Legacy

by Whiti Hereaka

  He steels himself, and looks into the tomb. It must have been in a family for years – each member deposited on top as their time came. It is a mess of bones.

  He has both the ring and the scarab in his hand, and he tosses them both into the tomb.

  Nothing happens. Perhaps it is the wrong tomb?

  He needs to get the ring and scarab back. He holds his breath, climbs on top of the tomb and starts shifting the bones around, trying not to think of them as human. They are just bones. He feels around for the ring and scarab, but they seem to have fallen down to the bottom. It is dusty here, and Riki coughs – the dust must be from the older bones that have been crushed over the years.

  As he pushes aside the top layer, he notices the khaki uniform on the body beneath.

  Maybe he would have screamed if he hadn’t become sort of immune to it – death. At least this body was over the worst of it – the gas and the bloating. This body doesn’t even smell that much. It must have been here for quite some time.

  And then Riki knows – knows, in the way that people do when a loved one dies; a moment of clarity. He knows who this must be. The side of his head has caved in, as if he fell hard against the tomb before coming to rest. Or as if he was hit by a bus.

  He cannot be recognised by his face – what little flesh is left is mummified, and stuck in strips to his skull. His identity tags have been taken. And his diary now sits in Riki’s pocket.

  What happened here?

  Did Matatau and Te Ariki fight over that stupid little scarab? Did Te Ariki die for something as small as a pebble? Matatau might have been crazy – but would he really have killed Te Ariki? He tried to kill me, Riki thinks … But maybe if Matatau had known that Te Ariki had died, had left his body here – of course he would have thought that Riki was supernatural, a demon that needed to be sent back to hell. If I had appeared on Easter Sunday, maybe he would have thought I was the Messiah instead. Riki laughs, even though nothing about the situation is funny.

  Perhaps it was an accident. Te Ariki tripped and his head came crashing down on one of the stone tombs. Matatau would have panicked, no matter how it happened. He had taken Te Ariki’s identity disc – maybe he had intended to tell everyone what had happened, but the shock of it was too much.

  Riki lifts what he can of the broken tomb lid and replaces it, and then stands in silence for a moment. Suddenly he feels like he’s going to throw up. He leans against one of the headstones from the smashed top and dry retches. His face feels sweaty, so he wipes his forehead with his arm. In a daze, he turns to leave, but at the door he feels woozy, and sits down. He spits on his hands and tries to clean them.

  What now? He had assumed that Te Ariki was still alive – maybe in Riki’s world, or maybe just somewhere in between – waiting for Riki to free them both. If Te Ariki is dead, what does that mean for Riki? His mum, his koro, old Nanny Taimona – none of them will exist, because Te Ariki won’t come home. He looks at his hand, half-expecting it to start to fade. But it doesn’t. He still exists.

  It must be a curse – like the one on the people who died after opening King Tut’s tomb. Maybe everyone who touched that scarab had to die. That doesn’t explain how Riki got here though. Unless Te Ariki wasn’t meant to die, and so the Universe or whatever replaced him with Riki.

  ‘It can’t be real.’ He looks up to the dome above him. ‘This can’t be my life. IT CAN’T BE REAL!’ His voice ricochets around him. He feels his throat tightening, as if he is going to cry. No, he thinks. I can’t breathe.

  He stumbles out of the tomb and leans over as if he has just done a 400-metre sprint hard-out. Even now it’s like he can’t catch his breath; it feels as if all his airways are shut. His heart is racing, and his hands shake, and he feels dizzy. He falls to his knees and closes his eyes, concentrating on his breath. Just like you do at the start of a run, he tells himself. Just count your breath. Once he has his breath under control, he can open his eyes.

  He sits in the doorway of the tomb and hasn’t a clue what to do now. He has no money, he is AWOL and he is stuck.

  But he is no longer alone. He hears them before he sees them – their laughter fills the empty space. He stands up and peers down the street – it’s a group of soldiers, in their lemon-squeezer hats.

  Riki laughs too – they are Māori: the fresh reinforcements from home. He waves at them, and they amble over.

  ‘Tēnā koe,’ one of them says. ‘Haven’t seen you before. Are you lost?’

  29

  12 OCTOBER 1975

  TRANSCRIPT:

  Cassette number 5: Te Ariki Mikaera Pūweto (interviewee, WWI veteran) and Alamein Pūweto (interviewer and grandson of Te Ariki). Also present: Taimona Pūweto (daughter and caregiver of Te Ariki).

  ALAMEIN When you came back to Egypt from Gallipoli you went AWOL.

  TAIMONA Don’t bring that up. I don’t think future generations need to know about that incident.

  ALAMEIN Well, it is all part of the record, Auntie. In history, you can’t just cherry-pick the good …

  TE ARIKI Who told you that nonsense? History is all about picking what to tell and what to leave out …

  TAIMONA It’s embarrassing: not just for him; for everyone.

  TE ARIKI Who are you talking about, girl? You? The whānau? The whole of Māoridom?

  TAIMONA Yes.

  TE ARIKI Are we so fragile a people that if one drunk falls off a train it will – pardon the pun – derail us all?

  TAIMONA Yes, Dad, yes. That’s the world we live in.

  TE ARIKI [Sighs] Listen here, boy. I wasn’t ‘AWOL’ – that’s what Americans call it. We in the Empire were ‘AWL’.

  ALAMEIN Is there a difference?

  TE ARIKI To some there is a huge difference.

  ALAMEIN So you were ‘AWL’.

  TE ARIKI I was drunk and fell off the train …

  ALAMEIN You fell off the train?

  TE ARIKI That’s the story.

  TAIMONA And then he was found miles and miles away from the train station the next morning.

  TE ARIKI Cabby took me for a ride – can you believe it?

  ALAMEIN I’m finding it hard to, yes.

  TE ARIKI [Laughs] You’re pretty sharp, boy. Anyway, I was found, and went back to Zeitoun Camp, and was billeted with the new reinforcements until they were shipped to Ismailia a couple of weeks later.

  ALAMEIN And your punishment?

  TE ARIKI I was still there, wasn’t I? What worse punishment could there be?

  ALAMEIN Were you trying to desert?

  [Silence]

  TAIMONA Your koro deserves a bit more respect than that.

  ALAMEIN I’m sorry, Koro.

  TE ARIKI I wasn’t trying to desert. Not really.

  ALAMEIN So you meant to get off the train?

  TE ARIKI That day in Egypt was when it dawned on me – that this was my life now; that I had no control in the direction I was pushed. All I could do was hold on.

  ALAMEIN That sounds a bit fatalistic.

  TE ARIKI Does it? I guess it does. Your great-uncle claimed that all we had was free will, but I’ve never really believed that.

  ALAMEIN You don’t really talk about Matatau.

  TE ARIKI No. [Pause] Time has never really healed that wound. Every time I think of him I try to think of what I could have done to prevent what happened. He said we had free will. If he was right then there must have been something I could have done; a different choice I could have made. If I believed him then it would have done my head in. I wouldn’t have been able to move on with my life, haunted by guilt. I may as well have died with him.

  ALAMEIN How different would the world be if he had lived?

  TE ARIKI Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? How can we ever know? Your nanny would have never written to me in the first place – all she would have known about me would have been a few anecdotes from her brother, which weren’t that flattering. If he hadn’t died, you wouldn’t exist. I’m happy that I had a chance
to have a family, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t weigh on me.

  ALAMEIN Do you feel guilty?

  TE ARIKI Of course. There’s blood on my hands. I killed him …

  TAIMONA No you didn’t, Dad. You’re getting confused. I think we should stop.

  TE ARIKI You see, boy? It’s just a very small window of time when people will believe you. You all think I’m losing my marbles …

  TAIMONA He’s getting himself worked up again …

  TE ARIKI Even if I told you the truth – the truth of my life – you wouldn’t believe it. You’d think that it was just some fantasy of an old man …

  TAIMONA Dad, calm down, will you? Alamein, shut that off please.

  30

  2 APRIL 1916

  In the middle of January, Riki finally arrived at camp Ismailia with the Second Māori Contingent. There was a big pōwhiri to welcome the new soldiers.

  ‘You’re lucky you decided to come back,’ Rewai said when Riki reappeared. ‘You would have been shot if you had deserted.’

  ‘Riki would never desert us!’ said Little Mo.

  Riki avoided looking Rewai in the eye. It was like he knew that Riki had intended to leave – although not in the way he imagined.

  ‘We told them about the whisky …’ Little Mo said. ‘And how you can’t handle your liquor.’

  ‘I was certainly in a state when they found me.’

  ‘How did you get all the way out there from the train?’

  Riki just shrugged.

  ‘You’re damned lucky you were found,’ Rewai said, shaking his head in a disappointed dad kind of way.

  Riki didn’t feel lucky, even though his punishment was light – he’d been confined to the camp at Zeitoun, and his wages were withheld until the end of the month.

  A couple of the soldiers who had found Riki adopted him, making sure he had cigarettes, good food and the occasional illicit beer. Tom and Bub took good care of him. Tom fancied himself as a military strategist – he was convinced that the war would already be over if the Army had adopted his ideas. Bub’s real name was Cyril. Tom claimed that Bub was only fifteen – but surely the Army wouldn’t take on someone that young? Bub claimed he just had one of those faces. At first, Riki had wondered why they were so kind to him. It wasn’t until they were welcomed at Moascar Camp that he understood. He was shocked to see how tattered and thin the old hands looked, and realised he can’t have looked any better. Tom and Bub were probably scared that he might just pass away. Perhaps he looked as bad as the real Te Ariki – skin and bones.

  At Moascar, the two Māori Contingents became one: the New Zealand Māori Pioneer Battalion. The spic and span green boys mixed in with the literally lousy old hands. They spent weeks in the desert to get into fighting form: training the new boys and reconditioning the old. It was hard for Riki not to think of animals being fattened up for the slaughter. They were preparing for the Western Front, for those places whose names would be forever tied to the battles they hosted – the Somme, Passchendaele and Flanders.

  Riki doesn’t write in his diary any more. When he hoped he could escape this reality, the diary was more important: it was a connection to home, and he thought things he observed during the day might be pieces of the puzzle.

  There is only one last thing to try to close the circle — to be pulled back to his own time. Perhaps he needs to recreate the event that brought him here. If he dies here, perhaps he’ll wake up in his own world – or perhaps he’ll just be dead.

  Maybe that’s not so bad.

  There are no buses in the desert, but perhaps a train will do. The train tracks lie just outside the camp. Exactly a year after arriving in Egypt, Riki stands on the train tracks.

  Maybe it’s worth the risk.

  He hopes his plan will work, but part of him – the screaming, animal survival instinct – doesn’t really believe. He’s spent the afternoon at the wet canteen to try to quiet it. Fuck it, he thinks. Even if it doesn’t work, at least I won’t be here any more.

  ‘C’mon, bloody train!’ he says now. No trains seem to be running from Port Said or Cairo today. Time seems messed up: he can’t tell if he’s been standing here for a minute or an hour. He lets himself believe that this is a good sign; this must mean that the plan is working. He ignores the little voice in his mind that says it is his adrenaline and the booze distorting time.

  ‘No! I’m bloody going home!’ Riki shouts at the sky – or fate, or God, or whatever.

  ‘Hey, boy. What are you doing?’

  Rewai has been keeping a close eye on Riki since his return, shadowing him wherever he goes. Riki thought he’d given Rewai the slip when he left the canteen.

  ‘Leave me alone, Rewai.’

  ‘I’m not going to do that, Riki.’

  Now Riki sees that Rewai is not alone. The rest of the boys are not far behind: Little Mo, with Tom and Bub, who seem to have become part of their group. Little Mo sees Riki on the tracks now and holds his arms out, as if he needs to keep Tom and Bub away from the sight of Riki.

  Perhaps crazy is contagious, Riki thinks.

  ‘Riki …’ Little Mo says, but Rewai holds up his hand to silence him, like he’s one of those police negotiators on TV; like Riki needs to be talked down from a ledge.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Rewai says.

  Riki sighs. ‘I just want to go home.’ He knows he sounds pathetic – but really that is all he wants.

  Rewai attempts some humour. ‘I don’t think the train will take you that far, even if you had the fare.’

  Riki smiles. This is just so typical of Rewai. If Riki saw any of them on the tracks, he’d try to talk them out of it too.

  ‘What’s he trying to do?’ Tom says. ‘If a CO sees him, he might get done for cowardice. He’ll be shot.’

  ‘We’re not in battle,’ Little Mo says.

  ‘Yes, we are. We’re defending the canal.’

  ‘I’ve seen battle’ – Little Mo says – ‘and this isn’t it.’

  ‘C’mon, Riki.’ Rewai extends his hand. ‘You’ve had a bit too much to drink, mate. You’re not thinking clearly.’ Rewai pleads with his eyes as well.

  Riki can feel his resolve slipping.

  And then he hears something. He thinks he can hear the hiss of the tracks. He breaks eye contact with Rewai and looks up and down the tracks for the phantom train. He can’t see one, so he drops to his knees and rests his ear against the track to hear the whisper. He closes his eyes to focus.

  ‘Riki …’ Rewai says again, but Riki puts his finger to his lips to quiet their voices. Rewai ignores him. ‘Riki, this is not a game.’

  Riki opens his eyes and looks at Rewai. He sits up and speaks in a quiet voice, almost to himself. ‘You’re right. It’s not. It’s not a game; it’s real.’

  ‘Right,’ Little Mo says. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’ He strides past Rewai, and tries to pry Riki from the tracks.

  ‘Help me, you jokers,’ Little Mo says.

  Bub and Rewai take an arm each, and Little Mo goes for a leg. Riki fights against them all, thrashing in their grasp, until Tom kicks him in the stomach. At this, Riki groans and stops fighting them.

  ‘Hey,’ Rewai says. ‘There was no need for that.’

  ‘Better a kick than a bullet,’ Tom says, as they lift Riki up and off the tracks. They put him down and step back so that he can’t clip them with a punch or a kick.

  Riki crouches on the ground. The others are standing around him; the look of pity on their faces just makes him feel worse.

  Rewai kneels down and puts his hand on Riki’s shoulder. ‘You’ll be right in the morning, mate. Sleep it off?’

  Another day waking to this nightmare, is all Riki can think. He tries to make a run for the tracks again, but is held tight by Little Mo.

  ‘Please, please. I can’t do it again. I can’t be him. I can’t be Te Ariki.’ He sees that his pleas embarrass them; they are silent, no longer offering platitudes. ‘There’s no point in fighting.’

/>   It is Bub who breaks the silence. ‘Of course there is. For King and Country. For freedom.’

  And because there is no rational response to it, Riki just laughs.

  31

  8 APRIL 1916

  For the next week Riki is never left alone. One of the boys accompanies him everywhere. He can’t even take a dump in peace – Little Mo will always be waiting for him when he comes out of the latrine.

  One day he walks out to the tracks again and waits for Rewai to catch up with him.

  ‘You can call off the dogs, y’know,’ he tells Rewai. ‘I’m not going to try anything.’

  ‘I know that it can be hard,’ Rewai replies. ‘On your mind. But you mustn’t let it get the better of you. I’m worried about you. You haven’t been yourself since we landed back in Egypt.’

  ‘Everyone was so sure that it would be all over by Christmas …’

  ‘I thought you took a sober view of that prediction, Riki.’

  ‘I didn’t think the war would end by then. But I’d hoped I would be home by now.’

  ‘We all hoped for that. But you’ve made a commitment.’

  ‘Fuck King and Country, Rewai.’

  ‘I don’t mean that. I mean to us. Little Mo, the new boys and me. And the people at home.’ Rewai pauses, and then says, ‘Maraea has written to me to ask after you. She says that you haven’t replied to her letters, and she’s worried about your health.’

  Riki enjoyed reading the letters Maraea sent to him. She was funny in them, and she seemed to be genuinely interested in him. He replied to her a couple of times before he left Gallipoli. It seemed harmless to write her a couple of letters when he thought he had a chance to get home, but now that that hope has gone it seems weird to keep up the relationship. She is his great-great-grandmother after all – or would have been – and he doesn’t want to encourage her. Not that they were flirting or anything; but the possibility is there. It is kinder to both of them to cut off contact altogether.