How
was I going to know what they looked like? I searched the
summer-tanned faces around me with increasing anxiety. Not one showed
any sort of family resemblance.
What
if they don’t come? Our choice of meeting place had been my
world, right back to my childhood. Now, thirty-odd years later, here
I was in a place that seemed fairly central for us all. I was
standing in this garden reserve in the middle of Takapuna township,
waiting for two brothers. One, I’d never met—the other,
hardly more than an acquaintance. I’d no way of knowing if the
two men were familiar with this rose garden reserve where we’d
meet what was left of our family for the first time.
Ryan,
I knew nothing about. Around the time I learned his name (which was
different from mine), I also heard he was at sea and not due home for
a further month. After waiting so long, I had to be patient—it
was not easy. My younger brother Jeff, I’d finally made contact
with only three weeks before. All our names were different, that’s
the snag with adoption. So many years, had gone by, and here was a
perfect day to all be together. As agreed, I’d pinned a white
marguerite on the shoulder of my sky-blue outfit.
In
the shade of one of the regal totara trees, I watched two young women
resolutely move giant chessmen across concrete squares. Although I’d
never played the game, I became absorbed in the battle; it seemed
complicated, much the same as the swoops and sidesteps of my own
life.
A
tall, thin man also watched. When I noticed the white flower on his
reefer jacket, my fingers tightened on the shoulder strap of my bag.
His straight back and shoulders were unmistakable signs of one
service or another.
Was
this Ryan? I strolled across the hot-smelling summer grass, hand
outstretched. “You must be Ryan. I’m Anne.”
He
reached out and hugged me, instantly becoming the brother I’d
never known. “How did you find me?”
My
eyes swam. Finding two younger brothers after years of despair was a
miracle. I told him of my hunt through such agencies as Jig- Saw.
“Easy,
once I found you’d enlisted in the Navy,” I giggled. “All
plain sailing after that.”
Ryan
laughed, “I’m so glad you persevered.”
“Believe
me, it’s taken years, but right now, I can’t believe it’s
you.”
Ryan
smiled, “Quite the little detective. Two days ago, I didn’t
know you existed. I notice we’ve got the same wavy hair and I
recognize the eyes; I’d know that smile anywhere. Is Jeff here?
Can’t believe I’ve got a brother as well as a sister.”
“Not
yet. You’ll soon get used to Jeff, he’s as mad as a
cricket. We met for the first time just recently.” Ryan and I
strolled towards a wooden seat near the rose-bed. Turning, we smiled
at the same time as we searched one another’s face for any
brotherly or sisterly resemblance.
Minutes
later, Jeff in swimming trunks and beach sandals, a younger, shorter
replica of Ryan, strode out from the totara tree shadows.
Surf-bleached hair like wood curls from a carpenter’s plane
tumbled over his eyes. A huge white hibiscus hung off the wing of his
sunglasses.
“Come
and meet the rest of the family,” I called. While introducing
brother to brother, I couldn’t help thinking how wrong all this
was. Two adult brothers and a sister with no sibling memory! No idea
if the others were still alive or where they might be living.
Certainly, no knowledge that for years, we’d all lived within a
few miles of one another.
Shaking
hands, the men grinned awkwardly both intrigued by the mirror
features they confronted.
I
felt Jeff’s firm fingers grasp my arm as he propelled me toward
the car park. “Stop! Jeff, what’s the hurry?”
He
continued walking, “I’m down on the beach with a gorgeous
bird and I’m scared she’ll fly away.”
I
glanced up, but his eyes were blanks behind his RayBans. He hadn’t
mentioned a girl those few days earlier when we’d been talking,
trying to catch up. “Slow down, my sandals hurt.”
“I
want you to meet my Cindy. You’ll like her Ryan,
she’s
a real cool chick,” replied the irrepressible Jeff.
“Should’ve
guessed,” I laughed as we crossed Hurstmere Road onto the
avenue leading to the beach track. “Is she a new one?”
“Not
really; known her several years, but there’s a problem—there
always is with the luscious ones.” Jeff glanced briefly at Ryan
beside him as they paced side by stride. “You got a bird?”
“Actually,
yes! If you call a wife a bird? Married three years, we’re on
the Shore too. Deverside; near the Naval base. Lucy’s her
name.” Ryan manoeuvred the conversation away from himself. “You
know don’t you; my name’s different from yours …
Farnham.” He turned to me. “Any idea why we were
adopted?” Our feet padded on a carpet of scarlet stamens from
the honey-scented pohutukawas, New Zealand’s sturdy old
‘Christmas tree.' Thankful for the shade of the spreading
trees, I pondered on Ryan’s question.
After
years of enquiries, a week or two back, I’d located Jeff in a
Hillcrest flat. Now, chatting amiably we tried to fill in the twisted
and fragmented stories of our lives. How sad that this meeting,
hopefully to gather together the remnants of our family, had taken so
long.
“Jeff’s
heard all this before. It seems our Dad died in an accident when we
were tiny. Four years ago, shortly before she died, Mother told me
there were two boys somewhere. I’ve been looking for you ever
since. She said when our father, Charles, died, she just couldn’t
cope, had some sort of breakdown. Had you two adopted….”
I hesitated, “She wanted you to be together, but we all know,
that didn’t happen.”
In
a silence filled with thoughts of what might have been, we continued
along the hot pavement. Ahead, a few miles across the channel, lay
Rangitoto, the rugged and durable three-peaked island volcano,
magnificently gowned in its own scarlet cloak of pohutukawa flowers.
Its lighthouse a charming red and white lollipop, in the middle of
the harbour.
I
saw the mountain as a City guardian and privately hoped our new bond
as a family would, for the future, be as durable as this symbol. On
the beach, I stooped, removed my sandals, looped them over a wrist
before jumping on to the golden shell sand. Five red-legged terns
strutted in the foam and the aroma of a seaweed relish hung in the
summer air.
“Come
on,” said Jeff. “Along this path, behind those rocks,
there’s a small bay where Cindy my bikini baby and I swim.”
He kicked the top off a shell-covered sandcastle, still damp from
construction. “Got any kids Ryan?”
My
older brother hesitated, stared across the sparkling water, his
seaman’s eyes fixed on the red-striped lighthouse across the
channel.
“No.”
“Where’d
you meet your girl, Jeff? One of those beach bunnies?” I asked,
side-stepping a sharply encrusted volcanic rock.
“Not
this one. Both went to an art class; two or three years back. She’s
a real babe.”
In
single file, we scrambled around the rocks to the sheltered cove. A
sun-bathing girl, unaware of our arrival, lay face down on a
peacock-patterned towel. Jeff knelt and trickled sand down her
smooth, tanned back. Ryan and I watched the gentle play.
“Wake
up, Cindy-babe. Meet my new family.” As the girl raised a
shoulder to peer at the newcomers, Ryan lurched back, face as pale as
the inside of a scallop shell. I couldn’t help noticing how his
highly polished shoes ground into the sand in his awkward haste to
leap away.
“Ryan!”
I couldn’t understand what was happening. He looked at me but
didn’t speak. Twisting awkwardly, he lurched away towards the
nearest head-high rocks.
Rigid
with shock, Jeff and I stood side-by-side, looking down at Cindy.
“What happened?” I looked from one to the other. Cindy,
by then, had scrambled to her feet. “Do you know Ryan?” I
asked.
Jeff
put an arm around her, “You’ve gone as white as a sheet
what’s the matter?”
But
I didn’t wait for an answer. Something was really, really
wrong. I called, “Ryan! Ryan! Wait!” With shaking legs
and my sandals bouncing awkwardly on my wrist, I ran, stumbling,
almost falling in the damp sand. After a short climb, and a perilous
drop I found my brother crouched behind a laval outcrop of jagged
rock, his head pressed hard against the rock, fingers gripping his
hair.
I
knelt and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever happened?”
His
unseeing eyes clearly full of pain, stared through me. The hurt on
his features reflected my own despair. “What is
it?”
Seemingly incapable of answering, he groaned. When he lifted his
head, I saw a deep, indentation in his forehead, hollowed white from
the pressure of the rock.
“No
wonder she never minded when I was at sea.” Ryan’s voice
faded to a mumble. High above came the screech of a gull. I felt the
sun scorch my arms, as if they’d been numbed by the heat of the
day. As I listened to the relentless waves dash their angry weight
against the rocks, Ryan turned. He stared wordlessly across the
channeI—perhaps seeking insight from the timeless, rugged old
volcano.
I
walked to a sea-worn flight of concrete steps to peer back at the
couple standing by Cindy’s towel; heads down, as if looking for
answers in the sand?
“How
long has she been setting me up?” Ryan’s voice was that
of a beaten man, low and flat as if he’d fallen and now lay
winded.
Appalled,
I returned to his side and stammered, “Cindy … is your … Lucy … your
wife?” In disbelief, I knelt and slid my
arm along his lean, drooping shoulders.
“Surely
she wouldn’t do that to me? Cindy to him, Lucy to me,” he
muttered, “and Lucinda to the whole damned world no doubt.”
He sagged back against the unforgiving rock.
“Let’s
get away from all this,” I said, “But not that way, let’s
just walk along the seawall, where there’re no rocks. The path
is easier that way.” What could I possibly do? I held a hand
out to haul him to his feet.
(This
story is
entirely fictional, although the setting is perhaps 10 miles from my
home.)
