Ka nui aku parakuihi me te mōhio ka pukumahi i tēnei rā. Kua oti i a Nanny te tunu keke. Kua reri mō te pani huka. He huka kohia, he huka tiakarete, he huka kokonati, he huka remana. Auē, ka waiwai te arero i te reka!!
I te wā ka whakarewa i te huka ki ngā keke, ka whakapai a Koro i te kīhini, ka horoi hoki i ngā rīhi.
Ki waho rā, kua awatea. He paki te rā, he mahana. E tangi ana ngā korimako. Kei te kitea ngā pūkeko e timotimo ana, e wero ana i te papa. E kore e taea e au te koa kei taku ngākau te pupuri.
Ka aro atu ki a Nanny me te kī, ‘Inapō i ahau e moemoeā ana, i kite au i tētahi rā pēnei.’
‘Nē rā,’ te kī a Nanny, ‘He aha ōu kitenga, e Ko?’
‘I te pēnei te rā, Nanny. He paki, he mahana. Kua oho tātou ki te tangi a ngā manu. Ka rongo i te koa o te ngākau. I te whakariterite kia haere ki te marae mō tētahi kaupapa NUI RAWA ATU!!’ Ka pūkana ōku karu me te hiki i ōku ringa ki te whakaatu atu i te nui.
‘Ko te tini me te mano i tae atu ki te marae. Ko ētahi i te mōhiotia e au, ko ētahi kāore au i te mōhio. Heoi anō, i reira tātou katoa e mahi ana i runga i te whakaaro kotahi.’
Ka huri mai a Koro ki te whakarongo ki aku kōrero kitenga.
‘Kātahi tātou ka whakarārangi ki mua i te whare tipuna kia rite mō tētahi pōwhiri. Ko ngā nohinohi ki mua, kātahi ko ngā kuia, ko ngā whaea, ko ngā taiohi, ko wai ake, ko wai ake.’
Ka titiro whakarunga au, ka āta whakaaro. I whakatata mai a Nanny rāua ko Koro ki te rongo i pēhea taku moemoeā i oti atu.
‘I a tātou katoa he rau ponga, ā, kao! He rau kawakawa rānei. E aua, engari i te mau kākahu pango te nuinga, ahakoa te wera.’ Ka mene au. I te tiro whakarunga tonu.
Kātahi a Nanny ka aumihi atu, ka tūpou hoki tōna māhunga. Ka kōhimuhimu atu a Koro, ‘He kitenga pea e rite ana ki tāhau, e kui.’ I te ngaro haere tōna menemene. He hākirikiri kē te āhua o tōna mata.
‘Nanny,’ ka tiro atu au. ‘He aha koe e pāpōuri ai?’
‘Kāore ahau i te pōuri, e Kō. Tēnā, haere tonu nē. Kāore anō tō moemoeā kia oti nē?’ He nui te aroha o tōku Nanny mōku. Ka mau i tōku ringa, ka rere noa te mahana me te aroha ki waenganui i a māua.
‘Nanny, kua mutu taku moemoeā i reira. Nā tō reo waiata ahau i whakaoho i taua wā. I ngana ahau ki te hoki atu ki taku moe, engari nā te reka o tō reo, me te kākara o ngā keke, e kore rawa e taea!’
Ka kēkeho atu a Nanny ki waho. Ka hoki atu a Koro ki āna rīhi. I ngū katoa te kīhini.
I te tiro atu a Nanny ki waho, i te mirimiri i ōna ringa. I ao kē ōna whakaaro. Engari kore rawa au i mārama he aha ai?
‘Nanny?’ ka awhiawhi au i a ia. ‘Nanny, he hui nui rawa i tēnei rā. Kei te koa au. Kei te koa hoki koe, nē Nanny?’
Ka pupuri i ōku ringa. ‘Āe, e Ko, kei te koa hoki au.’
‘Nō reira,’ te kī a Koro. ‘Me haere tātou, nē?’
‘Āe, e Koro. Āe rā!!’
Kua rite mātou, kātahi a Nanny ka huri mai ki au. ‘E Ko, ka nui rawa taku koa. Kore rawa au i te pōuri. Engari ko ngā hokinga mahara kua pā mai ki a au.’
‘Mō te aha, Nanny?’ i pātai au.
‘Mō te wā i konei ōku tīpuna, ōku mātua hoki. Ina tamaiti tonu au, i tētahi pō i moe au ki te taha o tōku kuia. He rite te pai o taku noho atu ki tāhau ki konei.’
‘I tētahi pō hoki i ahau e moemoeā ana, i te rongo i te tangi a ngā manu. I te paki, i te mahana te rā. He pōwhiri nui i te whakaritea ki te marae. Ka kino te koa o taku ngākau.’
‘Nē, Nanny?’ Ka āta tirohia ngā kūreherehe e whakairohia ana i tōna kanohi.
‘Engari ko taku moemoeā, e Ko, i oti pēnei ai.’ Ka kumea taku tūru e Nanny kia tata atu ki a ia.
‘Tokotoru ngā kuia i te waharoa e tatari ana. I mua i a rātou he kōtiro. He ōrite tōna pakeke ki a koe. I te mau korowai kiwi te kōtiro nei. I ōna ringa he waka huia. Ki ngā taha o te waka huia he raukura muramura kua herea mā te muka. Nā te pupuhi o te hau ka rere noa ēnei raukura. Me he kapokapowai e kanikani ana i ngā hīhī o te rā.’
Ka mārama haere te mata o tōku Nanny. Ka hoki anō te harikoa ki tōna kanohi.
‘Ka karanga atu tōku kuia ki te ope whakaeke, ka eke mai rātou. Ko mātou katoa e ūmere atu, e pōwhiri atu ana. Toia Mai! Te Waka!’
‘E Ko, hīkaka katoa taku ngākau! Ka wiriwiri ngā ringa. Ka pūkanakana atu. Ka kapakapa te manawa. Kia rite ki ngā wero a ngā ope taua.’
‘Kātahi ko taku ohorere!’
I piko tōku tuara kia tata atu ōku taringa ki a Nanny. Me kapo au i te katoa o āna kōrero!
‘I aiō te marae ātea. Ka titiro whakamuri, ko au anake i reira. Kua ngaro atu ōku whanaunga katoa. Ki hea? Ko wai ka mōhio?’
Auē! He moemoeā pai tēnei! I kawea au e te kōrero mīharo nei.
‘Ka huri anō au ki mua. Ko māua ko te kōtiro anake i reira. I ngaro hoki ngā kuia tokotoru!’
‘Ki hea, Nanny?’
‘E, aua, e Ko. Engari i mōhio au kāore au i te mataku. I tau rawa taku wairua.’
Ka noho a Koro ki tōku taha. I a ia he waka huia paku. Ka waiho ki te tēpu.
‘Ka toro atu te kōtiro i ōna ringa kia homai te waka huia nei. Kāore he kupu i puta i tōna waha. I te muramura mai a ia me taku mōhio māku te taonga i haria mai e ia.’
Ka whakaneke a Koro i te waka huia ki a Nanny. Ka mau i a Nanny ki ōna ringa. I mātaki au i a ia e mirimiri ana i te taupoki.
‘I te moemoeā i tūwhera au i tēnei waka huia, kātahi te ātaahua! He rama ki roto e pīataata mai ana, e tiaho mai ana. Ka whakapuaki mai te kōtiro nā, “Ki te Whei Ao, Ko Te Ao Marama”.’
‘Nanny! Koirā tōku ingoa!’
‘Āe, e Ko. Ko tērā tō ingoa. Nō taua rā i mōhio au ka haere mai koe.’ Ka toro atu a Nanny i te waka huia. Ka waiho ki ōku ringa.
‘E Ko, nō ōku tīpuna tēnei hei hoatu ki a koe. I pērā rātou ina whakamārama ai i tōku moemoeā ki tōku kuia???. I kī mai rātou ka tiakina koe e tēnei taonga.’
I āta tūwhera au i te pouaka nei. Kī tonu au i te mīharo i taku kitenga atu. He pōhatu māpuna e pīataata mai ana.
‘Nanny!’ I puha atu au. ‘Ko te ātaahua!’
‘Hei koha ki te iwi. Ko Te Ao Marama!’ te kī a Nanny. ‘Koia hoki tōna ingoa.’
‘Engari Nanny, he aha te take kei te homai ki ahau i tēnei wā?’
‘Nā te mea, e Ko, kua whakaatu mai koe, kua reri koe.’
‘Kua whakaatu au i te aha Nanny?’ Pā mai te maha o ngā pātai i tēnei wā.
‘E Ko, i mōhio au a tōna wā ka rere noa taua moemoeā ki tō hinengaro. Hei taua wā ka tika kia hoatu i tō kaitiaki. Nā te aha ahau i whakamōhio mai? E, aua. He rongonga i te manawa noa iho.’
‘Engari, me aha au, Nanny, me tōku kaitiaki?’ He maha ngā patai i te rere haere ki roto i ahau.
‘Ka pupuri koe tae atu ki te wā ka tae mai tētahi hei ārahitanga mōu.’
I pōuruuru atu au. ‘Kāore au e tino mārama, Nanny.’
‘Kei te pai, e Ko. A tōna wā ka mārama koe. Na, kei te tatari ō kuia mō a tāua keke. Kia tere, kei kohetengia e tōku tuakana!’
‘Āe Nanny.’
I hari te waka huia ki te rūma o Nanny, ka waiho ki tana tēpu. Ka mirimiri ōku matimati i ngā awa i whakairohia ki runga. Ka tiro atu ki te taupoki me tōku mingo kata, ‘Ko Te Ao Marama! Ko tō ātaahua hoki!’
Ka hoki atu ki te taha o Nanny rāua ko Koro. Ki te kaupapa o te rā mātou haere atu ai.
Click Send
Anita Tipene
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: 3 July 2009 04:47AM
Subject: WHY?
Dear James,
I know we said we wouldn’t keep in touch. I know we both agreed to make an official break. I know we had to end. And yet, here I am, sitting in my room. The sun is ready to come up. I’m on my second bottle of wine. I think I’ve smoked an entire pack of smokes, or at least I will once this is over. I’m on my way to being drunk. I’m on my way to coughing up a lu
ng. I’m on my way to another sleepless night …
And I miss you. And no, it’s not me being drunk that has led me to this, although it doesn’t hurt. It’s me still being in love with you. A year has passed and you’re still all I think about.
And I hate it! I hate myself for this. I hate myself for feeling this way all the time, every day, every minute … it kills me to want you so much, so deeply, so selfishly. Why can’t you be mine? Why couldn’t you choose me? Why couldn’t we be?
I was remembering that night in Bali … you know the one. We were lying on the hammock, the infamous hammock of many sexploitive injuries, and my head is on your shoulder, my hand is on your chest, your hand is on my hand and I said, ‘our heartbeat is in sync’ and you said, ‘that’s because we’re basically one person.’
God … just remembering that, just knowing I thought that was our defining moment makes me want to kill myself. Makes me want to vomit. Makes me want to punch that stupid girl’s head because she was so dumb. So dumb. She believed you. I believed you. I believed us and I fell for that stupid fucking line just like I fell for you and I hate that I love you so much, that I loved you so much, and you still chose her.
I hate that I wasn’t beautiful enough for you. I hate that I wasn’t sophisticated, graceful, humble, every fucking good virtue out of the Wonderful Wife Handbook that you obviously wanted so fucking much, but most of all, I hate that I feel this way. When you left, my days and nights were filled with wondering if I was too fat for you, wondering if I was too loud, too blunt, too tactless, too mean? Did I embarrass you? Did I make you feel less of a man? Was I just not enough???
I hate that you make me feel this way. I hate that I could give you so much of myself only to have you reject it for someone else. Someone better. Someone not me.
You have no idea how much that hurts, to be standing in front of someone you love with all of you, with everything you are, to believe they feel the same way and then have them refuse you. Reject you. Dump you. I wish you had just shot me dead. At least it would have been quick and painless.
I used to love myself. I used to love being me. I used to be so confident and self-assured. I used to have dignity. I was proud of who I was and what I could do, but not as proud as I was to be yours.
But now it’s gone.
Now you’re gone.
I wish I never met you.
Katherine
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: 10 July 2009 21:36PM
Subject: Re: WHY?
Dear Katherine
I hate to say this, I hate to even reply to this because I feel your email was so personal and private but you appear to have the wrong email address.
I know, I know … upon seeing your email and not recognising the address I shouldn’t have opened it, I definitely shouldn’t have read it and out of respect for your privacy, I should not be replying. But I hated to think you might be sitting at your computer waiting for a response.
So I’m sorry, I truly am, because I wish your James had read it. I wish he had read it and felt like a piece of shit like I did upon reading it and realising I’ve probably been that guy. I’ve no doubt been that guy with that girl, leading them to believe they meant something so much more than they actually were only to end it and not look back.
But I’ve also had my heart broken. And if I can give you advice, if you would accept it … this too shall pass. You will heal. There is no one great love of one’s life. This is not the be all and end all. You will be whole again. It is all cliché, but it is all true.
And another thing … he’s miserable. I promise you that.
I wish you all the best,
John Thomas
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: 11 July 2009 12:12PM
Subject: Re: Re: WHY?
Mr Thomas,
I actually don’t accept your advice. Why would I? You don’t even know me and I sure as hell don’t know you. You’re right. You shouldn’t have read my email. You should have clicked delete the moment you saw Dear James. JAMES. Not John. James.
Besides, why would I take advice from a person named after a penis?
All the best,
Ms Flynn
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: 13 July 2009 20:21PM
Subject: Re: Re: Re: WHY?
Dear Ms Flynn,
I suppose I must apologise again then. I am sorry. But like I said, I responded to your pain and I guess it is professionally ingrained in me to at least try to help heal. It won’t happen again.
Also, my father’s name was John. I am named after him and he was far from being a penis. Although he could be an asshole sometimes, just like my brothers, but that’s neither here nor there.
Yours faithfully,
Dr John Thomas
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: 20 July 2009 21:04PM
Subject: I’m sorry
Dear John, (God … how fitting is that title?)
I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean to be such a bitch — an ungrateful bitch at that, as I should be thanking you for receiving the email. Thinking it over, I realise how mortified I would be right now if he had read it instead. I could just imagine him and his perfect new girlfriend having a great big perfect laugh at how pathetic his ex-girlfriend is while they share a perfect glass of red wine, in their perfect new house, with their perfect new dog, before they go to their perfect bed and have perfect sex.
Right … sorry again. I’ve found you’re the only one I can rant to without getting sad eyes, such as the ones from my friends, family, work colleagues, the pervy guy in the dairy, etc … they all look at me like I’m about to slit my wrists any second and I’m not. Don’t worry, Doc. I’m perfectly anti-suicide!!! I’m just sad. But I guess you know all that via our initial reason for meeting … well … cyber-meeting at least.
Thank god for the internet … that I can spill all my problems to a complete stranger and said stranger not having the ability to set a restraining order on me, let alone charge me for his time.
However, you can direct my emails to your SPAM folder, which I highly recommend considering the start of my week. It’s all downhill from here.
So if it’s okay with you, or your inbox, you’re going to be my rant-receptor. I’d keep a diary, but what can I say? I like an audience … she says without any sexual innuendo whatsoever.
Thanks for listening … reading … whatever.
Katherine
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: 24 July 2009 22:04PM
Subject: Fire away …
Dear Katherine,
Like I said, I’m a doctor. I’m here to help. Or at least try.
I hate those looks … those sad-eye looks; those ‘you’re pathetic’ looks. Even worse are the indifferent looks. The looks that say ‘why are you even talking to me?’ The looks that make you feel like nothing.
But they will pass … just like everything. I hope that’s not going to be the only advice I can offer. It’ll make me a bit redundant, don’t you think?
But yes, I know those looks and as much as I hate them too, at least a good portion of them are from someone who cares about you, right? They know how hurt you are, they know you deserve sympathy and they hope you know they are there for you when you need them.
Like me.
So tell me about him. You might as well.
John
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: 31 July 2009 21:51PM
Subject: Re: Fire away …
Dear John,
So what kind of doctor are you anyway? Don’t they tell you that when it’s too soon to dredge up the tragic past of your patient’s life, don’t?
But then, I’ve already done that, haven’
t I? Spilled my soul to you. So why stop now?
James Thomas.
What kind of description can I give that won’t make me sound completely biased by love? I guess none.
He was so very much NOT my type. He was the complete opposite of everything I go for. You have to understand, I’m a rebel at heart. I was always the black sheep of the family. I chose wrong and I stood by it. And I suppose I can cop out and blame the ‘middle child’ syndrome for that.
My older sister, Eve, is a successful lawyer. Very successful and very beautiful. She’s sophisticated and smart and everything my father wanted in a child. My younger sister, Alice, is a dancer. Excuse me … a ballet dancer. She’s been all over the world; she’s also very beautiful and everything my mother wanted in a child.
And then there’s me and I’m … well … not a lawyer, not a dancer and not by any means beautiful but to make up for it I can be … pretty determined. Loudly determined one might say. I’m a bit too bold, a bit too brash, a bit too reckless … a bit too everything really. A bit too chunky, a bit too emotional, a bit too passionate, a bit too aggressive … I could never get it right.
So when Eve was dating sophisticated lawyers, and Alice was bringing home sensitive artists … I was dating Quinn, who sold motorbikes and was put away for fraud or David, the insurance salesman who in the year we were together never told me he had a wife and kids.
I dated every loser under the sun, and the more my family disapproved, the more determined I was to stay in the relationship.
And then there was James. Not a loser, at least not then. He’s a veterinarian. My dog, who had swallowed my sister’s wedding ring, was his patient and we met and I fell …
Come on! He helps animals. Like I was ever going to say no to that.
It’s so dumb when I think back on it like this. We were really good together, you know? At least I thought so. We were one of those disgusting couples that are always in sync, finishing each other’s sentences. That would make out in the aisles of supermarkets. That knew what the other wanted to eat. That just … knew. And yet we’d argue too. We’d have monster arguments in which I was way too stubborn to give in even if he was right, every time … but then we’d make love. And that made it all worth it.
Huia Short Stories 9 Page 23
