The Parihaka Woman

  By the time the meal had been served, he was already stupefied with liquor. He began to sing a drunken ditty.

  Hat man nicht auch Gold beineben,

  kann man nicht ganz glücklich sein —

  Rocco was also smoking a cigar, waving it around in the air and sprinkling ash all over the food. In a temper, Marzelline pulled the cigar from his mouth and threw it out the window.

  ‘Du kannst gehen,’ she told him. ‘Geh! You can go, now, and smoke your stinking cigars in your lighthouse.’ She turned on Erenora, her temper overflowing with some imagined slight. ‘And you too, Jüngling, geh doch! I wish I’d never met you.’

  The atmosphere was so strained that escaping it was a relief. Erenora went to the barn where, for want of something to do, she began to groom Napoleon. Afterwards, she climbed to the loft. From her window she could see the light in Marzelline’s bedroom and, on the lighthouse’s platform was Rocco, singing his drunken heart out.

  Traurig schleppt sich fort das Leben,

  Mancher Kummer stellt sich ein —

  Suddenly Rocco gave a yelp; the sound of a crash followed. Rushing outside, Erenora saw that Rocco had tripped and fallen on the platform.

  Marzelline opened her window. ‘I don’t care if Papa is hurt. He can stay in the lighthouse for all I care.’ Slam.

  Erenora sped to the lighthouse, climbed to the third storey and saw, with relief, that Rocco was okay. He had managed to sit up and when Erenora tried to persuade him to go inside, pushed her away. By now he was maudlin. ‘I don’t want you. I want my Liebling … meinen Liebling …’ He looked at Erenora and pulled her close. ‘My Liebling … such a beautiful baby …’ His breath was reeking with alcohol. ‘What happened to her was all my fault …’

  Then Rocco told Erenora how Marzelline came to be crippled.

  4.

  Rocco was on top of the world.

  He had been panning the Shotover River for a year, drawn to his particular claim by the story of two Maori who had found gold nearby. One was a renowned swimmer who dived in to rescue his dog on the opposite bank. Where the dog was, the Maori also found gold, and he took 300 ounces in one afternoon. The location was forever after known as Maori Point.

  Rocco’s own pannings were not as substantial but they were sufficient enough for him to take a trip, every now and then, to Charlestown at nearby Skippers Canyon. There, the gold was weighed at the assayer’s office and a note issued for him to deposit in the bank. He wasn’t like other men, greedy for wealth; very soon he planned to sell the claim to someone else and take Lotte back to Ranzau. ‘Perhaps your parents will welcome us back, now that I am a man of means,’ he told her.

  ‘No, Rocco,’ she answered, ‘the fault was never yours. It was mine for choosing to leave them.’

  Nevertheless, Rocco was determined to try for reconciliation with Lotte’s parents. After all, they had a granddaughter now.

  Doch wenn’s in den Taschen fein klinget und rollt,

  Da hält man das Schicksal gefangen —

  Whenever Rocco went into town, Lotte always accompanied him. It was the middle of autumn, and Charlestown was loud and busy. Rocco was delighted at the price he was offered for his gold dust. He set about replenishing his supplies and joined a few other miners who were drinking at one of the pubs. When he rejoined Lotte, he was filled with love at her own delight: at the local dry goods store she had found some pretty fabric to make into a skirt for herself and a matching one for Marzelline. ‘And I found these for you, Rocco,’ she told him as she showed him two cigars.

  Rocco saw that the sky was changing colour, blanched, as if it was about to faint. He had left their departure a little late. ‘We had better head home,’ he said. Marzelline was sleeping, so Lotte placed her in blankets on the buckboard and stepped up on the cart beside Rocco.

  As they drove out of town, Lotte told Rocco, ‘I have a good husband and a lovely child. No woman could want more in her life.’ She threaded an arm in his.

  Macht und Liebe verschafft dir das gold,

  Und stillet das kuhnste Verlangen —

  It was a blessed afternoon and the trees were ablaze with red and golden leaves. Rocco, however, was somewhat disconcerted by the weather. The air had dried out, as if sucked of moisture, and the sky had now turned a virulent white. There was a lot of static in the atmosphere and even the two horses were becoming skittish.

  It all happened so quickly. One of the wheels dropped off the cart; it tipped, dragging the rear axle, and Lotte almost tumbled out. She gave a little squeal and then a laugh, ‘What’s happening?’ She heard Marzelline crying. ‘Have you had a fright, Liebling?’ she smiled. While Rocco brought the horses to a halt, she climbed carefully over the seat to comfort her daughter.

  The cart had come to rest on a bluff overlooking the river. The road wound around the cliff and, in the distance, Rocco could see his claim. Humming, he stepped down, preparing to prop up the axle and repair the wheel.

  The lightning came from nowhere. The air crackled and danced all around the cart, sparking along the iron frame, traces and even the hooves of the horses. The animals took fright and bolted. ‘Nein,’ Rocco screamed, ‘Nein.’ He began to pursue the runaway cart, glimpsing Lotte’s frightened face as she held Marzelline in her arms. ‘Rocco? Rocco!’

  There was a corner ahead. The horses, blinded by the lightning, went straight over the edge of the cliff, dragging the cart with them.

  For a moment there was silence. The sun came out, flooding the landscape with golden light. A bird even began to sing. And then, faintly, Rocco heard Lotte calling, far away, and he stumbled to the cliff and looked down. The cart had come to rest at the edge of the river. One of the horses had broken its neck in the fall. The other was still in the traces, kicking and trying to get up.

  ‘Oh, Lotte,’ Rocco whimpered. He clambered and fell down the incline. The cart was lying on top of her and Marzelline. Where he got the strength from he didn’t know but as he pulled the cart off his beloved wife she gave a gasp and blood poured from her mouth. She coughed, labouring to breathe, and words struggled up from her throat, ‘Is Marzelline all right?’

  The little girl was unconscious, but breathing — and her legs were crushed.

  Tears shone in Lotte’s eyes. ‘I thought I would be here to look after you both always,’ she wept. Every word was accompanied by a small gout of blood. ‘I thought I …’ She was desperate to say more, but the blood was in the way. Rocco was looking into her eyes when she sighed, and then she was gone.

  Rocco unhitched the remaining horse, wrapped Marzelline in her blanket and rode as fast as he could back to Skippers. The doctor took one look at her legs and said, ‘I will have to take them off at the knees.’

  The next day, Rocco buried Lotte in the cemetery in the town. There weren’t many mourners: the doctor and his wife, a scattering of townspeople who came out of respect. The afternoon after the service, he signed over his claim to a neighbouring miner. ‘I don’t want money for it,’ he told him. When Marzelline recovered from her operation, he purchased a buggy and took her away with him.

  So Rocco’s wanderings began. He decided not to return to Ranzau but instead set out for Dunedin. It was difficult for a man with a small child to find a job that suited — he wouldn’t let anybody mind her. Eventually, he found the position of lighthouse keeper. This gave him the isolation he craved for himself and his daughter.

  Marzelline didn’t speak until she was six. When she did her first words were clear and concise. ‘Wirst du mir vergeben, Papa? Will you forgive me?’

  5.

  Rocco’s mood changed from maudlin to morose. He began to sing more wildly, the words spat out with bitterness and loathing.

  Das Glück dient wie ein Knecht für Sold,

  Es ist ein schünes Ding das Gold —

  Having heard Rocco’s story, Erenora was reminded of her own mother, Miriam, deprived, like Lotte Sonnleithner, of the chance to watch her daughter grow into womanhood.
r />   Exhaustion made Rocco turn from his singing and the memories and look at Erenora. ‘I am not a good man, Eruera. Because of me, my own wife died. I crippled my daughter and now … now I am to be made complicit in something just as terrible.’

  ‘Yes?’ Erenora answered, holding her breath.

  ‘The rumour is true,’ he said. ‘I am not only a lighthouse keeper, Eruera. I am also a gaoler.’ He was almost asleep on his feet, groaning from drunkenness.

  Erenora stifled a cry, then fiercely she began to shake him. ‘You have a prisoner here?’

  Rocco stirred, and shook his head to revive himself. ‘I have never liked the job,’ he slurred, ‘but I am well paid. The man was a political agitator, one of your own kind, so that was my reason for agreeing to keep him under my care. He was shipped to the island in great secrecy. His place of incarceration is a cave by the sea, at the bottom of a cliff on the other side of Peketua. I visit him once a week to take food to him. But not for much longer.’

  ‘What does he look like?’ It was lucky that Rocco was so inebriated. One glance at Erenora, and her love and concern for Horitana would have been revealed.

  ‘I have never seen his face,’ Rocco answered, belching. ‘He is padlocked into a silver thing. His suffering has often moved me but, after all, he must have done something really serious to merit such punishment. I am strictly forbidden to speak to him or help him. Even so, I have had some moments of weakness for the poor fellow — and I have gladly given him food and drink. It will soon be all over with him. Er sterb’ in seinen Ketten. He will die in his chains.’

  With a drunken gesture, Rocco gave Erenora the letter that Captain Demmer had handed to him:

  I am sending a man on a chartered vessel who will take care of your prisoner. You are to give him up to my man’s care. It is time for him to be added to my collection. In preparation, dig a grave for him.

  The signature made Erenora gasp. Piharo! So he was behind Horitana’s punishment.

  ‘What is the deed the writer speaks of?’ she asked Rocco.

  ‘Although he has paid me well to guard the prisoner,’ Rocco began, ‘I draw the line at murder.’

  ‘Murder?’ The word froze Erenora’s blood.

  ‘For the past year he has been sweetening my position by offering me an extra purse if I kill the prisoner. In letter after letter he has ordered me to take on the job of executioner. He has fulminated against me, accusing me of lacking courage. I have refused to comply. Now he sends a cut-throat to do his purpose.’

  Erenora watched Rocco as he subsided into his self-pity.

  ‘Whatever happens will happen,’ he groaned, ‘and who knows when this man will come? Tomorrow or the day after? Meantime, I had better attend to the lantern.’

  ‘No, mein Herr,’ Erenora answered. ‘I will take over looking after the lighthouse for the night. You go to bed.’

  ‘Where?’ Rocco asked. ‘Marzelline is certain to have locked me out. By the way, she knows nothing of this. Eruera, I warn you, do not tell her. I would not want her to think less of me. I am her father, not a killer.’

  ‘I will take you to the barn now,’ Erenora nodded. ‘Can you stand up?’ She put her shoulders under his arms to help him. The changed position made Rocco vomit. ‘Ach, I am sorry, Eruera.’ But after that he was better able to stagger with her through the trapdoors and down the stairs. ‘You are a good boy,’ he said. ‘No wonder my daughter is fond of you.’

  Together, under the moonlight, they wove their way towards the barn. They paused at an outside pump where Rocco washed his face and mouth, trying to recover.

  ‘I am sorry, Eruera,’ he said.

  Panting, Erenora helped him to the barn, pushed him up to the loft and put him to bed. She hoped he would soon fall asleep. She needed time to think, to come up with a plan. But in his drunken stupor, Rocco looked at her, dazed and puzzled. ‘Eruera …’ Before Erenora could stop him, Rocco kissed her. It was not a kiss of friendship and nor was it pleasant, tasting acrid and bitter. Propelled by some need for expiation, it was deep and long.

  And moaning with sexual need and desire, Rocco began to pull Erenora down into his powerful arms.

  ‘Nein,’ she said. Her voice was sharp, like a rifle shot.

  Rocco looked at her, horrified, and then fell back, dead drunk.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Marzelline’s Diary

  1.

  You can understand Rocco’s dilemma, can’t you, eh. He had sensed Erenora’s innate femininity.

  As for Marzelline, was it any wonder that she had fallen in love with Eruera? She was an impressionable young girl alone on an island where the only other men had been her father and the labourers he employed to help him; none of them had been a Jüngling.

  In Marzelline’s diary there’s an entry that shows her feelings for Eruera.

  ‘Mir ist so wunderbar, es engt das Herz mir ein. I feel so strange, my heart is gripped. I am in love! He is the Jüngling who came to help Papa in his lighthouse duties. His name is Eruera, and he is a Maori. I wish I could draw his portrait: he is slim and has wide shoulders tapering to a small waist. He is taller than me but not as tall as Papa.

  ‘Despite his dark colouring, Eruera is most handsome to me. He has glowing eyes and full lips and his hair is the shiniest I have ever seen on a man. O namenlose Pein! How I wish he would look kindly on me, not as a friend or as his employer’s daughter but as a sweetheart.

  ‘Does he have such thoughts for me? I must admit that there are times when he is holding me in his arms and looking into my eyes that I see … tenderness. Die Hoffnung schon erfüllt die Brust. Hope already fills my breast with inexpressible delight! How wonderful to imagine how we could be if we were … dare I say it … man and wife? In the peace of quiet domesticity we would wake in each other’s arms. Each day would be filled with joy and love. And the nights … I tremble to think of the delights we would find in each other! Ja, ja, er liebt mich, es ist klar, ich werde glücklich sein.’

  As for Erenora, her mind was in turmoil. In particular, she was seized with rage against Piharo.

  ‘Monster! How my blood boils at your cruel revenge! Did not the call of pity or the voice of humanity ever touch your vicious mind?’

  She began to sob, but then regained her composure. What was the use of spending precious time railing against Piharo? Gathering her strength, she drew courage from what she knew she had to do: rescue Horitana from the assassin and get him away before the chartered vessel arrived. If possible she would do it in the morning. She looked at the turbulent sea, and the dark furious night.

  ‘Yet, though hatred and anger storm through your soul like relentless ocean waves, Piharo, in me a rainbow arches over the dark sky.’

  She saw a star burst in the darkness. And now, look! It was creating a pathway through the dark.

  ‘Come, Hope,’ Erenora prayed. ‘Do not forsake me. Oh, star, brighten my goal. Let me not falter. Strengthen me in my resolve, Amine.’

  2.

  Erenora did not know that the government had decreed the release of Te Whiti and Tohu and, therefore, of all other Parihaka prisoners. Piharo must have feared that questions would be asked about Horitana’s whereabouts. It would be only a matter of time before the authorities traced him to Peketua Island.

  This was why Piharo decided to send an assassin.

  The next morning everyone was subdued. Rocco was groaning with a terrible headache. He heard Marzelline calling for him, ‘Papa? Where are you?’

  She was on her crutches and, when she saw him walking unsteadily from the barn she gave a cry of distress. ‘Oh, Papa, are you all right?’

  At breakfast, Marzelline was also apologetic to Erenora. ‘Sometimes I can be a bad girl,’ she said. When Erenora rewarded her with a smile of forgiveness Marzelline’s mood immediately lightened.

  Rocco was still feeling under the weather and staggered away to retch his guts out. When he returned he said, ‘Eruera! What did I do last night?’ He appeare
d to have no recollection of taking her in a passionate embrace, but he did recall showing Erenora the letter and taking her into his confidence. While Marzelline was busy in the kitchen he whispered, ‘I must go to the cave this morning,’ he said, ‘to prepare the prisoner’s grave. I am not feeling very well. Ach! It has to be done.’

  ‘Perhaps I can help you,’ Erenora suggested. ‘Would that make it easier for you?’ Had all her attempts at creating trust between them paid off?

  Rocco hesitated for a moment, then nodded. ‘Bring two shovels and a lamp.’

  Erenora could hardly believe the turn of events, or conceal her impatience. Once breakfast was over, she ran to the barn to collect the grave-digging implements. Rocco was waiting for her at the door of the cottage.

  Just before they left, Marzelline gave a huge cry and flung her arms around Erenora. Her eyes, so blue with the sea and sky, brimmed with tears. ‘Eruera! Eruera!’

  Erenora looked at her, uncomprehending, but held her tight and stroked her long, silky hair.

  ‘I have a feeling I will never see you again,’ Marzelline said plaintively. As Rocco and Erenora left, she waved from the doorway, waving, waving until they could no longer see her.

  ‘The day turned wet and merciless. All the way across the island, the weather was stormy. Ka patupatu taku manawa, my heart was pounding with fear, joy and trepidation. I could not believe that very soon my quest for Horitana would be over. What would I do if it wasn’t him? It had to be him!