The Threshold

The air was thawing. Winter was surrendering to spring. The scent of the approaching season whispered through the air, and with it came hope. A hope that Fred had clung to for the past 8 years. A hope that had already been shattered several times in the last couple of months. A hope for one of the most powerful forces known to man. Forgiveness.

The gravel road came to a terrifying, inevitable end. Fred just sat in silence in the driver’s seat, listening to the faint conversations of the grazing sheep and fighting the deep, intense desire to turn the key in the ignition and roar off back down the drive. Was he even ready to do this?

He had asked himself the same question almost three weeks earlier, standing at the doorstep of 8 Mataratara Street, the residence of Mr and Mrs Kast. Fred had hoped his parents would be glad to see him, maybe even that they would forgive him and make peace. But it seems that Mr and Mrs Kast had been content to entirely forget that their son ever existed. To them, he was as good as dead. Perhaps that was why when, after three shaky knocks, the door opened and Mrs Kast acted as though she had seen a ghost. Her face went as pale as ice and a quiet sort of horrified groan escaped her half agape mouth. “Derek.” She had called softly. Mr Kast appeared behind her. Fred had looked into his father’s eyes, hoping to find some mercy, but he was burnt by the frigidity of them. Mrs Kast managed to gather herself for a moment to extend a removed invitation to come inside. Fred nodded his head slightly, feeling more unwelcome than on his first day at the Mount Eden Correctional Facility. They had sitten in the living room for what felt like longer than his time spent in prison, engulfed in dreadful quiet. Fred’s mother had made a weak offer of a cuppa, but he had politely refused. Mr Kast had still not spoken a word and just stared down at the wooden floor at his feet as if the ground he was on was the only thing he could face. There was not a glimpse of any evidence of Fred’s existence. No photos full of innocent, grinning faces of the Kast family on a road trip to Kerikeri. No photos of Fred as a baby crawling through the lush grass, full of life and the promise of a future. No awards or certificates from school for being, according to Ms Kate, “the politest, cheekiest and most well behaved little boy a teacher could ask for.” No rugby trophies, athletics ribbons, records of his sporting prowess. The first 17 happy, pure years of his life had been completely erased.

Fred made a decision without his screaming mind’s permission and opened the door of the Toyota hilux, dropping onto the gravel with a foreboding crunch. The fresh New Zealand air flowed through him, refreshing him and putting him slightly more at ease. The Whakaaio whanau had moved from their home in Auckland to a farm just outside of Kawakawa. Fred understood why. Having to live in the home where you brought up your deceased child would be unbearable. There was peace in this place, a peace that only this whenua could provide. The sun glowed bright and orange on the horizon, washing the fields and their wooly inhabitants in a golden hue. A fantail flittered down from the branches of the nearby totara tree and landed by his feet, looking up at him as if to ask what he was waiting for. He realised that it was time. Each step felt like he was walking on the moon. But as he got closer to the door, each step became lighter until it seemed as though that black wooden door and what lay behind it was destiny. He came to the threshold of the door where a faded mat wearily declared haere mai. 

The threshold between the Kasts house and the outside air had looked extremely inviting as Fred exited, after a further 5 or so minutes of silence, interrupted sporadically by meaningless small talk. Fred reached the front steps and hesitantly turned around to face his parents. Mrs Kast said an awkward goodbye and Fred nodded. He attempted a smile but his mother turned away. Mr Kast spoke for the first time, “maybe don’t come around again… just for a little while… alright mate?” Fred turned and walked away, his face not revealing how deep his father’s words had pierced him. He had hoped to be welcomed back by his parents with a warm embrace, but instead was received with the cold stares of two strangers. Fred couldn’t ignore that the smile lines around the corners of his mother’s eyes had faded, and when once his father’s eyes had had a slight twinkle in them, now they were only dull and sombre. He knew it was his fault. This was all his fault. A familiar lump formed in his throat, but he pushed it down like he always did. The past 8 years he had forced himself not to grieve, pushing it all down somewhere inside. He didn’t deserve to grieve. This was all his fault. It wasn’t prison that was the most painful, punishing thing that he had experienced in the last 8 years, it was the torture that he had put himself through. The guilt of it all. He had no right to grieve. Even if it was a horrible accident, manslaughter is manslaughter. He deserved the torture. All his fault.

Fred went over the words in his head. He expected the same mercilessness his parents had shown him and he was prepared for it and accepted it. Before he could raise his trembling hand to knock, the door swung open. They must have seen his ute in the drive, and they were waiting for him. Fred looked first in Mrs and then Mr Whakaaio’s eyes. What he saw there, he could never have prepared for. They weren't bitter, or vengeful. They weren’t full of the hate Fred believed he deserved. They seemed to be beckoning him, surrounding him with their understanding. Mr and Mrs Whakaaio’s faces were soft, their eyes and ears fixed fully on him with one arm around each other as if they were united in their eagerness to listen, to comfort. Fred tried to speak what language itself can never fully convey, 

“I-”

But his walls had been broken. The colossal weight of it all fell upon his shoulders and Fred gasped shakily as he collapsed onto his knees. A well seemed to burst up inside him and tears poured down his cheeks and splashed onto the threshold below. Deep, painful, overwhelming grief flooded his whole being, and waves of emotion shook his body. Guttural moans escaped his trembling lips. The grief that he had denied himself for so long could no longer be held down, and the realisation of the horror of it all came suddenly upon him. 

His best mate in the whole world was dead. Gone forever. He had lost his best friend, his brother. 

He had looked into the eyes of his mother and had seen nothing. No love. No mercy. Nothing. His own mother.

His father did not wish to see his son again. His own father. 

His own parents who had raised him with love and tenderness. 

His life, so full of life, love, promise, had been shattered completely. And here he was desperately trying to piece it back together. He had been a normal happy kid, from a normal happy family but in the blink of an eye that had changed. Nothing could ever go back to what it was. His life had been changed forever.

He had nothing left. No one left. No hope left.

He was hopeless.

There was a hand on his right shoulder, another on his left. He looked up and through the tears saw the faces of the Whakaaios, illuminated by the golden light. Their kind expressions pierced deeper than his father’s words ever could. 

“It’s alright.” Mrs Whakaaio said softly.

“It’s okay son, we’re here.” Mr Whakaaio whispered.

Fred only sobbed harder, and he lowered his head down to the ground, crushed by the weight of it all. Why were they acting like this? He deserved to be punished, he deserved to feel pain. His best friend, their son, was dead because of him. They should hate him. Why don’t they? 

“Fred.” Mrs Whakaaio said, her voice cracking.

The way she said his name seemed to suddenly halt his crying and he slowly raised his head.

There was a single tear rolling down Mr Whakaaio’s cheek, and he seemed to stare into Fred’s soul.

“We forgive you.”

With those three words spoken out into the cool evening air, something inexplainable happened. 

The weight seemed to slip off him. A strange, indescribable peace came over him. A peace that he had not experienced in such a long time. A peace that Fred had almost forgotten existed. 

The tui in the tree seemed to be singing it’s dusk song just for him. The crickets were chirping with excitement that he was there. The baa-ing sheep were calling him to join them in their grassy fields. The tranquility of it all astounded him. He felt... free.

Mr and Mrs Whakaaio helped him to his feet.

The smell of something delicious met his nostrils.

Mrs Whakaaio put her arm around him.

“Haere mai.” 

THE END

P.S.

I'm from New Zealand and so there may be some words that you don't understand, coming from different countries:

• Whanau - family
• Whenua - land
• Haere mai - welcome

There might be some other stuff that you don't understand but sorry I don't really know what else there is. Hope you can still get it.