First published by OneTree House Ltd, New Zealand
© OneTree House, 2021
978-19900-350-67 (print)
978-1-99-003509-8 (ebook)
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CONTENTS
Foreword by Mandy Hager
Introduction by Elizabeth Kirkby-McLeod
Gina Cole ......................................Baby Doll
Lani Wendt Young .................................. Fitu
Rajorshi Chakraborti .................. Out of Zone
Witi Ihimaera .......Tent on the Home Ground
Anahera Gildea .............. The Queen’s chain
Elsie Locke ..............The Lake and the River
Owen Marshall ..Effigies of Family Christmas
David Hill ................................Free as a bird
Katherine Mansfield ...........The Doll’s House
Patricia Grace .................Letters from Whetu
Frank Sargeson .........................A Good Boy
J.P. Pomare .......................Days of Our Lives
Tracey Slaughter ... the names in the garden
Russell Boey ...................Nineteen Seconds
Nithya Narayanan ...................................Atul
Ting J. Yiu ..........................................Gutting
Foreword
Mandy Hager
There’s a very magical process that goes on when you read a story. It starts as an idea, an image, a feeling, a belief, or some other inciting spark inside a writer’s head. Then the writer has to figure out who is best to tell this story (and why), where it’s set, if the world is real or imaginary, and how to show that world and its characters in a real and believable way. This means looking at the society they live in, with its values, attitudes, and laws, asking who holds the power in this society or situation and why (in other words the politics of that world), and how that affects the character at the heart of the story? Then the writer downloads all these thoughts onto a page and the black marks they type or scribble build a portal into their imagination.
Now along comes you, the reader, who decodes these black marks and rebuilds the story world in your head — like a psychic exchange — and if the writer’s done it well, you’ll feel what the character feels, and you’ll see what they see! And then the magic really kicks in, as you bring your own imagination and life experiences to the story, further enriching it and giving it a more personal meaning. It’s the perfect creative collaboration!
All of these stories will excite your imagination and challenge your expectations. All these stories give you a glimpse into another life, either like yours (so you can recognise your place in it) or different (so you can put yourself in someone else’s shoes.) This is the power of the story. Enter and enjoy!
Introduction
Elizabeth Kirkby-McLeod
For years I have carried around a small book simply titled New Zealand Short Stories. It has a blue linen hardcover and is about the size of my cellphone. Published in 1953 as part of something called “The World’s Classics” it was edited by Dan Davin and printed in Oxford. It includes authors who are otherwise a mystery to me – Lady Barker and A. P. Gaskell; some more familiar, like Janet Frame and Maurice Duggan; and it has two writers you’ll also find in this collection, Frank Sargeson and Katherine Mansfield (more on them soon). New Zealand Short Stories belonged to my father; I wouldn’t be surprised if he received it from his mother. It is a treasure, a capsule of the Aotearoa New Zealand short story of the time.
My children can look forward to receiving it in their turn, for I can’t throw it out or discard it. As Dan Davin says in his introduction, a short story collection throws ‘a sidelight on the history of New Zealand which historical documents more narrowly conceived could hardly give.’ I believe short story collections tell us something of who we think we are at the time, or imagine ourselves to be – not always the same thing.
Lit: stories from home, does not claim to be definitive, it is not an encyclopaedia of Aotearoa New Zealand short stories or even a historical review. But I hope it passes on through generations, reaching out to readers just as we reached out to bring in those two early writers, Katherine Mansfield and Frank Sargeson; just as we reached forward to find newer voices. We looked for writers who express Aotearoa New Zealand as we find ourselves now, as we imagine and think ourselves to be. First-person narratives like the stories here by Rajorshi Chakraborti and Patricia Grace allow us to glimpse Aotearoa New Zealand through the eyes of someone whose experience might not mirror our own.
One thing that I kept finding as I read was the theme of political awareness. Aotearoa New Zealanders may live far from the rest of the world, but we have never turned our backs from the injustice we see there, even as we struggle for justice at home (Mandy Hager’s books Hindsight and Protest! chart those same waters in non-fiction). In the stories of Katherine Mansfield, Elsie Locke, Witi Ihimaera, Gina Cole, and Ting J. Yiu we have characters who, in unique voices, are troubled by the world as they find it; its unfairness, environmental degradation, its systems of valuing and the resulting casual degrading of life, human or otherwise. Today’s students care passionately about such causes but can learn too from Tracey Slaughter’s story about the impact sweeping judgment can have on individuals. Our society has much that needs to be forgiven, and much need of those who are shaped with the generosity to forgive.
Another theme I found in these stories is family. It is almost a cliché now that no person is an island, but we are all born on islands of home, siblings and caregivers, in various stages of disfunction. It is the struggles, losses and celebrations on these islands that, like for the characters in Russell Boey, Joshua Pomare and Nithya Narayanan’s stories, we hold as our home-culture.
As we grow and visit different islands we begin to realise, like the characters in the stories by Anahera Gildea, David Hill, Lani Wendt Young, and Owen Marshall, that our home-culture limits, heals, defines, and forms us. At least for our beginnings. Like a good short story, the middle and ending are our own to read, our own to write.
Baby Doll
Gina Cole
I wish I have costume like Barbie. Her life so big life! We no have Barbie. We no have Barbie costume. But she have so much! She have own house, own pink car, own pink wardrobe la. Lucky I clock time card so early: 4.50 this morning. Bad story last Monday when I late on start time. They dock whole hour pay. No can lose so much money. No my fault I late. Big accident on cycle-way. Long time now, before I come many bike flow like silk ribbon in workshop when moon shine in morning. They all break bad. Nobody fix it. They take away scrap.
Now all girl walk in workshop in long line. I wait full moon make rice paddy like lamp. No moon shine last Monday. We walk on memory in dark. If you tire, if rock on path, if you new girl, la! You trip, you fall. If lucky you fall off cycle-way in soft rice paddy. Easy, you get up, carry on la. You fall on path? You hurt foot. Many girl fall and many girl hurt foot.
Last Monday one girl fall on path. I hear many scream, cry, splash. Many girl fall in rice paddy. I stop behind girl in front. I no fall in mud. We wait long time. We girl get back on path. Start moving. No girl hurt, thanks be la Allah. But … I five minute late clock time card. I say my mother, ‘They dock pay this month.’ I think she sad.
Today I fill quota on Black Barbie President in America. I sit straight on seat, run material in machine, sew lapel o
n twenty pink jacket. I see Black Barbie President in America in pink jacket in threequarter sleeve wave in crowd. I there. I, Black Queen in America, also wave in crowd in yellow jacket in three-quarter sleeve, yellow skirt. I laugh on best friend, Black Barbie President in America. One time I sew fifty jacket one run. I slow now. Pink everywhere, in air, in machine, in my hand. Material come straight in dye room. No dry, so wet. Smell in dye room catch in my throat every day. I want wash my throat kaow kaow. I want wear mask. One mask cost one week pay, no last long. Make buy, buy, buy. Pink dust catch in filter. You no breathe. Mask hot. Make pink line on mouth like you eat candy floss in market. Easy have no mask. Save one week pay, one week pay, one week pay.
My friend, she Hani girl from Yunnan Province on machine next row, orange scarf row. She big sick. Smell make girl sick we think. She go home. Girl go home … no good. No come back. Hani girl – she die last week. We girl have sick. We girl know. Six month, cough start, you die. I start cough five month now when monsoon come, wash out cycle-way, we walk in mud. Rice worker make new cycleway. I grateful la Allah I ten year old in three week. I want die ten year old. I girl child now, nine year old.
New girl from Sichuan Province, she now on Hani girl machine. She sew tiny pink on blue flower in Hawaii lei for Black Barbie President in America make vacation, on Honolulu. She sing on Hani girl machine. Machine cry first week, bad time. Machine make strange noise, wail-on-dead noise. Girl from Sichuan make go nicely la. Sing machine first week. For sure machine run smooth. You no sing dead girl machine? For sure break down la! No make quota. You no make quota. They dock pay. You wait repair man fix it. He busy fix other girl machine. Take long time. You sit round, round. No make quota. They dock pay.
Many girl sing in room. Big room. One hundred machine. Two shift. Sichuan girl rock side, side. She sew tiny Hawaii lei, she sing Sichuan love song. I know Sichuan love song now. She teach me. I sing my machine. One song I know. Uyghur lullaby my grandmother sing long time now. I sing Uyghur lullaby every day. Lullaby help me, I make quota first week. I put magic on machine. Machine run smooth now.
My back ache. One hour we go breakfast. Kanasai I want go toilet. Must wait toilet break. I, Black Queen in America? I want go toilet break? I go la! I sew fifteen pink lapel jacket on white rim stitch. I want work on next row. Red scarf row. Girl on red scarf row sew white tank top. Next row, blue scarf row sew flare skirt. Half hour go past quick. Girl from Sichuan Province sing, she look, look on machine. Baby pile little blue on white lei on table. So pretty. Next row, green scarf row, sew Hawaii grass skirt in straw, sew Māori grass skirt in same straw. Same skirt.
Māori Barbie she make tattoo on body. When I start sew long time now, I hurt finger and blood come out. I make tattoo with blood. Funny. No hurt finger now. Now I expert. I race on Sichuan girl. I sew ten jacket, she sew ten Hawaii lei. She sew ten Hawaii lei. I cough, cough long time. She win. Not fair.
Many sewing machine in room. Big noise in room. Needle go up down, up down – big noise. I hear girl sing. Sound terrible. No sing same song. Sound horrible. Many girl rock side, side. Sore muscle. We rock side, side like river. I dizzy. I tire. Same like summer time when monsoon cloud in sky, when wind blow girl on cycle-way. Summer time we work long night, fill quota. Last summer time I sew ski jacket Black Barbie President in America make ski vacation. Ski jacket silver on pink material. I sew diamond pattern on jacket. I want work next row with Sichuan girl, orange scarf row. She sew tiny pink ski mitten, so tiny like mouse ear. She try hard, Sichuan girl big fat finger. My finger good, fast. I want make pink ski mitten, tiny doll mitten. I sit wrong row, I sit white scarf row. Next row, red scarf row, sew fluffy collar on ski jacket. Next row, black scarf row, sew pink rib waist on pink ski pant. Next row, yellow scarf row, sew glitter pink fuzz on ski pant hem. Next row, I no see it. My eye red red sore.
One morning I wake up on mat in dormitory, I find tiny pink ski mitten in night dress. I share night dress on girl from night shift. She sew in next row, orange scarf row. Same row Sichuan girl sew pink ski mitten. Must be fall down la, get stuck on girl from night shift. What I do? I take ski mitten workshop? They dock my pay! I think, think fast fast. Fold night dress ready on girl in night shift. I think President! What she do? Queen? Hawaii Princess? Oh yes la! I keep it. Secret tiny pink ski mitten from Black Barbie President in America make ski vacation. I sew pink ski mitten inside hem my shirt. Nobody see it. Nobody know. I know.
She happy make ski vacation, Black Barbie President in America. She ski down tall mountain like mountain in Yunnan Province. Sichuan girl tell me she see mountain in Yunnan Province. I, Black Queen in America in fluffy yellow collar on silver jacket, in yellow ski pant. I ski down mountain loop, loop, loop. Huge snow fall on feet. Crazy snow, giant pattern. Snow pattern on plastic box on packing line. We ski, Black Barbie President in America, Princess Hawaii Barbie, Doctor Barbie. Doctor Barbie she fix my cough. We fall down mountain laugh, laugh, laugh.
Many girl my shift, we go breakfast break. We stand long line one cup rice, dry fish. I hungry oh. I think I want eat fried rice and Coke. I sit under mango tree. Many girl sit under mango tree. Girl from Sichuan Province rock side, side, eat, eat. We talk. Want make quota. Go home family. We eat slow make food go long way. Ten minute, end breakfast break. I see green mango hang on my head. I touch mango like belly, smooth, cool. My breath come slow, noisy like dragon roar in out, in out. I no here on mango gold, ready for eat. I no here.
Breakfast finish. I lean on machine, put head down on rest. I dream spring time. Rice high. Rice noisy in wind. My row, white scarf row, sew blue silk epaulette, Air Force One jacket. Tiny, tiny material we sew on gold. Many girl keep time like river. My row sew eight blue epaulette, red scarf row sew eight brass button, blue scarf row eight zipper, green row eight box pleat, purple row eight waist band, orange scarf row eight cuff. On, on, one girl faint. They dock girl pay. We stop few minute. Other girl go her seat. We start. One girl make sleep, sew finger. Blood fall on Barbie jacket. They dock girl pay. I like Air Force One jacket.
I, Black Queen in America jump out Air Force One. I wear yellow silk jacket, pink epaulette, pink helmet like Pop Up Parachute Barbie, free. No one stop me.
‘Hey! Wake up Baby Doll!’
Girl from Sichuan Province shout at me. I wake up. Malaysian boss lady she high up la. Far away. She look like Malaysian Barbie. Perfect face. She no see me sleep, far away, no binocular, like Opera Barbie.
My row change. Now sew pink inauguration gown. I ask girl from Sichuan province what this mean ‘inauguration’.
She say, ‘You no work, no sew button on jacket, you take toilet break anytime. You Princess.’
This gown … big work. I think Black Barbie President in America no like it. Inauguration gown so heavy so hot. Many frill. Neck so high, train so long like Princess Barbie wedding gown. I sew ten long train. I race Sichuan girl. She sew ten long white glove. I squeeze tiny pink ski mitten hide in hem. I see big life, many friend. We laugh. Best, best friend Black Barbie President in America make me Princess. Doctor Barbie she fix my cough. Pop Up Parachute Barbie she make me fly.
I dream my inauguration.
‘Baby Doll’ was first published in Gina Cole’s short story collection, Black Ice Matter (Huia, 2016).
Writer Gina Cole is of Fijian, Scottish and Welsh descent. She won the Best First Book Award at the 2017 Ockham NZ Book Awards for her story collection Black Ice Matter. Her work has been widely anthologized and has appeared in numerous publications including takahē, JAAM, Express Magazine, Span, Landfall, Geometry, The Three Lamps, and Ora Nui. She is a qualified lawyer and practised law for many years. She has an LLB(Hons) and an MJur from the University of Auckland. She is an Honorary Fellow in Writing at the University of Iowa. She has a Master of Creative Writing degree from the University of Auckland and a PhD in Creative Writing from Massey University.
Fitu
Lani Wendt Young
I am going to my first teenage party. There will be music, d
ancing, food and boys. A birthday for a girl in my class at school. I don’t know her very well. She has parties often and this is the first time I’ve been invited. Probably because it’s my first time scoring high enough in exams to come first in class. If you can’t be pretty, rich or good at sports, then you can still get invited to parties if you are clever.
I’m wearing black high heels, a denim skirt and a top with sparkles on it. I’m nervous about the heels. What if I trip?
My father sits me down for a serious talk before he drives me to the party. A talk about not behaving like ‘those afakasi’. The rich ones. The afakasi who have parties and invite each other to them. Who dress a certain way. Talk a certain way. Act a certain way. According to my father, our family doesn’t belong to that afakasi crowd because his father was a bus driver who grew taro on the side.
“They’ve always looked down on us and our branch of the aiga,” says my father.
“We’re not like them,” warns my father. “We may have a palagi last name but we have never been accepted by them. We don’t do the things they do. Or talk the way they do. Be careful and remember, you’re not like them.”
I am afakasi but not like those other afakasi. Right, got it, Dad.
Because being afakasi is about more than having a palagi last name. Yes, it means you have a palagi ancestor somewhere back on the tree. (Not a Chinese one or a meauli one.) But there are many kinds of afakasi.
There are rich afakasi families and poor ones. There are light-skinned afakasi and dark ones. There are the afakasi who are infamous for having many children from many different women. My mother has a theory. “They’re stuck with the colonial-days attitude where white men thought they could have sex with whoever they wanted to. Whenever they wanted to.” She tells us, “Never marry a man from that family. He would never be faithful to you.”
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