The Number 8. Joel Arcanjo
back to sleep. Sound good, Dick?” Asmir wasn’t the violent type but he looked big enough to get away with what he’d just said. He didn’t really want to hear another word from Dick, but he knew that the guy’s pacing and muttering would keep him up, so he wanted it resolved.
Dick just stood there, his mouth slightly ajar and his brow furrowed. He was a strange-looking guy. Not ugly, but quite rat-like. Big nose. Deep-set brown eyes covered by thick, bushy eyebrows. His complexion was pale and his black hair was styled into a spiky quiff. He was about 6’1 and skinny, but with a fairly athletic build. Asmir could probably take him in a fight.
Finally Dick eased himself into an empty seat and Asmir sat opposite.
“Now tell me, what the hell is up with you? Why are you muttering to yourself like a crazy person?”
“I don’t want to be here. I hate it. Everything’s different.” His anger was evident.
“Different? From where?”
“England. It’s all different and weird.”
From the way he spoke, Asmir understood he wasn’t educated. So he would have to lead.
“And thank God it’s different! It’s sunny, there’s no traffic and not a pie in sight. Isn’t it great?”
Dick looked up at him like he’d blasphemed. “No, it’s not. I want all that. I hate the sun. Look at me, I burn easy. And pie, I would give my right arm for some pie right now.”
“So why are you here?”
“My family made me. I’ve never been out the country and I’m about to enlist. They thought it would be my last chance before I go to the army.”
“So for your first trip abroad they sent you to New Zealand? Dick, you’re a very lucky guy.”
“Lucky? You call almost a full day on a plane lucky?”
“Look around you, this place is incredible. Don’t miss out.”
“What’s your name?”
“Asmir. Maybe you should ask that first before calling me “brown kid”. You’re lucky it was me.”
“Look, Amsir…”
“Asmir, Dick. Asmir.”
“OK. Look, Asmir, I’m from a small village in Yorkshire. I don’t see many of your kind in my area. I’m not being racist. It’s just a fact. You are brown.”
Asmir chuckled a little. This guy was unbelievable. “I understand that, Dick, but you can’t call me brown, it’s seen as racist. You also can’t say “your kind”. When did you leave school?”
“Fourteen. Better to earn money doing odd jobs than paying it to learn algebra.”
Asmir didn’t want to argue with him. But he understood this guy’s character a little better now. He wasn’t racist, just uneducated. He called it like he saw it. Asmir’s skin was brown, so he called him brown. Not acceptable but not malicious.
“All right, listen to me, Dick. You have two options. Try to be open to New Zealand, the culture, the food and the weather, or go home. There’s no point in staying here if it makes you mad.”
Dick thought about it for a second. “Do you like England, Asmir?”
“Of course I do, but nowhere near as much as you it seems. It’s my home but it’s not my world. I appreciate other countries for their unique cultures. Do you think you can try and do that?”
There was a pause again. “I guess…”
“Good. Do me a favor, Dick, don’t call anybody else here brown or black. Next time you might not get so lucky.”
“Erm…OK.”
“Oh and don’t wake me up again. I slept on slate last night and I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus,” Asmir said getting up and trudging to the back of the bus.
He didn’t wait for a response. He’d only got two steps before he spotted a small piece of paper all scrunched up on the floor. On public transport or on the street he could’ve easily missed it, but it had caught his eye. He leant down to pick it up and slowly smoothed the edges out. Four words were scribbled on the paper.
“Why are you here?”
He had no idea what it meant but his gut told him it wasn’t good.
“Hey, what was that?” Dick asked from just over his shoulder.
“Err… Nothing. I don’t think it’s anything,” he lied.
“Rubbish!” Asmir shuddered. Dante was showing him the photographs he had taken at the reserve.
“I’m sorry I’m not up to your standards, Az!”
Each photo Dante showed him he would critique carefully. On some the lighting was wrong. On others Dante had framed the scenery incorrectly. None of the photos were just right. But today he wouldn’t argue with Asmir. He needed the win. Dante let Asmir snatch the camera and continue to cycle through the pictures. Every now and again Asmir would tilt the camera towards Dante and say something like, “Really? You shot this kind of scenery vertically? Come on D, you’re better than that.” Dante just smiled and shrugged like he didn’t know any better. Probably because he didn’t.
They pulled out of the car park just as the elderly group came waddling back down to their stolen YMCA bus. They were huffing and puffing but there were smiles all round. A smile even broke out over Dante’s face. Partially because of the cheery old thieves below but mainly because they were off to their next stop, Waitomo and black water rafting. It was just under 180km which translated into about a two-hour drive. He knew Asmir wanted to sleep so after Asmir told him about the bizarre meeting with Dick Smith, he let him.
The two hours went by very quickly. He had a lot on his mind, most of which he was trying to actively expel. But it was easier thought than done. His subconscious was throwing up all kinds of memories that he was trying to bury, but couldn’t. So he was even more excited when they arrived at Waitomo that afternoon. His first impressions of the town were that it was small and idyllic. But their hostel was just outside the town. It was north-facing and resembled a giant chalet. Cool in the summer but probably chilly in the winter.
The passengers quickly unpacked their bags, some leaving unnecessary bags behind. They were only staying one night here after all. Asmir was refreshed now, but still shot Dick Smith a wary glance on his way out. Dante was not too keen on meeting him after how Asmir had described him. But Dante didn’t like to take other people’s opinions as his own so he reserved his judgement for now.
Asmir had once again booked a two-bed room for them in this hostel. They dragged their luggage into their room and both headed for the bathroom. Dante quickly saw that their room was almost exactly the same as his room in Hot Water Beach. So, while Asmir continued to evaluate it, he headed out onto their very small balcony. It had barely enough space for one person, but he made a point of checking the view. It didn’t disappoint. They had got lucky and been given the top floor. Their room was on the far right-hand side of the building facing north. There were better views in the cente rooms, two or three to their left but Dante was not complaining. Across from them was a forest with several hiking trails leading in. He had done his research and knew there was a small river that cut through this forest and the tour guides had planned to take a walk there in the morning. Balcony doors began sliding open as people checked out their views. One room to their left Becki and Annie popped their heads out first at the view, then turned and saw Dante.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Becki called out.
“Yeah. What are you two doing this afternoon?” Dante fired back.
“We’re both going to do black water rafting. What about