CHAPTER TWO: Ninety Mile Beach
The Waipapakauri ramp was before them.
Rau smiled. Sandy dunes rose up on either side of the Ute, with the long yellow grass still growing within. Straight ahead, Rau could see his first glimpse of the damp brown sand of the beach, and the sparkling blue ocean beyond.
He took in a deep breath of salty air. At last – back to his favourite spot! He had waited months for this moment.
Alongside him, on his left, sat the Pakeha: Tristan Blake, from…Rau didn’t know where from. He had no tribe, of course, being a New Zealand European – but seemed to have no whanau either.
Rau turned to him. “Are you ready for this, Pakeha?”
Tristan seemed to shift in his seat, peering through the windscreen at the driveway ahead. “You bet I am,” he said. “Lay it on me.”
And Rau gladly hit the accelerator.
The Ute jerked forward, through the sand ramp and suddenly out, onto the wide expansive beach beyond. The vast dark blue ocean was before them, glimmering, and the wide, bright blue sky embraced them from above. Rau breathed in deep, and broke into a wide smile.
“Whoa!” Tristan cried out. “Stop the car!”
Rau quickly hit the break – was the boy hurt? But now Tristan was leaping out of the Ute: now he was standing on the sand, stretching out his arms wide, gazing north. The sand stretched on and on, as far as the eye could see.
“Wow!” Tristan cried. “What a beach!”
Rau leaned through his window. “Easy, mate!” he said. “You’re in the middle of a highway.”
“What? Oh, yeah.”
Rau could see the shimmering image of a distant bus, rapidly approaching. Tristan slipped back into the Ute, and Rau drove them closer to the water’s edge. Waves rose to a metre, and then crashed on the shore – and beyond the layers of white froth smothering the sand, the deep blue sea extended far out, unhindered, to the horizon.
“Wow,” Tristan said again.
“Different from the Middle East, eh?”
“So…beautiful.” Tears seemed to form in Tristan’s green eyes. “I’ve never seen it before.”
Rau watched him. “Not everything in the world is war and famine, my friend.”
There was something about Tristan’s face, in that moment – something in his eyes that drew Rau to him. Peacekeeping, in the army? No – this boy was far from at peace. His talk of World War Three, his camouflaged memories: joints, and beer.
“Come,” Rau said, “let’s get to it.” And they got out of the Ute.
Rau reached into the cargo tray out the back, but also watched Tristan. He was kicking off his shoes, now, and wandering up to the water – dipping his toe into a broken wave. Rau gathered the rods and bait, and joined him at the water – feeling the familiar northern warmth on his face, with the gentle sea-breeze. The sun was still high in the sky.
“I never knew it could be like this,” Tristan said, gazing out to the horizon.
“Like what?” Rau asked, laying lines and bait down alongside.
“I don’t know…kinda free.”
Rau nodded, and smiled – and now Tristan was kicking some water in his direction.
“Hey,” Rau said, “think I’m afraid of a little salt water? I’m a fisherman! Here – show me what you can do with a line.”
And he tossed a rod to Tristan – who caught it, fumbled, recovered, and then cast the line far out beyond the waves.
“Not bad!” Rau said. “Try it again – this time with some bait.”
Tristan wound the line in, attached the mussel Rau passed to him onto the hook, and cast out again. He had some skill, Rau noticed – and then Rau cast out his own line, alongside him.
“I’ll catch it!” Tristan insisted. “First fish, biggest fish: you name it.”
“Whatever you say.”
“How many fish do you catch?”
“Depends.”
“I reckon…”
“Yes?”
“I reckon I could stay here for a while.”
Rau looked at him – young face, blonde curls, white as: and utterly alone.
“Then you stay here for a while, Pakeha,” he said. “See what your home Aotearoa has to offer.”
An hour passed, in the lazy summer’s day. Rau stood next to Tristan, both with lines cast. Tristan had caught two small kahawai and had been forced to throw them back; Rau had caught a foot long silver-grey trevally.
“I began at Kerikeri, as a boy,” Rau said, winding his line in a little. “Nice fishing in the river – beautiful rainbow trout.”
“Kerikeri – ‘The cradle of New Zealand.’” Tristan looked at him. “You meet any of those missionary jokers?”
Rau smirked at him. “How old do you think I am, boy: two hundred?”
“I dunno – some of your ways seem as old as the hills.”
Rau smiled. “Forget the Army, mate – you should take up tourism instead.”
Rau spotted Tristan smiling. At last, a smile! “Ngapuhi welcomed the missionaries,” he explained. “Some of their families still live amongst us today.”
“And the Anglican Church.”
“Ae.”
“Ministers, and dog collars, and all that preaching. I’ve sure had enough of all of that.”
“Enough?”
Rau searched him. He was hesitating! There was more to this young man again: more than the army.
“What is it?” Rau asked.
“My…” Again he hesitated.
“Spit it out.”
“I guess it’s a waste of time hiding it from a priest.”
“Hiding what?”
“My father’s in the church.”
Rau looked at him. He had a father?
“Where does he attend?”
Tristan grimaced, and then seemed to be forcing himself to continue.
“He’s the Anglican Bishop of Wellington.”
Now Rau stared at him. The Bishop of Wellington? The Right Reverend Mark Blake was this young man’s father?
“I know of the man,” Rau said, and Tristan shrugged.
“I’m sure you do.”
“He recently became the head of the Church Council of New Zealand.”
Tristan was staring at him. “Great,” he said.
“Why…?” Rau quickly changed his question. “When did you last see him?”
Tristan grimaced, paused, and then continued, “About nine years ago.”
“University?”
“Not exactly. I went to Victoria.”
“Then…why…?”
Tristan’s green eyes were on him: his expression a strange mixture of grief and indifference.
“Let’s just say things took a turn for the worse after my mother died.”
Rau frowned at him. What kind of turn for the worse?
“Grief can sometimes change a man,” he offered quietly.
“That’s for real.” Tristan grimaced, shrugged his shoulders again, and turned away.
Soon the sun was beginning to lower in the mid-afternoon sky. Waves were crashing around their knees.
Rau shifted his feet in the water, and glanced back. The tide had risen enough to lap at the tires of the Ute.
“Look,” he said to Tristan, pointing to the grassy dune edge of the beach beyond. “Won’t be long until there’s no room for us left.”
“We’ve only been here two hours,” Tristan said.
“That’s all we get now,” Rau said. “Low tide: that’s all. The tide moves fast. Better move.”
Rau waded with his rod back to the Ute, and picked up this bait now from the bonnet. He heard Tristan splashing behind him.
“Where shall we go next?”
“Further up the beach – north.”
“Why?”
“There’s a camp ground.’”
Rau shifted the Ute into reverse, as Tristan got in, backed away from the water, and then began to move forward over the sand.
“Full tide is coming,” Tristan s
aid, his voice tight. “What happens then? Does this place really turn into a rip?”
“We’ll get washed away well before ‘full’ tide.”
“What? When?”
“I’d give it an hour.”
Rau looked ahead – to see the last bus coming their way. He was pushing it a little, he knew, and fleetingly closed his eyes to murmur a few words of prayer.
“The camp ground is twenty kilometres further up – we can stay there for the night.”
“What about your family?”
“They know they can’t stop me fishing.”
Rau smiled, and drove – and sensed Tristan’s discomfort at his side.
“Have a little faith, mate,” he said – and Tristan scowled.
“You’re crazy.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just inspired.”
They continued on – the bus passed them, on the right, and soon left the beach. They were alone.
“What happens if we break down?” Tristan asked.
“Then we go for a little walk. And maybe a swim.”
Tristan fell silent, as Rau kept driving. But then Rau saw an unusual sight, far up ahead. What was that – a gathering?
“Strange…” he murmured.
“What is it?” Tristan asked.
“People.”
“People?”
Rau drove to the eastern border of the beach, and parked the Ute in front of a rock, next to an outcropping of yellow grass.
“What are you doing?” Tristan demanded, as Rau opened the driver’s door. “We’ve got to get outta here! Where the hell are you going?”
“These people shouldn’t be here.”
“They must know already: they’re locals, aren’t they?
“Come, or stay – it’s up to you.”
Tristan’s stare was upon him: Rau heard his harsh breath and ignored it, as he got out of the Ute and went ahead.
A few people sat on the sand – a handful. Rau wandered up to them, and extended a hand.
“Kia ora!”
“Kia ora,” a Maori woman replied, taking his hand – rising to her feet. “Kei te pehea koe?”
“Kei te pai.”
“I’m Anahera,” she said, “of Ngati Kuri.” Her face was round, her eyes warm and sparkling brown.
“I’m Rau, he replied, “of Ngapuhi, from Kerikeri.”
“Welcome,” she said – and she pressed her forehead to his, and her nose, and he returned the hongi to her.
“Are you fishing?” Rau asked. “The tide is coming.”
“Ae,” she said, “we are fishing.”
“Any catch?”
“Not yet.”
“But I think that will change soon.” Rau turned to the new voice.
It was a Pakeha man. His face was a little hidden in a white hoodie, his eyes, on Rau, dark brown – yet he smiled in greeting.
Rau extended his hand to him. “Kia ora.”
“Kia ora.” The man shook his hand, but did not rise.
“Been here long?”
“Not so long. I’m Joshua.”
Rau glanced over the hoodie framing his face. Was he hiding? No – not exactly hiding. And yet, not exactly visible either.
“Where are you from, Joshua?”
“Kaitaia.”
“True.”
“I’ve been hoping for a big catch.”
Now Tristan arrived, standing alongside Rau. He stretched out a hand to Joshua.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Joshua replied, now shaking Tristan’s hand. Rau watched him, as the dark brown eyes moved to the boy.
“What are you doing here?” Tristan asked.
“Fishing.”
“Figures.” Tristan shifted on his feet. “The tide’s coming in, he reckons,” he said, gesturing to Rau.
“Oh, yes?” asked Joshua.
“The tide! It’s going to wash us all away!”
“So how important is the fishing to you?”
Tristan was staring at him – and now Joshua rose to his feet. Rau could see him more clearly now: white face, dark brown eyes, brown curls, white sweater and jeans rolled up to his knees with bare feet.
“Let’s go,” Joshua said, and Anahera quickly followed him. The men also stood – two Pakeha, and two Maori.
“Coming?” Joshua asked Rau, his eyes lingering on him – and Rau frowned, surprised.
“It’s dangerous.”
“There is still time.”
Rau searched him, now. Joshua seemed strangely confident: strangely certain. Who was he? Rau found himself drawn to him.
“Why not?” he said.
“You’ve got to be joking!” Tristan’s voice protested. “You don’t even know the man!”
“Come and fish,” Rau replied to him, smirking at him – gesturing him to follow. But Tristan shook his head.
“Forget it, mate!” he said. “I’m looking for higher ground!”
“Fine,” Rau said. “Have it your way. I’m going.”
And Rau grabbed his fishing line and bait from the Ute and followed Joshua, across the sand and back into the rising sea.
The water was getting cold – the afternoon sun dropping further in the sky. Waves splashed around their thighs. Rau shivered a little – he had left his jacket behind in the Ute.
Joshua stood beside him, quiet.
“Where’s your line?” Rau asked.
“It’s okay,” Joshua answered. “I don’t need my own line.”
He gestured to Anahera, and the men – who had all cast their lines out.
“These are your friends?” Rau asked.
“Yes.”
“Family? Whanau?”
“Yes, Rau: they are my whanau.”
There was something about him: Rau couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
“You can have my line if you like.”
Joshua looked at him – and then smiled sadly, and nodded. “Okay.”
Rau handed over the line – and then the bait.
“Use this worm,” Rau said. “Sometimes they like this the best.”
“Thanks,” Joshua said. “But I think crab would work better here.”
“No, seriously – use this: it will help you.”
Joshua’s eyes were on him. “Tell you what: let’s try no bait, shall we?”
“No bait?”
“Just to see.”
And he cast the line, with empty hook, deep into the ocean.
Puzzled, Rau looked out to the water. “Why would you cast with no bait?”
“I have my reasons.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just wait and see.”
Rau shifted on his feet, in the deep water. His hands were empty – he had no line. Joshua held his line now, with empty hook, cast into the sea. Rau glanced up the beach at Tristan’s dark form – he was pacing backwards and forwards, eying the Ute.
“Do you want to go to your worrying friend?” Joshua asked. “Or stay here?”
Rau looked at him. “I’ll stay here,” he said instinctively.
“So you will,” Joshua said. “After all, here you are.”
And now Joshua reeled in the line – and caught on the end was a three-and-a half-foot snapper.
Joshua released the fish from the hook and lifted it struggling into Rau’s arms.
“Highest quality snapper,” Joshua said with a smile. “I take it this will beat your three-foot record?”
Rau stared at him, mouth falling open. “How…”
Joshua returned his rod to him, as his friends also started reeling in a catch.
“Does it matter how?” he asked, his eyes dancing. “Isn’t it enough that it happened?”
Rau held his brown gaze. “Friend,” he said, “the tide is coming in fast. Do you need my Ute?”
Joshua’s face brightened. “Thank you,” he said. “But I’ll need you to drive us.”
Rau tilted his head. “You seem familiar,” he said. “Do I already know you
?”
“Maybe you do,” Joshua replied, “Rau Petera.”
Rau frowned – but now Joshua had turned away, to his other friends.
Rau put his line under his arm, and began to struggle to drag the fish out of the water and up the beach, leaving a large trail behind that would soon be swallowed up by the tide.
Tristan’s stare was upon him again.
“Are you quite done?” he asked.
“Not quite,” Rau replied, and then presented the fish.
“What the hell…” Tristan said, staring at it. “No way!”
“What can I say?”
“Beginner’s luck!”
“It wasn’t me.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was Joshua. He used my line, without bait – and caught it straight away.”
Now Tristan was staring at him. “You’re crazy.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Some freak of nature.”
“Maybe.”
“Shows how easy it can be to catch a massive one!”
“Shows how little you know about fishing.”
Tristan scoffed at him. “Well go on, then!” he said. “What’s your explanation?”
And now Tristan suddenly stood up on a mound of sand, raised his hands to his face, and shouted out at the top of his lungs.
“Hey – it’s a miracle! Biggest fish in Rau’s life – that proves it: there must be a God!”
Rau stared at him, and then quickly stooped to toss a shell in Tristan’s direction – but now Joshua was standing in front of Tristan.
Rau watched as Tristan shifted awkwardly before him – but then met his eyes.
“You a believer, miracle man?” Tristan asked.
“You could say that,” Joshua replied.
“Wanna catch me a great white shark?”
Joshua held his gaze. “You want a predator?” he asked.
“Food is food,” Tristan said, “whatever the source.”
“But not all food tastes as good.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“What if I gave you the choice?”
Tristan frowned at him. “I…” he began, and then closed his mouth again.
Joshua seemed to be searching him – and then he spoke. “Your friend has given me his Ute,” he said.
“What?” Tristan cast a foul look at Rau. “What did you do that for?”
Rau shrugged. “He beat my record,” he said. “Fair is fair.”
“Fair?” Tristan cried. “That Ute had my name on it!”
“Beat my record, and it’s yours again,” Joshua said.
Now Tristan straightened, a strange fervour in his eyes. “Beat your record?” he said. “Catch a bigger snapper? Then it’ll be good bye to your ‘miracle.’”
“Try it,” Joshua said, smiling slightly. “See if you can win. Join us.”
Surprised, Rau looked between Tristan and Joshua. Join him? Tristan? And yet a new expression was forming on his face: some form of purpose.
“Fine,” Tristan said, “I’ll join you! What the hell – I’ve got nothing better to do.”
And he grasped Rau’s rod, and launched himself toward the ocean.
Joshua suddenly seized his arm. “Full tide,” he said. “It’s coming.”
“Now you care about full tide?”
“I do.”
Tristan saw his eyes – he stiffened, and jerked his arm away.
“To hell with your care,” he said.
“Do it in the morning.”
“I’ll do it now!”
“In the morning, Tristan.”
Tristan seemed to sway for a moment, as if locked in Joshua’s gaze. Then he shook himself, and stood.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll be back at it in the morning.”
And he threw the line down, and returned to the Ute.
Rau now held Joshua’s eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked. But Joshua only smiled.
“I am myself,” he replied. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
And he bowed his head, and returned to gather his friends to the Ute.
A New Kind of Zeal Page 2
