Three Times Dead

by Grant, D C

  Even in the dark, I recognized it from my dream.

  I braked in front of it. The fence was back from the road, allowing a bit of space in which I could park the car. The white walls of the church reflected back the car headlights. From what I could make out in the dark, the church was isolated – no buildings close by, just farmland, almost invisible in the dark. I turned off the ignition and tilted my head back against the headrest.

  I couldn’t believe what had happened that day, how I had ended up here … but now that I had, there was not much else I could do but wait until morning. I was badly in need of a pee. I stepped out of the car, the warning signal pinging, telling me I’d left the lights on. I didn’t switch them off.

  It seemed disrespectful to urinate in front of the church, so I crossed the road and relieved myself against the hedge on the other side.

  I walked back to the car. In Auckland, if a car had been left with headlights on and keys in the ignition, it would have been stolen within seconds. But here there was no one about. I climbed back into the car and stared at the church. If only the walls could talk, I thought; if only they could tell me why I saw a Maori warrior in my dreams. I remembered the last dream in which I had seen this church, of Reka standing with her baby in her arms while the women said a waiatia of farewell to Haki. Just as in the dream, I felt his sorrow at leaving her, and I thought of the baby that had been mine, that had been growing in Gina’s stomach and that was now dead. I let the tears flow and didn’t wipe them away. Out here in the farmlands, there was no one to see.

  My stump was throbbing; it had been in the prosthetic leg for too long. I racked the seat back as far as it would go, then hitched up my trouser leg and slipped the prosthesis off, feeling relief as the pressure eased. I dropped it into the footwell of the passenger seat, hearing it clink as it hit a bottle that still lay on the floor. I reached over and picked it up – whisky. I broke the seal on the cap and took a swig, feeling the burn as it scorched its way down my throat. I felt sick. I swallowed quickly, trying to fight the rising nausea. I put the cap back on the bottle and dropped it back into the footwell. I looked for the dope, as it would relieve the pain of my throbbing stump, but I couldn’t find it. That’s when I realized that my so-called mates had run off with that too. Unless I was prepared to cruise the streets of a small rural town, I wasn’t going to get any drugs, and besides, I had no money left. I looked out at the church, lit by the headlights, and tilted the seat back until I was almost horizontal, tucked my hands under my armpits to keep them warm and closed my eyes.

  “Right, I’m here now,” I said to the night. “Show me what happens next.”

  Chapter 28

  “Bastards!” Matiu spat out the word as he crouched down beside Haki.

  “What?” Haki said, rousing himself. He was supposed to be on guard duty, watching out for any movement in the bush, but he had let his eyelids fall. It was the early hours of the morning and sleep tugged at him.

  “They’ve gone around us.”

  “Who?” Haki was alarmed at Matiu’s tone. Something was wrong.

  “The General’s soldiers, they’ve gone around us. They’re heading for Rangiaowhia.”

  “You lie!” Haki cried as he stood up, the blanket slipping from his shoulders. “They’re in front of us here. We are waiting for them to attack.”

  “No. A scout came in earlier and I overhead him talking to Rewi. They’re trying to get word out to the other pa so that we can organize the men, but I came straight away to tell you.”

  Haki looked at Matiu and knew what he meant – Reka and the baby were at Rangiaowhia.

  “We leave now.”

  “We’ll be too late and there are only two of us. It’s a long way to go – we’ll not get there in time.”

  “I will not stand here while my wife and baby are in danger. Are you coming with me?”

  Matiu held his head high. “Where you go, I go, brother.”

  “Then let’s not waste any more time gossiping like women.”

  The mere burned in his hand as he held it against his chest. The mere knew there would be battle, and Haki had to carry it there or risk losing his family.

  I woke to a tapping sound. I opened my eyes. It was morning. A thin white mist obscured the countryside, with the church the only thing visible in front of me.

  The tapping started again and I looked to my right. An old man stood there, using a key to tap against the window. I tried to wind down the window but the car battery had run flat, so I opened the door and cool, moist air rushed in.

  “Are you all right, young man?” the man asked. “I saw you arrive last night as I went to bed. Are you lost?”

  “No,” I answered, but then thought the answer should be yes. While I wasn’t lost geographically, I was certainly lost emotionally and spiritually.

  “Well, looks like your battery has died. It’ll do that if you leave your lights on all night. Do you have family here?”

  “I used to,” I said. I guessed my family had been here, if you counted my dreams as evidence. “They’re gone now.”

  “I’ve got a battery charger in my shed. We can get the battery out and put it on charge. I’ll get some spanners. Come on, let’s get you sorted.”

  “Have to get my leg first,” I said as he turned to go.

  “Leg?” he asked, turning back.

  I picked up my leg from the footwell and showed him the lifeless bottom half of my trouser leg.

  “Oh, my dad had one of those,” he said “He lost his in the war. How’d you lose yours?”

  “In a car accident – a guy crossed the centre line and hit us. We were coming back from Mystery Creek.”

  “I think I remember that. I read about it in the newspaper. You were coming back from that festival.”

  “That’s right, from Parachute.”

  “Sorry to see how it ended up. Come on, I’ll take you back to the house.”

  I had the leg on now and pulled myself out of the car. I followed him to a derelict ute parked just in front of my car, and we drove off the way I had come last night, but turning left after a short distance to travel down a hill before turning into the driveway of an old-fashioned farmhouse. We got out of the ute and I followed him up the steps to the door, which he pushed open.

  “Let’s have a cuppa first. I’d just put the kettle on when I saw that you were still there. I figured you had to be lost, or something.” He waved his hand at the large wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. “Sit down, make yourself at home.”

  He turned to the bench and flipped the kettle on. The newspaper lay on the table. I opened it up, prepared to see my face all over the front page, but there was nothing. The report of the robbery was on the second page. It was a small report, no pictures, just a few lines on the side, as if it wasn’t important. It said the shop owner was in hospital with serious head injuries. I swore under my breath and folded the paper up again. I realized that the old man had been talking to me.

  “Sorry?” I said, tuning in.

  “I said do you want coffee or tea?”

  “Coffee,” I answered.

  “I’m Ted, by the way.”

  “Bevan,” I said, and then cursed myself for giving my real name. I was failing as a crim. I would have to do better at it or else I would be caught.

  A middle-aged man came in. He looked like a younger version of Ted.

  “Is this the bloke in the car?” he asked as he grabbed a mug from the counter and began to drink. Ted was putting toast in a toaster next to the kettle. “Bevan, meet Peter, my son. Peter, this lad’s got a leg like your grandfather’s.”

  “A plastic one?”

  “A bit more modern than the one the old man had.”

  I laughed at the old man calling his old man an old man. Then I had to show Peter the “modern” version of his grandfather’s leg.

  “Of course, Gramps had his off above the knee, didn’t he?” Peter said to his father.

  “Yep, lost it du
ring an attack on the Mareth Line. Lucky to be alive, he reckoned. Lots of limbs lost during the war. People always talk about the lives lost, but no one ever counts the limbs lost. Same in any war, I guess.”

  As the two men talked, they took pots of jam out of the fridge, as well as a block of butter. We never had butter at home. The toast piled up on a plate next to the toaster and, as the smell filled the room, I realized how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten since lunch the previous day.

  The three of us sat around the large wooden table in the kitchen and spread butter thick on the warm toast and then layered it with whatever was on the table. The coffee kept coming too. I had three slices of toast before I even slowed down. They asked what I was doing there and I struggled to come up with an answer. I couldn’t tell them what had driven me there; neither could I tell them about the dreams, so I just said that I was looking for my family who used to live in the area.

  “What were their names?” Ted asked. “It’s a small community here. I’m sure we’ll know the name.”

  “They were Maori.”

  “What’s the iwi?’

  “Ngati Apakura.”

  “There’s something on the board in front of the church about them. If that doesn’t help, I might have to put you in touch with Henry. He’s the kaumatua from the local marae. He might be able to help you.”

  “Are there any Maori buried in the churchyard?” I asked.

  “Not as far as I know, although there could be some in the Catholic churchyard up the road.”

  “I only saw one church.”

  “There used to be a Catholic mission station here, but all that remains is the cemetery.”

  Peter put his mug down on the table. “Best get back to the chores. You need any help with the battery, Dad?”

  “Nah, we’re good.”

  Peter left and Ted turned to me. “That battery will take all day to charge. Is there anyone you want to phone, someone who can come and fetch you?”

  “No, I’m stuck here, I guess, until the battery is charged. Not sure where to go. Is there a town close by?”

  “Te Awamutu is just down the road. Be a hike on foot though, especially with only one.” He laughed at his own joke. “You could stay here today while the battery charges, but be careful, this is a working farm and I’m sure Peter will find you something to do, even if you are a townie.”

  I smiled at him. I didn’t mind being called a townie, because I knew I was. I looked out of the window. The mist was burning off and I saw that it was going to be a clear winter’s day. I felt safe here. If there was a way I could avoid the world outside, then I was willing to take advantage of it, even if I ended up mucking out a pigsty somewhere. It felt like I belonged here.

  I helped Ted clean up the dishes, and then we went outside to the shed where he collected a few spanners.

  “I hope I’ve got the right size,” he said. I was absolutely no use at this. I couldn’t have told him one end of a spanner from another. “That should do,” he said, as he looked at the few he had in his hands. “Come on, let’s get this sorted.”

  We drove back to the car. The mist had gone, revealing a landscape of gentle rolling hills. I tried to match up this picture with the one I had in my dream, but couldn’t. The church was much as I had seen, but back then the road had been just a track and the land had had more vegetation than I saw around me now. The whares had been further away, perhaps in the dip beyond the church but I couldn’t recall the details from my dreams. The landscape looked so different.

  “Pop the hood,” Ted said as we returned to the car.

  I got in and pulled the lever that opened the hood. He fiddled around under the bonnet and then pushed it open, finding the rod that held it up. I came to the front of the car and watched as he tried all the spanners that he had in his hand.

  “Of all the spanners I bring, I leave behind the one that I really need. Wait here, lad, while I get the right one.”

  He drove back down the road, and I turned and read the noticeboard that was in front of the church:

  Rangiaowhia

  The Anglican mission church, built with the help

  of local Maori and opened in 1856, is the only building remaining

  from the time when Rangiaowhia was a centre of Maori agriculture.

  The graveyard to the north marks the site of the Catholic mission.

  Here in the 1840s and 1850s the Ngati Hinetu and Ngati Apakura cultivated

  hundreds of acres of wheat, maize and potatoes for the Auckland market.

  Their settlement, set amongst peach trees,

  extending for two miles, included a racecourse, flour mills,

  schools and two churches.

  Part of the village was destroyed during an attack by British and

  colonial troops on 21 February 1864. Following military occupation

  the Maori settlement ceased to exist

  I stood and read the last three lines again. The words “destroyed” and “attack” and “ceased to exist” cut through me. Haki had left Reka here because he thought she would be safe, yet these words seemed to say that the village had not only been attacked, but also destroyed. What had happened to Reka and Toa? Had they been in the village when it was attacked? How would I know?

  In a daze, I opened the small gate into the churchyard with its worn gravestones and walked around the outside of the church building. I was in an elevated position and from here could see the sweeping valley below and the hills rolling off into the distance, rising to a mountain on the skyline.

  I walked forward to the fence at the edge of the churchyard and placed my hands on the top rail. As I did so a shiver ran through me and the ground beneath me seemed to tremble. I clung to the wood, but it seemed to slip beneath my fingers. I could feel myself falling, the ground rushing up towards me, and I had no time in which to put out my hands to cushion my fall. I hit the earth and immediately was in another world.

  Chapter 29

  Haki crept through the trees towards the church. In the distance, from the direction of the village, he heard gunfire, but he couldn’t see that far as the view was blocked by peach trees. Along the road he saw abandoned sacks of kumara, left lying by the side of the cart that was to take them to the pa at Pikopiko and Rangiatea.

  He heard voices inside the church and crept closer, looking over his shoulder to make sure that no soldiers were coming up behind him. The windows of the church were too high up for him to see inside so he knelt underneath and listened to the voices inside. They were speaking Maori.

  “Psst,” he hissed as loudly as he dared. “You, inside the church.”

  At first they didn’t hear him, so he called again and this time was answered by a male voice.

  “Who calls?”

  “It is Haki, husband of Reka. Who is in the church?”

  “Mostly the women and children, but there are a few warriors here to protect them. The Pakeha said they would not harm us in the churches.”

  “Is Reka with you?”

  “No, she’s with her grandfather in the village.”

  Haki’s heart sank. The gunfire was coming from the village.

  “Did she take the baby with her?” Haki asked.

  “Yes,” the man answered.

  “I will have to find her.”

  “The soldiers will kill you. Come inside the church.”

  “No, I will not hide.”

  Haki left the side of the church, and, using the trees for cover, headed to the swamp at the base of the ridge. Not only would the swamp lead him towards the village, but the soldiers would avoid it in their advance. Heavy boots and heavy hooves did not like the clingy mud, but with his feet bare, he could move with ease.

  The gunfire was sporadic, a volley every now and then, answered by a rattle of single shots. The whare would be well defended, Haki knew, but the force in the village would soon overwhelm them. As he headed towards the swamp head, up the slope towards the village, he met another man crouched in th
e bushes. He was bleeding from a head wound and appeared to have lost his weapon. He swung around, startled, when Haki came up behind him, and reached for his knife, but stilled when Haki put up his hand.

  “I am Haki,” he said, knowing he had to explain his connection to the village or else the man would take him as a traitor. “I am Reka’s husband.”

  “Yes,” the man said, relaxing back into the toitoi. “I know your face.”

  “Where is Reka?”

  “In the whare with her grandfather. They are trapped there. The soldiers have surrounded it and are firing at it. The men inside are answering with their own weapons. The soldiers are asking them to surrender, but they will not.”

  “No, they will not,” Haki agreed. “I must go and find her.”

  “Wait,” the man said as Haki prepared to move. “Where did the soldiers come from? We thought they were at Paterangi. We were surprised by the attack.”

  Haki hesitated, looking anxiously up the slope towards the sound of the gunfire. He heard a single shot and what sounded like a collective groan.

  “The General took a group of soldiers around Paterangi,” Haki said. “We have been outflanked. There are warriors coming from the pa but they will not be here in time.”

  The man nodded and began to make his way down the slope towards the swamp.

  “Go to the church,” Haki said to the retreating man, not knowing if he had been heard.

  As Haki neared the village, keeping to the undergrowth so that he could not be seen, he smelt smoke. Carefully he worked his way around the village, using what cover he could. Peering out from between the fronds of fern, he gasped to see the soldiers lined up facing the largest of the raupo houses. A few soldiers’ bodies lay in the open space in between, obviously brought down by gunfire from inside the house, but as Haki watched, two men ripped a door off a hut and ran forward, picking up a man lying on the ground, placing him on the horizontal door and quickly retreating. Some of the soldiers gave a cheer as the men returned with the body.