Huia Short Stories 11

by Неизвестный

  ‘Go to your room please Sam,’ I said. ‘Read a book.’

  ‘Well f… me days, hear that boys? She says please to a f…en kid. I’ll give you please Mrs. Now, would you please f… off.’

  The boys had stopped eating and one of them stood up with his plate.

  ‘Where do you want me to put this, Mrs?’ he said.

  ‘Leave the f…en thing right where it is mate. You didn’t come here to do f…en bitch work. Don’ be such a soft-cock. Leave it there. She’ll make some f…en soup out of these. Always making f…en soup. A man wants a feed not f…en soup shit. Come on boys, we got places to go, people to see.’ To me, he said, ‘Got any money c…?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘F…en better not have. I find out you keeping money from me you’ll know all a-f…en-bout it Mrs. Come on boys, let’s go.’

  I scrubbed and peeled and chopped the veggies. I put them into the water the bones had boiled in. I added the rice, the lentils and the pearl barley. Next I made some bread. Our meal was delicious. We would have the same for breakfast in the morning. And for lunch and for tea.

  When I woke on Sunday, Lionel and a woman slept on the fold-down couch in the lounge.

  And the pot was empty.

  Tuesday morning’s crescent day moon looked like the bowl of a silver spoon, and it had scooped hunks of boysenberry ripple ice-cream clouds out of the lilac-blue palette of the sky. The clouds slid away and then dissolved. A pale lemon hue lurked beneath the grey cloud mass further to the east as the sun struggled to arrive.

  Another day off work for me. I’d used the bus fare money to buy food. The bosses at work were kind and understanding, and so were the people I worked with. I made up time by staying late when I could, and I worked through lunch most days.

  But kindness, no matter how understanding it is, leads to questioning. It’s like a conditional sort of care that you pay for by answering probing queries.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Maia?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘Where does your husband work again?’

  ‘…’

  ‘Maia, I don’t mean to probe, but do you think maybe you need some help?’

  ‘With?’

  And an assumption of spiritual lack.

  ‘Would you like to come to my church?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  Worst of all was the pity that led to charity disguised as generosity.

  ‘Oh Maia, silly me. I made too much meat loaf last night. I thought you’d like …’

  ‘No thank you.’

  ‘Maia, I’ve had a clean out of my wardrobe, there’s still lots of wear in these. You might like them.’

  ‘No thank you.’

  Lionel always thought the worst. ‘How come those bastards give you so much time off work? Are you rooting the boss? How do I know that bastard over there is mine and that one in your guts? And the other bastard down South, how can I be sure?’

  Once I tried to answer the questions he asked, but to him, that meant I was arguing and answering back, and that deserved a backhand or two.

  Whack, smack, thwack. Don’t answer back.

  So I went to work and kept my mouth shut about what went on at our house. And I kept my mouth shut about the kindnesses shown to me by the people at work.

  At ten o’clock the sun still hadn’t fully entered the day, and it looked like it wasn’t going to, but we walked to town anyway. We had to go to the Post Office to cash the family benefit voucher. We needed food.

  As we walked along the street, curtains twitched at the windows, and further along, a woman came to check her mailbox. All the oblong houses in this new suburb squatted on neatly trimmed lawns, and sharp-edged gardens boasted plump rainbow-coloured flowers. Straight white footpaths led to gleaming front steps that led to solid wooden doors that were always shut, and where the gargoyled brass door knockers did pūkana.

  At first, the people in the street seemed friendly, and the lady in the corner house even brought a cake over.

  ‘To welcome you and your family to the street.’

  ‘F… off with your cake,’ Lionel had said. ‘Or I’ll ram it up your fat white arse.’

  That was five years ago. They didn’t seem to want to be friendly any more. Which was just as well for them. And me. Even aunty Jo and uncle Barry made sure Lionel was out before they visited. Once I saw them drive away without coming up the drive, and later that night, aunty rung. They understood.

  ‘Just because we live in this poncey-arsed neighbourhood, it doesn’t mean we have to be friends with these poncey-arsed poofters. You wanted to live here. You just remember that. And your family can f… off too. And in case you’re thinking about f…ing off, don’t you dare, I’ll hunt you down and when I find you, you’ll be sorry.’

  One day, aunty and uncle were just leaving as Lionel returned. He waited for them to leave. That time, I couldn’t go to work for seven days. I nearly lost Sammy. In the end, I had to take maternity leave two weeks before I’d planned to. We nearly lost the house, but aunty gave me some money.

  ‘Pay it back when you can,’ she said.

  I returned to work as soon as I could after Sammy was born. We couldn’t live on what Lionel made. Then Lionel left the car factory, then he left the aluminium factory, then the biscuit factory, the plant nursery, the car wreckers, the job at the dump and the rubbish collection round. A single man’s dole with an address elsewhere ensured an income to pay for the life and mates he’d begun to enjoy, but it wasn’t enough to maintain the habits he’d formed, and by the time Sammy was three years old, I was working to pay for Lionel’s habit. And the mortgage. And our living. Sammy stayed with aunty and uncle for a while, but then one night Lionel went over to get him. Not because he cared about Sammy. Because he didn’t. And he didn’t want him to be happy with aunty and uncle. Didn’t want aunty and uncle to be happy with Sammy. He just wanted to make everyone miserable.

  ‘F… you bastards are miserable looking c…s, makes a man’s heart glad to see so much misery.’

  The weak sunlight that passed through the gaps in the clouds had little warmth to throw down at us, but at least there was no wind. We wore our warm coats, and the woollen scarves and hats I’d knitted. He skipped ahead; he stopped when we needed to cross roads, and he waited for me to catch up. We crossed together. On the railway bridge, we stopped to watch the trains coming in and out of the station. And then we continued on our way to town.

  At the bakery, I bought Sammy a bun. It looked like an elongated lump of dark kauri gum. It was dusted with white icing sugar. It had a split down the middle filled with a thick frilled piping of fresh whipped cream, and had a blob of red jam plopped in the centre. We sat on the bench seat outside the police station, because that was the warmest spot in the shopping centre. So that is where we sat while Sammy ate his bun.

  A greedy child will rip a bag open. Tear at the food. Cram it into its mouth and two chews later will gulp it down. Two more chews later the food will be gone. The child will lick the inside of the packet and then lick his fingers. He will ask for more. And it may be given to him to keep the peace, because it was given to him another time when he played up.

  A hungry child will eat quickly. The need to feed requires the immediacy of the sugared fix that gratification demands. He will hope for more. But will not ask for more. For he has asked once before and was slapped.

  A child who is often hungry will open the paper bag carefully. An anticipatory lump of saliva will slip down his throat and moisten it for the pleasure to come. The child will slide the bun out of the bag. He will focus his eyes and his mind on this drawn-out task. Slowly, slowly with a steady hand so the icing sugar won’t fall off, and the jam won’t stick to the inside of the paper packet; slowly, slowly because the bun is bigger than the four-year-old hand that eases it out. He will place the bun on the packet that he has flattened smooth with the other hand and spread out on his lap. He will run his finger along the cre
am and scrape it up and take some of the red jam too. He will hesitate then, and look at his mother. He will offer her the red and cream morsel at the tip of his finger. She will shake her head. ‘It’s yours,’ she will say.

  Sammy placed his creamy jammed finger in his mouth and closed his eyes.

  ‘Good Sam?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  When the cream was all gone, he broke the bun in half along the split. He pointed one half at me and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘You have it Sam, you eat it all up.’

  On our way to the supermarket, we stopped to look at the teddy bear display at the chemist’s.

  ‘Look, Sam, there’s the father bear, the mother bear and the baby bear having their breakfast.’

  ‘And look, there’s me and there’s you,’ Sammy said.

  As we stood at the window I saw our reflection. A Help wanted sign was beneath us.

  ‘It is too,’ I said.

  ‘And look,’ said Sammy. ‘The mother is holding the baby bear’s hand, she must be squeezing it so the father bear can’t see them saying how much.’

  ‘Yes Sam, she must be,’ I said.

  ‘And then, later, the mother bear and the baby bear are going on the bus to the beach and maybe they’ll have a picnic.’

  ‘I’m sure they will, Sam.’

  ‘And maybe they’ll see us and say, “Come and have a picnic with us.” Can we, if they ask?’

  ‘Yes, we most certainly will.’

  There was some urgent business I needed to attend to. When that was done, we did our shopping.

  At the New World supermarket, I bought one bag of beef soup bones for two dollars, one bag of chicken frames for two dollars, four fish heads for two dollars and a piece of liver for ninety-five cents. I bought a packet of Weet-bix, a bag of flour, a loaf of bread and a tub of margarine. That should last us until Friday. At the Salvation Army store, I bought a singlet and a pair of woollen socks for Sammy. I bought a huge bag of carpet wool that looked enough to make two jerseys for Sammy for the winter to come. I’d crochet the leftovers into squares and stitch them together for the blanket I was making for the baby.

  We had enough money left over to pay the milkman on our way home, and for the next two days’ bus fare. I would be paid on Friday. The mortgage would go out automatically as usual, and now, so would the money for the crèche, the power and the telephone. And I’d increased the money I’d been putting away, squirrelling in secret, hoarding and stashing in the ASB. since Sammy had been born. The police were helpful, so was the lawyer they sent me to. So we had all that we needed that day when we left town.

  We made one more stop at the chemist’s. The Help wanted sign had been removed. And father bear had fallen off his chair and lay face down on the floor. Then we shared a milkshake at the Bon-Ton dairy. We said cheers to one another. By the time we were ready to go home, the clouds had lifted. And the sun had come out of where it had been hiding for most of the morning. I took my scarf off and undid the coat buttons. ‘Mine too please Mum,’ Sammy said.

  Despite the heavy load I carried, and in spite of the uncertainty of what might be waiting for us, a tingle of joy from deep inside my stomach made me feel as if…if I wanted to, I could fly. We held hands, squeezed four, squeezed three, squeezed two, and squeezed one. And never let go. Far away over the purple hills, where the harbour was, a 747 jet plane climbed higher and higher into the western sky. And beneath that sky we walked towards our home. Beneath that cheerful sky, we walked home. Squeeze four, squeeze three, squeeze two, squeeze one – and never let go.

  Squeeze one.

  Tangaroa’s Promise

  André Hetariki

  Day 2 (Te Tutai)

  As Taiki awoke, he lifted his head and looked around the wharenui. Finally the carvings spoke to him in his dreams giving him the inspiration he so much needed. He got up and walked straight towards the post in the centre of the room. The figure at the base was carved in memory of the lost navigator Ave. With two faces and four eyes, he was always peering to the four winds. The features were understated, like all of the carvings, but every Rakahanga knew it was Ave regardless.

  Taiki put his hands on its shoulders, leant forward and pressed his nose to that of the carving, inhaling through the nostrils to share the universal breath. For the first time in months a smile spread across his face. He stepped back and looked up towards the roof. He was unable to see it but he knew at the top of the same post was the carved figure representing Arepuni, their beloved chief, also peering out over Rakahanga and all their tribe. He nodded in humble recognition, then turned away and walked towards the ring of carved posts. One by one he made his way around the room, greeting the rest in the same way.

  Never before at Rakahanga had such a unique and so large a whare been built. In the absence of any physical remains after the cyclone that took the lives of Arepuni, Ave and the devoted crew, symbolic funeral rites were performed here. Items belonging to each of the missed tribal members were brought here and placed at the base of the respective carvings, but sadly, as time went by and each family’s whare was rebuilt, these items found their way back to the various family homes. Nothing of significance took place here any more. It was more of a memorial than anything else.

  After completing the rounds, Taiki returned to Haani. She’d been tossing and turning for a while now. He couldn’t bear seeing her in so much pain, so he knelt beside her.

  ‘Wake up,’ he said. Suddenly she sat up and looked around the room. Her gaze stopped on the centre post, the carving representing the navigator.

  ‘Did they speak to you during the night?’ he asked. At first she said nothing, before finally reaching for a hand up.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said. ‘There’s too much chatter in here.’

  Outside the wharenui, Taiki and Haani were greeted by blue sky from one horizon to the other. Down on the beach they could see the men about to begin the last part of their daily mau rākau training; a swim across the Rakahanga lagoon and back. Taiki smiled as the memories came flooding back. In recent months he’d stopped training, but every time he watched them the desire swelled inside. Even from this distance he could see the same enthusiasm in the men as they dived in. The lagoon looked tame and inviting, until you attempted to swim to any of the opposite shores. If you weren’t a good swimmer, you’d better know which way to swim to make it safely to shore. Luckily, life on Rakahanga moved in tune with the tides. Everyone knew the ocean’s rhythms.

  After watching the men reach the opposite shore, Taiki and Haani didn’t wait to see their return. Instead they headed off down the beach along the lagoon side of the island, making their way to Punariku Marae, unsure what sort of reception they would get today.

  As usual, they were met by a large group of ecstatic children. Hoping for a repeat of yesterday, No’o pushed his way to the front. His first mau rākau training was behind him and he was glowing with joy, desperate to tell his chief.

  ‘Kia orana, No’o. I thought you began training today. Why aren’t you swimming across the lagoon with the rest?’ asked Taiki, fully aware boys were exempt during their first two years. Until they instinctively knew the tide’s rhythms, it was far too dangerous.

  ‘Lift me up and I’ll tell you!’ he answered.

  Taiki obliged. No’o leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

  ‘Tangaroa said I have to practise paddling my waka ama, and you’re it!’

  He began laughing as he wrapped his arms around Taiki’s head and tried to wrestle him in to the water. It ended like it did the day before.

  The fun with the children continued for a while, before a long loud blast from a pūtātara horn sounded across the lagoon. The children were in no hurry for breakfast, so Taiki broke free from their clutches, swam straight across the narrow channel and ran up the beach towards Punariku. He knew the children would only stop playing once food was in sight. They all piled into a couple of waka ama and paddled across in pursuit, tracking him dow
n in the marae. His plan worked like a charm. Soon they were sitting with their parents, eating and giggling and pointing at their chief.

  Most of the adults were waiting in complete silence, still upset from the previous night. Their sadness and anger would take days, if not weeks to fade. They greeted Taiki respectfully but didn’t raise their eyes. A few managed a smile, but it was forced.

  Taiki would’ve liked to sit near his people to reduce the separation, but there was an awkwardness in the air that couldn’t be ignored. Haani took the inititative and led him towards the paepae, where they would be left alone. She wanted to talk with him as soon as possible. Once they were seated, Taiki recited a karakia to Tangaroa, blessing the food in front of them. Finally the tribe could begin their meal.

  Haani wasted no time asking what Taiki had dreamt about. Lately when she asked him this, it made him cringe, sometimes inducing near panic, but he obliged once more. There was a message in there somewhere.

  ‘I dreamt about the crew again. They are standing on the beach of a huge island, an island bigger than anything I have ever seen before. It’s maybe a thousand times bigger than all of the Rakahanga islands put together, including the lagoon. Behind the beach are rugged steep cliffs leading up to a forest, itself leading up to a huge white mountain shaped like a perfect triangle. It towers in to the sky, but with smoke and fire bursting from the top.’

  Having never seen a mountain, a forest or cliffs before, Haani would have liked to ask a number of questions. What interested her more, though, was the fire and smoke. It was a terrifying thought.

  ‘Why is a mountain burning?’ asked Haani.

  ‘I have no idea. Why would a mountain be white also?’

  She couldn’t possibly answer his question, so pressed further. ‘What does the island look like?’

  ‘The island stretches from north to south as far as the eye can see, and is completely covered in trees. The forest even stretches to the island’s centre on the eastern horizon. There I could see three more huge white mountains, also with fire and smoke bursting out of the top. The trees are full of birds singing so loud I couldn’t hear what the crew were saying. They were waving and calling out but I couldn’t understand them. They looked so scared, it hurts.’