Manawa Toa

  “Mother, do you realise I could have been strangled in that net? I was so frightened when it came down on us. If Cowrie had not cut me out of it, I might still be there, wound in its tentacles like a fish. Dead.”

  Elizabeth stiffens, expecting the worst. She does not know how to answer. Tears fill her eyes, tears that have been flowing ever since her decision in Marseille to leave the agency, take the risk to make changes in her life. “I realise I cannot expect forgiveness, Sahara, but I hope that by turning back, facing my mistakes, I can help heal some of the wounds.”

  Sahara is moved by her honesty, realises this healing is a part of the challenge Cowrie threw to her. Like France, her mother could defiantly defend her decisions. Refuse to listen or to change. But instead she is moving to a new place, taking risks, allowing herself to be vulnerable in the process. This is courageous. Slowly, she reaches over the table to take her mother’s hand. “Let’s try to understand each other. It may take a while, but I am willing to make the journey if you are.”

  They remain deep in discussion the next two hours, after which Elizabeth looks at her daughter with pride. “You are worthy of the title of Heart Warrior, Sahara. Wear it proudly.”

  Tears surge within Sahara. She has waited a lifetime to hear such words from her mother. She never thought she would. She tells her mother some of the bad things she has done so that Elizabeth does not feel alone in her betrayal, of the struggle to grow up with one parent and without a mother present. That she never hated her despite this. That her father had spoken highly of her, had missed her after she left. He’d never taken up with another woman since. Elizabeth is touched by her daughter’s honesty, her ability to be present.

  “You realise we might never have met again had it not been for your bloody helicopter and that net, and my video camera,” admits Sahara.

  “Very true. The media did not feature any close-ups of you. I’d never have known unless Marie-Louise had sent us the tape first.”

  “Marie-Louise? I knew she was a traitor!” Sahara spits out.

  “Don’t be too hard on her. She did important work for the peace movement. We had a hard time getting her back on board. It was only the bribe of a paid retirement on Le Côte d’Azur that did it in the end, which is more than I’ll be getting. I handed her my letter of resignation to take back.”

  “Truly? You mean you have given up all that for me?”

  “For us both. As soon as I saw you riding those mighty dunes down toward the ocean, the joy and freedom in your face, I knew I had to experience that again. And it meant leaving the work I’d fallen into, whether you forgave me later or not.”

  Sahara is moved. “Mother, would you like to join us for the feast tonight? I know it means crossing to the other side, but you’ve made the first move already.”

  “I’d like that very much, Sahara. Merci beaucoup.”

  “I don’t think we should tell the others about your role yet though. I’ll talk to Cowrie later. I need time to work it through myself, and it’d spoil the end of our trip.”

  “Mum’s the word,” smiles Elizabeth.

  Sahara grins. They agree to meet at six at the boat. Sahara kisses her on the cheek and goes for a long walk up the shoreline toward Fa’a’a, remembering their last night here, thinking of all that has happened since. A lifetime of experience. And it’s not over yet. A part of it is just beginning. Thank you, Manawa Toa, for all your lessons. I’ll need to draw on your strength to face the future, she thinks, flicking off her sandals and feeling the warm sand beneath her toes.

  Ka mahi te tamariki wawahi taha!

  Well done, children who break the calabashes!

  At Tavini Haraatira Café, Koana and Mauva update the crew on land-based protests. They’d only heard snatches via the radio reports, but it turns out that there’s been vigorous debate here in Pape’ete and over all the islands regarding the role of the French. There’s stronger support for colonial rule to end, despite the bribes of money for health and education. In response, the crew expand on the events at sea, including the zodiac expedition.

  Mauva is shocked. “You mean you polluted our atoll by dumping your zodiac and motor there?” The others realise she is half serious, half teasing them.

  Cowrie picks up on her tone. “Don’t worry Mauva. With a few more doses of iodine 31, strontium 90 and caesium 137, she’ll be a mere skeleton beneath the water.”

  “When the going gets tough, the tough go tease,” adds Koana. They laugh, aware of the brittle edge to their humour.

  After hours of tales and laughter and serious talk, Koana and Cowrie walk to the ocean to catch up on family matters. Koana is flying back to Hawai’i in the morning and they will not get another chance alone, with the feast tonight.

  She tells Cowrie that she and Mauva are lovers, which Cowrie intuited from their closeness. They are both committed to their own sovereignty movements, which means they meet often at indigenous Pacific conferences, but each has decided to live on her own islands to work for her people.

  “Sounds like the decision Peta and I had to make,” offers Cowrie.

  “Yes. It’s not easy, but we are happiest doing the work we believe in.”

  “I understand that Ko. She’s gorgeous. I’m rapt for you.”

  “So, are you and Sahara lovers?”

  “No. I wondered at one point. But it turns out that she’s heterosexual.”

  “So was I. Remember, Cowrie?”

  “How could I forget, Ko?” Cowrie laughs. “But this time it feels ok. We understand each other across our different cultures, and she has an amazing ability to be intimate. She loves talkstory and she’s open to new ideas. I adore her enthusiasm. She knows how to follow her intuition and she’s destroying some of my prejudices against the Poms!”

  “Now that last bit sounds serious, Cowrie. Be careful!”

  They walk toward the rocks at the far end of the beach. “Weird about Sahara’s mother turning up, don’t you think?” says Koana.

  “Sure is. I know she hasn’t seen her since she was a small child. What a journey this has been for her, eh?”

  “Sure. Did it make you feel sad?”

  “How?”

  “Like, still not having met your own birth mother.”

  “No. Not really. I do wonder, but I’ve had a good life with Mere. I might be disappointed if my birth mother ever turned up. She might not be what I imagined.”

  “Bet it’s a real shock for Sahara then. She’s gonna need your support tonight, Cowrie.”

  “She’s got it. I hope she’s ok. It’s not going to be easy for her.”

  They sit on edge of the rocks, dangling their feet in the water, talking about friends and family, life back in Aotearoa and Hawai’i, catching up on gossip. Eventually, Sahara appears up the other end of the beach, heading toward the boat. “I’d better go and see if she’s ok, Ko. See you tonight at the feast.”

  “Sure thing, Cowrie. Malama pono.”

  “Kia ora, Ko.”

  They depart with a hug. Cowrie follows Sahara aboard Manawa Toa.

  He toa taumata rau.

  Bravery has many resting places.

  “You ok, Sah, or do you want time alone?” Cowrie asks, once she’s caught up with her friend on the deck.

  “I’ve spent the last hour on my own, pacing the beach, trying to make sense of it all. I must admit, I’m still confused.”

  “Wanna share it?”

  “Thanks.”

  They settle under their hammocks, where they’d talked in peace on the voyage, and Sahara spills out everything. All, that is, except her mother’s role as an agent. Cowrie listens carefully, is astonished, but senses that something is still missing from the tale, that Sahara will tell her in time. Just the trauma of meeting her mother again is enough to handle. She notices the video in her bag. “So what’s this? Baby shots of little Sah?” Cowrie teases her.

  She reads the message. For Sahara. With love from Elizabeth Green.

  “No. It�
�s a copy of the video of our trip.”

  “Where did she come across it? Does she work for the media?”

  Sahara is about to say yes when she bursts into tears. Cowrie holds her, rocking her. “Hey Sah. Sorry I teased you. It’s been a big day. Just tell me what feels right.”

  That is all Sahara needs. She knows she cannot go on protecting her mother, nor does she want to get into the pattern of telling lies. Yet she fears Cowrie will be angry, hate her mother and reject her also. She tells her this.

  “What can be so bad, Sah? She looked like a very nice woman. For a Pom, that is.” Cowrie tries to lighten the mood.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of, Cowrie. What’s the very worst you could imagine? What if you found out your own mother worked for the enemy?”

  “I dunno, Sah. My own birth mother might, for all I know.”

  Sahara is silent a moment. “I’m serious, Cowrie. Tell me the very worst that could happen.”

  “Well,” says Cowrie, trying to think of the most ludicrous situation possible, “I guess it could be worse. At least your mother’s English. Imagine if you found out she was a French agent? Now that’d be the pits.”

  Sahara bursts into tears again and Cowrie consoles her, wondering what could have set her off again. Maybe her mother is a criminal or has a terrible past to hide? “Hey Sah, I promise not to be angry or make fun, no matter how bad or evil or terrible your mother has been.”

  “Cross your heart and hope to die?”

  “I’d never cross my heart or hope to die—but you have it on my word of honour.”

  “Well, you’re right. She left England, was cut off from her inheritance when she had children with Bill and ended up working as a translator in France.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Listen, Cowrie.”

  “Ok. All ears.”

  “She got work translating for French Securité. They were so impressed with her skills, they eventually made her an agent. She’d always loved adventure, but hadn’t banked on the price she’d pay for neglecting her own ideals. She’d been thinking of leaving, but seeing me on the video, it all came together in her mind and she resigned. Her first act of reconciliation for her new life was to meet me again and try to make a new start.”

  Cowrie is speechless. Sahara waits anxiously for her reply. After a long silence, Cowrie sighs. “She made a huge mistake and I should feel bloody angry, but the reality is that if it wasn’t her in that role it’d have been someone else. The important part is that she had the courage to realise her mistake and begin to make amends. Besides, with her knowledge, she’d be invaluable to the peace movement, so there’s some hope for change here, Sah. After all, the founder of Greenpeace was once a successful industrialist. I know heaps of people who’ve seen the light and altered their ways. They are often the most motivated activists.”

  Sahara hugs her, not wanting to let go. “Thank you, Cowrie. If you can forgive Elizabeth, then maybe I can too.”

  “Well, only if she spills all,” jokes Cowrie. “I’ll be there with my notebook.”

  “I invited her to the feast tonight. But I can call her at the hotel if you think it’d be wrong for her to be there. I just wasn’t sure what to do. I want her to see my friends, see the power of this movement, see the other side of things.”

  Cowrie creases her brow and thinks a moment, then replies. “I agree. She’ll have to listen to many speeches about the effects of her actions from those who’ve suffered. It won’t be easy for her. But it’ll be a good starting point.”

  “You know, you are very subversive suggesting she use her knowledge to help get rid of colonisation here. I’d never have thought of that.”

  “Cunning as a kiore,” responds Cowrie. “You learn to use all resources and to network when you’re opposing such vast power systems. Sah, I’m going to ask you a difficult question now. Are you absolutely sure we can trust her?”

  “Yes. I’ve thought about that all afternoon. She began with the kinds of ideals we share. I know that from Dad’s words too—and uncle Quentin talked about their days growing up as if she were an activist way back then. She’s handed in her resignation at the agency but it may take some time before she’s ready to commit herself to new action. She’s asked me to fly back to Britain and stay with her a few weeks while I recover from the trip and so we can get to know each other better. I said I’d tell her tonight. But I think I will. Then I can really suss out if she’d help and let you know.”

  “Great. Subversive future plans. I like it, Sah. I’ll go put on a cuppa while you pack if you’re leaving tomorrow.”

  In the galley, Cowrie cries, knowing how much she’ll miss her friend, wondering what it would be like to be in her situation. She cannot believe that Sahara’s mother could have been partly responsible for nearly capturing them. It’s so bizarre it’s almost funny. Mind you, if her knowledge could be harnessed, she could be very valuable. Then she has an idea. She picks up her kete, already falling apart at the edges from too much time in salt water. She empties it and cuts a square from the woven flax. She then separates the strands and makes a card from the corner of a Weetbix box, writing on it with an indelible marker. Proud of her handiwork, she wraps it in greaseproof paper and places it in her pocket, then begins to prepare for their last night on Maohi soil.

  Kaore e pau, he ika unahi nui.

  A fish covered with large scales will never be eaten.

  The farewell feast is delicious and the speeches moving. Bonds have been created during this time of struggle that will be lasting. There is acknowledgment that the nuclear tests have not been stopped, but the protests have been successful in attracting international condemnation and the remaining tests have been reduced from eight to six. That is cause for celebration. The end is in sight.

  A former military worker tells them that France is second only to the USA in the number of military installations it has outside its own land, that after the tests are over, they must keep fighting to make sure they rid their shores of the military forever. Moruroa and Fangataufa atolls must be returned to Maohi people as clean as they can be made, with all traces of nuclear waste and military buildings gone. That they must keep up the pressure of world attention and make sure this is done. “We must insist they leave our islands so we can resume a sustainable existence.” That brings cheers from the crowd.

  During the proceedings, Cowrie keeps a close eye on Elizabeth Green, trying to gauge her responses. Sahara had introduced her before the speeches and they’d talked about their love of the dunes. She reckoned that was a safe topic for now. At one point in the speeches, Elizabeth whispers to her daughter and Sahara passes on to Cowrie that the fella holding the video is actually a French agent. Cowrie asks Mauva who he is. She says he’s been at all their marches. Cowrie replies she has it on good authority that he’s a French agent. Mauva approaches and asks him outright. He denies it, but disappears as soon as she turns her back. Elizabeth smirks with satisfaction. Cowrie is sure she’ll jump ship and join them eventually. She likes something about this woman. She has Sahara’s jade eyes, her sense of courage and determination.

  After the speeches, they settle down to a wonderful feast. Cowrie sits opposite Sahara and her mother. Towards the end of the night, she hands over her parcel surreptitiously to Elizabeth. Sahara leans over as her mother unravels the greaseproof paper to reveal a square of basket. Her brow creases in bemusement. Then she reads the note: “Ka pu te ruha ka hao te rangatahi: The old net lies in a heap while the new net goes fishing.— From the one who got away!” Both Sahara and her mother realise the woven mat represents the net sent showering down on them from the French helicopter and this is Cowrie’s way of getting utu while also acknowledging Elizabeth. Letting her know she knows. They look at each other in amazement, then burst out laughing.

  “Touché, Cowrie,” smiles Elizabeth. “A woman after my own heart!”

  “Well, after your daughter’s, actually, but where there’s a will, there’s a way
.”

  “Where there’s a net, Cowrie will be fishing,” Sahara adds, her eyes glinting in amazement at her audacity, loving her for having the audacity to do this.

  The feast ends with fresh fruit—melons, pawpaw, mangoes and coconuts, which, Mauva insists, come from the outer islands and are relatively safe. They risk it for tonight, feasting and singing until late. Sahara’s mother leaves after the speeches and dinner, arranging to meet her daughter in the morning, and making sure she gives Cowrie a special farewell hug. “Thank you for looking after Sahara so well, Cowrie. I owe you.”

  “I have ideas on how to make the repayment, Elizabeth, but I’ll let Sahara tell you later. By the way, thanks for alerting us to the outsider.”

  “No problem. There’s more information where that came from.”

  “You read me well, Elizabeth. I’m sure we’ll meet in the future.”

  “I look forward to it. Thanks again.”

  “Merci beaucoup,” replies Cowrie. Elizabeth grins, thinking that this Cowrie would make an excellent agent herself, and walks away after kissing her daughter farewell.

  That night, Cowrie and Sahara cuddle together in one hammock. They look up into the night sky and Sahara picks out the Southern Cross flying her kite on a different angle from Aotearoa, her tail spraying stars back into the Milky Way.

  “Hey, what’s that one Cowrie? With the arrow?”