by Fraser Smith
He remembered the shanghais he and Tai had used on Kim’s geese. His trusty weapon was back at the bach. “From now on, Carrot, we must be ready at all times! That evil, red-eyed kamikaze is going to get a fright if it ever shows up again!” He put Tredget’s stuff back as it had been, thinking of a trap that would work on magpies. A simple box trap with a crossed stick trigger to hold up the heavy lid would do it.
There was blood on the platform. Awa’s bloody fingers traced a rip in his ear lobe. “Come on, Carrot. We might have to see Nan the nurse.”
Carrot had gone quiet. It must be shock, thought Awa, and he carried him down the tree, keeping him close to his chest.
“Has that parrot gone mad and bitten you?” asked Nan, back at the bach.
“Magpies, Nan. Mean and evil red-eyed magpies. I hate those birds.”
Nan wiped his ear clean and gave him a cloth. “Hold this tight against your ear. I’ll need Pa Rumble’s present for this.”
Pa’s present was a fully equipped first-aid box complete with needles and thread. Nan bad-mouthed magpies as she threaded a curved needle where Awa couldn’t see. Standing behind him, she squeezed his ear, saying quietly, “Hold tight.” She neatly slipped the needle through the lobe and back through the other side, and tied off the thread. Awa heard the pull of the thread more than he felt it. His ear felt numb. “One more,” she said, and she deftly ran the needle through again and tied it off.
His grandmother dabbed at her handiwork. The bleeding had stopped. “There, I just knew that would come in handy.” She held his head in both hands and stood back to admire her craft. “By Jove, just as neat as ever, and you didn’t even twitch, brave boy! I’ve stitched a few people up in my days as a theatre nurse, but most of them were nicely numbed. Now for a cup of tea, and you can tell me about those menacing magpies!”
Carrot was recovering. “Crusty, tea?” he asked.
“Yes, you too,” said Awa.
His Nan told him a story about walking her kids to school in the spring when magpies were nesting. They dive-bombed anyone close to their nests, especially kids. She carried an umbrella for protection. Later, Kim had caught a baby magpie and tamed it. Uncle Frank was trying to stop smoking at the time, and he taught it to say, “No tobacco.” Eventually it went back to the wild, but it would visit. When it brought a mate with it, they both said, “No tobacco.” Soon half the magpies in the area were saying it.
Awa preferred Carrot to a magpie. “I don’t think I would try to steal a baby magpie from its nest, Nan.”
“I think Kim wore a motorcycle helmet and gloves, but he was always getting into scrapes, that boy. Those birds don’t forget a face. Sometimes he had to walk to school with a pot on his head after robbing that nest.”
Awa found his shanghai and put it in his pocket along with a few roundish stones. Round stones travel in a straight line at speed. “No more Mr Nice-guy,” he said to himself. As he took Carrot home, they both kept an eye on the sky, looking out for Red Eye.
Pa Rumble reckoned it was time to check the smoker. It was warm and dark in there. The fire was nearly out. They lifted down the loaded hooks, took them outside, and lined the fish and mutton up on the verandah rail. Pa carefully pulled a long strip of fish away from the golden skin. Fat dripped off as he handed it to Awa. It tasted good. So did the mutton. Like ham or bacon.
“When you don’t have a fridge, this is the way to make stuff last. One for me, one for you … half each, Boy,” he said as he refilled Awa’s sugar bag.
On the way home, Awa stopped by a stand of bent-backed mānuka. He took some fish and mutton out of the sugar bag, tied it shut and hung it on a branch in the shade. He could stock up the tree hut!
3
Revenge
Lunch was tuatua cooked in their shells on a piece of hot iron over the outside fire. When the shells popped open, they were ready to eat. Nan told Awa how as a girl she used to string them up and smoke them, to be eaten like chewing gum. “Our old people would take them on hīkoi, the long walks over the land. They help keep hunger away,” she said, “and last for a week without going bad.”
Awa made his own fish smoker by bending some scraps of corrugated iron over a smouldering fire. He threaded a long flax strip with cooked tuatua and hung them up in his smoker. “That will do it,” said Nan. “Don’t leave them too long or they get too dry. Pāua strips are good like that too.”
Awa tied the smoked tuatua round his neck with a bow knot. He peeled a couple off to chew as he walked over to the Rumbles’, imagining he was going on a hīkoi to another gathering ground. As he walked, he studied the ground for strange tracks, and picked up some short planks that had washed up on the shore. His plan was to get Carrot and build a magpie trap up in the secret valley.
There was no sign of the red-eyed kamikaze magpie gang. Awa checked his pockets. He was ready. Taking out the shanghai, he loaded a stone and fired it high, out to sea. He waited, watching the surface of the water. There was a tiny burst of bubbles, but no splash where his stone hit the water at speed. He smiled to himself. “Duck fart, love that sound. Come on, kamikaze, it’s my turn now. That tree hut is my nest, and if you touch a feather on Carrot’s head, you will know about it!”
Carrot watched the sky on the way to the hut. “Grrrr!” he growled, but the way was clear.
Close enough to the tree hut to have a clear view of it, Awa built his box trap. He plugged the gaps between the timber with clay. The trigger holding up the lid took a while. It was made of three short sticks in the shape of a cross. The trigger switch was the horizontal part. It swept across the space inside, balanced carefully between the two shorter support sticks. There was lots of space for a magpie to hop inside. One touch of the trigger and the lid would drop down tight.
Awa had caught smaller birds in the same type of trap. He loved looking at them up close and then setting them free. A magpie might be able to push the lid off and escape. He fetched a muddy sod from the creek and carefully balanced it on top of the lid for extra weight. Then he scattered some cabin-bread crumbs around it and put more inside the trap. Thinking Red Eye would also eat meat, he softened some chunks of smoked mutton by chewing them, and dropped them into the trap.
Up at the hut, he lay on his back with one hand behind his head and sucked on the tube of sweetened condensed milk. “Ahh Carrot, this is the life,” he said. Carrot took up his post behind Awa’s head and started to preen his hair again.
Awa opened his eyes. Carrot was growling quietly. He rolled over silently to where he could see the trap. Five magpies were hopping around, picking up the crumbs. The one Awa guessed was Red Eye stretched his neck to peer into the box. He was bigger than the others, and his black and white feathers were brighter. “Wardle ardle doodle,” he squawked.
Two smaller magpies with duller plumage joined him and looked in the box. Awa guessed they were young. “Arkle ardle keeork!” one of them squawked and jumped clumsily in. Red Eye perched on the edge, and was about to jump in too, when the lid slammed down, catching his wing. He screeched, flapping furiously and spreading mud everywhere. The bird inside was bashing at the lid, which began to shift sideways. The other three magpies took to the sky.
Awa had no time to climb down. Red Eye was about to escape. He stood up, loaded his shanghai and aimed. The stone hit the side of the box loudly. Red Eye redoubled his frantic efforts to free himself and the lid fell off. A waft of feathers drifted down as Red Eye limped into the air, closely followed by his mate.
“Woo hoo! Oo e oo e oo!” Awa gave the great cry of Tarzan. “Oo e oo e oo e oo! Ardle doodle!” he added for good measure.
“Zealots!” shouted Carrot.
“That’ll slow Red Eye down, Carrot. Come on, let’s see how far he got.”
Down at the trap site, Awa gathered up a few white and black feathers. Carrot growled loudly and shouted, “GET OUT, GET OUT!” Awa put the feathers in his pocket, out of sight.
They searched in the direction the birds had f
lown. The farmland was bare, apart from a few wind-battered cabbage trees. They spied the five magpies perched on a rocky hilltop a hundred yards away. Carrot gripped Awa’s shoulder tightly, and Awa loaded his shanghai as he walked towards them. “Arkle ardle keeork dork!” he mimicked, feeling armed and dangerous.
The birds all turned to stare. The largest took two hops towards them and flapped his muddy wings. As Awa approached, Red Eye stared down his black-tipped beak at him. “Keeork ardle orkle!”
Carrot growled, “Grrrr, grrrr!” like a dog about to attack.
Awa pulled back his shanghai in case he attacked, but Red Eye flew away over the hill, the other magpies following behind. Red Eye then dropped out of sight while the other birds flew on.
“He must be quite sore, but so is my ear. That will teach him and his gang some rules about whose territory this is, eh Carrot?”
“Zealots,” said Carrot and “Boy!” as if to congratulate Awa.
They crossed down a steep bank to the sand hills. This was new country. “Carrot, find!” commanded Awa. “Find!” Awa was thinking about ambergris, and Carrot was the best finder around.
They searched above the high tide mark, and below, for a long time, with no luck. Awa noticed he was standing in wheel tracks in the soft sand and crouched down for a closer look. They looked like tractor tracks to him. They came down from the hills and went out towards the sea. Awa followed them back to the fence line, where the wires had been cut and roughly rejoined. He tested the wires, which were loose. “Toss won’t like this,” he said to himself. “Sheep would get through this easily.”
Carrot was nowhere in sight. Awa followed his own footprints back down to the beach. Carrot was perched on a piece of driftwood. “Boy, find, find!” he commanded. It was Awa’s turn to find something for Carrot. He began digging in the damp sand under the marram grass. He soon had a small handful of fat white grubs, like small huhu grubs.
“Here, Carrot.” Awa bounced the wriggly grubs on his hand so the sand sifted through his fingers, and then he laid them on a piece of driftwood. “Crusty!”
Carrot tipped his head to one side and looked carefully. Just to make sure, he tipped his head to the other side and looked carefully again. He nodded at Awa. “Mmmm, Boy, find, crustyyy.” He ate the grubs slowly with his eyes half closed.
Awa looked back up at the hills, searching for a track wide enough for a tractor. He would have to wait to catch up with Toss, but he could tell Pa Rumble where the tractor was getting through.
His eyes followed a lone harrier hawk gliding slowly on the uplift of the sea breeze. Out of nowhere, a small group of magpies attacked ferociously, forcing the hawk to dodge and turn before it sped off with the magpies chasing it. There were only four attackers this time. Awa, chewing on a few smoked tuatua, started to feel a bit sorry for Red Eye. If that was Red Eye’s gang, where was the kamikaze king?
Awa checked the rock pools on his way home. He picked an armful of big, floppy sea lettuce leaves, red, orange, yellow and green. Nan would dry them to a crisp in the sun. She liked to crumble them into their stews and gravy. Awa liked them buttered and toasted in the oven, like seaweed chips.
4
Tredget’s Return
Awa was searching for Red Eye with Carrot on his shoulder. He wore his stupid pompom hat. With some training, Carrot had learnt to grip the pompom in his beak to keep himself steady. The girly plaited chin strap kept the hat on. As they climbed to the rocky hilltop above the secret valley, they heard, “Quardle arkle doodle dork!” Four magpies flew up from behind some rocks and off over the hill.
With Carrot growling and gripping the pompom tightly, Awa climbed a high rock to look around. He spotted the bright black and white feathers of a lone magpie resting in the shade of an overhanging rock. The kamikaze king was watching them!
Awa clambered over and around the rocks, sometimes losing sight of Red Eye. He jumped out from behind one large rock, expecting to find the injured bird. “Wrong,” he said to Carrot.
“Grrrr,” said Carrot.
Behind the next rock they found him. Red Eye was standing in a dry hollow of dirt that sheep had scratched out as a sleeping shelter. He flew off clumsily. Awa chased him, with Carrot hanging onto the pompom, but he slowed Awa down. Red Eye flew in short stretches, taking off again whenever Awa got too close. When Awa stopped, breathing hard, Red Eye stopped. They studied each other. Red Eye, his beak partly open, panting, looked suspiciously at Carrot. Awa was thinking that the injured bird must be thirsty. Probably hungry too. He looked like he would recover, but he might need some help until he could fly like a kamikaze again.
“Quardle oodle?” asked Awa.
“Keeork quardle dork!” said Red Eye.
“OK. Carrot and Awa to the rescue!” Awa said, and they made their way downhill to the tree hut. Awa was thinking Carrot, Awa … Kawa. The Kawa Gang with their pōhutukawa headquarters!
At the hut, he gathered up the last of the cabin bread and some smoked mutton, and filled his cup with water. He took them back up the hill. Like a warrior bringing water to wounded enemies, he put the cup of water in the shade against a rock, the meat and cabin bread beside it. Carrot was no longer frightened or growling. He yelled out, “Crusty! Crusty!”
“Keeork arkle dork!” called back Red Eye from his perch on the highest rock.
Just as Awa and Carrot were entering the scrub before the tree hut, Awa heard the swoosh of wings behind him. He ducked, there was a blur of black and white, and three birds dive-bombed his head, one after another. They were so close that Awa felt the wind from their wings. A fourth clawed at his hair as it passed him.
Carrot flew up and his beak snapped shut on a departing tail. He landed roughly on the ground with a long feather in his beak. Carrot shook the feather like a dog shaking a struggling possum. “Grrrr, grrrr!” He grabbed it in his right claw and shredded it with his beak. He flew back to Awa’s shoulder, leaving the remains of the feather on the ground as a warning. “Zealots!” he shouted.
“The kamikaze gang fights again,” Awa said, laughing. “Let that be a warning to you!” He was beginning to enjoy himself. “I hope King Kamikaze gets better soon. Those kazzies need all the help they can get.”
Back at the fireplace, he lit a small fire, boiled some water in the billy, and measured tea leaves in the palm of his hand. “We need some of Ma Rumble’s biscuits, Carrot.”
“Crusty!” said Carrot.
They sat on a rock by the creek and sipped their tea with sweetened condensed milk straight from the billy. “That red-eyed demon better be grateful for our cup!” said Awa. Thinking it was good to be prepared, he decided he would have to stock up on a few things. Maybe even spend a night at the hut and find out what that tractor was up to. With Carrot on watch, things would be fine. “We can be the Kawa Gang, Carrot. Invincible.”
Awa cut some flax and plaited a thin cord, and then he pulled Red Eye’s feathers from his pocket. He arranged them in a bunch with the white tips together, and tied them up with one end of the cord. He took his tomahawk from its sheath, threaded the cord through a hole in the bottom of the handle, and tied it tightly. The feathers swung softy below his brown wrist as he waved the tomahawk around. Carrot squawked and Awa yelled like Tarzan, “Oo ee oo ee oo ee ooooo! This is Kawa Gang territory, kamikaze, beware!” Their cries bounced around the valley.
Awa followed the little creek above the pōhutukawa to a small, swampy clearing. As they paddled through the taro growing on both sides of the creek, Carrot grabbed the pompom to stop himself from being brushed off Awa’s shoulder. In some places the huge dark taro leaves waved over their heads. Awa knew that the old people used to cultivate taro. It had been brought over from Hawaiki. His Nan cooked the fat tubers and even the young, curled-up leaf spears. “Here is more kai,” he said to Carrot, “than we can eat in a hundred years.”
On the other side of the taro patch, they came upon a steep, rocky bank. Clean, clear water trickled and curled slowly o
ver moss, settling in a little pool at the bottom. Searching for a way up, Awa remembered Toss’s advice. The pōhutukawa tree part of this small valley was good, but further up it was dark and tapu. High above, he saw some twisted trees. Long silver and green lichen hung like ghostly beards from their tangled branches. “Brrrr. Carrot, we are NOT going up there!”
“Look out!” said Carrot.
Awa turned and quickly went back to the pōhutukawa. It felt like someone was behind him most of the way. Back at the tree, he felt better.
He climbed the tree and sat down on the mingimingi bed to think. He could get plenty of kaimoana, especially with his hīnaki, and there was taro, which he liked boiled in sea water. He would need another cup while Red Eye had his, more sweetened condensed milk tubes, or milk powder, maybe some Milo, a torch and another blanket. Meanwhile, he could practise cooking fish, crayfish, pāua and taro in kelp bags, and making seaweed chips on hot rocks by the fire. He had his tomahawk, dry matches and plenty of firewood.
On their way back to the Rumbles’, Carrot kept yelling “BOY!” and nodding furiously while jumping up and down on Awa’s shoulder, trying to hurry him up. Awa felt his urgency and walked as fast as he could through the sand dunes to the cabin. There were new tyre tracks in the sand.
Toss’s horse was hitched to the verandah rail and a green two-door Land Rover was parked in front. “Look out! BOY!” shouted Carrot.
A young man came out to meet them. He had bare feet and holes in his jeans, and his shirt was hanging out. His hair was curly and a bit tangled, like Ma Rumble’s, but his angular body, sharp, smiling eyes and long nose were like Pa. “Arrr, Boy!” he said, “We meet at last.”
Carrot flew to the man’s shoulder and, nodding at Awa, said, “Boy, Boy.”
Awa stared.
“Cat got your tongue, Boy?”
Ma Rumble smiled at Awa as she came out. “Awa, this is Tredget, back from his travels for a while. We were just having a cup of tea. Come in.”