Magic and Makutu

by David Hair

  Mat looked up at Brad’s grey, blank eyes, and shook his head. ‘No. I don’t want to do this.’

  The man’s expression changed. ‘Why, you ungrateful little turd! You think you can just do what you want? You think life is a game? We’ll see how you feel in a few months when you can’t even feed yourself, let alone pay your rent. What you gonna eat, kid? Pencils? Paint brushes?’ He backed away, his expression utterly contemptuous, his voice rising. ‘You faggot artists are all the same. You live in la-la-land. You think the world owes you a living, because oo-la-la, you’re sooo “artistic” and “creative”. You think you can just party and screw and take drugs and get your whole lifestyle funded by honest people. You little parasite! You think you’re better than the rest of us? Do you?’

  ‘No!’ Mat shouted back. He pointed at the geo-picture. ‘But I’m better than that!’

  ‘That picture is worth money, kid. Money! Money you ain’t got. You think this show is free? The bank sponsored it, Mat. So they can look like they give a shit about culture, and get some new customers. That’s the way life is: wake up and smell the coffee! This is life, and it costs money!’

  ‘I don’t care! I’ll paint what I want!’ Mat spun, grabbed Aroha and ran from the hall, while people stared. Behind him, Brad’s bellowing laughter burned the air. The doors flew open before him, and the night swallowed him whole.

  ‘Hey, wanna drink?’

  Mat turned. Somehow, he was sitting on a stool. In a bar. He looked around, puzzled: he wasn’t even drinking age. Then he looked up, caught a reflection, and stared.

  He looked older, much older. His reddy-black hair was going grey. His face looked a little podgy, as though he had stopped exercising. And his eyes, they looked older, too, and dull. As though he had given up.

  ‘Hello? Matty? I’m right here.’ The voice said. He started, turned. It was a woman, a middle-aged, badly made-up woman with ridiculously dyed hair and a plump, spotty face. She seemed vaguely familiar …

  ‘Kelly?’

  ‘So you do remember me?’ Kelly snickered tipsily, and finished her drink. It looked like water, but her acrid breath smelt heavily of alcohol. ‘Double vodka, Matty-Mat-Mat. Your round.’ She reached out and stroked his thigh. ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’

  Mat stared at her, recoiling inside. ‘Kelly? Uh … where’s Wiri?’

  Her face contorted. ‘Don’t talk to me about that prick.’ She nudged him, leaning into his personal space in a way that made him uncomfortable. She reeked of drink and desperation. ‘So, where you been? Haven’t seen you for ages.’

  ‘Uh …’ He went to reply, when he suddenly realized that he had a whole set of memories he’d never experienced: going on the dole, because he couldn’t get a real job, and his paintings wouldn’t sell for anything like the amounts he needed to go fulltime. It seemed Brad had been right. Doors just never opened for him. In the end it had got so depressing he had chucked it in. ‘I’ve, uh, been working at a warehouse, as a storeman. We box stuff up, store it. I get to drive a forklift, on the good days.’ He shrugged, wondering how such a depressing thing could happen to him. ‘It pays the bills,’ he added apologetically.

  ‘Sounds awesome,’ Kelly mock-enthused. ‘I got bills like you wouldn’t believe.’ She nuzzled his face, ‘Wanna ’nother drinky-winky?’

  He looked at her queasily. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Aw, c’mon. I’m thirsty.’ She giggled. ‘Or do you wanna go someplace private?’

  He jerked away, stood up. She almost fell over, and he had to catch her. She held onto him, then turned the stumble into a drunken waltz step.

  ‘C’mon, Matty, let’s go play,’ she slurred. ‘I know you wanna. All through that journey to Cape Reinga, you were eyeing me up, wishing an’ hoping. Wanna make it come true?’ She tried to kiss him, her breath foul.

  He held her at arm’s length. ‘Kelly, what happened to you? Where’s Wiri?’

  ‘Wiri!’ she spat. ‘I don’t want to talk about him! Or that one-eyed bitch he took off with!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘C’mon, Matty,’ she snarled drunkenly. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t remember! How he went off and left me “safe” at home? Then he made some really “intense connection” with that Evie-bitch, during the big storm. Then he told me how he’d fallen out of love with me, and it was my fault. I’d become fat and dull, he said. We’d “drifted apart”. And this thing he had with that tarot-reader cow was “real love”.’

  Mat reeled away, stunned. Evie and Wiri? Surely not. Wiri would never … Evie wouldn’t …

  Kelly grabbed his arm, her face sliding from pent-up fury to bleak desperation. ‘Do you believe in second chances, Matty? We never got together before, but it feels like Fate, meeting you like this. Life hasn’t been what we might’ve wanted, but who ever said it would be perfect? Second-best is good enough, right?’

  He pushed her away. ‘Second-best is never good enough.’

  She stared at him glassily, her face oozing through despair and anger in slow motion, then she seemed to crumple. He tried to catch her, as music exploded around him, and suddenly they were dancing, crazily … only it wasn’t her …

  … it was Lena. The first girl he’d properly kissed. Tall, blonde, Amazonian. Dance-floor beats were pounding so hard he could barely think, just grin at her dazedly, as another wall of memories hit him, erasing the old false ones … He’d sold out, gone to work for Brad. Made bugger-all, slaved like a dog — until he made some real connections …

  What was the point of magic powers if you didn’t make them pay?

  An investment-banker friend of Brad’s, named Theo, talked him through the basics of stock trading. He used his powers to do the rest. Predicted market movements. Made more in half an hour than he had in a year of painting. Bought a house, and a shiny sports car. Met some really hot girls and lost all that stupid boyish innocence. Had suits tailored and holidayed half the year. Sampled some hazardous chemicals.

  He looked around, saw Brad and Theo sprawled in lounge chairs, a pair of Asian girls on their laps gyrating in skimpy bikinis. There were lines of powder on the tables amidst empty bottles and glasses lying in puddles.

  And now Lena! The goddess Lena: his own ‘one that got away’ story. She dragged him into a booth, shoved him into a seat and straddled his hips, staring into his eyes and laughing. ‘Wow! The little boy’s done grown up! Look at you! Mr Big-time!’

  Mat stared up at her, lost in the almost savage danger she radiated. He’d not seen her since … when? He shrugged the thought away, conscious of the blood pounding through him, and how sexy and exciting she looked. ‘Where’ve you been?’ he shouted above the music.

  ‘All over,’ she shouted. ‘I’ve been everywhere, honey, and I’ve done everything.’ She stuck her chest in his face. ‘It’s great to see you! Never would’ve thought you’d come to a place like this! You were always such a little goody-good!’

  He frowned. ‘Was I?’

  ‘Yeah! Little mammy’s boy. But now look: you got Cartier this and Hugo Boss that. Armani shoes. That’s workin’ it, man! That’s what it’s all about — making the moo-lah. Oh yeah!’ She bent over him and kissed him, hard, aggressively, while grinding her pelvis into his groin.

  She tasted of lipstick and flat cola.

  ‘What about … you know …?’ He waggled his fingers. Lena had been the first fellow Adept he’d ever met, which had been a major part of his brief fling with her, because they’d had little else in common. She’d been too aggressive and materialistic for him. Then events had overtaken them: she’d been tricked and blessed — or cursed — with the power to become a taniwha.

  ‘The magic stuff?’ She screwed up her nose. ‘I gave it away! What girl wants to turn into a fuckin’ dinosaur every time she goes swimming? Social death, man! So I just gave it away to this Nature-freak girl who wanted it more’n I did.’

  ‘Wait, wait! You can give your powers away?’

  ‘Sure. I just wished
them into an apple and she ate it, and bingo: she’s got the fishes, and I’ve got normality. Perfecto, baby!’

  He blinked, genuinely stunned. ‘Wow. I never knew.’

  ‘Hey, don’t you go wishing what you’ve got away, darling. Cos you got the real thing! I’m told you’re worth millions, and even the financial police can’t work out how you cheat the system.’ She laughed, her eyes both impressed, and deeply, bitterly envious. ‘You always were the star, weren’t you?’

  ‘It wasn’t … I don’t cheat,’ he said.

  But in these memories, in this life, it seemed he did. He felt a rising taste of bile in his throat, of self-disgust. This is what I always hated Byron Kikitoa for: cheating his way to the top. I’m not like that.

  She laughed derisively. ‘You can’t deny it, Mat, not to me. Cos I know what you are.’ She bent and whispered in his ear. ‘I want in, baby. I’m sick of leeching off fat businessmen for my coke money. I want a bit of what you’ve got.’ She cocked her head, staring down at him. ‘Who knows, it might turn into love.’

  He pushed her away. ‘No.’ There has to be more to love than this. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Love? No, it wouldn’t be that, just sex. Just more meaningless sex with yet another girl who meant nothing to him anymore. ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ She snorted. ‘You can’t tell me “no”, Mat. I know you’ve never stopped lusting after me. Well, you’ve finally got lucky: I want you, too, now. It’s too good an opportunity to miss, for both of us.’

  He sat up, and this time he really shoved. ‘Get off me!’ She fell from his lap and sprawled on the beer-soaked carpet, shrieking abuse at him. He went to stand, appalled at what he’d done, wanting only to get out.

  A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and suddenly a big shaven-headed bouncer was lifting him bodily. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ the man shouted. He bunched a fist under Mat’s nose. ‘You don’t push around our girls, kid!’

  ‘Smack him one, Billy!’ Lena snarled. ‘Belt the rich wanker! Make him grovel!’

  She works here … She works here …

  Billy didn’t oblige her, although he clearly wanted to. Instead, Mat was dragged away, barely struggling. He saw Brad and Theo looking at him and laughing. ‘Bad Matty!’ Brad hooted. ‘See you at the next bar!’ He groped the girl on his lap while downing another shot.

  Then Mat was hurled out into the night. His last sight was of Billy the bouncer’s face filled with disgust. ‘If I see you in here again, I’ll smash your face in, kid.’

  Stupid senseless rage, born in his false memories, flared up inside him. ‘Oh yeah? I could have you fired! I know the manager! I’ll—’

  The door slammed and Mat was left alone in the night, choking back more words, as the memories faded and he cringed in shame at his own behaviour.

  And the night changed again …

  It was some kind of tavern, so antiquated it could only be in Aotearoa. He was tired, exhausted to near stupor, and his behind was sore from days in the saddle of his horse. The food before him was boiled to the point of tastelessness, and the beer was watery and insipid.

  ‘Please, sir, would you like your fortune told?’

  He looked up, blinking. A weather-beaten, bony woman, homely and greying and wearing an ugly eye-patch, stood beside the table. She was wearing gypsy clothing and brandishing a tattered tarot deck. ‘No,’ he told her. Then he frowned. ‘Have we met before?’

  The woman peered at him, then slumped wearily into the seat opposite. ‘Who knows? I meet a lot of people. But if I have enough to drink I can forget any one of them.’

  ‘I’m sure … you were much younger, maybe?’ He peered at himself in the window’s reflection: he’d not changed at all physically since that night when he was only seventeen — people still took him for a teenager — until they saw the bitter experience worn into his eyes. Forty years of ennui.

  She shrugged disinterestedly. ‘Nothing about that time that I want to remember. So, you buying?’

  He ordered drinks, and a plate of stew for her, while she fanned out her cards. ‘Well, look at this,’ she said tiredly. ‘Seems you got exactly what you wanted. Your dreams all came true.’

  ‘Did they?’ he asked dully.

  ‘Yeah. Travelling Aotearoa, no responsibilities and no ties. Immortality. But …’ She frowned at the cards. ‘You lost your people, along the way.’

  He had, too. Riki. His parents. Some girl he’d drunk from his memories. Others he’d simply not wanted to remember, after that one strange night with Aroha, up in the clouds. He hadn’t known who he was, or what he wanted, back then. Eternal life … it had been all too much. Slowly it had turned into eternal loneliness. It was only forty years ago, and that was the worst thing: how long was forever? And how pitifully small a fraction of forever was forty years? How could he ever endure another decade of this, let alone centuries, or millennia? He’d travelled every inch of Aotearoa and modern New Zealand, and seen nothing new. His ties to Aotearoa meant he couldn’t go abroad. He was trapped on these shores, and achingly bored.

  Seeing his and Aroha’s son only caused him pain.

  The kid is as bored and depressed as I am. He’s the Spirit of the Age alright— directionless, with no spark and no desire. Crushed by expectation and the weight of destiny.

  Exactly the way I was when I entered Aroha’s chamber …

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ he commented, looking away.

  She took his hand, turned it over. Her fingers were hard and dirty. Working hands. She studied the lines on his palms, tracing his lifeline right across his palm. Her touch made him shiver. ‘This is not the end,’ she said softly. ‘Everything can still change.’

  ‘I suppose,’ he replied dully. ‘Everything keeps changing, all the time. I can’t keep up.’ He thought about that, how pathetic it sounded. ‘And I don’t care,’ he concluded.

  ‘You should. It’s your life.’ She closed his hand within hers. ‘But change has to start from inside you. You need to decide where to place your love and faith and trust. Where to place your passion. You need to pin your colours to something, or else nothing will ever bring you joy.’

  ‘What’s joy?’ he grunted. He swilled some beer. ‘What’s the point of something you can’t even taste? Or touch? Or see or hear or even smell? It’s meaningless.’

  Her face softened. ‘Poor man. Life is never meaningless.’

  He pulled his hand away. ‘But it is: I’ve got infinity, and it means nothing at all.’

  She shook her head. ‘Life has whatever meaning we choose to give it. Love. Achievement. Service to others. Status. Wealth. All these things can mean something, if they are important to us. They can be positive or negative. Honest or false. Generous or selfish. Every meaning we give our lives is different. But we only get the one life.’

  ‘Or two.’ He spread his arms, indicating the world around her: ‘Aotearoa. Ghost World.’

  ‘It’s still the same life, just transported.’ She met his gaze with her one good eye. ‘Life is too big for one simple meaning to encompass it. We have to find our own truths, and be true to them. Make the world better for having been in it. Leave something to be proud of. Take your fair share and no more. Be part of the team, but express your individuality. Give of yourself to others. Life is a journey, and a balancing act. There are no absolutes, only doing what seems to be right, from one moment to the next.’ She spread her hands. ‘Take your pick.’

  He stared at her. Her words — Well, they’re just the usual platitudes, aren’t they? But her face was naggingly familiar.

  ‘We have met before, haven’t we?’

  ‘A long time ago,’ she said. ‘You were important to me, once.’

  He thought of the women he’d been with since Aroha. Half-hearted attempts to fight the slowly descending cloak of loneliness. She was none of them. ‘Why can’t I remember you?’

  ‘You were different then. You had dreams and ideals, but you thought you had to sacr
ifice them.’

  ‘I did. I had to.’ He frowned at the memory. ‘I saved the world.’

  ‘You did. But you lost yourself.’

  ‘That’s the nature of sacrifice. I did what I had to do.’ He studied her. There was something about her that reminded him that Life still held mysteries, even to him. Heaven knew it had been a long time since he’d felt that. ‘Stay, have another drink. We can just … talk.’

  She smiled sadly, and shook her head. ‘I have other appointments,’ she said. She stood and swept up his coins in her deft fingers. ‘One day, it will end, Mat. Even your life will end.’

  Good, he thought. I can’t wait.

  He watched her go with the same faint regret he felt over everything that had happened to him, since that fateful night with Aroha. Then he went upstairs alone and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  ‘Wake up, Mat.’

  He woke, full of lassitude, then he shook it off as the strange memories faded and his real life seemed to reassert.

  I am Matiu Douglas. I am on a quest to reach Hine-nui-te-po, to gain immortality and save the world. But I hope I fail …

  ‘Mat — come on!’

  He blinked, and stared as recognition struck him.

  ‘Riki?’

  Only one winner

  Mat sat up, stared, then threw himself at Riki. ‘Mate! You’re alive! You’re—’ He peered. ‘You are really you, aren’t you? This isn’t another dream, is it?’

  Riki clapped his shoulders. ‘No way! I’m real, bro. I am so real!’ He shook his head as if dazed. ‘Man, the things I’ve seen! I’ve tackled Jonah Lomu and I’ve outrun bloody Shelob and I’ve kissed — ahem …’ He stared at Mat, beaming. ‘I knew you’d make it, man! You da supernatural superstar! You was always gonna make it. But every moment I expected I’d just DIE, you know?’ He was jiggling on the spot with glee, then seized Mat and hugged him again. ‘Mate, it is so great to see you!’