Flight of a Maori Goddess

by Lark, Sarah

  Atamarie glared at her. “I can see that Richard is alive and well.” Richard was off tightening this and that on a farming implement. He did not seem to notice the women or Hamene. “But I couldn’t help fearing someone had destroyed his dream. Shirley, it has always been his dream to fly. He’s been talking about it as long as I’ve known him. And he’s supposed to give that up? Just because he landed in some idiotic hedge again?”

  Shirley raised her chin proudly.

  “Man was not meant to fly,” she declared. “Richard has to accept that. Maybe God put the hedges in his way.”

  Atamarie rolled her eyes. “People will fly, Shirley. Soon. And if God put this shrubbery in the way”—she turned to Richard—“then it’s only so he can fly over it, not hide behind it.”

  With that, she swung back onto her rental horse and took off in the direction of the Maori village.

  A short time later, Atamarie ran her fingers gently over the wings of the flying machine, which Hamene had placed on a hill above the marae—in starting position. Atamarie thought this a happy accident. Just as it was exceptionally convenient that she had put her hair up that day, such that it would fit perfectly under Richard’s cap. And here, she was far enough from the pakeha farms that no one would hear the motor’s roar.

  Atamarie checked whether there was still enough fuel. Then she turned the motor on, rolled down the hill, and flew.

  Of course, over the following months, it did not stay hidden from the villagers in the Waitohi Plains that Cranky Dick—or at least someone they thought was him—was flying again. Atamarie was lucky that they never talked to Richard about it. Maybe Peterson and the others were a little ashamed of their malice after the last attempted flight. It had not escaped anyone how much Pearse had subsequently withdrawn; of course, there was talk that he had finally lost it for good. At least he did his farm work and appeared occasionally in town, mostly in the company of the charming Shirley Hansley.

  Dick Pearse was known for vacillating between euphoria, total withdrawal, and almost boring normalcy. The last phase did not last long, though, and so it hardly amazed the villagers that he had apparently been drawn into the clouds again. For his neighbors, the only difference was that the flying machine was not crashing into the broom hedge now. In fact, reports were mounting that the machine really flew, and for long stretches. An astonished farmer described almost two thousand yards. Moreover, the Beast could be steered. Three harvest workers all reported that the machine had turned away when the pilot saw them.

  Atamarie was still trying to convince Richard to do a public demonstration. She would not admit to herself that she mostly just came to Temuka to fly. Richard’s condition changed gradually. It almost seemed as if he were waking from a sort of sleep. Though he continued to deny his success, he did talk to Atamarie again and took an interest in her studies and her reports of life in Christchurch. Atamarie was on track to finish her studies in record time. If everything went smoothly, she would graduate before Christmas.

  And then, just before exams, when Atamarie had rented her hotel room for a whole week, Richard slept with her again. He even made the first move and romanced her fervently. Atamarie enjoyed herself immensely.

  If she was being honest, though, her attraction to him had waned over the last months. Though he was coming into flower again, Atamarie was reaching the conclusion that this man was too difficult for her and that he could not return her love to the degree she expected. In time, she would have to end the relationship, but first, she wanted to give Richard a present.

  Shirley had disappeared anew when she recognized that Richard was turning back to Atamarie, and Richard seemed halfway to high spirits. Atamarie saw no more reason to keep her flying secret from him. Maybe he would become enraged and throw her out for good. But maybe it would put him back on the right path. Maybe he would finally declare himself ready to present his invention to the world. Atamarie also saw it as a sort of last chance for their love: if, after the successful flight, he nonetheless wanted to stay in Temuka and share his farm with the likes of Shirley Hansley, she could not help him.

  The next morning, Atamarie enticed her friend to the Maori village.

  “There’s something I need to show you, Richard. No matter what, even if you’re mad at me after. But you have to see it, and you have to believe it, and you have to—”

  “It’s not that stupid machine again, is it?” Richard asked indignantly.

  Atamarie pushed him determinedly past the marae and up the hill where she liked to park Tawhaki. She had aimed for the slope during her last landing and then pulled the aeroplane all the way up, so it would already be in the correct starting position.

  “Come on, I’ve changed a few things.” Atamarie pulled Richard toward his flying machine. She had curved the wings a bit, as much as the bamboo construction allowed, and brought a few steering elements farther forward, so they were no longer impaired by the air eddy behind the wings. “But just little things,” she claimed. Richard should definitely not feel she had gone over his head.

  Now, he was mistrustfully eyeing the improvements—the effects of which really were rather great. Atamarie had enthusiastically remarked how much better the flier stayed in the air because of them and how much more precisely it could be steered. However, she did not want to minimize Richard’s achievement by praising her own developments. It was his aeroplane; he had been the first.

  Richard did not comment on the changes. The sight of the flier seemed to close a door within him.

  “I didn’t fly,” he repeated mechanically once more.

  Atamarie struggled for patience. Then she reached for the pilot’s cap.

  “Well, I did,” she said decisively. “Watch.”

  With practiced motions, she started the motor, swung quickly into the seat, and rolled down the hill. The flying machine took off smoothly, and Atamarie effortlessly kept it about fifteen feet above the ground. She did not make any turns—the day was windless, and she surely could have, but she did not want to show off. So, she kept the aeroplane straight and hovered for about eight hundred yards. Then she landed softly and let the flier roll to a stop.

  Richard ran to Atamarie.

  “Well?” she asked with triumph and fear hanging in the balance. “You see, the machine flies. And it did when you steered too. You just had bad luck with the wind. Now will you show the world this wonderful thing you’ve invented?”

  Richard stared at her, and then the spell broke.

  “It flies, it flies!” Richard pulled Atamarie into his arms and danced her around the aeroplane. “I was right. You were right. The first motorized flight, Atamie. I, you—”

  “Well, to be honest, I’ve done it often,” Atamarie admitted. “But anyway. Shall we invite some journalists now? And Professor Dobbins? Will you finally show it to them?”

  Richard nodded and made Atamarie the happiest woman on earth that night. Had she really been thinking of breaking up with him the night before? Atamarie shook her head at herself—and then Richard spoke of marriage for the first time.

  “It wouldn’t have been possible without you. You’re my soul mate, my other half. I’d like to be with you. Forever.”

  Atamarie snuggled happily into Richard’s arms. At least for that day, she had banished darkness from his life. If now all his dreams of flying, of fame, and of unlimited financial means for his research and inventions came true, what reason would he ever have for melancholy?

  “What do you think, when should we show it to them?” she asked after they had awoken together and made love once again that morning. “What would be a good date for the first motorized flight in history?”

  Richard laughed and sprawled. “I don’t know. You tell me. Maybe a date everyone can remember. The first of January?”

  Atamarie frowned. “But that’s weeks away, Richard. Shouldn’t we—”

  Richard shook his head. “I, well, I still need a little time. How about the twentieth of December? Or Christmas?�
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  Atamarie thought feverishly. “I’ll still be in Christchurch on the twentieth,” she said. “For exams. So, either this week or Christmas, really. Let’s just do it now, Richard, please. Before I go back to the city.”

  Richard pulled her close. “You can’t wait, huh, Atamie? But really, all the people you want to invite, they can’t come that quickly. But Christmas . . . I can tinker with the machine a bit before then until it well and truly works.”

  Atamarie sighed. He was still hesitating. On the other hand, he did need to get comfortable with the machine again. After all, he did not simply want to fly a few yards, but take off beautifully and stick a clean landing. She could have done that again the very next day herself. She wrestled a bit with the fact that she’d get none of the glory. But that was egotistical. This was Richard’s project. He should get the time he needed.

  Atamarie and Richard spent a few more dreamy days in Temuka, though they could not carry out more flight attempts. The day after Atamarie’s demonstration, the sky had darkened, and it rained continuously. Atamarie suggested flying anyway, but Richard declined.

  “Let’s not take any more risks,” he decided. “What if I make another bad landing, and the supports break? No, we’ll wait for it to clear up.”

  “But I might already be in Christchurch by then,” Atamarie objected.

  Richard waved that away. “So?” he asked. “Do you think I can’t do it without you? Atamie, sweetheart, I built this.”

  And I learned to fly it, Atamarie thought, but she stayed quiet. And surely her concerns were unnecessary. After all, she had figured out how to handle the aeroplane alone. Richard would show just as much skill. Maybe he even preferred getting comfortable with his Beast alone. One indication of this was that he even declined to fly on a gloomy but rainless day.

  “No, no, it might start raining again once I’m in the air. But we should bring the bird home, don’t you think? Come on, let’s take a walk and roll it from the Maori village into our barn.”

  Atamarie frowned. “But why? It’s safe where it is. The hill is ideal for rolling down, much better than the road here. And—” She bit her lip in order not to mention the hedge.

  “But it’s much more central here,” Richard observed. “You don’t really want all that press lining up in front of the marae, do you? The Maori wouldn’t like that much.”

  Atamarie thought the Maori probably would not have cared. But she complied. The evening before her departure for Christchurch, the flier stood in its barn again, and Richard studied the changes Atamarie had made.

  “I don’t know; I’d have preferred to have the steering elements closer to the center of mass,” he objected, but nonetheless listened to Atamarie as she explained why she had moved the stabilizer. She hoped he would not change anything back before he took off on his triumphant flight—but if so, there was nothing she could do about it. Really, nothing could go wrong. Richard had already managed a few hundred yards straight ahead last March. She could still convince him later.

  During their last night before Atamarie’s departure for Christchurch, Richard made her forget all her technical questions and disagreements. They made love into the early morning. All his energy had returned. Atamarie tried not to think about how he had been similarly euphoric before his last attempt as well. This time everything would go smoothly.

  Atamarie passed her first exam with distinction and was correspondingly carefree when, two days later, she went to the college for her second. The two other students were using their last minutes to cram, but Atamarie preferred looking dreamily out the window. In just a moment, she would surprise Professor Dobbins with her invitation and leave for Temuka the next day. And then there were only five days until the Christmas that would change the world.

  “Atamarie, have you heard?” The professor stepped out of his office. He held a newspaper in his hand. “Does Pearse already know?”

  “Know what?”

  Dobbins looked at her probingly. “So, no, then,” he confirmed when he saw her perplexed face. “Come in, please. Take a look for yourself.”

  The professor pulled a chair over to the little table already prepared for the exam and opened the newspaper in front of her.

  Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, USA

  Two Brothers Make History

  On December 17 of this year, Orville and Wilbur Wright accomplished the first motorized flight in history.

  The brothers, both previously known as brilliant bicycle builders and businessmen—they led their Wright Cycle Company from a small handicraft enterprise into a large business—took off into the air several times in their FLYER 1 from a specially laid track in the sands of North Carolina. While Orville Wright was the first man in the pilot’s seat, he was surpassed in terms of distance flown by his brother, Wilbur. In 59 seconds, he covered 284 yards.

  Atamarie dropped the newspaper. “But that’s nothing,” she whispered. “Richard flew a few hundred yards the first time. And I—” She bit her lip.

  Professor Dobbins looked at her sympathetically. “But no one will believe him now,” he said. “Oh, damn it all, he was so close. And he had months to publicize it. I’m so sorry, Atamarie. I know how hard you tried. And he—”

  Atamarie stood up. She tucked the newspaper distractedly in her bag.

  “I have to go. I have to go to him. I’m sorry, Professor Dobbins, I just can’t take the exam now. I have to go to Richard. If he hears it from anyone else—”

  Dobbins shook his head, chagrined. “He probably already knows. It’s in all the papers today.”

  Atamarie rubbed her forehead. “The newspapers don’t reach Temuka so quickly. You don’t know the area, Professor. It’s the end of the world.” She looked at the grandfather clock in the exam room.

  “If I hurry, I can still make the early train. I’m really sorry. I—”

  Professor Dobbins waved it away. “Oh, forget it. You can’t take a final exam today now, anyway. Get going, we’ll set a new date. And please, tell Richard how sorry I am, truly. I always believed in him.”

  Atamarie nodded and pulled herself together. “Wish me luck, Professor,” she said quietly.

  Chapter 8

  Atamarie did not even take the time to change, instead rushing to the train in her exam clothes. She seemed very nervous in her dark skirt, white blouse, and prim, black blazer. Her hair was put up under a pert little black hat. In principle, she thought this outfit too formal for a visit to the country, but considering that her intent was damage control, the clothing did not seem unsuitable at all. After all, someone had to speak to the press, even if at first it was just Timaru’s local rag. Richard needed to present himself and his aeroplane to the public immediately. Fine, he would no longer be the first person to have accomplished motorized flight—or at least it would be hard to prove with just a few villagers as witnesses. But still, they could break the Wright brothers’ record without breaking a sweat. After all, what were a few hundred yards straight ahead with not-so-soft landings in sand compared to the two thousand yards Richard’s machine managed?

  And if Richard showed a bit of magnanimity and let Atamarie fly, she could even make an elegant turn and skillfully let the machine roll to a stop in front of the journalists. It wasn’t a bad idea, actually. Atamarie’s cheeks burned as she thought of being in the newspapers. If she were recognized as the first female pilot of a motorized aeroplane—nobody would be talking about Wilbur and Orville if a woman took to the air at practically the same time. Atamarie could have giggled. Yes, it could work. Of course, she would mention Richard’s name in every interview. They would simply share the glory. If only he would agree. If only he had not yet heard about the business with the Wrights from someone else and lost his courage. Atamarie would have liked to spur the train on like a horse. The hours passed torturously. And then she could not ride a horse in her tight skirt, so she had to rent a chaise, which slowed her down further.

  She did not turn down the path that led to Ric
hard’s farm until late afternoon. She saw no sign of Richard, but she soon spied Hamene—who, to her astonishment, was not busy with farm work, but was instead staring off into space in the direction of Temuka.

  “Atamarie.” Hamene turned to her with relief as soon as he heard the carriage. “Atamarie, the spirits have sent you. Something is wrong with Richard. His brother came by earlier and brought this newspaper. Richard read it, and then, he was completely beside himself. He tore it up. He—Shirley says he cried.”

  “Shirley?” Atamarie’s frustration discharged as anger. “What is she doing here again?”

  Richard’s brother had probably brought her along. To comfort him, so to speak, after the Pearse family had found nothing better to do than rub Richard’s nose in his failure. Atamarie felt rage welling up within her.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “We’ll deal with that later. First, I need to—where’s Richard, Hamene? How’s he doing now? What’s he doing?”

  Atamarie was afraid she would find her friend in the kitchen again, staring blankly, this time at the newspaper.

  Hamene pointed helplessly in the direction of Temuka. “He took the bird,” he reported. “I wanted to help, but he hauled it out of the barn alone. It was as if he were out of his mind. And then he went up the hill with it. I was on the lookout for him when you came.”

  Atamarie swung back into her chaise and took up the reins. “I’m going after him, Hamene. Oh God, I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

  She trotted up the road. Shirley stood in front of the broom hedge, looking in the same direction as Hamene. Atamarie ignored her. She had to stop Richard—he could not be allowed to fly in such an agitated state.

  After just a few strides of her horse, however, she realized that it was too late. She heard the motor and saw the machine hovering over the road. Richard held it straight and not too high above the ground. Atamarie’s heart slowed. He was flying beautifully. So, he was not dangerously wound up after all, but had struck on the same idea she had. He’d just wanted to test the flier once more before calling the press.