by Hager, Mandy
After helping set up the data projector, he headed back to the house for food before the Big Event. Dean was home, freshly showered and dressed more tidily than Will had ever seen, in an ironed pinstriped shirt and tailored jeans that looked brand new. He even wore a tea towel tucked into his belt as he made cheese, egg and mushroom toasted sandwiches.
‘You okay?’
‘Yep.’ Will took the offered plate and hunkered over it. Had to force the food down past the lump growing inside his throat.
They’d only just finished eating when someone knocked on the back door. In walked Viv.
‘Kia ora,’ she said. ‘How goes it?’ She wore a full-length halter dress in swirls of emerald and electric blue. Her dreads were stacked up high, freeing her sinewy neck and showing off her muscled shoulders.
‘You’re early,’ said Dean.
Viv rolled her eyes. ‘Nice to see you, too.’
Will cleared his throat. ‘You look nice.’
She graced him with a blistering smile. ‘Why thanks, kind sir.’ She turned to Dean. ‘Now that’s how it’s done, Mr MacDonald. It’s called a “compliment”.’
‘Yeah.’ Dean grinned. ‘What he said too!’
‘Prick.’
‘Ball-crusher.’
It was weird, the way they smiled through the insults, standing there expectantly. The air sizzled with their combined electricity. Then everything clicked into place. Will turned to Dean.
‘Viv’s your date?’
As Dean nodded, Viv cut in. ‘Not so much a date as an act of kindness!’ She waggled her hips and let rip with a hearty laugh.
Dean glanced up at the kitchen clock. ‘You’d better get a move on, mate. We have to leave for the hall in ten.’
Will carried his plate over to the sink. Rinsed it. Dried it. Couldn’t string it out any longer so he went and changed into a clean T-shirt and jeans. He brushed his hair and tied it back. Yes, Nanny M was right. He did look pale. Like a hardcore goth, without the need for make-up. He pinched his cheeks to bring some colour, something they did in movies, but it left him looking flushed.
Back in the kitchen, the air was no less charged. As Will entered, Dean sprang up.
‘Best be going then.’
They walked along the middle of the road, Will somehow ending up in between them.
Viv pulled him close. ‘I’ve had an email back from Ingrid. I sent her through a photo of Min’s markings and she reckons he’s one of the Southern Summer pod that migrate from the Antarctic. They hang out in the trenches off Kaikoura over the summer months. She says his handle’s AS23, and she first saw him as a newborn round this time last year.’
‘You’re kidding me? You mean his family might be out there?’
She nodded. ‘Ingrid said there’ve been reports of rogue whalers in the Southern Ocean. It’s possible his mother was killed by one as they migrated north. They’ll take anything these days. Bloody overfishing.’
Will groaned. If that was true, the poor little bugger probably saw them take his mum. ‘But why would his pod desert him?’
She shrugged. ‘Who knows? He could’ve been separated or left behind. The old ones would freak out at the sight of whalers.’
Though Will was dying to press for more info, they’d reached the hall already. People milled everywhere, many more than at the marae.
Viv looked up at Dean, who hovered at her elbow. ‘Make yourself useful, man. Go find out where Cathy’s stashed the wine.’ Dean stalked off to the kitchen with Viv’s laughter chasing him. She winked at Will. ‘Enjoy this, bro. It’s not often you’ll see Mr Straight and Narrow dance to anyone’s tune except for Bruce.’
‘He’s pretty nervous, you know. Maybe you should go a little easier on him.’
Viv’s nostrils flared. But then, thankfully, she smiled. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Old habits die hard. Dean and I have been circling each other for years — I’m used to having to rark him up to get noticed.’ She sighed. ‘It’s hard competing with a dead woman.’
‘He told me he’s been wanting to ask you out for ages, but didn’t have the guts.’
Viv patted his shoulder. ‘Then take this as a lesson, kid. If you fancy someone, spit it out. Life’s too short for playing hide and seek.’
Cathy raced over. ‘Looking good, girl,’ she said to Viv, and winked. Then she turned to Will. ‘Okay. We thought it best if we got the business done first. Mike’s going to welcome everyone then he’ll call you on to talk about Min. Okay? Oh, and after that Hunter’s going to show his film.’ She turned to Viv. ‘It’s unbelievable, doll. Wait till you hear that damned orca sing with him and Pans.’
As they kept chatting Will’s brain checked out. He could see everyone moving around him, Dean handing a drink to Viv, bands shuffling gear, the hall filling to bursting point, but all he could hear was buzzing. His chest was so tight he had to consciously suck in air, which made him even more light-headed. What the—? He jumped a mile as someone touched his arm. Viv shoved something into his sweaty palm.
‘Take a few good sprays of this. It’s Recue Remedy.’
Dean snorted. ‘More of your hippy shit?’
‘Witch’s potion.’ She grinned at Will. ‘It’ll calm your nerves — or else turn you into a frog, I can’t remember which!’
Whatever, Will wasn’t going to argue. If it had even a slight chance of working he was keen. He pressed the atomiser and sprayed something into his mouth. Watery alcohol? Not a bad thing.
Mike Huriwai pushed through the crowd with Pania by his side. She was wearing jeans and a white lacey top, and was made up with eye-shadow the same blue as her eyes. She smiled at Will shyly, so unlike the straightforward girl who handled her father’s boat he wanted to tow her out of there. Two fish out of water.
Are you okay? she mouthed.
He nodded. Held up Viv’s bottle. Was about to ask her where Hunter was when Mike clapped him on the back.
‘Right-oh, mate. We’re on!’ Mike pushed him through the press of people taking their seats.
He balked at standing on the stage; skulked in the wings. Beyond, a sea of faces looked up at him like hungry baby birds. He sprayed another dose of voodoo potion in his mouth. Hoped like hell it worked. If he threw up, he’d never live it down. He could see Hunter now, down by the projector. He looked unmade: his hair sticking up and a collection of ill-fitting clothes. Will saw him scan the stage, and when their eyes met Hunter nodded and gave Will a thumbs-up. Will didn’t return it. Nearly ran. But it was too late now. Mike wolf-whistled for silence.
‘Tēna koutou. Tēna koutou. It’s good to see you all here. We’ve got a real choice line-up of music — thanks to all the bands who’ve travelled to be here tonight — but first I want to introduce a new member of our whānau, Will Jackson. He’s our cousin Sally’s boy from Whanganui-a-Tara and he’s been keeping an eye on the little orca for us. We’re here to show him some support, ’cause our good friend Harley’s slapped him with a ten-grand fine.’ The crowd booed, their rumble hitting Will like a freight train. ‘He’s going to give you a little kōrero about the orca he’s called Min. Kia ora.’ Mike turned to Will and beckoned him.
A cold band clamped around Will’s forehead and his bowels threatened to give way right there. But the crowd was clapping and he had no choice but to walk onstage. He hurried, knowing they’d be waiting for the bands to start. He took his notes out of his pocket and tried to read them, but his hand was shaking so hard out he stuffed them back. All the moisture had leached from his mouth and inside his head his pulse tolled doom.
‘Yeah, so you all probably know about the baby orca that turned up a few weeks ago …’ Oh Jesus. Gabby Taylor was sitting only two rows back with Simone, both vamped up like the Real Housewives. She held her cell phone up. Was filming him.
He scanned the rest of the crowd, a wall of strangers staring back, and started to lose it. Had all the usual flashbacks. The attack. The failed audition. The venom. Like a mantra. He was sweating as if someon
e had turned a tap on, drips coursing down between his shoulder blades. Breathe. But then he spotted Pania. She met his eye. Held it. Mouthed the words, go on.
He cleared the fear-ball from his throat and locked onto her face. Recalled her song, replaying it in his head until some of the horror edged back, then sucked in a deep breath. Started again. ‘Look, I really want to tell you quickly what I’ve learned and why it’s so important not to ignore Min. And why it’s not safe to leave him on his own …’
He managed to stammer out all the points he’d swotted up, relieved to see some of the audience nodding as he made his plea on Min’s behalf. For a moment he was swept by the heady exhilaration he used to get when he performed, that sense that they were hanging on his every word. But his internal critics kicked back in. Who the hell do you think you are? You’re a townie, a no one, a failure who knows nothing. It halted him again. And this time he’d run out of steam. Had nothing left.
Mike must have sensed it. ‘Thanks, Will. An excellent overview. And if he hasn’t convinced you to dig deep into your pockets to bail him out — and, of course, to help protect our little friend — then wait till you see this!’ He waved to Hunter, who turned on the projector as Cathy wheeled a screen to the centre of the stage.
Will didn’t wait around. He blundered off and slunk down the crowded aisle just as the first notes of his song rose up. He ran to a toilet stall. Sat down and shook, tears threatening. He could still hear their duet, even above the tromp of boots outside. Latecomers.
When the song was over the place erupted. Stomping, clapping, cheering, voices raised. Voices raised? Will cracked the stall door open. Was sure he could hear an ugly undertone beneath the general noise. Nah, surely not. It had to be his paranoia. He edged out of the toilets and approached the threshold to the hall.
‘… arrest the sleazy little shit, not help him.’ Holy crap. Bruce had barged his way onto the stage, four muscle-bound types glowering to one side. He eyed the crowd like an angry bull. ‘While he’s been playing Doctor Effing Doolittle, that little bastard’s had another go at my nets.’
As aggro charged the air, Will forced himself towards the fray.
‘Prove it!’ a man shouted from the front.
Bruce reddened. Squared his shoulders. ‘Don’t give me that crap, Jim. If the fish go, your jobs go too. Don’t forget who pays for all your bread and butter, folks …’
‘When?’ Will lobbed it from the back. The prick was so arrogant; posturing like an opera villain. Defer, defer, To the Lord High Executioner! ‘Just when exactly would Min have had the chance? Last time he went near the place, one of your hit men shot him.’
There was a hissing like released steam as Bruce peered across the sea of heads to seek Will out. ‘Last night,’ he said, jaw set in a smug shark smile. ‘Bob checked the nets at midnight and by five this morning there was a gash right through. No prizes for guessing which little terrorist ate your livelihood—’
‘You’re a liar!’ Will pitched his voice through the rising din, steady, loud. He felt a hand press into the small of his back and swung around, fists ready. Dean dodged backwards.
‘Whoa! Easy, kid. Calm it down.’
‘But he’s a liar.’ He turned back to Bruce and used the full force of his voice-training to project his words towards the stage. ‘I was with Min the whole time — from midnight until ten past five this morning. I’ve been with him every night for the past two weeks.’
Behind him Dean snarled ‘Bloody hell’ just as all hell broke loose. People sprang to their feet, hurling insults, pushing, shoving. Dean grabbed Will by the collar and hauled him towards the door as Bruce stormed through the melee like an arctic ice-breaker.
They all arrived outside at once, Will still collared by Dean as Bruce lunged close. ‘That’s it, you freaky little weirdo, you’re now officially screwed. Harley was too soft on you. But when he hears what you’ve been up to—’ He spun around, a huge grinning hyena, as his flunkies produced Hunter — and Gabby. ‘You got it on your phone, sweetheart?’ he said to her.
She nodded. Didn’t meet Will’s eye.
‘Good girl. I’m sure my friend Harley will be mighty pleased.’ Bruce raised his hand, two fingers transformed to a gun. Aimed it at Will. ‘Kapow.’ He fired a second shot at Dean then nodded to his mates.
They closed ranks around Hunter and frogmarched him off into the night.
I wallowed in that harbour, waiting for Song Boy’s brotherhood, but he did not come. Worry washed me — not for my safety, no, my thoughts were with my Boy. So strange; for many passings of the moon he held me as I slept … now nothing. I feared for him. Felt sure if he could come he would.
In those troubled times I had yet to learn the true nature of trust — though such teachings dawn more deeply now I ache with age. Not trust of others, no, but of the workings of the world. The secret sway that pulses through the planet pulls us to the right place at the right time, offers others up to help us on our way. Baited by fate; blessed with a moving mind that takes the scraps and shreds of tidings, good and bad, and turns them into pathways that will lead us on. My meeting with my friend was fate, forever fulfilling. Life-long. Song Boy’s heart is ever bold and brave.
Such bravery is not a simple case of facing foes, beating, besting, forgoing fear. We dare death to undo us as we struggle just to stay alive. Even the greenery that grows Beneath fights for life against all odds. One stings, one strangles, still others spew out sticky seeds. All strive to snag a safe harbour, a place to thrive. Tiny fish form tight clusters to hoodwink hunters. Hagfish ooze out unctuous slime. Sea cucumbers twist inside out to dole their deadly sap. Deep-sea squids shed tips of tentacles that twitch and trick with light to fool their foe.
But bravest are the ones whose fears are to the fore; those who find a way to swallow down their fright to fight for good. They do not seek to show themselves, often aching to take flight, but still they stay. They stick it out. They last. And learn to love the long life haul.
Such strength will show itself in scores of ways. Warring walruses still open up their hearts to orphans; penguins lure off sea lions to shield their chicks. The dolphins, our dear cousins, risk death to help the Hungry Ones. They scare off sharks. Lead lost boats safe to harbour. Haul the helpless up to air.
But know this, friends: it goes both ways. The Hungry Ones have helped us too. During the Days of Blood some fought for us, thin-boned, in tiny boats, thrust between those murderers and our falling friends. It would be easy to hold onto the hate but, truth is, not all craved our killing; many ministered to our needs. And many knew how to be kind.
This back and forth, this brotherly buoying up, is like the motion of the sea, her many moods set by the moon — as are our own. And theirs. We share the same water that ebbs and flows, and all know without it we are wrecked.
Good friends, time tumbles … and with every turn my life force falters, death draws near. But know I will not waver. No. My life was meant for these moments; these meetings of our minds, to leave behind the lessons learnt. Send forth your strength to bolster me. Cuddle close. For soon my song takes on a different tune. The tides will turn.
As Hunter disappeared into the night, flanked by Bruce and his muscle-bound mates, panic spurred Will into action. He couldn’t leave him to those bastards; there was no way of knowing what they might inflict, but bets were on it would be bad.
He ran after Hunter, his heart pumping so hard it hurt. ‘Wait!’ Arrived breathless as they reeled around to face him. Hunter stood behind two tree-trunk men, locked in by their rigid stance.
What to say? He had to come up with something fast; could feel the moments dragging as the surprise waned. Think. He sought out Bruce and flinched as Bruce’s scowl struck back at him, distorted to a fright mask by the shadows cast from the street light. Those three drugged crazies sprang to Will’s mind; the same contempt, same ruthless lack of pity. Fear clawed his chest.
He cleared his throat and pressed his feet more squ
arely to the ground. Balance was everything. He’d learnt that on the stage. ‘Hunter’s needed back at the hall.’
‘He comes with me.’ Bruce’s tone left no room for negotiation.
Will scrabbled for a more persuasive argument. Nearly cheered when Dean and Viv turned up and stood one each side.
Dean wrapped an arm around Will’s shoulders. ‘Everyone’s waiting for Hunter, boss. He was picked to be MC in honour of you.’
Dean’s gaze met Will’s. Scuffed away. Dean’s quick thinking — and his support — was such a relief. Will straightened. Pressed his shoulder into Dean’s to say thank you.
Now Viv spoke up. ‘If you want to keep the townsfolk on board, Bruce, I suggest you let Hunter go.’ She pushed past Dean and Will, right into Bruce’s personal space. She sure had guts. ‘He’s been invited to spend the night at the marae. You know how bad it’ll look if you don’t let him stay.’ Perfect! The iwi card. Bruce couldn’t afford to piss them off, especially with so many whānau at the hall.
Bruce drew himself up to his intimidating best and loomed right over her. Beside him, Gabby shrank back from the light. ‘I suggest you tread very carefully, Vivian. Don’t go poking your nose into family business.’ Anger seethed behind the words, his lips bloodless and stiff.
Viv laughed, to Will’s astonishment. How could she sound so relaxed? ‘Come on now, bud. You know when Nanny M gets something in her head nothing will stop her. It’s her who asked Hunter to stay — she’s all for good public relations.’
One of the men glanced at Bruce. ‘What d’you want us to do?’
‘Fuck’s sake. Let him go — for now.’ Will had never heard two words spoken with such chill, even that night. As Bruce continued, the threat extended to encase them all, freeze-drying them. ‘Like salmon, revenge is a dish best served cold.’
Viv somehow managed to force out a laugh again. ‘Damned right, cookie boy! You can count on it.’
Bruce snorted. Jerked his head to sanction Hunter’s release. Hunter stumbled as he ran for Dean. Meanwhile Bruce, with his men and that little toady Gabby Taylor, turned on his heel and left. They slid into the night like Tolkien’s Ringwraiths.
