The Paua Tower by Coral Atkinson Page A

thought of Jesus saying ‘The poor, they are always with us’ and wondered if the maxim offered some justification for what he wanted to do. Perhaps being human brought with it permission for occasional indulgence; maybe there was evena sermon in it: ‘God’s expectations and how much denial is required’. Having to go on, week in, week out, with nothing he really enjoyed, nothing achieved, nothing uniquely his, seemed too much of a burden for anyone. Roland had imagined that in Matauranga he’d find a sense of place, leadership, people coming to him for advice, counsel, help, but it hadn’t happened. He’d done his best, encouraged the parish to support those in need, and worked to see the St Peter’s depot was accessible and generous with furniture and bedding, while the town rolled in on itself, and Roland was ignored. Sometimes he felt jealous of the Salvation Army with their simple messages and catchy tunes. People listened when the Sallies spoke. When Roland stood in the pulpit there was tired attention, but he doubted anyone was touched or had their lives set on fire.
    Then there was the matter of Mrs Baldwin. There was a wrinkle in Roland’s thoughts when it came to Amélie. He pushed the matter aside. His response to the bank manager’s wife was not something he wanted to investigate; easier to focus his guilty musings on the morality of spending the weekly florin.
    Roland was sure he should pray. He folded his hands and tried to concentrate on
The Light of the World
, which hung above the sofa. He remembered how the image of the saviour with his gentle rat-ta-tat on the sin-choked door of the human heart once moved him. Now the androgynous-looking Christ, with his fearful, shifty eyes, stared at Roland with disdain.
    Roland sighed and picked up his Bible. He let it fall open randomly, hoping for inspiration.
    ‘How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights!’
    Roland had no doubt it referred to Mrs Baldwin. Better not to try to unravel what the words might tell him.

    The Paua Tower rose out of the surrounding paddocks, a solitary spire bright as the burning bush. And its colours … Some described them in terms of feathers and birds — kingfisher,peacocks, a hint of the military plumage of kea and the ascorbic greens of mountain parrots. Others, the skites, keen to show their knowledge of precious stones, were all for jewels — sapphire, iolates, turquoise, emeralds, lapis lazuli, amethysts.
    But regardless of metaphor, there was general agreement that the tower was spectacular.
    The
New Zealand Tourist Wonderland
, after declaring it ‘breathtaking’ and ‘a must for every visitor’ to the region, went on to explain how:
    The 65-foot tower, built by townspeople, honours a brave Matauranga lad, Corporal Melvin Carey, First New Zealand Contingent, who died of wounds in Slingersfontein in January 1900. The structure, which is entirely covered in polished fragments of the iridescent paua shell
(Haliotis iris),
has always occupied a special place in the hearts of Matauranga people.
    The guidebook, while correct in general, was wrong on particulars: the tower was in fact an entirely private enterprise, solely constructed by a disabled farmer, Andrew Carey, as a memorial to his dead son. Far from being supportive, local opinion had, for the entire thirteen-year construction, pronounced both the project and its instigator mad, with the result that Carey spent much of his time labouring on the tower, surrounded by urchins who threw clods at him from behind the stand of cabbage trees and called derisive comments about ‘Loony Andy’, as he was still known.
    Carey had suffered a serious accident when a piece of fencing wire whipped back under pressure and partially severed his neck, leaving his head perpetually on an angle and slightly injuring his vocal cords. He had neither sought nor welcomed the support of the community. The tower was his obsession, built on his own land, and in the early