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I walked out of the house this morning and stretched my arms out wide. Look, I said to myself. Because I was alone except for you. I don’t think you heard me.

Look at the sky, I said.

Look at the green earth.

How could it be that I felt so good? So free? So full of the sort of day it was? How?

And at that moment, when I stepped from my house, there was no sound. No sound at all. No bird call, or tractor grind. No fire crackle or twig snap. As though the moment had been held quiet, for me only, as I stepped out into the morning. Why the good feeling, with a lightness in me causing my arms to stretch out and out? How blue, how green, I said into the quiet of the moment. But why, with the sharp nick of bone deep in my back and the band of flesh tightening across my belly?

All alone. Julie and Tamati behind me in the house, asleep, and the others over at the swamp catching eels. Riki two paddocks away cutting up a tree he’d felled last autumn.

I started over the paddocks towards him then, slowly, on these heavy knotted legs. Hugely across the paddocks I went almost singing. Not singing because of needing every breath, but with the feeling of singing. Why, with the deep twist and pull far down in my back and cramping between the legs? Why the feeling of singing?

How strong and well he looked. How alive and strong, stooping over the trunk steadying the saw. I’d hated him for days, and now suddenly I loved him again but didn’t know why. The saw cracked through the tree setting little splinters of warm wood hopping. Balls of mauve smoke lifted into the air. When he looked up I put my hands to my back and saw him understand me over the skirl of the saw. He switched off, the sound fluttered away.

I’ll get them, he said.

We could see them from there, leaning into the swamp, feeling for eel holes. Three long whistles and they looked up and started towards us, wondering why, walking reluctantly.

Mummy’s going, he said.

We nearly got one, Turei said. Ay Jimmy, ay Patsy, ay Reuben?

Yes, they said.

Where? said Danny.

I began to tell him again, but he skipped away after the others. It was good to watch them running and shouting through the grass. Yesterday their activity and noise had angered me, but today I was happy to see them leaping and shouting through the long grass with the swamp mud drying and caking on their legs and arms.

Let Dad get it out, Reuben turned, was calling. He can get the lambs out. Bang! Ay Mum, ay?

Julie and Tamati had woken. They were coming to meet us, dragging a rug.

Not you again, they said, taking my bag from his hand.

Not you two again, I said. Rawhiti and Jones.

Don’t you have it at two o’clock.

We go off at two.

Your boyfriends can wait.

Our sleep can’t.

I put my cheek to his and felt his arm about my shoulders.

Look after my wife, he was grinning at them.

Course, what else.

Go on. Get home and milk your cows, next time you see her she’ll be in two pieces.

I kissed all the faces poking from the car windows then stood back on the step waving. Waving till they’d gone. Then turning felt the rush of water.

Quick, I said. The water.

Water my foot; that’s piddle.

What you want to piddle in our neat corridor for? Sit down. Have a ride.

Helped into a wheelchair and away, careering over the brown lino.

Stop, I’ll be good. Stop, I’ll tell Sister.

Sister’s busy.

No wonder you two are getting smart. Stop …

That’s it, missus, you’ll be back in your bikini by summer. Dr McIndoe.

And we’ll go water-skiing together. Me.

Right you are. Well, see you both in the morning.

The doors bump and swing.

Sister follows.

Finish off, girls. Maitland’ll be over soon.

All right, Sister.

Yes, Sister. Reverently.

The doors bump and swing.

You are at the end of the table, wet and grey. Blood stains your pulsing head. Your arms flail in these new dimensions and your mouth is a circle that opens and closes as you scream for air. All head and shoulders and wide mouth screaming. They have clamped the few inches of cord which is all that is left of your old life now. They draw mucus and bathe your head.

Leave it alone and give it here, I say.

What for? Haven’t you got enough kids already?

Course. Doesn’t mean you can boss that one around.

We should let you clean your own kid up?

Think she’d be pleased after that neat ride we gave her. Look at the little hoha. God he can scream.

They wrap you in linen and put you here with me.

Well anyway, here you are. He’s all fixed, you’re all done. We’ll blow. And we’ll get them to bring you a cuppa. Be good.

The doors swing open.

She’s ready for a cuppa, Freeman.

The doors bump shut.

Now. You and I. I’ll tell you. I went out this morning. Look, I said, but didn’t know why. Why the good feeling. Why, with the nick and press of bone deep inside. But now I know. Now I’ll tell you and I don’t think you’ll mind. It wasn’t the thought of knowing you and having you here close to me that gave me this glad feeling, that made me look upwards and all about as I stepped out this morning. The gladness was because at last I was to be free. Free from that great hump that was you, free from the aching limbs and swelling that was you. That was why this morning each stretching of flesh made me glad.

And freedom from the envy I’d felt, watching him these past days, stepping over the paddocks whole and strong. Unable to match his step. Envying his bright striding. But I could love him again this morning.

These were the reasons each gnarling of flesh made me glad as I came out into that cradled moment. Look at the sky, look at the earth, I said. See how blue, how green. But I gave no thought to you.

And now. You sleep. How quickly you have learned this quiet and rhythmic breathing. Soon they’ll come and put a cup in my hand and take you away.

You sleep, and I too am tired, after our work. We worked hard you and I and now we’ll sleep. Be close. We’ll sleep a little while ay, you and I.