Show Me a Huia!

by Chris Barfoot

  But that was not all. The knuckles of his hands on the tokotoko stiffened and whitened.

  Three years ago he had seen it, the tutumaiao. It was over those same ranges. He remembered the screams from the women and the fear he felt as he and the other elders huddled together in its eerie red glow.

  He remembered how the whole settlement was filled with accusations as each family accused the other of a breach of tapu. Who had been careless and built on an urupa or burial ground or disregarded a sacred place, a wahi tapu? He and the other elders had tried to calm the people and had searched a long time for the defilement. But they had found nothing.

  Was it just a coincidence that in the last three years there had been two serious rafting accidents on the Motu, both involving fatalities? People said that they had both been caused by the freak midday storms which thundered and flashed among those ominous towering rocky peaks in the heart of the ranges. He saw in his mind’s eye the turbulent swirling flash floods which would afterwards have surged down the dark and gloomy gorges into the Motu.

  Then there had been the pig hunters who had never returned, both experienced men, and the fishermen drowned off Pataratara, and the maize and the kumara crops which had failed.

  But now all this was to be set aside. The rediscovery of the royal bird was a good omen. The ceremony which they held for it would restore kotahitanga, the unity of all creation, the harmony of the spiritual forces. The huia was the bird of thunder which came from Whaitiri, the god of lightning, and the pet of Whaitiri’s grandson, Tawhaki, who with his companion bird, the kotuku, fetched the basket of knowledge from the upper heaven.

  There was trouble now with some of the Maori people, fortunately not with his people. The bird of thunder would intercede with Papa and Tane. It would bring Te Aomarama, the world of light, and the land would be healed.

  ***

  Kate, who came from a farm at Opotiki, had always taken an interest in Maoritanga. Boarding at a well-known Anglican school in Auckland, she had been surprised that there was no Maori language and customs course. However, at Auckland University she was able to take this course as part of her commerce degree. After her graduation she had spent two years in London at the head office of a large multinational accounting firm. Returning to New Zealand she had obtained a position in the Auckland branch of this firm and was now an audit manager.

  A few days after the announcement of the rediscovery she had had a call from the conservator of the Wildlife Service at Auckland with which she was involved as a volunteer. “We’re getting together a programme about the huia to show around schools and other groups. We’ve been flooded with requests. One of the things we want to talk about is the significance to the Maori. I know you’re up with Maoritanga. Would you mind giving us a hand with the advocacy side?”

  “I’d like to do it,” she had replied, “but my holidays are taken up with helping you chaps ringing birds on Little Barrier.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ve got bags of volunteers for those projects. We thought you could make up a talk with some slides and go around the children’s holiday programmes and there’s lots of community groups like Rotary who have been enquiring.”

  “Neat,” she replied.

  Kate had more than one reason for taking on the work of advocacy.

  She was uneasy about her own family history. The Fairweather family farm was located on land originally confiscated from the local Maori iwi, Te Whakatohea, because it was believed they had been implicated in the killing of the missionary Carl Volkner at Opotiki during the New Zealand Wars. For the life of one Pakeha three men had been hanged and a whole tribe dispossessed of their land. Many of the tribe too appeared to have been unwilling participants.

  Nevertheless, the Fairweather land and all the best land on the Opotiki flat, the fertile alluvial plain of the Waioeka River, remained alienated from its former Maori owners.

  Te Whakatohea had retained only the land which was less useful for farming, the land beyond the confiscation line which ran at the foot of the mountains.

  One of the breaking news stories on TV at six o’clock that night pictured a new group of Maori activists styling themselves Nga Tama.

  “Our royal bird should never have been allowed to become extinct,” said their spokesman, a man with dreadlocks and a moko. “It was white colonialism that despoiled our land. When the King sent his son here in 1902, they made our leaders grovel before him with their huia feathers. That was how all the huia were killed. It was a Pakeha holocaust.”

  “So, what do you plan to do?” he was asked.

  “Our solicitors are preparing a suit against the Crown. We want more than an apology. We are entitled to damages for the loss of the mana which was based on the possession of this taonga.”

  “What else do you want?”

  “We are asking for special access to our bird which is part of our rangatiratanga according to the provisions of the Treaty of Waitangi. If this access is denied, we want compensation for this as well.”

  “How much will you be claiming?”

  “We are talking with our solicitor who will be filing the claim.”

  “How do you think the public of New Zealand will feel about this?”

  The man with dreadlocks shrugged his shoulders. “It’s only justice.”

  Kate’s reaction was mixed. Yes, Nga Tama had a case and some Pakeha would be sympathetic, perhaps more so if they weren’t so extreme.

  It was true that in the early 70s the myth of New Zealand as a model of good race relations was no longer being accepted. There was increasing realisation that the confiscations after the New Zealand Wars were wrong. There was talk of a big land march and there was evidence that the Maori were mobilising to claim back the land they had lost. Moreover, these claims were based on the Treaty of Waitangi between the Maori tribes and the Crown in 1840, which had given Maori equal rights as British citizens.

  But John was right about the hold-ups. The sickening violence used against motorists and their cars in the last few months by groups claiming to be separate tribal groups was alienating ordinary, decent New Zealanders.

  She had been advised not to travel alone at night on the open road.

  Perhaps the huia will bring us all together again.

  CHAPTER 6

  Why did my brother have to die?

  Tane remembered the furtive service by the graveside. He and his parents were the only mourners huddled together in the grey cold dawn. Below the headland the long Pacific rollers seemed to be joining them too as they sucked back mournfully out of their caverns and reefs. Perhaps they were remembering the lithe youth who used to dive for kai moana in their hidden depths of waving kelp.

  In the old days Hone, who was seven years older, played soccer almost every evening with his younger brother, showing Tane the moves he was perfecting as a budding football star, already competing as a member of Te Kaha’s under-fifteen side. Sometimes they would play into the dusk or until Mum called them in for bedtime. Hone was tall for his age and very fast, and Tane hoped that one day he would become as skilled as his older brother.

  In Te Whanau-a-Apanui Tane’s family were of chiefly rank. Hone as the eldest son had shown great promise. When young he was reading books at double his age level. He was a leader among his schoolmates, not only academically but also in sport. He thirsted for traditional knowledge, seeking out the elders to hear their stories. He learned the old ways to gather food both from the sea and the great forest. But above all he had an adventurous spirit which showed itself in a passion for exploration. By the time he was fifteen, he would venture far up the valley of the Kereu into the great untracked ranges of the Raukumara.

  Not long after a long trip into the mountains, the family noticed an uncharacteristic development. Hone seemed to tire of the games with Tane and he sometimes went to bed early instead of kicking the ball around for an hour after dinner. He left off playing for the club.

  The change in the once boisterous confident young
lad concerned the family doctor greatly. He arranged for some tests. The week following, the doctor called in with disturbing news. The tests showed abnormalities which needed further assessment. He suggested to Hone’s parents that they take him to Whakatane Hospital for further tests by a specialist. On their return nothing was said to Tane but he could see from his Mum’s stricken expression and red eyes that they had received terrible news about Hone’s health.

  Soon the family could no longer look after him and he was taken to the Opotiki Hospital. One night they were called to the hospital urgently. His parents went in first to see Hone, then called him in. He saw Mum and Dad at Hone’s bedside. Dad was very quiet, standing by his Mum who was holding Hone’s hand. They motioned for him to come closer. Hone’s eyes flickered and he said softly. “Keep those goals coming, mate.” He then closed his eyes. Tane’s Mum uttered a terrible cry then threw herself over Hone as if trying to bring back the life which had passed away. His Dad raised her up gently and they all clung to one another, their bodies shaken with sobs .

  Tane returned home heartbroken. Who would be his best friend? Who would teach him soccer? Who would read stories to him as his brother had? As the days went on, it seemed things only got worse. His Dad had a terrible argument with the elders about the funeral the morning after Hone had died. Tane’s Mum was distraught at the attitude of many in the community to whom she turned for comfort.

  Tane’s mother and father could not bear both their son’s death and the hostility on the marae. They felt they had to leave Te Kaha and went to live in Whakatane. Not long after, on the unaccustomed busy roads of that town they were involved in a car accident in which both died. Tane was taken in by his grandmother back at Te Kaha. She was a formidable person, a kuia, a woman of rank whose name was legendary in Te Whanau-A-Apanui. Tane was determined to follow the example of his brother and eagerly absorbed all the ancient teaching which had been handed down to her and which she treasured.

  But one thing was on his mind. On his eleventh birthday he mustered up courage.

  “Why do you never talk about Hone?”

  His grandmother was silent and looked at him for a long time. “He was a good brother to you?”

  “He did everything with me.”

  “Remember him that way.”

  But Tane was not satisfied. “But why does no one remember him?”

  “Did your parents tell you why he died?”

  “They probably thought I was too young to understand.”

  “Tane, there are some things which cannot be explained.”

  “He did something that was wrong, didn’t he?”

  She did not answer.

  “But why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  There was still no response.

  “There was a tapu, wasn’t there? That’s why the elders didn’t want a service in the church.”

  “But why do you need to know?

  “Because he was my brother and I cannot believe that he would do anything… like that.” He could bear it no more and burst into tears.

  Behind her tough and weathered exterior she was a kind woman. She put her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his, and he felt it warm and wet with her own tears. “You are a good boy, Tane. And Hone was a good boy. I have told you all I know. Your life is before you. Go to a good school, get to university and work hard.” She paused, drew back and looked straight at him and said in her quiet way. “Some things are not right. If you can make them right, you will do well.”

  The years passed. Tane never forgot his grandmother’s advice. He studied hard and excelled both at school and at university. But in everything he did he remembered his brother Hone and kept steadily before him the need to be worthy of him. Nor could he keep it out of his mind that one day he might clear his name.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Two trampers are overdue near the new huia sanctuary.”

  It was January 12. David picked up the 1ZB headline on his transistor as he took a sip of coffee while working in his study in the Geology Department. Apart from time at home with his father at Christmas and New Year and doing a Rangitoto-to-St Heliers swim, he had not taken a holiday. What was the point when he did not have a wife or close friend that he wanted to go away with? Besides, his research was reaching an interesting stage.

  The gazettal of the sanctuary together with the subsequent withdrawal of the new management plan proposal for the whole of the Raukumaras was a disaster. It was going to be more difficult to get mineral exploration licences anywhere in the Raukumaras.

  Birds! Birds! How could the Government give away millions of dollars from an area with such potential for development?

  Two Auckland men are overdue in the rugged Raukumara Ranges near East Cape. Originally the party were to attempt to reach the Waitoa Valley but, on being advised of the closure of the valley due to the rediscovery of the huia, they changed their route and were to come out at Mangaorongo Station in the Gisborne back country five days ago. The men are Stanley McTaggart and William Weatherley, both trampers of over thirty years’ experience. A search was commenced yesterday by the Gisborne and Opotiki police with assistance from Search and Rescue volunteers from Gisborne, Opotiki, Rotorua and Auckland.

  Thirty years’ experience? The greenie who had called on him about the Raukumaras just before Christmas and been so abrasive? The creep looked about fifty. Was it just a coincidence?

  Then that anger surged again. “Why the hell did he want to see Tane?”

  David had met Tane when the latter joined the Department after gaining his doctorate at the Australian National University at Canberra. For the two years before Tane had taken off they had shared a flat in Grafton. He still lived in this flat, but on his own. It had been an unusual friendship, for the two were entirely different. David had an excellent brain, was tidy and methodical and worked hard and conscientiously. He was also gifted with a fine physique. As a result, it was not surprising that he had been successful in everything he did. He had been Dux at Auckland Grammar as well as school swimming champion, had gained First Class Honours at Auckland University and a doctorate at the University of Washington in Seattle. In his five years as a lecturer at the University of Auckland he had had several articles published in scientific journals and had done some administrative work in the Department. Partly as a result he had recently been appointed Senior Lecturer.

  Conscious of his gifts, David was ambitious, but he knew that advancement in the Department meant working at the interface of research and development. Moreover, his superiors valued the direction of his ambition because they saw that it would help to build up the Department. In particular they noted his growing grasp of the application of geological research to large development projects and the way he was beginning to understand and relate to the business sector.

  It might be mentioned too that David, the only son of an adoring and wealthy father, never lacked encouragement or financial assistance. Tane, on the other hand, was abrasive, unpredictable and erratic. But he was at the same time a genius, the foremost authority in the Department on minerals, deduction and analysis. An empathy or instinct for minerals together with uncanny powers of observation enabled him almost to see through rocks to their inner components. The scientific analysis of samples he regarded virtually as a second opinion to confirm what he already sensed by intuition.

  But in his attitude towards the Department Tane had no idea of working as a member of a team. He did not share his research, and would even go as far as to seek embargoes on its use by anyone except himself. He refused to be associated with the Geological Survey.

  But the main trouble with Tane in the eyes of his colleagues was that he appeared to have an agenda. He was of Whanau Apanui and had been brought up at Te Kaha on the East Coast beyond Opotiki where his grandmother had been deeply learned in Maoritanga. This knowledge she had passed on to him and his whole thinking was saturated with it. Even though he had chosen a scientific career, he didn’t always look at
things scientifically. In a university which prided itself on academic freedom this was not unusual, but it was the way his Maoritanga influenced his evaluation of his colleagues’ work which caused the problem.

  “You can’t go in and survey that valley because it’s full of wahi tapu that haven’t been put on the register yet.”

  “You can’t touch that mountain. It has its own spirit and is sacred to the tangata whenua.”

  His most exasperating response to their objections was, “You don’t feel the land. You don’t understand it.”

  In the days before these matters obtained a measure of official recognition there was a suspicion among his colleagues that Tane’s objectivity as a scientist was affected by what might be loosely called “Maori spiritual values”. He spoke of wei or spirit and the mauri or life force. He would use Maori terms as much as scientific ones. He described exploring the secrets of the mountains as a kind of spiritual journey which involved sharing a relationship with the mountains, respecting their mana , entering into their taonga or treasures.

  He almost seemed to be claiming that the mountains spoke to him.

  David had a regard for the Maori too, particularly from boyhood holidays on the East Coast when his family had camped in remote coastal areas and had had contact with the local Maori landowners. However, his feeling might be said to be somewhat distant and paternalistic, and he would not have thought of connecting it with his present work.

  The immediate problem for the Department was securing enough money from the Government and private firms to get research projects off the ground. Tane was respected for his geological ability, but the amorphous, uncomfortable – and commercially sterile – agenda of Maori spiritual values found little favour with his more hard-headed colleagues and even less from their private sponsors.