The Parihaka Woman

by Ihimaera, Witi

  ‘The days are your own,’ Rocco continued, ‘though there are some chores: firewood to be cut, repairs to equipment. Do not expect me to provide lively company. A boat comes every month to bring provisions. I will pay you two months in advance once we get to the island. Full payment for your stay will come to you after the third month. I will give preference to men who indicate they will stay longer than that. Is anybody willing to stay for six months?’

  Several men swore at the terms, some kicking the chairs as they left. Four remained with Erenora — beggars couldn’t be choosers. ‘He’s got us around his fuckin’ little finger,’ one of the men said.

  ‘Any questions?’ There were no questions. ‘So, those of you who are left, you are willing to sign up for six months? If you’re not, you should leave now as I am in no mood to entertain you.’

  Nobody moved from their seats. ‘Let me get the papers and, afterwards I will look at your details and make my decision on which of you gets the job.’

  He got up and left the room.

  Once Rocco had departed, the remaining men in the room began to smile and laugh among themselves. ‘Bloody German, thinks he has one over me,’ said one sailor, ‘but I can take him on any time.’

  Another, a tough-looking labourer, said, ‘I hear he has his daughter locked up in his house but there’s not a door that’s been able to keep me out yet.’

  A third man added, ‘Perhaps she’ll help to while away the days, eh, mateys?’

  ‘What if she looks like the big fella?’ asked the fourth.

  ‘Who cares as long as she’s a woman?’ the first sailor laughed.

  The labourer said, ‘Sounds like an easy job to me — on an island where the police won’t be able to find me and I can lie low and get paid for it.’

  Erenora kept her own counsel.

  Rocco returned, took his chair and smiled. Much to everyone’s surprise, he addressed a question to the air. ‘Meine Tochter, was sagst du dazu?’

  Someone had been sitting behind the curtain all the time. A young girl’s voice came back, clear, light, full of scorn. ‘Vater, die Männer sind Bäsewichte, Dummkäpfe und verwegen! Willst du mein Urteil? Nimm den Jüngling. Take the young one.’

  Rocco looked at Erenora. His expression was arrogant and his voice was tinged with a sneering tone. ‘Der Jüngling ist ein Mai-or-ee.’

  The young girl’s voice came back quick as silver. ‘Den, Vater. Den.’

  Rocco weighed her words, which seemed to have hidden meaning. And Erenora, irritated by Rocco’s ill-concealed contempt of her Maori identity, raised her voice in anger, though she took care to keep her tone low:

  ‘Ein Maori, ja, I am a Maori, yes.’ Desperately she flailed around for words. ‘Es wäre jedoch ein arger Fehler Ihrerseits, wenn Sie mich deswegen geringachten, mein Herr. But it would be a bad mistake for you to discount me because of that.’

  There was a small cry of delight from the young girl. Rocco was surprised at first, and his reply was tinged with mockery. ‘Der Jüngling spricht wohl Deutsch?’ He paused, taking Erenora in, and then he nodded. Moving quickly for a large man, he advanced on the four men in the room. ‘Ach herrje,’ he spat again, ‘you are all worthless, stupid and presumptuous. Get out before I throw you out.’ He turned to Erenora. ‘You, boy, what is your name?’

  ‘Eruera,’ Erenora replied brusquely.

  ‘You might not have as much muscle on you as the others,’ Rocco continued, ‘but you can speak a bit of German and that might make it easier for me when I give you orders. So … I will give you the job and who knows? Perhaps, unlike the others I have employed before you, you will be intelligent enough to follow my instructions.’ He grabbed Erenora by the neck and brought her face close to his, spitting as he spoke. ‘If not, yours will be a miserable existence.’

  ‘Take your hands off me,’ Erenora snarled, shoving him forcefully from her. Caught off balance, he almost fell.

  Surprised at the strength of her response, Rocco laughed. ‘Perhaps I am wrong about your lack of muscle! Be at the docks first thing tomorrow morning and report to Captain Demmer, skipper of the Anna Milder. We set sail with the morning tide.’

  Rocco showed Erenora to the door. Once it had closed behind her, she leant on it with relief. Then she began to shiver uncontrollably.

  The end of the bloody world. What was it going to be like at te pito o te Ao?

  Would Horitana be there?

  ACT FOUR

  Horitana

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Horitana’s Lament

  1.

  ‘Oh, valiant heart! Practise the art of forbearance!’

  What, I hear you ask, of Horitana during all this time?

  Imagine him cast into the deepest and darkest underground cavern, much deeper and darker than any cell in any castellated European fortress. Here, in a dungeon sculpted by nature, is a small stream, bubbling from some underground source. In the background are cold rocky slabs, seeping with moisture and covered in green moss. A flight of stone steps leads up from the cavern to a doorway. There’s a large iron grille in the doorway; it is the only source of light from the outside world. But the sun’s rays have not yet penetrated deeply enough, so Horitana stretches out his arms in entreaty:

  ‘Aue, e Atua! O God! Kua ngaro a’au i te Po! How dark it is! Aue ’oki te pouri o tenei Ao! How terrible this silence!’

  Pity him: he looks half-man, half-monster, the mokomokai appearing to be welded into his neck. Long strands of hair escape from the bottom of the mask like tendrils and it is not so silver now; the salty air has pitted and dulled its surface sheen. As for Horitana’s body, although it is covered with a shredded blanket, you can tell that all the muscles have melted from it, leaving it skeleton thin; the skin is bleached, bleeding and ravaged with sores.

  Although he is chained to a pole in the centre of the cave, Horitana is able to move to all its walls. His fingernails are long and curved, but some are broken. Over the years he has got to know well every nook and cranny, every crevice and protuberance. He has wrapped rags around his feet to stop them from being cut as he stumbles over the sharp gravelled floor; they are bruised and bloody where he has slipped and fallen. His toenails curl several inches long, and make it difficult for him to walk.

  His sense of hearing is acute; so, too, his sense of smell. He knows that the cave is close to the sea. Even the mask can’t obliterate the salt in the air that pricks his nostrils, or the booming of the ocean when there are storms. Indeed, Horitana’s entombment in the sea cave is probably the reason why he has been able to survive. The foaming sea charges the air with oxygen; how gratefully he sucks the currents through the mokomokai’s salt-encrusted silver lips.

  On many occasions the ocean has thundered all the way into the cave, and Horitana has had to cling to the pole as the freezing water has risen. Sometimes the waves have reached right up to the mokomokai, and Horitana has often felt tempted to let the weight of it bear him under. Why should he still live when he already wears the face of a dead man?

  Indeed, he tried to drown himself once. He sank beneath the water, screaming, ‘Let me die!’ but, choking and spluttering in unconscious reaction, he found the will to live.

  The mokomokai is a terrible burden on his shoulders. To gain occasional respite he lies down. At other times he leans against a rocky outcrop and, right now, has found a ledge that can bear the corroded rim. Again he raises his arms to an unhearing God:

  ‘Here in this void is my cruel ordeal! But Your will is just. E te Atua, ’omai koe to aro’a ki au. I’ll not complain; for You have decreed the measure of my suffering.’

  Horitana is not always alone. Seabirds have sometimes found their ways into the cave and, so also, the occasional barking seal. His most constant companions, however, are tuatara, the small scaly reptiles that move slowly around him. He killed one once, stuffing it through the mouth cavity of the mokomokai — and then he wailed for forgiveness from its brothers and sisters as they suddenly dis
appeared from the cavern.

  ‘Come back!’ he cried. ‘Come back!’ He realised they were the only living things that kept him company. After a while, they forgave him, skittering closer and closer.

  He opens his manacled arms and sings to them:

  ‘In the springtime of my life all my joy has vanished! Only truth and these chains are my reward. All my pains I gladly suffer; end my life in degradation; in my heart is this consolation — I have done my duty!’

  A waiata addressed to tuatara? Truly this man, Horitana, is possessed of a rapture that borders on madness.

  Suddenly the tuatara raise their necks, sniffing the air. They begin to cluster closer to Horitana, in the space where the sunlight will soon pour on him.

  It is coming!

  They start to clamber up the bony ladder of his breast, to the favoured place on his shoulders. They dig their claws into the parchment-thin skin, balancing one on top of another.

  ‘Plenty of room, my little ones,’ he chuckles.

  And then … the sun.

  The daily warmth of the sun and the changing seasons, these are the markers by which Horitana measures his imprisonment.

  There are also the moments when his gaoler arrives. Every week, Horitana waits for the sound of footfalls and the squeak of the opening door.

  Listen: even now the gaoler approaches.

  ‘Friend, kia ora,’ Horitana calls.

  His gaoler remains silent.

  ‘Please talk to me?’ Horitana pleads. ‘All this time, and not one word do you give from one human being to another? Have mercy, korero mai, let me hear the sound of another human voice.’

  There is only silence. Only blackness. And then comes the sound of the winch as Horitana’s food is lowered down to him in a bucket. Sometimes there is also the swish of an extra blanket falling; the gaoler is not without kindness.

  With a sigh, Horitana shares the food with the tuatara. Why do you think the colony has stayed with him? He is a generous master and lord of their domain.

  ‘Te rangatira o nga tuatara a’au,’ he sighs to himself. ‘Behold, I am the king of the tuatara.’

  The thought appeals to him and he begins to laugh and laugh, the sound echoing, chilling, finding no way out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Marzelline

  1.

  ‘Just before dawn,’ Erenora wrote, ‘I made my way to the port. The Anna Milder was moored beneath a dockside crane. Captain Demmer was watching the stevedores at their work. They had already loaded most of the provisions on board, mainly sufficient fuel supplies to keep the lighthouse operational for three months and food provisions for the same period.

  ‘I introduced myself to the captain. “I’d been told you were just a young ’un,” he said. “Lad or no, you’d best supervise the loading quickly and don’t take any nonsense from this lot.”

  ‘The stevedores had already loaded a pony trap and, as the sky turned turbulent red, I saw a frightened Shetland pony being hoisted on a winch from the crane. He was kicking and struggling in mid-air. I shouted to the men, “Wait.” They were all standing on the dock but not one of them was on the Anna Milder to guide the poor creature down. I ran towards the deck and saw that there was a makeshift holding pen. I stood on the railings and motioned to the men to swing the pony out further, and then down — and he came to rest in the enclosure. Even when safely within, however, and despite the presence of bales of hay, the pony still bawled with fear. Quickly, I took off my neck scarf, tying it around his eyes as a blindfold. I was relieved that, after a short while, he calmed down.

  ‘“You’re the dark young bugger got the job with the German?” one of the stevedores asked. When I answered, “Yes”, he thrust the bill of lading at me and said, “Be so good as to check that all provisions is aboard so me and the mateys can be off. The German’s paying us little enough as it is, and fucked if we want to stay any longer than’s required.”

  ‘I saw Captain Demmer looking at me, wondering how I would handle this. I knew he was doubtful of my abilities. “Don’t let them pull the wool over your eyes, lad,” he called.

  ‘The stevedores thought I was ignorant, but they did not reckon with my mission education: six barrels of paraffin oil, some bales and sacks of food, equipment and three boxes marked “Miscellaneous” were not accounted for. “You thieving arseholes,” I said, “I’ll not have the master short-changed.” I saw a lighter next to the Anna Milder and, despite the stevedores’ cries of protest, stepped aboard and spied the missing items. “Put these back where they belong,” I commanded, “or I’ll have the wharfmaster onto you all. You’ll get no pay until the job’s completely and honestly done and, if it isn’t, don’t expect any other captain to employ you.”

  ‘I heard a chuckling sound. Unbeknownst to me or the stevedores, a carriage had arrived dockside. In it was Rocco and, beside him, a very pale young girl all wrapped in furs against the cold. She was wearing a pretty hat and scarf, and her hands were in a warm muff.

  ‘‘‘Papa! Papa!” she said with delight, pointing at the Anna Milder. “Ist das mein Pony?” Her voice was light, lilting, and her words came out in a breathless rush. “Du hast es schließlich doch gekauft und den Wagen dazu. You bought him after all, and a cart too!”

  ‘Rocco alighted from the carriage. Captain Demmer said to him with easy familiarity, “The lad is earning his keep, Herr Sonnleithner.” Rocco appraised me critically, nodded and then turned on the stevedores. He spoke in rapid and guttural German, cursing them for being varlets, rogues and vagabonds, and they quailed before his wrath. “Eruera, confirm the inventory again,” he said. “Are all provisions on board?” He noticed the boxes marked “Miscellaneous” and gave a look at the young girl in the carriage; she smiled. “Yes, the bill of lading is now complete, mein Herr,” I answered. Rocco nodded, “Good. Tell these good for nothing oafs to be off and that their money is waiting at the hotel.”

  ‘Rocco turned his attention back to the girl. She had a trunk and hatbox which I brought aboard the Anna Milder. Then Rocco picked the girl up in his arms and carried her to where I was standing on the deck. “This is my daughter, Marzelline,” he said. He lowered her down into my arms.

  ‘His daughter? I could scarce credit it, so great was the difference. He was rough hewn but she was spun of fine silk.

  ‘“Der Jüngling,” she smiled. She was around sixteen, and her voice was lyrical and light. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, which is why her eyes by contrast seemed so clear and startlingly blue; I had never seen such a colour in all my life. Her face was framed by the pretty hat, so I couldn’t see her hair but I imagined that it would be the same colour as her eyebrows, silver blonde and blending into her skin, making her look somewhat hairless.

  ‘Flustered, I went to put Marzelline down on the deck. I was unprepared for her gasp of surprise and sharp instruction. “Nein, nein,” she said. She clutched me, as if she would fall.

  ‘I will never forget that moment as long as I live. Her long skirts ballooned as she slipped helplessly from my arms to the deck. Until that moment it had not dawned on me that she was crippled.’

  2.

  ‘You stupid boy,’ Rocco snarled. He raised his hand and backhanded Erenora.

  She fell to the deck but, hot-tempered, quickly got to her feet to defend herself against Rocco’s second blow.

  Marzelline put up a hand to stop the fight. ‘It wasn’t the boy’s fault,’ she said to Rocco. ‘He wasn’t to know about my legs —’ she gave Erenora a smile ‘— were you, Jüngling?’ Then businesslike, she turned to Rocco. ‘Now help me to the cabin. Don’t you, the skipper and Eruera have more important matters to attend to?’

  At her words, alarm spread over Rocco’s face. ‘Make haste, boy!’ he ordered Erenora. ‘Cast off the bowline!’ The stevedores were jeering — ‘I hope you sink to the bottom of the sea, Rocco,’ — but he ignored them. Once the vessel was free of the dock, he shouted to Captain Demmer to get under way. ‘I’ll not pa
y you more than contracted,’ he said.

  It all happened so quickly; the Anna Milder soon making midharbour. ‘Why must we hurry?’ Erenora asked the skipper.

  ‘It’s a long sail, lad, and we’ll be battling the waves all the way,’ he answered. ‘We must get to Peketua by late afternoon otherwise it will be too dark and we’ll have to stand off the island until morning — and that won’t do Herr Sonnleithner’s temper any good. Nor my pocket, if his threat holds to pay only for the transportation, and not for the time taken.’

  ‘I was glad that we were leaving Dunedin behind. I had had enough of Pakeha cities and wanted only to be in the wilderness again. However, Rocco’s temper still stung my cheeks and I knew that I needed to confront him as soon as possible; I ruminated on how I could ensure he never hit me again.

  ‘For most of the journey, Captain Demmer sailed the Anna Milder close to the coastline, keeping it in sight and hugging it like a lover. Initially, I was forced to keep my wits about me because Rocco had me racing around the vessel checking that the ropes fastening the cargo were secure. Through a porthole I saw that Marzelline was having a grand time in her cabin, looking at herself in a mirror and modelling the lovely clothes she had bought in Dunedin. She had taken off her hat and her hair colour was indeed startling: a mass of silver-blonde curls like a doll’s. You could tell from the way Rocco looked at her that he adored her. Every now and then I caught his glance too, and I knew he was watching me.

  ‘I finally made my way to the Shetland pony’s pen. The poor animal was looking very sorry for itself. I saw a brush and began to apply it with even strokes and talk to the pony. “Looks like you and I might have to be friends with each other, eh?” To be truthful I was feeling sorry for myself too.