by Albert Wendt
Fierce, sweeping rain buffeted the car as they drove up Mt Eden Road, the front window wipers, at their highest speed, screeching as they struggled to keep the window clear. Mere clutched the steering wheel and concentrated keenly on the road ahead, which was busy with traffic that swished by like large sea creatures. Finally, they stopped in a driveway in front of a two-storey block of apartments that was barely visible through the torrential rain. Mere sighed audibly and said, ‘Fuck that!’
‘You want to come in and see my place?’ Laura invited, feeling exposed, vulnerable, worried that Mere would refuse.
‘I can’t drive back in this shit.’
‘Better wait till the rain’s over,’ Laura said, elated.
She’d moved into the two-bedroom apartment three years before when she’d turned eighteen and became entitled to the trust fund her grandmother had left her. The trust was mainly the money from the sale of her grandmother’s house and her collection of Māori artifacts after her death; the value of that had increased greatly over the years.
They flung their car doors open, slammed them shut and, in the cold dark deluge, scrambled up the steps onto the front veranda, then along it and up the stairs to the second storey.
They were both soaking wet and shivering when Laura unlocked the front door, and they rushed into the apartment. ‘Bloody cold!’ Laura ran and switched on the heaters. She pulled two beach towels out of the linen cupboard and flung one at Mere, who caught it as she was stripping off her drenched clothes. Laura wrapped her towel round herself and, under it, stripped off her own clothes. She got out two more towels, which they wound round their wet hair, and then, wrapped up to their necks, they knelt and huddled round the large central heater in the fireplace, shivering.
They warmed quickly and Laura put on the electric jug and made some instant mushroom soup, which they sipped in front of the heater. ‘Nice apartment,’ Mere remarked, as she looked up and around the sitting room.
Feeling awkward, with a rising sense of guilt, Laura said, ‘I was able to move into this place after I got some money from my grandmother.’ She paused and, avoiding Mere’s scrutiny, added, ‘Before this I had to live in skungy, awful places.’
‘You’re lucky, Laura.’
‘You want to look around?’ Laura invited. Mere jumped up he followed Laura. ‘I haven’t got much,’ Laura apologised.
‘But it’s yours, Laura, it’s yours, and you’ve furnished and made this flat your own.’
‘I suppose you can say that,’ Laura replied, pleased. ‘Because I’ve never had much, I’ve reduced my life to essentials; to what a poet once described as the “Zen of things”’.
Mere was silent as they moved from room to room, and Laura hoped she was liking what she was seeing. She’d painted all the walls in cream and hung just a few framed photographs of her favourite trees on them. There were Pacific blue curtains in all the rooms, and three large posters she’d framed with discarded rimu timber of her favourite actor, Marlon Brando, in shiny black leather motorcycle gear and with a wicked sexual smile; her favourite philosopher, Simone de Beauvoir; and her favourite animal, the rat.
‘Why the rat?’ Mere asked. ‘That is strange, Laura.’
‘Rats taught me how to survive.’ She suddenly didn’t want to talk about it.
‘But your life couldn’t have been all that terrible!’
‘Because I’m Pākehā?’
‘No, because your family had money,’ Mere countered, and Laura knew she was trying to evade her stereotyping.
‘One day I’ll tell you about it,’ Laura murmured, and immediately sensed Mere wasn’t going to pursue it.
In Laura’s spacious bedroom, where everything, except the books in the bookcases, was in various shades of blue, Mere whooped and swept her long arms over every thing. ‘You must dream in blue, Laura!’
‘No, I just like blue bedrooms. None of the other rooms are in blue, right?’
‘Right, but this is a blue womb …’
‘Guess, you can say that,’ Laura said. ‘Mere, that’s the best description I’ve ever had of it.’
‘And it’s so Zen!’ Mere whooped again. ‘Now I understand why you describe your apartment that way: it’s stripped down to the essentials; no waste, no decadence, no overindulgence.’
This time, Laura considered Mere’s philosophical description too fanciful and unnecessary. She just wanted to live in a place that fitted her shape, suited her simple needs and kept out the demons who’d killed her mother. But she wasn’t going to offend Mere by telling her that. No, Mere and her friends and her mother were her friends, her family, she hoped, with all her belief and courage.
11
At first, apart from Mere, whose friend Laura was, none of them noticed she was in their circle. She was simply a Palagi, who was hanging round with Mere because they were studying Pacific anthropology together, and who Mere, for her own reasons, was bringing to their get-togethers at university. She said little, and obviously didn’t want to be noticed; a blurred, barely there presence that respected their group’s all-PI identity and unbreakable bond. Like other Palagi before her, they expected her to disappear when she discerned none of them were going to allow her an equal presence and visibility in their group. But she didn’t disappear, and then she became an unavoidable presence when Mere, one morning in the student cafeteria while they were having coffee, demanded angrily, ‘So, you want to continue being racist, eh?’
‘What do you mean?’ Keith voiced the surprise of the group.
‘Yeah, what are you accusing us of this time, Sis?’ Aaron asked, bewildered.
‘In your usual arrogant way, you’ve been deliberately ignoring my friend Laura!’ Mere surprised them some more. With that they all looked at Laura – she now had a name and a visibility – they had to see her, because Mere wasn’t someone you ignored.
‘So what?’ Paul challenged. They all stared at Mere, anticipating an unforgiving blow, but before it came, Laura got up and started leaving.
‘I’m sorry,’ she stuttered, head lowered.
Mere grabbed her arm and, holding onto it, said to them, ‘See, you’ve got no manners. Have I ever mistreated any of your friends? Have I?’ None of them were foolish enough to remind her that, over the years, she had been the one who kept reminding them that their Tribe was only for Polynesians. And they were certainly not going to do so in front of this poor, upset Palagi, whose impregnable protection was Mere’s obvious but inexplicable friendship. So they all remained silent and fumed at Mere. ‘Laura is genuine,’ Mere continued, and they were puzzled by the claim. They glanced at Laura, who had her head bowed, her hands clutched round her chin, her whole body hunched, reducing her visibility. Something in the glow of her brunette hair held their attention, and they began noticing her appearance as an individual, as someone worthy of their consideration.
‘We have a lot of those: they’re called liberals, if you’ve forgotten that, sis!’ the foolishly daring Paul challenged again.
‘Yeah,’ Aaron echoed, ‘it makes them feel superior that they’re helping us. And they want to lead us from the front not the back.’ Though the others nodded in support, they wanted the trend of the debate to end there.
‘I know Laura’s a true friend,’ Mere said finally, relaxing, and putting her arm round Laura’s shoulders.
Now that Laura was in Daniel’s reckoning, she seemed to grow in importance to him, without his meaning her to do so. He certainly wasn’t an important presence in her reckoning – at least, he couldn’t detect any interest in him. Aaron, Paul and the others accorded her an interested respect whenever Mere was around, but none of them found her hot enough to warrant asking her for a date or anything like that. Not that she encouraged that: she came to exuberant life whenever she was with Mere but was withdrawn when she wasn’t. It was as if her visible disinterest was a deliberate, calculated d
isguise from behind which she scrutinised everyone closely.
On Monday, mid-morning, when he went into the crowded student cafeteria and saw Laura and Mere, he realised, as he hurried to them, that he was excited about their presence. ‘It was unfair, Dan, you copping a free look while you helped Mum put us doped-up ladies to bed, a while back,’ Mere greeted him, and he blushed – that was his only description for it – and squirmed with embarrassment, and avoided looking at Laura.
‘Nothing worth looking at!’ He tried to hide.
‘Hear that, Laura? I told you he was shy, and needs someone like you to help him out of that,’ Mere countered.
Laura inexplicably found herself offering Daniel the seat between them, and when he was seated, she sensed he was uncomfortable but pleased to be with them – and with her? She hoped it was because of her. ‘Dan, thanks for looking after us that night,’ she said. She liked the way he avoided looking at her.
‘Who else would have helped? … I just happened to be there,’ he stumbled. He still couldn’t look at her, and wished Palagi women weren’t so bloody direct – and Mere, by also being direct, wasn’t helping at all. He certainly didn’t want Mere and his other friends to get the impression he was interested in this Palagi woman.
Right then, Paul and Keith arrived and rescued him from his disturbing feelings about Laura, and he buried his attention in talking with them.
Laura noted all that, and was relieved she was again on the periphery where she could observe them – and especially Daniel – without them being aware of it. But Daniel, as he tried to appear engrossed in the others, couldn’t take his attention off her, and hoped she would join the conversation.
‘Hey, Laura,’ Mere interrupted Laura’s thoughts, ‘you want to go to the movies with us this afternoon?’ Laura nodded before she could stop herself, and caught Daniel’s look, which she interpreted as disappointment. But Daniel’s heart leapt at Laura’s assent, and he didn’t want to reveal it. ‘Aaron’s meeting us there.’
‘It’s a thriller,’ Daniel said, trying to sound nonchalant.
‘Dan’s a bloody movie addict,’ Keith said. ‘Comes from his mother, who’s also a movie addict.’ Laura suddenly wanted to learn more about Daniel’s mother, but in no way was she going to show that. Daniel wished Keith would stop talking about his mother.
‘Boy, Auntie Tasi sees two or three movies a week,’ Paul added. ‘She knows more about movies than anyone we know.’
‘Let’s go.’ Daniel heard himself trying to divert the conversation from his mother (and himself). He started to get up. Laura yearned for more information about this unusual mother.
‘And Auntie Tasi can imitate Marlon Brando, Lawrence Olivier in Hamlet, Meryl Streep, the Three Stooges …’ As Mere continued the list and the others laughed and added other names, Daniel tightened with embarrassment that was turning into anger at the others for caricaturing his mother and belittling him in front of Laura. Laura sensed this and wished the others would stop.
‘And Dan’s also a great imitator,’ Keith continued.
Laura’s concern for Daniel slid up into her mouth and she glanced at Daniel. ‘Let’s go then!’ She got up. Daniel stood up too, and was grateful Laura had stopped him from attacking his friends. ‘I’ll pay,’ she declared.
‘No, I’ll pay!’ Mere said, and the others, including Daniel, thanked her.
Snug in her thick winter coat, Laura walked beside Mere and Keith, followed by Daniel and Paul, as they made their way through a wintry Albert Park down into Queen Street. Laura felt awkwardly self-conscious as she sensed Daniel watching her.
At the start Daniel cursed his attention for focusing on Laura, but then, as they walked and he grew convinced she wanted his attention, he relaxed and enjoyed it. He admired the way she moved, the uncultivated grace of it; the need not to be noticed, the total attention with which she listened to what Mere and Keith were saying, her easy relaxed stride. Laura relaxed, knowing he was observing her and appreciating what he was seeing, and for the first time, in her life, wanted him to continue doing it. She’d never felt that before.
‘He grows on ya, doesn’t he?’ Mere said as she drove Laura home, after the movies.
‘Who?’ Laura asked.
‘Shit, Laura, don’t play that trick on me!’ And when Laura starting laughing, she joined her. ‘I caught all the vibes between you two all through that thriller.’
‘He does grow on me. He’s like James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause,’ Laura said.
‘And you should see him imitate Jimmy Dean,’ Mere said. ‘It’s true, he’s almost as good as his mum imitating film stars. He does do a very good Jimmy Dean in Rebel Without a Cause.’
‘What about in East of Eden?’ Laura was serious.
‘That too.’
When they stopped in front of Laura’s apartment building, Mere asked, ‘Are you going to ask him for a date?’
‘Shouldn’t that be the other way around? I thought you Polynesians were sticklers for correct behaviour between the sexes?’
‘If you want correct behaviour, then I’ll have to act as his “so‘o”: as his go-between.’
‘Aren’t you doing that already?’
‘Yes, but he hasn’t asked me to be his so‘o.’
‘But you’re going to manoeuvre him into appointing you as his so‘o?’
‘Are you asking me to do that?’
‘Too right, sis, too right!’
‘I must warn you though: he may want to take you out but he will not ask you out, not even through a so‘o as conniving as me.’
‘Isn’t that a bloody contradiction?’
‘Yeah, but life centres on contradictions, especially if you’re a male Hamo.’
‘For instance?’
‘He can’t be seen, by other Hamo guys, dating Pākehā women.’
‘So you’re suggesting I go out with him secretly?’
‘No, but you will have to contain your desire – not lust, that’s too ungenteel a word – before I arrange it.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘First I have to get the other guys in our whānau to accept you as a member of our group.’
‘You mean, for them to forget I’m Pākehā?’
Mere shook her head. ‘No, for them to ignore the fact you’re Pākehā. Because if we forget that and consider you a Polynesian and part of the whānau, then he can’t court you.’
‘But why?’
‘Because he’ll have to view you as a sister, and incest is …’
Laura felt sadness and regret in Mere’s voice, and when the revelation came to her, she was shocked by it. ‘Is that why you …?’
Mere looked away. ‘To Daniel and Paul and Keith and Aaron, I am their sister, and that is how I want my relationship to them to be – but it has been fucking difficult.’
‘What if they marry women from outside the Tribe – do those women become members of the Tribe?’
‘Yes, but the difference is, I am a founding member of the Tribe: a sister to Aaron, Paul, Keith and Daniel.’
Laura tried to comprehend it and couldn’t – but she understood the tragic sadness Mere was experiencing – a sadness Mere would have to carry as long as the Tribe existed. That understanding deepened Laura’s love – a word she’d always found mushy and true only in popular fiction and film – for Mere. ‘I’ll wait until your whānau ignore my Pākehā-ness,’ she promised. Mere leaned forward and, embracing her, kissed her on the cheek.
12
Two days later, at lunchtime, when Mere and Laura hurried towards him in the cafeteria, Daniel recognised – and for a moment was dismayed by it – that Laura’s feelings for him were in shut-down mode: the inviting, unconditional open-to-his-attention vibes were gone.
She kissed him hurriedly on the cheek, winding her heady scent round him, bu
t that was all: she was back to being a friend, and he dreaded that the situation would deteriorate into her being a sister, and therefore tapu. But he did his best not to show his cutting disappointment as he went to the counter and got them their coffee. Mere made him sit beside Laura. He pretended he was listening to their conversation, but his head and heart and belly were alive with the pain.
‘Anything wrong, Dan?’ Laura had to intervene, unable any more to suppress her awareness of his pain. He shook his head and smiled.
‘Dan, you don’t look well today,’ Mere said, saving Laura from again opening up to Daniel.
Daniel stood up and acknowledged Aaron and Paul and the tall woman they were with, when they entered.
‘Laura, this is Cherie,’ Paul introduced the woman, and it was obvious to Laura that Paul was very fond of her. ‘She’s taking architecture.’ Laura got up and embraced Cherie.
‘Cherie’s gonna one day design my ideal house, eh?’ Aaron said. Cherie smiled but ignored his signifying. ‘Who’s shouting lunch today?’ Aaron asked, sitting down beside Daniel. ‘Why are you so glum, mate?’ he asked him. Daniel squirmed away from him, and Laura wished Aaron wasn’t so intrusive.
‘I’ll shout,’ Laura saved Daniel. ‘Five bucks each – that’s all I can afford.’
‘Trust Pākehā, man, they always look after their cents,’ Aaron scoffed.
This time Laura wasn’t going to be imtimidated. ‘Take it or leave it,’ she demanded, and Aaron grinned and put out his hand. She fished notes out of her purse and, while she distributed five-dollar notes into their upturned palms and they joked about Pākehā being mingy in their koha, she observed Daniel, surreptitiously, and wanted to reach out and caress his pain away.
After they’d bought their food from the cafeteria food counter they sat down round three tables they’d pushed together. Laura noticed that the seating seemed predetermined: she, Mere and Cherie were at the head of the group of tables, Aaron was at the bottom, facing Mere, and the other members of the whānau, along with friends who kept arriving quickly, took the rest of the seats. Daniel sat on Aaron’s right, as far away from her as he could, and she understood his hurt – resentment – at her exiling him.