the boulevard, the hallway from the ladies’ room, and in their minds you’ve morphed into the worst of their most treasured hatreds, and you’re the one they pick. And then it’s too late.”
“Shite, Rose.”
“However, having said that, even though I prefer a little good old anti-us ridicule from a snotty person in an allied country to a suicide bomber, there’s something honest at least about outright hatred openly expressed by the fanatic. You know where you stand, so to speak. They hate your guts, and that’s that. Never could understand the condescension of cocktail party sarcasm. Too subtle for a blundering dope like me, I suppose.”
“I wonder what kind of OE that would make for Tris, were he an American in that situation. Too awful think about.”
“Americans don’t have OE’s,” Rose said, frowning into her instruction card on what to do if the plane were about to crash. “On the other hand, to some people if you’re from the us, you must be rich, of course, a good mark to rob.”
“I was wondering about that. For somewhat without a job at present, this has been a rather expensive undertaking for you, hasn’t it?”
“I’m not rich. I’m irresponsible.”
Nora laughed.
“Everyone should max-out their credit cards at least once in their life.” Rose said, “It’s a right of passage in our capitalist society. Like your first drink or getting your driver’s license. You don’t have to worry about Tris. Everybody loves a Kiwi. If you and I went into a bar somewhere in Europe, you’d be charming everybody with your accent, and I’d be looking for an escape route and trying to hide my passport down my bra.”
“And begin reciting the capitals of Canadian provinces?”
“I can do it in my sleep. Don’t worry about Tris. Nobody’s going to point their finger or a gun, in his face and tell him he deserves to die because of his birth country.”
“We have the opposite problem. Quite a lot of people, especially in the us, don’t even know where New Zealand is. Forget your mother was born here. What do you associate with New Zealand?”
“From now on, I’ll associate it with you.”
“I don’t think I like the responsibility.”
“Neither do I,” Rose said, “but I’ll always end up stuck with it. Jess certainly knew that. No one would dream of harassing a young German exchange student about the Holocaust, that would be disgusting behavior, but I will carry everything from McDonalds to Mỹ Lai on my shoulders my whole life.”
“You keep traveling.”
“The world is still too great to miss. Glad I saw what as much of the world as I did when I had the chance.”
“Oh, come on. You’re traveling days aren’t over.”
“You never know, the way things are now.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“How would you know? You’ve never been anywhere but here.”
Nora was quiet, and looked away, and Rose cursed herself. She thought of ways to make amends.
“Besides, I’m not saying we don’t bring it on ourselves sometimes. We need to understand that a little humility goes a long way in the rest of the world. Where I come from, we sometimes cheer loudest for the person who cheers loudest for himself. No such thing as the tall poppy syndrome. You can be as big a success or as big a jerk as you want, or both at the same time. Nobody gives a damn.”
Nora rolled her eyes, “I never said you don’t have admirers. Crumbs, even some of the most poverty-stricken people in the Third World are copying your popular culture.”
“The Romans had that saying ‘carpe diem.’ We’ll be known for ‘Ya want fries with that?’”
“I’m glad you said it.” Nora laughed.
“I’ve heard it said that China is going to be the next economic power within fifty years. Wish they’d hurry up. They can have it.”
“Now, why do I not believe you actually mean that?”
“Then I could accuse them of usurping my national culture, filling my TV with endless shallow Chinese sitcoms, ruining the minds of my impressionable children who keep using Chinese slang and dressing in all the horrid Chinese pop fashions, being led into a life of degradation by Chinese rock groups, and ruining the national character of my community with a string of Chinese fast food restaurants. Oh, wait, there already are a bunch of Chinese take-outs back home. See? How long before we get assailed by communist rap music?”
“It’s for certain you won’t be complaining of being overrun by Kiwi products, rock groups or culture. L & P won’t compete with Coke in your grocery any time soon, I reckon.” Nora sighed.
“You have time. I wonder if we do? The U.S.A. is a work in progress. Each generation takes a whack at it, and at the end of the day we keep asking ourselves does the banner yet wave? But the question is never answered in the context of the song. We never get to find out. Every generation that came along worried they would be the ones who blew it. Lincoln bore the burden, and the Plains farmers in the Dust Bowl, and the generations that have seen wars and the kids who crawled under their desks for nuclear attack drills in the fifties, and anybody that ever bought a house with only enough money in the bank to cover just the first mortgage payment. There is a psychological burden of not living up to an intangible heritage we’re somehow supposed to maintain. If we don’t keep up with the whole insane dynamo we’ve created, we’re failures.”
“How like Edwin that sounds.”
“Yes it does. We think everything’s up to us, and it’s not. Maybe that’s part of the arrogance, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just one of those cultural things you just can’t translate. But, Edwin, he’ll be okay. He’s really tough as nails, isn’t he?”
“That’s my brother.” Nora nodded, “He is a fighter. I’ll say that for him.”
“He has a lot on his shoulders.”
“He’s got someone to share the burden.”
***
The plane wheels touched once and then did a Bob Beamon long jump down the runway before it touched down again. The plane lurched in resentment against the force it had used to get them here.
“Stay with us, Rose,” Nora said, “Please do.”
“Thank you.”
“We’ve a nice carpet you can kip on anytime you like.”
Rose threw her head back and laughed. It occurred to her she was doing that more often.
They retrieved their luggage, and Peter met them there. He picked up Nora’s suitcase, and one of Rose’s. He kissed his wife lightly on the cheek.
“Where’s Tris?” she said over her shoulder to the clock on the wall.
“Rewa’s. How was your flight, Rose?”
Walking behind them she said, “All in one time zone. Can’t beat it with a stick.”
They drove back to their house in the suburbs, like any other house in the suburbs except that it was theirs. Rose wondered if they would live here together when they were elderly, and if Tristan would be around to help move them out when they were ready. Or even if they were not.
Modern and uncluttered, kept clean by three people who usually did not spend much time there. The colors of the kitchen and lounge were light and challenging on the eyes to determine what color, if any, they were. A large vase on the floor out of which sprung what looked like pampas grass. A dark, silent, and remarkably dustless TV in the corner. No pictures of the Queen, and certainly none of John Kennedy, FDR or the Pope for that matter. That holy trinity graced the walls of Babci’s apartment, with the Pope placed higher than the others, because Dziadziu was very proud that the Holy Father was Polish, had no credence here.
Nora played no favorites, evidently. There were not even any pictures of Tristan in the room, or of Peter and herself. The decor of the room was unoriginal, and seemed to indicate nothing about what her personal preferences in taste might be, and only spoke in the loudest possible terms that she just did not want her home to be a copy of her mother’s. Her very lack of clutter and ornamentation seemed blatant about that.
***
The shelves in Tristan’s room were cluttered with music CDs by American artists.
Rose sat on his bed and looked at the poster of the solar system on the wall.
She never liked Jupiter. It was scary, and the little blue Earth dutifully standing its place in line was dwarfed by the ugly, arrogant monster Jupiter with its ugly red eye. Saturn put her off, too, showy with the rings and sucking up to Jupiter. Jupiter, just by its gross massive size, loomed unbearably ominous and threatening. It really did nothing but float in its own orbit, but knowing it was there, and its gargantuan, incomprehensible size, made her depressed. It made her tense to look at it on the poster. She wished it would go away, but it could not, and what would happen to the solar system if it did?
Tristan wanted to study that astonishing universe. He came into his room, able to walk, chew gum, and unfold a map of California at the same time. He grinned at her, and noticed her lost expression.
“What?” he asked, looking about the room.
“Just been thinking about what it must be like to be Costa Rica.”
“Um....Costa Rica?”
“Jordan. France, New Zealand...Pluto.”
Then she noticed the Auckland Warriors rugby shirt lying in a heap on the bed beside her. She smiled at something normal, something she could understand.
He spread the map on his bed. He had received it from the California state department of tourism, along with a booklet of pictures full of smiling Californians who love to have tourists in their midst. It said so. She fanned through the pages. No images of crime or poverty. Why would there be? These things were not supposed to exist on vacation.
***
Nora went into work the next day, because she had taken so much time off already. Tristan went to school, and Peter, though with no job to go to, rose early from habit. Now back in contact with daily realities of family life, Rose suddenly discovered television news again, and the daily newspaper, and more specifically for her, the actual date.
“Oh my lord.”
Peter looked up from his breakfast, “What is it?”
“It’s Thanksgiving. I’ve been completely lost the past couple weeks. Turkey Day.”
“Ah, Rose, look here, you’ve put way too much Marmite on that toast.”
Rose waved the piece of toast, gesturing.
“Even my mother grew to love Thanksgiving, and it was completely lost on her at first. Had no idea was the big deal was about sitting around eating a stupid turkey. The whole country doing the same thing.”
“Rose, Marmite shouldn’t be slopped on with a trowel.”
“But the simplicity of it, the spirituality about it won her over through the years.”
“Rose...”
“We had this huge snowstorm one Thanksgiving, back in ’71...” Rose chomped on the toast and her expression changed to one of bewilderment and distress.
“Don’t be a hero. Spit it out.”
Rose complied, relieved.
“Would you like to celebrate Thanksgiving in way you’ve never done before?” he asked, “How about a day at the beach?”
“Yeah?”
“Let me put a few résumés in the post first.”
“While I shop for bathing suit.”
“I’ll call some friends to meet us, if that’s all right. They’d love to meet you.”
By early afternoon, Rose was stumbling out of the waves, squinting toward the beach where Peter had returned with fish and chips and another couple. They were Reg and Karen.
“How do you like New Zealand?” they asked expectantly, and she gave them her warmest smile, assuring them that she liked it very much.
There was nothing not to like this afternoon. The distant blue ranges that were ghosts of volcanoes, the sweet, tangy, refreshing surf, the warm sand made this one of the loveliest spots she had ever seen. She wondered to herself, as she inevitably did on travels, if she could live here? Usually the answer was easy, and based solely on the view. Yes, she would usually think to herself, I could live here and be happy.
A sense of discord, some foreboding strain that warned her to keep a respectful distance from such fancies from now on. Destiny was not based on wishes or whims. Was her mother’s destiny shaped by geopolitical events or the accident of falling in love? She did not trade one nationality for another, despite changing her life forever.
“We want to travel to the us,” Karen announced.
“I had been to Hawaii once for a conference,” Reg interrupted her, “but that’s not the same thing a long holiday on the mainland. That’s what we’re after, to see as much as possible.”
“About three weeks, we think,” Karen added.
“Possibly a month.”
“Well, we’ll see. Do you think Harry can let you go for that long?” she laughed, and Reg shrugged, adding by way of explanation to Rose, “My boss. Great bloke.”
“Utterly incompetent.”
“Great bloke in an utterly incompetent sort of way,” Peter chimed in, taking a long drink of his beer and looking to Rose as relaxed as she had ever seen him, perhaps because they were discussing his favorite subject of travel. Because Nora was not here? They laughed, and Karen nodded.
“He is!”
“Well, tell us then, Rose,” Reg continued, “what do you think we should do in the us when we get there?”
“If we ever do,” Karen said.
“Get away, luv. Seriously, we are really going this time. I had to put it off once, but we’re going this time. We’ve been putting funds aside for a long time.”
“Tell them, Rose,” Peter said, “what can they expect in the us of A?”
“And don’t tell us DisneyWorld!” Karen laughed.
“You can expect jet lag first and foremost,” she said.
“I’ve got a cure for that,” Reg said.
“Yeah. Don’t get on the plane,” Rose answered.
“Come on, Rose.”
She said, “I don’t know what you should do. I’ve seen so little of the country myself. I know New England and a lot of the northeast pretty well. I could guide you around that region okay. But it’s a big country and Iowa is not New York, which is not Florida, which is not Texas, which is not Oregon, which is not...you see what I mean? If I were to travel around my own country, I would be as much a tourist as you are. I remember....”
She smiled now, losing her dark, brooding look. “Once I was out on the Mohawk Trail, leaf peeping I guess. Um, that’s driving around the fall to look at the autumn leaves that have changed color. It’s not as boring as it sounds. A big tour bus pulled up to an overlook and it was full of people from Texas. A chartered group. We were all smiling and nodding at each other and speaking carefully in short, pleasant sentences, complimenting and practically genuflecting with each burst of small talk, and they felt they were foreigners on my home ground. I know I would have felt the same way, offered the same cheesy compliments and careful not to offend attitude if I were visiting the Alamo.”
She looked up at them. They watched her expectedly, waiting for a better explanation.
“I...I can understand your speech easier than I can follow someone from Louisiana or Mississippi. Funny, huh?” she said.
“Well, there’s always New York,” Peter said, turning to Reg.
The afternoon waned, and Reg and Karen left them. Rose considered her extremely pale legs against the warm sand of Takapuna Beach.
“Takapuna is my new favorite word,” she said.
Rose cast an eye toward the brooding Rangitoto in the distance and began to sing into the breeze,
“Come, ye thankful people come;
Raise the song of Harvest-home.
All be safely gathered in
Ere the winter storms begin;
God, our Maker, doth provide
For our wants to be supplied,
Come to God’s own temple, come;
Raise the song of Harvest-home.”
Some children had started a game of cricket down the beach.
“Mercy! Kid just bagged a wicket,” she said, imitating Red Sox announcer Ned Martin.
“Do you know cricket?”
“Nope. Tris was not successful in explaining it to me. Gave it a gallant try, though. Saw a little of the Ashes on TV, but I have no clue,” Rose said, “School must be out.”
Peter looked at his watch, and shook sand out of his towel.
“I expect we’d better push off. Sorry there was no turkey for you today.”
“I’m sorry I...I guess I insulted Reg and Karen. In an off-hand way. When I talked about people acting cheesy and complimentary and...I didn’t mean they were. I act that way, though. I have since I’ve gotten here. It’s just a defense mechanism, that’s all.”
“Against what?”
“Against being taken more seriously than I should be, just because of where I’m from. Anyway, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to just talk to someone without self monitoring, without fearing to say the wrong thing.”
He said nothing.
Rose said, “Thank you for bringing me here. I’ve never been swimming in November. The water is much colder where I’m from, even in the height of summer. Sharks are not as big a problem in New England as having a heart attack from the cold water.”
Peter laughed, “I wouldn’t know from personal experience. California was the closest I got to the Atlantic Ocean. And that was a long time ago.”
He looked off toward the surf, as if he could see across the Pacific to Malibu.
“I am so pale,” Rose said. “My northern European skin, my Massachusetts upbringing, and my Northern Hemisphere state of mind all warn me against going for that great tan just now.”
“Likely you’ll just burn,” Peter answered, his glance lingering on her long, beautiful legs, “It’s not bad now, and we’ve got a fine day. It’s too crowded here at other times. You’re missing the high season, fortunately.”
She watched the kids playing beach cricket.
“A beach is a beach the world over, I reckon. That’s what he said.”
“Who?”
“The cab driver. First day I came here. Whenever that was.”
“A true scholar, that bloke. And you have quite a nice singing voice. You’ve been holding back from us.”
“G’wan. Reg and Karen are really nice. I don’t think anyone has ever showed that much interest in me in my whole life, and that includes several ex-boyfriends.”
“Forget about being helpful or putting on a show. Suppose you were back home and a friend brought some visiting New Zealanders or Norwegians over to meet you. Would you want to meet them, have them in for drinks?”
“Sure.”
“Do you know anybody else like that? Any friends of yours, or family?”
“Yep. Anybody would, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do. Now, don’t you think that might fit well, with the whole service, I mean?”
“I see, always plotting. Your rent-a-cousin-to-tourists-just-passing-through scheme?”
“Right. What do you think?”
“Kind of like going on one of those farm holidays where you get to live with a family, only in this case you don’t have to milk cows or shovel...stuff. You just meet the family, the friends of the family, step up to the barbecue and have a beer.”
“Exactly.”
“If your cousin’s getting married, bring them along.”
“Why not?” He laughed.
“Their arrival interrupts a family wake? Slap them on the back and lead them to the coffin,” she said. Peter roared.
“I like it,” she said, “and I stand corrected. I had wondered if you invited Reg and Karen just to make this afternoon more respectable.”
Peter took a long drink and finished the last of his bottle.
“When are you going to tell her, Peter?”
He looked startled.
Rose laughed, “Don’t worry, and don’t look like that. I only mean when are you going to tell Nora about your travel scheme?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps once her mum is settled and her house is sold, things might settle down and I can discuss it with her.”
“You’ll still have this situation with Tristan and his OE. There will always be something preventing you from discussing it, Peter. If things prevent you from even talking about it, then they’ll surely prevent you from actually doing it.”
He stared blankly at the frothy, rolling waves that always returned to shore.
“You’re right,” he said at last. “I did invite Reg and Karen to make it respectable.”
“That was very sensible of you,” she said gently, “and for once, let me learn from it.” She slipped her blouse on over her bathing suit and shook the sand from her towel, “Do you think it’s just affectation?”
“What?”
“People carrying supposed national traits with them?”
“I don’t know. Right now I don’t care.”
“I do. I care. How do I know if my flippancy is offending you? How do I know if my camaraderie with you is taken for flirtatiousness? When my intention is to neither offend nor come on to you, how do I know you understand?”
“I know you well enough by now to know you would not intentionally offend anyone.”
“Thanks. And?”
Peter smirked and looked away as he said, “Your other problem is a bit more difficult. There’ll always be blokes who prefer to think you’re after them, Rose, just because you’re so damned beautiful.”
Rose sat down on the sand again, and took much too long to reply, “Thank you for that. But, how do I understand them?”
“If they know you well enough, they know you would never come on to another woman’s husband.”
Rose smiled.
“So, the thing is to know each other better? Relieved?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Not an international problem is it, though? More like a universal one.”
“I think so. Not a problem for us though, right?”
“Right.”
***
Tristan looked more and more to Rose like a younger version of Peter, as if she could see the kind of person Peter was when he was a boy, and the kind of man Tristan would be if his dreams and opportunities slipped by him. Tristan stood in the doorway, his arms folded, and spoke with only a little trepidation. Obviously his mind was made up about something.
“Thought I should tell you first, before Mum.”
“So I could break it to her for you?”
“Something like that.”
“Tris,” Peter said, brushing his hand restlessly through his thinning hair, “you want to take off the entire next school year and return next Christmas? Are you certain Rewa’s family aren’t objecting to this? Or do you think they’re going to be happy as Larry?”
“She’s already told them....”
“...It’s not just the time element, you understand, there’s the bursaries as well. There’s losing a year. Qualifying for loans and....”
“This may be the only time,” Tristan interjected, “at least for Rewa. She’ll be doing practical experience in between her course work and then medical school, then residency. Once she begins Otago, that’s it for a long time.”
“Well, do you absolutely need to do this together? You have no idea where either Rewa or you will be posted in future. Planning your careers in tandem will be difficult enough in future without starting all that now.”
Tristan shifted his weight to his other foot.
Rose looked from Peter to Tristan, and began to chip the polish off her fingernail.
“Would you consider coming a bit farther, to Massachusetts? You would save more money for school if you stayed with me.”
“Now, Rose...” Peter said.
Tristan glanced at his father. “I don’t know.”
Rose said, “It’s not California or Hollywood or whatever it is you’re imaging the wild, cool U.S.A. is supposed to be like, but I’m within a few hours of New York and Boston, and some lovely landscape in between. Mountains, and beaches. Of course, a beach is a beach the world over. Besides, I have one planetarium within ten minutes drive of my house, and at least three more I can think of off the top of my head in the general area. We got stars y’know, and I ain’t talking about Hollywood.”
Peter smiled, “You shouldn’t put yourself out, Rose. Tristan doesn’t really know what he wants to do and his mum will have something to say about it.”
“Peter, the only thing I dislike worse than somebody blindly hating the United States is somebody blindly fascinated by it.” Rose said, “I think Tris could really benefit by a few months in the us, particularly in the down-to-earth and rather mundane setting of my home.”
“I’m not blindly fascinated,” Tristan objected.
“Tell me you’re not looking for babes in bikinis, convertibles, loud rock and no parents.” Rose smiled. Tristan smiled. Peter did not smile.
“The America you see on TV shows is just somebody’s version. The real thing is more complicated, more fattening, and with twice as many commercials,” Rose said.
Tristan shot a glance at his father.
“I might consider it,” Tristan said, as if he were granting a favor.
Peter leaned his back against the wall and lightly thumped the back of his head on it.
“Point is,’ Rose said, “I think you should be open to everything, but be skeptical of most of it. Pick and choose. Cool is not a national trait. It can only be found in individuals.”
***
Nora dropped her briefcase on a chair and followed the spicy aroma to where Rose was making spaghetti in the kitchen.
“What’s this, then?” She peered into the pot of tomato sauce.
“You’re supposed to say, ‘Hi, honey, I’m home,’ and then kiss me on the cheek.” Rose answered, stirring.
“More delusional today than usual, I see. Where are my men?”
“Peter’s out with Tristan. I’m making spaghetti.”
“We’ll have to keep you as a full-time maid and cook.”
“At least until Sunday.”
“That’s right. When’s your flight?”
“Evening. Six-thirty. How come you’re late?”
“I’ve just had an interview with the matron of the rest home. Gave me a tour. We’ll move Mum on Saturday. I’m going to tell her tonight.”
Rose said nothing, but stirred the sauce.
“I am not looking forward to this.” Nora sighed.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
***
“Do you have to be so disgusting, Tristan?” Nora muttered, trying to look away.
Tristan sucked spaghetti, giving it his full concentration as if nothing else in the world mattered at that moment. Dogged, determined, and oblivious to the mess he was making. Peter put down his glass.
“Tris and Rewa have made some tentative plans to go to California. Rose has kindly suggested they stay with her instead.”
“Your OE,” Nora said in a quiet voice after a long moment, as if it were a terminal diagnosis. Tristan nodding, slurping loudly, eyeing his mother, but oblivious to the emotion in the tone of her voice.
“There’s a bit more,” Peter said, “Their plans are not fixed, but they want to miss the next term, the whole school year, actually, and return next Christmas.”
Nora began a fit of silent apoplexy. Finally, after sucking in all the air between them, she said,
“Are you out of your bloody minds?!”
Peter remained calm and unexpectedly firm. “I’ve spent the afternoon with Tris and Rewa, and Rewa’s mum and uncle. The kids are quite keen on this, and we made them to understand the consequences as to qualifying as students in their respective universities next year, the fees, the money, against what they might lose by not going on this trip at this time. Rewa’s family are content that she should take this opportunity, and I am as well. I think Tris should go. And our Rose, here, has offered to put them up in her home, so their savings should stretch a bit farther.”
Nora looked from one to another at them, as if they each had stabbed her in the back.
“I don’t wish to discuss this right now,” she said.
“Rose has also expressed interest in an idea of mine,” Peter continued, looking hard at his wife in order to keep her attention, “and that is to start up a small business, a service to tourists, a kind of agency exchange between Rose and me. It’s all very tentative.”
“Yes, that’s the other thing. I wondered when you were finally going to bring that up.”
Peter looked surprised.
“Rose already mentioned your scheme. Thanks for including me.”
Peter glanced at Rose, and she nervously began to slurp like Tristan.
“I needed to know more about it before I said anything, obviously,” Peter said.
“And do you know all about it now?”
“I know that it is possible, and it could be damned good idea.”
“What about looking for work?”
“I don’t have to anymore, I’ve got a job.”
“If you think this foolish idea of yours is....”
“They rang me this morning. I start at the whitewear distributors Monday.”
Nora said nothing.
“Congratulations, Peter,” Rose said softly.
“You weren’t keen on that one, as I recall. You were hoping they wouldn’t ring you.” Nora said.
“They did.”
***
They endured another quiet, angry night in what must have been a series of them, Rose thought. She had gone to bed early on the couch in the lounge and listened hard for words of reproach from another room, if not outright anger, but Peter and Nora must have taken their disciplined and resentful silence to bed with them. If they were even sharing a bed.
At about two o’clock in the morning, Rose woke for no particular reason, and noticed how the moonlight struck the curtains at the windows, as if she were backstage and the audience was out there. She got up and drew the curtains aside, to check out the moon and the night sky once more, for what would probably be the last time. She gasped at the sight of a figure standing on the patio before her. Nora, alone, with her hands jammed deep into the pockets of her robe, peered into Tristan’s telescope, the other eye tightly closed so as not to throw off her perspective.
***
The next day Nora poked her head into the lounge where Rose kneeled on the floor by her two open suitcases, with an assortment of her clothes piled on the couch.
D’you want to wash your clothes before you pack?” Nora asked with a kind of reconciliatory tone. Rose looked up.
“Thanks.”
“Or tomorrow if you like. Peter can show you the washing machine. I hope there’s washing soda. I’ll have to check.” Nora said. She sat down, surveying Rose’s packing and saw the wood carving.
“How have you done on souvenirs?”
“Not much. I didn’t really try very hard. Stupid of me.” She pulled the greenstone pendant from underneath her blouse and took it off, holding it up to Nora.
“I got this for my niece. The lady told me that I should wear it before I give it to her, I guess so that it will convey something of my spirit. You think a week banging around between my breasts is enough?”
Nora caressed the necklace in her hand and smiled, “Pounamu. How conscientious of you to follow her instructions implicitly. Did she tell you about the carving, tell you this design here is the koru?”
“I came away loaded for bear with pamphlets. And I also took a picture from the Sky Tower of Auckland. My nephew wanted a picture of where Grandma came from. I’ll blow it up poster size and tell him to look for it himself and find it if he can, I did my best.”
“I’m sure you did. Tomorrow after work, I’ll take you to the cemetery, as you asked.”
“Thanks.”
“Saturday I’m afraid we’ll be busy moving Mum. Have to leave you on your own. But I expect you’ll manage.”
“Actually, I have a date.”
Nora laughed. “With who?”
“Your son.”
“Do you indeed?”
“You don’t think I’m too tall for him, do you?”
“Come on, Rose, what’s this?” Nora laughed. “Besides, he’s working tomorrow or he’d be helping his father and me.”
“He’s meeting me for lunch on his break. We’re doing Chinese. Told you, I love Chinese food. Damn the corrupting influence. It’s some place he knows next to where Rewa works, and he wants us all to sit down together and discuss my suggestion they spend their OE with me.”
“Crumbs, you were really serious.” Nora said, and bravely facing the worst, she added, “Can I know how this works, too? I know I’m just his mother.”
Rose pulled herself up off the floor, stumbling on legs that had fallen asleep.
“Well, the charms of a bitter winter that are awaiting him in the Northeast aside, I have a triple decker. It was my parents’ home, a three-story house with separate apartments on each floor. Plenty of room. We lived on the first floor, and my grandparents lived on the second floor. The third floor was for tenants. Now, I’ve been living on the first floor while taking care of my mom this last year or so. The second floor is vacant. There are currently tenants on the third floor.”
“So, the building provides you some kind of income.”
“Yep. The mortgage was paid off long ago, so the Garcias’ rent money pays for the property taxes and utilities. I essentially live there rent-free.”
“Lovely for you.”
“But I’m thinking of inviting Mr. and Mrs. Garcia to take over the first floor. She’s expecting a baby next year, and they were also thinking of having her grandmother move in with them. Grandma’s a bit frail, and I already have a ramp built onto the house at the first floor they could use for her, if they need to. I had put it there when my mother became wheelchair bound. It made life a lot easier.”
“You certainly did a lot for your mother.”
“I learned from her. She did a lot for my father’s mother. We all helped Babci out after my grandfather died, but when she became frail herself and my sisters and I were already out of the house, my mother took care of her almost exclusively. She was a damned good daughter-in-law. They were good friends, those two. Couple of old ex-pats.” Rose shook her head, smiling, but realizing she was retreating into the exclusionary world of personal memory again, she roused herself and took the elevator back to present tense.
“Anyway, I prefer the view from the third floor,” Rose said, “When I was a child I used to spit off the back porch.”
“The Garcias will be pleased to know you’ve outgrown that.”
“Only when someone’s not looking.”
“And the second floor?”
“Tris and Rewa can have it, especially if they don’t mind helping me re-paint the apartment. I’m thinking of using it as well in connection with Peter’s tourist operation. I may keep it open for guests.”
“You’re really going to join him in this scheme?”
“I think it’s about time I got off my butt and did something for a living I might actually like. Of course, I have to look into some things first, on my side. City and state regulations, procedures, insurance. Any licenses I might need. I may take a few classes. I’m looking forward to something new. I haven’t felt that way in a long time.”
“Well, I’m glad we’ve managed to give you a new lease on life.”
“You have, you know. How about you? Where’s your new lease on life?”
“Yes, well, perhaps once Mum’s settled, and all this other business is sorted out....” her voice trailed off. She looked at her hands.
Rose took one of them and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Peter is great guy, and I love him like a cousin, and he loves you, just so you know.”