2014 Year of the Horse Read online

  He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Right again ma-am. Never argue with the lady George!” he quipped.

  As Pania led the way through the labyrinth of passages towards the exit, past exhibits and doorways into sections of the museum they had no time to explore, she noticed the little house and the snaking queue of people waiting to go in. She pulled at his sleeve to get his attention and stopped in front of the seismograph.

  “Look, you can see how Middle Earth moves under those rampaging orcs … mostly we don’t feel anything. Perhaps we do live in that ideal world of yours George and those marauders are deep underground.”

  Together they stared at the shaky black line of ink wavering down the paper. The line did a little jump as they watched but they felt nothing. George fidgeted as Pania continued to watch the black line. It didn’t grab his attention not like the magic creations they’d just seen. He wished he could sit down. He was flagging. His stomach grumbled. Pania dragged her attention away and grinned at him.

  “Sounds like you need a big steak! Let’s go to the Green Parrot.” She led the way. George liked listening to Pania. She held interesting views and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Conversation was never boring and never awkward. It was something he’d discovered in other places. Not everyone saw things in the same light as America. Pania, George was discovering often saw the world around her quite differently and challenged him to review his own assumptions.

  George had plenty of time to think on the long flights back to the USA. Time to muse on items rising from his meetings or things Pania had mentioned. Often he revised his minutes and updated his records.

  Since that first encounter in the departure lounge, he had seen Brady on several occasions. Each time it had been on one of his New Zealand trips, never in Mumbai or Cairo, New York or Amsterdam. It threw him off balance and each time he felt vaguely uneasy and found it harder to settle, despite the comfort of business class. There was something about Brady’s knowing air which disturbed him and no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, the anxieties lurked, disturbing his sleep and his concentration.

  He found himself reliving his student days. Those carefree months when they’d been buddies, weekends when Brady’s watering holes became his and when Brady’s crowd absorbed him. Everyone knew Brady and everyone liked him. He was the life of every party and the magnet for a gaggle of leggy, perky blondes. No one really noticed him unless Brady’s arm was slung across his shoulder and even then he was just a stage prop. He hadn’t minded. It was enough to be included and he’d enjoyed observing his roommate in action. Then … his mind swerved away from the past and back into the present and his regrets.

  He bitterly regretted being in Brady’s debt and the effect the man had on him. It made no sense. Brady had made no threats, no allegations, nothing on which George could act. Still, his instincts warned him that he was deliberately being needled and he was filled with a sense of foreboding.

  CHAPTER 21

  Pania loved coming home at night. As she stepped up onto the veranda through the rose-covered entrance she would stop briefly to fully experience, appreciate the moment. The sight of the blooms and their scent lingering in the warm air made her glad. She was intensely proud of her place and a little overwhelmed that it was her own. She had plans for the inside, long term plans but the section was what mattered to her most. She loved the space and the trees. For the present the house was liveable, cosy and comfortable; as long as the fire burned and there was no wind. That had been how she’d first seen it, on one of Wellington’s rare sunny still days. The day she had fallen in love with it.

  Afterwards she discovered the windows rattled in their sash frames, sometimes caused by a small earthquake and sometimes by the wind. The southerly found every crack between the timber planks. In those rooms where the old scrim linings remained, the wallpaper seemed to breathe in and out, whispering to her of previous owners and earlier happenings. The room she’d made her own had been relined and did not face the prevailing wind. It was solid and quiet, regardless of the wind’s temper and she slept soundly. She did not mind the mutterings of the house. They were benign, just creaking joints, the sighs of old age.

  Pania sipped her coffee absentmindedly. The new lamp cast a soft light and the big log in the centre of the grate spluttered. The flames flickered, ruffled by the southerly which tugged at the house and blew across the chimney. Every so often a puff of smoke escaped into the room leaving a shadowy trail on the wall above the fire. Her feet were curled under her on the sofa; her slippers had fallen untidily onto the floor rug and the grey tabby cat, folded into a neat ball of fur, purred quietly beside her.

  The cat had adopted her, appearing out of nowhere a few days after Pania moved in. No-one knew where it had come from so she let it stay. It was a free spirit and came and went according to its own secret rhythms. When Pania came home it would be waiting on the doorstep. It sat unmoving, a compact sphinx until she set foot on the veranda. Then it would stretch and with its tail high in the air meow a greeting. The loud purring would start as it invited her to pick it up and cuddle it.

  She gently stroked the soft furry warmth tucked in beside her. She considered the lamp. It made quite a statement and added a touch of eclectic style to the room. It reminded her that the date of the Forum was getting closer and that meant an end to George’s visits. Would the others be sorry when the Forum was over, she wondered, and what about George? How did he feel? Sometimes she felt as if there was no future after the Forum, as if nothing would have any meaning and the world would fade into nothingness. It was a very strange feeling. She’d become used to his regular appearances and would miss him. She wondered if he was aware of the attraction she felt between them. Nothing in his manner indicated that he thought of her in any other way than as a friend and colleague, so she kept her feelings carefully hidden. Still, she reflected, the last three days had been pleasantly companionable.

  George had emerged from customs carrying a large parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. She’d watched as he scanned the room looking for her. When his eyes met hers she’d waved cheerfully. A warm rush of affection filled her. He beamed back at her. She watched him square his shoulders before striding across the floor. People noticed his wide smile and grinned back.

  “Hey there, Pania of the Reef” he teased. She raised her eyebrows in surprise as he thrust the heavy parcel at her.

  “House warming gift from the US and Uncle Sam. With my sincere compliments.” George dragged out his vowel sounds in an exaggerated drawl. She’d stuttered her thanks to which he countered, “Ma-am, you’re welcome.”

  They’d both laughed at his performance. In the car she unwrapped it to reveal a table lamp, a replica of the Statue of Liberty. She wasn’t sure if she really liked it but she appreciated the thought. No-one she knew had a lamp quite like it.

  “I’ll always think of you when I see it, thank you. Perhaps on your next visit, there’ll be time for me to show you around my home.”

  “I’d really like that,” he replied with a relieved smile. She could see that he was pleased that she’d liked his gift.

  During his previous visit Pania had been in the middle of buying the house. It had been the main subject of discussion at morning and afternoon tea, that and Parsons’ new grandchild. George had shown equal interest in both topics. Parsons had been so proud of the baby. He’d passed the photos around and boasted that the screwed up little face was the most beautiful in the world. He kept saying how strange it felt to be a grandparent; how different from being a parent; how unexpected. As he said that he’d turned to George.

  “You’re right George. We should always expect the unexpected. Do you have family?”

  “No,” George spoke casually. “Too much gadding about, work demands my full attention. I don’t have time for anything else.”

  Parsons had paused and his eyes had narrowed as they concentrated on George.

  “Well young man, it’s time
you backed a different horse. You should stop flitting about, poking your nose where it’s not um ... Time to settle down Ritmeyer. You need to belong. Everyone needs to belong to something, a family, a community. The years march by and before you know it you’ll be old, like me and getting close to retirement. That’s when you need grandchildren and people close to you. Life’s empty without people close.”

  They had stared at each other for a long minute before George had looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. Parsons must be feeling the stress, thought Pania in surprise. He was not normally this blunt although it had been obvious for a while that he resented George’s visits.

  “Thanks for the warning Parson, right now I’m perfectly satisfied with my life. Haven’t met Miss Right yet but I’ll remember your words in case I do.”

  Pania felt her heart drop. He’d changed the subject then and turned to her with a warm smile.

  “Now tell me about your house purchase. Sounds like a brave move. What have you bought?”

  Before she could say a word, Parsons interrupted with a knowing smirk.

  “Pania here, it’s obvious that she’s nesting. Knows when her clock is ticking down wouldn’t you say George? I think she’s waiting for a knight in shining armour to rescue her.”

  George had raised his eyebrows and given a slight shake of the head. He kept his eyes on her. She never blinked. She’d felt the dusty-rose smudges warm her face and she’d answered George just as if they were the only two in the room.

  “I don’t own it yet, still another four weeks to go. It’s an old two bedroom working man’s cottage in Petone. Very small and it needs a lot done to it but it has the most amazing section - I think you Americans call it a lot. It’s got lots, excuse the pun, of old fruit trees and a wonderful velvety red rose which is climbing all over the front veranda. I’ve got some photos if you’re interested.”

  He leaned over to look and gently squeezed her hand. The awkwardness passed. Ignoring Parsons, they looked at the real estate photos on the laptop and he’d asked more questions, keen to understand how the system worked, expressing his surprise that the process of buying houses and financing them was so different. That was the thing about George, she thought, he’s always interested in what you’re doing. She’d noticed that he had a real knack for keeping conversations rolling and away from himself. Often people told him things they might not normally have shared and most never realised they knew nothing more about him while he had gathered all sorts of little snippets.

  Pania stared at the lamp. Liberty held her gaze.

  “Is Parsons right? Am I really nesting?”

  The cat stirred and stopped purring, perhaps hearing the sharp edge to her voice. Pania felt irritated by the implications. She continued crossly.

  “If a man buys a house it’s called an investment. Why should it be any different when I do it?”

  Liberty seemed to understand. The cat watched her with unblinking eyes. The log crackled loudly sending a bright flare into the room and the cat yawned. Pania saw its sharp little teeth and pink tongue. She shook her head glad that only the cat had heard her talk to a lamp. She stroked it with slow regular gentle sweeps of her hand, velvety fur warm under her fingers. The cat closed its eyes and started purring again.

  She considered the house from a nesting point of view. In its present state it was definitely unsuitable. Whenever the kids from next door visited, the house seemed small and cramped but not now, she thought looking around the cosy room. It suits me perfectly. What would George think? She imagined him sitting across from her and the room seemed big enough. She felt she belonged here, perhaps it wasn’t a family as Parsons had defined it but she’d found a community.

  She counted her blessings. She had good neighbours on both sides. There was Edith and Rex, a retired couple, warm and welcoming who often left veggies from their garden or a couple of freshly laid brown eggs on the doorstep. They were good people to have as neighbours even if they did organise the street. They were devoted members of the local Civil Defence group and instigators of Neighbourhood Watch. Just after she’d moved in Edith had given her a card listing actions she needed to take to be prepared for emergencies.

  “Everyone in our street is prepared” Edith assured her. “Just take the card next time you go to the supermarket and use it as a shopping list. Rex has plenty of spare water bottles to get you started. Let us know if you need them. It’s important dear. Emergencies just happen but at least you can be prepared.”

  They were such kind, genuine people, so passionate about CD that she couldn’t take offence. Rex offered to check that her hot water cylinder was properly secured to the wall. He was a practical man, Edith told her, good with his hands. If ever she wanted a handyman, she just needed to ask.

  Pania read the card and by the end of her first week she had filled her water bottles, set aside batteries, a radio and torch together with three days of food supplies. She was pleased with herself. It was the neighbourly thing to do and it made her feel she belonged.

  Her neighbours on the other side were the equally welcoming Sargeson’s. The kids called to her whenever they saw her and brought her gifts of their artwork which she displayed on her fridge. She enjoyed their visits. She made them hot chocolate drinks and they wolfed down her biscuits, sharing confidences; things of real importance only to children. On free weekends, she played ball with them and coached them to shoot the basketball through the hoop.

  Pania had always planned to have a family, envisaging a boisterous brood, boys like him and girls like her but as each year passed that possibility was fading. Parsons was wrong though. She was not sitting around waiting for a knight to come riding up to rescue her. She didn’t want rescuing and she had plenty of friends.

  She continued counting. She found challenges at work, met interesting people and enjoyed a full and rewarding lifestyle. As she rested her hand on the warm body she felt the rumbling purrs. She was a perfectly happy twenty-first century woman and she told herself, she had something Parsons did not have. She had independence.

  Pania smiled at the lamp. “Did he chose you himself or did he send his PA out?” she murmured.

  CHAPTER 22

  2013 was nearly over and in Guinea Bissau, the regional Trade and Industry Growth Workshop meetings were drawing to a close. Wesley had used every opportunity to highlight his vision and agenda for the next ROAR Forum, now less than a year away. The delegates sat in the caressing warmth. On both sides of the hall openings in the walls allowed the air to circulate but only sluggishly. It was not cooling enough. By the mid-afternoon even the breeze was taking a siesta. Dappled patches formed as the cotton fabric soaked up their sweat and the air rustled with soft swishing as makeshift fans stirred up the warmth. As it passed their faces and necks, the air lightly kissed the dampness and they sensed a momentary relief. No-one was really aware that the air grew stale instead they stoically endured the energy sapping heat which enfolded them by waving their fans.

  Wesley was unused to the humid conditions and he gratefully sipped from his thermos of chilled water. He was seated in the front row near an opening. An electric fan whirred beside him periodically sweeping the air over him but despite this his handkerchief was no longer crisp, white or dry. He was counting the minutes till he could return to the noisy air-conditioned comfort of his hotel room.

  Akili Mwala gave the concluding address and again highlighted the contribution made by Wesley Smithson. No-one attending the workshops, he mused, could ignore his immense influence, charisma and determination. The delegates had vigorously debated his proposals, considered the issues from various angles and finally voted to adopt his remits. He was quietly confident that these would be ratified by the politicians.

  Her speech was concluding and the delegates listened closely as she addressed the pressing issues before them; external debt, national banking, universal health care, basic income for all, partnerships not treaties, education and sustainable growth. These were at the
heart of their lack of progress. Heads nodded in agreement as she thanked Wesley for the support which ESAP had given their region despite negative economic conditions.

  The mood in the room was palpable as her passionate words inspired her listeners. They loved oratory and Akili was a skilled orator. Wesley was impressed. A trickle of dampness ran down the side of his face and he wiped it away. Almost immediately another dribble started to gather. Akili could push all the right buttons, he thought as he listened hardly aware of his handkerchief tracking the drips. She had them in her hands. He congratulated himself for putting her name forward to the workshop committee.

  “Men and women of Africa, these goals are within your grasp. You must be ready to take the lead and make it happen. It is time to throw off the colonial heritage which blights us. We must stop being victims and become the creators of change.

  “You have just over half a year left to petition your representatives, lobby the people of significance in your communities, your leaders, the ones who have the will and influence to effect change. You must share your vision with them and convince them of the importance of supporting the remits which we will put on the table. It takes courage and commitment to make changes on the scale which we are proposing but the outcomes will be truly mind shattering.

  “This is our opportunity to speak with one voice, to speak clearly and loudly so the world will take notice.

  “Imagine a world where your people have significantly raised their standard of living.

  “Imagine the confidence and sense of optimism they will feel when they are no longer described as this planet’s poorest.

  “Imagine that your wives will get maternity care, your children will be healthy and have access to free education, your land will produce more than enough affordable food and everyone will have access to safe drinking water no matter where they live; in the smallest hamlet or the most populous city and no-one need go hungry or homeless.”

  Wesley listened appreciatively. She was an inspiration. The air from the fan blew over her and she seemed unaffected by the heat. Her brightly coloured cotton shirt-waister stood out against her dark luminous skin. Like most of the Africans at the conference, she wore her hair short. It stood out from her head. Hanna often wore her hair in little plaits decorated with colourful beads but Akili’s hair was free and the air moved through it.