Grandmother, yes. But not Grandfather.
There was a full gathering at the family meeting. Ihaka Mahana and Zebediah Whatu were there as well as the shearers and shedhands. Grandfather opened with a karakia. Then, ‘The first month of the shearing is ended. My sons, let me have your reports.’ He indicated we could get off our knees and that Uncle Matiu should begin.
‘Well, Father,’ Uncle Matiu said, ‘it took us a while to oil our rusty joints —’ Everybody laughed. ‘But the boys did well and our shearers were soon up to their three hundred-a-day tally.’
‘Yes,’ Grandfather nodded. ‘Jack Horsfield rang me to say he’s very pleased with your work. He told me he’s increased his shearers’ positions on the board by one extra.’
‘That’s right,’ Uncle Matiu said. ‘Lucky we had the man for the job. Mohi’s got the makings. His first season, Father.’
‘Good on you, boy,’ Zebediah called out. Mohi grinned proudly.
‘We’ve another three or four weeks up at Horsfield station. Then we go on to Brian Smedley’s.’
Grandfather nodded. ‘Mahana Two?’
‘We had a bit of a surprise at the Wi Pere station,’ Uncle Maaka began. ‘The wool was full of bidibid and the fleeces are pretty greasy this year. Our handpieces worked really hard and we were sharpening the blades a lot. It’s going to take us a while to finish there. I’ve asked Mahana Three if they can give us a hand after they’ve finished Williamson station. Then we had to find a replacement for Lloyd.’
‘Mother Ramona and I are going up to the hospital to see him soon. There have been complications —’ Complications? I had an image of Lloyd jumping off the top diving board at the Peel Street baths in Gisborne, holding his nose and sailing down to make a huge splash. ‘And the problem of our cook — thank you, Simeon, for doing our meat.’
‘Himiona was just doing his job,’ Grandfather cut in. ‘Mahana Three?’
I surveyed all the people in the drawing room and wondered what was it about Grandfather that made them so respectful and obedient? There in the front were Uncle Matiu and Aunt Sophie, for ever stuck in the role of exemplars for family. Pious churchgoers, they lived only to please Grandfather Tamihana; their seven children were going the same way. Next to them were Uncle Maaka and his wife Barbara, pregnant with a fourth child; Maaka had suppressed his own eagerness for a career in the army when Grandfather ordered him to return home to Waituhi. Further along was Uncle Ruka, reputed to beat up on poor Aunt Dottie and their five children; Aunt Dottie had never quite recovered from coming from a small sane family to such a huge and insane one as ours.
Squeezed in with them was Uncle Hone, my favourite, with Aunt Kate. In the second row Aunt Ruth was sitting with Uncle Albie. Of all the family, theirs was the saddest story. Something was wrong with Aunt Ruth and she couldn’t have children. My Aunt Sarah at least managed to have one child — my fabulous cousin Haromi — before kicking Uncle Jack out of her bed. No wonder he was rooting around with other women. Uncle Jack also went to the pub and drank hard liquor. In the third row — of course — was my father Joshua with Mum and my sisters, and my three spinster aunts. They were the ones who stayed at home and to whom no land would be given because there was none left to give. Their inheritance was the crumbs from Grandfather’s table.
The place of the spouses in all this was interesting. They held a ranking second even to my own. If they had any opinions, they voiced them through Grandfather’s children. For instance, my mother Huria never spoke to Bulibasha direct, and certainly never before Dad had spoken. Normally, if she had anything to ask, she got Dad to ask for her. If he wasn’t there to deliver her request, she buttoned her lip.
All these people would follow Grandfather to the end of the earth? Why? And why did they stay?
The next morning the shearers went back to the sheds. But before leaving, Dad came to sit with us in the quarters. The others in Mahana Four were whistling for him.
‘Hey Joshua! Shake a leg!’
‘Didn’t she give it to you last night!’
It was good-natured ribaldry, but my mother’s sensitive nature made her blush.
‘Don’t listen to them, dear,’ Dad said.
He coughed. Then he took his first pay packet of the season from the shirt pocket closest to his heart. ‘He koha o taku aroha ki a koe,’ he said to Mum. ‘Please accept this gift of love.’ He put the packet halfway between them.
Trembling, our mother picked it up. ‘Tena koe mo to awhina aroha ki ahau,’ she answered. ‘I accept this gift of love.’
My mother opened the packet and divided the notes into two piles, one of which she returned to Dad. The other was the housekeeping money for the next month, and would also be used to pay off the huge debt that had accrued at the general store. By custom, Dad divided his pile in half and returned half to our mother. ‘After all,’ he said, ‘what have I got to spend it on except beer and wild women!’
With a kiss he was gone. The euphoria of having the shearers at home went with him.
Later that day I heard Grandmother Ramona talking to Grandfather about going to see Lloyd in Cook Hospital.
‘What’s the matter with you!’ she scolded. ‘Lloyd’s been in intensive care for two weeks now, and we still haven’t seen him.’
‘Every time I think of hospital I think of death. You only go to a hospital to be born or die.’
‘But we’ll only be visiting!’
‘Even so, Death’s presence is there.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake!’
Grandfather Tamihana could easily have not gone to see Lloyd. In the end, however, Grandmother Ramona taunted him about being a coward and said that she was going — and she was just a woman. So Grandfather plucked up the courage and told Mum to bring the De Soto around to the front of the homestead.
‘Simeon can come with us,’ Grandfather said. ‘He can keep an eye on the car while we are visiting. I don’t want anyone to scratch the car, Himiona.’
On the way into Gisborne, Grandfather became increasingly nervous and agitated. Grandmother tried to calm him.
‘You’re Bulibasha after all,’ she said. ‘There’s not many people who have an angel looking after them.’
‘Ae,’ Grandfather agreed. ‘But does Death know that?’
Outside the hospital, I stood guard by Grandfather’s precious De Soto. I watched as he went with Grandmother Ramona and Mum up the stairs into the lobby. My mother was very pretty in dark suit, gloves, high heels and cloche; she was wearing a buttonhole of flowers that Glory had picked. All of a sudden she reappeared on the steps and waved to me. For a moment I thought that Grandfather had died already.
‘Himiona, haramai,’ she said. ‘They’ve moved Lloyd to a ward upstairs. You know your grandfather — he’s got that bad leg but he won’t take the lift. You’ll have to help him up the stairs.’
Grandfather still wasn’t too happy about being there, or about needing my support. As soon as we were up the stairs he pushed me away. He was sweating profusely.
‘Shall I go back to the car?’ I asked.
‘You think I’m stupid?’ he snapped. ‘You want me to fall down the stairs when I leave?’
Be my guest, I shrugged.
He motioned to me to accompany him along the shining corridor. It was almost as if he needed me to protect him. We came to a large white door.
‘Ah, you’re here to see Mr Lloyd Donovan,’ the charge nurse said. ‘Please come in. He’s expecting you.’
The door opened. Grandfather gave a loud, terrified moan. The room was silent, except for breathing. A silver barrel like a huge cream urn was in the middle of the room — but something was wrong about the urn.