Passing my mother’s grave over and over again.
The unmarked car slowed as it turned a corner, and when I followed, I saw flashing lights, road cones, and an orange-vested officer waiting to direct traffic through what had become a single narrow lane.
One of the darkest sections of the road and of the forest.
The land dropped off precipitously to my right, but not into emptiness. Into bush dense and thick and impenetrable to the human eye. Ancient kauri trees, nīkau palms, huge tree ferns, this landscape was theirs.
Constable Neri brought the police vehicle to a stop behind a van and I pulled in behind her. Everyone waited while I got the crutches from the backseat, no one speaking. Armpits snugged into the tops of the walking aids, I nodded, and the cops led us to a part of the road that had no safety barrier against the fall into the green. I couldn’t remember if it ever had.
“The car was found at the foot of this incline,” Regan told us. “Nose down.”
That fit my father’s theory of it sliding off the road and down the steep slope into the devouring forest. I wanted to dispute the idea of my mother driving off the road on a rainy night, such a neat and tidy end to everything, but she had drunk too much as long as I could remember, and she could be a reckless driver.
Of course, if I were the one writing this story, I’d use those very things to cover up a murder. Cover up a scream.
“Why did no one notice?” my father demanded, an edge to his voice that could’ve been either shock or fear. Maybe both. “There must’ve been a trail, broken trees, something!” He was using his “I am the CEO” tone.
That’s what my mother used to call it.
“Yes, Mr. CEO-ji. No, Mr. CEO-ji.”
That honorific “ji” at the end had been the icing on the sarcasm cake. Maybe it had begun in affection, but it had ended in mockery. In truth, I didn’t really remember affection between them. Sometimes I remembered a softer voice, less aggressive encounters, but even then, it had been brittle and one fight away from splintering.
My father is a hard man to love. I’ve never been sure if he even wants love, or if all he wants or needs is obedience. As for returning any affection given, that’s a non-event. To Ishaan Rai, his family is his possession. Particularly his wife. I don’t know if my mother was ever happy to be owned, if she began married life compliant and quiet, but the woman I remember hated it with a vengeance.
“At this stage,” Regan said, “all I can tell you is that the vehicle is now so well hidden that no one might’ve seen it for years longer if a DOC survey team hadn’t been looking around below. They were checking on the kauri—routine inspection to do with the dieback.”
The skin of my father’s face mottled. He has fair skin, the kind that splotches with anger and is coveted by mothers of Indian brides everywhere. Call it what you will—internalized oppression, a long shadow cast by the British Raj, brutal classism—but my mother had been equally fair, two bookends in what was meant to be a perfect marriage.
My father’s second wife is as dark as teak.
“It rained the night she disappeared,” I said before he could launch into one of his tirades. “The rain turned into a storm that crashed fences and trees all over the city.” It would’ve washed away any tire tracks, the resulting city-wide carnage making the sight of broken foliage nothing out of the ordinary.
And my mother’s car had been a dark green Jaguar.
Such a stunning hue.
So easy to miss among the deep greens of the forest.
But while I could imagine a single car being swallowed up by the forest, I also knew someone might’ve helped the forest along. It wouldn’t have needed to be much. A few branches thrown over the Jaguar, some vines. Nature would’ve soon taken over. Especially after all that nourishing rain.
“You have a good memory.” Hands in his pants pockets, Regan appeared only idly interested.
I wondered if I was a suspect. After all, sixteen isn’t a child. “That was the day my mother vanished. Every minute detail of it is engraved on my memory, along with the days immediately following.” Days when I’d still hoped and waited.
“Of course, of course.” A glance at Neri.
I didn’t care what they thought of me, what conclusions they’d drawn in the car on the way here. I was more interested in what lay below. Even knowing the Jaguar was down there, I couldn’t see it.
When the two officers stepped aside to confer with another colleague, I said, “Why did she scream that night, Dad?”
The question lay between us, dark and taunting.
“Know your place, boy,” he finally spit out before heading to the sedan.
The keys were still in the ignition and he started the engine while giving me a challenging look through the windscreen. When I didn’t run to heel as he expected, he backed up the vehicle and did a U-turn to return to the Cul-de-Sac.
Such a pretentious name. As if there were only one Cul-de-Sac in the world, nestled in this isolated and green tributary of Auckland. The name also conjures up images of street parties and block barbeques, when these days, the Cul-de-Sac is a frosty place where opinions are hidden beneath a gauzy layer of politeness, and neighbors keep to themselves.
In my mind, it all changed that night. As if my mother’s disappearance took the life out of the Cul-de-Sac.
I was still standing there staring at the forest long after the sound of the sedan’s engine had faded, my mind on the wall of rain that night, the sound of it hushed thunder across the world. It was her scream that had woken me, piercing the veil to jerk me to heart-pounding alertness. I hadn’t been sure exactly what I’d heard, my pulse a drum in my ears as I waited for more.
I’d almost convinced myself I’d imagined it, until I heard the bang of the front door.
Once. Twice.
Scrambling out of bed, I’d run to the sliding doors that led to my private balcony. But the door had stuck as it always did when it rained. By the time I’d stepped out naked into the chilling rain, needles of water stabbing my skin, the Jaguar’s distinctive taillights were already fading into the rain-blurred distance.
Transcript
Session #1
“How does this work? Do you ask about my parents, my childhood?”
“Is that what you want to talk about?”
[no answer]
“This space is a safe one for you. Nothing you say within these walls will leak to the outside world, but we’re also not in a rush. You can take your time, decide where you want to go.”
[no answer]
“Why don’t we start with why you decided to make this appointment?”