Once Were Warriors

by Alan Duff

  What about the girl? Grace? Oh my daughter goes to — used to — go to school with her. Said she was a proper little stuck-up. Always wanting the, you know, the bedda things in life, according to my girl. Said she was always on about potential, some flash word like that. Said she wanted to realise her potential. What fuckin potential, livin here in Pine Block? Only potentials here are jailbirds. Hahaha! Have to laugh. Wonder why she did the deed over at the Trambert place? Yeah, I been wondering about that too. Spose it was to show us peasants sumpthin or other. Spose it was. Unless there was some funny business goin on, eh? Lookin at each other. Waitin, hopin for the snap of same conclusions to time in, go zing between their eye contact. Wha’, like they had sumpthin goin … the girl and … Sumpthin like that, Mabel. Funny you should be thinkin the same thing. Well, it was obvious when ya think about it, eh? Guess it was. Guess we’ll read about it some day in the paper: you know, farmer hangs himself on same tree as Pine Block girl — Pine Block waif — waif then. As waif was found hung on. I betcha.

  Still staring out the gaps in the blind even when the visitors’d all gone inside the Heke place; speculating on why the partygoers, then Jake, had come storming outta the house like they did. Not that ya see Jake Heke in anything but a wild mood. Well, one day he’s gonna get his beans. Who from? His missus? Laughing, hahaha! now that was a joke. Or the girl’ll come back and hauntim. Or he’ll get stabbed in one of his bar brawls. Or …

  And the light dying outside.

  And cars — wrecks, grunt machines, gang growlers, beat-up jalopies — going past, roaring past. And kids, some ofem hardly walking, out on the footpaths, wandering about with no one carin, runnin wild. (And growing up loveless.) Another prospect taken the place of one of the two who got the big nod today. Another tryin to get up the courage to declare the same hand. A dead girl’s spirit being helped on its way to the Spiritworld. Oh, juss another night in Pine Block.

  She led him by the hand. C’mon, I ain’t gonna bite ya. Giggling, tugging at him to follow.

  Up the stairs; incredible noise behind em of dogs goin mad, their audience goin mad. Screaming, yelling, egging the fighting creatures on; stomping heavy-booted feet in time to some crazy beat one ofem’d started. The fuckin stereo at full blast, Marley, who else. Din partly muffled at the top of the stairs with a layer of floor between em.

  Hey, where we goin? But she just smilin atim, making her beauty the more (wasn’t for the star tats under each eye, though). Leadin Nig by the hand past a replica of home, but I guess every home in Pine Block is a replica, yet still noting to himself that this’d be the old’s room … then mine and Abe’s, and next door where the littlies sleep with — No, forget about that one. Just think about the girl, this girl.

  Passing directly overhead the sitting room where all the noise was comin from: Wow. Ya juss wouldn’t believe it. On through another crude-cut opening in the wall to what used to be a next-door neighbour till the Browns moved in. Took the fuckin lot. And rent-free! And Tania tellin Nig that the hole’d been cut by Jimmy Bad Horse with a fuckin chainsaw! The two in hysterics over that. Down the passage, a bit quieter. She squeezed his hand, he squeezed back. (Gonna fuck her slooow, man. Ain’t gonna rush it. I’ll get her worked up first.)

  Came to an open door, he followed her into the room, kicked the door shut behind him. Quite quiet. Least they could talk without havin to shout. Just the thump and yelps and barks and reggae beat sort a in the distance. She looked different in the quiet. (Maybe she’s changed her mind?) Or maybe she’s a cock-teaser, Nig thinking. Oh well, she’s smilin at least. Pity about them tats: can’t stand a tat on a woman. Make em look cheap. Like they’re a slut. Though Nig hardly expecting a virgin.

  Pale skin, almost white. You a half-caste? She frowning. What the fuck’s that got ta do with — Brung herself to a halt. Stared at him. Only askin. Alright, I am. Satisfied? Nig shrugging, No big deal, sista. No big deal. Good. She stepped up to him. (Now this is better.) You’re fuckin tall as, man. (Put a fulla right off.) Put an arm around his waist, the other held off there somewhere, a fulla couldn’t figure it: she either wanted it but was just a bit shy, or she was a teaser. Well, have to see.

  Nig rubbed her rump through her tight jeans. Firm as. (Man.) He had to bend at the knees to kiss her — her kiss immediately rough: lips tight, pressing too hard, no movement, no softness. (So what gives?) Then she started moaning. (No way, man.) It was wrong. Her timing. Not as if a fulla’d done nuthin special. He eased away, but she went, mmmmmmmm, and pressed harder her lips to his. It fuckin hurt. He went to pull away with more force this time, except she stuck her tongue in his mouth. (Oh well, in that case …) But then she started up with that mmming again. Oh but then she rubbed his penis through his jeans. And Nig no longer had the ability to be discerning — Till her rubbing hurt him. (Jeez, she’s got no fuckin idea.)

  Then she pulled herself away from him … walking backwards to the bed (there were two ofem, and both in a filthy unmade state. My old lady’d freak out if she thought I was gonna be in one of these.) He followed her.

  Well I’ll be: he could see the Trambert farm out the window. Had him thinking of Grace. (Sorry, Grace.) Tania was taking her gear off; having a job with the tight jeans. Red in the face. Nig turned away to lessen her embarrassment. But she said, And don’t look, neither. So he did look, in time to see her naked form diving under the grubby grey blanket (and no sheets?!) He took his clothes off, back turned. But only so his excitement wouldn’t, you know, freak her out or sumpthin. He got in beside her — quickly.

  Up on one elbow to talk a bit. But she pulled him down onto her, somehow rolled under him. Started that damn kissing again. He reached down, felt her, but she shoved his hand away. Mmmmmm, she went. (Jeezzz.) He tried to enter her, but she kept clamping her legs — no, her thigh muscles. Ya’ll have ta help me, he told her. No. Jus get on with it.

  Eventually he got inside her: she was barely damp. And it hurt like hell to start off with. He paused during it and she was straight away asking him, Ya finished? He shook his head, no, into her hair. Least that was clean. He flooded inside her. She nibbled at his neck then, giggling. Gonna give ya a lovebite. He asked why. Huh? Doncha like em? Promptly sucking at his throat. He told her: don’t see the point ofem. So she stopped immediately, rolled on her side, Only tryin ta be nice. I know, I know, Nig pulled gently at her to face him. (Man, this bed stinks.) Keenly aware of the quality of bedding now that his urge’d been satisfied, if nuthin else.

  So how long ya been a Brown? What does it madda? You a fuckin cop or sumpthin? Bitch was sulking to the wall. And drop this, you a cop shet, Nig felt like givin her one. A backhander. Teacher to talk to him, a man (or near enough) like that. I thought you wanted to talk? he gave her a chance. Who said that, man? Aw, c’mon. Ya got whatcha wanted dintya? I thought you wanted it too? Well, maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. And she shrugged, Wasn’t nuthin anyway. (Nothing?) What, havin sex? Nig was amazed. Yeh, whassa big deal about havin it? Because it’s … it’s, you know, it’s kinda special. Yeah? Yeah. For fullas it is. And for sheilas too. Bullshet. It’s for fullas; all they think about, most ofem. Well I don’t think about just that. Doncha just? No, I fuckin don’t. Good boy. Very good boy, Nig whatever ya other name is. Go to the front of the class — Then Nig slapped her.

  Hey! She was around in an instant. The fuck ya think ya doin! Don’t talk to me like I’m — Her eyes blazin at him: Tell ya what, busta, I only have to give the word to them downstairs and you are dead meat. Ya got that? Ya dead fuckin meat. Her eyes on fire. And I mean, busta: dead-fuckin-meat. (Dream’s turned into a fucking nightmare.) Okay, okay, forget it. Nig went to get out of bed, but she grabbed him: Stay. Looked at him with big brown eyes. Stay, eh? He shrugged. Okay.

  They lay there for a bit. Listening. Calming down. Dogs’d stopped the fight, no more cheering and yellin. Wonder who won it? Ah, the rotties, easy, she was certain. He said, Nah, the bulls, man. Ain’t nuthin can beat a bull in a scrap. And the music p
ounding away beneath em.

  So tell me about your sister. Took Nig by surprise. Poor thing. Tania looked and sounded genuinely sympathetic; the first show of real humanity Nig’d seen in her. Was she pretty? Yeah, pretty as. Oh, Tania’s bottom lip dropped. She looked like you then? Dunno. She must’ve. Oh, she went again. Nice, you know, nice-natured? Nice as, Tania. Honest. I ain’t just sayin that. Nig felt the emotion welling up in him. He brought it under control, thinking: I’m nearly a Brown now.

  Tania askin a heap of questions about poor Grace. What kinda hairstyle did she have? Did she have lots and lots a friends? Nope, hardly any friends, Nig tellin her. And she looking all hurt and astonished at that. The poor thing. How old was she again? Fourteen. Fourteen and killed herself, eh? Clicking her tongue. Staring into space, up at the ceiling, eyes misted. (Man, she’s got heart after all.)

  Dunno why Jimmy didn’t want you goin to her funeral today. He coulda picked another day to bring you into the Browns. Not as if we got, you know, other things on. In life, I mean. Well, it was to put me to the test, Nig’d convinced himself. But she sneered at him: Yeh, some pass. Pass what? Of the test. She rolled on her side again. Hey, come on … I’d’ve gone to the funeral I wouldn’t be here now. And, man, you don’t know how I wanted to be a Brown. Couldn’t it’ve waited, though? Yeah, but he’s the leader, right? Sure, but he ain’t fuckin God. Some of the seniors said he shoulda let ya go. But Nig only shrugged. Them’s the breaks.

  So where’re you from? None of your — Come on, Tania. Okay, I come from Mangakino. Where’s that? Bout fifty k’s from here. Middle a fuckin nowhere. It sucks. Place sucks. So what’s your olds like? What’s your olds like, busta? Old lady’s good. Old man’s a wankah. Yeah, well, I don’t know who my old man was, and my old lady’s a cunt. Yeah? Ya bedda believe it, busta.

  Used to leave us — me — on my own, go drinking. Yeah, well … What could Nig say that they both didn’t already know from experience. Ya never see Pakeha kids like that do ya? Dunno. Never thought about it. Well I have, and I c’n tell ya, they don’t go leavin their kids to fend for emselves while they’re pissin up. Ya don’t see Pakeha kids in hotel carparks do ya? No. No, come to think of it. And you know, how ya read in the paper about some poor kid’s been left in a car while its olds are in the pub drinking and it, the kid, got holda some matches and — and … well, you know. Tears in her eyes, she wiping at them with her tattooed hand. Uh, that happen to someone you, like, know? Yeah. It did. Wow, that’s a hea-vee trip, sista. It sure is. Like your poor sister. Oh man, Nig, I think you shoulda gone to her funeral. Tania, I couldn’t. You coulda told Jimmy you’re goin. Like it or not, I’m goin. Nig sighing, Maybe I should’ve. Ya got any smokes?

  They lit up. Smoke driftin, the foul odour of the bed, its bedclothes, sort of gotten used to. The music never stopping except for a tape to be changed. Just a cupla kids sharing the mirrors of their life experiences …

  … only twelve, jussa bit younger’n your poor sista, havin to look after my kid two brothers and a baby sis. Four of us. And four different fathers. Can ya believe that, Nig? Four different fathers. And not a one ofem still around? One day, eh, she went on one of her binges, left me with the kids, nuthin in the cupboards ta eat cept a packet of Weetbix, not even milk ta go withit, y’ know?

  … She didn’t come back that night; I was awake half the night worryin, you know, ghosts, burglars, perverts. Even the dark was freakin me out. All the next day — it was a Sunday — waitin, waitin … my lil bros and sis crying all damn day, starvin. And still the bitch wasn’t home. Then my brother, Mark — Hey, I gotta brother called Mark. Yeh, yeh, alright, alright. Sorry.

  Mark found five bucks down the back of the sofa. Thought we were made. A sign from, like, heaven or sumpthin. This was about six. At night. I thought, neat, we’ll have some fishnchips for our tea. You know, with this five bucks we thought God’d sent us. God … Tania’s jaw muscles clenching and unclenching (like my old man). So. Sighing. A long sigh.

  So I told em, wait for me I won’t be long. Sucking in breath. I, uh … Sucking in again. I was so … so happy, you know, with Mark findin this five bucks just when we needed it most … And uh, uh … Well, I came back and … and the house it was, uh — The fuckin house was burning!

  Okay, mista, I had my cry. Tania wiping at her face. So. So ya wanna do it again? What? You know, what we did before? Her eyes moved off to the ceiling. Nah, I don’t. And Tania sat up at that: Whatchu mean, doncha fancy me? Not that — Fuck you, busta. (Bitch’s gone and got wild again.) Took Nig some talking and gentle touching to get her back in a reasonable frame of mind.

  He traced the shape of her breast with a finger. Ya like that? I might. Come onnnn, Nig chuckling at her nipple hard to his touch. So ya do want to? she seemed unsure. I might, he teased. And tried to concentrate, not think of burnt children and a dead sister with a broken neck … You’re pretty experienced for, what, seventeen, eighteen? I had a girlfriend. What, at seventeen — At fifteen. Ya still with her? Might be. Nig laughing at Tania pulling away from his touch. Might not be either. So you an her you do it, eh? Used to do it, yeah. What, lotsa times? Sure. As often as we could. So whassa big deal about it? What, sex? Well we weren’t talkin about fishnchips, mista. It’s good. It feels good. Nig stroking her, rubbing against her skin. Skin to skin.

  You have, you know, orgasms? Or-what? Orgasms. The hell are they? It, Tania. It’s an it. So tell me. Well, it’s coming — Don’t be disgusting. I’m not. Ya are. And girls, women, don’t come. Who told you that? I know. Ya know nuthin, sweetheart. Don’t call me that. Ya know nuthin.

  He moved his hand down. (Give her the flutter-touch) going on an older past-companion’s teachings. Ya like that? It’s alright. Only alright? Yeah. How about this? Mmmm, nice. Her inner thigh muscles relaxed in his fingers. The smell of her sex wafted sweetly up to him. Ya wanna try and come? Can’t. She shook her head. Ya wanna try? Told ya I — Just try? Well, alright. But don’t expect nuthing.

  So nothing took place from Tania’s part. But I enjoyed it, Nig, I honestly did. And they smiled at each other. And below them the music had mellowed: Wonder. Someone’s got Stevie Wonder on. I love you, Tania taking over the last of the chorus line, but so shyly you’d think she was suffering from sumpthin. A disease or sumpthin. Let’s go down and join em. I’m dyin for a joint. Juss wanna spend my whole life outiv it. A madness in her eyes. Or maybe it was sadness, Nig didn’t know. (Can’t be thinkin now. Gotta go with the flow.) He shifted his thinking as he and Tania went hand-in-hand down the stairs. Then Nig thought he’d better ask: Ya not taken are ya? And she smiled at him. (Oh man, she’s beautiful. Even with the tats, she’s beautiful.) Nope. Looking at him, Not unless you …? left it hanging there.

  Into the double sitting rooms: no more a place of anger and yelling for the blood of the rotties, just belonging. Dancing, or sat back stoned and drunk, and belonging.

  Out on the floor (the stage) doin their stuff to the (muse) beat in their head, the sweet-high brain with its amazing at-oneness with the music playin, man. Amazing.

  Hitting all them steps (inherent) in the sounds, struttin their (choreographic) stuff. Dancin with arms around each other. Or standing there talking, rappin, you know, about how he and the other Brown Fist dude they were bruthas, man. Bruth-ahs. And fuck anyone else outside this house, this world of our belongin. Juss us, bruthas and sistas, but mainly the bruthas, man, cos fuckin sheilas, man, even Brown Fist ones, they’re not, you know, as real as us dudes.

  Then half ofem breakin out in a cheer at Nig and Tania walkin in, teasin em, Yah! Must be love, eh? Love at first sight! Laughin at that, fallin about emselves at the fuckin joke of it: love. Oh man. It’s more like, you know, belonging.

  Yet when Stevie got to the chorus of his I just called, it was when they sang loudest: … to say: I LOVE YOU!

  12. Visits

  Fulla answered his door, Ye — What the — at the sight, gotta be, of two Brown Fists standin there.

 
Jimmy Bad Horse stuck his hob-nailed boot in the doorway as the fulla tried to close it. Chucklin that way of his, and tellin the dude: Your friendly ree-possession agents, cuz. With that high-pitched laugh. Shades, beard … a winter night. Aw, c’mon fellas, — No come ons, man. Jimmy held up a piece of paper. This is official, man. We come to getta a TV, a colour one. Less you got the three months’ payment you’re behind. How do I know you guys are — Here. Jimmy thrust the repossession form at the fulla, told him to read it, then read what it said himself, off by heart: Says you are in breach of a hire purchase agreement between you, Daniel Toby Hohepa, of this address, and Star Appliances of Taniwha Street, Two Lakes. And ya read down at the bottom, cuzzie, it says that me, J. Shirkey, is au-tha-rised to collect either the security — the TV in case y’as stupid as ya look — or the payment arrears. Chuckling. Oh, and plus the costs of bein here, tapping a cutoff woollen glove on a brown leather jacket: Mine and my associate’s here, thumbing at Nig Heke.

  Look, you guys, I’m a Maori, just like you guys — Man, don’t care if you fuckin Chinese. Jimmy lookin at the guy. I got a wife and five kids — Man, don’t care if you got six wives and a hundred fuckin kids. The TV, cuz. Thas what we came for. Or else the three months’ payment arrears. Fullas, I haven’t got a penny! Then you bring that TV out here, man. Fear on the fulla’s face. I, uh, I haven’t got that either. You see I — You hear this dude, man? Jimmy to Nig. Yeah, heardim. Nig playing it tough, but feeling sorry for the guy. He woulda been fifty if he was a day. Fulla says he ain’t got the bread and then he says he ain’t got the TV. Man, what does — But Jimmy didn’t finish. He swung and drove a punch into the fulla’s gut. The fulla went ooooff! came over doubled and Jimmy smacked an uppercut into him. Caught him with another punch as he fell forward. So Nig threw a wild right at him and connected somewhere just before the fulla hit the deck. Nig felt he’d bedda put a cupla boots in too. Just to show Jimmy Bad Horse he was bad himself.