The Spanish Helmet

by Greg Scowen

  ‘Yeah. The theory has been well investigated, and by some serious academics, no less. Compared to your Celtic stuff, this is much more viable.’

  Matt let out a big breath.

  ‘That’s great, Dwight. I’m glad you’re OK with what I’m doing now. It’s a relief to know that my job isn’t in jeopardy anymore.’

  ‘I said it’s more viable than the other lot. I didn’t say you’re off the hook.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘All but a handful of the scholars who studied the Spanish theories have refuted them as nothing more than a fancy. The couple that support them, or created them no less, don’t have a leg to stand on.’

  Matt stared at the wall. This couldn’t be happening again.

  ‘I’ve also looked into those theories and I’m happy that what I’ve seen is evidence enough to take a deeper look.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Matt. Nearly every New Zealand academic worth his salt has confirmed that the Maori were first, the Dutch came but left, and then the English settled. Why whip a dead horse?’

  Dwight was asking for it.

  ‘I’m going to whip a dead horse, because there’s a chance I can bring it back to life. You should try it sometime, Dwight. Real research. It doesn’t mean sitting on your laurels relying on everyone else’s work to find the truth. Sometimes, you have to get off your ass and actually dig a hole.’

  Matt knew he was digging a hole, right now.

  ‘I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. But keep it up and you’ll be coming home to that second warning and your final pay slip.’

  ‘You can’t do that and you know it. You’ve no grounds for dismissal. I’m doing my job, conducting research out on the field. It’s what the university pays me for.’

  Matt pressed the end button on his mobile as hard as he could. That was the problem with mobiles; you couldn’t slam the phone down in someone’s ear anymore. He remained on the edge of the bed and took deep breaths. He hoped he hadn’t made the situation worse, but he knew he was right. He looked at the clock again. No point in going back to sleep, he couldn’t anyway. Instead, he pulled on some sneakers and a tracksuit and went for a jog around the university campus.

  * * *

  It was Matt’s first day off in over a week. OK, the whole trip so far had sort of been like a holiday, but today was even better. Today, they were literally going to do nothing. That is, nothing to do with researching a pseudo-history. No Celts, no Spaniards, and no visits to the university. Well, aside from his one hour phone call with Julia this morning, where he had updated her on everything and discussed the Dwight incident. But now it was leisure time.

  Aimee sat on the sofa in Matt’s room, and was doubled over, tying her shoes in the most complex fashion Matt had ever seen. Making two loops and creating a bow by crossing them through each other. Somehow.

  ‘Where did you learn to tie your shoes like that?’

  ‘No idea. My parents deny it was either of them, so maybe it was a school teacher.’

  ‘I’ve never seen shoes tied that way before.’

  ‘I get that a lot, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that they stay on and we can go for our walk.’ Aimee sprang up from the couch and announced she was ready to go.

  The phone rang.

  ‘Matthew Cameron.’ Matt said, wondering who would be calling him here.

  ‘Good morning Dr. Cameron, it’s Janice from reception here. We have a package for you to collect at the front desk when you have a chance.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll be down in a minute.’

  Five minutes later, Matt and Aimee locked the car and walked in the direction of the botanic garden.

  ‘It’s a bit creepy, isn’t it?’ Aimee asked.

  ‘I guess so. He was bound to find us though. Just how he found our hotel and all... I’m not sure. But it goes to show that he’s a decent guy after all.’

  ‘What, how so?’

  ‘He wouldn’t have returned the GPS if he wasn’t worried about us getting lost.’ Matt laughed.

  Aimee thumped him on the arm. ‘Or if he wasn’t worried about losing us!’

  As she got closer when she thumped him, Matt couldn’t ignore the fragrance that followed her. It was subtle and very pleasing. Even as they entered the botanic gardens, and walked amongst the roses near the entrance, that fragrance was still present. Matt couldn’t help but be drawn back to the daydream he had about Aimee and the lighthouse. He hadn’t really thought about it since he heard of his father’s death. It was as if he was trying to be respectful or something. But now, it came rushing back, complete with beautiful rose gardens around the lighthouse.

  ‘Oh look, they have an aviary,’ Matt said, trying to distract himself as they walked past a group of signs pointing in all directions. ‘Let’s go have a look up there.’

  The path crossed the gardens passed a small stage and climbed up a steep hillside through an alpine-style garden. Much of the hillside was tiered, affording visitors the chance to sit and observe whatever might be on the stage below. Huge conifers towered over them, splattering them with shade and softening the paths with fallen needles. It was all that Matt could do not to take Aimee’s hand. But he held back. He should wait for a sign.

  The aviary complex was quite large. A chorus of diverse squawks and whistles greeted them as they went from cage to cage. It made Matt smile. Just like people, some of the birds were very showy, ruffling their colourful feathers and loudly staking their places. Others were quiet and subdued in their beauty. Aimee was like the latter. He liked that.

  ‘There was a cafeteria down the bottom. Should we head around the Rhododendron Dell and then get something for a picnic?’ Aimee asked.

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Alright, I think we have to go this way then,’ she said, taking his hand, and leading him along a path.

  Matt looked down at his hand. It felt so right, he prayed she wouldn’t let go. As they continued walking, Matt noticed that he kept giving involuntary squeezes. Aimee squeezed back and stopped.

  ‘Are you alright, Matt?’

  Guilt kicked in. He was over-squeezing.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘With your father.’

  ‘Oh.’ Not the squeezing then.

  Aimee was waiting for an answer.

  ‘Yes, I guess I am.’

  ‘You’ve been quieter since you heard. You weren’t interested in going to the bullauns near Christchurch, you seem down. I’ve been worried about you.’

  Matt felt Aimee squeeze his hand affectionately. She was still holding his hand!

  ‘I’ll be alright. Sorry if I’ve been a bit distant.’

  ‘Don’t apologise, it’s natural. I just want to make sure you’re OK.’

  ‘I’m OK when I’m with you,’ he said, looking her straight in the eyes.

  She held his gaze. ‘Good, talk to me. Let’s see these rhododendrons and we can talk as we walk.’

  They walked on through the Rhododendron Dell as Matt opened up with his thoughts. He was relieved to get things off his chest, and the walking helped too. Double the therapy. It was very pretty. Up on the hillside, nice green lawns, and more variety in colour than Matthew could comprehend. Rose would have loved it. The path that led back to the cafe dropped gently down the face of the wooded hillside. The shelter it provided from the sun, and the breeze, made it a lovely stroll. They arrived at the cafeteria and picked out some sandwiches and a bottle of juice each, and went in search of a quiet place to sit. They found an uninhabited tree alongside the water gardens. It was perfect.

  ‘It’s probably easier to accept, since I didn’t know him,’ Matt said, as he sat down on the freshly clipped lawn.

  ‘Did you really have no contact with him at all, your whole life, up until two weeks ago?’

  ‘Nothing.Absolutely nothing. And now I have to ask myself if my mother is to blame.’

  ‘I can’t imagine growing up without my Dad.’

  Matt welc
omed the chance to change the topic slightly. ‘Were you ever in one of your Dad’s classes in school? Or do they try to avoid that?’

  ‘It’s not encouraged. But yeah, once I was in Dad’s class. Sixth form Geo.’

  ‘It must have been great seeing him in action. I mean, you get to know your Dad as a father and as a professional.’

  ‘It was interesting, but we had to remain distant. No favouritism or anything. I called him Mr Kingsbridge like everyone else. It was probably easier for him, because he was always dealing with the bad kids at the back.’

  ‘You had trouble in the school?’

  ‘Our fair share of it, yeah. There are a few poorer Maori communities in the school’s catchment area. Unfortunately, with the really sweet and good kids that you found there came a handful of tough warrior types. Dad always had to go to the back of the class to deal with them... oh my God!’ Aimee sat bolt upright.

  ‘What?’ Matthew asked, frantically looking around him to see what had alarmed her so.

  ‘I’ve just realised where I know him from. Hemi, our Maori guy, the one following us.’

  ‘From school?’ Matt asked, scarcely believing it could be possible. ‘Hemi was one of those rough Maori kids?’

  ‘No. Well yes, but no. Yes, he was at school with me, in my geography class. But no, he wasn’t one of the tough kids and his name isn’t Hemi. It’s Drew, Drew King.’

  ‘And he wasn’t one of the tough kids?’

  ‘Not at all. He was a chubby little Maori kid. Really sweet and quiet. You hardly would have noticed him if it wasn’t for the other Maori kids giving him a hard time. But he just took it all on his chin and worked hard on his schoolwork. His Dad was a tough cop. He got killed. I can’t believe I didn’t recognise him sooner.’

  ‘He doesn’t seem like the chubby quiet type to me,’ Matt said, nodding across the water, and watching Aimee as she followed his gaze and also spotted Hemi, Drew, as he ran by for the umpteenth time.

  ‘No, he’s changed a lot, I hardly recognise him anymore. But that’s definitely Drew.’

  ‘Do you think he’s dangerous?’

  ‘I can’t imagine it. Not unless he pent up a lot of anger over the years of bullying. Nah, I reckon Drew is one of the good guys.’

  ‘I guess we have to wait and see.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Aimee nodded and took another bite from her chicken sandwich.

  They finished their meal and watched the ducks aimlessly float from side to side. Matt decided he really liked Dunedin. It was peaceful, pretty, green, and boasted history that he hadn’t seen elsewhere in New Zealand. That, and his hand still tingled from Aimee’s touch. With any luck, they would stick around for a few days.

  CHAPTER

  40

  Matt and Aimee scanned the comfortable looking chairs trying to identify the men they were to meet. It was the summer break in New Zealand. But despite there not being all that many people in the large atrium that neighboured the university library, no one looked up to greet them.

  ‘Could it be that couple over there?’ Aimee asked, indicating in the direction of the cafe counter near the other end of the hall.

  ‘I don’t know, I was expecting two older Maori men, lots of tattoos and really hard faces. You’re the Kiwi, what do you think?’

  ‘We better ask. It would be terrible to miss them based on a silly prejudice.’

  Aimee led the way across the room and approached the laughing couple that they had observed.

  ‘Pardon me.’ Aimee started. ‘We’re meant to be meeting some...’

  Before she could finish, the lady, perhaps in her sixties, leapt out of her chair and reached out her hand.

  ‘You must be Aimee. My name is Matawai Blake, you can call me Matawai.’

  Then, much to Matt’s confusion, Matawai leaned in and touched her nose to each side of Aimee’s. She must have seen Matt’s confused look. ‘What’s your friend’s name, Aimee? He looks like he’s about to cry.’

  Aimee laughed.

  ‘Matawai, meet Matthew Cameron. He’s British.’

  ‘Ah right. We’ll forgive you then, eh Andrew?’ Matawai turned to her friend and let out a laugh like Matt had never heard before in his life. Sort of like a subtle foghorn that increased in tone four times. She reached out her hand and shook Matt’s. Then, pulling him in, she said ‘It’s called a Hongi, Matthew, it’s one of the ways we greet friends.’

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ Matt said, doing his best to return his first Hongi.

  The greetings continued between Matt, Aimee and Andrew. Then everyone took a seat at the table.

  ‘Your name is Andrew?’ Matt asked. ‘Were you not given a Maori name?’

  ‘No, no, no, yeah... I got a Maori name alright. It’s Anaru, Maori for Andrew.’

  ‘Oh right. I hadn’t realised that there were Maori equivalents of English names.’

  ‘There’s a lot. Rawiri for David, Tipene for Stephen, Erihapeti for Elizabeth. Plenty of original Maori names to choose from too, but.’

  Matt found this very interesting, but he knew he had to get away from the small talk before it got uncomfortable and move on to the reason they were here. He also didn’t want to waste Matawai and Andrew’s time. He wasn’t sure how to change the subject without looking rude, so he was relieved when Matawai did it for him.

  ‘So I don’t reckon you got us to come in here to talk about Anaru and Maori names. What can we do you for?’

  Matt looked at Aimee, hoping she would start things off. She would surely know how to go about this tactfully. Certainly, she was better equipped to tackle this than he was. She took her cue.

  ‘We want to discuss the history of the region and the local Maori with you. We would like to hear about your oral traditions. What stories have you had passed down from your fathers? Stuff like that.’

  ‘What sort of stuff in particular?’ Andrew asked, leaning forward and looking interested.

  ‘It might be a bit of a touchy subject,’ Aimee said, a nervous twinge to her voice.

  ‘Don’t worry about us girl, we’re big kids, touch away.’ Matawai said, as she glanced over to Andrew.

  Aimee looked at Matt. His turn. He now leaned forward a little closer too, he didn’t really want everyone else in the atrium hearing what he was about to say.

  ‘We want to know if there are any oral traditions of white people living amongst you, or visiting, before the British came.’

  Andrew sat bolt upright, sucking in his breath with shock. The look on his face said it all. Horror. Matawai also sat back, exhaling and looking thoughtful. Matt looked at Aimee, who looked like she was holding back tears. He didn’t even want to know how pale he had turned at their reaction. He felt sick. Five or six seconds passed, then Matt got the shock of his life when Matawai and Andrew glanced at each other and burst out laughing. Two foghorns repeating their merry scales for a good thirty seconds or more. Matawai composed herself first.

  ‘Oh God,’ she said, through lighter laughs and visibly struggling to catch her breath. ‘We love doing that. You white fullas fall for it every time.’

  Andrew was still laughing, but he held up his hand to signal to Matt his agreement. He clearly needed longer to get his breath and seemed to relive the joke every few seconds and started up again and again. Eventually he settled.

  ‘We’ve got no problem talking about these stories, Matthew. There are some born-again Maoris who would rather not know about them, but us older folk haven’t forgotten.’

  ‘Born-again Maoris?’

  ‘Some of the young’uns. They don’t give a toss for Maoridom their whole lives, then they go get a degree and decide that they want to make a difference. They become a born-again Maori and start fighting for our rights. But mostly, they don’t represent us at all, they don’t even know what it is to be a Maori. They just want to be important somehow. A whole lot of noise. Mostly a problem up north, Wellington, Auckland.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’

  ‘So what stories have y
ou got?’ Aimee asked. ‘Anything about earlier visitors?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Matawai answered, turning to Andrew. ‘Your Dad told you the same stories too? About the ones out on the peninsula?’

  ‘He did. They came a long time ago on a big canoe, that’s how the story went. Now we know it was a ship, of course, but we tell it like our ancestors told it. So, a big canoe.’

  ‘What happened?’ Matt asked.

  ‘Don’t know exactly,’ Matawai said. ‘My uncle told me that many years ago, maybe four or more generations before Cook came, a big canoe arrived on the Peninsula. The white men on the canoe were friendly and came to stay with the people here. They were welcomed into the tribe and had families. They lived in a village near a beach and there was a cave above the beach with their special things. After many years, they wanted to take their canoe and look up and down the coasts. They left their wives and children behind and sailed away, promising to come back. They were never seen again.’

  ‘And their wives and children?’

  ‘Lived among the Maori, as Maori. Their wives were Maori anyhow. They didn’t come with woman, only men.’

  ‘That’s amazing,’ Matt said. ‘Do you believe it?’

  Matawai laughed. ‘Of course I believe it. We don’t make up stories like this. This is our people’s history.’

  ‘Why isn’t stuff like this more known? Why don’t you tell the stories to others?’ Aimee asked.

  ‘We have. This was all common knowledge years ago, but people forget. No one is interested. All they have to do is come and ask.’

  Matt sat there bewildered. They had merely met with two Kaumatua and already they had been told of white people living amongst them before Cook. How many others must there be? What would possess a country to not speak with their natives and find out their version of events? It beggared belief.

  ‘So this happened out on the peninsula?’ Matt asked. ‘You mean the Otago Peninsula then?’

  ‘Not many others out here,’ Andrew said, laughing. ‘I reckon if you go out there and ask around, you’ll find out even more. We’re from a little further south of here. It wasn’t our people’s story.’