by David Hair
Table of Contents
Cover Page
1 Eavesdropping
2 Puarata
3 The tiki
4 Flight to Napier
5 Pania
6 Kelly
7 The summoning of Toa
8 Through the forest
9 Taupo
10 The river of Aotearoa
11 The judgement of Rata
12 The fate of Wiri
13 The road north
14 In Donna’s house
15 Ninety Mile Beach
16 Cape Reinga
17 Back from the dead
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
Eavesdropping
Dear Mum,
I hope you are OK, and liking it in Taupo. I am writing to you because I have nothing else to do. It’s Friday, and Dad kept me home from school today so we could go to Nanny Wai’s funeral, but he’s been in his office all day. He says that something has come up that is more important.
It’s so typical!
I hope he comes out soon—he said we’d go by two o’clock and now it’s quarter to four already.
I miss you.
Love Mat
Mat Douglas re-read the letter he’d just written, then screwed it up slowly and threw it in the bin. He wouldn’t get a chance to post it anyway. His father would appear soon from his office, and bellow at him as if it was his fault they were late. As if everything was his fault.
He looked up, and gazed out his bedroom window, across Marine Parade and the foreshore, to the sea. Through the open window, the sound of the surf rolled and hissed, muted by distance and the hum of traffic. The wind, cooler than the brilliant sunlight suggested, wafted the taint of rotting seaweed and corrosive salt up from the shingle beach.
Mat swivelled on the chair, his reflection caught briefly in the wardrobe mirror—a slim boy with tousled black hair and a freckled, pale brown face wearing a faded T-shirt and patched jeans. He was 15, in his third year at Napier Boys High School. He looked younger.
He peered briefly out the smaller window beside his bed, over roofs toward the city centre a couple of kilometres northward. Napier Hill squatted protectively above the houses. Movement below caught his eye—the neighbour’s Alsatian, prowling restlessly. Mat grimaced, knowing how it felt. They were both pacing their cages today. The PS2 games were played out, the books beside the bed were already read or boring, and he was sick of the CDs in the small pile beside the player. There was nothing to do but wait.
Turning, he paused to look at a large drawing above his bed. Unlike all the other things on his crowded walls—posters of rugby players and cartoon characters—this was something he’d made himself.
It was a drawing of a pendant—a swirling fusion of two traditional styles—the knot-patterns of the Celts, and the spiral-motifs of the Maori. Both were equally his own. His father was mostly Maori (despite his surname), his mother Irish. Both had left their traces in his face—his hair was black, and tousled like his father’s, and his nose and lips were rounded and full. But his skin was paler, and his eyes a rich green, and sometimes, when his hair caught the light, there was a rich auburn sheen.
The pendant combined a koru and a Celtic knot, halved with a lightning-shaped line dividing them. He had drawn it in a deep green, the colour of pounamu, the precious greenstone he wished he could have used. But the original was in wood, carved from a lump of kauri. The Celtic half hung about his mother’s neck. The koru half was somewhere in a drawer in his father’s bedroom.
Beside his bed was a photograph—he was two years younger, and smiling broadly, flanked by Mum and Dad.
They were in Australia, at DreamWorld—their last family holiday before all the fighting, and Mum leaving.
She lived in Taupo now, hundreds of kilometres away. He’d hardly seen her since she’d moved out, thirteen months ago. It seemed longer. His father said she’d had a nervous breakdown. Mat could only remember her crying all the time. She’d gone to live with her sister in Wellington for a while, before taking up a teaching job in Taupo, and his father was given custody.
Below him, Mat heard his father finally emerge from his office and head for the kitchen. He was probably making himself another coffee. Since Mum had gone, he seemed to live on coffee and cigarettes, but he’d put on weight regardless, and he worked too hard, late into the night.
Surely it was time to go? It was Friday and his father had picked him up from school at lunchtime. They were supposed to leave at two o’clock for the funeral. A Maori funeral, a tangi, usually took three days. This one was beginning today and Nanny Wai wouldn’t be buried until Sunday, after many speeches and prayers, and lots of food and drink. His father had taken a phone call from a client just as they were starting lunch. He’d been working hard on something ever since, while Mat sat around waiting, and fidgeting. He gave a heavy sigh, pulled on a sweatshirt, then headed downstairs. Surely it was time to go…
He made his way downstairs, his eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. Since his mother left, his father couldn’t be bothered opening the curtains, and the house was draped in shadow. Apart from Mat’s bedroom, everywhere was gloomy.
The air was damp, musty, and thick with cigarette smoke. Downstairs, the kitchen was empty, but a rich coffee-smell masked the reek of dirty dishes in the sink. Mat grabbed a biscuit and slouched toward the office.
Inside the gloomy room was a desk and chair, with a PC the only source of light against the curtained shroud of gloom. His father was there, a tired-looking man with greying hair and a thickening waist. The glow of the monitor streaked his deep brown face, making his worry lines look like crevices. The floor was mostly hidden beneath a pile of manila folders and randomly strewn papers. A certificate on the wall—the only decoration—confirmed that Tama Ranginui Douglas had a law degree.
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Hiya,’ replied Tama Douglas, blinking and looking at his watch. Then he looked closer at Mat and his eyes narrowed. ‘Go and get changed. You’re not going to Nanny Wai’s funeral dressed like that.’
‘But Dad, everyone else will be in worse than this…’
‘Maybe—but you won’t be. You’ll be dressed in your suit, just as I will be. Now get to it.’
‘But Riki said…’
‘Nothing intelligent, I’m sure. Now, off you go!’
Mat opened his mouth to complain again.
‘Wiremu Matiu Douglas—go!’ snapped Tama, and Mat felt any desire to protest freeze inside him. His father was too scary to argue with these days. And there was no Mum to take Mat’s side.
‘OK.’ He went up to change, knowing he’d almost certainly get pushed over and sat on by any number of boys from school who’d be there and think nothing was funnier than mussing up Tama Douglas’ boy. Even Riki would laugh, and he was Mat’s only real friend.
Ten minutes later, sitting on the bed tying his laces, clad in a black suit that was too short in the legs and too tight around the shoulders, Mat heard his father come upstairs to get dressed. ‘About time,’ he muttered. He pushed his father’s bedroom door open and went and sat on the unmade bed. His father was knotting his tie, and the drawer beside the bed was open. Mat peered inside and saw the wooden koru pendant he’d made. He fished it out.
‘You could wear this,’ he suggested. But his father just shook his head with a frown. Mat sucked his top lip, and slowly returned the pendant to the muddled drawer. ‘Is Aunty Hine OK?’ he asked, but his father had a faraway look and didn’t reply. Mat was about to ask again when the phone rang in the office downstairs.
Tama Douglas gave a start, muttered something and hurried out to answer it. Mat watched him leave, then on impulse he reached back into the drawer and picked up the w
ooden koru. He’d made it when he knew his parents were having problems, and he’d wanted to show them they were two halves of the same whole. Nanny Wai had helped him. But while his mother had loved her half, his father barely looked at his, and never wore it. That hurt. The pendant wasn’t made to languish in a drawer. He took it out, put it over his head, and tucked it inside his T-shirt. If his father wouldn’t wear it, then he would. Feeling somehow strengthened by the weight around his neck, he followed his father downstairs.
Tama’s voice sounded oddly high-pitched. ‘Certainly…I’ll put on the speaker phone. Put it through,’ he was saying, nervously. It was enough to make Mat pause, and he slipped closer to the office door, which wasn’t completely closed. He knew listening to other people’s conversations was bad—especially his father’s, but somewhere along the line he’d stopped caring. He could remember the exact moment he stopped respecting his dad’s privacy. It was when he realised his father lied.
He’d always known his dad was tough—a lawyer who represented gang-members. But Tama told him only a few of them were truly bad, and even then it wasn’t their fault they were rough. They just hadn’t had a good upbringing. It was society’s fault. Tama was representing people society had wronged, not protecting people who’d done bad stuff. Mat assumed his dad only represented the innocent, or at least if the people he represented had done bad things in the past, this time they weren’t guilty, and the cops had just picked on them because they were too lazy to find the real crims. So if Tama was impatient, intolerant, or demanding, well, that was because he had a tough job.
But Mat had seen Riki’s cousin Willy, who was bad by any definition, smash a car window with a crowbar, drag a girl out the window over jagged glass and kick her in the stomach while she lay bleeding on the curbside—and Tama got him off the charges. His mother had argued with Tama, who had bellowed and slapped her, and Mat too when he tried to intervene. He’d lain in his room crying, and still had the red imprint of Tama’s hand on his cheek next morning.
Mum had kept him home from school and from that time he was on her side. But when they split up, he’d still ended up living with his father.
Tama was always expecting him to be something he couldn’t be, grilling him on what he did at school, demanding to know why he got poor results in maths and science, why he only excelled at art, why he couldn’t make one of the top rugby teams. And ever since his parents had split, keeping Tama happy was getting harder.
His mother had always been easier to please. Tama always said Mat was too much like her, too soft and sensitive.
Maybe, but Mat could be stubborn too. And he knew where he got that from…
Something else made Mat listen. Sometimes, on rare occasions, he would suddenly feel an urge to do something unexpected. It was almost like a voice in his head, telling him the right thing to do. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, he knew he should listen, and do what it said. He called it his ‘instinct’, and he was listening to it now.
His father settled into his chair, and hit the speaker phone button. ‘Tama Douglas.’
‘Kia-ora, Tama,’ rumbled a deep voice. ‘This is Puarata. We need to have a korerorero. Are you alone?’
Mat drew back, as his father suddenly glanced up at the door. Tama Douglas had gone very wide-eyed. Mat had never seen his father look so…frightened.
‘I’m alone,’ said Tama. ‘Apologies, I was expecting to talk to Ms Kyle, as usual. There’s only my son here, and he’s upstairs getting changed.’
‘Your son,’ rumbled that voice. ‘You have a son? You must introduce me to him tonight.’
‘Ah, certainly,’ Tama Douglas sounded far from certain though, and Mat found himself hoping he would most definitely not meet this deep-spoken man. His voice was low and resonant, as if the man was an opera singer who could make a whole theatre shake when he hit a low note. He sounded old, but strong, and Mat almost felt he could picture him. He’d have wiry grey hair, a deep moko, and burning eyes that demanded obedience.
Mat slowly put his eye to the crack of the door. His instinct was speaking to him, sending a clear message. He had tried to explain it to his mother, and she’d seemed to understand. Right now it felt as if he should listen, even though he’d be in big trouble if his father caught him. But, as Riki always said—the first rule of crime is don’t get caught.
So he wouldn’t get caught.
Puarata rumbled on. ‘Now, the documentation of ownership, you have it?’
‘Yes, of course, the certificate of ownership for the bone tiki is in my briefcase.’
‘And you have shown it to a third party. An expert third party?’
‘Yes. I had the museum curator view it this afternoon. He thought it was completely genuine—I have his statement with me.’
‘Excellent. Now, listen, my friend. I want you to greet me when I arrive. The protocol of Kahunui requires that I be invited onto the marae, and the elders will be hostile. You must invite me. Your standing in the community will weaken any opposition to my right to attend.’
Tama Douglas paused. Mat could almost feel him recoiling. ‘Is that wise? It may harm my standing long term if I openly support you.’
The deep voice paused, then returned slightly cooler, heavy with unspoken threat. ‘Your support will become apparent soon enough. You cannot maintain an appearance of neutrality in these matters forever, my friend. Nor can you avoid conflict with some of your people. But you will find my name opens more doors than it closes. I am not without influence, especially in the cities.’
Tama Douglas nodded to himself.
‘Regardless,’ Puarata resumed, ‘I will claim this thing, and then return to my home. You will be able to smooth things over, and what people will remember is that you are not someone to trifle with. That you have a powerful friend.’
Tama didn’t look reassured.
‘Wai-aroha possessed this tiki of mine for a long time,’ Puarata continued. ‘But it belongs to me. If you did not support me, you would be asked to oppose me. Some of the kaumatua and kuia remember me, and old Hinemoa is not as senile as she pretends. She already suspects you know me. It is better to be bold, and make a strong stand, than to have a secret dragged out of you.’
Mat watched his father pause, and drum his free hand against his thigh as he sat there. He didn’t know why, but he found himself wishing his father would assert himself, and refuse this man whatever it was he wanted. But Tama bowed his head, and nodded. ‘I’ll get you in. I’ll meet you at the gate. When will you arrive?’
‘We are nearing Napier from the north. It will be an hour or more before I arrive at the marae. And you?’
‘About half an hour if I leave in the next few minutes.’
‘Good. See you soon, my friend.’ The way Puarata said ‘my friend’ made Mat shiver, but beneath that fear was a tight coil of anger. Because as far as Mat was concerned, the tiki his father and this Puarata were talking about should be his.
The connection was broken. Mat drifted noiselessly back to the stairs, then pretended to be walking down as Tama emerged from his office.
‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘Time to go.’ He made no mention of the phone call, and Mat didn’t ask.
Tama Douglas’ deep green Mercedes purred past slower cars, as they journeyed south. The eastern sky darkened toward evening, and they lost sight of the sea as the road swung inland. They crossed the rivers—the Tutaekuri and the Ngaruroro, and rolled through orchard country. Skirting Hastings, they joined the main highway south. The sun dipped toward the hills as the faint cloud took on a pinkish hue.
Mat tried to imagine what kind of man Puarata was. Tama dealt with gang-members and criminals for a living, so he wasn’t intimidated easily. Puarata must be pretty scary. But mostly he thought about Nanny Wai-aroha.
He’d only met her once, and no one ever seemed to speak of her. He’d been visiting his Aunty Hinemoa—who was actually a great-aunt—his dad’s mother’s sister. He’d gone with his mothe
r, on a day Tama was in court. Hine and Wai were best friends, and Wai was visiting Hine. He only knew that Wai had been sick—locked away in some institution for years—never acknowledged by any of the family except Hine. No one said so, but he got the feeling even Tama didn’t know where she was. She’d been a frail little woman with wide staring eyes and scarred wrists. Her smile had been sudden, and pixie-like, and when Hine made her laugh it was a strange, tinkling laugh. She’d seemed, well…a little mad, as if she were fourteen years old still, despite her old body. But Mat remembered that afternoon. It was the afternoon he found out what he was good at.
He’d been bored, sketching patterns on pad paper, feeling frustrated because the things inside his head wouldn’t come out right. Wai-aroha had watched him. She’d told him he had talent that just needed to find a way to come out—like a stream blocked by a fallen tree. She’d picked up a pencil, made a couple of small changes to his sketch, and there in front of him was the design he’d been visualising. A koru and a Celtic knot, intertwined, the drawing that was now on his bedroom wall.
‘It would make a good carving,’ she had remarked. ‘Do you like art?’
He’d nodded mutely.
‘When you find what you are good at, you find why you are alive,’ Wai said, before she walked away, as if she had forgotten him already.
Mat had stared at the drawing, feeling a flush of trembling excitement. Already he could see how the two pendants would fit together, expressing something so powerful to his parents they would stop fighting, and remember they loved each other. And more than that, he had a new vision of himself. Instead of a dismal future working in an office, or labouring, or driving a truck or something like that, he began to see himself as an artist—drawing, carving, making things people admired. That vision was still inside him.
Wai had hugged him when he left, her arms thin as gnarled twigs. She’d shown him a pendant she wore, carved from bone. A hei-tiki—a man-shaped pendant. An ugly thing, but she had clasped it as if it was a holy relic.
