They talked as they rode, side by side on the wider parts of the path, and laughed when Dan misjudged a turn and wobbled, narrowly avoiding a thorny bush. It seemed neither of them had noticed the darkening sky and increasing rain until they reached their destination.
By the time they reached the memorial site, the rain was falling in earnest. Laughing, they wheeled their bikes under the open-sided shelter. The rain hammered against the iron roof, loud enough to drown out the rest of the world.
Dan leaned against one of the posts, chest heaving slightly, grinning like an idiot. ‘I’d forgotten how good this feels,’ he said.
Augi laughed — properly laughed — pushing wet hair back from her face. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her like this.
‘I know. There’s nothing like a bike ride to make you forget your worries.’
His smile faded and he looked around the memorial site, as he thought about Augi and her worries. ‘I hope,’ he said, watching the flags flap soggily in the quickening breeze, ‘that you aren’t burdened with too many worries.’
‘Compared to the stories of what went on here?’ she said, indicating the interpretation panels which told the story of Camp Russell, one of three camps hastily built to house fifteen thousand US Marines stationed in Paekakariki between 1942 and 1944. ‘Or here,’ she pointed to where a panel commemorated the ten U.S. Navy seamen who’d died during a failed landing exercise off Whareroa Beach in June 1943. ‘No. Nowhere near. Just ordinary, mundane worries.’
He walked over to where she was studying a panel, the names blurred by rain. He stood close to her and she stilled. He felt as if they were the only two people in the world, locked in this place far from anyone, separated by the elements and surrounded by a history about which they knew so little.
She looked up, her eyes darkening. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged. She looked younger, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed by the exercise and she also looked suddenly uncertain.
She swept a strand of wet hair back from her face. ‘Daniel?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, noticing the way his voice had dropped a little.
‘You’re… looking at me strangely.’
He considered denying it. Instead, he told the truth.
‘It’s like I’ve just seen you for the first time.’
She swallowed. ‘That sounds dangerous.’
‘It might be,’ he said. ‘But it’s also… real.’
She turned back to the panels, as if trying to regain hold of a reality which seemed to be slipping away from them both. She cleared her throat.
‘You wanted to know about the Marine,’ she said. ‘Let’s see what we can find.’
He could have stayed where they were forever, but he took her lead and they walked along the displays together, shoulders brushing occasionally, reading names, dates, units.
Then she stopped.
Her finger hovered over a line.
‘Kowalski,’ she said quietly.
Dan’s pulse jumped. ‘That’s him?’
‘It could be,’ she said. ‘Captain. Marine Corps. Stationed here in ’42.’
He stepped closer, reading over her shoulder.
‘So he was real,’ he murmured.
‘Yes.’ She straightened, turning to face him. ‘Daniel, before we go any further… there’s something I need to tell you.’
Something in his chest tightened.
‘I don’t like secrets,’ he said slowly.
‘I know,’ she replied. ‘That’s why I’m telling you now.’
