A New Kind of Zeal

by Michelle Warren

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Whangarei

  Tristan stood under a kauri tree.

  They were in Coronation Reserve. It was February, now – damned hot. He was sweating again. What’s more, they were edging closer to Auckland, and Tristan still was keen to avoid the big city. The Army! The past. Quite frankly, he could do without it.

  In front of him was a view of the city of Whangarei – a nice small city, scattered houses, with the harbour beyond. Bush surrounded him and sheltered him a little from the mid-day heat – but the air was stuffy.

  In front of him, Rau was arguing. Tristan was intrigued, watching him. Who was that other guy: some kind of Maori activist? He had joined them, in Kaitaia – Tane, that’s right: that was his name. Tattoos face and arms, probably over chest as well: a solid man. Not to be messed with: at least not if you were not army trained.

  “He’s the one!” Tane now said to Rau. “Descended from Potatau Te Wherowhero, and descended from King Henry the Seventh.”

  “Tane,” Rau replied, in that familiar gentle but directly challenging tone, “you say this from Tainui, here in Whangarei? That Joshua is descended from the first Maori king of Waikato? Why should this bring joy to the ears of Ngapuhi? In this very place the northern tribes defended against the southern tribes.”

  Tristan stared at him. What was he talking about? Maori wars, before the British came? Who cared?

  “You are not understanding me, Reverend Rau,” Tane replied, with some sarcasm in his voice. “The issue is much bigger than our petty tribal fighting. This one man can finally unite Pakeha and Maori! He is descended from both sovereign lines! Maori and Pakeha!”

  What was he on about? Some weird mixed blood leader? Tristan almost laughed: Joshua hardly presented this way.

  Rau was grimacing. “You are saying he is a king.”

  “Is he not?”

  “A king – from up north?” Rau questioned. “A King of Kaitaia, perhaps. We already have a Queen of the Commonwealth.”

  “I have no interest in a King of Kaitaia,” Tane replied, “I only have an interest in the Treaty of Waitangi. I only have an interest in our land, and our people. Te Wherowhero desired peace and justice!”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “So was the Treaty!”

  “Joshua has no desire for power.”

  “Love, law and faith – these were the words of Te Wherowhero, Kaumatua. Don’t you see it? Don’t you see that Joshua is the same?”

  Rau was frowning – and then his eyes found Tristan.

  “Let me guess,” Tristan said, low enough for Rau alone to hear, “he thinks Joshua is this Te Whero guy back from the dead.”

  Rau grimaced at him, and Tristan grimaced back – then he left them both, and wandered further along the track past some tall reaching Kauri.

  Another man was there – European. He was wearing grey suit trousers with a blue business shirt, the sleeves still buttoned at the wrists. He shifted with the heat, and Tristan joined him.

  “Wicked day.”

  “Yeah,” the man said.

  “You live here?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Ah…it’s a long story.”

  The man stretched out his arms, and yawned. Tristan couldn’t help himself: he had to ask.

  “What are you doing wearing a suit in a park, in the middle of one of our hottest days?”

  “I’m working,” the man replied.

  “Here?”

  “No! Down Central Ave.” He gestured down toward the city. “This is my lunch-break.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m an optical engineer.” He seemed a little deflated.

  “Tristan Blake,” Tristan said, reaching out a hand to him. “Nice to meet you.”

  “John Robertson,” the man replied. “Nice to meet you too.”

  Tristan thought that would be the end of it. John was gazing out across the houses, to the water of the harbour, and Tristan shifted to move on – but then, suddenly, Joshua was there.

  “There must be something more to life than this.”

  Surprised, Tristan looked at him – but Joshua was talking to John. The stranger looked astonished – his tired green eyes looked over Joshua, his jeans, and now blue T-shirt. John looked about the same age as Joshua: maybe mid-thirties.

  “Sorry?” John asked.

  Now Joshua was looking out to the hills, lifting his face to the sun.

  “Life,” he said. “There must be something more to it.”

  “Yeah,” John said. “That’s just what I was thinking.”

  Joshua stretched his hand out to him. “I’m Joshua.”

  John reached for the hand – but then, suddenly, on taking the hand, something happened. John stiffened for a moment, staring at Joshua. Tristan looked back to Joshua, to his intent gaze – the eyes, fixed on John, revealed nothing to Tristan.

  John was shivering – in the heat. He held Joshua’s gaze. Then Joshua released his hand – and John seemed to breathe normally again.

  “So it is true,” John said. “What that Maori man was talking about.”

  “True?” Joshua said, smiling slightly. “What is ‘truth’?”

  “Amen to that,” Tristan muttered, but John was frowning.

  “It is true,” he repeated, and Joshua glanced at Tristan. He bowed his head, to Tristan, and to John, and then moved away.

  John was frowning after him, and Tristan laughed.

  “Don’t worry about him,” he said. “He’s really weird at times, but I’m certain he has a good heart.”

  Now John’s eyes came to him. He looked in a slight daze, but now shook his head.

  “You don’t see him…?”

  “See him? What do you mean?”

  “I…I’ve never experienced this before…”

  Tristan searched him, now feeling a little worried. What had Joshua done to him?

  “You look like you need a proper minister,” he said to him. “There.” And now he pointed out Rau. “That one, on the left: he’s a good guy. Go and talk to him.”

  “Him?”

  “He’s an Anglican priest: Rev Rau Petera. Talk to him. I have a feeling he’ll understand.”

  John followed his direction, wandering back down the track – Tristan watched him, shaking his head. That Joshua! He must have given him some kind of psychic thing, like he had done about Tristan’s mother. Spooky! Weird. Rau would handle it.

  Sure enough, Rau stretched out his hand.

  “Kia ora,” he said.

  “Yeah, hi.” John shook his hand.

  “Kia ora,” Tane said.

  “Hello.” John looked a little awkward with Tane.

  “How can I help you?” Rau asked gently.

  John seemed to be hesitating. And then he spoke to Tane.

  “Joshua,” he began. “You said he is a king. You’re right.”

  Rau stared at him, now, while Tane broke into a wide smile.

  “What are you saying?” Rau asked.

  “I…” John seemed to be struggling to spit the words out. “I just know it. It doesn’t make any sense! But I know it.”

  Rau’s brown eyes, gentle and curious, searched John’s face. “Brother,” he said, “did Joshua himself show you this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then…maybe you should hang about with us for a while.”

  John frowned. “Take time off work?”

  “Hard, is it?” Rau asked.

  “Well…kind of. I own my own business.”

  “Time for a break, then?”

  John stared at him. He glanced back at Tristan. He searched for Joshua, and found him.

  “I…I’ll need to sort some things out.”

  “We’ll be here for another few days, that’s all.”

  “Okay,” John said, suddenly nodding. “Okay.”

  And he suddenly set off, back down the track, toward the city.

  Tristan now wandered up to Rau.

  “What was that about?”
/>
  Rau seemed a little perplexed. “I’m not sure.”

  “Joshua is the king,” Tane said, smiling widely. “It is as I suspected: our true leader has come. I will spread the news amongst the Iwi.”

  “What?” Rau asked. “Wait a minute: I don’t think you’ve got it quite right…”

  But now Tane was setting off down the same path, after John.

  Tristan laughed again. “Mad!” he said. “You’re all mad! But it’s all very entertaining, and that Joshua: he’s a hard man to pin down!”

  Rau’s face looked about the most confused Tristan had yet seen it – and then Rau’s cell-phone rang.

  Tristan watched as he pulled it out of his pocket. “Oooh,” he said. “So you have got some toys up your sleeve.”

  Rau answered his phone, and then his gaze fixed on Tristan: a strange mixture of amusement and concern.

  “It’s your father,” he said.

  Tristan stared at him. His blood went cold. “What?” he said.

  “It’s your father,” Rau repeated gently.

  Tristan longed to push the phone away – but he couldn’t avoid Rau’s offering. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the phone, turned his back on Rau, and answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Tristan?” It was his father’s voice.

  Tristan swallowed hard. He turned to stare out at the view: to try to focus far away.

  “Dad?” he choked.

  “Where are you?”

  “Whangarei…”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m…” Tristan shook his head in irony. “It’s hard to explain. I’m just hanging out for a while.”

  “Can I meet you?”

  “Meet?”

  “Yes. Can I meet you, Tristan? I can come to you.”

  “I…I’m not sure where we’ll be…”

  “We?”

  “I…I’m hanging out with some mates.”

  “You don’t mean that guy from Kaitaia, do you? The one on the news?”

  So – he had seen him. He had heard his throw away comment, made for him: the one about the Messiah.

  “Umm…” Tristan stuttered, and then he pulled himself together. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m hanging out with them for a while.”

  His father was silent, on the other end of the phone. For a moment Tristan thought he had cut out. Then he spoke again.

  “I’ll find you, Tristan,” he said. “I’ll come and meet with you. Is that okay?”

  Tristan hesitated. Was it okay? No way! And yet, part of him wanted it. Part of him needed it.

  “Okay,” he said – and then his father was gone.

  Rau’s eyes were on him: warm, and concerned – just like a minister.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Tristan automatically replied. “Okay.”

  But now the sweat was dripping from his face.