The Lost Tohunga

by David Hair

  She dutifully plodded to the bathroom. He told her there was hot water through a wetback on the wood burner. Enough light came through the grimy back window that she could see what she was doing. The shampoo packaging looked like something from a country fair, but there was a toothbrush and toothpaste by the sink. She locked the door from habit, although she was sure she was safe. The shower was divine, hot and bracing, and she spent ages in there without the hot water faltering.

  Finally, Jones knocked. ‘Come on, lass, ye can’t spend the whole day in there! I’ll be getting you to cut me more firewood if you do.’

  She called out an apology, got out and dried off in a huge thick cotton towel. It was wonderful to feel clean. The dress and underwear that Jones had laid out made her laugh aloud. There were baggy white cotton bloomers with lacy edges and embroidered roses, and an ivory-coloured camisole. The full-length dress had a front-lacing bodice. Jaysus! What century does this stuff come from? It was like a dress-up party. Everything was too big, although the bodice fitted about her boobs nicely after a bit of fiddling with the lacing. When she combed her hair out, she looked like one of those Maori women from early colonial photos in the museum, servants or wives of the early settlers.

  I wonder where he got it all. Weird stuff for an old guy to own. Be careful here, girl.

  When she went out to the kitchen again, he stared a little and his breath seemed to catch, as though remembering someone else. ‘Where’d you get these relics, Mister Jones? I feel like a museum exhibit!’

  He handed her one of her own ciggies, and tapped out his pipe. ‘Come on out the front and I’ll tell you.’

  He led her down the hallway, which led past the one bedroom and the lounge to the front door. They went out onto the small veranda. The front lawn was smaller than the back yard, with two goats cropping the grass, and the lake was only about fifty metres away, partly obscured by willows. There were a few dark shapes on the water, canoes or something, but she didn’t look closely. The dark shape of the hills loomed beyond the water, out towards Acacia Bay on the far side. She went to sit down, and then her eyes registered what she was seeing, and her brain flipped.

  Where are the houses across at Acacia Bay? I oughta be able to see them from here …

  And while we’re at it, why are there only Maori waka out on the lake?

  She got down off the veranda and walked through the trees to the jetty. She heard Jones follow, but her eyes were drawn to the gradually unfolding view of Taupo. She felt her knees quiver. She turned back to Jones and the words fell out of her mouth. ‘What have you done to Taupo?’ She turned and looked again, just to make sure she wasn’t mistaken. She wasn’t. Taupo was gone.

  In its place was a pa, a fortified Maori village behind rows of wooden palisades. There were wooden European buildings too, outside the pa walls. She could make out people walking and riding, and black-clad soldiery filing along the waterfront. On the shores, clumps of women of both races were washing clothes, and children ran along the shore. Men on horses ambled along the road where there should have been trucks and cars, and the road seemed to be a ribbon of pounded dirt. There were no telephone poles or power lines or street lights, either. Smoke billowed from chimneys. Only one boat wasn’t a waka: she only recognized it because she had seen it before — it was the sleek white Barbary, a 1920s fifty-foot yacht once owned by Errol Flynn, which operated as a lake cruise attraction by a local company. Evan had promised to take her on it one day.

  She turned to Jones. ‘Where’s Taupo gone?’ she asked, unsure whether this was some prank or something a whole lot stranger.

  He rubbed his chin. ‘Well, lass, it’s a long story …’

  The sun was past its zenith, and her stomach had gnawed away breakfast, but she listened as the old man talked about the ‘Ghost World’: Aotearoa, where legends and the long-dead walked. It seemed impossible, but she could see the waka and the pa and everything else. Her eyes couldn’t lie! She had no choice but to believe.

  ‘When can I go back?’ she asked tentatively, suddenly afraid that he might never let her go, like some hermit who kidnaps a princess in a fairy story.

  ‘Oh, soon, lass. Godfrey and I just thought it best to get you off the streets for a while, to somewhere your man can’t reach. Don’t worry,’ he added as though he had been eavesdropping in her head. ‘I’ll take you back when you want to go.’

  Godfrey the dog looked up at her with sincere eyes, and her doubts melted.

  ‘This is so weird,’ she said, shaking her head. Bizarrely, amidst all this strangeness, the one thing she did feel was security.

  Suddenly she heard a body brushing through foliage, coming from the direction of the Taupo settlement. She got to her feet apprehensively as two shapes appeared at the edge of the trees and walked up to the cottage. One was a teenage girl she mentally christened ‘Freakshow’: a geeky creature with a mop of ginger dreads and a skeletal body clad in garish and unflattering clothes. Her face was all braces and glasses.

  But the other one … was Matiu Douglas. He had a blue-black swelling about his eye and his hand was clutching his ribcage as he breathed awkwardly. She remembered that he knew Godfrey. They both stared at each other and blushed. Freakshow peered at her, looking put out.

  ‘I believe you know each other,’ said Jones, with a dry chuckle.

  Jones’s guest

  Monday

  Mat woke stiff and sore, but he was in one piece, and over breakfast he reassured his mum that it was just one of those things. The doctor had told him his ribs were ‘probably just cracked or bruised’, and sent him away. They didn’t strap ribs any more, just prescribed rest. Three months and they’ll be fine, the nurse had said, as if this was good news. Three months! That was halfway to forever! And the really annoying thing was that if it hadn’t been so public he could have taken down those goons in seconds, but, with so many people watching, using magic was out. ‘Some idiot thought I was chatting up his girl.’

  ‘Were you?’ Mum responded, as though this was more important than his ribcage.

  ‘No, Mum, I wasn’t! I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend. He was a skinhead arsehole, with mates who looked like Uruks from Lord of the Rings. They beat up some German guys who tried to help me, too. Poor fellas; they kept saying they didn’t think this sort of thing happened here!’

  He managed to convince Mum that gangland thugs weren’t lurking outside waiting to get him — something he was by no means sure of — and then told her he had to go tell Jones that he couldn’t train. He called Cassandra along the way and met her by the kauri tree. He had texted her from the hospital and said he couldn’t go swimming, but hadn’t said why, so his beat-up look was something of a shock to her. He was telling her what had happened as they walked, but seeing Hine on Jones’s veranda stole his breath away.

  She was in a colonial dress, and she looked … breathtaking. She was a vision, out-of-time, luminously beautiful. He wanted to take her hand and kiss it and tell her exactly how lovely she seemed to him. Unfortunately, before he could get that elegant thought processed, another less cultured part of him gasped, ‘What the hell are you doing here? Uh — I mean: “Hi”.’

  She suppressed a laugh. ‘Jones found me, and brought me here. And Godfrey, of course.’

  Cassandra looked at Jones. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really,’ said Hine loftily. ‘What are you two doing here, anyway? Do you know Jones?’ she demanded, as though Jones was her friend alone.

  Jones came to the rescue. ‘Mat, Cassandra: Hine is my guest. She needed rescuing from her former boyfriend, and Godfrey suggested we do the rescuing. Hine, Mat is my pupil.’

  She looked at Mat with renewed interest. ‘Your pupil? What do you mean?’

  Mat went to answer, but Jones interrupted. ‘Just a few skills I happen to know and he has an affinity for, lass.’

  Hine looked at Cassandra. ‘And you, too?’ she asked, still struggling to take the girl seriously. Her eyes flicked to Mat.
Surely they’re not dating?

  Cassandra shrugged a bony shoulder. ‘Just a friend,’ she said coolly. She patted a satchel overflowing with wires and cabling, and looked at Jones. ‘I’ll get busy then,’ she told Jones, pushing past.

  Jones peered at Mat. ‘Let me take a look at your ribs, lad. You look like you need a poultice and some strapping.’ He took him back to the kitchen and made Mat strip off to the waist so he could examine his ribs.

  Mat was burningly conscious of both girls’ eyes on him, but mostly of Hine’s. She was no doubt comparing his battered torso with that of her neo-Nazi-super-he-monster ex-boyfriend. ‘The doctor said that they don’t do strapping any more; it’s old-fashioned,’ he told Jones.

  The old man grunted. ‘Mmm. So am I.’ He laid a big thick bandage on the table, then began pulling out clay pots from his herb shelf. ‘So, we’ll be wanting some arnica for the bruising, comfrey for bones, and cloves and camomile for the pain. Maybe some aloe vera, too. What do you think, God?’

  Godfrey barked thoughtfully, and Jones pulled out something else and added it to the pot. ‘True, an antibiotic wouldn’t hurt … echinacea perhaps?’ He turned to Hine. ‘As for you, do you know how to operate an old colonial-era washing machine and wringer?’

  Hine shook her head.

  ‘Well then, as soon as this poultice mix is on the stove, I’ll take you out and show you. You didn’t think you were free-loading here, did you? Guests have to earn their keep!’

  Cassandra smirked as she wired up a clock.

  Jones took Hine out to the wash house, while Mat stroked God’s head and daydreamed. Cassandra was talking about electricity again, but he was thinking about Hine’s face. Eventually Cassandra rather huffily went silent. When the old Welshman returned, he got Mat to recount the previous day’s events. He had already had to tell Cassandra all about it. Mostly he was worried for Mum. ‘I don’t want Mum threatened for something I’ve done,’ he told Jones.

  ‘That’s not the real issue, lad. The girl told me something that makes me fear much more than some gangland thug with a grudge. Do you remember the tramp we saw in the stone the taniwha sent us? Well, I think I know who he is.’ He told Mat about the vision that Hine had had in the cells, of the dark serpent shape that seemed to move from the tramp and enter her former boyfriend, Evan.

  ‘I believe that what she saw was an evil spirit moving from the tramp to a fresh host. That evil spirit is an old enemy of mine called Parukau. Do you know the name?’

  ‘Parukau?’ Mat shook his head. ‘Never heard of him.’ He noticed Cassandra was listening intently.

  ‘He was Puarata’s right-hand man, centuries ago. I was on his trail at one stage, and found out his history. Do you know the tale of Peha?’

  Mat shook his head again.

  ‘Peha was a famed carver,’ Jones said, sitting down and lighting up his pipe. ‘Of course he was more than an ordinary carver — his carvings had power. He had an enemy, though; a man from a neighbouring tribe called Parukau, who practised makutu. One day Peha was in the forest seeking wood when the forest fell silent, and he heard sinister laughter. He found himself pursued by a disembodied head floating above him. Parukau’s head! He didn’t panic, though. He went to Parukau’s pa, and found it deserted. But he found Parukau, buried up to his head in the earth, seemingly dead. He dug him out, thinking to bury him properly. But as soon as he was free of the earth, Parukau leapt up and fled.

  ‘It was near dusk, so Peha slept in the deserted pa. Next morning, Parukau was outside the whare door, looking up at him. As their eyes met, he felt energy surge into him, and then Parukau fled, and was never seen again. Peha returned to his tribe and ascended to supremacy soon after, as all could see that he burned with new vibrancy and power.’

  ‘Weird story,’ Cassandra put in. ‘What does it mean?’

  Jones started, as if he had forgotten she was there and might not have spoken if he had. ‘Well, many interpret it as a positive story, that Peha overcame Parukau’s sorcery, and became stronger. But I think what really happened was quite the opposite: that Parukau’s spirit entered Peha’s body — especially in light of what happened next.’

  ‘Which was what?’ asked Mat.

  ‘Well, it seems Peha had a long and prosperous life. He was a virtuous man, and a powerful tohunga. He was able to master Parukau’s spirit. Parukau struggles to control good people. He can only truly control those of similar nature to himself. But when Peha died, another tribesman, a nasty piece of work, took to calling himself Parukau. The tribe cast him out, and he vanished. Soon after, a new war lock entered Puarata’s service, also called Parukau. He would change body every few years. I believe it is Parukau that has taken possession of Evan, Hine’s former beau.’

  ‘He’s no-one’s “beau”,’ said Mat, bitterly. ‘Beau means “handsome”, but he was an ugly bully, and from what you’re saying that’s before this makutu spirit got into him.’

  ‘Then Parukau will have found an apt body to house himself in,’ Jones commented grimly.

  Hine came in, and Jones gave Mat a cautionary look, then set the girl to preparing lunch whilst he steeped a poultice of clothes and herbs, drained it, and strapped it tightly to Mat’s chest. Then he sat back and looked at the three of them, clearly making the decision to include Hine this time. ‘Listen, I’m telling you this because you need and deserve to know. What you thought you saw at the police station was real. Evan Tomoana really is possessed by a body-jumping spirit. He is called Parukau. He will likely stay in that body for some time if he can. And you should all avoid him. If you see him, stay away — you hear?’

  Mat nodded, while Hine looked at the floor, nodding slowly. She didn’t display any shock, which surprised him. He wondered how she was feeling. Although she had left Evan to go to the refuge, she must have felt something for him once.

  Jones prodded Mat’s strapped chest. ‘No exercise today, lad. I recommend you go home and rest. But I’ll expect you here tomorrow to check progress. My medicine works quickly. Now, let’s have lunch.’

  Jones made it clear he wanted more time alone with Hine, so after lunch Mat and Cassandra said farewell. Hine followed them out the front door and onto the lawn. ‘Hey,’ she said softly to Mat, ‘I shoulda said this already, but thank you for standing up to Evan like that. I think you’re really brave. Dumb, but brave.’ She leant in close, and kissed his cheek.

  He flushed scarlet, beamed and backed away, feeling like a child. He floated on air all the way home, his cheek tingling all the way, and the pain of his ribs forgotten. Cassandra trudged beside him with a funny look on her face he couldn’t quite pick.

  Hine watched Mat go with a wistful smile. He seemed so young, even though they were the same age. But he had grown up surrounded by love, even though he had mentioned over the meal that his folks were divorced. He had not had to go through any of the shit she had. He was just a kid, really. She envied that, she realized suddenly.

  Jones appeared at her shoulder. ‘Have you thought up any more questions yet, lassie?’

  ‘Uh, yeah, plenty!’ Hine answered. ‘Why me? Why did I see that thing, and no-one else in the whole police station? Why did Godfrey come and help me? And who is Mat really? What did you mean about him being your pupil?’

  Jones smiled. ‘You’re thinking about it all; that’s good. Pull up a chair — I’ve got a lot more to tell you.’ They sat down, but instead of answering her questions immediately, he asked her one. ‘Tell me about what you dream.’

  ‘What I dream?’ she puzzled whilst lighting up. ‘Well, I’d like to be a nurse or, well, anything really so long as I can earn some money and …’

  ‘No, lass,’ he interrupted softly. ‘I want to know what you dream. About the visions that you see when you sleep. As Bromel once said, “Dreams are the windows of the soul”.’

  She put the weirdness of the question aside, and took a drag on her ciggie. ‘Water. There’s always water in my dreams.’

  He nodded slow
ly. ‘I thought you’d say that, lass. Tell me about it.’

  So she talked again, wondering at herself because normally she was so quiet. Maybe all her words had been storing themselves up, waiting their chance. She told him about her dreams of swimming, and of freedom, and breathing water and revelling in weightlessness. She also told him of the horrible shark dreams, and the drowning ones, and the ones where the deep water followed her onto dry land. She seemed to re-live them as she spoke, and her cigarette went out in her hand without her realizing it.

  ‘Aye, aye,’ was all Jones said when she finished, and he patted her hand gently. ‘I thought so.’ Then he sat back, and began to tell her more about Aotearoa, and the more he told her, the stranger it seemed.

  Embodiment of a legend

  Monday afternoon

  After they left Jones’s cottage, they walked in silence for a while. Cassandra had promised to come over and help Mat with a maths assignment that afternoon, although she wasn’t really in the mood. But she dutifully walked back to his place, where they set up on the dining-room table and she walked him through it, feeling like a teacher with an airheaded pupil.

  It’s not like I fancy Mat that much. Really! It was just annoying how his tongue hung out whenever he looked at that Hine chick. It was times like this when boys didn’t seem worth the effort.

  ‘Hi, you two!’ Colleen, Mat’s mum, bustled in with an armful of grocery bags. ‘How’s the maths going?’

  ‘Okay,’ Mat said desultorily. Cassandra smiled; she liked Colleen, who had a bit of sparkle to her, not like Mat’s dad. Colleen paused to stare at her, take in her latest look, and went through to the kitchen. A burly, balding man followed her a second later: Neil, her boyfriend. He peered at her suspiciously, nodded at Mat and went into the kitchen.