The second event happened one night when Koro Apirana was having a tribal meeting at the house. He had asked all the men to be there, including me and the boys. We crowded into the sitting room and after prayer and a welcome speech, he got down to business. He said he wanted to begin a regular instruction period for the men so that we would be able to learn our history and our customs. Just the men, he added, because men were sacred. Of course the instruction wouldn’t be like in the old days, not as strict, but the purpose would be the same: to keep the Maori language going, and the strength of the tribe. It was important, he said, for us to be so taught. The lessons would be held in the meeting house and would begin the following week.
Naturally we all agreed. Then, in the relaxed atmosphere that always occurs after a serious discussion, Koro Apirana told us of his own instruction years ago under the guidance of a priest. One story followed another, and we were all enthralled because the instruction had mainly taken the form of tests or challenges which he had to pass: tests of memory, as in remembering long lines of genealogy; tests of dexterity, wisdom, physical and psychological strength. Among them had been a dive into deep water to retrieve a carved stone dropped there by the priest.
‘There were so many tests,’ said Koro Apirana, ‘and some of them I did not understand. But I do know the old man had the power to talk to the beasts and creatures of the sea. Alas, we have lost that power now. Finally, near the end of my training, he took me into his hut. He put out his foot and pointing to the big toe, said “Bite.” So I did, and —’
Suddenly, Koro Apirana broke off. A look of disbelief spread over his face. Trembling, he peered under the table, and so did we. Kahu was there. Somehow she had managed to crawl unobserved into the room. Koro Apirana’s toes must have looked juicy to her because there she was, biting on his big toe and making small snarling sounds as she played with it, like a puppy with a bone. Then she looked up at him, and her eyes seemed to say, ‘Don’t think you’re leaving me out of this.’
We were laughing when we told Nanny Flowers.
‘I don’t know what’s so funny,’ she said sarcastically, ‘Kahu could have gotten poisoned. But good on her to take a bite at the old man. Pity she doesn’t have any teeth.’
Koro Apirana, however, was not so amused and now I understand why.
seven
The next time Kahu came to us she was two years old. She came with Porourangi, who had a lovely woman called Ana with him. It looked like they were in love. But Nanny Flowers had eyes only for Kahu.
‘Thank goodness,’ Nanny Flowers said after she had embraced Kahu, ‘you’ve grown some hair.’
Kahu giggled. She had turned into a bright button-eyed little girl with shining skin. She wanted to know where her grandfather was.
‘The old paka,’ said Nanny Flowers. ‘He’s been in Wellington on Maori Council business. But he comes back on the bus tonight. We’ll go and pick him up.’
We had to smile, really, because Kahu was so eager to see Koro Apirana. She wriggled and squirmed all the way into town. We bought her a soft drink but she didn’t want it, preferring water instead. Then, when the bus arrived and Koro Apirana stepped off with other Council officials, she ran at him with a loud, infectious joy in her voice. I guess we should have expected it, but it was still a surprise to hear her greeting to him. For his part, he stood there thunderstruck, looking for somewhere to hide.
Oh the shame, the embarrassment, as she flung herself into his arms, crying, ‘Oh, Paka. You home now, you Paka. Oh, Paka.’
He blamed us all for that, and he tried to persuade Kahu to call him ‘Koro’, but Paka he was, and Paka he became forever after.
Being a big chief, Koro Apirana was often called to meetings all over the country to represent us. He had the reputation of being stern and tyrannical and because of this many people were afraid of him. ‘Huh,’ Nanny Flowers used to say, ‘they should face me and then they’ll know all about it.’ But me and the boys had a grudging admiration for the old fella. He might not always be fair but he was a good fighter for the Maori people. Our pet name for our Koro was ‘Super Maori’ and, even now, telephone boxes still remind me of him. We used to joke: ‘If you want help at Bastion Point, call Super Maori. If you want a leader for your Land March, just dial Whangara 214K. If you want a man of strength at a Waitangi protest, phone the Maori Man of Steel.’ Mind you, he wasn’t on our side when we protested against the Springbok Tour but then that just shows you the kind of man he was: his own boss. ‘Right or wrong,’ Nanny Flowers would add.
The meeting that Koro Apirana had attended was about the establishment of Kohanga Reo, or language nests, where young children could learn the Maori language. The adult version was the language school, the regular instruction of the kind which Koro Apirana had established a year before in Whangara. Although we weren’t that well educated, the boys and I enjoyed the lessons every weekend. It soon became obvious that Kahu did also. She would sneak up to the door of the meeting house and stare in at us.
‘Go away,’ Koro Apirana would thunder. Quick as a flash Kahu’s head would bob away. But slowly we would see it again, like a spiny sea urchin. I suspect that Kahu overheard more than we thought. I am certain she must have been there when we learnt that man was once able to talk, to communicate, with whales. After all, Paikea must have had to tell his whale where to come.
The whale has always held a special place in the order of things, even before those times of Paikea. That was way back, after the Sky Father and Earth Mother had been separated, when the god children of both parents divided up between themselves the various Kingdoms of the Earth. It was the Lord Tangaroa who took the Kingdom of the Ocean; he was second in rank only to the Lord Tane, the Father of Man and the Forests, and so was established by them the close kinship of man with the inhabitants of the ocean, and of land with sea. This was the first communion.
Then the Lord Tangaroa appointed the triad of Kiwa, Rona and Kaukau to assist his sovereign rule: Kiwa to be guardian of the southern ocean, Rona to help control the tides and Kaukau to aid the welfare of the sea’s denizens. To the triad, two other guardians from the Kingdom of the Land, Takaaho and Te Pu-whakahara, brought a special suit: their offspring had been given lakes to live in, but they preferred to roam the freedom of the sea. The suit was accepted, and this was how sharks and whales were granted habitation of the ocean.
From the very beginning the whale was grateful for this release and this was why the whale family, the Wehenga-kauiki, became known as the helpers of men lost at sea. Whenever asked, the whale would attend the call, as long as the mariner possessed the necessary authority and knew the way of talking to whales.
But as the world aged and man grew away from his godliness, he began to lose the power of speech with whales, the power of interlock. So it was that the knowledge of whalespeaking was given only to a few. One of these was our ancestor, Paikea.
Then came the time when Paikea asked his whale to bring him to our land, far to the south, and it was done.
As for the whale itself, some people say the whale was transformed into an island; viewed from the highway to Tolaga Bay, the island certainly does look like a whale breaking through the water.
The years went by, and the descendants of Paikea increased on the land and always paid homage to their ancestor and the whale island. In those days there was still communion with the Gods and a close relationship between land inhabitants and ocean inhabitants. Whenever man wished to cross the border between his kingdom and that of the ocean he would honour Tangaroa by making offerings of seaweed, or fish or birds. And when Tangaroa granted man good fishing, man would return the first fish of the catch to the sea god as acknowledgement that his welfare was only by leave of Tangaroa. So it was that ceremonials of respect were employed between man and sea. For instance, fishing was sacred and women therefore did not go out with the men, and fishing grounds became steeped in special rituals to ensure their bounty. And even the shark, in those days, was a hel
per to man unless man had transgressed a sacred law.
Until the time came when man turned on the beast which had been companion to him and the whalekilling began.
That night, after the school on the whales, I arrived home to find Nanny Flowers out on the verandah with Kahu in her arms, rocking back and forth, back and forth.
‘Rawiri, what happened down there?’ she asked, jerking her head at the meeting house. I saw Kahu rubbing small fists against her eyes.
‘Nothing,’ I answered. ‘Why?’
‘This kid has been sobbing her heart out,’ Nanny Flowers said. She paused. ‘Did the old paka growl at her?’
Ever since the school had started, Nanny Flowers had been chucking off at Koro Apirana. While she agreed that the instruction should take place, she couldn’t help feeling affronted about the exclusion of women. ‘Them’s the rules,’ Koro Apirana had told her. ‘I know, but rules are made to be broken,’ she had replied in a huff. So, every first Saturday of the month, she would start to play up and pick on Koro Apirana. ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ he would say. ‘Te mea te mea.’
‘He didn’t growl at Kahu any more than usual,’ I answered. ‘he just doesn’t like her hanging around when we have the school, that’s all.’
Nanny Flowers compressed her lips. I could tell that rebellion was ready to boil over inside her. Then she said to me, ‘Well you take this kid with you somewhere because I’m going to have a word with Koro Api when he gets back, the old paka.’
I must admit that I was brassed off, having Kahu shoved at me like that. I was planning on taking my darling Cheryl Marie to the movies. So I phoned her up to explain that I had to look after a baby.
‘Oh yeah,’ my darling said sarcastically. ‘And I suppose she’s not five foot two with eyes of blue.’ Cheryl was jealous of my other darling, Rhonda Anne.
‘No,’ I said. ‘My baby is you. Eyes of brown and lives in town.’
Would you believe it, my darling hung up on me? So what else could I do except take Kahu to the movies instead. The boys laughed when I zoomed up to the Majestic with my substitute ‘date’ under my leather jacket, but the girls loved her. ‘Oh isn’t she gorgeous? Isn’t she sweet?’ Yuk. I could see a mile off that the girls were also assessing whether I had now become marrying material. No way.
The movie had already started. Children weren’t supposed to see it, but the darkness made it easier to sneak Kahu in. What I hadn’t realised, however, was that the main feature was about a whale being hunted through Antarctic waters. Everything was fine, really, for most of the film, because Kahu soon fell asleep. Having her curled up so close to me made me feel protective, like a father, I guess, and I think my bonding to her was confirmed that night. I felt I should look after her till the world ended; every now and then, I would open my jacket and sneak a look at her tiny face, so wan in the light of the flickering film. And a lump would come to my throat and I would think to myself, ‘No, Kahu, I won’t forget you, ever.’
Then the final tragedy of the movie began. The whale, wounded, was dying in its own blood. The soundtrack was suddenly filled with the sound of the whale in its death throes: long, echoing, sighing phrases which must have been recorded from real whales. The sound was strange and utterly sad. No wonder when I looked at Kahu she had woken from sleep, and tears were again tracking down her face. Not even a lolly would help to pacify her.
Nanny Flowers and Koro Apirana had finished their argument by the time I returned home, but the atmosphere was as frozen as the Antarctic wasteland in the film.
‘He’s sleeping in the bunkhouse with you tonight,’ Nanny Flowers told me, jerking her head at Koro Apirana. ‘I’ve had enough of him. Divorce tomorrow, I mean it this time.’ Then she remembered something and after taking Kahu from me, screwed my ears. Ouch. ‘And that’ll teach you to take my grandchild gallivanting all over the place. I’ve been scared to death. Where’d you go?’
‘To the movies.’
‘To a picture?’ Bang came her open hand over my head. ‘And then where!’
‘Down the beach.’
‘The beach?’ I ducked her hand (Ha ha, ha ha, you missed me, you missed —) but kick came her foot to my behind. ‘Don’t you do that again!’ She hugged Kahu tightly and took her into hers and Koro Apirana’s bedroom and slam went the door.
I thought of my darling, Cheryl Marie. ‘Looks like both of us lucked out tonight,’ I said to Koro Apirana.
Half way through the night I suddenly remembered something. I tried to wake Koro Apirana, snoring beside me, but he only tried to snuggle up to me, saying ‘Flowers, darling wife …’ So I edged away from him quickly and sat there, staring through the window at the glowing moon.
I had wanted to tell Koro Apirana that on our way back from the movie, the boys and I had gone up to the Point at Sponge Bay. The sea had looked like crinkled silver foil smoothed right out to the edge of the sky.
‘Hey!’ one of the boys had said, pointing. ‘There’s orca.’
It had been uncanny, really, seeing those killer whales slicing stealthily through the sea, uncanny and disturbing as a dream.
Even more strange, though, was that Kahu had begun to make eerie sounds in her throat. I swear that those long lamenting sighs of hers were exactly the same as I had heard in the movie theatre. It sounded as if she was warning them.
The orca suddenly dived.
Hui e, haumi e, taiki e.
Let it be done.
eight
The following summer, when Kahu was three, was dry and dusty on the Coast. Koro Apirana was concerned about our drinking water and was considering at one point bringing it in by road tanker. One of the boys suggested that the sweetest water was DB light brown and that the hotel up at Tatapouri would be happy to deliver it free. Another of the boys added that we’d have to escort it to Whangara because, for sure, someone would want to do a Burt Reynolds and hijack it.
Into all this rough and tumble of our lives, Kahu brought a special radiance. Koro Apirana was as grumpy with her as ever but, now that Porourangi was home, and now that the school sessions were attracting young boys for him to teach, he seemed to bear less of a grudge against her for being a girl and the eldest grandchild.
‘Don’t blame Kahu,’ Nanny Flowers used to growl. ‘If your blood can’t beat my Muriwai blood that’s your lookout.’
‘Te mea te mea,’ Koro Apirana would reply. ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’
In particular, Koro Apirana had discovered three sons from royal bloodlines to whom he hoped to pass the mantle of knowledge. And from the corner of his eye, he could see that Porourangi and his new girlfriend, Ana, were growing very fond of each other. Now she didn’t have any Muriwai blood so, you never knew, Porourangi might come up with a son yet.
Under these conditions, the love which Kahu received from Koro Apirana was the sort that dropped off the edge of the table, like breadcrumbs after everybody else has had a big feed. But Kahu didn’t seem to mind. She ran into Koro Apirana’s arms whenever he had time for her and took whatever he was able to give. If he had told her he loved dogs I’m sure she would have barked, ‘Woof woof’. That’s how much she loved him.
Summer is always shearing season for us and that summer the boys and I got a contract to shear for the local farmers around the Coast. On the first few mornings when Kahu was at home I would see her staring at us over the windowsill as we left. Her eyes seemed to say, ‘Hey, don’t forget about me, Uncle Rawiri.’ So one morning I made her life happy.
‘I think I’ll take Kahu to the shed with me,’ I said to Nanny Flowers.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ Nanny Flowers said. ‘She’ll drown in the dip.’
‘No. No. She’ll be all right. Eh, Kahu?’
Kahu’s eyes were shining. ‘Oh yes. Can I go, Nanny?’
‘All right then,’ Nanny Flowers grumbled. ‘But tomorrow you have to be my mate in the vegetable garden. Okay?’
So it was that Kahu became the mascot for me and the boys and it only seemed
natural, after a while, for us to take her with us wherever we went — well, most places anyway and only when Nanny Flowers didn’t want her to help in the garden.
But that first night I got my beans from the old lady.
‘Hoi,’ she said, and bang came her hand. ‘What did you do with Kahu at the shed? She’s tuckered out.’
‘Nothing,’ I squealed. Biff came her fist at my stomach. ‘She just helped us sheepo and sweep the board and press the wool and pick up the dags and —’
Swish came the broom. ‘Yeah,’ Nanny Flowers said. ‘And I’ll bet all you beggars were just lying back and having a good smoke.’
You could never win with Nanny Flowers.
At that time the school sessions were proving to be very popular. All of us felt the need to understand more about our roots. But Nanny Flowers still grumbled whenever we had our hui. She would sit with Kahu in her arms, rocking in the chair on the verandah, watching the men walk past.
‘There go the Ku Klux Klan,’ she would say loudly so that we could all hear.
Poor Kahu, she could never keep away from our school. She would always try to listen in at the doorway to the meeting house.
‘Go away,’ Koro Apirana would thunder. But there was one school that Kahu could not eavesdrop on, and that was the one which Koro Apirana led when he took us out in a small flotilla of fishing boats to have a lesson on the sea.
‘In our village,’ Koro Apirana told us, ‘we have always endeavoured to live in harmony with Tangaroa’s kingdom and the guardians therein. We have made offerings to the sea god to thank him and when we need his favour, and we have called upon our guardians whenever we are in need of help. We have blessed every new net and new line to Tangaroa. We have tried not to take food with us in our boats when we fish because of the sacred nature of our task.’