Into the River (12 page)

After a full thirty minutes, of rinsing, spitting, coming to more fully, Mitch hobbled back to bed. Devon listened to him sobbing now that he was back in the dark. He knew how lonely and miserable he must feel. How abandoned.

Devon couldn’t sleep; he had to do something, anything to numb the guilt that raged about his body. He got up and climbed into Mitch’s bed. The two of them lay in the dark, wrapped in each other’s arms. It was the right thing to do, Devon thought, but at the same time, it was unbelievably wrong. After a while Mitch stopped crying and went to sleep. Devon climbed out and got back into his own bed. He saw Steph watching him in the darkness for a moment, before he dropped off into a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, Mitch looked even worse than he had done the night before. He struggled to get out of bed at alarm call. Devon told him to stay down, that he would get matron, that it was time to make a big noise about this. But Mitch wouldn’t hear of it. Steph agreed.

“It will just make things worse for him, Devon.”

“This sucks,” Devon said, “It’s just not fair …” his voice faded away.

With the support of Devon and Steph, Mitch struggled through to the showers, where a spotty sixth former called Muir was on duty.

“You guys are ten minutes after …” he yelled, but then stopped when he saw Mitch’s injuries. They could tell from his face that the news didn’t need spreading by them. A few minutes later, when they were getting dressed, Mr Simmonds the housemaster appeared and took Mitch away. The bell rang, so Steph and Devon went to breakfast not knowing what was happening. Wingnut claimed that Mitch would spill the beans, tell the full story from first to last and that then everyone would see some action. Steph gave a scoffing laugh. Devon wasn’t so sure either. There was a code that Mitch followed. A toughness to him.

Sure enough, at morning interval they found him sitting on the seats outside the maths classroom.

“Did you tell them?”

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

They waited for details but he said nothing more.

Devon carried his friend’s bag for the rest of the day because Mitch struggled. He had been offered a couple of days in the infirmary but he didn’t want to get left behind. The work was hard enough anyway without missing a chunk.

The last day of term, when it arrived, was an anticlimax. Steph disappeared mid-morning on a flight to Wellington. Wingnut’s dad whisked him away dead on three p.m. Soon after, Mitch was picked up by his dad in a tow truck. It was Saturday afternoon before Paikea’s courier van swung into the driveway. Devon was one of the last to go.

“Bet you’re pleased to see me, Te Arepa.”

The shock of his name being spoken aloud surprised Devon.

“Yeah. Yeah, Pike. It’s great.”

But it wasn’t.

“So how’s it been then?”

“It was hard. So different. I’ve learned so much. Couldn’t believe it.”

She looked at him and smiled.

Paikea paused briefly where the school drive met the busy road and then powered into a small gap in the line of cars. Her driving had an ease to it; but there was something more to it than that, too: a sort of grace. There was nothing in excess. She gave every turn, every gear change, every little manoeuvre in traffic just the right amount of effort, and no more. She made the van seem as if it was part of her body, and she seemed to move it without conscious thought. Devon was mesmerised.

“Will you teach me?” The words came out before he knew it.

“What?”

“Teach me to drive. I’d like to drive like you. I’ve never seen anyone who could drive like you.”

“Well … you put it like that … what’s a girl to say?” Then she added, “Wait till we’re off the motorway … too many cops around these parts.”

Devon tried to repay her with an account of some of the things that had happened at Barwell’s. He found that he was changing and softening things. Things she wouldn’t understand. He told her about Steph, Mitch and Wingnut. About the fights and the rules. But there was another huge part of the whole experience that he couldn’t tell her about. A part that went beyond all that … something less tangible.

“It’s an old school and they have their own way of doing things. I guess it is a sort of boys’ world, with its own kaupapa. Some of the stuff they do is really harsh. You got to look out for yourself a lot. It pays to have a few mates, I reckon.”

“Sounds like my old school.”

“Where did you go?”

“Rangiatea Maori Girls’ College. It’s a little private school in the Manawatu. I wonder if you’re doing the same sorts of things that we got up to?” She looked at him with a smile and a chuckle. “I reckon you are. Yep, I see it in your eyes.”

Devon waited for the interrogation but it didn’t come. About an hour later she pulled the van over without warning.

“Get out then. I need your place.”

He paused, wondering what she meant, and then climbed out and walked around to the driver’s side, which she vacated by sliding across the seat.

“Now look, steering is easy. Fix on a point about twenty seconds up the road and your hands will do the rest. The big thing is to get the feel of the engine and let your feet learn the clutch.”

He made a few shabby attempts that had the van bunny hop and stall but then suddenly, it came to him. He got it. The changes that were at first jerky manoeuvres, he now negotiated easily.

“Later I’ll teach you to double de-clutch — really good for trucks — but for now we’ll get up to about ninety ks or so, so you can learn a bit of road craft.”

At first the van seemed to be moving at a blinding pace, charging at corners and difficult to keep in line, but after a while he
relaxed into it, forgot about gear changes and focused on Paikea’s instructions.

“Wide in … clip the line … wide out. Don’t! Never brake on the corner —you’ll lose it that way. Power out man! Remember in fast. Brake. Take a line. Out fast.”

By the time they had got to the curvy coastal road he was feeling confident and in charge but Paikea took the van off him again.

“That’s it for now. I can see your shoulders are all hunched. You’re freezing up. It’s just tiredness. You’ve done well.”

He must have looked disappointed.

“You done good, Te Arepa, eh fulla.” Doing the old-world Maori accent.

Devon settled back into his seat. He was suddenly aware how tired and sore he was. He began to think about Ra for the first time in ages. It was something he had carefully avoided but now there was no escaping it. He knew that at heart he had betrayed Ra; he hadn’t ‘kept the fire burning’ (te ahi kaa), instead, he had become invisible. To pretend otherwise was a lie. He knew it would fester between them.

“Hey, Te Arepa! Wake up, man! Wake up! We’re here!”

And they were: the big red tin barn on the outskirts of
Whareiti
loomed into view and moments later they drove up to the old house, which now looked smaller and older than it ever had before.

As soon as he saw Ra’s head at the kitchen window, something exploded in his chest. He jumped from the van and tore across the lawn.

“Hey! Hey! Who’s this, Paikea? I thought you were bringing Te Arepa home but you’ve brought this monster. You will have to take him back.”

Devon’s arms wrapped around his grandfather’s waist and tears spurted from his eyes.

“What’s this water on his face? Is it raining here? What’s going
on?”

Paikea walked over and hongied Ra over the top of Devon.

“Thank you, Paikea. Your mother would be proud of you.”

At this remark, everyone stepped back a pace. Paikea looked near tears for a moment. Devon was aware again how quickly his grandfather got to the heart of things.

“Come in for a kai.”

“Can’t. Can’t, Ra. I let Te Arepa drive a good chunk of the way so we’re a bit behind schedule. Jinny will be waiting. He’s been good company. I’ll pick him up in a fortnight.”

The two of them watched Paikea’s van until it disappeared into the night then they went inside. Ra fixed them both some mutton sandwiches. Salty with copious tomato sauce. It was the first Maori food Te Arepa had had since he’d left for Barwell’s. He looked around the little kitchen and through into the sitting room. A bulldog clip over the stove held a clump of yellowing bills and official letters. The fly swat lay on the bench, next to the dishes drying on a tea towel.

“Where’s Rawinia?” It seemed quiet.

“I sent her off to stay with her Pakeha cousins.”

“Rawinia is staying with the McGregors?”

“Ae.”

“In Taupo?”

“Ae. I have been too busy trying to get these local boys organised for an iwi tourist venture. They’re a hoha bunch. Good kids but when they get to be teenagers …” He paused, looking thoughtfully at Te Arepa. “When they get to be teenagers … I don’t know what gets into them. You can’t get through to them.”

“What’s this ‘iwi tourist venture’ then?”

“All sorts. White-water rafting. Fishing. Guide work. Everything you can think of. Anyway I’ll tell you about this stuff tomorrow. You go off to bed now. It’s nearly eleven. I’m going down myself. Just been waiting for you and Paikea.”

He paused thoughtfully. “So, Te Arepa. What’ve you learned,
eh? What’ve you learned that you can call your own?”

Te Arepa longed to tell him everything. To let it all pour out. To be told that he had done well and that everything was all right. But he couldn’t.

“I’ve just learned this, Ra. I carry a huge weight and it slows me down. I never knew I had it until I started at Barwell’s, but now I know about it, I carry it everywhere.”

“What is this weight?”

“I can’t tell you.”

He expected Ra to keep on, to try to get to the bottom of this, but he didn’t.

“Well, no wonder you’re tired. Carrying a weight around like you do would tire anyone out. But the good thing is, your bed is made up and it’s waiting for you to get into it.”

It was good to lie on his old bed, with its old saggy mattress and heavy blankets. For a while he listened to Ra moving around the house, fixing up things for the morning, and then he soaked in the silence of midnight in the country.

In the morning he was awakened by a smell. Methylated spirits. He reached the doorway just as Ra was beginning his morning ritual. Before long the fire was growling away in the grate and Ra had the porridge in place. He looked at Devon, reading his interest.

“A bit different from what you’re used to?”

Devon nodded his head and then went back to get changed. He was still sitting at the breakfast table when Wiremu arrived. They heard the scrabble of gumboots being kicked off at the back door, and then moments later Wiremu’s face appeared around the corner.

“He’s been asking me for days, ‘When’s Te Arepa coming back from that flash school?’ ‘Is he all different now?’ Well, Wiremu, here he is at last. Judge for yourself. Looks much the same, bit bigger maybe.” Then Ra added mischievously, “Except that he
carries a big weight now.”

Wiremu looked to see what this weight could be and then came over and sat at the table with him.

“Youse can go. I’ll clear up. Get out of here, go do boy stuff.”

Ra sounded cheerful.

So they went out the door and down the road towards the shops. Wiremu wanted to know everything that had happened since he’d been away, and for a while Devon was willing to comply.

He told of the fights he had been in. The friends he had. His enemies. Stuff he had to learn. The things they learned at school. The names of things that didn’t exist in Whareiti. But there were many things he didn’t tell Wiremu; things he couldn’t tell. Stuff he had no idea how to explain, and didn’t really understand himself. When they reached Anderson’s store, Devon wondered why they had walked down there. True, he had a few dollars in his pockets, but what would he want to buy in such a shop after the glittering malls and arcades of Auckland?

He found he was tiring of Wiremu, too. Tiring of trying to explain things to this guy who had never been anywhere or done anything.

They bought Cokes and sat on the slatted bench in front of the shop, watching the infrequent traffic.

“Tell me about the weight.”

“What weight?”

“The one Ra told me about.”

“Oh that.” He thought for a while. This could be a good time to practise on Wiremu what he would eventually have to tell Ra.

“Well, for one thing, I am not called Te Arepa anymore. I’m called Devon.”

“Devon? Why?”

“We all have nicknames at school. Mine’s Devon.”

“But you used to have a nickname here in Whareiti. Remember when you got top in the exam and everyone called you the Prof?”

“It’s different, Wiremu. It’s different at boarding school. Hard to explain. It’s like … you have to make yourself into something otherwise you get teased.”

“Everyone gets teased.”

“It’s different.”

“It’s different. It’s different,” Wiremu mocked him.

“Yeah, well it is.”

Later that day he tried to broach the subject with Ra. It hung over him and he hoped that maybe he could clear the air.

“Ra, about the weight.”

“Ah, the weight!”

“I tried to explain it to Wiremu but it was no good. Maybe I can explain it to you.” He fidgeted with an old pack of cards left out on the table. “This weight I carry at school, it is nearly everything I am, you know. All the stuff you have taught me. Even my name. It all drags me down. Makes things tough for me.”

“Your name drags you down?”

“Yeah. People … everyone really … pronounces it wrong, and then it’s the Maori thing. It’s like I got ‘Maori’ stamped on the front of my head.”

“Well, I suppose you have … what’s wrong with that?”

“Here in Whareiti, nothing, but at Barwell’s … everything.”

“Then you got a big job ahead of you. You got to show them you’re as good as they are.”

Te Arepa was about to speak, when Ra held up his hand.

“No, you’ve got to be better than they are. You’re not the first, you know. It’s just that here in Whareiti, we are the tangata
whenua
; we set the rules. At the big school in Auckland, it’s another matter. You can do it. You’ve got a whakapapa behind you that’s the equal of anyone’s. Think of your ancestor Diego. At first he had nothing for us. He was like a man from outer space. A freak. Couldn’t even speak our language. But after a while his qualities shone through. Our old people recognised them. Found a use for him. And it paid off. He saved us from the plague of Ngapuhi. Be
like Diego. Find a way.”

For a few days Devon felt better. Even inspired. But by the time it came for him to return to school he knew he had to armour himself once again with all the tricks and evasions that made him the same as everyone else, just a little browner.

Paikea came for him on the Sunday morning before the beginning of term. Thirty kilometres up the Coast road, Paikea turned back. She had forgotten something of Jinny’s that she was meant to be taking to Auckland. A few kilometres before they reached
Whareiti
she swung off the main road and headed in towards the hills. At the point where the farms seemed to be turning into wilderness they came to a gate and a cattle stop, then another gate and finally a cottage with a thin wisp of smoke coming out of the chimney.

“Come in, Te Arepa, meet Jinny.” There was a pride in her voice.

A short, frail-looking woman appeared at the door as they climbed out of the van. She had her head tied in a bright red scarf, which made her look even paler. They kissed and Paikea took the package from her hand.

“I was so busy remembering to get Te Arepa that I forgot the main reason for going.”

“I should have reminded you. We’re both hopeless,” said
Jinny
. She seemed more amused than anything. She turned to Devon and touched his arm. “So you’re the scholar?”

Devon felt shy. He nodded.

“My husband went to Barwell’s …”

Paikea put her arm across her Jinny’s shoulders. “This was before Paikea came along and rescued her for … a life less ordinary.”

They both giggled. Their private joke.

“Anyway, he was a top scholar at Barwell’s, the poster boy for
academic success.”

“So he liked it?” Devon asked.

She shook her head. “He used to say that Barwell’s was a religious experience. After five years in hell, the rest of his life was like living in heaven. He hated the place.”