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Authors: Tihema Baker

Huia Short Stories 10 (3 page)

BOOK: Huia Short Stories 10
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Awa

Shelly Davies

They're all waiting for him to arrive. Uncle Munch has brought beer and Raha is strumming away on his gat, like always.

Choonga-chick, choonga-chick.

Some of the aunties are singing along. And laughing. The mokos are over in the grass playing with toy trucks and battleships. Always best to keep them busy while they're waiting. Nothing worse than kids hōhā with waiting.

Nana's got flowers. She's always got flowers.

Everything's ready. He's coming a little sooner than expected, but everyone's looking forward to seeing him. They've made room for him, had a tidy-up, put the kai on. There'll be a party tonight.

Nana looks down the hill, toward the river.

One of the mokos rushes over, tugs on her blue Sunday dress. ‘Is he coming?'

‘Kao. Not yet, my moko. He'll be here soon enough.'

She sends him off to play again with a swat on the nono. He goes back to his little spot where all his special things are. There's the red fire truck, an old battleship, a stuffed toy puppy that's been left out in the rain. And spinning brightly in the wind are three of those windmill things that someone has stuck into the ground. Kids love their special things.

Nana smooths her grey hair. She's had it curled and set. She's even put on some lippy. Ani Tiahomai Reweti. Her children love her dearly. She's always been an example for them to follow. She makes the best rēwana bread. She's made some for tonight.

‘E boy!' she calls. ‘Raha!'

He stops strumming and some of the aunties protest. ‘Shh!' he says. ‘Yes, Nan?'

‘Play something else. I'm sick of you fullas singing out of tune. Play something I know.'

‘Yes, Nan,' he says, and tries a few different chords, before starting into ‘Pearly Shells in the Ocean'. Raha George Hohepa. He's much more agreeable these days. He's learned some lessons the hard way. Too much drinking and partying. He might have changed his ways but he's still got a mullet. Business in the front, party in the back.

Nana hums along. Folds her arms across her chest and faces back towards the river.

Uncle Munch walks over and stands beside her.

‘Don't worry, Mum,' he says, ‘it won't be long now.'

Nana nods. Looks around.

‘Where's Hiria?,' she says. ‘I saw her earlier.'

‘Gone down the hill to meet him. Reckon she's hoping for a bit of a private moment, if you know what I mean.' Uncle Munch nudges Nana and chuckles so that his too-short necktie bounces against his beer belly. Manawanui ‘Munch' Te Atatū Reweti. He loves to laugh, and he has ruddy cheeks from his years of hard work on the farm. He's always been such a hard worker.

‘E hika, Manawanui,' she says. ‘I have given birth to eight children, yourself included. I know about private moments. Besides. No doubt she has some things she needs to say.'

‘And he needs to hear,' Munch says.

‘That too.'

Hiria leans against a ponga tree. She has always loved the way its fronds hang so gracefully. Like a waterfall suspended in time. Years ago they hung low enough to hide her head and shoulders. She always felt safe under their shelter; warm, able to breathe. Now the ponga reaches crookedly for the sky, the fronds swaying far above her head.

She watches the path from the river. He'll be here soon. She's been waiting for today. She had thought about getting dressed up, making sure she looks her best. But really, she decided, she'd just rather be herself. Hiria TÅ«manako, who loves life and will tell it to you straight. Wearing a T-shirt with jeans that are ragged around the bottom, and sneakers. Straight black hair hanging loosely.
This is me,
she thinks.
He can take it or leave it.

He stands at the bottom of the hill and looks up. He knows they are all up there, waiting for him. There'll be quite a party tonight. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

He turns and looks at the awa. He used to paddle it in his younger years. Spent summers jumping off rocks and pushing his mates in. Fished for eels to take home to Nana. He knows it like a brother. Or maybe a cousin. That cousin who's fun to have around most of the time but who you couldn't trust as far as you can throw him. He knows the appeal of the awa's beauty and tranquillity is deceptive. He had once forgotten that for a while.

He takes another deep breath, clicks his neck first to one side then the other, and takes his first step towards the hill.

It's beautiful here. People have respected this whenua. Tended it, treated it as sacred ground. They have made their spaces and left their mark, but have also loved Papatūānuku and cared for her. Swords of harakeke point straight to the sky, their chocolatey flowers promising propagation. As he walks, little brown mokomoko scurry under rocks. They are the kaitiaki of this place. Although they're gone he can feel their eyes on him; watching, ever watching. He lifts his head and squares his shoulders. Big fat crickets jump across the path ahead. Māori-looking crickets, he thinks. Big and buff and dark-as brown. They even have darker heads; swirling moko to mark their whakapapa.

He sees Hiria first. She's leaning against an old ponga tree, arms folded.

He swears under his breath. Raises his eyebrows. Half smiles.

Her face lights up, and she puts her hands in her jeans pockets. Cocks her head to one side.

‘Heya,' she says.

‘Hey, He.'

‘Look at you all dressed up. Never thought I'd see you in a suit.'

‘Had to grow up sometime, I guess.'

‘You look good,' she says.

‘So do you. You always did.'

She looks at him.

‘Not as good as her, tho, aye,' she says, and just like that, the smile drops from her face.

‘Oh shit, He. That was a long time ago.'

‘Yep.'

‘I was just a kid,' he says.

‘We both were. But there's no age limit on broken hearts, aye bro.'

‘I wish I could take it back, He. I'm really sorry.'

‘Are you really?'

‘I never should've done it. I was just a kid.'

‘Stop saying that. It's no excuse. I was just a kid, too, but I never cheated on you.'

‘No you didn't. You wouldn't.'

He looks at his feet and then back at her.

‘She wasn't worth it, He,' he says.

‘You're damn right she wasn't.'

They look at each other.

She cocks her head to the side again and a smile starts in her eyes.

‘It was a long time ago, aye,' she says.

‘Yeah.'

‘You're here now.'

‘I was scared out of my mind to see you again,' he says.

She laughs.

‘Thought I might slap you in the face?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Good,' she says. ‘Now come on, enough of this. Water under the bridge.'

She holds out her hand.

He raises his eyebrows.

‘Come on, she says. There's a party waiting for you.'

They walk together hand in hand, and laugh about old times. They climb the grassy path, and he holds back sharp toetoe leaves for her to pass. They duck under ponga fronds and wave to some kuia playing cards at a picnic table.

He hears the guitar. Choonga-chick, choonga-chick. Then the cackle of the aunties laughing. He smiles, but he stops walking. Hiria looks at him.

‘How is he?' he asks.

‘Raha?'

He nods.

‘He's, um … subdued,' she says.

‘What does that mean?'

‘It means he's changed,' she says. ‘He learned. The hard way.'

‘I still wanna punch him in the head,' he says.

‘Huh,' she says. ‘Some of us might pay to see that.'

They walk around a grassy bend and a small stand of mānuka. Raha and the aunties are sitting on a park bench. Raha looks up from his guitar and stops strumming.

‘Bro,' Raha says.

‘Dick.'

‘Oooh,' croons one of the aunties, and the others laugh. The men ignore them.

‘Don't be like that, bro,' Raha says.

‘Nah, man, I should smash you for what you did.'

‘Oooooooh,' the aunty says again. Hiria walks over to her.

‘Come on Aunty,' she says, ‘let's see if Nana needs any help with the kai.'

‘Party pooper,' the aunty says, and she walks off scowling. Hiria and the other aunties follow. Hiria glances back at the two men.

‘Bro,' Raha says, ‘remember that party after we won at hakas and you passed out drunk in the wharepaku at Michelle's place?'

‘And when I woke up you had drawn me a moustache and a monobrow in black Vivid?'

Raha laughs. ‘What are best mates for, aye?'

‘Well, to the best of my recollection they're for stashing their dope in my backpack so that I get a record and community service.'

‘Oh, yeah …'

‘And they're for stealing your motorbike when they're so wasted they can't even drive straight and then they crash into parked cars.'

‘Um, I would have classed that as borrowing …'

‘But the thing best mates are crash-hot at is knocking you down to get their keys back, even though they're so off their face that when they're driving home they wipe out an entire whānau coming home from the movies.'

Raha's eyes are glistening.

‘You don't have to tell me what I did,' he says.

‘I tried to stop you.'

‘Yeah, you did,' Raha says.

‘You should have listened to me.'

‘I know.'

‘Bro, that whānau.'

‘I know,' Raha says.

They look at each other.

He shakes his head. Opens his arms and steps forward to Raha. They grip each other tightly and cry.

They step apart, looking away from each other, clearing their throats and wiping their eyes.

‘Your nana's waiting for you,' Raha says.

‘How is the old girl?'

‘Well enough to clip you round the ears if she hears you talking about her like that,' Nana says from behind him.

He spins around.

‘Nana!' he says, and he bounds over to her, hugging her so tightly he lifts her feet off the ground. She giggles and smacks him on the shoulder.

‘Didn't I raise you to be more respectful to your elders?' she says.

He puts her down. Smiles at her.

‘You two OK?' she asks. ‘I came to make sure you were acting like the grown men you are.'

‘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 instead, 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.

BOOK: Huia Short Stories 10
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