While Ruby was playing with some local children on the shore, throwing stones into the lake, I was sitting on a bench, watching her quietly. Thinking about all the incriminating things–the recipe book, letters, family photographs–I’d pulled out of Dad’s and Ruby’s bags as soon as I got here, and stuffed them all into my suitcase. What if one of them finds them and starts asking questions?
Maybe I could keep them hidden for a while longer, I thought. Maybe longer than just a week… A smile remained on my lips for the rest of the afternoon, and hoped that my prayers would be answered. I’ll know more tomorrow, either way.
When the time came, I called Ruby, who reluctantly left the group of children to join me, and we went to pick up Dad. He was gleaming as he showed us his catch.
“I know you don’t approve,” he hesitantly approached the subject of my disapproval of any pastime involving hunting animals.
I didn’t let him finish. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. Did you have a good time?”
“Oh yeah,” he smiled. “Jeremy here will help me fillet them. Then we can go to the farm and make dinner.”
“Sounds great.”
Ruby and I watched the two of them work through their catch, a full dozen of fish of all sizes, whose names I couldn’t remember. They packed the fillets into newspapers a few pieces at a time, until it was all stored in a huge plastic bag. Dad insisted that Jeremy takes a few of them home. I didn’t expect him to accept, if that was his job then he must have eaten fish all the time. But he obliged.
“Shall we?” Dad said afterwards. He still wore that happy smile. He was soaked to the skin, dirty, and smelling of fish, but so content that I couldn’t reproach him for it even if I tried. Happy as a clam at high tide, I thought to myself, smiling. He’d definitely sleep well tonight.
We headed to our rental car where we’d kept all our luggage. Soon after that we arrived on the farm. I recalled the phone call I made that day, checking, slightly obsessively, that they were expecting us. But Darlene, the farm owner, wasn’t put off and even asked if we needed anything from the shop, since she was just going in. I was about to say no, but remembered. “A birthday cake?” I asked. She promised she’d get one, and I showered her with thanks.
I was just wondering if Dad was going to like it, when I realised: “I forgot candles!” I slapped my forehead.
Ruby caught that and leant forward. “There’s gonna be a cake?”
“It’s Grampa’s birthday…”
“And where have you stashed it?” Dad asked, surprised. Apart from the suitcases and the bag of fish, there weren’t any other bags or boxes in the car.
“It’s a surprise,” I laughed. How different my mood was, compared to yesterday!
We hadn’t even got out of the car when the farmer stepped out onto the patio to welcome us, exclaiming: “So where’s the birthday boy?”
The whole evening’s atmosphere was very relaxed and celebratory, although I couldn’t help but notice that both our hosts were a bit under the weather; blowing their noses and clearing their throats. First we roasted some vegetables and the fish, and had dinner with Darlene and her husband Hugh. We had a wonderful fruit cake and decaf coffee, and then took a tour of the house. It was built for two generations, but since they didn’t have any children, they decided to share their home with others as a form of short accommodation, to have some company. It was clear they were very fond of people. They couldn’t get enough of our stories from Australia and Czechia, and we encouraged them to tell us about their life and farming in New Zealand.
It was such a pleasant evening, that my usual worries stayed away and I didn’t even want to go to sleep. But Ruby had already fallen asleep on my lap and Dad was starting to yawn, so we broke up the party at around eleven. Darlene and Hugh would have to get up early the next day, to take care of the animals, and we needed to rest before our next trip. Since I felt good, I took Ruby to my bedroom and let Dad spread out on the double bed in his room.
While brushing my teeth, I was thinking about the event Hugh had mentioned. It was a big farmers market just out of Rotorua, taking place on the day of the Perth protest. Could it be a coincidence? I doubted it. I was almost certain that Hugh had become infected there, and Darlene–who didn’t go with him–caught it from him a few days later.
Before going to bed, I quickly checked the built-in bookshelves in the living room and then, satisfied by what I’d found, climbed into bed.
I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.
I woke up feeling as well as the day before. Actually, I felt so good, I almost started whistling. The general fatigue was moving away from my head and limbs and concentrating in my chest. Every time I took a breath, I felt a slight rustle, there must have been phlegm sitting on my bronchial tube that I couldn’t cough out, but it seemed inevitable to me at this stage of the illness. I didn’t worry about it too much, it was enough that I was rid of that terrible cough which had been tearing my lungs apart the other day.
I swallowed a dosage of medication that
