Under The Mountain Read online

  ‘Smell?’

  ‘Well, you know, there’s a funny …’

  ‘I can’t smell anything.’ Ricky was offended. ‘They used this for the water supply once for the whole North Shore. So it could hardly smell. I mean, it might be a bit polluted, everything is now. But there’s no smell. I live here. I should know.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Rachel said. ‘It was just when I opened the window of my room I thought I got a whiff of something.’

  ‘Me too,’ Theo said, ‘when we were on the lake. It was very faint,’ he said apologetically. ‘A bit like … it’s hard to say.’

  ‘Rotten cabbages,’ Rachel said.

  ‘Hey, come off it,’ Ricky cried.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ricky. I can’t smell it now.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Theo said. They avoided looking at each other.

  ‘Well, you’d better not let Dad hear you talking about smells, that’s all I can say. He thinks this place is Buckingham Palace.’

  ‘Ricky, can we take the canoe out now?’ Rachel asked. ‘You and Theo went out but I didn’t have a turn.’

  ‘Sure. Take it any time.’

  The canoe was pulled up on the lawn below Rachel’s window. They launched it and Theo held it steady while Rachel climbed in. Then he pushed off and jumped into his seat. They paddled until they were out of the light from the house.

  ‘This is great.’

  ‘Theo, there is a smell. I’m not imagining it.’

  ‘I know. I can smell it now. It’s stronger out here. Must be the weed. Or dead fish.’

  ‘It didn’t look polluted. Why do you think Ricky can’t smell it? Or Uncle?’

  ‘Because they live here. They’re used to it. Like Rotorua.’

  ‘Well, I don’t like touching the water.’

  ‘Come on, Rachel, we don’t have to swim in it. We swim in the sea. Let’s go across to the other side.’

  But they stopped in the middle of the lake and sat quietly in the canoe listening to the sounds of voices from the landing place where car lights showed some men fastening a yacht to the back of a jeep.

  ‘What’s that rumbling noise?’

  ‘Cars up on the road.’

  It was strange to be in so dark a place, so enclosed by darkness, yet ringed with lights and city noises. There was a fainter sound too, a rhythmical distant hiss that must come from the sea.

  ‘We’re in the darkest place,’ Theo said. ‘And higher than the sea. I wonder how this lake got here.’

  Rachel looked at the lights. Off to the west was a long low building like a hospital, and northwards a tall block of flats. She made out tiny figures in the rooms. When she turned she saw Uncle Clarry too, talking into the phone. His house threw more light than any of the others. Where the curtains were closed it glowed in different colours. It looked, she thought, like a flying saucer ready to take off. Beside it the lawns had an artificial green.

  She found the Wilberforces’ house further along the shore. The glow from Takapuna outlined its roof. She made out spikes on the gable ends but the rest of it was hidden by trees.

  ‘Why do you think they never have their lights on?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Wilberforces.’

  ‘Maybe they go to bed, like Ricky said. Or maybe they watch television in the dark.’

  ‘Yes …’ She was not convinced. ‘It must be awful being old.’

  ‘It’s pretty awful being young when your sister keeps getting morbid.’

  At that moment Aunt Noeline opened a window and yelled into the dark, ‘You twins come back. It’s getting late.’

  ‘She wants the whole of Auckland to know.’

  ‘Don’t answer her.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s too quiet out here.’

  They started to paddle back. Theo steered the canoe at the shore several hundred metres along from Uncle Clarry’s house.

  ‘Why are you going along this way?’

  ‘It’s fun zipping through the reeds.’

  She was going to protest – they would have to go past the wasteland by the Wilberforces’ place. But Theo would be impatient so she kept quiet. She was very nervous. The dark, the stillness, were scary. She tried to concentrate on her paddling. Soon they were close to the shore and in the reeds. The canoe raced through them with a hiss.

  ‘See?’ Theo said.

  They passed into the deep shade out from the wasteland. The trees on the low muddy bank at the foot of the Wilberforces’ lawn approached and bent over them. Suddenly something tugged at Rachel’s hair. She gave a small scream.

  ‘What is it?’ The canoe slowed down and rocked in the water.

  ‘My hair caught on a branch. It’s all right now.’ She looked nervously at the house. The animal shapes of trees crouched on the lawn. Between two of them she saw the dull gleam of windows and a faint bluish light marking the shape of a doorway. In that rectangle of light something moved.

  ‘Theo,’ she hissed, ‘look.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The house. The door.’ A huge black figure stood there.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Him. Mr Wilberforce. It must be.’

  They sat very still. And the shape in the door remained equally still. At last Theo whispered, ‘He’s big, isn’t he? Must be more than two metres.’

  ‘Is he watching us?’

  ‘It’s too dark.’

  Quietly, quickly, they paddled away. Soon, behind them, they heard a door thud shut. They reached Uncle Clarry’s house and pulled the canoe up on the lawn. Aunt Noeline called out of the window. ‘Come on, you two, I want you to ring your mother. Then it’s bed. You’ve had a big day.’

  They went inside gratefully. On the phone to her mother Rachel was close to saying she wanted to come home. But Theo was bright and breezy and listening to him she began to feel better.

  In bed she tried to go to sleep quickly. That was the best way, when something was on your mind. But she could not manage it. She kept on seeing the huge dark shape of Mr Wilberforce outlined against the blue light in the house. The smell still drifted up from the lake. Perhaps it was her imagination that made it seem stronger now. After a while she got up and closed her window. She would sooner be hot, she thought, than have rotten cabbages in her room. She must have slept then because she came awake with a start. Someone had opened her door.

  ‘Rachel, are you asleep?’

  ‘I was. I’m not now.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Theo said. ‘Close your eyes.’ He turned on the light. ‘I’ve been exploring and I found this book. It’s about Auckland’s volcanoes. And listen to what it says about the lake. “Lake Pupuke is an explosion crater, containing a fresh water lake. The name for basins of this sort is maar. The lake itself is of extraordinary depth. It lies some 200 metres from the sea and twenty metres above it. An underground drainage system extends through the lava and fresh-water can sometimes be seen bubbling through the rocks at Thornes Bay north of Takapuna beach.”’

  ‘But it’s flat here,’ Rachel said.

  ‘Well, evidently you can have flat volcanoes. And we’re sitting right on the edge of one. Doesn’t it make you feel funny?’

  2

  THE OLD MAN ON THE MOUNTAIN

  At breakfast they both felt heavy and cross. Theo had slept with his windows closed too. Uncle Clarry tried to joke them into a better humour.

  ‘Real little lighthouses, aren’t they. And both their parents with brown hair. How about that, Noeline? You think there was a red-headed milkman in the street?’

  The twins went pale. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of recessive genes?’ Theo asked.

  ‘Blue jeans I’ve heard of. Not recessive. And I’ll tell you something, professor, you use too many big words and your brains’ll start coming out your ears.’ He gave them ten dollars each ‘to paint the town red with’.

  They went to their rooms to get ready for the beach. Rachel pulled on her bathing suit in a bad-tempered way. Her aunt and uncle w
ere all right, she decided, but they talked too much. Two weeks of it were going to be hard to take. And ten dollars was far too much money, it seemed like a bribe, even though it was very nice to have. She got her towel and went to Theo’s room. He was still in his dressing-gown, standing by his window with a pair of binoculars.

  ‘Where did you get those?’

  ‘They’re Uncle Clarry’s. Quiet. He’s coming out.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mr Wilberforce.’

  Rachel looked along the lake shore at the old tree-shaded house. She could see the back porch and steps. Standing there was a man dressed in brown clothes: Mr Wilberforce. As she watched he walked down the steps and vanished behind some trees.

  ‘He looks normal enough,’ Theo said. ‘Big, that’s all.’

  ‘Let me see.’

  ‘Just a minute.’

  The man had come into sight again, walking down to the shore. He stood there and stared at the water.

  ‘Theo, can I have a look?’

  He handed her the binoculars. She pointed them at Mr Wilberforce, turning the focusing wheel, and the man’s face sprang at her. She almost cried out. But it was, as Theo had said, quite a normal face. It was craggy and square. The eyes were set in deep caves, and the hair round the whitish-yellow bald head was grey and spiky.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Theo said.

  ‘Reaching into that tree. Theo, he’s pulling something off.’ She could not see it. The man had something in his hand and was examining it, but his back was towards her. Slowly he turned. She caught a faint gleam of something red-gold against the skin of his palm. She knew at once what it was.

  ‘Theo,’ she whispered, ‘it’s one of my hairs. Remember I got my hair caught in that tree.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘What else could it be?’

  ‘Here, give me those.’ He took the binoculars. ‘It’s too far to see properly.’

  She saw the man’s hand move up to his face. ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘He seems to be smelling it!’

  They watched for a moment longer. Then Rachel said, ‘Theo, I think …’ She stopped. It seemed foolish.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Suppose the smell in the lake comes from them. And they can smell us …’

  ‘How could it come from them?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘If you’re right I hope we smell a bit better.’ He grinned at her but she was too worried to laugh. She took the binoculars back. Yes, the man was sniffing, there was no mistake about that. Suddenly he looked up. He looked straight at her. His eyes fastened on hers down the binoculars. They were still as puddles, a grey stony colour. She gave a cry and jumped behind the curtain.

  ‘Theo, he saw me.’

  Theo was hiding too, peering out. ‘It’s all right, he’s going.’

  The man walked up the lawn, vanished behind the trees, reappeared and climbed the steps. Mrs Wilberforce met him on the porch. He showed her Rachel’s hair, held it close to her nose. They both stared at Uncle Clarry’s house. The twins hid. When they looked out again the old people had gone.

  ‘Theo, we’ll have to tell someone.’

  ‘Tell them what? It’s too crazy.’

  ‘Who do you think they are?’

  ‘Just looneys.’

  ‘It’s more than that.’

  He said nothing; but she saw he agreed.

  ‘The woman, she was so tiny. She only came to his chest.’

  ‘It’s just that he’s so big,’ Theo said. ‘We’d better keep well away from there.’

  They spent the rest of the morning on the beach. The noise of motor-boats heading out of the ski-lane made it difficult for them to hear each other. But soon they forgot the Wilberforces. Theo watched the boats with fascination. Some of them went so fast they bounced on the surface. Their engines sounded like aeroplanes. Rachel spent most of her time in the water. She floated and practised her backstroke and watched ships go by in the channel. They looked like toys outlined against Rangitoto. She wondered why she had found the island frightening. Today, in sunlight, it was a colour between blue and green and it almost seemed to float. Its peaks, 200 metres above the sea, were so neat and even they might have been modelled by a sculptor.

  Lunch-time came. They started for home round the reef. ‘We can look for the fresh-water springs at Thornes Bay,’ Theo said.

  They hunted in the broken rocks on the water-line, climbing into crevices and under ledges. Several times Theo tasted water lying in rock pools, but it was always salt. ‘Maybe the fresh stuff only comes in winter.’ They climbed up to the road and set off for home.

  As they climbed, an old man who had been sitting on the sand at the end of the beach rose to his feet and watched them. He was a thin old man, with skin browned by the sun and eyes of unfaded blue. He was dressed in sandals and shorts and a red shirt and an orange hat made of towelling. Most old men would have looked odd in such clothes, but they suited him. He looked as if he had spent his life in the sun.

  He had been close to the children all through the morning. He had watched them swimming and sunbathing, followed them round the reef, listened to their talk, often from no more than a few metres away. But they had not seen him. He was clever at not being seen. When they had climbed the steps at Thornes Bay and gone out of sight up the road, he turned and made his way back round the reef to Takapuna. He smiled as he walked – a smile more sad than happy.

  ‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘Rachel and Theo Matheson.’

  He walked through the streets of the town and came to a little house behind a high hedge. In the kitchen he crossed to the window, where two white objects lay on the sill. They were not what they seemed. Only he knew what they were. He laid his hands on them, felt their warmth.

  ‘I must get you ready,’ he whispered. ‘The ones who can use you have come.’

  In the afternoon Aunt Noeline took Rachel and Theo on a sight-seeing tour. Ricky, grumbling, acted as chauffeur. They were in his mother’s Mini and she would not let him drive fast. They went over the bridge, round the waterfront drive, through the Domain. But when they stopped outside the Museum, Theo said, ‘If you don’t mind, Aunt Noeline, I’d rather go to the top of Mount Eden.’

  ‘Me too,’ Rachel said.

  ‘That’s an idea,’ Ricky said. ‘Who wants to look at stuffed fish?’

  Aunt Noeline gave a sigh, but agreed. So they drove to Mount Eden and Ricky enjoyed himself scooting the Mini up the hillside road. Standing on the summit was like standing on the edge of a cliff. The whole of western and southern Auckland lay at their feet. They saw streets with tiny cars on them; and parks, race-courses, hospitals, schools. The Manukau Harbour was like a lake inside the coastal hills. Here and there volcanic cones broke above the trees and the roofs of houses.

  ‘That’s One Tree Hill,’ Ricky said, pointing to a steep cone with a single tree and a monument on top. ‘And that big one over there is Mount Wellington.’

  They climbed to the viewing platform below the trig point and the other half of the city came into sight. ‘There are the wharves and the bridge and Rangitoto. You can’t see our place.’

  ‘I can see the lake,’ Rachel said. ‘See, Theo. It’s just a tiny silver line.’

  But both children were more interested in the crater. It was a hundred metres across and perfectly shaped as a porridge bowl. Grass grew down its sides and over the bottom. It was hard to imagine it blowing out lava. But Rachel wondered how scientists really knew when a volcano was extinct. Perhaps this one was just sleeping – having a sleep of a hundred thousand years. One day it would wake up and destroy the city. She was going to ask Theo what he thought of that, though she supposed he would make fun of her, when a strange prickling feeling came in her head. It was like pins-and-needles. She gave a little cry; then was quiet, for a voice had begun to say words. At first they were furry, coming through a sound like radio static, coming it seemed from a very long way off. Then they grew strong
er, and she made them out. It was someone saying deep inside her head, ‘Rachel, Theo, do not be afraid.’

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ she whispered.

  Theo’s voice came from her left, ‘Rachel?’

  ‘Yes, I heard it.’

  ‘Look, Rachel.’ He was pointing over the crater. An old man was standing in the pine trees on the rim. His red shirt showed like fire. Even from this distance they felt his eyes looking into them.

  ‘Was it him talking to us?’

  ‘It must have been.’

  ‘How did he do it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Rachel – it must be him.’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Of course.’

  They had not forgotten. Now they lived it again. They knew the terror of being lost; they lay in the damp icy ferns; they slept, and had wonderful dreams, and woke warm, and an old man smiled down at them, and told them to remember. They remembered. For eight years it had lain in their minds, and though they had given up speaking of it – people only laughed – they had always known the man, their friend, would come back. He had said one day they would know who he was. Now, though they could not see his face, they knew that this was him.

  ‘He must have brought us up here.’

  ‘Yes, I didn’t want to come, did you? I just heard myself saying it.’

  ‘Come on.’

  Ricky was back at the viewing platform and Aunt Noeline in the car reading a magazine. The twins glanced at them, then set off for the other side of the crater. They went along the rim, clambering like goats. The old man watched them coming. For a moment they lost sight of him as they went through a clump of pine trees. Then they ran along a grassy flat to the place where they had seen him. But when they arrived they gave a cry of disappointment. The old man was gone. They peered into the trees and down the grassy slopes that fell to the city. Nowhere. He was gone. And again the pins-and-needles came in their minds. The voice said, ‘Look at this mountain. Look at it well. And at Rangitoto.’

  ‘Why?’ Theo whispered.

  ‘They are the poles.’

  ‘Did you bring us here?’

  ‘Yes. But look at them.’

  ‘What do you mean, poles?’

  ‘Look at them. You must come here again.’