TITLE: Kare Kare (1/1)
AUTHOR: Tinka (tinka100@hotmail.com)
CLASSIFICATION: M&S Relationship, Angst.
RATING: PG
ARCHIVE: Bluefroggie & Gossamer, yes. All others, please ask.
SPOILERS: "Requiem"
SUMMARY: Two people on a dark, remote beach. How could they let go?
After all they've seen and been through..
THANKS: Much love is due to Penelopody. She's such a cool cat and the
best beta a girl could hope for. And this one is for the bestest
Kiwi of all - you know who you are. Thanks for showing me the
landscape.
DISCLAIMER: Characters used within are not mine. Neil Finn, Dave
Dobbyn and Allen Curnow's work are used with love and respect. No
copyright infringements intended.
---
Sea go dark, dark with wind,
Feet go heavy, heavy with sand,
Thoughts go wild, wild with the sound
Of iron on the old shed, swinging, clanging:
Dark with the wind,
Heavy with the sand..
-- Allen Curnow: Wild Iron
---
The darkness is slowly turning. A glimpse of light appears on the
horizon. A lone figure stands on the bridge looking out on the
water which is slowly becoming blue rather than black. Morning is
breaking with a waltzing western wind. Slowly the man climbs down the
steps to the iron beach. The steps are slippery with sea-spray and
his unsure hands clutch the handrail.
He hates this staircase. He comes down to the beach every morning,
but the staircase is new. It is a stranger. He had it made last
spring when he nearly fractured a hip falling down on the fickle
ground, steep beneath his feet. He watches his head as he approaches
the low-hanging pohutukawa branches. In the summer they bloom so
magnificently that his sentimental heart cannot bring himself to
cut them off.
Besides, they belong here more than he does. Like the new staircase,
he is a stranger too. Many summers have passed since he first
purchased the house and moved out to the beach, but he still
considers himself a guest. His neighbours know him and greet him -
some he even likes talking to - but he is still painfully aware of
his accent. It singles him out.
The waves greet him with a roar as he finally steps down on the
volatile ground. He chuckles to himself. The place would have been a
surfer haven, if only it had been slightly more accessible. As it is,
he is alone as he wanders past the dark, wet rocks and breathes in
the saltiness of the ocean.
He has a favorite spot further up the coast. An iron bench placed
there for the few tourists who manage to find their way down the
windy, tiny roads. It offers a good view of the beach and yet is
somewhat sheltered from the biting wind. It may be early spring, but
the cold winds persevere and his bones are old enough to mind. He
nearly stumbles and curses under his breath as he sits down.
He fumbles in his pocket for a crumbled pack of cigarettes and a
lighter. He cannot smoke in the house and so he has ritualized
smoking a single cigarette every day on that very bench. The smoke
tickles his nose slightly, and its scent transports him to another
time, another place. If he were to close his eyes, he would be there
.. right now ..
But things are not meant to be like that. He keeps his eyes open as
he knows he must. He did not move to this place, this valley lit only
by the moon, to reminisce about his less than glorious past. He had
moved here to make peace with himself - to make peace with the world
and to beg its forgiveness. He tried so hard back in his younger
days, but failed so miserably, so unheroically. He tried to be a
Grail Knight. He pursued his blind vision not seeing how the quest
nearly destroyed him and the few things in life that he still cared
for.
As the cigarette perched between his fingers turns to ash, his old
eyes acquire a distant look. He tries hard to forget, but on certain
days - if the wind and the temperature are right - he remembers her.
Tall, proud with curly brown hair. Bright eyes burning with pride as
she solves a puzzle or discovers something once lost. His girl. He
can trace her scent on the fresh sea breeze: roasted almonds with a
touch of bergamot. He can almost hear her laugh in the rustle of the
branches. He misses her with every inch of his body. His Hannah.
The cigarette burns, stings his fingers. He lets the remains of it
fall to the ground. A tiny bird - a fantail, his memory supplies -
lands at his feet and curiously examines the ashes. Hannah had
similar fluttering, small movements. She was always meant for
something more important than him, yet there was a short time when
he was allowed to hold her, console her. Probably the finest memories
of his life as well as the saddest. He knows she hasn't survived the
past 30 years. She never was meant to. If his life has taught him
anything, it is that the Hannahs of this world are always meant to
perish. They're rare gifts with higher purposes.
The old man slowly starts to focus on the horizon again. It looks
like rain approaching. The black clouds are gathering in the distance
and the seventh waves grow stronger. Hannah fades before his eyes. He
is accustomed to this. He is no longer young and the mind plays evil
tricks on him. She is but one of the things which he lets himself
remember, as she is also one of the things he chooses to forget
quickly. His life has truly been one of paradox.
He leans back against the railing. It is also paradoxical that he has
ended up here. A dark, tormented beach at the end of the world. A
beach inhabitable and yet people - mad scientists and even madder
artists - have chosen to stay. Local legend talks of monsters hiding
behind the horizon. In the old days he would have been interested.
He closes his eyes - just for a moment.
---
You run from the river
Though it long ran over you..
-- Dave Dobbyn: Beside You
---
She is walking again and she is counting the steps of the staircase.
It is slightly obsessive, but she needs real, tangible evidence that
the world isn't changing too rapidly. She cannot be sure that the
staircase doesn't change when she is not looking, but it seems to
have a fixed number of steps. 39 - 40 - 41 .. A sigh of relief passes
through her lips.
She hesitantly steps down on the ever-moving ground shaped by the
earth's whims. An earthquake rippled through the house just two
nights ago and she heard that another tiny island has just formed in
the city's harbor. Once she would have been delighted and rushed to
find as much information about it as possible. She might even had
ventured down to the city to see the new island still fresh and
young. Now everything is different. She needs security and prefers
curling up in a sofa to adventure.
She is oblivious to the Tasman floating diligently towards her. She
is focused on the tiny dark figure she can see ahead of her. She does
not even notice the ocean foam forming around her ankles. Usually she
is in love with the waves, but today is different. Slowly she walks
towards the small iron bench where his body is placed. She knows his
soul is elsewhere, as it has been for years. 30 odd years. Her soul
has been lost somewhere along the way too.
He does not stir when she sits down next to him. She notices the
tiny cigarette fragment next to his foot and frowns slightly. It is
too late to change his ways, but she really does wish that he
wouldn't smoke. They both have too many painful memories of smoke
lingering in the air. By smoking, he evokes memories they both have
carefully tried to keep buried. Yet, she understands as she always
has. He needs his ways of suffocating the ever-present pain just like
she does. She just covers her scars with layers of paints. Their
house is covered with water-colors of the beach, the garden, and the
bush. She adores the dramatic hues of the pohutukawa tree.
A sharp image of lovely auburn hair flickers before her eyes. Such
magnificent colors and she doesn't even own a picture of her.
Hannah. Everything was snapped out of her fingers by unknown men or
abandoned as they fled their country to save whatever was left of
their lives. She remembers it still so vividly in full technicolor.
All the gory details. Still, back then they had a tiny hope to cling
to and they were even vaguely happy for a while. They walked on the
beach, explored the bush and bathed underneath waterfalls waiting for
Hannah to return miraculously. As time passed, everything died. All
hopes, all dreams. Yet, as Scully keeps telling herself, at least
they still have each other.
Her fingers gently interlace with his, waking him from his quiet nap.
"You were sleeping, darling."
He opens his mouth to protest, but closes it again. Instead he points
to the distant horizon. She squeezes his hand. A rainstorm is coming.
It is that time of year after all. That time of year ..
"I wish you hadn't left me in the house alone. Not today, Mulder."
It is his turn to squeeze her hand as he searches for the right
words. He is usually so eloquent, but there are things he finds it
difficult to talk about. So usually they do not talk about them but
live in denial. It is much easier. So much safer.
"I know, Scully. It is just that .. today of all days I had to go
here. To think. I couldn't stand being locked up in the house. I
needed the air."
She cuddles closer and he automatically puts an arm around her. The
gesture has lost most of its romantic meaning to them and has become
a comfort instead.
"It is her birthday today", she whispers.
"Was. It _was_ her birthday today". He hates being cruel, but he
needs to underline it. He needs to say it. Scully hates hearing it.
It is one of the things that have quietly ensured their estrangement.
"She's 34 years old today. The same age as I was when I gave birth
to her. Isn't it extraordinary? We might be grandparents. Who would
have thought that?"
She stubbornly ignores his words like she always does.
"She can't have survived. She can't. We nearly didn't survive and a
child of four could not .. and when they took her away from us, she
was nearly.." He chokes on the words as he remembers Hannah's face,
drawn with inexplicable pain.
"They took her away from us because we could not save her. But they
had technology that would have .. we have both seen so many things.
We have both experienced.. Mulder, how can you not believe?"
He lowers his head into his hands. They have this discussion every
year on this very date. He is tired, so very tired.
"I'd rather not believe, Scully, because if I did, there would be
this wonderful woman beyond the sea who I never got to know. I would
rather not believe, because I want to treasure the four years I was
lucky enough to share with her, instead of mourning the 30 years I
was denied. And think of the world she would've inhabited for the
past 30 years. We escaped that world.."
"We didn't escape it, my dear. We simply avoided it. It is bound to
catch up with us one day."
The old couple sit in silence as the first raindrops land on their
cheeks. He briefly kisses her head once graced by red sunshine, now
by gray mist. It does not really mean anything much, but it is a
token of their shared history. A symbol that not everything was in
vain. A sign that somewhere along the line they must have done
something right, although he struggles to find a reason for their
lives.
"Let's go home, Mulder. We accomplish nothing by sitting here."
He nods and she tugs her arm around his. Slowly they make their way
back to their private shelter against the rain. Two fragile, weary
bodies covered with salty sea-spray and wrapped up in their own
private universes.
---
By the same road to the same
sea, in same two minds,
to run the last mile blind or
save it for later..
-- Allen Curnow: The Loop in Lone Kauri Road
---
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a homage to two special places on earth - the
Piha and Kare Kare beaches on New Zealand's North Island. I was lucky
enough to experience these two utterly isolated and incredibly
poignant places, and I just knew I had to write about them. I've used
lyrics by Neil Finn and Dave Dobbyn, two NZ musicians who either live
or have recorded at Kare Kare and Piha, and two poems written by Kare
Kare-based Allen Curnow.
Feedback much welcomed at: tinka100@hotmail.com
AUTHOR: Tinka (tinka100@hotmail.com)
CLASSIFICATION: M&S Relationship, Angst.
RATING: PG
ARCHIVE: Bluefroggie & Gossamer, yes. All others, please ask.
SPOILERS: "Requiem"
SUMMARY: Two people on a dark, remote beach. How could they let go?
After all they've seen and been through..
THANKS: Much love is due to Penelopody. She's such a cool cat and the
best beta a girl could hope for. And this one is for the bestest
Kiwi of all - you know who you are. Thanks for showing me the
landscape.
DISCLAIMER: Characters used within are not mine. Neil Finn, Dave
Dobbyn and Allen Curnow's work are used with love and respect. No
copyright infringements intended.
---
Sea go dark, dark with wind,
Feet go heavy, heavy with sand,
Thoughts go wild, wild with the sound
Of iron on the old shed, swinging, clanging:
Dark with the wind,
Heavy with the sand..
-- Allen Curnow: Wild Iron
---
The darkness is slowly turning. A glimpse of light appears on the
horizon. A lone figure stands on the bridge looking out on the
water which is slowly becoming blue rather than black. Morning is
breaking with a waltzing western wind. Slowly the man climbs down the
steps to the iron beach. The steps are slippery with sea-spray and
his unsure hands clutch the handrail.
He hates this staircase. He comes down to the beach every morning,
but the staircase is new. It is a stranger. He had it made last
spring when he nearly fractured a hip falling down on the fickle
ground, steep beneath his feet. He watches his head as he approaches
the low-hanging pohutukawa branches. In the summer they bloom so
magnificently that his sentimental heart cannot bring himself to
cut them off.
Besides, they belong here more than he does. Like the new staircase,
he is a stranger too. Many summers have passed since he first
purchased the house and moved out to the beach, but he still
considers himself a guest. His neighbours know him and greet him -
some he even likes talking to - but he is still painfully aware of
his accent. It singles him out.
The waves greet him with a roar as he finally steps down on the
volatile ground. He chuckles to himself. The place would have been a
surfer haven, if only it had been slightly more accessible. As it is,
he is alone as he wanders past the dark, wet rocks and breathes in
the saltiness of the ocean.
He has a favorite spot further up the coast. An iron bench placed
there for the few tourists who manage to find their way down the
windy, tiny roads. It offers a good view of the beach and yet is
somewhat sheltered from the biting wind. It may be early spring, but
the cold winds persevere and his bones are old enough to mind. He
nearly stumbles and curses under his breath as he sits down.
He fumbles in his pocket for a crumbled pack of cigarettes and a
lighter. He cannot smoke in the house and so he has ritualized
smoking a single cigarette every day on that very bench. The smoke
tickles his nose slightly, and its scent transports him to another
time, another place. If he were to close his eyes, he would be there
.. right now ..
But things are not meant to be like that. He keeps his eyes open as
he knows he must. He did not move to this place, this valley lit only
by the moon, to reminisce about his less than glorious past. He had
moved here to make peace with himself - to make peace with the world
and to beg its forgiveness. He tried so hard back in his younger
days, but failed so miserably, so unheroically. He tried to be a
Grail Knight. He pursued his blind vision not seeing how the quest
nearly destroyed him and the few things in life that he still cared
for.
As the cigarette perched between his fingers turns to ash, his old
eyes acquire a distant look. He tries hard to forget, but on certain
days - if the wind and the temperature are right - he remembers her.
Tall, proud with curly brown hair. Bright eyes burning with pride as
she solves a puzzle or discovers something once lost. His girl. He
can trace her scent on the fresh sea breeze: roasted almonds with a
touch of bergamot. He can almost hear her laugh in the rustle of the
branches. He misses her with every inch of his body. His Hannah.
The cigarette burns, stings his fingers. He lets the remains of it
fall to the ground. A tiny bird - a fantail, his memory supplies -
lands at his feet and curiously examines the ashes. Hannah had
similar fluttering, small movements. She was always meant for
something more important than him, yet there was a short time when
he was allowed to hold her, console her. Probably the finest memories
of his life as well as the saddest. He knows she hasn't survived the
past 30 years. She never was meant to. If his life has taught him
anything, it is that the Hannahs of this world are always meant to
perish. They're rare gifts with higher purposes.
The old man slowly starts to focus on the horizon again. It looks
like rain approaching. The black clouds are gathering in the distance
and the seventh waves grow stronger. Hannah fades before his eyes. He
is accustomed to this. He is no longer young and the mind plays evil
tricks on him. She is but one of the things which he lets himself
remember, as she is also one of the things he chooses to forget
quickly. His life has truly been one of paradox.
He leans back against the railing. It is also paradoxical that he has
ended up here. A dark, tormented beach at the end of the world. A
beach inhabitable and yet people - mad scientists and even madder
artists - have chosen to stay. Local legend talks of monsters hiding
behind the horizon. In the old days he would have been interested.
He closes his eyes - just for a moment.
---
You run from the river
Though it long ran over you..
-- Dave Dobbyn: Beside You
---
She is walking again and she is counting the steps of the staircase.
It is slightly obsessive, but she needs real, tangible evidence that
the world isn't changing too rapidly. She cannot be sure that the
staircase doesn't change when she is not looking, but it seems to
have a fixed number of steps. 39 - 40 - 41 .. A sigh of relief passes
through her lips.
She hesitantly steps down on the ever-moving ground shaped by the
earth's whims. An earthquake rippled through the house just two
nights ago and she heard that another tiny island has just formed in
the city's harbor. Once she would have been delighted and rushed to
find as much information about it as possible. She might even had
ventured down to the city to see the new island still fresh and
young. Now everything is different. She needs security and prefers
curling up in a sofa to adventure.
She is oblivious to the Tasman floating diligently towards her. She
is focused on the tiny dark figure she can see ahead of her. She does
not even notice the ocean foam forming around her ankles. Usually she
is in love with the waves, but today is different. Slowly she walks
towards the small iron bench where his body is placed. She knows his
soul is elsewhere, as it has been for years. 30 odd years. Her soul
has been lost somewhere along the way too.
He does not stir when she sits down next to him. She notices the
tiny cigarette fragment next to his foot and frowns slightly. It is
too late to change his ways, but she really does wish that he
wouldn't smoke. They both have too many painful memories of smoke
lingering in the air. By smoking, he evokes memories they both have
carefully tried to keep buried. Yet, she understands as she always
has. He needs his ways of suffocating the ever-present pain just like
she does. She just covers her scars with layers of paints. Their
house is covered with water-colors of the beach, the garden, and the
bush. She adores the dramatic hues of the pohutukawa tree.
A sharp image of lovely auburn hair flickers before her eyes. Such
magnificent colors and she doesn't even own a picture of her.
Hannah. Everything was snapped out of her fingers by unknown men or
abandoned as they fled their country to save whatever was left of
their lives. She remembers it still so vividly in full technicolor.
All the gory details. Still, back then they had a tiny hope to cling
to and they were even vaguely happy for a while. They walked on the
beach, explored the bush and bathed underneath waterfalls waiting for
Hannah to return miraculously. As time passed, everything died. All
hopes, all dreams. Yet, as Scully keeps telling herself, at least
they still have each other.
Her fingers gently interlace with his, waking him from his quiet nap.
"You were sleeping, darling."
He opens his mouth to protest, but closes it again. Instead he points
to the distant horizon. She squeezes his hand. A rainstorm is coming.
It is that time of year after all. That time of year ..
"I wish you hadn't left me in the house alone. Not today, Mulder."
It is his turn to squeeze her hand as he searches for the right
words. He is usually so eloquent, but there are things he finds it
difficult to talk about. So usually they do not talk about them but
live in denial. It is much easier. So much safer.
"I know, Scully. It is just that .. today of all days I had to go
here. To think. I couldn't stand being locked up in the house. I
needed the air."
She cuddles closer and he automatically puts an arm around her. The
gesture has lost most of its romantic meaning to them and has become
a comfort instead.
"It is her birthday today", she whispers.
"Was. It _was_ her birthday today". He hates being cruel, but he
needs to underline it. He needs to say it. Scully hates hearing it.
It is one of the things that have quietly ensured their estrangement.
"She's 34 years old today. The same age as I was when I gave birth
to her. Isn't it extraordinary? We might be grandparents. Who would
have thought that?"
She stubbornly ignores his words like she always does.
"She can't have survived. She can't. We nearly didn't survive and a
child of four could not .. and when they took her away from us, she
was nearly.." He chokes on the words as he remembers Hannah's face,
drawn with inexplicable pain.
"They took her away from us because we could not save her. But they
had technology that would have .. we have both seen so many things.
We have both experienced.. Mulder, how can you not believe?"
He lowers his head into his hands. They have this discussion every
year on this very date. He is tired, so very tired.
"I'd rather not believe, Scully, because if I did, there would be
this wonderful woman beyond the sea who I never got to know. I would
rather not believe, because I want to treasure the four years I was
lucky enough to share with her, instead of mourning the 30 years I
was denied. And think of the world she would've inhabited for the
past 30 years. We escaped that world.."
"We didn't escape it, my dear. We simply avoided it. It is bound to
catch up with us one day."
The old couple sit in silence as the first raindrops land on their
cheeks. He briefly kisses her head once graced by red sunshine, now
by gray mist. It does not really mean anything much, but it is a
token of their shared history. A symbol that not everything was in
vain. A sign that somewhere along the line they must have done
something right, although he struggles to find a reason for their
lives.
"Let's go home, Mulder. We accomplish nothing by sitting here."
He nods and she tugs her arm around his. Slowly they make their way
back to their private shelter against the rain. Two fragile, weary
bodies covered with salty sea-spray and wrapped up in their own
private universes.
---
By the same road to the same
sea, in same two minds,
to run the last mile blind or
save it for later..
-- Allen Curnow: The Loop in Lone Kauri Road
---
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a homage to two special places on earth - the
Piha and Kare Kare beaches on New Zealand's North Island. I was lucky
enough to experience these two utterly isolated and incredibly
poignant places, and I just knew I had to write about them. I've used
lyrics by Neil Finn and Dave Dobbyn, two NZ musicians who either live
or have recorded at Kare Kare and Piha, and two poems written by Kare
Kare-based Allen Curnow.
Feedback much welcomed at: tinka100@hotmail.com