The Sky People by Patricia Grace

Author:Patricia Grace
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781742288185
Publisher: Penguin Random House New Zealand
Published: 2010-12-22T00:00:00+00:00

People Out Walking and Pointing

On the damp side of the road where there are lilies, onion flowers, sweet peas, wild turnips and all sorts of seeding grasses, there were two women walking. They both had white hair and wore dresses that needed no ironing, dresses that could be washed, put on a hanger and allowed to drip dry. After only an hour or two the dresses could be brought in ready to wear. Both dresses were open at the neck, had collars and lapels, and were buttoned to the waist. One was hooped all the way down with differing widths of white and pale turquoise stripes, the other was navy, patterned with red triangles which intersected in groups of threes. Skirts were permanently pleated. The women wore stockings, and shoes that were not quite sandals but had cutout toes and heels. Beige, biscuit, bone, off-white, ivory, cream, almond — or whatever that colour is called this year.

The women stopped every now and again along the way to point at the grasses and other plants beside the footpath. They would’ve been naming the plants, reminding each other of names, as though to name, to remember, was a possession greater than holding in the hand, ownership more permanent than pleating. Forever, as long as fabric didn’t wear thin.

But they would’ve been remembering more than names. They’d have been taking hold of times when grasses told you who you would marry, of times when they’d spent hours collecting seeds of rye in a tobacco tin for the war effort. There were stalks of soldiers in their brown uniforms and yellow-brimmed hats that could be picked, and with a flick an enemy soldier’s head could be snapped clean off. There were grasses that could be unsheathed to make darts and spears, and heads of grass than when tucked inside a sleeve would make their way up your arm to your chest. Stab you in the heart if left long enough. Kill you.

At the bend, on the sea side of the road, there is a wide footpath and a culverted stone wall. There are wooden ramps and concrete steps leading down to the sand. Standing on the edge of the wall were two boys looking down. One was bending, hands on knees, looking, looking. The other was showing him, not just pointing, but bringing his arm right back until his elbow made a sharp triangle behind his shoulder and his stretched finger lay parallel to his ear. Then his whole arm thrust forward, See, like a boxer giving out a succession of straight-arm punches, See, See, See, as if the more energy he put into the indications the quicker his friend would discover what it was he was being shown.

But he, the one seeing and pointing — at a dollar coin, or a special stone or shell — wouldn’t jump and get it ahead of his friend because he wanted to fight him for it, beat him to it on equal terms.

At last the friend saw, and the boys jumped off the wall together, grabbing at each other as they fell.

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