by Albert Wendt
‘Ia manuia lou Aso Fanau, Dad!’ Daniel declared.
‘Ia, uso, ia alofa Le Atua fa‘amanuia mai ia te oe ma le tatou aiga!’ Uncle Pati continued.
While the others raised their glasses and toasted Lemu, Daniel observed his mother: she was smiling but tightly pale with anger for having the control of the birthday party wrested from her. He didn’t care that he was going to cop it later from her – no way. When Uncle Pati and his father beckoned Laura to them, Daniel watched (and loved) the whole movement of her body and bearing and aura of trust and openness as she went to them.
‘I say fa‘afetai to Laura for help me tonight in my cooking,’ Lemu announced. With the exception of Daniel’s mother, everyone clapped and cheered, and Uncle Pati kissed Laura on the cheek. Daniel wanted to run up and hold her and hold her.
Tasi left, and reemerged with the large multi-coloured birthday cake. She placed it in the centre of the table. They all crowded round it, and she lit the circle of candles on the cake, which said: ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD. MAY YOU BE BLESSED WITH ANOTHER FIFTY YEARS OF LIFE.’
14
At the end of that year, they all graduated with bachelors degrees. Apart from Keith and Langi, who wanted to publicly show their gratitude to their parents and relatives for their support, the others didn’t want to attend the graduation ceremony in the Auckland Town Hall. Daniel avoided telling his parents he’d completed his degree, until the evening his mother stormed home from work and sat him down in front of his concerned father on the main sofa in the sitting room. Controlling her voice, she asked: ‘Son, beloved Daniel-in-the-lion’s-den, why you not told us, your poor ignorant parents, that you graduated and you got the highest grades in your class?’ He started to reply, but she shut her eyes, shook her head decisively and mouthed the word ‘no’, so he shut up. ‘And why you not want to go to the ceremony and show all the Hamo community that you love – yes, you love – your ignorant parents who slave to put you through school? You think it cost nothing for us? You think I like slaving my guts out to keep you at university?’ Tears, huge globules of them, oozed out of her clenched eyes, and she didn’t wipe them away.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ he mumbled, knowing this was the quickest way to shorten her attacking condemnation. ‘I didn’t want you to spend any more of your hard-earned money to pay for my gown and other things. ’ He caught the smile on his father’s face, the slight nod.
‘You think we can’t afford it, son? You think we poor like all the Samoans in Ōtara?’ she protested. ‘I not care one bloody bit about the money – you going to graduate and me and your dad are going to come and be proud of you and watch all the Malo-o-Pipo full of envy of us and our aiga. Okay? Now I forgive you for not telling us, and thank you for being considerate about us not spending more money on you. We love you, son. Money is nothing. So no more talk about you not graduating, okay.’
That night while he was washing the dinner dishes and Lemu was drying them, his father said to him, amused, ‘Malo le taumafai, son. I’m proud of you again doing so well at school and proud too we’re going to see you graduate.’
Daniel steadied the soft feeling. ‘Thank you, Dad.’ They continued working, in healing, satisfied silence. From the sitting room came the sound of Coronation Street, Tasi’s favourite programme.
When they finished, Lemu asked, ‘Are any of the others going to the ceremony?’
‘Only Keith and Langi.’
‘Good, you have company then,’ he said. He walked away, stopped, and asked, ‘Is Laura going?’
‘I don’t know, Dad,’ Daniel lied.
Fearful of how the Tribe was going to react to his change of mind, he hurried to his room and, for a long while, agonised over ringing them. Finally he devised what he believed was a way of justifying his change of mind about attending the graduation. All the members of the Tribe loved his father, so he would tell them he didn’t want to disappoint his father, who really wanted him to graduate so their lowly family and community could come and acknowledge his ‘huge achievement’. Who should he ring first? Laura? No. But yes, Laura; she could influence Mere. He hesitated and hesitated, his heart beating in his ears. Go. He grabbed the phone and rang as fast as he could. Bbrruunngg – bbrruunngg – bbrruunngg – and his courage was almost gone when someone picked up the phone. His heart leapt when he heard Laura’s voice.
‘Hello, this is Laura,’ she said.
‘Hello, Laura. My dad asked me if you were going to graduation,’ he said before he could stop himself.
‘That was nice of him, Dan. But I thought you weren’t going?’
‘He wants me to go, Laura, and I don’t want to hurt him.’ He put some sadness into his voice. There was a long pause at the other end.
‘I’d like to go with you, Daniel,’ came her hesitant offer.
‘Are you sure, Laura?’ He struggled to conceal his relief.
‘How do you think the others are going to react?’
Stumped, he pondered this, and said, ‘Aaron, as usual, will rubbish me for changing my mind, and then forgive me and agree to go.’
‘What about Mere?’
‘What do you think?’
‘You want me to tell her I’m going?’ she offered.
‘Yeah, Laura, I’m sure that’ll make her want to come.’
‘I’ll ring her now, and get her to ring you,’ Laura said.
He waited for Mere’s reaction – waited, waited, with blossoming anxiety. He jumped inside when the phone rang; he waited some more, breathed in deeply and then picked up the phone. ‘Hi, coward,’ Mere greeted. ‘Your bloody mother rang my bloody mother and told her you were going voluntarily because you wanted her and your loving father to be proud of you, and my status-loving mother ordered me to go and make her proud of me, too, and then she rang all the other mothers, and they ordered their children to go too. There. And when Laura rang just now and said she was going – she’s crazy on you, man – I didn’t want to be left out of this …’
‘This epic play?’ Daniel suggested.
‘Yeah, this bloody epic where I’ll have to wear a ridiculous medieval gown and mortar board and go through the whole hilarious ritual.’ They continued laughing.
‘Sis, will you ring Aaron?’ He hoped and hoped.
‘Coward! You know what he’s going to do, Dan.’
‘Yeah, in a long tirade, he’s going to accuse us of selling out to the middle class and status and success …’
‘Then if you’re contrite enough, he’ll apologise for telling you off, and agree to do what you want.’ After they stopped laughing, she agreed to ring him.
By midday the next day, all the members of the Tribe and their families were going to attend graduation. Aaron insisted of paying for the hire of the gowns, the photographs, the bouquets for each graduand and the limousine that was to collect their parents and other elders and deliver them to the front door of the Town Hall so the whole envious world could see them. However, their parents and relatives refused to let Aaron pay for the dinner after the ceremony, in the most expensive Chinese restaurant in the city.
15
As usual, during the three-month university break, they all took jobs. Mere and Laura worked in law offices as what Mere described as ‘glorified office girls’. No one dared ask Aaron about his job. Keith and Paul worked on the wharf, where they’d worked the previous three Christmas vacations, and Daniel worked in the university library, where the money wasn’t as good but he could read and take home lots of books.
The week before Christmas, they usually took leave from work and holidayed together. This time, Aaron, with Daniel’s help, organised for them to go to a bach, owned by some of his friends at Waioha Beach.
In preparation, Daniel received a list of instructions from Aaron. Knowing from previous experience not to question any of them, he used his phone at work to carry them out. The list spec
ified companies and people for Daniel to ring to order the goods and services they needed for Waioha. Daniel knew these were Aaron’s special ‘connections’. Everything was to be charged to Hitchins Enterprise, which Daniel knew was Aaron’s front company. Aaron had never taken accounting or business courses; the members of the Tribe were constantly amazed by Aaron’s ability to make lucrative financial deals.
Keith and Langi were to arrange the transportation of their camping equipment and the other campers. Daniel was to let everyone know that he and Aaron were going up in Aaron’s truck the day before, to ensure the bach and every thing else was ready. Daniel informed everyone that was his and Aaron’s contribution to their holidays; the others were to pay for the food, beverages and other supplies.
Daniel was disappointed he wasn’t going to travel with Laura, but was elated when, the day before they left, his mother chose not to go, and he asked Laura to look after Lemu on their way to Waioha.
The hot summer morning felt as if it would never stop expanding around her and up into the cloudless sky, as Laura waited in front of her apartment for the van, her large canvas bag fat with her clothes and other holiday things. She gazed down and across the city, already roaring with torrents of traffic. She was wearing only a thin cotton tank top and long blue cotton shorts and jandals; her skin tingled in the light weaving breeze. At least for a week she was to be with Daniel and the people she cherished: they were the only real family she’d ever known, and her whole being vibrated with gladness: a word her mother had used whenever she was free of her ghosts.
She didn’t recognise the dark green van, until she saw Paul waving to her through the front window. The van crunched to a halt in front of her.
The side door slid open and Mere and a man she didn’t recognise stepped out. ‘This is Kepa,’ Mere introduced him. They shook hands, Kepa smiling. ‘He’s a friend from high school, but he went south. He’s studying engineering at Canterbury,’ Mere added. ‘I’ve told him about you already.’ Kepa, who was Mere’s physical size, picked up Laura’s heavy bag as if it didn’t weigh anything, took it and dumped it into the boot.
‘Good looking guy, eh?’ Laura whispered.
‘I haven’t seen him for a while.’
‘C’mon, guys!’ Paul called. ‘You know what Brothers Aaron and Daniel are like: they’re both paranoid about keeping time.’ Laughter in the car.
‘You mean, they’re anal retentive?’ Cherie said. More laughter.
Laura slid in after Mere, and they sat next to Lemu in the front row behind the driver. Kepa got in and slid the door closed after him. ‘Morning,’ Laura greeted Lemu, who looked relaxed in his ‘ie lavalava, singlet and jandals. He smelled of aftershave. Behind him was Mere’s unshaven brother Ropata. Laura greeted him too as the van started moving.
‘We’re going to have a great holiday,’ Mere offered. ‘The only elder with us is Uncle Lemu here. The others have decided not to come. We’re going to have a few frisky teenagers, though.’
‘I’m sure Uncle Aaron, being a teenager himself, will keep them entertained,’ Paul said over his shoulder as he drove.
‘If Uncle Aaron is still like what he was at high school, he can intimidate even God,’ Kepa said.
Once they were out of Papakura and free of the heavy concentrations of shopping and industrial areas, houses and traffic, the van began to swallow up the busy southern motorway, which was a river of shimmering light. Lemu hummed to himself, and Laura relaxed.
From the side, Laura scrutinised Kepa: he could walk into any gathering and, because of his physical attraction, immediately capture most people’s attention, but he did not have Mere’s aura, her mana. Laura didn’t want to be too complex (and unfair) in her analysis, but she measured Kepa and Mere up against each other, and hoped she was erroneous in her judgment that Kepa would, like other men before him, eventually judge himself inadequate in Mere’s sight. Feeling unable to bring her down to his measure, he would leave or be made to leave.
‘Kepa, where you from?’ Lemu asked. Laura sensed Mere relax.
‘I was born here and went to the same schools as Paul and Aaron and Mere, but my family shifted to Christchurch and I’m going to university there,’ Kepa replied.
‘Are you still at engineering school?’ Ropata entered the conversation.
‘I’ve got two more years to do, but I’ve decided to work and help the family,’ Kepa replied. Laura caught the excuse; so did Mere, Laura discerned. ‘I’ll go back and finish my degree later.’
‘What are you working in?’ Ropata – also a ‘failed’ university student – pursued. Laura started wondering why.
‘Engineering: working for a road-building firm. Great money, man.’
‘Hey, Paul, how long is it going to take to get to Waioha?’ Laura diverted the conversation.
‘If we don’t stop along the way, about three hours,’ replied Paul. ‘Bombay Hills, here we come, then Thames and Paeroa, home of the famous Lemon and Paeroa, and right through Waioha and out to Waioha Beach.’
Soon after that they fell into a slow pensive silence as they drove south into the increasing heat, haze and glare. The van took the steepness of the Bombay Hills with ease, and from the top of the Hills the river, plains and rolling hills of the Waikato stretched out as far as they could see, disappearing into thick spiraling clouds that clambered up into the heavens. Down, down, weaving past other traffic they went, and then left on the Coromandel turn-off.
Laura noticed that the countryside was dark brown and parched from the summer heat. However, the trees, shrubbery and other high vegetation were still a healthy glistening green. Laura hadn’t been into the countryside often. She was experiencing a thrilling euphoria viewing the neat and orderly farms, with sheep, cattle and sometimes horses scattered across their undulating paddocks and hills. ‘Man, this is like a tourist picture book,’ she said.
‘Straight out of all the best-selling photographic books that weigh down the coffee tables of most kiwis,’ Mere said.
‘But, look at it, it is beautiful!’ Ropata insisted.
‘Too right, man,’ said Kepa. ‘Bloody neat and tidy and productive.’ Laura tensed when she caught the tension in Mere.
‘But it’s built on the blood of our ancestors,’ Mere murmured, muting it so Kepa wouldn’t feel too censured.
‘Not your political bullshit again, sis!’ Ropata chided.
‘Now, children, we’re on a holiday, not a political slanging match,’ Paul intervened. ‘Here’s some music to calm your souls.’ Cherie switched on the van’s radio.
It was almost lunchtime. The strong wind blowing in from the east buffeted their van, bringing with it the invigorating tangy smell of the sea, and as Laura breathed that in, she sighed, welcoming it, relaxing into it and the wondrous memories of her childhood at Ngāmotu Beach. There, every day all day and in her dreams, she’d lived with the sea and its healing smell and touch and moods, which had kept her balanced, particularly when her mother was in the raging grip of her demons. Ngāmotu: such a magical name; an exquisite taste on her tongue and eyes and heart.
‘It smell like Malie, my village.’ Lemu fished Laura from her remembering. ‘The sea it always with me when I live there.’
‘I grew up right on the beach at New Plymouth,’ Laura said, ‘so I think I know what you mean, Lemu.’
‘In Malie, you not able to escape the sea,’ he murmured. ‘Ī a good fisherman. My father teach me.’
‘Well, Mr Malaetau, you’re going to love Waioha Beach,’ Mere offered.
Fifteen minutes later they were turning right, into the main street of Waioha Beach. The street ran along the shore between rows of baches and houses right on the dunes: a mixed collection of palatial homes, modest baches and huts, with tidy flower gardens and gnarled pōhutukawa trees. They drove past a small motor camp packed with caravans, cars, tents and holiday-makers.
It was low tide, and the water line was a long distance from the shore, the black sand exposed and drying in the hot sun and emitting a heavy healthy mud smell. It heightened Laura’s happiness at embarking on what she was sure was going to be an astonishing time, especially with Daniel. Most of the dwellings were occupied now that it was summer, and many of their owners were basking on their verandas or under large beach umbrellas, or sitting at tables in the cool shade of the trees.
Near the middle of the street, at the centre of the settlement, Paul turned the van down a narrow side street and headed for the sea, and a row of houses almost on the water. He stopped behind the garage of the largest house, at the end of the row, overlooking the widest section of the beach. Over the high wooden fence beside it they saw the top of a white tent and heard the voices of young people. The garage door rolled up and out of it stepped Daniel. ‘We’re here!’ Paul called.
Daniel opened their side door, and called ‘Malo fa‘auli, Paul! Glad you got here safely.’ He slid the door back. As Laura came out, he held her arm and kissed her quickly on the cheek, though all of him wanted to embrace her. He used Mere’s exit to get away from Laura; he hugged Mere, who told him his dad was okay. Laura edged away from the entrance and let the others out. She was pleased to see Daniel, who kissed his father on the cheek, and then went to hongi Kepa.
‘What are Uncle Aaron and his teenage horde doing?’ Ropata asked Daniel.
‘Putting up the tent, and doing it well, ’cause Uncle Aaron, as you know, doesn’t like mutiny and rebellion,’ Daniel said. ‘And Keith, the strict headmaster, wants everything done perfectly.’
‘I don’t envy those poor kids,’ Mere said. Lemu started walking to the house, Mere beside him. Laura followed with the others.
The large rectangular tent was up, anchored to its ropes, its sides rolled up, exposing its mat-covered floor. There were neatly arranged clusters of canvas chairs, folding canvas beds and air beds, and suitcases and bags neatly stacked at the back in rows. Standing at ease in two rows facing them were the eight teenagers – two girls and six boys – who’d chosen to come. Three of them were Mere’s cousins, two were being raised by Paul’s mother, one was a cousin of Aaron’s and the other two were their friends. Aaron and Langi were seated behind them, and Keith stood in front of the squad, at attention. ‘Shit!’ Mere muttered, smiling.