by Alan Duff
She smiled at herself: Ahh, good teeth, even with all those years of smoking, I got good teeth. Look after em, that’s why. Mind you, front one left side is capped. From who else’s fists? ACC, they paid for it. Otherwise they’ve stood up to everything he could throw — Oh, don’t be thinking of morbid things, Beth Heke, you’re sounding like your daughter, Miss Morbid Grace. Off I go.
Out to a glorious day you wouldn’t believe, not for winter almost started; no clouds up there, no breeze (to muss up a woman’s flash hairdo) just glorious warmth. Jake tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to a pop number playing on the car radio. The rental car radio. Look atim, you’d think he owned the blimmin thing, Beth getting in beside her husband, smiling to herself. Clicking her tongue, Where’s the volume control? Too damn loud. Making out she was still the same old Beth, flash rental or not. And pretending to be confused: All these damn gadgets everywhere. You worked em out, Jake? Looking at him, and he was acting up himself, real casual like: Yeah, sure. Piece a cake. Doing a fancy flick of the volume and the tone controls. And Beth thinking, This is gonna be one beautiful day. Calling to em at the back, You all okay there? in a cheery tone. And them answering, Yeow, Mum! This is choice. Though Beth didn’t hear Grace’s voice in that lot. Only Abe, Hu and Poll. Kid’d been even quieter than normal lately, Beth couldn’t figure it out other than putting it down to teenage stuff. Growing up. And hormones and that. Thinking that Grace better not go and spoil this day. No one’d better. Let’s go, she smiled at her husband and he back at her in his gruff way, but not so that she missed seeing the happiness in his eyes.
Food in the boot. Heaps of it. Ah, what you can buy when you got the dough. The way life sorta opens up when you haven’t the booze or gambling on card games to worry about. The surplus that builds up, Beth was staggered to discover of her abstinence.
Whole rotisserie-cooked chicken from the supermarket deli (Jake not knowing what a deli was, let alone a rotisserie-cooked chicken. Beth laughing atim, Man, where you been? But in the good spirit that’d been ruling the house ever since she told everyone of her plans.) and a whole lot more food besides. For our Boogie, who they got under welfare authority care over in Riverton. Riverton Boys Home, that’s where we’re headed for the day, O Heke family. With the exception of Nig; he wasn’t hardly ever around these days. I got roast pork in slices, cooked silverside, a heap a boiled eggs, you name it. Even cheeses. And Jake saying none a that fuckin cheese for him, no way. It’s Pakeha food. I ain’t eatin Pakeha food. Beth not bothering to tell him that most everything they ate was food introduced by the dreaded white man Pakeha Jake seemed always to have not far from his mind. I got salami. Salam-what? Sal-arm-ee. Huh? Having to explain to Jake what it was, in terms he’d understand not get anti: sausage, it’s only a fancy name for cooked sausage. Oh, and a few spices thrown in. Cured sausage. Cured of what — disease? Jake’d joked. Hahaha, very funny, Jake Heke. Had to check herself: she’d nearly called him dear. We can’t have that; not as though all of a sudden I got an angel on my hands. (Yet when he’d smiled down at her from his magnificent height, Beth’d felt the power of his physique, his great fighting physique, coming off him like rays. Made her feel slightly weak with … well, desire, she sposed, but having to act tough, asking him: And what’s that smile for?)
Now, I’m sat in a nice car, my husband at my side for once acting like one, my kids in the back, or four out of six, and the fifth coming up, with a boot fulla picnic food and even a purse with a few bob for extras. What more could a Pine Block mother want?
People they knew did double-takes, they waved, winked, frowned, stared with naked jealousy at the sight of the big Ford Falcon rental cruising so slow down Rimu Street they may as well be walking. With Jake playing the part to the full: half-lidded eyeballs, arm out the window, bent at the elbow, fingers only lifting in cool greeting to a face he knew; or he’d give a wink here, a chuckle there, hit the horn when it was one of his mates, or hit it harder at those he hated. You’d think he’d just won the Lotto. But Beth enjoying it too, don’t worry bout that. Go down Alligator Street, Beth instructing (meaning Matai but so named because it was a kids’ myth that an alligator lived in the stormwater pipes there). Show off to Maggie. Beth’s sister. The one she hardly saw except at the card schools Mag ran every Thursday and now was accusing Beth of being up to something why she wasn’t coming to her card games anymore. But Beth realising, with her abstaining, that her sister had all along measured Beth’s worth in how much she lost at Mag’s card schools. Fucker. Look at me now.
Want me to stop? Jake at Maggie’s house. But Beth seeing her sister’s car wasn’t there (the car that’s been too good to come pick me, her own sister, up in take me shopping, save her sister a cab fare and luggin all them bags with her.) Fucker. Oi, the language, Jake laughingly got back on Beth for earlier chiding him for his language, telling him to try just for today to, you know, act nice (civilised). She smiled at him (oh Jake); it was all she could do to stop herself reaching out and stroking him … his, you know, his thingy. Hasn’t touched me in weeks. (Maybe he’s got a bit on the side.)
Alright back there, kids? Mum, you asked that about three powerpoles back, Abe telling her. Alright, alright, only makin sure. Poll, you okay? Yes, Mum. Hu? Choice, Mum. (Grace? Why is she so quiet this last few weeks?) Grace? Grace …? But no answer. Answer ya mother, girl. Jake growling. And Beth regretting singling Grace out. Forget it, forget it. (I’m not having this day spoiled.)
Jake driving all over Pine Block, playing it to the full. And laugh? Never heard him laugh so much. But then they came within directional sight of the Brown Fist headquarters (They’d been given a complete two-family double unit for their own use by the Housing Corporation, and rumour said they didn’t pay any rent because the government agency was too afraid to send someone to collect it.) and who should be standing outside the high iron-clad walls, none other than Nig. Made a mother’s heart fall. And she shot a look at Jake: he’d seen Nig alright. Jake had a smoke in his big left hand as quick as lightning, drawing at it the way he does when he’s trying to hide his anger. (Oh please, don’t let’s get off on the wrong foot.) Then the little ones crying out, There’s Nig! didn’t help. Beth feeling the car slow.
Jake …? looking at him. Jake, please don’t … Her pleading tone surprising herself, she was no crawler, she was no anything weak, refusing to eat humble pie on account of even him, Jake the Muss. Except today. (I tried too hard, I’ve wanted too much for this day to spoil it with my stupid damn pride.) And Jake flashing a look at her, then back out the window at the tall figure of their seventeen-year-old messing about with a couple of other Brown Fist prospects, not giving them even an accidental glance. Jake said nothing. Just turned the wheel to get them out of Pine Block and drew hard on his fag. (Thank God for that.) Beth loving her man just that little bit more for showing surprising restraint. And she knew, within her bones, that this was gonna turn out a very nice day. Smiling at him (I can just tell).
Past the vacant land and Jake saying whyn’t we take a cruise round, and everyone in agreement, why not? long as they got to see Boogie sometime. This flash car a sorta corruption ofem all. Though Beth shot constant weather-check glances at Jake, wondering and praying he’d stay as he was. And she called again to her kids: Ya lookin forward to all that grub, kids? Was able to pick out the yays, with Grace’s the missing prominent. And a little bit troubling. Turning to Jake: Say, salami, Jake. Grinning atim. No way, sista. G’won, say it. Giggling atim, and the kids with their half-suspended giggles ready to go either way depending on their father’s subsequent reaction. Slami, Jake shot out in a mumble. What was that? Beth cupping her ear. A good sign of a chuckle from Jake. Again: Slarmi. Slarmi, eh? Well, whatever, cos I ain’t gonna be eating it, no way. Jake with a grin, that laugh of his starting to bubble up from him like a spring just started. So everyone (even Grace) rising up with him, like a little orchestra of laughers or sumpthin. And the rest of residential town going by out the wind
ows.
Now the whole car rocking with laughter at Jake turning the tables on Beth, getting her to say, writing; because Mum’s r’s more like w’s, and so Dad teasing her with: Witing? witing to who? or you mean waiting? She means waiting, kids! Laughing. Laughter rocking the car. Rocking it. (Ah, but I never been so happy.)
Nothing down Taniwha Street on a Saturday morning other than a few window-shoppers; couples, lone ones, and a drunk staggering down main street from no doubt a party. A Maori. And Jake yelling out: Hey, bro! Go getta rental! So laughter again filling the nicely upholstered world. More when the fulla stopped and gave em the fingers and Jake just laughing and not doing anything, like stopping and punching the fulla.
Past a young couple obviously in love, and Jake saying: Ah, to be young an frisky again, eh dear? Taking Beth by complete surprise, specially the dear bit at the end. (I feel like —) but nope, she wasn’t risking it: not even a touch on his leg. He doesn’t like a woman starting things, even hinting. It don’t matter, anyrate; I’m happy as can be. (What’s sexual satisfaction got to do with it?)
Down main street, cruisin, cruisin … no shops open, not till the first of the Chinese takeaways, a big late-model car parked outside, a whole pack ofem busying away inside the shop. Same at the second Chinese. Bringing a comment from Jake: Them fuckin Chinks, man, they live for work. And sounds of disgust from everyone.
Down at the lake, getting out, taking a walk; kicking at autumn leaves, looking at the unruffled waters of the lake, and Abe wondering aloud if their Maori ancestors’d had any big rumbles out on those waters, in canoes, them fuckin big carved jobs, Jake saying, Yeah. Sure they did. Your ancestors, boy, they were fighters. Grinning at Abe, face suggesting the fighter was still present in some ofem (us — me, Jake the Muss). And Abe going, Aw, Dad, and giving his father an Ali shuffle, dukes raised. And Jake winding up a Bolo punch special, a Sugar Ray Leonard special, with his left going round and round winding up then shooting out with a straight right instead. The two falling over emselves with laughter. And a mother and a wife wondering if Jake wasn’t in some state, maybe he’s started smoking this dope stuff. Because never had she seen Jake like this. Not in sixteen years. Well, maybe fourteen of the married sixteen years. Oh well, enjoy it while it’s there, Beth shrugged.
Jake calling out to Grace: Hey, not too far, not too far from our car. With a half-grin, Someone might steal it. Kick a few more ole leaves, imagine your ancestors of old when they were racing their great war canoes across them waters, armed to the teeth, mad as anything with the fury of war, and doing battle with the enemy. Then Jake suggesting the best residential area in town, Ainsbury Heights, as next visit.
But who knew where to go? Ainsbury Heights was just this thing in their heads, a name given to an area where posh people lived. But the actual getting there was another story. Grace piped up: I know. And everyone lookin at her, specially him, her father; Jake twisting round and lookin at her. How come you know, madam? Grace shrugging, cos I’ve been up there. Added, obviously. And the word immediately echoed several times sarcastically by others in the car: Ob-vee-us-lee. When? Jake demanding. Oh, a few times. After school. How’d you get there? Not far to walk, Dad. Ain’t it? Dad, it’s Two Lakes we live in, not Auckland. And Jake missing her point: So when’ve you been to Auckland? I haven’t, Dad. Well you said — I only said it’s Two Lakes. Two Lakes is very small, Dad. So it’s not hard to find your way around. And Jake looking at his wife, shaking his head: She’s pretty smart for a fourteen-year-old, isn’t she? What’d a Pine Block kid want up at this Ainsbury Heights anyway? Jake unable to figure. Same as you, Dad, Grace coming back with — To gawk. And the others smiling nervously. And Jake unsure of where he’d go, but opting to laugh. So all ofem following suit, sweet suit. Day still alive. With hope. Even promise.
Grace directing her father to Ainsbury Heights.
Hey, where’s all the houses? Jake to everyone in joking tone. I c’n only see trees. Nuthin but trees. At the prevalence of long-established trees fronting each and every property they were slowly driving past, and one side with an elevated view of the township, the glistening silver of lake, the green hills beyond. And snatches of big houses through the almost leafless trees. And Jake saying, Man, those aren’t houses, they’re fuckin mansions. His voice shot with envy, and perhaps hatred too. So Beth countering: Well, I don’t think they’re all that hot. Thought they’d be newer than this. Some ofem look like they’re half fallin down. But Jake: Only thing fallin down, woman, is you. Giving her a nasty look. So Beth not willing to push it, afraid she’d bring it right out his old hatred, resentment of anything had white skin, had a job, owned a house, had a car.
Time we were heading to Riverton anyway. But not Jake. Hold on, hold on … staring all over, out his window, out front, out Beth’s side. We’ll be late, Jake. Says who? We got all morning yet. Beth sighing. (Letim be. He wants to go off the deep end at these people up here having plenty and us having nuthin, letim. Juss as long as he gets it out ofim and we can get back to being one big happy family.)
Then from Grace right behind Beth: Oh man … to live up here, eh. Beth snapping at Grace to be grateful for what you got. Grace asking, And what would that be? (Never known her so cheeky. It must be growing troubles.) Jake adding his weight to Grace’s argument: Yeah, you tell me what we got to be grateful for? Jake, turn this car round and let’s do what we sposed to — visit our son. It’s been over three months. Don’t even know what we’re doing up here in the first damn place. Beth getting irritated. Fretful that it was all going out the damn window.
Jake kept driving; slow hugging the kerb, eyes going up every driveway, and muttering from him about how many fuckin cars did these greedy honky shits want, about a Jag costing, he heard, a hundred fuckin grand and yet here were they with not one lousy hundred between em. Let alone times a grand. And Beth biting her tongue. And the kids quiet and knowing in the back.
Jake stopping the car. Looking at Beth. Back out his window. Big mits coming up off the steering wheel in question. But only, Man … coming out. Shaking his head. Sick. He looked sick. Hands rising again, The bread, Beth. Where do these white shits get the bread from? Looking pained now. And pointing up the driveway out Beth’s side: Three cars. Three. How do we know it’s not just visitors they got, Jake Heke? But Jake refusing to entertain that idea. Nope, it’ll be their own cars. I just know it. Three fuckin motors, Beth, and here’s us, this dumbarse Maori family from Pine Block, with nuthin. A fuckin borrowed rental, thas all. And tomorrow, Beth? It goes back tomorrow. And then what we got? Aw, Dad. Abe from the back. No big deal havin a car. Oh, ain’t it? Jake swinging angrily in his seat, Beth catching those eyes flashing murder. And his confusion. (Oh Jake, it’s not just the car and cars, is it? It’s more. If I’d’ve thought you were gonna be a better man, a happier man if only you had a car, I’d’ve worked my butt off till we got the bread to buy it. Swear I would. But it’s something else; maybe it’s us, Maoris, our whole damn race, we’re just a bit lost when it comes to this money thing, how to get things, how to go about borrowing the bread, mortgages and that, to get them. Maybe us Maoris got caught with our pants down and it’s just taking a while to gettem back up again, I dunno.) Beth rubbing her forehead, closing her eyes. (And maybe you, Jake Heke, maybe you’re just another of the wild ones, the Maori wild ones, who can see things not equal, not balanced, that you can’t put into words and so you do the only thing you can do — strike out. Swear and curse and get furious at not being able to do a damn thing to catch up. Maybe you just want some of their material action — why you started off so happy with this rental — to just have a taste of what it’s like not to have to live from hand to mouth, from one government benefit day to the next. Poor Jake: this rental car fooled you, didn’t it? Had you feeling like you kinda owned it. And now, like the kid you really are, you realise it has to go back tomorrow. Your dream’s been spoiled.) But what could a woman do? say?
Finally Jake restarted the engine. L
et’s get outta here before I see one a these white shits and punchim. And they drove out of the tree-studded street.
(Surprise, sweet surprise) at Jake eventually breaking out in a chuckle and saying, Who’d want a big house like that anyway? Ya’d spend half ya fuckin life mowing the lawns and pickin up leaves. Eh kids? Laughing. It echoing back. (Thank goodness.) And we all know it wouldn’t be your old man pickin em up, mowing the lawns, eh kids? Aw, Dad! Going along with his act, like the experienced little actors they were where their father was concerned. Then they were heading north to Riverton, the sign saying it was left turn 500 m on, and Beth wondering when Jake was gonna slow to make the turn. Jake …? at him going straight past the turnoff. The car smokey with Jake lighting up yet another fag, even Beth not matching his puff rate. He’s upset still. So where you taking us? Around the lake. Jake, come on. We got the morning, woman. Then we c’n spend all afternoon with Boog. Eat up all that grub you got. Slarmi, and rotiss-a-sumpthin chook. Eh kids? Chuckling. Cleverly bringing em in. Okay, okay, Beth sitting back. May as well enjoy havin a car while we can. It occurring to her that they’d soon be going past the village she’d been raised in, Wainui pa. Haven’t been back since Mum’s funeral. That was, what, four — no, five — years ago. Dad’s the year before that; and everyone saying Mum, poor Raita, had died of a broken heart, that she’d given up because life without her man, Bunny (Kupa) Ransfield, wasn’t worth living. Except Beth knew it wasn’t the truth. Mum died of cancer. Lung cancer. From smoking these things, Beth looking frowningly at her cigarette before her body had her sucking at it for what it offered. And love, thinking about love between a husband and wife, and how her father never showed his love to Mum because he was of that school of being gruff, tough, manly — manly — and happier when he was around his mates, drinking with them, laughing and talking their men talk, and drinking. Beth further realising that drink played a big part in all their lives; her parents’, her husband’s, her friends’, herself (till three months ago), everyone she knew. Shaking her head at that, thinking it was such a shame and a terrible waste what drink did. And then they were slowing for her pa, as she knew Jake would. Smiling at her.
