Outrageous Fortune
September 4, 2010, 4.35 am, Christchurch, New Zealand. On this day, as the clock ticked a few seconds past the 35-minute mark, forces beneath the earth conspired to cause above-ground havoc the like of which this Antipodean city had never seen before. At this moment, a 7.1 magnitude earthquake was unleashed, an earthquake which changed the lives of everyone who experienced it.
Rachel’s feet hit the floor before her eyes were properly open. The shaking and noise were unlike anything she had experienced previously, but she knew without a doubt that it was an earthquake. Her brain argued for a brief moment, insisting the sound was a freight train approaching from the northwest side of the house, a runaway, speeding train on a collision course with her bed. Her mouth disagreed, shouting “Earthquake” in a voice unfamiliar to her.
Her partner, Matt, was slightly delayed in his reaction. As the house shuddered and creaked, and the floorboards rocked and rolled beneath her feet, Rachel watched Matt, as if in slow motion, push back the covers and climb out of bed to stand, naked and disorientated, beside the door.
“Get under the door frame,” she shouted, a long forgotten memory of a schoolyard earthquake drill resurfacing, as the earthquake continued to rumble and shake around them, above them, below them. In every direction she could hear the sounds of things falling, breaking, crashing, and rolling.
The movement stopped as abruptly as it had started. Shocked and dazed, Rachel and Matt clung to each other and gazed wide-eyed at the destruction. Somewhere, a heavy object fell to the ground, its final surrender to gravity curiously postponed until after the shaking had stopped. “What was that?” Matt still seemed to be half asleep, struggling to comprehend.
“Earthquake.” Rachel said again. She grabbed for first her robe and then her mobile phone. She pressed the button to light up the screen. “There’s no service.”
Matt was moving as if under water, slowly pulling his jeans on and searching for his sweatshirt. Rachel felt a contrasting mixture of annoyance and exhilaration, irritated by Matt’s seeming lack of action yet electrified and stimulated by the suddenness and power of the earthquake. She had to move her body. Quickly, she ran up the hallway, past the now-fallen photographs and pictures, hopping nimbly over the broken glass which lay strewn across the carpet. She switched on the light in the kitchen. No power.
“Matt?” Rachel squinted her eyes in the dim light. Sun-up was still hours away. “Where are the matches? I want to light some candles.” She heard his footsteps as he walked up the hall, the crunch of glass shards beneath his shoes, and then he was standing beside her.
They found the matches and lit a couple of candles, ineffectual little tea-lights which struggled to properly illuminate the chaos around them. The entire pantry was scattered across the floor, the sticky contents of broken jam jars mixing erratically with spilled flour, sauce bottles, and dented tins of beans. The dishwasher had jumped out of its alcove under the bench and stood strangely in the middle of the floor. The toaster was dangling from the bench, supported by the bungee-line of its electric cord, still plugged into the wall. Drawers and cupboards hung open, disgorging cutlery and broken crockery across the bench top and floor. “Shit.” It was the first word Matt had spoken.
Rachel took a cautious step towards the lounge room, holding one of the small candles in front of her. A sudden ominous sound, a low rumble, prefaced another earthquake as the room began to shake and buck. Rachel grabbed for Matt as their surroundings swayed with the impact of another tremor.
“Jesus. I didn’t know that earthquakes came in twos.” The words had barely left her lips when yet another earthquake, long and shuddering, rippled through the house.
“I’ll find the radio. I think it’s got batteries in it.” Matt gently unloosened Rachel’s grip on his arm and picked his way through the mess on the floor. Rachel stood still, waiting and listening. Were there more earthquakes coming?
Matt returned with the old paint-splattered radio. He placed it on the bench and swivelled a few knobs. Every station was either playing music or emitting the crackle of static. Matt dropped his hands by his side. “Nothing. I can’t find a station where people are actually talking. We have to find out what’s happening. Is your phone working yet?”
Rachel checked the screen again. No service. She shook her head. “Should we drive to Mum’s house? We should check on her.”
Matt was already at the door. Rachel bent her head and quickly blew out the candles. “I won’t get dressed. Come on, let’s go before another earthquake hits.”
Outside, the sky was starless and inky black. Something was different. Rachel looked around. The street lights. There were no street lights. She looked towards the Port Hills, the guardians of the city, always covered by tiny pinpricks of lights from the faraway houses nestling the slopes. For the first time in her living memory the hills were dark and unlit, now merely large hulking shadows against the inky skyline. “Matt, look at the Port Hills.” Her voice sounded too loud in the eerie stillness of the early morning.
“I can’t get the garage door open.” Matt was struggling with the fold-down door. “I think it’s buckled. It won’t shift.”
Rachel didn’t answer. She heard voices out on the street. She walked the short distance down the drive, pulling her robe tightly around her. The asphalt was rough and cold beneath her bare feet. Groups of neighbors stood about, their voices tense with shock, fear, and excitement. Annie, the young mother from the house next door, stood by her letterbox, her blanket-covered baby held tightly in her arms. “Are you ok, Annie?”
The young woman stared at her, her eyes wide. “It was awful! I thought it was a train. I’m too scared to go back inside. Mick is away at the moment. My phone isn’t working. I can’t get hold of him.”
Rachel turned back to look up the drive. Matt was still pulling at the door. She could hear his curses from here. She smiled at Annie reassuringly. “Do you want to come and sit with us?”
Annie sniffed and nodded, rocking her whimpering baby gently. “Ok.”
The women walked back up towards the house. Matt stood watching them, his arms crossed. “I don’t know how we’re going to get the car out,” he said. “I can’t even get into the garage to get to the tools I need to open the door.”
“Don’t worry. We can’t do anything much until it’s daylight. Maybe once the sun is up Annie can drive you to the hardware store.” Rachel fleetingly wondered if the rising of the sun would bring any normality to the city.
Over the few days, the government of New Zealand scrambled to create order among the chaos. They announced to the people of Christchurch that damage to their houses and properties would be covered by payments from the Earthquake Commission (EQC), an entity established in 1945 to cover natural disasters. The EQC was funded, and continues to be funded, by levies paid by insurance policy holders.
Damage sustained to houses and properties varied considerably, with many houses rendered immediately unlivable. Other home owners were lucky to escape with only minor damages. However, underneath all the turmoil and fear and uncertainty, a small undercurrent of avarice was forming. It did not take people long to realize that they were required to provide very little evidence of damage in order to make a claim.
The EQC, overwhelmed by the sudden deluge of claims, some on a massive scale, struggled to cope. The process of making a claim was simplified to the process of the homeowner compiling a list and assigning a value to each item lost or irrevocably damaged, and by supplying a photograph of the claimed-for item.
A few weeks after the September 4 earthquake Rachel joined a few of her co-workers at the lunch room table. As always, talk was centered on earthquake news. She sat down quietly, not wishing to interrupt the discussion, and opened her lunch bag.
“Kathy used the same photo. She got her check in the mail yesterday. I guess she will be TV shopping this weekend.” Samantha was finishing her story.
Everyone at the table laughed. Rachel looked around the group. “What’s this about?”
“The TV photo which everyone is using. No-one at the EQC is questioning it. They’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
Rachel unwrapped her sandwich. “What TV photo?”
John leaned forward. “Was your television damaged during the earthquake?”
Rachel shook her head. “No, the TV was fine. Which is surprising. It moved a couple of inches on the TV cabinet, but it didn’t fall over.” She took a bite of her sandwich.
“Is it one of those older, solid TVs? Not one of the new slim-line LEDs?” John had a knowing look on his face.
“Hell no. It’s an old thing. I kind of wish it had fallen off the table and broken. It would have been nice to get a new TV.”
“Kathy’s old television didn’t fall over either. Most of us have those old, heavy TVs that didn’t fall over and break.” Samantha looked at Rachel steadily, waiting for her words to sink in.
Rachel stopped still, her sandwich held in mid-air. “So you mean that Kathy used a photo of someone else’s broken TV in her claim? That’s cunning! Who would’ve thought of doing such a thing?”
John sat back in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankle. “A lot of people,” he said. “The same photo has been used by at least six people that I personally know of.” He winked. “Seven, if you count me.”
Rachel put her uneaten sandwich down on the paper bag. She looked around the table. “Are you all serious?”
Samantha shrugged. She screwed up her sandwich wrapping and stood up. “Depends how you look at it. We’ve all been paying into the EQC for years without making a claim.”
She threw the balled-up paper into the rubbish bin and sauntered out of the kitchen.
February 22, 2011. At 12.51 pm, as the citizens of Christchurch rushed through their busy lunch hours, the city was once again rocked by a large earthquake, this one measuring 6.3 on the Richter scale. This time, the earth was not quite so forgiving. 185 people lost their lives and several thousand more were injured. The city recoiled and huddled in shock. Many of the remaining historic buildings fell to their knees or were rendered repairable. The once noble city and modern of Christchurch was a virtual ruin.
Over the coming weeks, as the city counted its dead and assessed what remained of its buildings, the citizens re-evaluated their lives. It was a terrible time. However, through it all, the matter of how simple it was to acquire a new television set continued to hold sway, the knowledge a small win for the shell-shocked citizens.
Rachel sat at her desk and laughed as she read the nation’s foremost current affairs website. She looked up from her laptop. “Hey Matt, listen to this. According to the latest figures, after the February 2011 earthquake new television sales in Christchurch increased by 80%.” She looked at him, then glanced over at their new 55 inch LED television. It was anchored to the wall by a small silver chain, a tactic to provide security and prevent toppling in case of another ’quake. Closing her computer, Rachel got up and walked across the room to join Matt on the sofa in front of the telly.