by Albert Wendt
At the chapel’s front entrance are members of the rangatahi. Dottie and Ralph are on one side, and Mere and Pale are on the other, greeting the mourners and handing them programmes. Mikaele and Simone are taking the mourners in and showing them their seats.
Daniel and his group start making their way towards the front entrance through a crowd that smells of perfume and aftershave and suits that are being aired for the first time in a long while.
‘Looks as if they’ve got everything under control,’ Langi says.
‘Yes,’ echoes Keith. ‘Let’s hope they keep it that way.’
‘I’m sure their uncle is keeping an eye on things,’ Daniel whispers, feeling more secure about the whole event.
‘Good morning, Mr Malaetau.’ The voice that had first informed Daniel of Aaron’s death over the phone cuts over Daniel’s left shoulder, and he turns instantly, defensively. The voice on the phone had been deep and wide, and he’d assumed its owner would be a large male and Māori, but he is surprised. ‘Welcome back – even though it is a very sad occasion,’ the man says, smiling. He is only about five feet eight. Everything about him is neat and tidy and compact: his tightly groomed black hair; his austere face, with deep eye sockets that highten the glitter in his blue eyes; his sunken cheeks and thin lips; and his expensive conservative dark blue suit, silk white shirt, black tie and black shoes. He thrusts his large hand forward, and Daniel grips it to steady himself. The man has a powerful grip as he pulls Daniel forward to hongi him. ‘Name’s Fletcher Whangarua; everyone calls me Fletch.’ Daniel must look puzzled, because the man adds, ‘I rang you in Honolulu and told you about …’ He can’t say it.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Daniel says. ‘Here, I want you to meet some of Aaron’s closest friends.’ He introduces Langi and Keith to Fletch.
Fletch goes to hongi them, and says, ‘It’s a great privilege for me to meet members of Aaron’s Tribe. He talked about you guys all the time.’ Daniel doesn’t need to look at Keith and Langi to acknowledge Fletch’s first lie: Aaron never discussed his Tribe with the members of his ‘other’ world – and vice versa.
Right then, the space around Fletch fills with the impregnable baulk of three men wearing black leather vests with intricate red Māori motifs on them, and tight-fitting black leather trousers and boots. Each one has long black hair that is gelled and tied at the back. One of them, at Fletch’s left shoulder and looming above them, wears a full facial moko. Even so, Daniel thinks the man looks familiar; someone he has known well in the past. The man smiles, the intricate black lines of his moko making him seem ageless.
Daniel doesn’t find these men threatening. Why? For a moment, he struggles to recognise it. Yes, they are all trying to imitate Aaron – and that makes them feel familiar to him. He takes the initiative and reaches forward to hongi them, one after the other. Keith and Langi do the same. ‘Man, Aaron would have loved this – seeing members of his two tribes meeting for the first time,’ Fletch exclaims. Daniel can’t help it – ‘another lie,’ he thinks to himself. But he really feels that he has known these people for a long time, and when the men smile and show they are genuinely awed by Daniel, Keith and Langi, Daniel identifies them as being very similar to their own rangatahi.
‘Sir,’ the one with the moko begins, ‘I’ve already asked your daughter – is it Cheryl? – if me and the boys can do a haka for our mate Mr Whairangi at the end of his service. I hope that’s okay?’ Daniel nods, again held by that intriguing feeling that he’s known this man in the past.
‘Aaron could do a mean haka, man,’ the second one says, his voice sparkling with admiration.
‘Too right; he taught us the one we’re going to do,’ the third one adds.
‘Aaron knew his culture well.’ Fletch uses the same admiring tone. ‘I’ll contact you tomorrow,’ he adds. ‘There are things I need to discuss with you.’
‘About Aaron?’ Daniel hears himself asking.
Fletch nods once. ‘Some very important things.’
A short while later, Dottie and Ralph hongi them at the door and give them programmes.
Once they are inside the chapel, Mikaele takes them to their seats in the front pew in front of the pulpit, beside Mere, Laura, Ripeka and Mason. Katherine Mills and her husband are seated directly behind Daniel. Feeling self-conscious, Daniel avoids looking at the rest of the mourners, who are now filling the chapel. He’d not expected such a large number; many of them will have to stay outside and follow the service over a video and loud speaker system. He thinks of Cheryl’s newspaper notice. Do most of these people need to be here? Do they owe debts to Aaron that they need to repay? Financial debts, favours, debts of fear and debts of love? Have some come to make sure they see Aaron depart for good into ashes, to be sure that they’re free of him? Have some come to gloat over his death? Of that, Daniel is sure. But he also knows that Aaron anticipated that – before he died, he put into place a payback plan that would activate itself after his burial. The will was part of it; so was leaving his service to his nephews and nieces to arrange. What else is in store? Right then, Daniel gazes down at the cover of the programme in his lap. His breath snags as he sees the half-page multi-coloured photograph. He looks across at Langi and Keith, who glance up from the same photo to meet his gaze. Together they look across the front pew at Mere, who stands up and, with head bowed, scurries over. Breathless, trying to control herself, Mere just keeps jabbing her forefinger at the photo.
‘It’s all right,’ Keith tries soothing her.
‘What do you mean, all right?’ Langi squeezes her protest from between tightly closed lips.
‘This is supposed to be a funeral for someone we love,’ Mere murmurs, trying to keep her face relaxed, undisturbed.
‘Aaron must have okayed it.’ Daniel defends Cheryl and the rangatahi.
‘He may have – but to put it on his funeral service programme?’ Mere objects. ‘I’m going to have a piece of Dottie and Cheryl after this.’ She wheels and, still trying to hide her true feelings from the congregation, hurries back to her seat.
‘You must admit, it is funny,’ Keith whispers. Langi taps him on the shoulder with her programme.
‘It is funny, but I agree with Mere,’ she chastises Keith. ‘Wait till I get hold of our kids.’
Daniel glances back at Kath Mills: she is studying the photograph and dabbing a tissue at her eyes. Daniel surveys the congregation. Some of them are obviously amused by the image; some are discussing it. Trust Aaron. Daniel is sure Aaron made the photo himself, and he may not have done it for his funeral, but the rangatahi, who knew him well, must have chosen it because they know Aaron would appreciate the wicked humour in it. Daniel starts relaxing again, and examines the photograph.
It is an image of the recent All Blacks team, but the faces of the players have been replaced with those of their Tribe. In the centre of the front row are Langi, Laura, Cherie and Mere (as captain, holding the ball). On their left are Dottie and Cheryl, and on their right Simone, Pale and Mere. The second row has Keith in the centre, with Daniel and Paul on his left and Phillip and Mikaele on his right. As is customary in such photos, each player and his or her position is named beneath. Aaron had obviously taken much time choosing their positions. Mere is hooker, Laura and Langi are breakaways, Cherie is number eight, Paul and Keith are the locks, and Cheryl and Dottie are front rows. Daniel is halfback, Mikaele is first five, Phillip is second five, Ralph is centre, Simone and Pale are on the wings, and Mere Junior is full back. Aaron knew and loved the game and the Tribe equally and intimately. He had chosen their positions with unerring insight.
And then there’s Aaron himself. His wickedly grinning face gazes out at them from the coach’s position. Daniel is surprised for a moment that he hasn’t given that position to Mere. He stops himself from laughing aloud – No, Aaron had again made the right choice; he is still coaching them, even from his death.
At the other end of the pew Paul holds up the programme and points to the top of the image. Daniel looks. Instead of ‘THE 2006 ALL BLACKS’, it reads ‘THE 2006 FREEMANS BAY TRIBE’. Daniel starts laughing. Keith joins him, and Langi and Cherie and Laura try to stop them with stern looks, but then Mere can’t help joining them, and they all laugh on, with their hands over their mouths, muffling their mirth. Daniel looks at Kath Mills: she is laughing too, with tears sliding down her cheeks. Daniel can’t help looking round and noting that the photograph is having a similar effect on many of the mourners. The whole atmosphere of gloom is lifting. Most of the mourners, though they are trying to look appropriately sad, exude an infectious feeling of amusement, enjoying Aaron’s and his rangatahi’s performance. Aaron is still a gifted and inspired coach.
Cheryl is dressed in a flowing silver black dress with long sleeves, and plain black shoes. No make-up, she wears just a small pounamu pendant, which Aaron gave her for her fifteenth birthday, and a simple pair of pāua shell earrings. Her long black hair is pulled back tightly and plaited into one thick plait that drops down her back. As she steps up to the lectern by the head of the coffin, everyone falls silent, captivated by her striking appearance. Daniel’s whole being sings with love and admiration. When he deserted Laura, Cheryl and Phil for Hawai‘i, he still thought of her as a child. Now she is a stunning, mana-full woman who possesses huge confidence, just like Mere at her age. All around him he feels the alofa and pride of their whānau as Cheryl unfolds her speech on the lectern and gazes down at them.
‘The rangatahi of our aiga, our whānau, have ordered me to give Uncle Aaron’s eulogy today,’ she begins. ‘And Uncle Aaron would have advised me to keep it simple and short. So I’ll keep it simple.’ Some of the mourners murmur in approval. She glances down at her speech, and continues: ‘True to his surname, Whairangi, Uncle Aaron was a “Maker of Heavens”’. She goes on to explain that, in Samoan religion, there are ten langi, or heavens, and, being humble humans, they can only aspire to the ninth. The tenth heaven is reserved for the Supreme Atua, Tagaloaalagi. ‘Uncle Aaron may not have known about that, but throughout his life he constructed a series of heavens. For us, his nephews and nieces, he constructed a heaven centred firmly on our whānau, and the principles of aroha and loyalty to that whānau. Around that heaven he constructed another one for all his friends and those who needed his help. Again, that was centred on the principles of aroha and loyalty. The third heaven he called ‘the other world’, and he kept them separate from the first two. That langi we, who belong to the first two langi, know little about, because he ensured we didn’t know much about it.’ She stops and coolly surveys the congregation. ‘All of us here know which of those langi we belong to. We also have our own individual reasons why we’re here to farewell Aaron. I am here because I love him …’ She hesitates for a moment to compose herself, and then resumes. ‘I’m sure my Uncle Aaron’s other nephews and nieces are also here because of their aroha for him. All our lives, our parents have tried to hide from us Aaron’s “other side”’. She gazes defiantly round the chapel, and then declares, ‘But we knew early on about that side: his criminal side, his gangster side, his defiant side: what he described to me one time as his “gift for living with the darkness in our souls”.’ She pauses and smiles. ‘Yes, Uncle Aaron had a high opinion of himself and his intellect!’ Some of them laugh with her. ‘I don’t want to romanticise our uncle, because he certainly wasn’t a Robin Hood. Many of you are here because you suffered his criminal side, and you want to see him go away forever, and I don’t blame you. But whichever Aaron Whairangi we knew or suffered, it is undeniable that he was remarkable, extraordinary – and deserving of the ninth langi, in my opinion.’ The other rangatahi move up and face the congregation. ‘To farewell our uncle, we are going to sing ‘Amazing Grace’, one of our uncle’s favourite songs.’
She starts singing. The rangatahi join her quickly, and then the rest of the congregation.
Before the singing ends, Fletch and his men move in a single line into the space in front of the pulpit. They face the congregation, and, as the song ends, they go into the haka stance. The man with the tattooed face starts the chant. (Again, Daniel feels like he has seen him before – his eyes, his voice, his movements, his controlled power – but where?) His gang joins him, and immediately from the other sections of the chapel other people take up the chant. Phillip and the other male rangatahi haka as they slide behind Fletch’s gang.
The power of the haka, as Daniel opens up to it, flows through him and starts lifting him above the sorrow. For a while, he isn’t aware of the men who haka as they advance up the aisle from the back of the congregation. But when he is, he wheels and looks.
Instantly, he recognises – with an alarming mix of anger, shock, dismay and humiliation – Feau and Bonzy and their gang. Their unexpected entry into the farewell haka is the most arrogant of insults: a blatantly unforgivable challenge: they are trampling over Aaron, publicly reconfirming their killing of him and declaring they don’t care if the Tribe know about it because they know that none of the Tribe would sacrifice their successful, wealthy respectability to claim utu, reparation for the life of one of their members. The physicality of Daniel’s anger and instant need to meet that insult clogs his every vein, and he is on his feet, but Keith grasps his sleeve and pulls him down. Paul starts pushing his way along the aisle, but Cherie blocks him and forces him to sit down.
As if nothing is wrong, Mere slips up and across the floor. Positioning herself between the two advancing gangs, she joins in the performance and stops the advance.
Feau looks as if he hasn’t aged over the years: he has the same tightly muscled body, smooth finely chiselled features and arrogant gleam in his eyes. Dressed in a superbly tailored black suit and black tie, he looks more like a wealthy business executive than a gangster. Beside him, still a pasty yellow, Bonzy looks ponderous, slow. He is sweating and breathing heavily because he is so overweight, almost bursting out of his sweat-stained suit; his tie is threatening to strangle him.
The haka ends, but continues echoing in their heads. Refusing to acknowledge their rivals, Fletch and his men move over and stand protectively around the coffin. Mere turns to Feau and Bonzy to hongi them, in full view of everyone. The action relieves some of the tension. Those mourners who read Feau’s and Bonzy’s haka correctly deflate in relief; Daniel can almost hear it. He has to marvel at Mere’s ability to read and counter threats against them using public protocol. Her hongi with the enemy leaders publicly was her declaration to her Tribe that this isn’t the time and place for utu; they have to keep the enemy close. Yes, Feau and Bonzy, as Daniel observes them talking with Mere, feel utterly close: so close their heartbeats echo Daniel’s, and he is breathing their breath and smelling their sweat and blood and arrogance. So, with the rest of the Tribe, Daniel moves up to Feau and Bonzy, and, smiling, he reaches to them to hongi and thank them for their tribute to Aaron.
‘Long time no see, and you’ve come a long way, Dan,’ Feau greets Daniel. Daniel smiles. ‘From Waikīkī and paradise to say ‘fa to a bro, eh.’
‘Good ta see ya, Dan,’ Bonzy says. ‘Great to see ya at the farewell to a brother. It’s been a great send-off, eh?’
‘Our rangatahi have organised it well,’ Mere replies.
‘Yeah, Judge, they certainly have done a great job of it,’ Feau declares. All the Tribe catch the emphasis, but don’t show it.
‘I think Cheryl wants you over there,’ Daniel says to Mere, untangling her from the cynical net that Feau is casting. Mere excuses herself and hurries over to Cheryl and Mailo Vasega, who are beside the head of the coffin talking to Fletch. Fletch and his men line up and hongi Mere respectfully.
A short while later, Cheryl indicates they should come to the coffin. Fletch and his men shift away from it. So do Feau and Bonzy and their men, allowing the elders of the Tribe to surround the coffin, gazing down at it.
Daniel stands between Cheryl and Mere. They turn and face the congregation. Cheryl announces: ‘Aaron wanted to be cremated, and we, his rangatahi, want that to be private, for only his Freemans Bay aiga and his Tangata Fanua Fanau. We ask those of you who wish to say their last farewells to him to come forward and do so now.’ She pauses and then continues, ‘All of you are invited to a hākari being held at the Manhattan in Dominion Road, starting at 2 p.m. today. We will drink and feast in celebration of Uncle Aaron’s magnificent life.’
Many of the congregation line up and, walking round the coffin, speak to Aaron and lay down flowers and other farewell gifts. Many of them kiss Mere and Cheryl before they leave.
When the congregation finishes their farewells, the gangs make theirs. As Daniel tries to avoid looking at Feau and Bonzy, they become more demanding in his head, clogging it with outraged hatred. He glances up at them as they turn from the coffin and start leaving. Cheryl’s grip captures his hand. ‘It’ll be okay, Dad,’ she whispers. He looks at Paul and Keith, and sense they too are feeling what he is experiencing. ‘Calm down,’ Cheryl adds. Feau stares right at Daniel; his thin smile is a defiant blade that says, ‘Yeah, I fixed your Aaron good; fixed him permanently!’ Daniel realises that for the rest of his life he will never forget that smile. Never.
He looks round. Their Tribe and Kath and her husband are around the coffin; everyone else is leaving like a receding tide.
