Cin City

Valetta

"Steady old man."

"It's not me."

We had bump and sway when we shouldn't have. For a moment I thought it was the car, that something had gone wrong. The moment didn't last as the realisation came. And when my dad pulled the car to a stop we looked at each other. I knew, but I didn't know either, not until my dad said the word: aftershock.

"No shit..." When my dad didn't tell me off for swearing I knew he was worried. And that made me worried. "Was that a bad one?" I had no idea, not really. None at all. What did bad feel like?

"I don't know."

We got out of the car without discussion. Without planning. We stood on the tar seal. The car idling. We could see for miles and even see the airport. All I heard were ducks, hundreds of ducks, thousands quacking into flight. I had never heard anything like that quacking. I swear I felt the beat of their wings. We'd taken the river road to avoid the sales day traffic around the southern edge of Christchurch. Yet the earthquake found us. Earthquakes happened to buildings and dusty streets – earthquakes happened to cities. They weren't supposed to happen to me and my dad out on some alone road.

"Have you got your phone?" I bobbled it from my pocket. "Text your mum, ask if she's all right."

It took an age to type and hit send. At least I had bars, so the cell towers were fine. She answered right back; thankfully.

"What do we do now?"

"Get to the airport."

I checked the flight status as we drove. Jimmy's flight had switched to delayed. My dad said something about them needing to check the runway and something else about how we might need to drive to Queenstown or Dunedin.

"If he gets diverted?"

"Yeah. If he gets diverted."

He didn't. It helped that my boring father had the car stereo tuned to National Radio. We listened so intently to their interview with some seismologist from INS. He spoke of a swarm of aftershocks under Christchurch. A swarm. That was his exact word. I thought of bees; of their buzzing. Bees underground. When we made the airport we parked way out in the open and walked. We strolled our way well clear of the parking building. I was glad we hadn't been earlier – that we hadn't been in that building.

We got Jimmy and his baggage and got out of Dodge. I was nervous crossing the rivers, especially the mile-long bridge. By the time the first transit sign pointed to Mayfield we had put the best part of one hundred kilometres between us and Christchurch. Even so, I didn't like the uncertainty; the helplessness. Yet no one had been killed, from the first big shake and all through its aftershocks there had been not one fatality. Only two people badly hurt. Still, I felt for the Christchurch people and their schools and their provincialness. Sod this for Boxing Day. Sod it to hell.

Home was better. We got a call from Marianne. A Christmas call. She spoke to all of us. And to her sister most of all. Her and Kevin were coming home. Next year; after the northern winter. He'd miss Super Rugby down here but had a provincial gig with Nelson Bays. Marianne would love it because Nelson Bays was art central. If it went well Suzanne would go with them. I was glad for my mum and dad because they'd done their share of looking after waifs and strays; more than their share. Glad for Suzanne too. She'd come such a long way since me and Marianne had left. Maybe all she needed was a turn at being the oldest child.

My cell-phone buzzed with a call from Luci. She was worried for me. Her news feed told her of a swarm of earthquakes and she knew that I would be home. And Mid-Canterbury was Canterbury if you've never been; if you're a world away – I knew that more than anyone. We had talked for an hour on the ferry that time. A good time of a talk with the simple pleasure of hearing her voice. I had missed her following New York. Not seeing her around seemed odd and wrong. The looks she had. Her actualities. Her presence. I missed her more than I ever thought I would. And I was glad that we had reconnected and stayed connected. I smiled at Jimmy as Luci and me spoke. I don't think he noticed.