“Yeah? And?” Raymond is not sure he believes Tony. Maybe he’s winding him up.
“Well, I’m already the chosen farmer to grow these monsters.”
“Who sez?”
“The botany fella – Steve.”
“Okay.” Raymond decides to humour him. “So how does this connect with me?”
“Ah, my boy, that’s where I’m indisposable to you.” Indispensable, translates Raymond in his head. “’Cos who d’ya think they’re gonna fly in to cut down the trees, eh? Bloody Flyworks Choppers, mate! We’ve got it sewn up by the balls! I grow the FrankenKauri and you fly in and take ’em out.”
Raymond starts to get interested. “Are you sure they said you’d get the contract if it worked out?”
“Sure as there’s piss in this brewery.” Tony slurps his beer and lays a hairy, dirty hand on Raymond’s clean, ironed shirt sleeve.
“So when do they reckon this might be happening?” Raymond is keen to know because he wants to expand his helicopter licence and this could be the opportunity he has been waiting for. He’s already flying way over the limit of his licence for a private chopper, but if the big boys of genetic engineering with the big research funds want to inject some money into the ailing Hokianga council for an expanded resource consent, then he’ll be as sweet as rain on a hot tin roof. He grins.
“Dunno. Looks like they are very close to financing it big-time. They just need one further trial.” Tony has made this last bit up – but he does not want to put off Raymond now he has him eating out of his hand.
Raymond looks pensive for a while, weighing his bets. He’s also hoping that Tony will remove his filthy hand from his freshly laundered shirt. There’s no telling where that hand might have been. He recalls the dirty underwear on Tony’s chair and nearly gags.
“So whad’ya reckon, Ray. You in? Plenty of other chopper pilots who’d jump at the chance if you don’t.”
This brings Raymond back to earth with a thud. “Of course I am. I’d already discussed this with the boys earlier. I forgot to tell you. They want us to have the work since we are all in on the deal already. So, here’s to our future, Tony. May it continue to be rosy.” And clean, he thinks, clinking his delicate Heron’s Flight chardonnay against the heavy metal tankard of Tony’s Lion Red.
Maata has fainted into his arms. She’s collapsed, like a puppet once held up by strings. Waka is not sure if she is still alive. It all happened so quickly. One minute he was holding her, the next she was head down in the water. He grabbed her and propped her up, folding her legs onto the surfboard and making sure all of her body was out of sight of the shark as it circled closer and closer.
He now has his own legs tucked under him and is shaking, still holding onto Maata and keeping her board close, as if they are both on a life raft drifting on the open sea. The fin circles the two surfers. Waka has been hoping he might be wrong, that it was a Hector’s dolphin who’d lost its way. He’d hoped against hope this might be so. But he also knows that dolphins seldom circle in this way and it is typical behaviour for a shark, especially one who is hungry or one who might attack through fear or because it is ill. He utters all the karakia he can remember and stays as still as possible. At least Maata passing out like this has ensured that she will stay quiet and immobile. But he is aching to check her pulse, to make sure she is okay. He dare not do this – yet. The shark is too close. The mako slashes its tail, breaking water, and heads toward them. Waka closes his eyes and prepares to die, holding Maata in his arms.
“Yo, Koa. Where did the marae get the bulk corn for the last hangi?”
“From a Northland grower, I think.”
“Was he organic?”
“Dunno. We’ve asked that all kai for the marae be GE-free and organic, but you know what the old fellas are like if they think they’re onto a good cheap deal. They may have got it off a farmer who they trust but who sprays for all I know. We really do have to do more work on this with them.”
“Sure do. Listen to this. It’s from Chris Bone of the GE-free Register.” Irihapeti reads from her screen:
In light of the good response to the last e-mail that i sent to the GE-free registered group i have taken the liberty to alert you all to the following.
This is an important issue for all of us i expect. Do you want to eat corn products that have been sprayed by Roundup Herbicide?
Application A446. An application has been received from Dow Agrosciences Pty Ltd to amend the Food Standards Code (in NZ and Australia) to approve food derived from a corn line 1507 genetically engineered to produce a Bt protein (CRYlF) that confers protection against attack by certain lepidopteran insect pests, and a PAT protein for tolerance to glufosinate-ammonium herbicide (i.e. Roundup Ready and Bt producing)
If you would like to make a submission to ANZFA please go to
http://www.anzfa.gov.au/foodstandards/applicationsandsubmi461.cfm
You will need to write your submission as a document that you can attach. It need only be brief.
Best wishes,
Chris Bone
GE-free Register
PO Box 1803 Whangarei
Phone/Fax 09 4388 649
Website www.gefreeregister.co.nz
“Go into their website and get more info, and I’ll ask Mere if she knows where the corn came from.”
“Ka pae.” Irihapeti dives back into the net and pulls up the screen. She’s lost in detail and hardly notices Koa slipping out the door to go to Mere’s cottage. Koa arrives to find Mere in quite a state. It turns out Maata and Waka have not been seen all afternoon. “He collected her from work and they borrowed Piripi’s van to go surfing at Mitimiti Beach. But nobody’s seen them since and it is getting dark already.” Mere is beside herself.
“I’ll never forget Maata’s fear when Cowrie brought her back from the surf after she’d nearly drowned. She was carried out in the strong Tasman current and was incredibly lucky to make it back safe. It’s lucky that Cowrie was there to save her. But this time she isn’t. Maata and Waka are just tamariki. If she gets caught in a rip like that, even Waka could not save her. I’m afraid for them both. I’d be devastated to lose Maata, and Piripi would never be the same again if he had to let go of Waka. He’s invested so much energy in handing on his ancestral skills and whakapapa to his son. What can we do?”
Koa is not used to Mere, the wahine toa and kuia of their group, asking her for help. She hesitates for a moment. Then swings into action.
“Okay, Mere. Let’s use Irihapeti’s old motorbike. We’ve been to Rawene and back on it – and if you’re game to let me drive you, we could be there in no time. Most likely we’ll see them coming home safely as we head out. There’s only one road we can take – so we cannot miss them.”
Mere hesitates only a few seconds. Then she nods, pulling on her warmest cloak and following Koa out the door. She takes a moment to write a quick note so that Irihapeti and the others will not worry – and for Maata if she arrives home first.
“Maata and Waka gone. We’re off to collect them. Mere and Koa.” That should be enough. No point in worrying others too much.
Koa kickstarts the motor twice before it slurps into gear, and checks they have enough petrol. Mere climbs on behind her and they take off into the darkening dusk. The road is bumpy and the air cool as they make their way towards the coast through the forest and over the road beside mighty dunes. No sign of Waka and Maata, nor the Te Kotuku van. Finally they reach the beach. It is pitch dark by now, the moon hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. The surf thunders in toward them. No van. No tamariki. Just an empty, deserted beach.
Back at the cottage, Irihapeti examines the note left behind by Mere and Koa. It is so strange for Koa to go off like this without telling her. And how would they get out to Mitimiti? Maybe they have the marae van? She treks over to the workshop to see if Piripi is around. Nobody in sight. Then one of the tamariki appears from behind a large waka carving.
“Tena koe, Irihapeti? You wa
nna see our work?” Iri admires the exquisite carving which has taken them months to get this far.
“You seen Waka at all?”
“Na. Not since this morning. Just a tick – he was gonna collect Maata from her work this arvo. Maybe they went into town?”
“No – I think they went out to the beach. But perhaps Ishould check Flyworks first. Maybe they’ll know.”
“Dunno. Good luck.” Hemi goes back to his carving.
Irihapeti returns to the cottage and calls Raymond Dixon. He’s just home from the pub and picks up the phone after two rings. He likes to be known for his punctuality and efficiency. “Flyworks Helicopters. How can we be of service to you?”
Irihapeti explains that Waka was supposed to collect Maata from work and asks if he did so.
“No. I didn’t see any boy from the marae come here.” Raymond munches on a thick beef sandwich. He’s hungry after too many chardonnays while humouring Tony and resents he has had to do this. On the other hand, he is pleased about the prospect of more money and a resource consent in the hand at once. He talks between bites. “Come to think of it, she left here and went to finish work at Tony’s.”
“Tony’s. Where’s that?” Irihapeti wonders if Maata is moonshining at a restaurant by night to earn extra money.
“Tony. You know, the fella with the farm on the hill overlooking the Waipoua Forest. His missus comes from the marae. Mona, I think.”
Irihapeti gulps. “But why would she go there? She doesn’t even know him?”
“Yeah she does. She’d got a job cleaning for him.” He does not add that he organised it, hearing the tone of the woman’s voice. She does not sound too pleased at all.
“Shit. Since when?” Iri is furious.
“Why the hassle? He’s an okay fella.” Raymond bites into the last of his beef sandwich and crunches on a bit of gristle that Barbara forgot to remove. “Damned woman.”
“What damned woman? Don’t you know about Tony? Moana left him because he beat up on her and thekids.”
Raymond winces. This is not what he needs to hear. Not when he is about to go seriously into business with this man.
“Na. Ya got the wrong fella there. He’s as clean as a whistle, that Tony. No worries. You got his number?”
“No. Can you please give it to me?” Irihapeti is by now deeply concerned and knows she must get to the farm as quickly as possible. She takes down the cellphone number and calls immediately. No reply. She tries again. A blurred voice answers in the distance with much disturbance around. Sounds like a pub.
“Kia ora. I mean hullo. Is that Tony?”
“Yep. Who’s calling? You wanna make an offer for some FrankenKauri?” He laughs.
Irihapeti recoils. She has no idea what he is on about but she is sure he is drunk. “Where are you, Tony?”
“At the Rawene pub, of course. Where should I be?”
This is getting nowhere fast, thinks Iri. “Is Maata there with you?”
“Who? Mother? Me mother carked it years ago.”
“No. Maata, Martha – from Te Kotuku marae.”
“Oh, the brown girl? No. She finished her cleaning and got picked up by some brown fella, Walter or something.”
“What time was this?”
“About six o’clock. Said she was heading out for the beach.”
“Thanks, Tony.” Irihapeti hangs up the phone and strides to the shed to find her motorbike. It will not take her too long to get to Mitimiti. She needs to make sure they are okay.
Cowrie skims the waves, elated. It has been some time since she has bodysurfed like this. Not since Maata nearly drowned in the rip. That put her off for a while, and then she’d been so long overseas in Orkney. Far too cold to swim there, though she did have a skinny dip one time – much to the shock of the local Orcadians at Waulkmill Bay – when she was out collecting spoots for their dinner one night. Kuini watches her from the top of the hill looking out over the beach. She adores the way Cowrie is so graceful in the sea, like a turtle finning her way through the waves. It’s as if she was born to be in the water rather than on the earth, yet she relates to both with the same passion she brings to all she does. Kuini loves her for this.
Cowrie is some way from the other surfers, nearer to the rock cave they explored at low tide the day before. Kuini looks on as Cowrie sizes up a strong wave and surfs in toward the cave. Surely she is not going to try to surf through it and out the other side? It is far too dangerous. Cowrie heads at breakneck speed toward the hole in the rock and disappears into it. Kuini holds her breath waiting for her to appear out the other side. Just as she fins her way into the cave, a school of kahawai break water on the surface and scoot past her, as if on a rescue mission at great speed. Cowrie has still not appeared out the other side of the cave. Kuini runs down to the beach to try to scale the rocks and get to her. But she knows she could never reach her in time. She’s used to her friend taking such risks but cannot understand her judgement this time. The wave was far too strong, the current too fast, the cave too narrow. It has a twist in the middle, and if Cowrie did not swivel around in time to get out the other side, she’d be smashed against the wall. What could Cowrie have been doing? Kuini grits her teeth in fear as she runs toward the rock face, then she pushes down her feelings and concentrates on action.
Koa and Mere scan the dunes, calling out for Maata and Waka. They wait while the wind whistles back at them, but hear no human voices, see no sign of their van or surfboards.
“At least this is a good sign, Mere. If we’d found the van and trace of the tamariki, I’d be a lot more upset.”
Mere is very quiet, as if listening to the sea. The birds are settling down for the night and having their last korero. She strains her ears, as if they might provide some clue for the disappearance of the kids. But she can only hear the wailing of the wind, the thundering of the surf, and the cries of the aki aki as they glide over the waves, every now and then swooping down for their prey.
“Maybe they didn’t even come out here? You know what kids are like. Perhaps they changed their minds and went on into town or to visit some mates? We might be barking up the wrong tree altogether.” Koa hopes to appease Mere’s worries, but deep in her own mind she is not sure either.
“We must explore the entire area while we are here, comb the beach for any sign of them so we can get help from the Manawa Toa crew if we need to go out to sea.” Mere is clearly expecting the worst and preparing for this possibility.
Koa winds an arm around her kuia and hugs her closely. She can feel the determination of the older woman and realises she will not rest until she has searched the beach and dunes. “Okay. Let’s try. You walk the beach and I’ll cover the dunes, then we’ll meet near Tipo’s cottage. We can ask him for help if we have no traces to go on by then. Are you all right with that?”
“Ka pae.” Mere wraps her coat and shawl tightly and sets off down the beach.
Koa watches her, wondering how far they will go as the beach stretches out for miles. She’s sure Tipo and his kids will have seen Waka and Maata because not much passes them by and they are the only ones living near here now. At least they can call back to the marae by then and see if the tamariki have turned up, since Tipo has a cellphone at Manaia Hostel.
Koa sets out over the dunes, keeping Mere in sight at all times. The last thing they need is a triple tragedy – if that is how the night is to pan out. Deep in her heart she hopes that the kids never came to the beach, that they opted to hang out with their mates in Rawene, but a small doubt still nags at her, eating slowly as a caterpillar edges its way around the outside of a lettuce leaf.
As she walks along the beach, looking for any signs of life or clothing, Mere recites her prayers, and the wind catches her karakia and spreads them over the sands like the winnowing of new seeds. She recalls giving some fernleaf, gum and speargrass taonga to Maata as a small child and her delight when Mere would repeat the words of offering:
Taku heo piripiri
Taku hei mokimoki
Taku hei tawhiri
Taku kati taramea
My pendant of scented fern
My pendant of sweet scented fern
My pendant of scented gum
My sachet of sweet scented speargrass.
Maata learned the words by heart and would make small offerings of silver fern, kauri gum and toetoe and bind them together with flax. She’d pour over sweet-smelling fragrances from native plants and then make offerings to all who came to visit, chanting this verse like a karakia. She always loved to please others and basked in their delight afterwards. Such an affectionate child to come from such early childhood trauma. She could not possibly be rescued from this fate and then placed into the hands of danger, not again. One close call with death by sea is enough. Mere is not sure Maata could survive another. She repeats the verse, over and over, as if it might call up this child, now growing into a woman, as if it might bring her back from the brink of death as the turtle saved her from drowning in the waves.
The wind is picking up as Koa battles her way across the dunes in the decreasing light. They have not brought torches with them, so Koa cuts some beach toetoe and lights it to guide her way. Then the moon comes out from behind the clouds and provides just enough light to ease their painful tracking over these sands. Koa remembers all the wonderful times she, Iri, Cowrie and Kuini have had on this beach, gathering mussels, tuatua and toheroa before collecting was banned, and roasting them over a fire made from the ample driftwood that the sea offers up every day for their use. One time, Maata came with them and it was stormy like today. She was delighted to find fresh scallops thrown up by the pounding waves and gathered them in her kete and had them sizzling over a driftwood fire by the time the others returned with their kai moana from the rocks and sea-bed.
That day, Cowrie and Maata told the story of Maata’s rescue from the waves, and in the firelight Koa had seen the deep closeness between them and the intimacy they shared through this experience. This was intensified by their life together with Mere, who’d adopted both of them and looked after them. Mere’s guardianship of Cowrie trained her well to look after Maata. Koa realises how distressed Cowrie will be, having saved Maata once, to discover she has been lost to the sea again. She refuses to give in to such thoughts at this stage and focuses on searching for clues in the dunes. But it is like looking for a piece of kauri gum in the Sahara.
Ao Toa Page 15