Manawa Toa

by Dunsford, Cathie

  “Not if we divert their attention. Hit it, Matt,” yells Piripi. “Heads down you two.”

  They speed in the direction of Manawa Toa, hoping they’ll make it before the inflatables from the navy vessel intercept. Cowrie glances up. The chopper is whirring dangerously close, almost on top of them, whipping up the water and slowing their pace. Out of its belly, a huge oval egg emerges with a tail dangling down. They drop it into the ocean. It’s a zodiac with frogmen strapped aboard, the tail its motor. It whirrs into action, as Matt spins them in the opposite direction. Sahara bounces over the side, one arm and leg grasping the zodiac. Cowrie hauls her back in, clipping her belt onto the ropes. Shots fire over their heads.

  “Christ. Didn’t think they’d shoot at us.”

  “Stay down you two. They’re only trying to scare us. They’re shooting above our heads. Just hold on and pray,” Piripi yells, struggling to be heard above the whirring copter and the roar of the engine. By now the French zodiac is parallel. The copter swoops low in a threatening gesture and more shots are fired. Through a megaphone, a voice warns them that they are in French waters and must stop or face the consequences.

  Fury takes over fear in Sahara as she lies on the bottom of the craft and aims her video up at the copter. She captures it swooping down again and more shots firing, then focuses her lens on the zodiac ramming them. By now the adrenalin is racing through their bodies. The zodiac rams again, and a frogman tries to board their inflatable. Matt spins around and loses him in the water. The frogmen have to turn to pick up their man. The Manawa Toa zodiac spins past the Frenchmen, spraying them with water. Sahara laughs, capturing it on film. The copter swoops down and lowers a second inflatable. Matt drenches it with waves as they skim close and whisk away a few seconds before impact.

  The cat-and-mouse games continue for about twenty minutes, then the copter zooms down and flings out a huge net, capturing both boats in its grip. All hell breaks loose. The net clogs the motors and there is yelling and cursing. From the whirring monster in the sky, they must look like ants trying to crawl out of a saucer of poison.

  Cowrie slips her fish knife from the sheath strapped to her ankles and begins cutting herself out of the mesh. The others follow her actions. Sahara pokes her lens through the large holes in the net and keeps filming. After cutting herself free, Cowrie begins slashing the net over Sahara. “Stop filming, Sah! I don’t want my mug all over news screens wielding a knife at close range. Not a good image for peaceful protest!” She lashes at the net around Sahara’s arms, then works her way down to her legs. By now Piripi and Matt are free, but the boat is still caught in the web. They begin cutting it from the craft, being careful not to puncture the rubber.

  Nearby, the frogmen struggle to cut themselves free. Their zodiac is twice as large, with twice as many crew. Matt cannot start the motor, so dives over the back to slice the ropes. They French are yelling and cursing. Suddenly the copter swoops low and gives orders in French. The second zodiac, which had come to the rescue of the first, leaves them and scoots out toward the atoll. “Looks like they’ve found out we’re not alone,” whispers Cowrie. Matt flings himself back into the craft and tells them to belt themselves in. He pulls the motor. It is dead. Again and again. Water pours from his face. Suddenly, it zooms into life. He throttles back and yells at Cowrie and Sahara to hold the rest of the netting above them as they pick their way clear.

  By now the frogmen have nearly cut themselves free. They use the netting to pull closer to the Manawa Toa crew. Cowrie sees them edging alongside, about five metres away, then three, then one. Another few seconds and the French will be on board. Cowrie flicks her knife from its sheath, kisses it farewell, and aims directly for the rubber hull at the front of the French zodiac to avoid hurting anyone. The knife soars through the air and hits the target perfectly. A hissing is heard and the front compartment of the French zodiac deflates, lowering the stunned frogmen into the water, while their companions rush aft. There is chaos and cursing. Piripi grins. “Perfect shot. Kia ora, Cowrie.” A few more minutes of manoeuvring through the water and they are clear. Matt crunches the zodiac into gear and they shoot into the night, heading toward Manawa Toa, hotly pursued by the second copter.

  E kore e kitea te tui i nga toke i te pouri.

  We cannot see how to thread worms in the dark.

  Kuini and Marie-Louise hang over the rail of Manawa Toa, peering into the distance.

  “Can’t see a bloody thing. It’s misty out there. Especially after the eclipse. I hope they’re ok.”

  “They’ll be safe, Queenie,” she assures. “The French wouldn’t dare harm them with all this media attention around.”

  “Yeah, but where’s the media now? I mean, who knows what they’re doing?”

  “Vrai. All we can do is trust the crews will be safe.”

  “After the Rainbow Warrior bombing, I doubt that Aotearoans will ever trust them again. It was the last straw. You know, like that moment when a wife finally sees the light and leaves the fella who’s been bashing her up for years?”

  “Oui, but you trusted me enough to let me aboard.”

  “You’re different. You’ve worked in protest against French nuking of our islands.”

  “Most of my family and friends back in France also support the end of testing. It’s more complex than …” Marie-Louise freezes mid-sentence as shots ring out in the distance. She looks at Kuini nervously. “Mon Dieu! I hope I do not have to eat my words.” She peers into the water, as if it might hold the secret to her silent question.

  Kuini rushes down to the radio room. “Iri, notify the Tui and Rainbow Warrior that we’ve heard shots. Try to find out what’s happened.”

  Irihapeti hesitates a moment. “Does that mean I have to tell the Tui our boats are out there?”

  “If necessary, yes. Play it by ear.”

  Irihapeti cannot reach the Rainbow Warrior because the lines are busy. But Tui comes in clearly. She reports gunshots, asks if they have heard them. Tui replies that they have, but they seem to be in the far distance, well away from the flotilla. Iri takes a deep breath.

  “Inflatables from the Rainbow Warrior and Manawa Toa are heading for the atoll. Greenpeace hopes to make it to Moruroa and our crew are attempting to divert the French.”

  “Shit, now you’ve put us in one helluva position. Officially we are supposed to cut all contact if any of the flotilla enter the test zone. But we’ll see what we can find out. Notify us if they return. I’ll call if we get news. Over and out.”

  The silence is sudden. They could find themselves completely isolated. It dawns on them they are alone out here. Once you’ve gone over the line, it’s too late to go back.

  “Let me know if you hear anything. I’m shooting up to the deck.” Kuini grabs a cell phone and climbs the narrow stairs into the night air. She tries to make contact with the cell phone attached to Sahara’s waist. Nothing. Not even static. Could be out of range.

  The next twenty minutes are agonising. They can hear a copter whirring but cannot locate it. The French navy is too far away to see if there’s any action aboard. Suddenly a buzz on the cell phone. Kuini nearly jumps out of her skin. She grabs the receiver and yells.

  “Sahara?”

  “No, it’s Iri. Just reporting that the Rainbow Warrior have radioed through. They think at least one of their boats has reached the atoll, and French zodiacs are pursuing the other boats.”

  “Any mention of specific crew?”

  “Na. That’s it, Kuini. Hang in there. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Kia ora.”

  Kuini tries calling Sahara again. This time there is static, yelling, shots. The French are close enough to be heard. The phone is switched on, but Sahara is not answering. Maybe she’s left it going so they can hear the action? Maybe she’s hurt? Maybe the others are dead? Maybe they’re in the French boat? No, then the phone would have been taken. A hundred scenarios flash through her head. Other crew on Manawa Toa gather round, all think
ing the worst once they hear the shots and French voices yelling. No sound from the captives at all. Then the cell phone cuts dead. Utter silence but for the waves lapping their prow.

  “Can we risk taking the waka to check on them?” asks Kuini.

  “We shouldn’t. We promised we’d bring her home safely,” Eruera replies, “but this is different. There’s no back-up for our crew out there. I say we vote on it. Who’s willing to come?” One by one, all the paddlers raise their hands. But there’s one place spare, the Tainui fella who came down with food poisoning last night. Eruera turns around. “We need a Tainui paddler to replace Wiremu. You up to it, Kuini?”

  Kuini looks at the men, gauging whether they’ll protest. They remain silent. “I’d be honoured,” she replies, and the crew immediately swings into action. Once the waka is lowered to the water, they test the cell phone Kuini carries. It’s relaying back to the boat. But no sound from the zodiac. Eruera leads the haka that will fill them with fighting spirit, protect them while they lash out into the darkness in search of their mates. As they disappear into the night, the ancient “ka mate, ka mate” chant echoes eerily in the wind.

  Ehara i te aitanga a Tiki!

  Well done, descendant of Tiki!

  Kuini suggests they follow the sound of the copter since that’s most likely to be where the action is. They strike out chanting haka in their heads, not wanting to attract attention once they cross into the test zone. A light squall chops up the sea around them and they concentrate on their mission, well aware that it’s risky in a racing waka not intended for the open oceans. The sky is still dark but they only have a couple of hours to find their crew before dawn breaks. Images of them shot, floating around in the dark, or in French custody crowd Kuini’s mind. She’s not sure which would be worse. Her arm muscles are bursting. It’s some time since she’s paddled this hard.

  The copter motor whirrs closer. A light beams down, picking out flotsam on the water. Then it is gone again. They are joined by dolphins diving through the water splashing their prow. Silent companions for the journey. Kuini smiles to herself, casting aside all the dangerous scenarios. She focuses on the movement of the dolphins as they dance through the spray. Her arms rise as their bodies rise, fall as they fall. The paddlers are in unison with each other, with the dolphins. Suddenly the mammals alter direction, heading portside. Kuini touches Pita’s shoulder, motions toward them. He notices and gives directions to change tack, follow the dolphins. They are now moving away from the copter noise. Within minutes, a cry from the water, as one of the dolphins changes direction and the others follow, the waka with them.

  By now Kuini is beginning to worry that these mammals, so playful, are engaging them in a game of fun. Then, a noise to starboard, like paddles. They slow down, wondering if it’s the French ready to trap them. It stops. The dolphins nose at the bow, urging them to continue. It can’t be the zodiac. No engine noise. So what is it? Maybe an orca spouting? They approach tentatively, making out what appears to be the large black shape of a floating whale, as if sleeping on the surface. As it nears, a voice whispers “kia ora”. Kuini shines her torch in the direction of the voice, picking out a small zodiac with four weary paddlers aboard, its motor cut and netting stuck to the sides. Relieved, they glide alongside.

  “Kia ora, sis. Give us a lift, eh?” whispers Cowrie, grinning.

  “You look buggered. You ok?”

  “Yeah, but our motor cut out about an hour ago. These things are wicked to row, mate!” The waka paddlers chuckle and help the crew aboard. Once settled between the feet of paddlers, Kuini radios back to Manawa Toa. Iri tells them they are not safe yet. That the Rainbow Warrior has radioed. The French have boarded her and are threatening to confiscate the boat as well as any zodiacs caught. It’s illegal, but the French play by their own rules.

  Kuini communicates this to the waka crew. Piripi takes command. “We’ll have to destroy the zodiac and pray we all make it back to Manawa Toa before they catch us. Cowrie, let’s go swimming.” He hands her his spare knife. They zip up their wetsuits and dive into the water, swimming to the zodiac tied at the rear. Blades glint in the moonlight as they slash at the sides, tearing giant rips into her belly. The air is tense. They spent weeks fund-raising for it. But their action may save them from capture. They must do it.

  Pita breaks the tense silence. “Ever thought of applying to be French agents?” he whispers as they rip holes in the sides of the boat. He mocks a French accent: “Alain et Dominique battle zee waves for supremacy, making zee ’oles that will decide zee destiny of zeir countwee, zeir fweedom, zeir fyuture. Liberté, égalité, fraternité!” The paddlers chuckle at the bizarre commentary in the midst of such danger. The humour breathes new life into them, urges them on. Cowrie dives under the boat, poking her knife up through its belly, then surfaces at the bow. Finally, the zodiac begins to sink, weighed down by the motor. Piripi and Cowrie are hauled into the waka, and the crew strike out for Manawa Toa.

  Half an hour after they are safely aboard, a copter swoops from the sky and lowers a zodiac to the sea. A French navy contingent approaches the boat and warns them that it is suspected that they have a zodiac in French waters, and if so, all their boats will be confiscated. Marie-Louise replies to them in French, assures them that no zodiac is aboard and all crew are accounted for. An officer boards the boat and asks where their zodiac is.

  “Down there, in the water,” Piripi answers, emerging dry onto the deck, pointing over the rail.

  “But where? I don’t see it,” replies the officer.

  “The canoe, monsieur. The waka. That’s our zodiac.”

  The officer looks at him in disbelief. “But where is zee motor?”

  “No motor, mate,” replies Mattiu. “Just these.” He ripples his arm muscles in the face of the officer who blanches and steps back.

  “You are mad. Foux. Ve vill find zee zodiac, never fear.” After a thorough search of the boat, no trace of the inflatable is found. The officer repeats they will find “zee zodiac”, then disappears down the rope ladder to his waiting boat.

  “Poor bugger,” Piripi announces to those around. “I think he was the one whose face ended up in our sick bucket. I guess he won’t forget us in a hurry.” Laughter all around as the crew slip down to the galley for a round of celebration with feijoa champagne they’d saved for such an occasion. “A toast to all the crew!” Sahara slips her video tape into the VCR so they can enjoy the action shots. News comes in that some of the Rainbow crew have made it to the atoll and buried themselves in the sand. Another round of feijoa bubbly. They party until dawn, then slink off to their beds for the best sleep in weeks.

  Ko Maui tinihanga koe.

  Like Maui, you are a deceiver.

  It is noon before they wake. The sun is directly behind the mast halyards, casting a shadow like a net over Sahara’s face.

  “Heh, Sah, you awake?”

  “Only just.” Sahara opens her eyes, then shuts them instantly. “What time is it, Turtle?”

  “After noon. We missed brekkie, but buggered if I’ll miss lunch.”

  “Watch out or you’ll end up cooking it.” Sahara raises herself on one arm and rubs her eyes.

  “You ok, Sah? You look beat.”

  “I’m all right. Just tired. Had a few nightmares. Being pursued by French-speaking toads. Can’t believe we actually survived yesterday.”

  “Me too. When that bloody net came down on us I didn’t think we had a show of getting out. If it wasn’t for the Frogs botching up and netting their own crew too, we’d never have made it.”

  “To say nothing of the canoe rescuing us. How far do you think we’d’ve got paddling?”

  “To be honest, I think we were beginning to go round in circles, but don’t tell anyone else I admitted that.”

  Sahara yawns.

  “Hey, you scooped, Sah. Some great video shots.”

  “I don’t know how much we can use. I mean how do we explain them if we weren’t out on the
water? It’s obvious we entered the test zone and it’s obvious we were in an inflatable.”

  “Yeah, but how can they prove it’s us? We were all in black wetsuits in a black zodiac. Anyway, can’t you just send it out to the media incognito? The French’ll probably assume it’s Greenpeace and they’ve already nabbed their boats.”

  “Too late now,” offers Marie-Louise. “The tape went out by courier this morning.”

  Sahara sits up in surprise “And you let it go, knowing it could put us all in danger?”

  “Knew you’d take it that way. We don’t have equipment to edit on board so it was a case of meeting the deadline or not. We’re here to protest and get our protest known. Your work in this has been invaluable, Sahara. Merci beaucoup.” She walks away.

  “I don’t appreciate her doing that,” admits Sahara.

  “Nor me, but Iri knows where to send them and I’m sure they had to make a decision while we slept.”

  “They could have woken me.”

  “Let go of it, Sah. We can’t do anything now. Hey, I hope they don’t edit out that shot of you under the net when I grabbed the camera through the hole. You looked like a fish gasping for breath, a stunned mullet.”

  “Felt like it too, Cowrie. Shit, I was scared then. But we made it, huh?”

  “Sure did. Hope you had that cowrie shell with you.”

  “All the time. She was singing through my skin, especially when you were cutting me out of that net. I really thought the French had us when it came down. Took me by surprise.”

  “Me too. The French tried a Maui trick but it didn’t work for them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In Hawai’i, the sun is moving so fast Hina has a hard time drying her strips of bark cloth. You know, like that tapa cloth on my wall at home?”