The Whale Rider

by Witi Ihimaera

  Suddenly the horns of the cars down on the beach began to sound. The tide was turning. Billy and I rushed to the motorbike and roared back.

  By the time we got back to Koro Apirana the boys were already in action. ‘The sea came up so sudden,’ Porourangi yelled above the waves. ‘Look.’

  The whale was already half submerged, spouting in its distress. Three elderly females had managed to come beside him and were trying to nudge him upright before he drowned.

  ‘Now,’ Porourangi cried. The two tractors coughed into life. The rope took up between them and the whale, and quickly became taut.

  With a sudden heave and suck of sand the whale gained its equilibrium. Its eyes opened, and Koro Apirana saw the strength and the wisdom of the ages shining like a sacred flame. The tattoo of the whale too seemed alive with unholy fire.

  Do you wish to live?

  ‘Sacred whale,’ Koro Apirana said. ‘Yes, we wish to live. Return to the sea. Return to your kingdom of Tangaroa.’

  The tractors began to pull the whale round. By degrees it was lying parallel to the beach. The boys and I put our shoulders to its gigantic bulk and tried to ease it further seaward.

  It was then that the ropes snapped. Koro Apirana gave a cry of anguish, burying his face in his hands. Swiftly he turned to me. ‘Rawiri, go tell your Nanny Flowers it is time for the women to act the men.’

  Even before I reached the dining hall Nanny Flowers was striding through the rain. The women were following behind her.

  ‘In we go, girls,’ Nanny Flowers said. ‘Kahu, you stay on the beach.’

  ‘But Nanny.’

  ‘Stay,’ Nanny Flowers ordered.

  The women ran to join us. Porourangi began to chant encouragement. ‘Toia mai,’ he called. ‘Te waka,’ we responded. ‘Ki te moana,’ he cried. ‘Te waka,’ we answered again. ‘Ki Tangaroa,’ he chanted. ‘Te waka,’ we replied a third time. And at each response we put our shoulders to the whale, pushing it further seaward and pointing it at the ocean stars.

  Out to sea the herd sang its encouragement. The elderly females spouted their joy.

  Life or death?

  A ripple ran along the back of the whale. A spasm. Our hearts leapt with joy. Suddenly the huge flukes rose to stroke at the sky.

  The whale moved.

  But our joy soon turned to fear. Even as the whale moved, Koro Apirana knew we had lost. For instead of moving out to sea the whale turned on us. The tail crashed into the water causing us to move away, screaming our dread. With a terrifying guttural moan the whale sought deeper water where we could not reach it. It is death. Then, relentlessly, it turned shoreward again, half-submerging itself in the water, willing its own death.

  It is death.

  The wind was rising. The storm was raging. The sea stormed across the sky. We watched, forlorn, from the beach.

  ‘Why?’ Kahu asked Koro Apirana.

  ‘Our ancestor wants to die.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘There is no place for it here in this world. The people who once commanded it are no longer here.’ He paused. ‘When it dies, we die. I die.’

  ‘No, Paka. And if it lives?’

  ‘Then we live also.’

  Nanny Flowers cradled the old man. She started to lead him away and up to the homestead. The sky forked with lightning. The tribe watched in silence, waiting for the whale to die. The elderly females cushioned it gently in its last resting place. Far out to sea the rest of the herd began the mournful song of farewell for their leader.

  seventeen

  Nobody saw her slip away and enter the water. Nobody knew at all until she was halfway through the waves. Then the headlights and spotlights from the cars along the beach picked up her white dress and that little head bobbing up and down in the waves. As soon as I saw her, I knew it was Kahu.

  ‘Hey!’ I yelled. I pointed through the driving rain. Other spotlights began to catch her. In that white dress and white ribboned pigtails she was like a small puppy, trying to keep its head up. A wave would crash over her but somehow she would appear on the other side, gasping wide-eyed, and doing what looked like a cross between a dog-paddle and a breaststroke.

  Instantly I ran through the waves. People said I acted like a maniac. I plunged into the sea.

  If the whale lives, we live. These were the only words Kahu could think of.

  We have lost our way of talking to whales.

  The water was freezing, but not to worry. The waves were huge, but she could do this. The rain was like spears, but she could do this.

  Every now and then she had to take a deep breath because sometimes the waves were like dumpers, slamming her down to the sandy bottom, but somehow she bobbed right back up like a cork. Now, the trouble was that the lights from the beach were dazzling her eyes, making it hard to see where she was going. Her neck was hurting with the constant looking up, but there, there, was the whale with the tattoo. She dog-paddled purposefully towards it. A wave smashed into her and she swallowed more sea water. She began to cough and tread water. Then she set her face with determination. As she approached the whale, she suddenly remembered what she should do.

  ‘That damn kid,’ I swore as I leapt into the surf. For one thing I was no hero and for another I was frightened by the heavy seas. Bathtubs were really the closest I ever liked to get to water and at least in a bath the water was hot. This wasn’t. It was cold enough to freeze a person. I knew, because I’d only just before been in it.

  But I had to admire the kid. She’d always been pretty fearless. Now, here she was, swimming towards the whale. I wondered what on earth she expected to do.

  I saw Porourangi running after Koro Apirana and Nanny Flowers to bring them back. Then the strangest thing happened. I heard Kahu’s high treble voice shouting something to the sea. She was singing to the whale. Telling it to acknowledge her coming.

  ‘Karanga mai, karanga mai, karanga mai.’ She raised her head and began to call to the whale.

  The wind snatched at her words and flung them with the foam to smash in the wind.

  Kahu tried again. ‘Oh sacred ancestor,’ she called. ‘I am coming to you. I am Kahu. Ko Kahutia Te Rangi ahau.’

  The headlights and spotlights were dazzling upon the whale. It may have been the sudden light, or a cross-current, but the eye of the whale seemed to flicker. Then the whale appeared to be looking at the young girl swimming.

  Ko Kahutia Te Rangi?

  ‘Kahu!’ I could hear Nanny Flowers screaming in the wind.

  My boots were dragging me down. I had to stop and reach under to take them off. I lost valuable time, but better that than drown. The boots fell away into the broiling currents.

  I looked up. I tried to see where Kahu was. The waves lifted me up and down.

  ‘Kahu, no,’ I cried.

  She had reached the whale and was hanging onto its jaw. ‘Greetings, ancient one,’ Kahu said as she clung onto the whale’s jaw. ‘Greetings.’ She patted the whale and looking into its eye, said, ‘I have come to you.’

  The swell lifted her up and propelled her away from the head of the whale. She choked with the water and tried to dog-paddle back to the whale’s eye.

  ‘Help me,’ she cried. ‘Ko Kahutia Te Rangi au. Ko Paikea.’

  The whale shuddered at the words.

  Ko Paikea?

  By chance, Kahu felt the whale’s forward fin. Her fingers tightened quickly around it. She held on for dear life.

  And the whale felt a surge of gladness which, as it mounted, became ripples of ecstasy, ever increasing. He began to communicate his joy to all parts of his body.

  Out beyond the breakwater the herd suddenly became alert. With hope rising, they began to sing their encouragement to their leader.

  ‘Kahu, no,’ I cried again. I panicked and I lost sight of her, and I thought that she had been swept into the whale’s huge mouth. I was almost sick thinking about it, but then I remembered that Jonah had lived on in the belly of his whale. So, if necessary,
I would just have to go down this whale’s throat and pull Kahu right out. No whale was going to swallow our Kahu and get away with it.

  The swell lifted me up again. With relief I saw that Kahu was okay. She was hanging onto the whale’s forward fin. For a moment I thought my imagination was playing tricks. Earlier, the whale had been lying on its left side. But now it was righting itself, rolling so that it was lying on its stomach.

  Then I felt afraid that in the rolling Kahu would get squashed. No, she was still hanging onto the fin. I was really frightened though, because in the rolling Kahu had been lifted clear of the water and was now dangling on the side of the whale, like a small white ribbon.

  The elderly female whales skirled their happiness through the sea. They listened as the pulsing strength of their leader manifested itself in stronger and stronger whalesong. They crooned tenderness back to him and then throbbed a communication to the younger males to assist their leader. The males arranged themselves in arrow formation to spear through the raging surf.

  ‘Greetings, sacred whale,’ Kahu whispered. She was cold and exhausted. She pressed her cheek to the whale’s side and kissed it. The skin felt like very smooth, slippery rubber.

  Without really thinking about it, Kahu began to stroke the whale just behind the fin. It is my lord, the whale rider. She felt a tremor in the whale and a rippling under the skin. Suddenly she saw that indentations like footholds and handholds were appearing before her. She tested the footholds and they were firm. Although the wind was blowing fiercely she stepped away from the sheltering fin and began to climb. As she did so, she caught a sudden glimpse of her Koro Apirana and Nanny Flowers clustered with the others on the faraway beach.

  I was too late. I saw Kahu climbing the side of the whale. A great wave bore me away from her. I yelled out to her, a despairing cry.

  Kahu could climb no further. It is my lord, Kahutia Te Rangi. She saw the rippling skin of the whale forming a saddle with fleshy stirrups for her feet and pommels to grasp. She wiped her eyes and smoothed down her hair as she settled herself astride the whale. She heard a cry, like a moan in the wind.

  I saw black shapes barrelling through the breakers. Just my luck, I thought. If I don’t drown I’ll get eaten.

  Then I saw that the shapes were smaller whales of the herd, coming to assist their leader.

  The searchlights were playing on Kahu astride the whale. She looked so small, so defenceless.

  Quietly, Kahu began to weep. She wept because she was frightened. She wept because Paka would die if the whale died. She wept because she was lonely. She wept because she loved her baby sister and her father and Ana. She wept because Nanny Flowers wouldn’t have anyone to help her in the vegetable garden. She wept because Koro Apirana didn’t love her. And she also wept because she didn’t know what dying was like.

  Then, screwing up her courage, she started to kick the whale as if it was a horse.

  ‘Let us go now,’ she shrilled.

  The whale began to rise in the water.

  ‘Let us return to the sea,’ she cried.

  Slowly, the whale began to turn to the open sea. Yes, my lord. As it did so, the younger whales came to push their leader into deeper water.

  ‘Let the people live,’ she ordered.

  Together, the ancient whale and its escort began to swim into the deep ocean.

  She was going, our Kahu. She was going into the deep ocean. I could hear her small piping voice in the darkness as she left us.

  She was going with the whales into the sea and the rain. She was a small figure in a white dress, kicking at the whale as if it was a horse, her braids swinging in the rain. Then she was gone and we were left behind.

  Ko Paikea, ko Paikea.

  eighteen

  She was the whale rider. Astride the whale she felt the sting of the surf and rain upon her face. On either side the younger whales were escorting their leader through the surf. They broke through into deeper water.

  Her heart was pounding. She saw that now she was surrounded by the whale herd. Every now and then, one of the whales would come to rub alongside the ancient leader. Slowly, the herd made its way to the open sea.

  She was Kahutia Te Rangi. She felt a shiver running down the whale and, instinctively, she placed her head against its skin and closed her eyes. The whale descended in a shallow dive and the water was like streaming silk. A few seconds later the whale surfaced, gently spouting.

  Her face was wet with sea and tears. The whales were gathering speed, leaving the land behind. She took a quick look and saw headlights far away. Then she felt that same shiver again, and again placed her head against the whale’s skin. This time when the whale dived, it stayed underwater longer. But Kahu had made a discovery. Where her face was pressed the whale had opened up a small breathing chamber.

  She was Paikea. In the deepening ocean the fury of the storm was abating. The whale’s motions were stronger. As it rose from the sea, its spout was a silver jet in the night sky. Then it dived a third time, and the pressure on her eardrums indicated to the young girl that this was a longer dive than the first two had been. And she knew that the next time would be forever.

  She was serene. When the whale broke the surface she made her farewell to sky and earth and sea and land. She called her farewells to her people. She prepared herself as best she could with the little understanding she had. She said goodbye to her Paka, her Nanny, her father and mother, her Uncle Rawiri, and prayed for their good health always. She wanted them to live for ever and ever.

  The whale’s body tensed. The girl felt her feet being locked by strong muscles. The cavity for her face widened. The wind whipped at her hair.

  Suddenly the moon came out. Around her the girl could see whales sounding, sounding, sounding. She lowered her face into the whale and closed her eyes. ‘I am not afraid to die,’ she whispered to herself.

  The whale’s body arched and then slid into a steep dive. The water hissed and surged over the girl. The huge flukes seemed to stand on the surface of the sea, stroking at the rain-drenched sky. Then slowly, they too slid beneath the surface.

  She was Kahutia Te Rangi. She was Paikea. She was the whale rider.

  Hui e, haumi e, taiki e. Let it be done.

  The tribe was weeping on the beach. The storm was leaving with Kahu. Nanny Flowers’ heart was racing and her tears were streaming down her face. She reached into her pockets for a handkerchief. Her fingers curled around a carved stone. She took it out and gave it to Koro Apirana.

  ‘Which of the boys?’ he gasped in grief. ‘Which of the —’

  Nanny Flowers was pointing out to sea. Her face was filled with emotion as she cried out to Kahu. The old man understood. He raised his arms as if to claw down the sky upon him.

  epilogue

  the girl from the sea

  nineteen

  Apotheosis. In the sunless sea sixty whales were sounding slowly, steeply diving. An ancient bull whale, twenty metres long and bearing a sacred sign, was in the middle of the herd. Flanking him were seven females, half his size, like black-gowned women, shepherding him gently downward.

  ‘Haramai, haramai e koro,’ the women sibilantly sang. ‘Tomo mai i waenganui i o tatou iwi.’ Come old one. Join us, your whole tribe in the sea.

  The sea hissed and sparkled with love for the ancient bull whale and, every now and then, the old mother whale among the female whales would close in on him, gently, to nuzzle him, caress him, and kiss him just to let him know how much he had been missed. But in her heart of hearts she knew that he was badly wounded and near to exhaustion.

  From the corner of her eye, the old mother whale noticed a small white shape clasping her husband just behind his tattooed head. She rose to observe the figure and then drifted back beside him.

  ‘Ko wai te tekoteko kei runga?’ she sang, her voice musically pulsing. ‘Who are you carrying?’

  ‘Ko Paikea, ko Paikea,’ the bull whale responded, and the bass notes boomed like an organ through t
he subterranean cathedral of the sea. ‘I am carrying my lord, Paikea.’

  The sea was a giant liquid sky and the whales were descending, plummeting downward like ancient dreams. On either side of the bull whale and his female entourage were warrior whales, te hokowhitu a Tu, swift and sturdy, always alert, a phalanx of fierceness.

  ‘Keep close ranks,’ the warrior whales warned. ‘Neke neke.’

  The leader signalled to some of the warriors to fall back to the rear to close up and tighten the remaining herd of women, men and children.

  Meanwhile, the old mother whale was processing the information that the bull whale had given her. ‘Ko Paikea? Ko Paikea?’ The other women caught flashes of her puzzlement and, curious themselves, rose to look at the motionless rider. One of them nudged the tiny shape and saw a white face like a sleeping dolphin. The female whales hummed their considerations among themselves, trying to figure it all out. Then they shrugged. If the bull whale said it was Paikea, it was Paikea. After all, the bull whale was the boss, the chief, and they knew how crotchety he became if they did not respect his words.

  ‘Keep close ranks,’ the warrior whales whistled reprovingly.

  The whales shifted closer together, to support one another, as they fell through the sea.

  ‘Ko Paikea? Ko Paikea?’ the old mother whale wondered anxiously. Although she loved her husband, and had done so for many whaleyears, she was not blind to his faults. Over the last few years, for instance, he had become more and more depressed, considering that death was upon him and revisiting the places of his memory. The Valdes Peninsula. Tonga. Galapagos. Tokelau. Easter Island. Rarotonga. Hawaiki, the Island of the Ancients. Antarctica. Now, Whangara, where he had almost been lost to the herd.

  Then she knew.

  ‘Halt,’ the old mother whale called. In her memory’s eye she saw Paikea himself and he was flinging small spears seaward and landward.

  Instantly the herd ceased its sounding and became poised in mid flight between the glassy surface of the sea and the glittering ocean abyss.