Huia Short Stories 9

by Anahera Gildea

  ‘Me trouble? You! You kotiti,’ Hemi enjoys the insult exchange. ‘Cuppa’ll be nice – blonde with two legs, thanks.’ He puffs on his cigarette. ‘I’ll bet Maria made a killing, eh?’

  ‘What, working as a waitress? Doubt it!’ Wai stops at the kitchen door.

  ‘Waitress, my foot. We all know what she did up there; don’t have to pretend to me, girl.’

  Behind Wai, Dion and Wilson walk through the dining room, heading for the kitchen to get a drink.

  ‘I saw her up there once, standing on that street. It was sad. She was really smashed: she didn’t even recognise me,’ Hemi says.

  ‘She and Wilson are so alike, eh. Stunning!’ Wai says. ‘He’s a little queen if ever I saw one. Poor Reen and Dion: he’s gonna be a handful when he grows up. I can see him now, all dragged up on the streets. Those other hideous queens will just stand aside,’ Wai says.

  ‘I wouldn’t let Dion hear you talking like that: he’s got blinkers on.’

  ‘Either that or he’s thick as,’ says Wai. ‘Wilson asked me if I know who his father is. I didn’t know what to say.’

  ‘Do you know?’ Hemi asks.

  ‘Course I do – I know everything about Maria,’ Wai replies.

  ‘Is he really a Hindu? That’s what Maria told us.’

  ‘Well, all I have to say about that question is this –’

  SMASH! from the kitchen.

  Wai turns to see Dion and Wilson standing right there – Dion red-faced and shaking, a broken cup at his feet. He snarls at Wai, ‘You’d better keep your bloody mouth shut – you hear me? God help me, I’ll smash your black face in.’

  ***

  The following day pall-bearers lift Maria from the porch of the wharepuni to take her across the marae to the church, where they will bury her. Herena stands to karanga Maria from the marae. The old woman’s voice breaks with the strain. The sound reminds Wilson of a chook they once had that converted to a rooster when the real one died. It stood on a fence post each morning screeching the most hideous sound: ‘Cockadurgleguurrrr!’ it would try to crow.

  The sound of another voice breaks Wilson’s reverie.

  ‘Ka mate! Ka mate!

  Ka ora! Ka ora!

  Ka mate! Ka mate!

  Ka ora! Ka ora!

  Tēnei te tangata pūhuruhuru

  Nāna nei i tiki mai whakawhiti te rā!

  A upane! Kaupane!

  A upane! Kaupane!

  A upane! Kaupane! Whiti te rā!

  Hi!’

  Wai stands by the gate of the church as she lets rip, her eyes wide, evil, fierce. Her dress up around her knees, her bare feet stomping the ground like a stallion, her uri swinging in defiance. No tears in her eyes. No onlooker escapes her glare. Teeth bared, she looks ready to eat.

  The pall-bearers almost drop the coffin out of fright. Others join her in the haka and echo her challenge to death. Wilson is proud of his mother’s funny friend, and for the first time at the tangi he cries.

  ***

  A handful of children huddle in the wharepuni, Wilson and Bella among them. Everything inside is quiet – but they keep listening. Maria is buried, and as darkness cloaks the village the sound of children’s laughter fades to a quiet vigil – silent prayers, worried faces.

  Dion had brought beer, heaps of it: bottled gratitude to family, friends and relatives – even Georgie McCormish. Tucked away in a lean-to at the back of the dining room, a night of hard drinking has started.

  The children listen from the wharepuni. The noise of the party increases and the noise in the whare subsides. Wilson had expected his nana to come and get him, but she never did. Instead he can hear her voice rising with the others in uncommon drunkenness. Whenever someone screams the children all tense up, listening for the voice of a parent. When the scream turns into laughter they release their breath in unison, wide-eyed. Eventually sleep steals Wilson’s thoughts and he drifts, unsettled.

  It was Reen who threw the first punch. It was Lorinda who threw the second; Wai who threw the third and fourth and fifth and sixth. Lorinda didn’t stand a chance.

  The next day it was all blamed on Georgie McCormish, of course. Reen and Wai had been sitting at a table with Georgie and Hemi when it started. Wai’s lips were numb, and her mind bumbled with the doubled effect of Dion’s beer and some Mandrax pills she’d scored in Auckland. Reen screamed, Wai laughed. An open fire was burning in a tin fireplace with a dirt hearth. Someone strummed a guitar somewhere, building up to a song.

  Georgie McCormish stood up, excusing himself to go take a leak. The room went quiet in anticipation. Wai should have known something was up at that point. Georgie McCormish slipped his little finger into the corner of his eye, his blue false eye. Everyone held their breath. ‘I’m just off for a piss,’ he said to Wai. He gave his false eye a little flick and it plopped from its socket and landed in his glass of beer. ‘Keep an eye on me beer, eh,’ he said to his eye, and walked towards the door, weaving slightly. The crowd roared as Wai covered her mouth and retched.

  ‘Disgusting old bugger,’ Wai yelled. The whole room was in hysterics, Lorinda enjoying herself more than anyone else.

  What happened next was like slow motion for those who watched. Wai picked up the glass and threw it at Georgie, who ducked; it missed him, sailing straight for Dion, who ducked also. It went flying over Dion’s head and hit Lorinda smack on the side of her face.

  Lorinda was up fast as a flash, and flew across the room. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. ‘Look what you did to me!’ Her hands were shaking, eyes slightly crossed, face red and hair beer-soaked. Wai started to laugh.

  ‘Fuckin’ laugh at me, ya ugly hua.’ Lorinda raised her fist to Wai.

  ‘Get a grip, you stupid cow – piss off!’

  ‘C’mon, faggot, c’mon! You’ve had it coming all week.’

  And – Boof! Reen was in first. She had never punched another soul in her life, but God she’d wanted to plant her sister-in-law one for years. She was appropriately snozzled right then, and she let Lorinda have it for all she was worth.

  Lorinda couldn’t quite believe Reen had hit her. She turned to look at Reen; shook her head, stunned for a moment. Reen should have hit her harder. Lorinda grabbed Reen by the hair with her left hand, using it to push her away, at the same time raising her other fist and smashing Reen one in the face. Reen closed her eyes, waiting for a second punch, but Wai stepped in, pushing Reen out of the way, leaving Lorinda with only a few strands of Reen’s hair between her fingers.

  Several well-placed punches and Lorinda was out cold.

  Later, when the fight finally ended, Wai fled into the darkness. The events of that night happened so fast she later questions her recollection of it. Exactly how she found her way onto the highway and back to Auckland she only ever remembers in snippets. When the Mandrax and alcohol wore off they were replaced with a horrible dread, and things she doesn’t want to remember. She rams those feelings down though, right where they belong. There’s no room for regret in Wai’s life – like unused lipstick in a handbag, regret is ignored, nearly forgotten. She’ll flick her hair back and get on with life. Cos that’s what you do when you’re a queen.

  ***

  It’s the sound of smashing glass that wakes Wilson. His mother’s scream slices through his silence and Wilson is up, running to the dining room.

  By the time he gets there Lorinda is on the floor, nose mashed and blood pouring down her face, eyes staring into nothingness. Wai is standing over her – mascara rubbed, a crazed look on her face.

  Dion rushes towards Wai, grabbing her around the throat from behind, elbow at her chin, pulling her backwards, away from Lorinda. Wai’s eyes widen, and her fist goes forward, up and down, elbow drawn straight back into Dion’s gut.

  Dion scrunches up, letting go of Wai’s neck and buckling over.

  Wilson runs to Dion. Wai kicks out, missing Dion and connecting with Wilson. A crunch like roast pork crackling. Pain in his chest as several
of his ribs snap and one rams straight into his lung. The last thing he remembers is a drifting feeling, as though he is drowning. He sees Wai running and knows he might never see her again. ‘No Wai, don’t go. Tell me who my father is!’ he gurgles. ‘Wai, tell me who …’

  He Toa Pākīwaha

  Fred Te Maro

  I tētahi huihuinga-ā-hapū i te pā, kua mutu ngā take katoa o te rā, kua kai tahi te katoa, kua tō te rā.

  Kua haere ngā pakeke, ngā kuia mē ngā koroua ki te wharenui ki reira kōrerorero ai. Kua whai atu ngā kōkā mē ā rātau tamariki ki te moe.

  He pai ēnei wā ki ngā rangatahi kāore anō kia mate moe, he wā kapu tī, he wā whakaputa whakāro, kōrero pūrākau, kōrero parau noa iho rānei i ā rātau e nohonoho ana i mua i te ahi o te kāuta.

  I tēnei pō, tokowhā ngā rangatahi nei, ko Wiremu me ōna hoa a Timoti, a Henare mē Raumo.

  I ā rātau e kapu tī ana, e whakarongo ana ki tō rātau hoa a Wiremu e pahupahu ana, kei te titiro minamina kē atu a Henare ki ngā tuna e whata mai ana i runga ake i te mura o te ahi.

  ‘He aha tēnā Henare?’ te ui atu a Timoti.

  ‘Aaa, e hoa, kei te titiro atu ki ngā tuna rā, te mōmona hoki, titiro atu ki te hinu e turuturu mai rā’.

  ‘Oo, āe tonu rā, Henare, āe tonu rā’. Mē te tūngoungou atu o te māhunga o Timoti. ‘Kei te mina atu au, mmm!’

  Ka titiro korotaha atu a Raumo ki ōna hoa. ‘Mē noho minamina kōrua, kauā e pā atu ō kōrua ringaringa ki ngā tuna nā kei pā atu te pūtu o Pāpākoroua ki ō kōrua whero’.

  Tere tonu tā rātau huri ki te titiro tērā pea kāore anō a Pāpākoroua kia haere ki te moe!

  ‘Ē tama mā’! te wero atu a Wiremu. ‘Moumou noa iho taku taima ki te kōrero ki a koutou, kāre koutou i te whakarongo! A kāti, hai aha māku, waiho ngā tuna nā, āpōpō me haere tātau ki te hopu tuna anō, kei te mōhio mai koutou ko au te tino toa ō ngā toa katoa mō tēna mahi a te hopu tuna.’

  ‘Ha!!’ ka titiro tītaha atu a Henare, ‘Kei te kōrero tērā kūmara kai poaka, mō tōna reka’.

  Anō te pai o tērā whakautu hei katakata mā ōna hoa, me te papaki i ō rātau pona!

  ‘Hai aha māku ō kōrero, Henare, āpōpō kā kite koe,’ te whakahoki atu a Wiremu.

  I konei, ka whakaae ngā rangatahi nei mē haere rātau ki te ngutu o te awa o Maraehara arā, i Rangitukia ki reira hopuhopu tuna ai.

  Te maha hoki o ngā take e pā ana ki te hinengaro o te rangatahi, kua tae kē ki waenganui pō kātahi anō ka whai whakaaro me haere rātau ki te moe.

  Oho mai ana i te ata, a, i muri atu i te kai, ka haere te hunga nei ki te hopuhopu ō rātau hōiho.

  Ka hīanga ngā hōiho o ngā hoa o Wiremu. He tino uaua ki te hopu. Engari ko te hōiho o Wiremu, he ngāwari noa iho. Ka tangi atu tōna wīhara ka oma atu tōna hōiho ki a ia.

  ‘Ē hika mā, nā wai i whakarata ō koutou hōiho, nā Hātana?’ tōna katakata atu ki ōna hoa, ‘Ā muri ake nei me mau mai ō koutou hōiho, māku e whakarata, ko au hoki te tino toa ō ngā toa katoa mō te whakarata hōiho. Ha ha hā’.

  Ka tetē ngā niho o ōna hoa, ka pukuriri ki ō rātau hōiho engari ka noho puku rātau. Me pēhea hoki e taea ai te tohetohe ki a Wiremu te rata hoki ō tōna hōiho.

  Heoi anō, ka mau ō rātau hōiho ka whakawhiti atu rātau i te awa ō Waiapu ā, kāore noa iho i roa, ka tae ki te awa o Maraehara. Tae atu ki reira ka tīmata ki te hopu tuna.

  E hika mā, kātahi anō rātau ka tīmata, kā mau i a Wiremu he tuna, ā, he tuna anō. Ngāwari noa iho te āhua ō tōna hopu tuna. Ka whāwhā haere ōna ringaringa i ngā tahataha o te awa ana, ka mau he tuna.

  Engari! Ko ōna hoa kei konā kē e whaiwhai haere ana i ngā tuna i puta ohorere ake mai i ō rātau wāhi moe nō te kaha tutū o te āhua o tā rātau mahi.

  Tekau ngā tuna ka mau i a Wiremu ka tahuri atu ia ki ōna hoa ka pātai atu, ‘Oi, e hia ā koutou tuna?’ ‘E rima’, te whakautu atu. ‘Ā, tekau kei au, ka nui ēnā nē?’

  Ka whakaae atu ōna hoa, ‘Āe, Wiremu, ka nui ēnā.’

  Ka tū whakahīhī a Wiremu ka katakata atu. ‘E whakaae ana koutou ko au te toa o ngā toa katoa?’

  Ka titiro rātau, tētahi ki tētahi. Kotahi anake te whakautu.

  ‘Ka mau tō wehi!’

  I ā rātau e hoki ana ki te pā ka tīmata a Wiremu, ‘Kia mōhio mai koutou, i a au e noho ana i Hakataramea …’

  ‘I hea koe ka haere ki Hakataramea?’ te pātai a Henare.

  ‘I ā koutou e whaiwhai wāhine haere ana. Engari, i a au e noho ana i reira, tino ngākaunui ngā Pākehā ō reira ki a au. Ko au te mea te mea te mea te mea, nāku i mea te mea te mea….’

  Ka titiro ōna hoa, tētahi ki tētahi, ka titiro whakarunga ki te rangi, ka tirotiro haere ki wīwī ki wāwā ka whakaturi i ō rātau taringa.

  I muri i tōna tuara, ka whakaae ngā hoa o Wiremu, ‘Āe ko Wiremu te tinotoa mō te pākīwaha. Ki te tīmata ia ki te kōrero, ka wahangū ngā kākā i te ngahere.

  Ka karanga atu a Timoti. ‘Ē, Wiremu, kua whakatauria e au he kī.’

  ‘Ā, he aha tō whakataukī Timoti?’

  ‘Ko te kākā ki te ngahere, ko koe ki ō mātau taha.’

  Kā hemo ōna hoa i te kata! Oreore ana ngā tinana i te kata!

  Te kaha hoki o te kata ka tumeke ō rātau hōiho, ka tarapekepeke haere!

  Engari, kāore he aha ki a Wiremu te toa!

  Ki Te Whei Ao, Ko Te Ao Marama

  Erin Thompson-Pou

  Mmm…. Te kakara reka!! He aha tēnā?

  Kātahi anō te ata hāpara ka tākiri mai, kei te kīhini kē a Nanny e tunu ana. Kei te rongo au i te reka o āna keke. Mmm…

  Mahana ana te whare. Kua kā te pū mahana, kei te kā hoki ngā rama.

  Kei te rongo au i te pouaka whakaata e kā tonu ana. Ko te āhua nei he kēmu whutupōro e whakaatungia ana. Engari kāore tētahi e mātakitaki ana. I wareware pea a Koro ki te whakaweto i te pouaka whakaata.

  Kei te turu roa a Koro e ngongoro ana. I moe ia i reira. Ka aroha ki tōku koroua. I panaia ia i tōna moenga kia moe kē ko au ki te taha o Nanny.

  Ka rata au ki nga hīti ngohengohe e uwhi ana i ahau, me ngā pera ngohe e tiaki ana i tōku upoko.

  E hiahia ana ahau ki te moe roa. Engari ko te reo tīoriori o Nanny, e rite ki ngā manu o te wao, e waiata ana, e karanga mai ana, ‘E oho!’ I tētahi ao kē ōku whakaaro i aua wā. I te ao moemoeā tonu au e mau ana.

  Heoi anō, me oho au. He kaupapa nui mō taku whānau i tēnei rā.

  Ina puta au i te moenga, kua waiho a Nanny i ōku hiripa me ōku pueru ki te taha o te moenga, a, ka kuhu ahau.

  Ka puta i te rūma, kei te mukumuku tonu i ōku karu kia oho rawa i taku moe. Ka whai i te reo o Nanny. Kei te waiata tonu ia i a ia e tunu ana. He aronga nui hoki māna, ko te kaupapa o te rā.

  ‘Mōrena Nanny,’ ka kōhimuhimu atu. E mukumuku tonu ana i ōku karu.

  ‘Mōrena!’ te kī a Nanny. Ka menemene mai. He rite ki te whitinga mai o Tama-nui-te-rā tōna mene mai. ‘He pai tō moe?’

  ‘Ae, Nanny.’ Ka whakatata atu au, ka awhi māua. Kātahi ia ka whakatika i ōku kākahu, kia kore te makariri e uru mai.

  ‘Nanny, kei te aha koe?’

  ‘Kei te tunu keke au, e Ko. E rua ngā keke kua tunua kētia. E rua anō e toe ana.’ Kua mōhiotia whānuitia taku Nanny mō ōna ringa wera. He tokomaha e rata nui ana ki āna keke katoa.

  ‘Mō te aha ērā, Nanny?’ taku pātai.

  ‘Mō te marae. He kaupapa nui i tēnei rā.’

  Ka noho au ki te tēpu. Ka whakaritea e Nanny i tētahi inu mairo māku, ka waiho ki mua i ahau, ka hoki ki āna keke. Engari kāore au e hiahia ana i tēnei wā. Kei te ngana tonu ahau ki te oho ake.

  ‘Nanny, ko wai mā e haere mai ana ki te marae?’

  He rawe taku haere ki te marae. Ka tūtaki i aku whanaunga, ka tākaro kemu, ka koa te ngākau. He wāhi mārie māku.

  ‘E Ko, ko te tūmanako ia, ko te tini me te mano. Kei te whakatika, kei te whakapai tātou i te marae.’

  ‘He aha ai, Nanny?’ Kei te kimo atu ō
ku karu ki a ia.

  ‘Na.’ Ka noho a Nanny ki tōku taha. Kei ōna ringa he ipu, kei te kōrori ia i te ranunga mo te keke tuatoru mō te rā.

  ‘I whakarite kia haere mai a teihana Māori, a Marae DIY ki te marae ki te āwhina i a tātou katoa. Ka whakapiata, kia ātaahua,’ te kī a Nanny.

  ‘Engari, Nanny, he ātaahua kē tōku marae!’ ko taku whakapono.

  ‘Ae,’ te whakautu a Nanny. ‘Engari kei reira tonu ētahi mahi whakatikatika mā tātou kia whakapaipai ake i tō tāua marae.’

  Nā te whakamatemate ??? au ka noho torotika. ‘Nō reira, Nanny, ko wai mā ka haere mai?’ Ka āta titiro atu au ki waho. Ko Tama-nui-te-rā kei te mata o te pae.

  ‘Kua toro atu te karanga ki ngā hau e whā kia hokihoki mai ngā uri katoa a tō tipuna ki te āwhina mai. Me ringa raupā tātou katoa, kia oti tika ngā mahi.’ I te kōrori tonu i te ranunga keke.

  Ko te koa o taku ngākau, he hui nui e tū ana ki te marae. ‘Nō reira, Nanny, me reri moata au, nē?’

  ‘Āe, kōtiro. Me haere koe ki te horoi, kātahi tātou ka parakuihi. Me reri moata tātou mō te pōwhiri.’

  Nā te koa, kāore au i horoi. Ka oma kē ki te whakaoho i a Koro.

  ‘Koro, Koro! Maranga! Maranga!’ Kāore au mō te whakaaro, ka tango noa i āna paraikete, ka peke ki rō moenga ki te taha o Koro.

  ‘Mōrena, e Ko!’ Ka awhi mai a Koro. E kati tonu ana ōna karu.

  ‘E Koro. Ka haere tātou ki te marae i tēnei rā, nē?’ E kore e taea e au te wana te huna.

  ‘Āe, e moko. He hui nui e tū ai.’ Ka whāroaroa a Koro. Ka neke a ia kia whai rūma mōku ki tōna taha.

  ‘E Koro, e rata ana ahau ki ngā haerenga ki te marae. Ko te tūmanako he tokomaha ngā tamariki hei hoa māku,’ aku kī.

  ‘Kāore e kore, e Ko, Kāore e kore,’ te kī a Koro. ‘Na, me maranga tāua, me reri tāua, kei kohetengia e Nanny.’

  Ka tere horoi au, ka tīni kākahu. Kua rite mō te parakuihi. Kua tata oti i a Nanny āna keke, kua horahia te tēpu. He pāreti me te tōhi hei parakuihi.