Kitty (9 page)

Kitty was grateful her aunt hadn’t seen Wai naked.

‘Is it completely necessary?’ Sarah demanded.

Wai nodded. ‘It will say to all who I am. When I am married, it will announce my identity and my mana, so that I am not just a chattel belonging to my husband.’

After a moment Sarah said in an odd, tight voice. ‘No, being a chattel is not a good thing.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Nevertheless, I’m afraid I will have to have a word to Mrs Williams about this, Wai. It really is barbaric. Perhaps she could speak to your father.’

‘I wish you luck,’ Amy said.

Kitty watched as the blood drained from her aunt’s already pale face, then gasped at what came next.

‘Don’t you be so cheeky!’ Sarah snapped. ‘In the unlikely event that I might ever want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Until then, keep it to yourself.’

Kitty was stunned. Never in her life had she witnessed her aunt lose her temper to such an extent.

‘Yes, Mrs Kereha,’ Amy said, not in the least chastened.

Sarah covered her face with her hands, just for a second. ‘God forgive me. Amy, please go to the kitchen and start on the supper.’

‘Yes, Mrs Kereha,’ Amy said again, but her tongue came out the second Sarah turned her back.

S
arah did indeed have a word with Mrs Williams, but apparently without the result she was hoping for, as a week later Haunui came to collect Wai and escort her to the village at Pukera where the moko ceremony was to take place. Amy went as well—for moral support and because it was far more interesting than changing bed linen—and so did Kitty.

Sarah and George had been startled and somewhat disconcerted when Wai requested that Kitty accompany her. But, as Haunui related to George, not nearly as startled as Tupehu, who had declared to everyone within hearing distance that it was unheard of, a Pakeha attending a moko ceremony. Even worse, a Pakeha
woman
! Was there to be no end to the liberties the missionaries intended to take? Eventually, however, after Wai had insisted that if Kitty wasn’t present then she wouldn’t be either, Tupehu had come around to the idea, convincing himself that there could actually be a fair bit of mana attached to the presence of a minita’s niece at the time of his youngest child’s tattooing. Perhaps, Haunui suggested with more amusement than George felt necessary or appropriate, Tupehu had decided that some of Miss Kitty’s evident spiritual proximity to the Lord might rub off on his daughter during the procedure.

Pukera village was a revelation to Kitty, who had never in her life imagined that people could live in such crude conditions. But the more she looked, the more she realised that the little houses were in fact solidly constructed and therefore probably capable of withstanding most extremes of weather, and that the larger buildings were beautifully
carved and decorated and obviously designed for communal activities. In fact the whole settlement, perched on a flattened hilltop surrounded by palisades and with its own little spring and neatly laid-out vegetable gardens, was actually very cleverly sited to protect the occupants from attack or invasion.

They waited for several minutes outside a gateway of heavy posts carved to represent a pair of naked, ferocious-looking male figures, Kitty trying not to stare at their exaggerated genitalia. Then a tiny wizened old woman, whose powerful soaring voice belied her stature and frailty, welcomed them through the gates and inside, where a crowd, headed by Tupehu, was already waiting. Kitty assumed that the atmosphere of ceremony was associated with Wai’s imminent tattooing, but Amy explained that it was in fact in honour of Kitty’s presence as a missionary on such a solemn occasion, which made Kitty stand a little taller and keep her eyes steady, instead of gazing about taking in as much as possible.

Then came several long, impassioned speeches from a handful of Maori elders, which Kitty had little chance of understanding, even though her grasp of the native language was improving daily. This was followed by hymns sung by a group of young children—some of whom Kitty recognised as her pupils—who did a lovely job of ‘The Lord is My Shepherd’ and ‘When I Survey the Wondrous Cross’ with hardly any giggling at all.

When they’d finished, Wai and Kitty, Tupehu and Haunui and half a dozen old men and women entered the largest of the carved buildings—the meeting house, according to Haunui’s whispered aside. Amy had already disappeared. The air inside was stuffy and hot, and the light dim, but there was enough to see the intricate and beautiful patterns on a woven mat that had been rolled out on the earth floor. At the head of the mat sat an elderly Maori man Kitty had not seen before, cross-legged, with his head bowed as though in deep contemplation, almost a trance.

‘Who is that?’ she whispered to Wai.

‘The tohunga ta moko.’

‘The one who’ll…do it?’

Wai nodded.

Haunui motioned to them to sit, Kitty trying not to wriggle too obviously in an attempt to make herself more comfortable on the hard, packed earth. Wai herself was helped onto the mat, where she lay flat on her back with her hands at her sides, staring up at the patterned rafters spanning the roof.

Tupehu glanced at Haunui. ‘Kei hea te koha?’

Haunui pointed through the small doorway at the sack he had left outside in the porch, which contained the bodies of several birds considered to be delicacies, fish, eels, half a dozen rats, fern root and pikopiko, all caught or collected that morning as payment to the tohunga for his services. Tupehu nodded.

The prayers started then, intoned mainly by the tohunga, and seemed to go on for ever. Kitty’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom, but the heat was becoming more and more oppressive. She found herself beginning to nod off, and had to pinch herself to stay awake.

Eventually, the tohunga came to the end of his prayers. Extending his arms, he interlaced his fingers then turned them inside out, stretching the joints until they emitted a series of ghastly cracks. He lit a pair of lamps arranged on either side of Wai’s head, then took his time selecting from his assortment of tools a narrow-handled instrument with a pointed tip.

Kitty squeezed her eyes shut: she had a reasonable idea of what was coming next and didn’t at all want to witness it. But nothing seemed to be happening, and after a moment she opened her eyes again to see that the tohunga was so far only drawing the pattern of the moko onto Wai’s chin. Tupehu, however, was looking at Kitty rather contemptuously. The elders were muttering among themselves as well, but stopped when she glanced over at them.

When the pattern had been rendered to the tohunga’s satisfaction, he selected a small mallet and a bone chisel with a blade about a quarter of an inch across.

Without moving her head, Wai reached out and took hold of Kitty’s hand.

The tohunga set the blade against the smooth, unblemished skin just beneath Wai’s lower lip, raised the mallet and tapped the chisel briskly
but with considerable force. A crisp, slightly moist sound accompanied the movement.

Kitty felt Wai’s fingernails dig sharply into her palm, although she did not otherwise move, and her own gorge began to rise as a line of blood trickled across Wai’s jawline and down over her neck. With each tap of the mallet Kitty became more and more convinced that she was going to vomit. After seven or eight blows, unable to bear it any longer, she let go of Wai’s fingers, scrambled to her feet and lurched towards the doorway.

Outside, her hand clamped firmly over her mouth and the bright sunlight temporarily blinding her, she staggered around the side of the meeting house as far as she could manage and bent over, jamming her skirts between her knees to keep them clear. Everything came up then in a hot stinking rush, heave after heave until she was empty.

She hoicked and spat, involuntary tears streaming down her face, then stepped away from the mess and grabbed a handful of grass to wipe her mouth. Bent over again with her hands bracing her wobbling knees, she drew in deep lungfuls of air to slow her racing heart and the pounding in her ears.

A shadow fell across the ground and someone at her elbow remarked conversationally, ‘Dear me, that doesn’t look too good.’

Startled, Kitty straightened abruptly, accidentally catching the speaker full in the face with the back of her head.

‘Christ Almighty!’ Rian Farrell yelped, staggering backwards and clutching his nose, which had taken the full force of the blow.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Kitty said, torn between contrition because she’d clearly hurt him and mortification that he’d seen her heaving up the contents of her stomach.

Rian took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed at his nose, expecting blood but not finding any. ‘What are you doing here? And why were you sick?’

‘Wai is having a moko done.’

‘Yes, I heard that, although I didn’t realise she was one of your housegirls,’ Rian said, putting his handkerchief away again.

Kitty nodded. ‘I’m supposed to be in there holding her hand but, truly, it turned my stomach.’

Rian suddenly went very still. ‘What?’

‘It turned my stomach. Literally.’

‘No, you said you were supposed to be holding her hand.’

‘Yes, she asked me to sit with her.’

His face darkening and all traces of amusement gone, Rian snapped, ‘Well, get back in there, then! Go on!’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Go back and sit with her, for God’s sake! There’ll be hell to pay if you don’t.’

Kitty was beginning to feel angry now, as well as perplexed. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘Don’t you realise what a tremendous honour it is to be asked to attend at a moko ceremony? You especially, a Pakeha woman?’ he demanded. ‘Obviously not, but then you wouldn’t, would you, so recently arrived from a mollycoddled life in England and stuffed full with the good works of the Lord.’

‘How dare you?’ Kitty exclaimed, and slapped his face.

He grabbed her arm and began to drag her around to the front of the meeting house. ‘You, Miss Carlisle, will go back in there even if it kills you.’

Kitty tried to yank her arm out of his grasp, but couldn’t. ‘Let go of me,’ she squawked, and kicked his shin instead.

‘No.’

‘I said let go!’

Then, as she became aware of a small crowd of villagers watching interestedly, she stopped struggling.

Rian let her go. ‘Please go back inside, Miss Carlisle,’ he said reasonably, although Kitty could see that his grey eyes were still narrowed in anger. ‘They will all be extremely offended if you don’t.’

Kitty straightened the sleeve of her dress. Mollycoddled, did he say?

‘Of course,’ she said, suddenly just as reasonable. ‘Thank you for your help, Captain, I am most grateful.’

He nodded and added impassively, ‘And take your boots off—you’ve been sick on them.’

Kitty removed her boots, turned on her stockinged heel and went back into the meeting house.

No one acknowledged her as she took her place again, although Wai grasped her hand immediately. The tohunga had completed one cut, which ran in a curved line from her lower lip down towards her chin, then curved outwards and upwards like a fish hook, complete with barb. He was now using a different tool with a notched tip, again with the help of the mallet, to tap powdered charcoal into the oozing cut. It was still nauseating but Kitty hoped that now that her stomach was empty there would be no further danger of her throwing up.

Beads of sweat had broken out on Wai’s brow, and she was beginning to flinch slightly at every tap of the mallet. She gripped Kitty’s hand tightly.

Kitty glanced at the old women squatting several feet away, looking for some hint of sympathy in their wrinkled, brown faces. One had a facial tattoo herself, so surely she must be aware of the pain that Wai was experiencing?

As if reading her mind, the woman muttered something to the tohunga, who nodded without taking his eyes off his work. The old woman then asked Wai a question in Maori. Without moving her lips, Wai replied, ‘Ae.’

The women began to sing in low, soothing voices. Kitty couldn’t understand much of it, but managed to pick out the words ‘house’, ‘dream’ and ‘sea’. The song went on and on until Kitty realised that the women were singing the same thing over and over, lulling and calming.

The tohunga started on the other side of Wai’s chin, the first cut of the flesh in the new line eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from her, and a single tear that dribbled across her temple and into her hair.

Kitty was dismayed to discover that, at the sight of Wai’s pain, she was beginning to cry herself. She glanced up to see the old woman with the moko watching her.

‘Haunui, waiata i te reo pakeha mo te pakeha,’ she murmured.

Haunui touched Kitty’s arm. ‘The kuia tells me to sing for you.’

He cleared his throat and began to sing in a lovely and thoroughly unexpected baritone.

Lie there, o girl.

Roll on, to let your lips be tattooed.

Roll on.

When you go to the weaving house it is said:

Where does this woman come from?

Roll on.

On going to the dance house it will be called:

From where came these bald lips coming here?

Roll on.

From where came these red lips coming here?

Roll on.

Be a board on the shore and let go.

Dream, taken by the deep sea, taken to the glinting sea, a chieftainess.

Guide the loved one, eh.

And Kitty did feel soothed, mesmerised almost, even when after a while Haunui stopped singing and the women took over again.

In accordance with protocol, Wai was in a state of tapu and not allowed to mingle with anyone until the scabs on her moko healed. Unable to return to the Kellehers’ until they did, she stayed at Pukera in a little hut
by herself doing jobs that didn’t require more than one person, such as weaving and plaiting ropes.

Two weeks later, in mid-April, she came back. Kitty thought her moko was actually rather beautiful, reminding her of Celtic designs she’d seen at home. She wondered where the Maoris had originally come from—certainly not the Mediterranean, as George had been insisting of late, convinced that they were the ‘Lost Tribe of Israel’.

One evening, several days after Wai’s return, she and Kitty were sitting on the bench in the back garden shelling peas for dinner the next day, when Amy emerged from her room wearing her best bodice and skirt, and a tortoiseshell comb that Kitty hadn’t seen before in her hair.

Wai sighed. ‘Amiria, kaua a haere.’

‘Haere mai koe i ahau?’ Amiria said. ‘Ka pai ake tena mou.’

Kitty observed this exchange with a distinct sense of foreboding.

‘No,’ Wai said in English.

Amy shrugged then stalked off, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Kitty watched her climb the fence and disappear into the trees beyond the house. ‘Where is she going, Wai?’

Silent for a moment, Wai ran her thumbnail viciously along the edge of a pod, opening it to flick the juicy little peas into her bowl. ‘There is a new whaling ship in the harbour, from Germany. She is going to visit the sailors.’

Kitty’s eyes widened. ‘To…?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why? Why would she want to do that?’ Kitty asked, genuinely puzzled.