Falling into Rarohenga

by Steph Matuku

  It’s one of those old, ugly seventies-style buildings with the brick facades, where Dad worked when we were small, before things all went horribly wrong.

  The building melts away into nothing. I frantically scan the city again, and it’s further back now, nestled beside a house with a decorated dome on top.

  Tui gently touches my elbow. ‘Don’t worry. There must be a pattern to it. We just have to figure it out.’

  ‘And how do we do that?’ I ask. I know I sound cross because I am, and I’m starving too, which doesn’t help.

  ‘More walk, less talk,’ she says and marches off down the hill. ‘We’ve come all this way. I’m not letting it beat me now.’

  I follow behind her, and I can’t help thinking how much more I like this Tui than the last one.

  TUIKAE

  We walk through the fields toward the city, alongside the water channels. Strange grasses and grains grow in orderly rows. My fingers trail through the stems, and they bend easily beneath my fingers, springing back as we pass. Each field has a carved pou standing guard, and I wonder if they’re enchanted in some way, or just talismans to appease the gods.

  There are chains along each earthen furrow, and attached to them are little metal discs with spiky edges. The chains move back and forth, and the little discs automatically slice off any weeds growing where they shouldn’t. I inspect the chains to see what makes them move. Each is attached to a clockwork machine at each end of the field. The cogs and wheels turn and drag the chains, first one way and then the other. They could run forever, I realise, each winding up the other as they pull, and then winding down as they release. There are other machines too: one that has reflective panels that tilt the reflection of the available light onto the plants, and another that forces water from a nearby river along the channels to irrigate the fields.

  ‘I guess they don’t have electricity here. Just clockwork and …’ I don’t finish the sentence, but I don’t have to. We both know it’s magic.

  We approach an orchard of fruit trees and Kae swallows. His hand reaches up to wrench an apple off an inviting branch, and I immediately grab his arm and pull him away.

  ‘Sorry.’ His teeth are gritted, and he’s looking everywhere but at the trees. ‘It’s all I can think about. I’m so hungry.’

  ‘Close your eyes,’ I order, and he does so. Not letting loose his arm, I guide him through the orchard.

  ‘I can still smell them,’ he says. ‘They smell so good, so sweet.’

  He opens his mouth and chews on thin air, inhaling deeply. I can feel the tension in his arm, and just how much he’s trying to restrain himself from shaking me off to go and feast.

  ‘Nearly there,’ I say, picking up the pace a little, and soon we leave the orchard behind. He opens his eyes as we go through another grain field. That’s not so bad, although I don’t like the way he sniffs at the air, licks his lips and moans, ‘Smells like porridge’. He doesn’t even like porridge.

  Soon we’re at the edge of the fields. The buildings loom up in front of us. The city begins all at once, unlike the way towns usually do, in dribs and drabs. One minute we’re in country fields, and the next we’ve crossed a road and we’re walking down a busy street to who-knows-where.

  I can’t take it all in. The street is a mad riot of colour and texture. Buildings tower over the streets, their walls painted with murals of birds and animals, plate glass windows reflecting our own wide-eyed gaze. Covered courtyards are slotted in between, with shady trees, flowerbeds and fountains. Beams arch over the streets, draped with flags fluttering in the breeze, and the paving stones beneath our feet are coloured in various shades of blue, like the ocean or the sky.

  There are people too. They see us, but they don’t seem to care that we’re there. I don’t even know if they know that we’re different; that we’re alive. They’re dressed in all kinds of weird things – a mash-up of decades gone by – but they’re all pretty cool. Some look like they’ve stepped out of those old photographs of the settlers. They’re wearing bowler hats and braces and baggy pants, but they’ve teamed their pioneer clothing with feathered cloaks and leather jackets and sneakers. Most of them carry weapons – patu tucked into waistbands, knives in glittering holsters.

  I find myself gaping at a man riding on a giant lizard down the street with a saddle and reins, and forget him almost immediately when I see a young girl walking a tiny prancing taniwha with a leash around its neck. A little pedal car zips past, and a woman’s careless laughter floats back to us. A couple deep in conversation ride a pair of old-fashioned bicycles down the middle of the street, and as we dodge out of their way, a horn blares, and suddenly there’s a huge open-topped wagon bearing down on us, belching steam and smoke. The passengers scream at us to get out of the way. Kae yanks on my arm, but it’s too late.

  TUIKAE

  Tui screams and covers her eyes, and just like that, the city dissolves around us like melting ice and suddenly we’re somewhere else. Tui’s scream fades off, and she gingerly takes her hands away from her face.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  We’re crouched awkwardly in the centre of a busy marketplace. People look at us curiously as they walk past. We stand straight, trying to seem casual, but it’s hard to be casual in a place like this. There’s too much to stare at; too much to make us wonder. Stalls are all around us, the stallholders waving their goods, calling out to shoppers. One stall has clockwork toys and curios; another, bunches of flowers in shapes and colours that I’ve never seen before. Yet another has weapons made from carved bone.

  Tui has to drag me away from the tables piled high with vegetables, cooked meats and sweet treats, and we head back to the middle of the marketplace while the crowd ebbs and flows around us.

  ‘I always thought the Māori Underworld would be full of draughty old whare, and we’d all be wearing flax skirts or something.’ I’m babbling, but I don’t care. Anything to get my mind off food.

  ‘We’re an urbanised people. Of course, people who die in later times are going to wear the things they’re used to here. And why shouldn’t they share them with people who died ages ago? It’s not their fault they carked it before Lycra was invented.’

  ‘I guess not,’ I say. How can she be so sure? She’s only been here as long as me, and I haven’t got a clue.

  ‘Look, there’s a flax skirt.’

  I follow her pointing finger and see a beautiful woman stepping lightly through the crowd, wearing an enormous woven headdress made of leaves and feathers that towers over everyone. She’s wearing a leather bodice and, yes, a flax skirt too, but it’s the shortest flax skirt I ever saw, and she’s teamed it with thigh-high black leather boots.

  I can’t help staring at her; she’s gorgeous.

  Tui whacks me on the arm. ‘Stop perving at the dead lady!’

  I immediately turn away, because that comment was, like, disgusting, and suddenly spot the top of Dad’s building, a few streets back from the market. I point it out to Tui and she gets that familiar calculating expression on her face: the one she uses when she’s researching stuff online.

  ‘How are we going to get to it before everything changes?’ I say.

  ‘Run?’

  So we do, weaving in and out of stalls and dodging people and pets. Just as we get to the edge of the market, everything starts to dissolve again.

  And there we are in a narrow alleyway hung with fluttering flags. There’s a shiny greenstone wall in front of us. It’s too high to jump over and too smooth to climb, so we turn and go back the other way. Just as we reach the end of the alley, the buildings surrounding us waver, and one blink later we’re in a derelict square, the crumbling walls painted with graffiti.

  There’s a small crowd gathered in the corner, cheering on two men battling with taiaha. They’re not wearing any safety gear, and they’re not holding back either. I guess if they did kill each other they’d just turn into sparkles and float away.

&
nbsp; ‘This is hopeless.’ I slump to the ground. I’m so, so tired. Tui has got way more energy than me. I guess it’s because of those hot pools she was soaking in. Lucky.

  ‘There has to be some way of getting to where we need to be,’ she says fiercely, one hand on her hip. ‘Otherwise how would they all know to come here to watch a fight?’

  One guy takes a vicious blow to the head and staggers. The crowd groans.

  ‘Got it,’ she says, pointing. There’s Dad’s building again, behind a pink terraced house, on the other side of the square. ‘Keep watching it. Don’t take your eyes off it.’

  I stare at it until my eyes start feeling dry and tight, and within a minute or two I can feel the rest of the world wobbling and dissolving around me. But I keep my eyes focused. I keep staring at that ugly seventies’ building with everything I’ve got, and then Tui yanks on my arm and pulls me up. We’re on another street, but it’s emptier than the last, and Dad’s building is still there: still where it was, still under my gaze.

  ‘How did you know?’ I ask her.

  She shrugs. ‘Well, you’ve been at my side no matter what the city did, so I guessed it was just a matter of focusing on what you need right now. Maybe. Something like that.’

  It did make sense, and I was glad that my subconscious had kept Tui at my side that whole time. What if she disappeared along with the city? I might never find her again.

  We concentrate on Dad’s building and keep walking toward it. Around us, the city changes into a garden with waterfalls crashing down into a river, and then to a wharf overlooking a large ornamental lake with boats on it. Eventually, we find ourselves right in front of it.

  We have arrived.

  TUIKAE

  I look up at Dad’s old workplace, and I’m suddenly hit with memories from when I was small and Mum used to take us to see where Dad worked. We never went in – just walked past on our way to get an ice cream – but we always waved up at the windows. I couldn’t understand why we were never allowed up there, and I had it in my head that Dad was working on very big, important grown-up things; but now I’m pretty sure it was just that he didn’t like us bothering him. They knocked that building down eventually as part of some new shopping mall development, and I’d never given it a second thought. And here it is, exactly the same, right down to the rectangular metal ashtrays sitting out the front. I can’t imagine why the building is here, of all places. It isn’t anything like the beautiful buildings we passed on the way – or rather, the beautiful buildings that passed us.

  I push at the doors, but they don’t budge. We press our noses up to the glass and peer in, trying to see past the lobby area and into the corridors beyond. I think I can see shadowy shapes moving in the background.

  ‘Can you hear that?’ Kae hisses.

  I can: the faintest hint of music floating down to us from above. It sounds like that old-time Māori band music: the kind that’s made a bit of a comeback. I guess here it never went away.

  ‘Let’s see if we can get in another way,’ I say. ‘There might be a window open somewhere.’

  Stealthily we move along the front of the building and peer around the corner. We make our way to a little courtyard off to one side, trying to appear as though we belong, although there’s no one here to see us. There are a couple of benches beneath several twisting trees, and, again, the ashtrays. I bet all the smokers in our world will be clapping their hands and doing back-flips when they realise they can smoke here as much as they like without dropping dead.

  The tree branches are growing quite closely to the windows, but none of the windows are open. There are these weird dangling flax loops hanging from the branches with little brown baubles swinging in them. I’m wondering if these trees are supposed to be Christmas trees or something, when I realise that the brown baubles are actually little dead birds, trapped in snares. My mouth twists in disgust and then alarm as a little bird flies down to land on a branch and is neatly caught by a snare. The poor little thing is choking right in front of me, so I tuck the mere into my belt and quickly hoist myself up into the tree.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Kae hisses.

  ‘Rescue 111.’

  I carefully pull myself along the branch to where the little bird is swinging and cheeping in terror. I reach for the snare and, gently holding the bird with one hand, manage to free it with the other. The ungrateful little brat stabs at my hand, drawing blood, before winging off to freedom.

  ‘Ow! It pecked me!’

  ‘Keep going,’ says Kae, gesturing me on. ‘Get to the window.’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ I say bitterly, dabbing the cut with my grubby hoodie. ‘Never mind me bleeding to death.’

  With a grimace, I avoid the other dangling dead birds and carefully slide along the branch until I’m quite close to the window. The branch bows under my weight and I grab for the windowsill, scared it’ll break off altogether. I steady myself and peer in.

  Right in front of me is a buffet table. My stomach lurches at the sight of food, and I’m just glad it’s me up here and not Kae. Kae would have launched himself right through the window to get to this feast. There’s everything. Raw fish in coconut cream, mussels and oysters, crayfish and kina, big pots of steaming pork bones and pūhā, piles of fry bread, and … I press a little closer … large trays of hāngī with cabbage and pork and chicken and beef and … is that steamed pudding?

  I’m almost hanging off the end of the branch now. Kae hisses, ‘What can you see?’

  ‘Um …’ I say, jerking my attention away from the table and peering around at the rest of the room. ‘There’s loads of people. A band in the corner. Everyone’s dressed up.’

  Couples in evening suits and fancy dresses spin on the dance floor, laughing and talking. The band hits a final chord and everyone claps. I duck just in case everyone storms the buffet table (which is what I’d be doing if I was in there), but the band strikes up another tune and everyone dances on.

  All except one woman. Mum.

  She drifts toward me, her long black hair piled in complicated curls on top of her head. She’s wearing the most fabulous choker necklace. It looks like it’s made of real sapphires and diamonds. She’s not wearing any shoes – no one is – and her long blue dress sweeps the floor in gentle folds.

  The other people in the room move aside as she passes, and then they turn to their neighbours and talk behind their hands. They’re all watching her, but they’re pretending that they’re not. All except for one man in the corner. He’s surrounded by a group of people, and he’s deep in conversation with someone, but his eyes never leave Mum as she drifts toward the window. It’s my dad. And as usual, he’s only got eyes for her.

  ‘They’re here,’ I whisper down to Kae. ‘Mum’s coming toward me.’

  ‘What?’ says Kae. ‘I’m coming up.’

  ‘No!’ There’s no way Kae would be able to resist that food. He’s even eyeing up the dead birds hanging from the trees and licking his lips.

  Mum’s coming closer now, and I duck again, but I’m pretty sure I’m concealed behind the mass of leaves. She walks past the buffet, trailing her finger along the tabletop. I suddenly realise that all those dishes are Mum’s favourites, and I know what that means. It’s a bribe.

  Mum’s eyes take in one overflowing plate and then another, but her eyes aren’t like hers anymore. They’re blank and vacant, and she looks without really seeing.

  ‘Don’t do it!’ I warn as she leans over for a piece of bread, but of course she can’t hear me with the pane of glass in the way and the band playing. Before I know what I’m doing, I reach out and bang on the window.

  Her eyes flick toward me, startled, but there’s no hint of recognition in there at all. I just have time to shake my head and yell, ‘No!’ before the branch breaks and I crash to the ground, in a shower of leaves, sticks and dead birds.

  TUIKAE

  I could have seen that coming. Tui is like, the most unco person ever. But I help her to her feet an
d she brushes herself down, rubbing a grazed elbow.

  ‘She’s in there,’ she says breathlessly. ‘She was about to eat something. And Dad’s in there too. It’s a party. I bet he put on a party for her. And she was …’ Her voice trails off. ‘She was beautiful. All dressed up, with makeup and everything. I haven’t seen her like that in forever. But her eyes were weird. Dark black and dreamy – and when she looked at me, it was like she didn’t even recognise me.’

  ‘That’s what yours looked like when you forgot everything.’

  ‘So it’s happened to her already. Do you think it happened because she’s already eaten? If she’s been starving like you’ve been, then she’s probably eaten something by now …’

  My stomach is growling like anything, listening to her talk about eating, but I try to ignore it.

  ‘You haven’t been really starving though, have you? Maybe it hasn’t hit her like it has me. Maybe she lost her memory some other way, like you did. We’ve still got to try. Maybe we can break the glass in the front door; sneak up.’ I swing my ukulele around into playing position. ‘I could pretend to be in the band.’

  Tui stifles a snort of laughter. ‘They’re wearing tuxedos. You look like you haven’t had a shower in a week.’

  I look down at myself self-consciously. My uniform is ripped and dirty as, and my feet and knees are black with dirt. ‘Well, what’s your bright idea then?’

  ‘Maybe we could set off a fire alarm? And when everyone evacuates, we can grab her.’

  I think and think, but I can’t think of anything better … or anything worse, if it comes to that.

  ‘What if they don’t even have fire alarms? Isn’t that an electrical thing? And they don’t have electricity, do they? Why can’t we just march in there and talk to Dad? Maybe he’ll just let her go … or maybe he’ll come with us! Or—’

  Tui is staring at me with disbelief on her face. ‘Please don’t think you can try and reason with him. I know he’s our dad, but he’s bad news. We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for him! Don’t think we can go appealing to his better nature, because – newsflash – I don’t really think he has one. Not for us.’