Huia Short Stories 10 Page 3

  ‘Well, some of us are more grown than others,’ he says, looking at Raha.

  Raha shoves him.

  ‘Raha,’ Nana says, ‘go keep an eye on those mokos.’

  ‘OK, Nan,’ Raha says. ‘See ya soon, bro.’

  When Raha is out of sight Nana sits on the park bench. Pats the spot beside her. He sits.

  ‘E pēwhea ana, my boy?’ she says.

  ‘I’m good, Nana.’

  ‘We didn’t think you’d be coming for a while yet. Did you get everything done you needed to?’

  ‘I hope so, Nana,’ he says. ‘Do you think I did enough?’

  ‘That’s not for me to say,’ she says.

  ‘Will Mum and Dad be coming?’ he asks.

  ‘Later,’ she says. She takes his hand. ‘Come on, the mokos want to meet you. And if we don’t hurry up your uncle Munch will drink all the beer by himself.’

  ‘So nothing’s changed then?’ He laughs.

  They come around a corner on the path and the mokos look up from their toys.

  ‘Uncle!’ they shout, running over. ‘You’re here!’

  He picks each of them up in squeezy bear hugs. ‘Now which one is which?’ he says.

  ‘I’m Ngārangirua,’ one says. ‘Look at my fire truck. It’s red.’

  ‘So it is,’ he says.

  ‘And I’m Tiaki,’ says the other. ‘We’re playing battleships. Wanna play?’

  ‘Soon,’ Nana says. I just have to take Uncle to talk to his koro.’

  ‘Whoa,’ Ngārangirua says. ‘Uncle’s got a koro? He must be a old-as koro.’

  Nana laughs. ‘Ae, he tika, my moko. He is an old koro. In fact, he’s my koro’s koro, that’s how old he is.’

  ‘Whoa!’ the boys say, their eyes wide.

  ‘Now go find Uncle Munch. Tell him it’s time for karakia, and we’ll meet him up the hill.’

  The old man sits on a large, carved rock on the top of the hill. Te Awatere ki te Pae Tawhiti. He wears a korowai. From here he can see the river, the city in the distance. He can always see who is coming up the hill. He has also been waiting, but for much longer. He now watches the man making the journey up the path.

  The man’s parents had come at the time of his birth to ask if he could be given the name of his tupuna. They said they wanted him to have the strength of carrying the name that would connect him to the river. The old man consented. And so the child was known as Awa. But his parents found the weight of his name was too much for them to bear, and Awa was sent to live with his nana.

  Awa did what boys and young men do. He played and he grew, he loved and he caused pain. He made wrong choices and he had good friends and he experienced loss. He worked and he fathered. And he loved the awa, and forgot to mistrust it. He should have known better.

  From his carved stone Te Awatere ki te Pae Tawhiti can see Awa now, walking towards him, his nana by his side. She has lived a good, full life, raised him well, and it is right for her to be here to welcome him home. Behind him are those who came before him: the beautiful girl whose heart he broke, the best friend who died too young, some aunties and an uncle, the mokos who each lived only a few hours. Behind them are still others. They have prepared and waited to receive him. They are here to witness him give an accounting of his name.

  ‘Tēnā koe e Te Awatere ki te Pae Tawhiti,’ the old man says.

  ‘Tēnā koe, e Koro,’ says Awa.

  They hongi.

  ‘Haere mai. E noho ki tāku taha.’

  He nods to the stone beside his.

  Sam

  Kirsty Dunn

  Today for class we done family trees and I was let go first from the mat coz I sat up the straightest and breathed in the hardest and made myself real tall so I got to choose where to sit so I sat at the back table closest to the art sink coz that’s where all the best colour pencils are. Miss Davis had already put out all the bits of cartridge for us to start doing our drawing straight away so I got a pencil and started planning out my tree. Miss Davis says you should always do the first bit in pencil and do a plan, coz if you make a mistake it’s easy to just rub it out – not cheat and get the pens and colour pencils and then do it wrong – specially if you spell something wrong it makes your whole picture look stink and you can’t start again coz you only get one good bit of cartridge coz the school isn’t made of money. I got a pencil and started drawing my family tree on it, not pressing too hard so I could rub it out easy if I made a mistake, and everyone else was making a big noise in the class, running to the seats they wanted even though it’s against the class rules to run. We made those rules up by ourself at the start of the year, we sat on the mat and put up our hands and said what we can’t do and what you shouldn’t do in class or in the playground like no put-downs which means no being mean and no being rude to other people and also no melting crayons on the heaters coz it’s hard to get them off. I got my pencil and one of the good rubbers – not one that’s got big holes poked in or chunks off it a nice whole one with not much marks – and put it under my leg on my seat coz if you don’t save the good rubbers someone else will get it and not share, even though sharing is in the rules as well. Miss Davis clapped her hands like she does when she wants us to be quiet, she goes clap … clap … clap clap clap, and then you have to put your things down and stop talking and clap that same thing back to her or otherwise you look dumb coz it means you aren’t watching or you’re still talking and everyone else has stopped and done the clap back. So I did the clap back with my pencil in my hand even though you’re not supposed to but I did anyway coz if you put your pencil down someone else might take it and mine was just a good sharpness and orange on the outside which is my favourite. Miss Davis said OK class you need to quiet down now please you all know what you need to do so there should be only quiet working talk and then everyone started whispering to each other even though they didn’t even need to be saying anything – they just like the sound that whispers make and want Miss Davis to see that they are being good quiet little children which is kind of dumb coz they would be more quiet if they weren’t even whispering but just drawing their family trees instead that’s what I reckon. So I started my tree and drew a big thick trunk first that looked like two kind of crooked lines coming from the bottom of my paper until I joined them at the top and then I started drawing the green bit of the tree – all the leaves and that – in kind of a big cloud shape on top of the trunk so it filled most of the top of my paper. Alana was sitting beside me and she said what’s that pointing to the cloud shape and I said it’s the green bit of the tree but you can’t tell yet coz it’s only my plan, it’s going to be green once I’ve finished and she goes oh I thought it was the sky and that was a cloud and then her and that dumb Melanie started laughing. So I looked over at Melanie’s and she had some stars and a moon on her page, so I said what’s that and pointed and she said it’s the moon you idiot and I said well it looks like a toenail so hahaha, hehehe – coz it really did, it looked like a clipped off toenail – and then she was quiet, good job. Next I drew the bark on my tree coz the bark is like the skin of the tree so you can’t leave it plain you have to show all the things on it, all the marks from people ripping bits off or trying to write their name on. So I did those and then lots of circles on mine, heaps of circles inside other circles or oval shapes inside oval shapes going out and out and out coz I remember once we looked at what the wood from a tree looks like inside and it’s heaps of circles and Miss Davis said those bits there are knots pointing at the dark bits that looked a bit like finger prints so I drew the knots and the circles on the outside of my tree coz you wouldn’t be able to see them otherwise. When I finished that, I started on the main bit – on the people in my family – and I put their faces in the tree. I had a look around at what other people were drawing and they had rulers out and were ruling lines to show who was married to who and who the kids are and all of that, and had stick men for people and names underneath but I decided to draw just the faces of my family inste
ad, and so I did my uncles. First I drew Uncle Tom coz he is the oldest uncle and I drew him with a cowboy hat on coz that’s what people call him, Uncle Tom the Cowboy, but I don’t know why coz he doesn’t even wear a hat like the real cowboys from the movies. Next to him I drew Uncle Fred. He is one of my oldest uncles and he has silver hair and a beard like a wizard, so I think he might be magic but I’m not sure coz when I asked him if he was last time he just laughed and I saw he had a missing tooth on the bottom. Then I drew Uncle Hāmi, the uncle I’m named after. Uncle Hāmi is funny coz he calls my sister Kirsty the wrong thing, he says Curtsy, and everyone always laughs coz my sister starts crying coz that’s not her proper name. Then I drew Uncle Chris, who is my quietest uncle. He is the one always playing guitar but never singing with everyone else. And after that I drew Uncle Joe and Uncle Bill beside each other and exactly the same shape and exactly the same size coz they are twins and got born together. Then I drew Uncle Toki, who I was thinking would be one of the hardest to draw coz his hair is white – the same colour as the paper – I thought I would have to leave his hair blank but then he would look bald and it wouldn’t be right so then I just drew the outline of it and decided to leave it like that. Next was Uncle Piripi, who fought in the wars in other countries and said people would climb the pyramids – those high triangles in the desert – and fall off, and then Uncle John who is always asking everyone have you seen my hat and no one has but he keeps asking anyway I think he might be crazy. Actually, I heard Uncle Hāmi say he is actually crazy coz once Uncle John was walking around naked at the marae before everyone was up and Uncle Hāmi said what are you doing and Uncle John said I just had a shower and I’m saving my towel, so yeah he is a crazy. Then I did Uncle Joe who grows cherries down south, and then Unc, who wears bow ties to weddings. I don’t know why we call him Unc – I think he has a hard other name to say. Then I drew Uncle Stephen who lives in a blue caravan and after that I put in Uncle Buck who played rugby for Hawke’s Bay and is always telling me to tackle round the ankles. I drew all their faces in the tree with their hats and their ties and the things about them, and they looked like a whole lot of apples so instead of putting their names underneath I gave them all bubbles coming from their mouth like the ones from cartoons and put their names in those so my family tree was full of apple uncles shouting out their names like superheroes when they fight and go wham and bam and stuff, they looked like they were singing their names – a whole lot of apple uncles singing in the tree like birds. I put my hand up to show Miss Davis that my plan was done and to ask if I could go on to using colour pencils for my good copy. Then Miss Davis came over and looked at my picture and did a weird kind of smile thing that she sometimes does and you don’t know if she is going to tell you off or if she is actually happy. She looked at my family tree and my apple uncles yelling out their names and then she said who are these people and so I pointed to them and said that’s Uncle Toki with the white hair and that’s Uncle Stephen and that’s Uncle Buck who is a famous rugby player and that’s Uncle Piripi and Uncle bla bla bla going through all their names and showing their faces and all the things about them. Then Miss Davis went over to her desk and came back with another bit of cartridge and put it down on top of my tree. She said start again please Sam and I said why and she said,

  just write the names.

  Navigation

  Philip Evans

  We come. Home is far behind, and there is no thought of turning back. The sea is solid grey with the white flecks of breaking foam. The sail cracks and billows with wind, taking us in the right direction. There is no need for the paddles today. The men are happy because they can rest their calloused hands and weary shoulders. Our twin prows bounce on the chop and the spray leaps and travels half the length of the vessel, stinging against my cheeks. The strong masts creak and give with the breeze. The captain sometimes runs to check and reassure himself that the lashings holding the masts in place remain tight and true.

  We come, towards the cold. The navigator is at one with the steering oar. His feet are planted on the boards; his dark calves are firm, his eyes aimed somewhere over the horizon.

  We come, and all I can worry about is my poor hair. When we waved goodbye to home and sailed away from the warm tides, my hair was still black and sleek. Now it has become thick and twined together by the salt, and its ends almost flaxen in colour like sailing ropes. The wooden comb that I brought from home cannot be dragged through. The white flower that I wore as we waved goodbye has long since wilted to a stalk and been cast away into the current. The older women tell me not to fuss about my hair, but I cannot help it. I used to have the hair of a chieftainess.

  My hair is not the only thing that has changed. I used to be plump, but I have lost all my puppy fat. I can run my finger down my side and count my ribs.

  There is a boy who is looking at me. He has been looking at me for the whole journey. Whether he sees me plump or spare, it does not seem to matter to him. He has no business to look. He is not high-born; he is not handsome, nor a great warrior, nor a great fisherman or sailor. On the first day of our journey, before we had even got out of the calm lagoon and onto the ocean proper, he was sick over the side. The fish rose up to pick at bits of his last meal, half-digested. We women gave him a new name, Puke-eaten-by-fish. Over the journey it has become shortened to Fishpuke.

  There he goes again: his eyes catch mine before he tears them away and blows out his breath, his cheeks puffing out. He is maybe about my age. He is tall, but still has the thinness of boyhood. Poor Fishpuke.

  Often I wonder how much longer we must endure the sea. It must also be in the minds of everybody else here. Perhaps only the navigator and the captain really have any idea how far there is to go, or whether we will even find our destination among this expanse of ocean. We must trust them; we must trust that they know where they are taking us and can find the land that is said to be in this cold water. Often they consult; they point to some place out over the rim of the sea.

  I go to the side and dip my fingers in the sea. This gives me reassurance; it measures our speed. My fingertips cut a whooshing gouge in the water’s surface, leaving a foaming trail. It feels like progress. Look out for us, new land. We are coming.

  One of the men sees me with my fingers in the water. ‘Hoi!’ he says. The captain comes running over to scold me. ‘You want to keep your fingers, don’t you? There are sharks and other big fish,’ he says. ‘The cold water makes them hungry.’ He pulls me by my arm away from the side. The navigator turns to look. He sees me, takes me in as a minor distraction, then his gaze goes back to the horizon. His concern is the sea. But the captain has to worry about what will happen when we find land. I am a chieftain’s daughter, and a valuable marriage prize. He needs me in one piece.

  Yes, marriage, that’s what I said. After all, we are told that this land might already be inhabited. If there are people there, they might not be quite like us. We are told they may be giants, or might have strange powers, or might be more closely descended from the gods than we are. They might have sprung from the land; they might be rock people who count the mountains among their ancestors. We have few men and few weapons – we will have to marry our way into the land, rather than conquering.

  I hope that the land, if we find it, will turn out to be empty. It would perhaps be better to remain at sea forever and marry Fishpuke than marry one of the rock people.

  If I had any choice in the matter, I would choose a man like the navigator, though he is older than me; perhaps old enough to be my father. There is something about those eyes, always fixed ahead. It is the confidence in the way he stands. We have come to rely on his sense of certainty. It is all that keeps us from going crazy. The rest of us rely on him completely, and I think some of us women feel giddy whenever he walks past. But he can have no thought of women or sex. While he is steering the vessel he is in a high state of sacredness and restriction. One of the older women tells me that his spirit swims ahead of the vessel, guidin
g us through the currents. The navigator must not break the restrictions. He must not sever the connection with the spirit fish.

  The navigator is going to sleep. Even he tires sometimes. He calls Fishpuke up to take over at the steering oar. ‘Keep us straight,’ he says, pointing beyond the horizon. ‘Don’t pull either to the left or right. Keep the end of the oar in line with the masts. All the people will watch to make sure you don’t stray. Tonight, enough cloud will clear and we can take another reading from the stars.’

  It is time to prepare the meal. This becomes easier each day, as the supplies begin to dwindle. Today it is a morsel of fish and dried sweet potato. The first portion is offered to the east, where the sun rises, to the sea god. He’s ever-present out here; we can feel him all around, and we know how important it is not to neglect him. I hope he is wearing his best cloak in these cold waters.

  The dogs whine and lick their chops as the propitiations are made to the sea god. Fishpuke is looking hungry too. But he must not eat yet. He is under heavy tabu while he is there at that oar. We distribute the meal to the rest. One of the younger girls approaches the navigator and feeds him portions directly into his mouth with a fork.

  We tend to the animals and plants we are bringing with us. We make sure that the seed we have brought is not being ruined by the salt water. We feed the chickens on shredded coconut and the dogs on dinner scraps. There is also a rat on board, and one of the men is trying to catch it. Each time he spots it, he goes after it with his club, but so far it has been too quick and cunning for him. He runs hither and thither, seeking it under piles of empty water gourds and among the loops of anchor rope. He is wasting his energy.

  It is early evening. The light is beginning to change. Suddenly there is a shout from Fishpuke. ‘Hoi! Hoi! Hoi!’

  We stop what we’re doing and stand up to look. Has he spotted land? No, but he has seen a dark shape in the water ahead of us. A whale? There are birds soaring around it and settling sometimes to paddle alongside it. A dead whale? If so, maybe we can cut it up for food. The navigator stands and tiptoes out along one of the hulls to its prow. We pass by the dark object, which turns out to be a floating log, not long dead, with leaves still growing from it, and with a great mat of seaweed hooked on a submerged branch. We can see excitement in the captain’s eyes, and the navigator’s. The captain gives an order for a light anchor to be put over the side, so that he can watch the direction in which the rope is dragged, and make a reading of the current. This will maybe tell us the direction from which the log has drifted. The captain and navigator consult, and appear to agree that our present direction is right and good.