The Parihaka Woman

by Witi Ihimaera

  From the death of her spirit came the birth of another.

  ‘We are not forgotten by the great Ruler,’ she said to herself.

  Gathering her strength, she arose from the pit of her darkness. Her thoughts had betrayed only a momentary weakness. It would not happen again.

  She looked around her. ‘Make way,’ she said. ‘Let me through.’

  4.

  Erenora approached the portal of Addington Prison. She knocked three times at the doorway and a warder appeared on the other side. ‘I would like to make enquiries about the Maori prisoners from Parihaka,’ Erenora said in a firm masculine voice.

  ‘The madmen?’ the warder asked sharply. ‘You can’t expect any information without authorisation.’

  How Erenora wished that Te Wheoro was with her. ‘I have a letter of introduction,’ she offered. She showed it to the warder. Yes, the government crest did the trick.

  ‘Follow me,’ said the warder, tight-lipped. He took her to an office and presented her to a prison official who appeared to be of higher standing. ‘I am the registrar,’ he began. ‘You are from Parry Hacka?’

  ‘Yes,’ Erenora answered. ‘I’ve come to ask about two men who may have been sentenced here along with the first batch of prisoners from New Plymouth Magistrate’s Court on 26 July 1879.’

  He looked her up and down. ‘You are aware, are you not, that when the maniacs were brought here two years ago they were sentenced to hard labour? And then, for continuing disturbances, moved to Lyttelton Gaol?’

  Erenora couldn’t help herself; the offensive language was getting under her skin. ‘I understand,’ she said, raising her voice, ‘the difficulties may have had more to do with overcrowding than with anything the men did to warrant further harsh punishment.’

  The registrar gave her a sharp glance. ‘You would do well to curb your tongue, young man,’ he said. ‘So you’re aware that most were returned to the Taranaki? As for the rest …’ He paused and with a grunt affirmed that he would answer her question. ‘The madmen are all on Ripa Island.’

  Erenora was astonished to receive any information. ‘Ripa Island?’ she pushed on. ‘Where is that?’

  ‘It was once a quarantine station in Lyttelton Harbour,’ he said. ‘Armed constabulary were assigned to guard the maniacs but more officers were added to cope with the … increased … numbers who subsequently came down from the Taranaki.’

  ‘Were the prisoners Horitana and Riki among them?’

  The registrar consulted his records, wetting his finger to turn the pages and trace down the list of names. Erenora wanted to jump across the counter, take the book from him and look for herself.

  ‘The prisoner named Riki is still incarcerated on Ripa Island. As for any madman by the name of Horitana, I have no record of him.’

  Erenora’s heart flooded with both gladness and despair. ‘Is there any hope of visiting the prisoner Riki?’ Apart from the joy that would give to Meri, Riki might know where Horitana was.

  ‘No,’ said the registrar. ‘And that is all I will help you with.’

  ‘I left Addington Prison, numb, and wandered aimlessly. I was happy for Meri, knowing that she would be overjoyed with the news that Riki was alive. At the same time, I was in shock and full of worry for Horitana. Where was he?

  ‘Dazed, I sat by the side of the road, trying to decide what my sisters and I should do next. Obviously, there was no possibility of Meri seeing Riki and it would be best for us to return quickly to Parihaka before our money ran out. But what about my own quest for my husband?

  ‘The sun was declining into afternoon when I made a decision. If Horitana wasn’t in Christchurch the only other place where he could be was Dunedin. The time had come for me to continue on but, this time, alone. Therefore, on my way back to the city I made a detour to a shipping office. I thanked God that, with the addition of the coins from sympathetic settlers at Hokitika, there was just enough to purchase passage for Ripeka and Meri on a ship sailing from Christchurch to Wellington.

  ‘I returned to Cathedral Square. Alarm filled me when I couldn’t see my sisters. Where were they? I ran into the cathedral and, to my relief, saw them sitting in earnest discussion with a clergyman.

  ‘“Oh, there you are, Erenora,” Ripeka greeted me, as if I had just been for a walk in the park.’

  The clergyman introduced himself.

  ‘I’m Archdeacon George Cotterill,’ he said. ‘I’m a canon here, serving Bishop Harper, and I’m also diocesan secretary. One of our congregation, Mrs Platt, saw you all yesterday. She recognised from the feathers your sisters wear in their hair that you were from Parihaka. Knowing that I have a sympathetic interest in the Maori people of New Zealand and, in particular, the people of Taranaki, she advised me of your visit.’ The archdeacon pumped Erenora’s hand vigorously. ‘The church is much alarmed at the way your men continue to be held without trial.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Erenora said. She didn’t mean to sound ungrateful but she wanted to get Ripeka and Meri to one side so that she could tell them what she’d done. She hoped they would be obedient. But first she turned to Meri, ‘Riki is alive and on Ripa Island.’

  ‘Alive? And here?’ Meri exclaimed as she burst into tears. ‘Can I see him?’

  Ripeka, although happy for her sister, couldn’t hide a look of sadness. Why couldn’t Paora also have lived …

  ‘No,’ Erenora answered. ‘Absolutely not.’

  Meri refused to take Erenora’s word. ‘You, of all people, you can make anything happen,’ she said with determination. ‘Don’t say no to me.’

  ‘Therefore,’ Erenora continued, not heeding her, ‘you and Ripeka are both returning to Wellington next week.’ She gave them their tickets.

  ‘I won’t go,’ Meri said. ‘And only two tickets?’

  ‘I plan to proceed alone to Dunedin,’ Erenora answered.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Ripeka said. ‘When it suits you, you decide about me and Meri. Don’t leave me in Hokitika but dump us both when we get to Christchurch.’

  ‘You, Ripeka, are pregnant,’ Erenora replied angrily, ‘and you, Meri, should go back home and wait with your son for Riki’s eventual return.’

  But Meri was stubborn. ‘I don’t care if I have to wait for years. I’m staying until I see Riki.’

  Although they were in the House of God, Erenora shook Meri hard. ‘You and Ripeka are both holding me up and you will go back to Parihaka. Please be obedient, sister.’

  In the silence that followed, Archdeacon Cotterill coughed. ‘Actually, people in Christchurch do call the island Ripa but it’s really Ripapa, and —’ he paused ‘— there might be opportunity for Meri to visit before she and Ripeka return to Wellington.’

  Erenora stared at him, her mouth open.

  ‘Come back in two days,’ he said. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  5.

  Two days? That would make it … Sunday.

  The sisters returned to their sleeping place in the potato field. Waiting for Sunday was agonising, but they filled in the time by taking walks together around Christchurch and its countryside. They talked about, oh, so many things: growing up as children together, helping to build Parihaka, getting married …

  ‘We’ve never really had the time to korero, have we?’ Erenora said, when one day Meri burst into tears.

  ‘But we’ve always loved each other, eh,’ Meri said, tapping her poi.

  On Sunday, the sisters were up at dawn and, after morning prayers, struck their camp and made for Cathedral Square. Archdeacon Cotterill, waiting at the cathedral doors, looked very pleased with himself. ‘I’m glad you’re here early,’ he said. ‘Come along, we have a train to catch.’

  A train? Very soon the sisters were being transported through Lyttelton Tunnel. As the train roared into the bowels of the earth, Meri clutched Erenora, afraid. ‘Are we journeying to hell?’ she asked.

  On the other side of the darkness, however, was blessed sunlight. Lyttelton sprang brightly into view. The
‘Liverpool of New Zealand’ lay in a hollow surrounded by high hills. Ahead was the harbour.

  ‘Here we are,’ said the archdeacon. He hastened the sisters off the train and in the direction of Gladstone Pier. Four large ships were being loaded with wheat for England, France and other parts of the world. And further along were the docks from which busy launches plied the harbour and the coast. Among the jostling boats a small vessel was waiting with a group of austere personages aboard and three women holding hymn books.

  ‘We’re joining the Lyttelton gaoler Mr Phillips, the chaplain Reverend Townsend, and members of the local Anglican congregation,’ Archdeacon Cotterill explained. ‘Reverend Townsend is my colleague and friend, and he’s taking the service today on Ripapa Island.’ He whispered conspiratorially, ‘I obtained permission for you to come with us. He’s relieved as his knowledge of the Maori language is limited.’

  After hasty introductions, there was a lot of nodding of heads, and then the vessel cast off. Soon, it was making good way eastward across the harbour to Ripapa.

  Archdeacon Cotterill engaged the three sisters in conversation. ‘For many years,’ he began, ‘Kai Tahu used the island as a refuge whenever other tribes invaded Otautahi. The name Ripapa actually means “Mooring Rock”, which is appropriate, don’t you think?’

  He was trying to keep the mood light, but Erenora could not help the retort that formed on her lips. ‘If you’re referring to its current use as a prison for Taranaki men, yes,’ she said, ‘but after any invasion Kai Tahu could always return to their homes, whereas our men are not free to do that.’

  Ripeka gave Erenora a warning glance. ‘My brother does not want to sound ungrateful,’ she told Archdeacon Cotterill.

  The archdeacon accepted the comparison as a fair one and carried on in a conciliatory manner. ‘Even for Pakeha, the island became a mooring place. About ten years ago, it was used for quarantining our new immigrants. We built a hospital and hostels for up to 300 people out there. But then the wars started in the North Island, and Parihaka prisoners were sent down here, so Ripapa went through a third incarnation — as an overflow prison for Lyttelton Gaol.’

  ‘Over 150 to Christchurch in the one month of September 1880 alone,’ Erenora reminded him sharply, ‘including my sister Meri’s husband, and many other men since then.’

  At the reference to Riki, Meri gave a small sob.

  Archdeacon Cotterill gave Erenora a sharp look. ‘If your men are to be held anywhere,’ he answered her, ‘Ripapa is a better refuge than most.’ He turned to comfort Meri. ‘Do you know what the Pakeha immigrants called Ripapa?’ he asked her. ‘Humanity Island. Let us all hope that, as far as your husband is concerned, it has lived up to its name, eh?’

  Suddenly, there was a scattering of sun-stars and against rising headlands Erenora saw Ripapa itself.

  ‘We docked at the jetty to the island. Much to our surprise, another vessel arrived at the same time as us — and in it was a small group of Maori.

  ‘“They’re from Rapaki,” Archdeacon Cotterill said. “Their hapu is Ngati Wheke.”

  ‘I walked across to them and we greeted each other. “We come to manaaki, to support, your people,” their rangatira said.

  ‘Together we walked to the gateway and into the prison yard where the service was to be held. The breeze was cool and invigorating and I could hear the prisoners singing in their cells:

  ‘“O, Taranaki! Our w’enua, so lovely and lost! Hear our lamentation! Let the Lord inspire us all and give us the strength to shatter our vile chains! Let the wrath of the Lion of Judah cause our valour to awake, our courage to stir!”

  ‘At the sound of the voices, Ripeka and Meri — especially Meri — started weeping. As for me, I could not help but wonder at the forbidding nature of the prison. The walls prevented any view from inside except through tiny slit windows. What was it like to be immured behind that stone? Our men were accustomed to the wide spaces of Taranaki, to forests and seas; here they could die of wondering whether that world was still there, and our sacred mounga holding up the sky.

  ‘Then the men appeared, under guard, mustered to attend the church service. They were still singing and, as they passed by, Meri scanned their faces.

  ‘“What joy to breathe freely in the open air!’ they sang. ‘Here in the sunlight is life!”

  ‘And finally one of the prisoners looked Meri’s way, saw her and gave a deep wounded cry. “It cannot be!”

  ‘Although he was much changed, emaciated and stooped, Meri knew him immediately: her beloved Riki. Slowly, he stepped towards her. A guard went to stop him, but Archdeacon Cotterill intervened, whispering to Mr Phillips, who said, “Let them alone.” In that precious space, Meri and Riki were able to embrace one another.

  ‘“This must be a dream,” Riki said. “Is it really you, Meri?”

  ‘He turned to look at me and Ripeka. “And you, sisters-in-law, are here also?”

  ‘I could not help but glance quickly at Archdeacon Cotterill and Mr Phillips to see whether or not they had overheard Riki’s reference to me, but, no, we were sufficiently apart from them.

  “You are in the light.” Riki continued. “In prison, we are in darkness.” Then his face blanched. “But why have you come?” He turned to Meri. “Has something happened to our son? You haven’t come all this way to tell me —”

  ‘“He’s being well cared for,” Meri reassured him, “but when Erenora left Parihaka to look for Horitana, neither Ripeka nor I could restrain ourselves from joining her. Even to spend just this moment with you has been worth our travails. One day you’ll be free and we shall all find peace.”

  ‘Riki began to moan with shame. He seized me and wept on my shoulder. “Aue,” he began, “Horitana … it may have been him who was on the same prison vessel that brought us all to Christchurch.”

  ‘“Then why isn’t he here with you?” I asked, almost screaming with frustration.

  ‘“Whoever the prisoner was, he was kept separately from us. Nor was he on deck when we were mustered and disembarked. But he sounded like Horitana when he cried out as we were leaving the ship, “Be of good heart, my fellow warriors”, except that his voice was muffled, unearthly. We caught a final glimpse of the prisoner from far away — prodded by gaolers, stumbling along the dock.”

  ‘“Couldn’t you tell if it was Horitana or not?” I asked.

  ‘“No,” Riki answered. “There was a blanket completely covering him and I thought … he might be somebody else.”

  ‘“Who?” I asked, puzzled and confused.

  ‘“There was a small coastal vessel waiting at the quay,” Riki continued. “A stolid and sturdy man with a bald head was waiting. The gaolers gave the prisoner over to his care. I saw him sign some papers and shake the gaolers’ hands. The prisoner was in great pain. It wasn’t the chains that were so grievously afflicting him or the legirons he wore, but something else. I couldn’t see what it was until he was being put onto the boat and the blanket fell away and …”

  ‘“And?” I insisted.

  ‘Riki paled. A shudder ran through him.

  ‘“… it was te tangata mokomokai …”’

  6.

  Archdeacon Cotterill separated the sisters from Riki.

  ‘We’re here only by the good offices of Mr Phillips and Reverend Townsend … you understand?’

  ‘My sisters and I are most appreciative,’ Erenora said, stepping away.

  ‘Good,’ the archdeacon answered, relieved. ‘Let’s proceed to the church service now.’

  As the voices around her rose to praise God, Erenora prayed. ‘Oh, Horitana, what has happened to you?’ Her fists were clenched so hard, her fingers dug into her palms until they bled.

  She seemed to hear his voice:

  ‘Here in this void no living thing comes near. O, cruel ordeal! But God’s will is just. I’ll not complain; for He has decreed the measure of my suffering.’

  After the church service, Archdeacon Cotterill approached the L
yttelton gaoler. Mr Phillips agreed that the three Taranaki visitors could exchange greetings with the other men. Erenora moved among them, offering words of courage and sympathy. ‘Kia ka’a, kia manawanui,’ she said to them.

  And the men bore witness. ‘The winters are bad, so cold, and of a kind we have never before experienced. Sometimes the only way to keep warm is to huddle together in our blankets. And can you see the walls around us? It was the same in Addington and Lyttelton too, where any infringement meant we were confined in incredibly small and cruel spaces where you couldn’t see the outside world. Our cells had slop buckets but no running water. Our food was fit only for animals.’

  Erenora shivered. ‘You were never taken to work outside?’ she asked. ‘At Hokitika, the men at least worked in road gangs and had contact with the citizens of the town.’

  ‘No,’ the men answered. ‘We were deprived of everything, even our own sense of respect. It was as if we’d been consigned to a pit, a hole in the ground — but at least on Ripapa, although no blade of grass grows, we’re able to see the sky. Sometimes small birds fly through the barred windows. We feed them crumbs and, when the guards approach, we tell them, “Quick! Leave! Take messages to Taranaki that we survive.” When you get back to Parihaka, give our wives the same messages that we give the birds, eh? That we do survive, Erenora, we do.’

  Then it was time to leave Ripapa Island.

  ‘Go home to Parihaka now, Meri,’ Riki said as he clutched her. ‘Await my return.’ One last embrace, and Riki joined the prisoners as the guards took them back to their cells.

  The sisters supported a sobbing Meri away from the prison. How good it was be outside. At the jetty, they said goodbye to the people of Ngati Wheke and then boarded the vessel taking them back to Lyttelton.