A Stretch of Time Read online

Splashdown Droplets, Number 3

  A Stretch of Time

  Grace Bridges © 2012

  Published by Splashdown Books, New Zealand

  https://www.splashdownbooks.com

  A Stretch of Time—Grace Bridges

  Grace Bridges

  “Kuia, how come you’ve always got more time than anyone else?”

  I smiled. My youngest mokopuna was entering the age of reason. “You wanna know why, boy? I’m retired.”

  Rawiri screwed up his face. “No, Kuia, not that. The real reason. How you wrote all those books before you retired.”

  “Yes, there were many things to do, and I did them all.”

  “Did you write them at work?”

  I frowned. “No! That’s a wrong thing to do, son of my son. I worked a full day.”

  “Well then, how’d ya do it? I know you’re fast. I see you walk into the kitchen and next minute you’re telling us the grub’s up.”

  We both looked up as Rawiri’s mother poked her head out the porch door. “I’m just here for a minute—have to go and sort out your sister’s netball uniform. Will you be all right with your Nan a bit longer, Rawiri?” She shot a pleading glance at me, and I smiled at her. She sighed. “When I’m finished I’ll come sit with you for a bit too, Kuia. I need some of that peacefulness of yours.”

  She vanished, and we heard her run through the house and out to the car before driving away.

  I turned my attention back to the boy. “If I tell you how I did all these things without rushing, will you promise to keep it secret? Just between you and me?”

  Rawiri’s eyes grew wide. “Aw, yeah!”

  “All right. Listen to this story…”

  ***

  Once upon a time there was a young girl, and as you have rightly guessed, that young girl was me. She juggled her job and her husband and children, and tried to find still more time for things she liked to do, such as reading books and telling stories. But there were never enough hours in the day. Night after night I fell asleep exhausted, without accomplishing any of the things she wanted to. There was only time for what must be done, and nothing extra.

  My kuia observed all this for a while, and heard my complaining. Now this kuia was wise, a kaimatua among the people. She took me aside one day to speak to her. I brought her a mug of coffee and we sat in the creaky swing chair on the back porch, looking out over the tangled bush at the bottom of the section.

  “Moko, you cannot go on like this. The great god Io gives the same twenty-four hours to each one of us. He must think it is sufficient, so why is it too little for us?”

  “But Kuia, when Io created the world there was no thought of modern life. Nowadays we have many more demands on our time.”

  “Would you have Io extend the length of each day? Would you have him place extra hours in it?”

  “I would. And surely he can.” I controlled my frustration with an effort.

  Kuia’s jaw dropped just a little, but her eyes took on an even deeper tinge, if that were possible. “Such faith in a young one. Yet to them that believe, nothing shall be impossible.” She took a careful sip of her coffee and made a face. “Bah. Too hot.”

  I looked up into her beloved, wrinkled face. “Mother of my mother, what is this you say? Io is willing to stretch the hours of my days?”

  “Are you willing to receive the gift?”

  “You play games with me, old woman.”

  “Riddles, maybe, but never games.”

  I struggled with myself, for I did not want to appear silly if indeed she was joking with me. But I was still a child at heart, and curious to match. What did it matter if my pride should take a tumble?

  She caught my eye as I looked up, and I let a smile curl my lips. “All right, Kuia, I am willing. What is this gift?”

  “Ka pai, little one. Now listen.” She closed her eyes, raised a hand, and let forth a stream of Maori which I did not wholly understand, though I picked up words like gift and time and spirit. In essence, she was bestowing a spiritual gift of time upon me.

  If it was real, that is. I blinked myself to attention.

  “There,” said Kuia, “that’s it.”

  Something flashed by, so quick it was at the edge of my vision before it registered. The whole world turned purple for an instant. I caught myself thinking something really happened, and shook my head to clear it.

  “Just what is ‘it’? How does it work?”

  Kuia laughed. “I don’t know, hon. That’s the mystery the Good Lord’s keeping to himself. Maybe you’ll figure it out and let me know.”

  I gave her an unconvinced smile and was about to turn away. There were things to do, after all.

  But she caught my arm. “One thing. It only works when no one’s looking. When you’re alone.”

  I nodded and went about my chores. I cleaned up the children’s lunch mess—dishes, table and floor. I dried the dishes and put them away, then glanced at the clock over the mantelpiece. My hand reached to shake it. I’d only just changed the battery.

  Turning, I sought the window and was relieved to see Kuia’s head and shoulders where she sat on the porch. She held the coffee mug, unmoving.

  Wait. Was that…a wisp of steam? Hanging in the air above the mug?

  I shook my head and went to get the vacuum cleaner and carried it upstairs to begin the weekly round.

  Much later, I finished and put the machine away, then jammed my fists in the small of my back and stretched my aching muscles. I walked with slow paces through the kitchen, not looking at the clock, to the laundry and dragged a load of wet washing into the basket. I heaved it outside and down to the line near the porch. I turned to peg up the heavy sheets and covers, and caught Kuia staring at me.

  But she didn’t say anything, so I finished quickly and went back inside.

  Funny. The clock hand had moved a couple of minutes. I looked at the door, then back at the clock. Well, I’d take the clock apart later maybe. Right now there was work to do. I was lucky the baby was still sleeping.

  So I ran a scrubbing brush over the bathroomware and dried it off again, then got the mop and bucket out and washed the downstairs floors. By now I was about ready to drop, but everything was done and the baby was still quiet. I tiptoed into his room and watched his sleeping angel face for a while. I didn’t know what time it was because of that silly clock not working, but it felt late in the day. The older kids would soon return from school and fill the house with their chatter and play.

  But the little one—your father, Rawiri—slept on in his bliss, so I slipped out again to get myself a coffee. I was about to pour away the last batch and make a new one, but then I realised it was still steaming, and I hadn’t left the element on.

  I whirled and caught the clock in both hands. It had moved maybe eight minutes since I’d first come in from talking to Kuia. That’s how long I’d have taken to hang up the sheets and check on the baby. Only when you’re alone?

  I rushed outside to the porch, where Kuia sat exactly as I’d left her. Steam still rose from her coffee mug, and she hadn’t been inside for a refill.

  She peered around at me, a twinkle in her eye. “You got something done, then?”

  “I—I did!” Gulp. “How long did that take me?”

  “Not quite ten minutes. Coffee’s just right now, babe.”

  So the clock wasn’t wrong? “There’s still hours till the kids come home from school!”

  “Why not take a nap?”

  My mind raced with the consequences. Overnight I’d not be alone, so I couldn’t make up for the extra hours then. I’d have to take a snooze during the day, and hope the gift of time extended to sleep.

  ***