Page 56 of Catch a Kiwi
Yeah, being authentic was really working out for me.
23
WITHOUT EXPECTATION
Summer
On Sunday, I managed to get up first and make breakfast, but only by setting my alarm for five-thirty. I was used to being the most disciplined person around. That must be why Roman threw me so off-balance. Well, I had to try harder, that was all. His house was too comfortable, and I couldn’t afford to slip into self-indulgence.
Of course, when he was sitting at the table working his way through the tiny lemon-ricotta pancakes with blackberries and bacon, he did it again.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said, not looking at me.
“Uh …” I said. “Those rugs?”
He set down his fork. “Have I grabbed you yet?”
“Well … last night?”
He sighed. “It was a cuddle. I took care to keep it that way. Also, I went swimming with you, and it was bloody cold. My turn to choose the activity.”
“You’re right,” I said. “We can do the rugs afterwards. Let me just leave a note for Delilah.”
“Yes to ice packs and Panadol,” Roman said, “ and no to day drinking?”
“You’re right,” I said, “because there’s also the stool softener. Delilah drunk, on two days with the stool softener … that could be a bridge too far.”
“Nah, I’m not squeamish. I could tell you stories about four adventure racers in the house after they’ve been eating freeze-dried food for days. Now, that’s foul. I’ll take my chances.”
The start of the “walk”—usually Kiwispeak for “this hike will kick your butt until you’re shaking”—was nothing but a wide spot in the road. There weren’t any other cars parked there, either, which made me wonder how scenic it was going to be. It wasn’t even on the coast! We set out through generic Kiwi bush, lush and green, listened to some melodic tui and bellbird song, and I tried not to be self-conscious about Roman walking behind me, looking at my backside and legs in my shorts. He hadn’t seemed overwhelmed by lust so far, though, and I really didn’t have that great a body. Doing that show and being a football WAG tended to put your looks into perspective, and I was nothing like the tall, curvy, sultry siren so many men fantasized about, with her wide mouth and almond eyes, not to mention the breasts and hips that asked him to drown himself in her body. Jessica Rabbit I was not. In the movies, the guy only comes back to the girl next door once he’s sampled the delights of the big city, and I was definitely the girl next door.
Then we started climbing, and I forgot to think about how I looked in my shorts. The track was steep and muddy, with rough-and-ready steps made of something I recognized. Ponga, the trunks of fern trees, their scaly texture just rough enough not to be entirely slippery. I was sweating and breathing hard within a hundred meters, and glad Roman wasn’t the chatty type, but I was also … well, enthralled.
Because there wasn’t just a canopy overhead now. Yes, there were big trees that I should know the names of—Rimu was one, and … Well, rimu. Lower to the ground, the ferns, vines, and mosses grew in wild abandon, lush as the Olympic rainforest back home, and then there were all those palms and fern trees. So many shades, from palest green to emerald to the deep green of the … rimu, or whatever. That was the one with drooping needles like cedar, so that was the one I knew. That and the fern trees, because they were ferns, and they were trees. There you were.
Green, I decided, was the most calming color, all but seeping through your body. What would it be like to live here, with the sea to swim in and walk beside, and hikes like this on your doorstep?
Doing what?my practical mind decided to ask, which, yes, was the rub. You could only camp for so long.
We stopped at one point to look at the rushing stream below us, and I took a swig of water, shoved the hair back from my sweaty forehead, and said, “This is so good. Do you do this often?”
“Not this walk,” Roman said. “Heaps of walks like this around the Catlins, though. Calming, eh.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “You run them.”
He smiled. “Not as fast as that ex of mine, so there’s that.” And we started up again. The pitch of the trail getting steeper, the footing getting rougher, my breath coming harder, the birds singing louder, and the rush of water increasing until we turned a corner and … there it was. An enormous waterfall cascading down above us over a rocky cliff, splashing into a plunge pool surrounded by boulders, sending up a cloud of mist. Twisted trees clustered around it, their limbs covered by moss, and I could see a sort of pathway across, if I dared leap from rock to slippery rock.
It was one of those moments that descend on yousometimes, catching you by surprise. Like diving under the waves last week, the shock and the smell and thetasteof it, when you feel yourselfherewith every one of your senses and realize how lucky you are, still, no matter what, to be alive.
I said, “I’m going in.” Recklessly, the way I never was anymore, unless you counted diving under those waves. Of course, I’d had Roman with me for that.
He said, right on cue, “Don’t get swept downstream. There’s another waterfall down there at the turning in the track. Could break your tailbone, eh.”
“Oh.” I paused in the act of untying my shoes. “I’m not that great a swimmer, as you know. Maybe I shouldn’t.” And felt all the disappointment of it. The day was warm, and humid, too, here by the water, those birds were singing, the water was rushing, and I wanted to feel the cold slipping over my heated body.
He said, “No worries. Stay away from the edge, that’s all. Tell you what, I’ll come in with you and keep you from it.”
“You will?” I had my shoes and socks off, because whatever I said, I wanted to do this. Ineededit. I was the last thing from adventurous these days, but I was doing it anyway.
