Katherine
It is the first week in spring. The mornings are just beginning to have that clear, crystal sheen. At the bottom of the garden, the resident male tui defends the perimeter of his territory with a renewed vigour. And the row of lacebarks along the side of the house are starting to breathe and whisper.
“I’m going to get stuck into the garden today,” says Katherineon Monday morning. She is standing in the hallway in her dressing gown, a green bath towelin a turban on the top of her head –coiled against the back of her neck,an escaped tentacle of grey-blonde hair.
“Okay,” says David, rubbing his forehead with his index finger. His leather briefcase is waiting at his feet.
“It’sSeptember, isn’t it?” says Katherine.
“Yes,” says David, “it is.”
She is silent for a little while. And then she turns around on the spot, as if unwinding herself. As she moves, David catches a strong smell of jasmine and a touch of something else, maybe frangipani. He takes a step towards the front door. “I’ll be back around six,” he says.
Katherine looks at the hallway clock. “Six?” she says and frowns.
“Six.”
“In the morning?”
When David arrives at his office he closes the door and stands for a few seconds in the very centre of the room. Outside his office window is a magnolia tree withbowl-like flowers. Two blackbirds are perching on one of the branches, their feathers so black they look almost blue.
The phone rings. It’sAllison’s voice. “I’m just calling about Saturday,” she says, the words coming in little static pulses, “are you still expecting us?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Great. We’ll bring the wine.”
Outside the window, the blackbirds shuffle along the branch, one chasing the other. Beyond the magnolia, far below, David can see the harbour and the brilliant blue of the ocean.
“I was thinking,” says Allison, “that we could discuss our trip down south for this year. Simon and I have been talking about it and we think it’s time we all sat down and planned it.”
David says nothing. Balancing the phone between his shoulder and his ear, he begins to align the stacks of paper on his desk.
“And are you okay?” says Allison, “David?” Her voice suddenly becoming higher, softer, almost a whisper, “you know if there’s anything I can do-”
“Sorry,” he says, “there’s someone at the door.”
The phone makes a clicking sound as David puts it down. He stands still for a while, examining the index finger on his right hand; when he looks closely he can see the whorl pattern in the soft skin.
*
In the hallway is a framed photograph ofDavid and Katherine holding hands beside a rhododendron bush with frilly white flowers. It is late in the morning on a midsummer day – the sun dripping down. Katherine is wearing ivory and David a black suit. The colours are still bright, although the whole scene, over time, has acquired a sepia tinge. When David looks very closely at the photograph he can see every detail, even the feathery outline of Katherine’s eyelashes projected in tiny shadows on her upper cheekbone.
*
Tuesday morning is damp and grey. It had rained during the night, poundingagainst the corrugated iron roof.
“Goodbye Alex,” says Katherine, as David is about to close the front door. “Have a nice day at school.”
David arriveslate and has to run from his office across the university to the lecture theatre. The students are already there in the dim auditorium, waiting.
Davidsets up the powerpoint quickly and begins to read from his lecture notes. But his speech is stilted, his voice wispy and far away, as if someone else is speaking the words and he is simply opening and closing his mouth.
“To measure evolutionary time,” says David, “we need to employ techniques that can pinpoint events on vast timescales.” He pauses for a few seconds and looks at the ground. “Fortunately for us, there are many techniques for doing this – we call these techniques evolutionary clocks.” He falters and takes a step backwards.
“Evolutionary clocksinclude technical things like isotope analyses, or relatively simple things like counting tree rings. We can use these clocks to date rocks or fossils that are hundreds of millions of years old.”
He pausesagain; suddenly forgetting what comes next. A student in the back row coughs and the sound reverberatesup and up to the wooden ceiling highabove.
“That’s all for today,” says David at twenty-five minutes past nine, “you can leave a little early.” He turns back to the powerpoint and begins picking up his notes, lining them into a tidybundle. Behind him, the students pack up their things in a fog of chatter and walk out of the lecture theatre – their foot-falls, on the hollow wooden floor, continue to echo long after they are gone.
The phone is ringing again when David arrives back at his office.
“Hello,” says Katherine, “I’m Katherine.”
“Yes I know.”
The line goes silent for a little while.
“I just don’t know what it says,” says Katherine.
“What does what say?” Outside it has begun to rain again. Little drops of water paint grey streaks on the outside of David’s office window. A fine rain-mist rises up from the ocean.
“You know. The one with the numbers. It’s on the bedside table.”
“The clock?”
“Yes. That’s it.”
David can hear a door banging on the other end of the phone. “So tell me what the numbers on it say. Start on the left.”
“It says nine. And then there’s a dot. And then a three. And then a five.”
“And what does that tell you?”
“I don’t know,” says Katherine.
*
David met Katherine in 1974. On their second date, David arrived early. He parked, badly, on the curb outside Katherine’s apartment building and walked up the concrete stairs to the third floor. All the curtains were drawn in Katherine’s apartment when he got there. He knocked four times and waited. Knocked again, waited again. When Katherinefinally opened the door she was wearing a white bathrobe. On her shin was a strip of flesh-coloured plaster, a drop of blood sliding down her leg below.
“Oh hello.” She stood in the doorway, one foot on the landing. “I didn’t hear you knock.” Her hair was a wetslick down her back. “I was shaving my legs,” she said, “in your honour.” She pulled up the bottom of the bathrobe to reveal her damp legs. They were long and pale, the skin perfectly smooth. “Aren’t they beautiful,” she said.
They walked to a cheap restaurant on Cuba Street and ordered fish and chips and rough tasting red wine. The fluorescent strip lighting above their table was dying a prolongedflickering death. Katherine sat on thescratchy seat, her long, smooth legs folded beneath her, and told David things about her life. She told him about her parents’ farm down in Nelson. She told him she was thinking of becoming a teacher.
“Have you noticed my eyelashes?” she said, just as they were standing up to leave. Above them the flickering light finally died. She took off her glasses and blinked. “Go on,” she said, “pull them, see if they’re real.”
David started to laugh. “No,” he said, “I believe you.”
“Go on,” she said, “pull them.”
They walked back to Katherine’s apartment the long way, along the waterfront. Katherine walked ahead taking long, unselfconscious strides, her arms loose at her sides. David walked quickly after her, afraid he might be left behind.
*
On Wednesday afternoon, Simon, a coffee plunger in one hand and a pile of exam papers in the other, appears in the doorway of David’s office. “Have you got a minute?” says Simon, and then, not waiting for an answer, walks to the red couchby the far wall and sits down.
Outside the northerly wind lashes against the side of the building.
“The thing is,” says Simon and winces. He puts his coffee plunger on the floor by his feet. “We’re a bit concerned about you. Allison and I, that is. And the faculty.”
“Sorry?” says David.
Simon puts down the exam papers by the coffee plunger. David can read ‘Human Biology 103’ in Ariel font on the right hand corner of the paper on top.
“Some students have complained to admin that you’ve been ending lectures early, and-” Simon drums his fingers on the arm of the couch, “-also you didn’t turn up to a lecture on Tuesday afternoon.” He looks out the window. “Allison thinks you might need a break.”
The wind makes a whining sound, like a bored dog. The phone begins to ring.
“Sorry,” says David, “I need to get that. It might be Katherine.”
“Are we still on for Saturday night?” says Simon, “I mean, only if it’s not too much hassle. Allison was talking about maybe going out to a restaurant instead?”
“No, it’s no hassle,” says David, “we’ll see you Saturday.”
Simon closes the door. The smell of coffee lingers for the rest of the afternoon.
*
David and Katherine were married in 1978. A few months later they went on a trip to the South Island. It was meant to be a kind of honeymoon – they didn’t have much money and couldn’t afford to go overseas. Not yet, anyway. They took their car, a cream Lada, across on the ferry on the early morning sailing and arrived in Picton at lunchtime. They had a vague plan to drive down the East Coast to Christchurch and then cross over Arthur’s Pass and back up the West Coast. But it was just an idea.
“Let’s just drive,” said Katherine, “let’s just get in the car and drive, and see where we end up.”
They spent the first night in a lodge in Kaikoura, a windswept strip of a town. The lodge was small and wooden. It had a sliding glass door streaked with dirt. In their room was a tiny kitchen area marked out with brown linoleum tiles. It had a jug, a toaster and a yellow plastic rack with different kinds of tea. Katherine took all the teabags out and lined them up on the bedspread, a line of chamomile, a line of lemon tea, a line of Earl Grey. Like a game of cards.
“Come to bed,” said David. Katherine climbed up on the bed and started to jump up and down. Teabags scattered onto the floor. The bedspread became a ripple of folds, the seashell pattern pulled out of shape.
“What are you doing?” said David. He was sitting on the pillow, his knees pulled towards his chest, trying to stay upright.
“Come on,” said Katherine, “it’s fun.”
The next day the wind howled along the beach. David wanted to get in the car and keep driving, maybe get to Geraldine or even further. But Katherine wanted to stay.
“One more day,” she said. “It’s not like we need to be anywhere.”
“Two hours,” said David.
“Four,” said Katherine, “’til lunchtime.”
They walked, side by side, along the beach. Their bodies bent forward in the wind. It whipped up windmills of sand, whistling through their hair. Sand in their mouths, their eyes. Katherine ran ahead, shouting. She waved her hands up above her head. Her hair a mess of tangles.
The wind had stopped by the time they got back to the car. The waves were churning, but moving slowly and noiselessly, ironing their way to the shore in long lines of calm white froth. Behind the car, the mountain range towered. White peaks at the top of dark turquoise slopes that reached out towards the sea. The mountains had been there all along, hidden behind the clouds.
“Look at that,” said Katherine, “wasn’t it worth waiting for?”
*
Katherine isin the garden when David arrives home on Thursday. It had rained again,just after lunch –a brief, intense downpour. But now the sun is out, shining down thinly. The air has a faint dampness to it.
Katherine is crouching down beside the vegetable garden as David rounds the corner of the house. For a few minutes he watches her, unobserved. She is wearing a pair of green overalls that showthe narrowness of her shoulders and her hair is tied up in a scarf with golden tassels around the edges.
Katherine looks up suddenly and notices him standing there. “I’m putting in lettuce seedlings,” she saysand blows him a kiss – her palm dark with dirt. At her feet are three sets of white punnets, each with six lettuce plants neatly segmented.
“Did you buy them yourself?” David puts his briefcase by his feet.
Katherine looks up at him, shading her eyes against the sun. The golden tassels on the scarf jiggle as she moves. “Of course,who else would’ve bought them?”
“Did you go in the car?”
“No. I flew on my magic carpet.” She laughs and holds up her hands above her head, waving at the sky.
“Katherine, I’m serious, did you take the car?”
“Of course.”
David rolls up his shirt sleeves. “I don’t think that’s safe,” he says. He kneels down and touches the grass with the backs of his hands; it feels soft and damp. “I don’t think you should be driving anymore.”
She looks down at him and says nothing, her arms slack at her sides.
*
David and Katherine met Simon and Allison in 1981. It was the year before Katherine became pregnant with Alex. Simon and Allison had just moved to Wellington for Simon to take up a teaching position at the university. But it was Katherine who initiated the friendship. She met Allison one afternoon in the university carpark and they went out for coffee the next day.
“They’ve invited us over for dinner,” Katherine told David a week later.
“When?” David frowned.
“Tonight.”
Simon and Allison’s house was at the top of a windy street and then down a narrow path, one of those Wellington houses that was impossible to locate unless you’d been there before. Simon and Allison were sitting outside on the porch when David and Katherine arrived, between them a bottle of white wine, unopened, and a sphere of yellow cheese, its surface slightly greasy from the heat.
“Welcome,” said Simon. He stood up and kissed Katherine on the cheek and then shook David’s hand. The fabric of his shirt, as he moved, strained slightly against his stomach.
Allison smiledand stayed seated. “You’re late,” she said. She smiled again.
“I’m not very good,” said Katherine, “at being on time.”
Dinner began silently. Allison had made a frittata that had a rubbery texture. Simon and David talked in short bursts about work – the other faculty staff, the students, the inadequate funding. Katherine filled the remaining silent spaces. Her voice undulating, creating a tide that broke across the table in waves.
On the way home Katherine sat in the passenger seat, one foot tucked underneath her, the other resting on the dashboard.
“Let’s not cultivate that friendship,” said David holding the steering wheel tightly.
Katherine looked out the window at the Botanical Gardens. “Why not?” She turned towards him; her hair hung in a blonde mass down her back.
“They’re so, um, I don’t know.”
“Regimented?” Katherine wound a strand of hair around her middle finger. “I think they’re interesting. She seems so determined.”
“Determined?”
“To persevere. To carry on. I admire her for that.”
David stopped at the lights and indicated right. “I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps needs the security,” said Katherine, watching him. Her eyes were pale blue and flecked, like the surface of sparrows’ eggs.
“And what about him?”
Katherine began to run her fingers through her hair. “Maybe he needs to be needed. Maybe that’s enough.” She sighed and stretched her arms up above her head. David could see her fine collar bones, the smooth arc of pale skin. On the side of her neck was a faded birthmark shaped a littlelike a four-leafed clover, it was only noticeable if he looked very closely.
*
On Friday morning, Katherine stands in the hallway in her green overalls, brushing her hair. David, his briefcase in his hand, is about to leave for work.
“Wait for me,” says Katherine, “I’ll just be a minute. We can walk together.”
“Where to?” says David.
“Sorry love?” She stops brushing her hair and looks at him. “I didn’t catch that.”
“Where are you walking to?”
“School. Of course.” She ties her hair into a bun on top of her head. “I’ve got Year Ten for maths this morning.” She makes a face, screwing up her nose, her forehead creasing into little horizontal lines. “Horror of all horrors.”
David walks quickly through Kelburn. Katherine is behind him, he can hear her footsteps on the pavement. It ishalf past nine by the time they reach the university. David has not decided what to do. Perhaps he could call Allison and get her to pick Katherine up and take her back home?