Rowan MacDonald
MALUHIA
The house will be familiar.
The white weatherboard house had seen better days, but so too had the old man. The blue picket fence was losing paint chips quicker than he was losing patience.
He slowly crawled beneath the house and manoeuvred his body like a man half his age.
Harnessing all his strength, he swung the hammer against the tap, hoping to dislodge it from the rigid position.
The house was closer to the sea than he remembered. The sand dunes appeared smaller and the waves somehow bigger. Salty remnants of ocean spray coated exposed windows, while termite-infested wooden shutters hung precariously from the rest.
Rust was rapidly corroding the water tank, but it hadn’t yet emerged victorious.
That should do it.
As the sea breeze rustled the surrounding beachgrass, sounds of water began to cough and splutter through the old pipes.
With electricity and now running water, the old man had achieved all he had hoped for.
He took one last glance at the framed picture hanging from the wall.
See you soon.
__________
“Covid-19 has been reported in several of the state’s nursing homes this week. The Health Minister has warned that cases are expected to rise in coming days, placing strain on facilities and support staff. These reports come on the back of all aged care facilities entering lockdown last night.”
The old man turned the radio off. He had heard enough. He had seen and heard a lot in his many years. Nothing seemed entirely new anymore.
His eyes focused on the road in front of him. His weathered hands gripped the wheel. His foot pressed firmly down on the accelerator. He had a long drive ahead. His eyes may not have been what they once were - but nothing was. This added urgency to his journey.
He had driven this road many times. He knew the forest section provided the most dangers, with wildlife having a tendency to wander onto the road at dusk. He did not look forward to driving through the city either, for he knew people didn’t much care for a tottery old man, with failing vision, haphazardly navigating his station wagon through downtown. But it had to be done.
It was a lonely stretch of road, yet he wasn’t alone.
“Let me know if you spot any deer” he said.
Taz was silent. He continued to peer out the passenger window and survey the surrounding forest for danger.
“Here” the old man gestured. “Every good sentry needs a snack.”
Taz enthusiastically gobbled down the small piece of mackerel and wagged his tail. The border terrier was even older than the man, once you converted dog years to human. Though he had arthritis in his hind quarters, he possessed even more courage and resilience. His rough, grizzle and tan coat may have displayed a weariness, but not his heart.
“Don’t look at me like that” the old man laughed. “You can have more once we get to the city.”
__________
“Four-eight-six-two” the old man repeatedly muttered to himself. He shoved the piece of paper into the glove compartment.
The sprawling complex looked less intimidating in the morning light.
“Well, this is it” he confided to Taz. “Let’s do this.”
The two of them walked defiantly through the quiet carpark until they arrived at a large set of sliding doors.
“Four-eight-six-two” the man repeated once more; this time pressing a security keypad with confidence.
The doors opened and they stepped inside.
Taz sat patiently as the man adjusted a medical mask over his face and rubbed sanitizer between his hands.
The second set of sliding doors opened and Taz darted to the left, towards a nurse’s station. The old man continued by himself down the clinical hallway. He could already hear commotion; the kind of attention that Taz attracted wherever he went.
“How did you get in here?” the nurse asked in a friendly tone, which differed from the look of suspicion on her face.
The senior dog jumped on the nurse, and displayed a playfulness not accustomed to a dog his age. He placed his paws on her shins, before darting off towards the dining area, escaping her attempt to catch him.
“Come back!” the nurse called out, before turning to her colleague. “We’ve got a random dog in here, Cheryl!”
The man smiled as he overheard the noise. He reached the end of the corridor and knocked on the door.
“Hello?” replied the fragile voice inside.
“State Police have announced they are establishing road blocks along the border, following an abduction from an aged care facility. The wheelchair-bound resident was reported missing this afternoon. Police have conducted an extensive search of the facility and are reviewing surveillance footage. Families of other residents at the complex have expressed concern at the time it took staff to report the missing woman; citing a history of problems regarding the care of residents at the facility.”
The old lady was giggling in the front passenger seat. Taz couldn’t stop wagging his tail and sniffing her hair from around the headrest. He would typically be upset with being relegated to the backseat, but this was different.
She was back.
The old man smiled as laughter filled the air. Everything seemed brighter. He turned to the lady while trying to maintain focus on the road.
“It’s good to have you with us, Rose.”
She smiled and stroked the dog’s muzzle.
“Yes, I suppose it is” she replied.
Her eyes fixed on the man as he drove. She analyzed his features, his grey hair, and his look of concentration.
“Where are we?” she asked, with a slight look of bewilderment on her face.
“We’re almost there, sweetheart” he replied.
The station wagon, now covered in dust from the journey, pulled onto a short gravel road. Rose appeared curious as the white weatherboard house slowly emerged from behind the trees.
The car stopped close to the front door; its engine still ticking from the long drive. Rose clutched Taz for comfort.
The old man opened the rear of the vehicle and removed a wheelchair; assembling it as gentle salt spray from the nearby ocean swirled around him.
He wheeled the chair to the passenger door, crouched down, and harnessed a strength that even surprised himself. He lifted Rose, still holding Taz, into the wheelchair and began pushing them towards the house.
She appeared unsure. Her eyes darted around the house and its surrounding landscape, searching for clues.
The old man parked the chair over the front door mat, while he fumbled through his pockets to find the keys.
Rose stared at the door and the rusted brass lettering beside it. She slowly traced her fingers over each letter.
M-A-L-U-H-I-A
She appeared deep in thought.
“Maluhia.”
She looked up at the old man who turned the door handle. Her eyes started watering. She smiled through the tears that rolled down her face.
“Richard” she said. “Our home.”
Richard smiled back and held her hand.
“I knew you would remember.”
__________
ROWAN MACDONALD LIVES IN TASMANIA WITH HIS DOG, ROSIE. HIS WRITING HAS PREVIOUSLY APPEARED IN WHITE WALL REVIEW, MIRACLE MONOCLE, SHEEPSHEAD REVIEW, DEFUNKT MAGAZINE, FLARE: THE FLAGLER REVIEW AND STEREO STORIES. HIS WORK HAS ALSO BEEN ADAPTED INTO SHORT FILM BY NEW FORM DIGITAL.