Maori

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Many believe both Christ and their old gods have abandoned them. As a result they have nothing to believe in. They see their world crumbling around them, their land rights being sold by drunken relatives, and they feel they have nothing to live for, either in this world or the next. I don’t know what to do with such people, Robert. I don’t know how to convince them they mustn’t give up.”

  “I hope you’re right, Vicar. I hope most of them have better to look forward to in the afterlife, because they’re sure as hell getting buggered in this one.” Suddenly he glanced over at the old servant, who’d retreated to a respectful distance and stood listening silently. “What about you?”

  The old man hesitated uncertainly. “Me?”

  “Yes,” said Methune. “What do you think of all this, Orere? Is your faith still strong?”

  “It is, Vicar. It’s all I have now.” He looked down at Coffin, found the Vicar’s visitor staring back at him appraisingly. The Maori straightened slightly. “Some of the younger warriors, though, it’s not enough for them. They must have justice, too.”

  “They could join the Hau Hau,” Coffin suggested, his gaze unwavering.

  This time the servant didn’t hesitate. “The Hau Hau fight only because they do not know what else there is to do. Many of them do not care. They only want to fight the pakeha because it is what Maori warriors do. Others fight because their only choice is to move deep into the forest where one cannot farm properly or to come into the city to beg on the street. Some Maori still find more pleasure in fighting than getting drunk.”

  “Then the teachings of the Church aren’t enough for them?” Coffin knew Methune was probably the only churchman in the country who wouldn’t be offended by the asking of such a question.

  Orere considered before replying. When he finally did he displayed real animation for the first time.

  “Can you blame them for not believing? The pakehas point toward Heaven and while we look up other men steal our land.”

  “That is not God’s fault,” said Methune. “True Christians do not do such things.”

  “What is a true Christian, Father? One who believes in what he does or does what he believes?”

  Methune had no answer. Coffin couldn’t ever remember seeing his old friend at a loss for words, but then they were all at a loss for words these days. The economic depression had brought with it a mental one which infected every man and woman in the country. You could feel it all around you, just walking down the street. Life went on, but without the same enthusiasm and energy as before. It was like living a part in a Javanese shadow play. People worked and laughed and played while glancing over their shoulders, convinced disaster was close on their heels.

  “Everyone must have faith, Robert. Why not come back to the Church?”

  “Sorry, Vicar.” Coffin smiled to make his refusal as palatable as possible. “I’m afraid what faith I had died with Christopher.”

  “Faith can also help people to live. It does so for Mrs. Coffin.”

  “I suppose so.” It was true that the only time Holly showed much interest in getting out of the house anymore was on Sunday morning. “If you can call that living.”

  It hurt Methune but he didn’t show it. “Things will improve, Robert. Everyone needs to believe that, especially these days.”

  “Some of them are already thinking of giving up, pulling out completely.” He told the old priest the details of the morning meeting.

  “I didn’t know that feelings were running so strongly. Such a thing would be unthinkable for the Church. We could never abandon this land.”

  “No, but a lot of people could, Vicar. You’d better brace yourself for that possibility. If a few like Rushton sell out it’s going to have a devastating effect on the middle class. We’re liable to be in for a real panic, with folks trying to sell everything they’ve built up, everything they’ve worked for, only to discover there are no buyers because they’re all running like hell themselves. We have to stop talking about growth and prosperity and start trying to maintain what we have left.”

  “It would be easier if the well-off provinces were more willing to help their hurting brethren. Otago is reluctant to support the unemployed in Auckland.”

  “True enough, Vicar. We need a real central government, with real powers, and we need it bad. This business of each province ruling itself and making decisions independent of and without regard for the welfare of its neighbors has got to stop. We can’t afford that kind of fragmentation any longer. No wonder we haven’t been able to stamp out the rebellion. But the damn provincials in the wealthier provinces don’t want to surrender any of their power.” He shook his head in frustration. “They don’t realize that the trouble we’re having up here in the north is going to sink down to Christchurch and Dunedin once the gold runs out.”

  “I agree that something must be done,” said Methune readily, “but I confess I know not what.”

  “Nor do I, Vicar.” Coffin and his friend finished their tea in silence, each sunk in his own thoughts. At last Coffin rose.

  “Thank you, Vicar. I enjoyed the visit.”

  Methune stood and came around the table. “I also, as always. Something will happen soon, Robert. You’ll see. Someone will think of a solution. All that’s needed are some fresh ideas.”

  “I’d settle, Vicar, for a stale miracle.”

  3

  Goldman was waiting for him when Coffin returned to Coffin House.

  “How did it go this morning, sir? I expected you back earlier.”

  “I stopped off to chat with an old friend. As to the meeting, it went about as you’d expect.”

  Goldman was crestfallen. “That badly?”

  “I’m afraid so, Elias. Frightened fools, the lot of them.”

  “Can you blame them, sir?”

  “No, I suppose not.” Coffin handed over his cape and greatcoat. “There was endless arguing. It seems no one can carry on a conversation these days without shouting. Nothing was agreed upon except the fact that the colony is in desperate financial straits. It wasn’t necessary to attend the meeting to learn that. Everyone’s known it for months. The Kingites may win their victory in the banks instead of on the battlefield. A few spoke of selling out and pulling back to Australia.”

  Goldman looked startled. “I hadn’t realized it was so bad.”

  “It’s not, really, but as far as some are concerned the colony’s already done for, a lost cause. They’re looking to their ledgers instead of to their futures.”

  Goldman was silent for a moment. Then, “If you’d come into my office Mr. Coffin, there’s someone I’d very much like you to meet.”

  Coffin grimaced. “You know I don’t have time for social niceties, Elias, and neither do you.”

  “This isn’t a social call, sir. I think you should listen to this man.”

  It was rare for Elias Goldman to insist on anything.

  “All right. But this had better be worthwhile, Elias.”

  As he followed Goldman down the hall Coffin was already regretting the loss of time. There was much to do and he was in no mood after this morning’s indecisive gathering to meet anyone. There were preparations to make and figures to juggle, orders to commit to paper, financial defenses to be erected.

  The young man in Goldman’s office didn’t wait for an introduction. He sprang from his chair to pump Coffin’s right hand enthusiastically. Coffin was too startled to object. As the man spoke he kept bouncing in place, as though half filled with helium. Such an attitude was refreshing. Many of Coffin’s friends were only filled with hot air.

  “Mr. Coffin, sir, in person! I am delighted to meet you. Delighted! I’ve heard a great deal about you, from Elias and my own sources, and I’m certain we’re going to get on well together.”

  Coffin took his time seating himself, spoke dryly. “You have the advantage of me, sir.”

  “This is Julius Vogel,” Goldman explained. “He’s not long here from England. He thinks he can
help.”

  “Does he now?” Coffin regarded the young man calmly while Goldman closed the door. Vogel didn’t sit down. Instead he began pacing the room like an agitated greyhound, hands and eyes in constant motion. It tired Coffin just to watch him. “So you think you can do something to help Coffin House, young fellow?”

  “Not just Coffin house. What I have in mind will require the support of the entire business community if it is to have a chance of success.”

  “If what is to have a chance of success?” Am I getting old, Coffin asked himself, or is it simply that this chap is running at double normal speed?

  “My plan for saving New Zealand Colony, of course.”

  “Oh. That plan.”

  The sarcasm went right past Vogel—or he chose to ignore it. “Yes.” He drew himself up proudly. “I call it my ‘Grand Go-Ahead Policy.’”

  “This is all very interesting.” The fingers of Coffin’s right hand were doing a small staccato dance on the arm of his chair. He glanced at Goldman, who was nodding reassuringly and smiling. Clearly Elias believed there was something to this peripatetic visitor’s ideas. So instead of simply dismissing him out of hand, Coffin said, “You must know that the colony’s main financial backers have been trying to figure out a way to do exactly that for the past several years. This depression we find ourselves in is like living at the bottom of a well. Nobody has the slightest idea how to climb out.”

  “Oh, I know all that,” said Vogel brightly. “You all have the wrong idea how to go about it. No disrespect intended, sir.”

  “No,” said Coffin very quietly, “naturally not. You’ll pardon me if I sound slightly skeptical, but most of us have been in business in this country for twenty, thirty years and more. What makes you think you’re better qualified than we to tell us how to proceed?”

  “It’s not your fault, sir,” Vogel replied, not in the least intimidated.

  Coffin saw that Goldman was trying to warn Vogel. That in itself was amusing. Elias was worrying needlessly. Having gone this far, Coffin was prepared to let the young man have his say. But he’d better have something more to offer than enthusiasm and energy.

  “Nice of you to say so. Perhaps you’d be good enough to tell me precisely where we’ve been going wrong?”

  “Everywhere, in everything.”

  Goldman sighed softly, leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. Coffin found himself taken by the young man’s complete lack of tact and diplomacy.

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “Certainly.” Vogel adopted the attitude of an enthusiastic schoolmaster imparting a new lesson to a select group of pupils. “First of all, you’re not borrowing enough.”

  “Not borrowing enough?” Coffin nearly burst out laughing. “Are you aware that the colony is effectively broke?”

  “All the more reason why you need to borrow, and borrow heavily.”

  “You’ll pardon me, young man, but I’ve been running Coffin House for a few years and it’s always been our practice, as well as that of most of our competitors, to avoid debt when one is already busted. You can’t spend yourself out of poverty.”

  “Of course you can! That’s the best way.”

  Coffin stared at him in disbelief. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Dead serious, sir.”

  “I never heard of such a thing.”

  “Naturally not. It’s rather a new concept in economics. Quite the rage in certain circles.”

  “Not in New Zealand circles it isn’t.”

  “The only way, sir, to get an economy that’s gone as stagnant as New Zealand’s moving again is to pump new money into it. Lots of new money.” As he spoke, Vogel gestured like a manic policeman. “Since you don’t have the money here because your local resources are depleted you must seek it elsewhere.”

  “Now that’s brilliant.” Coffin sat back in his chair. “What a clever idea. Isn’t it, Elias?” When Goldman didn’t reply, Coffin looked back to their visitor. “It’s so easy to get new money when you have no credit.”

  “It can be done,” Vogel insisted. “It’s just a matter of convincing the bankers.”

  “Oh, well, you must excuse me,” Coffin said sardonically. “How could I have overlooked the obvious? Assuming just for the moment we could borrow a farthing, what would you have us spend it on? Improving our farms? Probing deeper into The Remarkables for more gold?”

  Vogel was shaking his head. “That’s private development. That’s not what’s needed here. I’ll give you an example.”

  “Do,” said Coffin testily.

  “One of the colony’s main barriers to accelerated development is its inadequate transportation system. You simply can’t keep shipping most of your goods by boat. It takes too long. It’s fine for transporting products between Auckland and Wellington but it does nothing for internal development. Right now the colony’s like a spider’s web with the whole middle missing. Not very efficient. The farms, the ranches, the inland towns—those are the areas that need help. The colony desperately needs a modern system of roads.”

  “Ah, but you aren’t going to convince the provincial governments to spend money on roads except within their own boundaries.”

  “Unless,” Vogel said knowingly, “they’re convinced it will put an end to the Maori wars.”

  It took a moment for it all to sink in. Then Coffin sat up a little straighter in his chair. “You know, young man, you just might have something there. Convince them that it would benefit them all, not by improving commerce but by ending the wars. Yes.”

  Vogel had resumed his pacing. “If we could move large bodies of troops, not to mention artillery, into areas where they currently have to march overland, it would make things much harder on the Hau Hau.”

  “It certainly would. Trouble is, the provinces don’t have the money for that kind of development either.”

  “Then it must be found elsewhere,” Vogel insisted. “Nor am I just talking wagon roads, gentlemen.” He looked over at Goldman, then back to Coffin. “We need railroads. Not just here on North Island but on South Island as well. Say, Christchurch to Bluff. That would offer the chance to open up all of South Island.”

  “That’s terrible country.” Coffin was shaking his head. “You’ll never get a railroad in down there. Christchurch to Dunedin, maybe, but not as far as Bluff. That’s ice country.”

  “It’s the only way the southern provinces will agree to help, if they’re promised an equal share in the development schemes. You’ve said as much yourself, sir. And it’s the only way this country is going to be developed properly.”

  “We’ve done all right with ships.”

  “Your pardon, Mr. Coffin, but that’s an age that’s passing. Ships do nothing for development of a country’s interior. The Australians know this.”

  “The Australians,” Coffin reminded him, “have a much bigger country to develop than we do. They’ve no choice in the matter.”

  “The principle is the same when applied on a smaller scale. Please, all I ask is that you consider my ideas.”

  “It’s not your ideas,” Coffin told him. “The road network makes sense. Railroads? Possibly. The problem is still money, or rather the complete lack of it. London’s not about to lend us enough to build a cross-island road, much less the extensive system you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, they’ll make the loans, you’ll see.”

  Coffin went silent, thinking. Vogel and Goldman exchanged a glance and held their breath. Finally Coffin looked up.

  “I’ll make you a deal, Vogel. If you can sell my friends, people like Angus McQuade and Rushton and Wallingford, on your ideas, then I’ll throw my support behind you. If you can’t persuade them then it won’t matter whether I back you or not.”

  “I need more than a promise, sir. I can give them the same speech I gave Mr. Goldman earlier and that I’ve just delivered to you, but before I confront the rest of the financial community here en masse I need the support of at le
ast two merchants of stature. I can convince an audience of one without any trouble, but a group of skeptics might shout me down before I have the chance to explain myself.”

  Coffin nodded slowly, looked over at Goldman. “What do you think, Elias? I could probably talk Angus into it.”

  Vogel had the temerity to disagree. “Your pardon, Mr. Coffin, but it’s widely known how close you and Mr. McQuade have been over the years. The others would suspect a collusion detrimental to their benefit. It should be one of your stronger competitors. That would lend my position real strength, if my support was seen to come from two opposing sources. Besides, I believe Mr. McQuade to be far more conservative than yourself. That is one reason why I have presented myself here first. So whomever else backs me must be someone equally receptive to new concepts and new ways of financing.”

  “Since you denigrate my own choice, who would you choose?” Coffin asked without rancor.

  “If I may make so bold, sir, I need the support of Hull House.”

  That took Coffin aback. He muttered aloud. “I told that woman I’d have control of her enterprise one day. I couldn’t take it from her father, but by God I’ll take it from her!”

  “And one day we shall, sir, one day we shall.” Goldman tried to mollify his employer. “But right now she’s the second most powerful force in the colony’s financial community, even if people like Wallingford won’t acknowledge the fact or deal with her.”

  “Rose Hull wasn’t at the meeting today?” Vogel asked.

  “Of course not, young man. You think they’d let a woman into the Club?” Coffin eyed him pityingly.

  “She could buy the Club and the grounds it stands on if she so desired, even though she can’t buy her way in,” Goldman pointed out. “The point is, Mr. Coffin, sir, that she’d listen to you in this matter. I’m convinced of that.”