He falls silent. Glynn and I keep quiet, staring at the sand between our feet. I feel embarrassed but sort of excited at the same time. I can see that Daniel is sweating, as if he’s been running hard. Then he speaks again. ‘The Pakeha had no right to take the land and call it their own. My grandmother tells everyone that the gods cursed the whaling station and made sure the white men did badly. Accidents, diseases, deaths.’
Glynn mutters something under his breath which sounds like, ‘Too bloody right,’ but Daniel doesn’t hear him. He’s speaking in a curiously flat tone as if he’s reciting a lesson. I can detect strange echoes of his grandmother’s voice. ‘After the white men had killed all the whales, they crept away like murderers and thieves. The land lay empty. My people waited for the white man’s government to return it to its proper owners but they never did. Many years passed. When the Waitangi Tribunal was set up, my tupuna thought the time had come for justice to be done. But no, the years went by and still nothing happened.’
He turns his head and stares along the beach, and his face softens. ‘Mere wants to claim the land of the Ngati Whetu people. She says she’ll die soon and she wants to die on her own land. With her family around her.’ He looks at us with a half amused, half defiant expression. ‘That’s why we’re here. Sorry about the lecture. But you did ask.’
Faint strains of pop music float from a radio at the camp. A seagull shrieks abruptly over our heads, making me jump. I don’t know what to say. Finally Glynn speaks. ‘Yeah, okay. Fair enough. But what about our farm? D’you claim that too?’
Daniel shakes his head. ‘No way. Mere’s not a fool. It’s useless claiming land that’s belonged to people for years. That’s why we’re camping on land that belongs to no-one. Empty land.’
‘The land belongs to the Government,’ Glynn points out. ‘And the foreshore belongs to everyone.’
Daniel glowers. For an instant he looks like Mere. ‘We don’t recognise your Government. As far as we’re concerned the land belongs to nobody but us.’
Glynn laughs. ‘Oh, come on! D’you really believe all that radical crap? Sounds like you’ve been brainwashed.’
I can sense Daniel’s body going rigid. But before he can answer there’s the thud of heavy footsteps on the sand behind us. We look round and my heart leaps into my throat when I see Lenny. His head is pulled right down into his neck like a bulldog’s and his face is screwed into a ferocious scowl. Ripper strains at the leash held in Lenny’s hand. I can hear him growling. The three of us scramble to our feet.
‘I’m gonna give those black buggers a piece of my mind,’ Lenny growls, jerking a thumb towards the other end of the beach. He doesn’t seem to notice Daniel. ‘Someone with guts needs to sort ’em out, seeing your father’s too bloody soft to do it. Wanna give me a hand?’
‘Oh, Christ!’ Glynn groans. ‘Look, Lenny, take it easy. Dad told you to stay away. He’ll go off his tree when he hears about this.’
‘Your soft-headed father can’t tell me what to do when I’m off his land,’ Lenny snaps. ‘I’m gonna sort out those bastards once and for all. Just keep out of my way then, you and the girl, if you’re too chicken to face up to ’em.’
He turns and stamps along the beach towards the camp. Ripper trots along beside him, occasionally glancing back at us with a glittering eye. Glynn, Daniel and I form a kind of rearguard. ‘Is this the farm worker you told me about? The one who drinks?’ Daniel mutters to me.
‘Uh huh.’
‘Any ideas?’ Daniel says to Glynn. ‘You know him. Can you stop him?’
Glynn shakes his head, his face bright red under the fringe of hair. ‘I don’t think so. He won’t listen to anyone but Dad. Sometimes even Dad has trouble getting through to him.’
‘Look, don’t you two get involved,’ Daniel warns. ‘This could turn nasty. Maybe you should get in your kayaks and go now.’
Glynn shook his head. ‘No. I’ll stay and see what he does. Bel, why don’t you take off?’
‘I’m staying.’
Daniel shrugs. ‘Okay. But don’t get involved. Promise?’
‘Yeah.’
Lenny and Ripper come to a halt about five metres from the camp. The protesters have seen them coming, and gather themselves into a group. Someone turns off the radio. A handful of children watch from under the tent flap with round eyes and open mouths. Mere Ihaka stands like a warrior queen in front of the tent, her eyes fixed on Lenny.
I can’t believe this is happening. The sun beams down from a blue sky, the waves chuckle on the sand a few metres behind us, and a beautiful white yacht with a blue and white spinnaker is sailing gracefully up the channel. But right in front of me people’s faces are dark with anger and hatred, and violence is so thick in the air I can almost taste it.
‘Hey, you! Skinny black bitch! You’re trespassing!’ Lenny bellows at Mere. ‘Pack up your bloody banner and get the hell out of it!’
Mere doesn’t reply. She just stares at him.
‘And good afternoon to you too, you ugly sonofabitch,’ comes a deep voice from the crowd. ‘You’ve got it arse about face. You’re the bastard who’s trespassing. Pick up your mangy dog and get off our land.’
Lenny’s eyes bulge out of his puffy face. ‘Your land! Your land — like shit! Why should you be given land when other people work all their lives and get sweet friggin’ nothing? What makes you so bloody special?’
The biggest protester steps forward from the group. His muscles bulge under his singlet and his arms are crawling with black tattoos. His hair is pulled up in a topknot and one cheek is tattooed with a complicated spiral design. He moves lightly on his feet, almost dancing. ‘You want to find out why we’re so special, eh?’ he says in a voice soft with menace. ‘You really want me to show you, little white man?’
Ripper growls, a long, low sound that splits the air. ‘Yeah. You show me. You and who else?’ Lenny snarls, clenching his fists. There’s a dead silence. One of the children in the tent begins to cry. The high-pitched wail makes my hair stand on end. For an endless minute the two men eyeball each other, every muscle in their bodies taut and quivering.
I look up at Mere. She’s standing absolutely motionless, but her eyes are now fixed on Daniel, who’s still standing next to me. I wait for her to speak to him. But Daniel glances up at her and nods slightly. A message has passed between them, a message without words.
‘Yo! Hemi!’ Daniel calls, stepping forward. The giant turns his fierce gaze away from Lenny to look at Daniel. ‘Leave it, bro,’ Daniel says. ‘He’s not worth it. You might as well squash a slug under your boot. That’s all he is, a crawling slimy worm. Not worth the trouble. Forget him. Let him crawl back to the stinking hole he came out of.’
There’s another endless moment of silence. Everyone seems to be holding their breath. Even the child in the tent stops crying. Hemi looks back at Lenny, staring into his eyes for a long, long minute. Ripper growls again, pulling hard against the leash.
Suddenly Hemi roars with laughter, slaps his thigh, and thrusts his clenched fist into the sky. ‘Nah. You’re right, Dan the man. He’s scum. Full of shit.’ He shakes his fist at Lenny, then opens his fingers and makes an obscene gesture. ‘Go and play games with your dog, pudding-face. You’re polluting our land with your slime.’
He laughs again, turns his back on Lenny and walks into the group of men. They guffaw and belt him on the back and make rude signs at Lenny. Then they all turn round and saunter away. Someone turns on the radio very loudly and someone else begins offering round barbecued sausages, chuckling and acting the fool. The children run out of the tent, giggling and laughing. Two little boys snatch sausages and stuff them in their mouths, taunting Lenny with cheeky gestures.
Lenny and Ripper are left standing alone in the middle of the beach. Lenny swells with rage. ‘Wankers!’ he yells. ‘Bloody friggin’ wankers!’ Then he turns and marches back along the beach, dragging a snarling Ripper behind him. He’s cursing furiously under his breath when he pa
sses Glynn and me. I hear him mutter something about coming back and fixing the effing bastards for good.
‘Christ,’ Glynn says, when Lenny’s out of earshot. ‘That could have been nasty. Dad’ll be stinking mad when he hears.’
Daniel comes over to us. ‘He’s a pretty foul piece of work.’
Glynn snorts. ‘Thick as a brick, more like. Look, I’ll make sure Dad lays down the law. He can be tough when he wants to be. I reckon you won’t see Lenny again.’ He turns to me. ‘Bel, we’d better get back. Tracey will be telling everyone we’ve drowned.’
‘Okay. You go on. I’ll be there in a sec.’
Daniel steps close and takes my elbow. I look into his face. I think of the strange exchange between him and his grandmother and my neck prickles. I wish I hadn’t seen it. ‘Bel, I’m sorry about the hassle,’ he says quietly. ‘Will you come back soon? I’d like to talk to you. Alone.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I will. As soon as I can.’ I look deep into his eyes. ‘Daniel, when I’m sitting on the rocks over there … you know, meditating … can you just leave me to it? It’s important for me to be on my own.’
He nods. ‘Okay. I know what it’s like, needing to be on your own. I won’t disturb you.’
I nod. ‘See you.’
Glynn is waiting for me a couple of metres away. ‘You okay?’ he says awkwardly. ‘That was pretty rough.’
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ We walk the rest of the way along the beach in silence, but while we’re pulling on the life vests I say, ‘Glynn?’
‘What?’
‘If you don’t go to university, what do you want to do?’
He pushes his hair back and looks me full in the face. I’d never noticed before how blue his eyes are. ‘I love this place. I want to stay here. Work with Dad on the farm so we won’t have to employ morons like Lenny. I reckon we could even afford to get a bigger boat and do some commercial fishing.’
‘Sustainable fishing, of course?’ I grin at him.
He grins sheepishly in reply. ‘You bet.’
‘Then go for it.’ I punch him lightly on the arm. ‘It’s your life. Do what you want, not what anyone else wants.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ He pushes my kayak into the water. ‘I don’t like upsetting them, though. My parents, I mean.’
‘Tough. Parents always think they know everything. You’ve just got to ignore them.’ Yeah, look who’s talking. Like I’m the expert on handling parents.
He nods. ‘I know. Here, you get in while I hold it steady.’
As I settle myself in the warm plastic seat he says, ‘Thanks, cuz.’
‘No problem, cuz,’ I say and pick up my paddle.
Christmas Day is hot and sunny and just as awful as I thought it would be. It begins with present-opening straight after breakfast. Tracey doesn’t give me the china shepherdess she’d bought in the shop in Picton. She gives that to her mother, and presents me with a pair of metal earrings that look like twists of barbed wire. I love them, and tell her so.
I get a cute little book of haiku poems from Glynn and a big yellow beach towel from Lorna and Steve. Mum’s parcel to me contains a purple velvet evening bag embroidered in gold and silver. Tracey looks at it enviously. Dad’s present is a $50 book voucher inside a Christmas card.
By the middle of the afternoon the Christmas party is well under way and I simply can’t stand it any longer. There are groups of people everywhere, some lying half-asleep in the shade of the verandah, some sunbathing and drinking beer on the grass, some playing a game of softball with much shouting and laughing. I don’t want to be involved in any of it. I want to go to Lizzie. I can feel her, calling me from over the hill. Eventually I find Glynn, who’s fielding in a corner of the garden, and whisper in his ear that I have to get away.
‘Where to?’ he asks, rather wistfully.
‘Dawson’s Beach.’ I try to sound as mournful as possible. ‘I’ve had enough Christmas spirit to last a year.’
‘You going to take a kayak?’
‘Yeah. If that’s okay. It’s too hot to walk.’
He nods. ‘Make sure you wear a life vest. And keep close to the shore like we did last time. If you’re not back in a couple of hours I’ll come and find you.’
‘Yes, Sir, Captain.’ I salute.
I slip away from the crowd, throw on my togs and a T-shirt, grab my new towel, and run down to the jetty. No-one notices my escape. My muscles begin to loosen up as the kayak glides silently across the water. The lap of water on the hull and the birdsong in the bush are sheer bliss to my ears after all those ghastly Christmas carols.
When I get to Dawson’s Beach the protesters’ camp is very quiet. The runabout has gone and I can see only four people lying outside the tent under a sun umbrella, drinking bottles of beer. Daniel and Mere aren’t there. That suits me fine. Lizzie’s call is so strong that I can’t even think about Daniel right now.
I climb over the rocks, already feeling a bit spaced out and ghostlike. I settle myself into the familiar warm curve of the stone chair. Lizzie must have been waiting right there for me because it only takes a few seconds for the sea to grow its metallic skin and the fingers of mist to reach out towards me. I don’t even need to look for her. I feel her come up behind me and the voice in my head says, ‘I am weary … so little time …’
CHAPTER 11
I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out the old prayer book hidden there. Sitting on the stone chair, for all that I was chilled to the bone by the winter wind blowing up the channel, I was happy. Truly happy. For I could hold the little book close to my heart without spying eyes watching me. Matthew had given it to me, saying it was his most precious possession. Now it was mine. Not that I could read it, mind, but I could stroke its cracked leather and turn its smudged pages, knowing he had done the same a hundred times over.
Close to two months had gone by, two months when I’d felt more alive than ever in my life before. Matthew and I had become lovers and I could think of naught but him and our few stolen hours together. I could hardly eat or sleep. Jack kept on asking if I was ailing. I spent hours wandering round the station, pretending to be doing some errand or other, in the hope my lover and I would meet and chat very politely to each other. And if we were lucky we’d manage a hidden touch of hands.
I’ll never forget the moment in Marama’s hut when he’d stood in front of me, bent his head, and kissed me gently on the lips. That kiss had soon grown so passionate that we’d pulled away and looked at each other with something near to fear. ‘Dear Lord, what have I done?’ he muttered. ‘Forgive me, Lizzie. That should not have happened.’
‘’Twas meant to happen,’ I told him. ‘I’ve been praying for you to do that since the day we first met.’
Matthew’s face was a mixture of bewilderment and joy. ‘Oh, Lizzie. I love you. I’ve loved you since your wedding day. You’re all I can think about, every hour of every day.’
‘I love you too,’ I told him, trying to put my whole heart into my voice.
He smiled, then his eyes darkened. ‘But it’s a sin. To love another man’s wife is a sin. How can I find such joy in wrong-doing? God forgive me.’
‘Hush,’ I whispered and kissed him again to stop his words. ‘Love is not a sin. I never thought to hear you say such a thing.’
‘Oh, Lizzie,’ he groaned, reaching out for me again. We lost ourselves in feverish kisses and he spoke no more of sinning. Though sometimes in the days afterwards I noticed a fleeting hint of worry in his eyes. As if he was waiting to be punished for something.
Some weeks later, weeks when Matthew and I nearly died from wanting each other, Jack Dawson took a party into the bush to hunt hogs. Matthew spent two whole nights with me, nights that made us long for more. Towards dawn on our last night we lay entwined in bed and spoke of the future. The embers of the dying fire cast a soft red glow over us, and the distant surge of the waves on the sand was like a whispered lullaby.
‘I’ll come away with you,’ I said. �
��We will go from here, pretend to be man and wife. We’ll travel the country and you can bring God to your people.’
‘Would you do that for me?’ he asked wonderingly. ‘The life of a wandering preacher is not easy. You need fortitude and patience, and faith more than anything.’
‘You have enough faith for both of us,’ I told him. ‘And as for the rest, I reckon I can summon up what’s needed. As long as I’m with you, that is.’
He kissed me lingeringly. ‘Always,’ he said. ‘But your husband scarcely lets you out of his sight. How can we get away?’
‘He’ll be trading up the coast in the Marianne in the summer months,’ I pointed out. ‘We just need to wait till then.’
‘Aye, maybe. But we’ll need help,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘We’d have to go in a boat or a canoe. Who would be of a mind to help us?’
I couldn’t answer him. Were my friends strong-hearted enough to face the fury of Jack Dawson? Marama would help me for sure, but could she keep a secret from George? I doubted it. ‘We’ll find a way,’ I whispered fiercely. ‘We must. Then we can be together forever.’
Matthew sighed. ‘Forever, Lizzie? ’Tis a long time.’
‘I promise it,’ I said. I wrapped my fingers over the greenstone pendant shaped like a fish-hook that he always wore on a flax cord round his neck. ‘On this stone I will swear it. We will be together forever.’
Matthew moved uneasily. ‘Hush. Don’t tempt fate, Lizzie. ’Tis foolish to promise the impossible.’ He turned his head away and coughed, the little dry cough that I knew came from his bad chest. It was a real worry to me, that cough.
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