The Bone Tiki

by David Hair

  Though the words sounded polite, Mat felt a subtle threat behind them. But the people around him nodded, as though they agreed, that yes, the best thing was to bury whatever had caused this argument. It was odd. Only the elders seemed to know who this man was, but one smiling stare about the sea of faces had them all entranced. It all sounded so reasonable.

  Old Ranginui stared up into the tattooed visage above him, and seemed to wilt. He dropped his head, and nodded, colouring, and then turned away. But Puarata wouldn’t let him go so easily. He clutched his shoulder, and thanked him in a rich, smug voice, and made the trembling old man press noses with him.

  Kia-ora, everyone was saying, and smiling as though something good had just happened, that would benefit them all. Mat wondered why he and old Ranginui seemed to be the only ones who disagreed. He clutched the tiki in his pocket tightly, until its sharp edges almost cut his fingers.

  The bodyguards closed in, and Puarata released Ranginui. He turned toward Tama Douglas. His dark eyes swept over the crowd and then he turned, as if dismissing them, and they all drifted away, as though without Puarata’s attention, they had no reason to stay.

  ‘Tama, my friend,’ purred Puarata, extending his hand like a king offering a subject an opportunity to serve. Mat cringed as his father took the offered hand, smiling.

  ‘Kia-ora, Mr Puarata. Welcome to Kahunui.’

  The silver-haired man nodded in a satisfied manner. ‘It is good to be here.’ He stepped slightly aside and waved the blonde woman forward. ‘This is my associate, Donna Kyle. I believe you have spoken on the telephone? Donna, this is my legal representative, Tama Douglas.’

  The woman touched Tama’s hand briefly, but neither spoke nor smiled, her eyes hidden behind black sunglasses.

  Puarata turned and looked down at Mat. His smile broadened, even as his eyes narrowed. ‘And this must be your son, Tama?’

  Tama patted Mat’s shoulder. ‘This is my son, Wiremu Matiu Douglas.’

  ‘Wiremu,’ purred Puarata. His eyes were dark, nearly black, and they had a strange lack of focus, as though he was looking straight through Mat’s head. His hands were cold but smooth, and his breath carried a hint of rot as he bent down. ‘How old are you, Wiremu?’

  ‘I’m…I’m fifteen, sir.’

  ‘You must be at high school.’

  ‘Y-Yes, I’m Year Eleven, sir. Fifth form.’

  ‘And what are your strengths at school?’

  He leaned closer. Mat was agonisingly aware of the tiki, burning in his pocket, and it was all he could do not to flinch. He felt as if his theft was written all over his face, and the old man’s questions seemed like an elaborate trap. He sensed his father’s anxiety that he’d embarrass him, and that made him cross.

  ‘I like art,’ he replied, a little defiantly. He felt his father’s hand tense.

  ‘Indeed…’ said Puarata, leaning closer. ‘That is commendable, Wiremu. The imagination is where true power lies. If you can imagine something, you can make it real, don’t you think? Without imagination, we are blind.’

  ‘I guess so…I guess.’

  Puarata reached out a hand, and Mat froze. The fingers that brushed his neck were cold, as they pulled the wooden koru into the light. The chilly eyes narrowed slightly, and the lined faced creased into a sort of smile.

  ‘Did you make this, Wiremu?’

  Mat suppressed an urge to correct the man. Let him call me Wiremu if he wants.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Puarata examined it with interest, as though the carving had some special significance. ‘There is power in your art, boy,’ he said softly. ‘I could teach you much. I too am a carver.’

  Mat didn’t know how to reply. The old man straightened. ‘Good to meet you, Wiremu.’ He looked at the blonde woman, Donna, waving a hand at Mat as though displaying an especially good exhibit. ‘An excellent young man,’ he declared. ‘We must talk more, later.’

  Donna didn’t even look at Mat, but she scowled, and Tama’s hand was still tight on his shoulder. Puarata flexed his hands, and the smile left his face abruptly.

  ‘Come. I wish to pay respects to my old friend Wai-aroha. ’

  He turned and strode toward the whare, trailed by Donna and a pair of black-suited bodyguards. Mat stood numbly, and barely heard his father bend to his ear and whisper, ‘Off you go. I’m going to be busy for a while—go and get some food.’ Then he hurried after Puarata.

  Mat stood a moment, and slowly let out his breath. Tama hadn’t even mentioned the wooden koru. Didn’t he care that Mat had taken it? He seemed like a stranger, a puppet dressed in his father’s flesh. A puppet whose strings Puarata held. His lips trembled slightly.

  Riki appeared at his side.

  ‘That is one scary dude, bro. What did he say to you?’

  Mat shrugged. ‘He asked about school.’

  ‘School?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Mat frowned. ‘Dunno why.’ He put his hand into his pocket and felt the tiki. It was oddly hot to touch. ‘C’mon, let’s go.’

  ‘Go where, man?’

  ‘Come on!’ Mat walked toward the whare, then stopped when he saw two burly bodyguards waiting outside. The others must have gone in. People had gathered again to watch and listen, but seemed intimidated; even the gang-members were hanging back. But his father, and these menacing new arrivals, had all gone inside, where Nanny Wai lay, her neck now empty of the tiki. Mat fingered the ornament in his pocket, and felt a surge of fear. What would happen when they found the tiki was gone? He hurried toward the crowd, Riki trailing behind.

  3

  The tiki

  Mat scurried around the back of the crowd, and up the side of the whare runanga, leaving behind the crowd of people at the front. Riki followed, a puzzled look on his face. They slipped in a back door, into a storeroom. He tried the handle. There was no one around, and the sun chose this moment to kiss the hill-tops. It would be dark in minutes. Shadows leapt from every corner of the building. The pale green paint of the door was peeling and the handle was rusty, but it opened quietly. Riki pulled it closed behind them as Mat pressed his ear to the opposite door. He put a finger to his lips, as Puarata’s voice rolled through the walls…

  ‘I have come to pay my respects to my old friend, Wai-aroha. ’

  Aunty Hine answered in a voice Mat had never heard, clear and strong. ‘Wai-aroha would not have welcomed you, Puarata.’

  ‘Perhaps. But grief brings people together.’

  Mat pressed an eye to the keyhole. The main hall of the whare lay beyond the door. His view wasn’t good. The keyhole was small and the light in the hall was dim. The table with the silhouette of Nanny Wai’s casket filled his view, and Aunty Hine’s back. But he could see the face of Puarata, looming beyond the table, his eye-sockets black like a skull.

  ‘Grief? I do not believe you grieve for Wai.’ Aunty Hine stepped toward him. ‘Why are you really here? And Tama, what are you doing with these people?’

  Mat heard his father speak up, and felt a quiver of shame. ‘I have been commissioned by Mr Puarata to assist his recovery of a precious artefact, that belongs to him.’

  ‘Wai had nothing that belongs to him.’

  ‘According to these documents, Miss Wai-aroha Terakatini has possession of a traditional bone-carved tiki, made by Mister Puarata, and lost by him some time ago. He has reason to believe this tiki is the one widely observed as being worn by Wai-aroha.’

  ‘She had it for years. It was hers,’ retorted Aunty Hine.

  ‘It was not,’ Tama snapped back.

  ‘Listen to yourself, Tama,’ cried Aunty Hine. ‘Helping this, this…old mad man steal from your whanau!’

  Mat’s father stepped into view. His face was flushed and angry. ‘This is not robbery. My client is the rightful owner and you’ll save yourself a lot of grief by handing it over!’

  ‘You can’t snatch the belongings of dead people!’

  ‘This artefact belongs to my client!’ shouted Tama.

 
; Mat flinched, and his stomach clenched. He nearly straightened and grabbed the door handle. But then Puarata spoke again.

  ‘Be calm, Tama.’ He stepped in front of Tama and confronted Aunty Hine, his hands spread wide, his voice smooth and almost soothing. ‘This wrangling is disrespectful to the dead. We should not argue here. Of course we could wait, and argue in court instead, but in the end, it will be mine. Because I made it, and I lost it. I knew Wai had it, but I could never find her. And why? Now I find it was because she was locked up in a mental institution, and no one except her father and you knew where. Hidden away with my tiki around her neck for thirty years. I even know why she was locked up, now. But for years it has been a mystery. Where was Wai-aroha? Overseas? Married and under a different name? Dead? Be assured, this thing belongs to me. It will be simpler if you just hand it over.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Hinemoa.’ His voice became silkier, and somehow even scarier. ‘Hinemoa, this thing will be mine. It is calling to me. Look at me, Hinemoa…’ His hand reached up and stroked the air beside Aunty Hine’s face. ‘Look at me…’

  The silver-haired man leant closer still to Aunty Hine, and though Mat could only see her back, he could feel some sort of conflict—he saw her tense, clench, then heard her sigh, and sag. She nodded, swaying slightly.

  Mat’s hands clenched and unclenched. His breathing felt horribly loud, and when Riki moved he cringed in fright of discovery.

  Puarata stepped past Hine, and put his hands on Nanny Wai’s breast. He pulled the neck of the blouse aside, then started suddenly, his face contorting, his teeth suddenly flashing, as he whirled about.

  ‘Where is it?’ he snarled.

  Mat saw Aunty Hine turn, her face blank, and he had a sudden flash of danger. He straightened. ‘Come on,’ he whispered at Riki. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  Riki pushed the back door open and they slipped out.

  There was still no one around. Mat led them away from the whare, into the shade of the line of pines on the back fence-line of the marae. Sandflies darted around them, and a cow looked at them disinterestedly from the other side of the fence. The sun was all but gone.

  Riki looked at Mat as if he expected some visible sign of madness.

  ‘What’s going on, man? What’s pissed off the scary dude?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in a minute…can you drive?’

  Riki stared at him. ‘Yeah…but I don’t have my licence.

  If we get stopped by cops I’d be in for it, man.’

  ‘Do you only do what you’re supposed to do?’

  Riki scowled. ‘No, I do what I want. Tell me why I should go for a drive.’

  Mat looked him in the eye. ‘Did you hear what was going on in there?’

  ‘Yeah, but I didn’t understand any of it. The scary dude—whatsisname?’

  ‘Puarata.’

  ‘Yeah, him. Seemed pretty pissed off about something he wanted that old Hine said he couldn’t have. An’ your dad seemed kinda pissed too.’

  Mat nodded bleakly. ‘Puarata came to get something. He got Dad to write up the papers to make it legal. It’s a tiki, made of bone, that Nanny Wai used to wear.’

  ‘Yeah…so?’

  Mat took a slow breath and then let it out in a rush. ‘I’ve got it.’

  Riki stared. ‘You’ve got it? Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. Mostly because Nanny Wai said I should have it when she died. But if I just stood up and said that, no one would believe me. But this will sound kind of weird—I think I should have it. I’m meant to. And I’m sure that Puarata getting it is a bad thing.’

  ‘Why?’ repeated Riki. ‘Are you nuts? The guy has hired suits and fancy cars and looks like the Maori Godfather. You don’t want to piss off someone like that, man.’

  Mat looked around. He pulled Riki toward the gates. ‘Come on. Where’s your old man’s car?’

  Riki stopped. ‘You are crazy! Where do you wanna go anyway?’

  ‘Dunno, Taupo, I think. I’ll go see Mum.’

  ‘Taupo? That’s 200 ks away! I’m not gonna drive you to Taupo!’

  ‘You don’t have to. Just get me to Napier, and I’ll hitch a ride.’

  ‘But if you run off, everyone will know you’ve got it!’

  Mat sucked his bottom lip. ‘Yeah, but what else can I do?’

  ‘I dunno. Chuck it down a hole, come back for it later. But if you run off, you’ll just draw attention to yourself.’

  Mat considered. It seemed to make sense…but his instinct was screaming at him to run. He shook his head. ‘Nah, we’ve got to go.’

  ‘We? Oh alright! Come on. But only as far as Napier. I’ll grab Dad’s keys, and meet you at the gates.’ Riki hurried away.

  Mat stared after him, then made his way through the crowds of people, heading toward the gates. He felt giddy, the whole thing seemed foolish. And yet, he knew what he had to do. Over his shoulder, he could see people still gathered about the whare, and that the two bodyguards were still there. He walked briskly away, trying not to break into a run, and headed for the gates.

  When he reached the gates there were the three black cars, waiting like steel panthers. Beside each stood a suited man, muscular, menacing. They all looked at him impassively as he walked past. He felt a heated flush of guilt crawling over his face, forced himself to walk out and onto the verge, which was packed with a mass of vehicles pressed against the side of the road. He found a mound of grass on the south side of the gate, out of sight of the bodyguards, and slumped to the ground, staring up at the sky, trying to find excuses for his father.

  Jeez, Dad, why are you helping that horrible man? Couldn’t you have stood up to him? He patted his pocket, the lump of cord and bone that was the tiki. Everything felt so unreal. I’ve stolen something…I’m a thief… and yet, it seemed the right thing to do. Nanny Wai hadn’t wanted this man to have the tiki—he felt sure of that. Somehow his instinct…his intuition…told him the tiki was precious, and this man had to be kept away from it…

  What should I do? Should I just bury it…but they’ll figure out it was me… he felt himself sweating, a small wind chilling his damp forehead. The grass smelt dry and the air smelt damp, the dewy chill of evening. His mouth tasted sour, and he could feel a sting behind his eyes. Jeez, Dad…

  He suddenly felt a strange pulse of heat from the lump in his pocket. The tiki was throbbing somehow, and he put his hand against the pocket, and looked toward the whare.

  A movement caught his eye. A man was emerging from the crowd, a couple of hundred metres away. An outlandish man…huge and muscular, shaggy black hair falling about his shoulders, naked but for a flax skirt about his waist, and a huge green-black stone club glistening in the half-light. It was a mere, like the old-time Maori warriors used. His face and arms and chest were knotted with moko, great flowing sweeps of dark patterns, and eyes that seemed to harbour their own light. But no one was looking at him. It was bizarre—he was huge, dressed like a traditional Maori warrior—every person in the place should have been staring open-mouthed at him. Yet no one seemed to even see him…as if he was invisible. And he was hunting for something—his eyes were flickering everywhere, searching, as he walked closer. Mat felt suddenly, horribly afraid. He rolled into the deepest clump of grass, and buried his face. Loamy earth smells surrounded him, and dry stalks of grass scratched his cheeks and nose, but he dared not look up.

  Then he heard the scrunch of footsteps in the gravel. A step, and then another, closer, and closer. Coming from the gates, closer, and then stopping.

  ‘Mat?’

  It was Riki.

  ‘H-Hi, I’m here…did you get the keys?’ Mat pulled himself to his knees and crept to the side of the car, ignoring the scraping on his knees and hands. Riki stood above him, looking puzzled.

  ‘Did you see the warrior?’ Mat demanded to know. ‘The guy in the grass skirt, with all the tats? And the club?’

  Riki slowly shook his head. ‘Nope.’

  ‘You mus
t have seen him. He’s huge, and has a massive great club, and a grass skirt.’

  Riki shook his head. ‘You’re weird, Douglas.’

  Mat peered toward the marae. The man was gone. But the bodyguards by the cars were still there.

  ‘C’mon, let’s go.’

  Riki took a breath. ‘OK. Don’t mind me saying this bro—but you’re freaking me out. You’ve flipped, cuz. Totally. Flipped.’

  ‘Whatever. Let’s go—where’s your dad’s car?’

  Riki peered into the gloom, looking south. ‘Down this way a bit.’

  They walked down the roadside. There was no traffic, and the gloom was settling in the valley like a shroud. Mat kept glancing back at the gates, and the lights of the marae. No one seemed to be following, but there were plenty of people moving around by the whare. He tried to imagine the scene—maybe his dad was arguing with the elders, while Puarata swaggered among them. Finally, Riki slapped the bonnet of an old Ford.

  ‘Here we go, man.’ He opened the lock and got in, then leant across and opened the passenger door. Mat slid in, to find Riki staring at him with serious eyes. ‘Do you know what you’re doing, Mat?’

  Mat took a breath and leant his head back. ‘Maybe. I dunno. Not really.’

  Riki shook his head. ‘Explain it to me. It’s not too late to go back and sort this out. I don’t want to see you in the crap, man. What’re you doing this for?’

  Mat quickly told Riki about the phone call, the false ownership papers for the tiki, how the tiki was really his. And that he had taken it.

  Riki looked at him sympathetically. ‘Wow man. I always thought your old man was a pretty good sort.’

  Mat grimaced. ‘He mostly is. But, y’know…his job…’

  Riki nodded. ‘Yeah. Bloody lawyers, eh. So, what do you wanna do?’

  ‘I want to see my mum. And…I dunno…ask her to get the tiki to someone who can stop this. Make it right.’