Fire

by Deborah Challinor

  When a large dent had been made in the food, and people were sitting back and opening fresh bottles of beer and the women had covered what was left on the table with pieces of muslin, Sonny began to introduce Allie to more people, whose names, she knew, she would never remember.

  ‘This is my mate, Whare,’ Sonny said, pulling up a chair for Allie on the edge of a group sitting just outside the tent.

  Whare was somewhere in his twenties with a clean-shaven face, and hair parted on the side and slicked down with at least a pot of Brylcreem. He smiled at Allie then went back to tuning the guitar resting on his knee.

  ‘And this here’s Reuben, another mate.’

  Bleary-eyed, Reuben waggled his fingers cheerfully at Allie, then startled her by prising the top off a bottle of DB with his teeth.

  ‘Skite,’ Sonny said, amused.

  Reuben grinned. He started to say something, muddled his words, had another unsuccessful attempt, then gave up and took a swig from his bottle.

  ‘Party started at lunchtime,’ Sonny explained.

  Allie nodded in sudden understanding. A lot of people seemed to be rather drunk, but if they’d been at it since midday, especially with the sun blazing away all afternoon, that explained a lot.

  Sonny’s brother Harry came over and sat down next to Reuben. He reeked of alcohol—Allie could smell it from six feet away. While she watched, he opened another bottle.

  ‘You work with Sonny, eh?’ Whare said, plucking a guitar string and cocking his head to hear the note better over the chatter and laughter.

  ‘I work at Dunbar & Jones, yes,’ she replied, absurdly grateful that one of Sonny’s friends was actually talking to her. For some reason, she’d been harbouring a fear that none of them would, that they might perhaps disapprove of her. Like his mother had, though Mrs Manaia hadn’t actually disapproved, as such—it was more that she’d just spoken her mind.

  ‘She sells frocks,’ Polly said, pushing her way into the group and sitting on Reuben’s knee. ‘Fancy ones.’ She took a drink from her bottle, realized it was empty, and threw it across the lawn.

  ‘Pick that up, Polly,’ Sonny said. ‘It’ll get smashed and someone will stand on it.’

  ‘You pick it up.’ Polly helped herself to Reuben’s beer.

  ‘Oi, that’s mine!’ he complained.

  ‘Tough. S’mine now,’ Polly shot back.

  She had on skin-tight red capri pants, a sleeveless black top and flat black mules with very pointy toes. She wore no make-up on her stunning face, and her black hair was pulled back in an untidy ponytail. Allie thought she looked incredibly sophisticated, though she’d obviously had quite a skinful.

  ‘Do you want a beer?’ Sonny asked Allie.

  She’d said no earlier, but she felt like one now.

  ‘I’ll see if I can find a glass,’ Sonny said, and disappeared towards the house.

  Harry squinted at Allie thoughtfully. ‘Stand up for a minute?’ he said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Stand up for a minute.’

  Mystified, Allie did as she was asked.

  ‘Now turn around.’

  Worried now that she might have sat in something, Allie turned her back to Harry.

  ‘No,’ he said after a moment, ‘nothing there. You can sit back down now.’

  Allie glanced at Reuben, Polly and Whare, who were grinning widely, and sat down again, feeling embarrassed.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand,’ she said.

  Harry said, ‘Well, Sonny thinks the sun shines out of your arse, but I can’t see anything.’

  The others laughed their heads off.

  Sonny came back carrying two bottles of beer and a cup. ‘What’s so funny? I couldn’t find a glass so you’ll have to have this.’ He filled it with beer and handed it to Allie, whose face was flaming. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Sonny immediately glared at Harry. ‘Lay off, eh?’

  Harry lifted his hands in a parody of innocence. Sonny sat down, his hand resting protectively on Allie’s shoulder.

  Weaving through the crowd, Sonny’s mother made her way towards them, carrying the baby and a bottle with a plastic teat on it. ‘Polly?’ she said, holding out the bottle.

  Busy with Reuben, Polly didn’t look up.

  ‘Polly!’ Awhi said again, more tersely.

  Polly stopped whispering in Reuben’s ear. ‘What?’

  ‘Bubba needs a feed.’

  ‘Well, feed her then.’

  ‘No, girl, you feed her, she’s your baby!’ Awhi snapped.

  Polly reluctantly took her daughter, settling her in her arms and plugging the teat into her mouth. The baby’s arms reached up, her fingers open like little starfish, then her tiny hands closed over the bottle.

  Awhi glared for a moment, then marched off, her slippers flapping.

  The baby suckled, making happy slurping noises, while Polly impatiently swung her elegantly crossed leg. Someone called out to her across the tent and she waved.

  ‘That’ll do,’ she said, whipping the bottle away from the baby. The teat slipped out with an audible pop, leaving her daughter with a bewildered expression on her little face and her arms waving.

  ‘Jesus, Polly, she’s hardly had any!’ Sonny said.

  ‘Well, you bloody do it, then!’ Polly thrust the baby and the bottle at him and ducked off.

  Sonny stared down at the infant in his arms. ‘Do you want to hold her?’

  Allie, entranced by the baby’s big dark eyes, lovely caramel-coloured skin and tuft of black hair sticking straight up, cradled her, then gave her the bottle again.

  ‘What’s her name?’ she asked.

  ‘Gina.’

  ‘And she’s about ten months?’

  ‘Nine,’ Sonny said.

  ‘Doesn’t Polly want her?’ Allie said, then snapped her mouth shut, mortified that she’d said it out loud.

  Harry snorted. ‘Polly doesn’t want anything that might wreck her fun.’

  Allie was horrified that anyone could have produced something as lovely as this little thing and not be devoted to it. ‘But she’s so beautiful,’ she said, staring down at the small face gazing serenely back at her, lips firmly clamped around the bottle’s teat.

  ‘She is, eh?’ Sonny said quietly.

  ‘Won’t her husband help?’ Allie asked.

  Harry laughed this time, but it wasn’t a nice sound. ‘What husband? She won’t even tell us who the bloody father is.’

  Allie didn’t know what to say, so she kept her gaze on Gina, whose eyes were starting to close. When the baby’s hands slipped off the bottle, she said, ‘I think she’s going to sleep.’

  Sonny looked around for Polly, but she’d disappeared. ‘I’ll take her,’ he offered.

  Allie carefully passed the baby to him, and watched as he settled her little body low against his chest and rocked her. ‘You’re good with babies.’

  ‘Plenty of practice,’ Sonny replied. ‘I was ten when our youngest brother came along. That’s Paroa. The old man was overseas when he was born. Poor little bugger didn’t even know who Dad was when he came home. Cried and hid from him for about a week.’

  ‘Are all your brothers and sisters here tonight?’

  ‘Well, Gilbert ain’t,’ Harry said, lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Gilbert’s in Mount Eden,’ Sonny said matter-of-factly. ‘But Wiremu’s here, he’s the oldest, he’s thirty-two. Noah’s here, Gilbert comes after him, then Hareta, she’s got four kids, then Harry, then me, then Oscar, you met him before. Then Polly, Hine, Ruth and Paroa. Mum had Paroa when she was forty-one. Bit of a surprise, he was.’

  ‘You must have lots of nieces and nephews,’ Allie remarked.

  Sonny thought about it. ‘Seventeen.’

  ‘Is it hard work buying Christmas presents for them all?’ Allie recalled the agonizing that went into her shopping every year, making sure she found exactly the right gift for everyone in her family.


  ‘Nah,’ Sonny said. ‘We just have a big feed at Christmas time, we don’t have presents. We used to—’

  ‘But then we got kicked off our land,’ Harry interrupted.

  There was an uncomfortable silence, except for Whare, who went on quietly strumming his guitar.

  ‘Shut up, Harry,’ Sonny warned.

  ‘Why? Just because she’s here?’ Harry asked, nodding at Allie.

  ‘There’s a time and place.’ Sonny’s voice was sharp now.

  ‘I bet she doesn’t even know what I’m talking about,’ Harry said disgustedly.

  Everyone looked at Allie, who wanted to disappear. ‘I think I might have read something in the papers last year,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Harry, I said shut the bloody hell up.’ Sonny glared at his brother for a long, unpleasant moment.

  Uncomfortably aware that her presence was the cause of the tension, Allie said quickly to Sonny, ‘Can I hold the baby again?’

  He passed her over and Allie cradled her in her arms. ‘I think she’s gone to sleep. Shall I take her inside?’

  Sonny’s eyes met hers and she saw that he realized she wanted to escape.

  ‘That’s a good idea. Polly’s room is the one at the end of the hall. Just put her down in her cot, she’ll be fine.’ Then he touched her hand, and she knew that he understood.

  She gathered the baby to her and, carefully stepping over outstretched legs, made her way to the back door. The kitchen was empty, as was the sitting room, and the hallway seemed very dim after the bright sunshine outside. The door to the room at the end was closed. She knocked, but when no one answered she went in.

  There was a bunk along one wall, a cot against another, a single bed with its head against the third and a battered chest of drawers beneath the window. The walls were bare except for a painted wooden crucifix, the blood on Jesus’s hands and feet a violent crimson. Over the crucifix someone had hung a long necklace of tiny pale yellow shells.

  Allie gently laid Gina, now soundly asleep, in her cot, wondering whether the baby should be on her back or her tummy. She couldn’t remember how her mother had put Donna and Pauline down when they were small.

  ‘On her back,’ Awhi said from the doorway.

  Allie started at Mrs Manaia’s sudden appearance. She hastily turned the baby over, feeling irrationally guilty, as though she’d been caught stealing Gina rather than just putting her to bed.

  Awhi stepped into the room. ‘She can’t breathe if she’s on her puku.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Allie apologized, feeling even worse.

  ‘Never mind.’ Awhi sat down on the single bed. ‘Don’t you come from a big family?’

  ‘Not really. I’ve only got two sisters.’

  ‘Younger or older?’

  ‘Younger.’

  Awhi nodded as though this meant something. ‘Not like Sonny, eh?’

  ‘No,’ Allie replied, vaguely alarmed that Mrs Manaia seemed to be settling in for some sort of talk.

  ‘I heard Harry outside,’ Awhi said after a moment. ‘Talking about the land.’ She picked up the end of her plait and examined it for spilt ends. ‘Sonny doesn’t like his brother doing that, but Harry’s got a big mouth. And his wairua is angry, like his father’s was.’ She looked up at Allie. ‘His soul. He’ll go the same way as Gilbert soon—too much booze, in trouble with the law.’

  There wasn’t much Allie could say.

  Awhi went to the cot and pulled the blanket up over Gina’s little bare feet. ‘Do you know much about the land?’ she asked when she’d sat down again.

  ‘Not really,’ Allie replied, assuming Mrs Manaia meant the Maori land at Orakei.

  ‘Do you want to know?’

  Allie was too scared to say no, and Awhi took her silence as a yes.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘You should hear it, if you plan on getting to know my boy’ She patted the bed. ‘Sit down, girl, and I’ll tell you.’

  Allie sat, her hands clasped nervously in her lap. In her cot, Gina made a series of little snuffling noises.

  Awhi swept her arm in a wide arc, the evening sun catching the dull gold of her wedding ring. ‘All this used to belong to us, to Ngati Whatua, the sea and the hills around it and all the land under the city. Our roots have always been in this soil. When the Treaty was signed we invited Governor Hobson to make a town here, and we sold thousands of acres for that purpose, but we always wanted to keep Orakei for ourselves. Always. Orakei was never for sale. Our ancestor Te Kawau sought a deed to make Orakei safe, but he never got it. We never got it.’ She gave a small sigh of frustration. ‘Then came the Native Land Court. They gave Orakei to thirteen of us, thirteen Ngati Whatua, and we believed it would be all right because we thought the thirteen would only be trustees.’

  Allie nodded, though she didn’t know the first thing about the Native Land Court. ‘When was that?’

  ‘It was in 1869.’ Awhi gave Allie a quick, wry smile. ‘Well before my time. But then the Public Works took some of the land for defence, and then the court divided the rest between those thirteen and made them outright owners.’

  Even more confused now, Allie asked hesitantly, ‘But you were the owners, weren’t you? Ngati Whatua?’

  Awhi shook her head. ‘We don’t have the same ideas about ownership as Pakeha. No one person ever owns the land. That’s not the Ngati Whatua way. It’s not the Maori way. Well, it didn’t used to be.’ She spread her slippered feet slightly and set her elbows on her knees, staring down between them at the bedroom’s bare wooden floor. ‘For us Maori, the land is everything. It feeds us and shelters us, and it tells us who we are. It’s where we…anchor ourselves, it’s where we belong. Losing the land is like losing our mother.’ Awhi was silent for a long moment, then she straightened up. ‘Anyway, without tribal permission, some of the thirteen leased the land to Pakeha. Some of us without title stayed on in the village, but others left to find homes somewhere else.’ She frowned. ‘I think now we all should have stayed.’

  Gina gave a distressed little squawk. Allie and Awhi both stood, but Allie quickly sat back down, embarrassed. Awhi tucked Gina in more snugly.

  ‘Only a baby dream,’ she said as she sat on the bed again. ‘The Pakeha lessees asked Parliament for the right to buy our land outright, and the Auckland City Council and some crooked MPs passed a Bill to take the whole Orakei block, except for our papakainga, our village, at Okahu Bay. Apirana Ngata tried to stop it but he couldn’t.’ Awhi sighed again, and this time it was an exhalation of unadulterated despair. ‘And then they laid that sewer pipe across the shore right in front of our village. The sewage poisoned our shellfish beds so we couldn’t eat kai moana any more, and we couldn’t get out to sea, and the pipe made the village flood. Then the laws all got changed so the land at Okahu Bay could be sold, and that was when some of the people started selling it off outright.’

  Allie noted that Awhi had gone from saying ‘us’ and ‘we’ to ‘some people’: they must be the Ngati Whatua who’d let the side down. If all this was true, it was no wonder some of the Maoris were angry and bitter.

  Awhi said, ‘After that, the government made it so that the land could only be sold to them. And some of the people did sell it. Some were just greedy, but some sold because they thought the village would be spared, or that we’d get house sites reserved for us.’

  ‘When was this?’ Allie asked.

  ‘About 1912, 1913. Then about fifteen years ago all these new houses started going up around Orakei, these state houses, and the council asked the government to help them buy the last of our land and kick us off so they could have it for more new houses. There weren’t many of us living in the village by then because there wasn’t much left—not even enough land to grow our own food. But we stayed. We had no running water and no electricity, but we stayed.’

  Allie calculated that Sonny must have been about eight or nine at the time. What an awful thing for him, for them all, to have to go through. And the younger children would have been very lit
tle then. How had Mrs Manaia managed?

  ‘Was that hard?’ she asked, remembering what the village had looked like a few years ago—a ramshackle collection of dilapidated cottages and buildings, the earth around them bare and the fences falling down.

  ‘It was very hard,’ Awhi said, ‘especially with the babies. They got sick all the time. That always made me angry. But then at the start of the war our kinswoman Te Puea Herangi from the Waikato came to help us. She had the ear of the prime minister, Mr Fraser, and the trade unions. And Mr Fraser said there’d be new houses for us above the village but that we could keep our old marae. He said we could have a new meeting house, too. Well, we wanted that, but we still wanted to keep our village too so we never moved. But in 1950 Sid Holland just came and took the land! Just took it!’ Awhi shook her head in disbelief. ‘He was a bugger, that man. A real bugger.’

  Allie was sure her father would agree.

  ‘All we had left then was the urupa, the cemetery. Well, you can’t live in a bloody cemetery, can you?’

  Allie supposed not.

  ‘There was compensation money paid, but no one would touch it so it went to the Maori trustee. And then they built these houses up here on Kitemoana Street and some people moved in last year. And when they moved, their houses were demolished behind them. But still some of us stayed. And then someone burnt down our old meeting house, Te Puru-o-Tamaki, so we had just about nothing left then.’ Awhi smoothed her apron over her knees. ‘But everyone still wouldn’t leave, because, you know, the village is our home—it’s where our heart is. And that’s when we got burnt out. They came and set fire to our homes and the old ones had to be carried out screaming and crying, and one old koro, my friend’s father, ran back in because he wanted to die where he believed he belonged.’

  Allie remembered seeing something about that in the paper—it had been in July of the previous year. She risked a look at Mrs Manaia’s face, and saw that her full lips were pressed hard together and that her eyes were bright with tears.