‘Hang on to your hats,’ Haromi said.
Tapping the microphone to make sure it was on, Aunt Sarah began –
‘Brothers and sisters —’ Sobs and quivering lips. ‘I have such woes to tell you today —’
‘Oh, poor sister Sarah,’ the congregation moaned.
‘I don’t know why I should deserve this —’ Shouting. ‘Lord, why have you forsaken me?’
Hysterics, then once everyone’s attention was hers –
‘Brothers and sisters, my husband Jack goes to the pub and gets pissed —’ Poor Uncle Jack, scowling away in the corner. ‘He looks both ways, brothers and sisters, before he goes into the pub, but you know what?’
‘What, sister Sarah?’
‘He forgets to look up!’
More hysteria.
‘And he smokes and when he lights up his smoke he looks both ways but —’ Shouting. ‘He forgets to look up! You all know he smokes —’
‘What do you expect?’ Haromi whispered. ‘You tell them every month.’
‘But even if you didn’t know —’ Looking up to Heaven. ‘God knows. He knows, brothers and sisters —’
‘Amen to that, sister Sarah,’ the congregation intoned.
‘Then there’s my eldest daughter, Haromi —’
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Haromi hissed.
‘Trying to sneak out while her mother is talking. Yes, there she is, brothers and sisters —’ An accusing pointed finger. ‘I should have listened to my father. He told me that naming my daughter after Salome was asking for trouble. I should have listened to you, Dad —’ Clutching the podium with both hands. ‘She sneaks out the window and goes to dances and parties and God knows what else. She’s like her father, looks both ways and forgets to look up! That’s where the Lord is, brothers and sisters, up there, and he sees everything. Even my daughter Haromi in her short skirts without pants on, exposing her house of children to the world —’
‘Oh Ker-rist, Mumma!’ Haromi exploded.
Shock. Horror. Just what Aunt Sarah needed — something to bring down the curtain, and in the best eyeball-staring, tears-streaming, mouth-agape, Joan Crawford style. Even Bette Davis would have clapped.
A loud shriek, a clutch to her heart (I’ve told you before, Auntie, it’s on the left side) and Aunt Sarah collapsed on her knees. The pastor rushed up to rescue her. Everybody’s eyes swivelled around to look at Haromi and, by extension, the two sinful boys beside her. As if we had just murdered Aunt Sarah.
Why, the thought never crossed our minds.
Chapter 17
Wouldn’t you just know it, but on the way back from testimony-bearing we saw Rupeni Poata’s family at Makaraka.
‘E hika,’ my father said, ‘they must have been waiting here for two hours.’
‘They want their revenge,’ Mum said, nodding at me wisely.
A Second World War two-seater fighter plane. Flight Commander Joshua is in front when his co-pilot Lieutenant Simeon spots something coming out of the sun.
Simeon E Pa, Hapani rere rangi waka!
(Subtitles: Japanese aircraft at two o’clock, sir!)
Joshua Kei whea? Kei whea? Ka, titiro ahau.
(Subtitles: Where? Yes! I see him now!)
Suddenly Flight Commander Joshua gives a cry of pain. A sharp rain of gravel on the windscreen.
Simeon (alarmed) He aha te mate, e Pa?
(Subtitles: What is it, sir?)
Joshua Aue, ka kaapo aku kanohi.
(Subtitles: I’ve suddenly become — blind.)
Simeon (grimly) E Pa, maaku he kanohi mou!
(Subtitles: Then I shall be your eyes for you, sir!)
Joshua Te mutunga taua mahi kei roto i o ringaringa … e hoa …
(Subtitles: The success of our mission depends on (gasp) you … Lieutenant …)
As soon as they saw us, the Poatas scattered to their cars. They waited for us to draw level and we traded insults and jeers, spitting from one window to the other.
‘We’ll get ya this time!’ Tight Arse Junior yelled.
‘You can try,’ I answered.
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh yeah?’
Somebody gave a loud whistle and we were off, neck and neck to the bridge.
‘Keep up, dear,’ Mum said.
Of course the Poatas had taken the inside lane which meant that it was difficult for us to pass them and get ahead.
‘Run them off the road, dear,’ Mum said.
It was no use. There was too much traffic coming down our side of the road. We had to keep on cutting back behind them. I saw the delectable Poppy give a V sign of triumph.
‘Hukareka sucks!’ my sisters and I screamed.
Flight Commander Joshua (regaining his sight) Kei te pai tena.
(Subtitles: You did well.)
Lieutenant Simeon (gravely) E ta, ko te mahi a te tangata ko te mahi te tangata.
(Subtitles: A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do, sir.)
We watched as they pulled ahead, spraying us with dust.
‘We live to fight another day,’ Dad said. ‘But first things first. Shearing time —’
By the time lunch was over it was well after three o’clock. The gangs were in a hurry to get back to their sheds and shortly after dessert most of the Mahana family and shearers had departed from the homestead. They were soon followed by Grandfather Tamihana and Grandmother Ramona, who were joining Mahana One, the top Mahana gang. Aunt Miriam was a fleeco and Pani a shearer with Mahana Four. Before leaving the homestead, Grandfather Tamihana said, ‘Miriam? You’re coming with us. Ruth? You take Miriam’s place with Mahana Four.’
‘Dad has seen the way Pani looks at sis,’ my father Joshua whispered to Mum.
‘Bulibasha’s trying to split them up,’ she replied, ‘just like he tried with us.’
After that, everything fell strangely quiet. My father Joshua and Aunts Sephora and Esther, helped now by Aunt Ruth instead of Aunt Miriam, were always left to close up the homestead. It was their job and their place. Even so, it was a difficult duty, disturbing and fretful. Only when Aunt Sephora turned on the wireless and filled the place with noise did we feel any sense of relief.
My aunts busied themselves in the kitchen doing the dishes, closing the rooms and locking the windows, while my sisters helped Mum to pack our belongings. We were to go in two cars — the Pontiac and Pani’s Chrysler. Dad and Pani tied the mattresses, blankets, pots, pans, suitcases and provisions anywhere they would fit. We needed all the room inside the two cars for us. While they were doing this, Glory and I herded our cows over to Zebediah Whatu’s place; he was looking after our dogs and small flock of sheep.
‘I wish I was coming with you, boy,’ he said.
‘Somebody’s got to look after the fort,’ I smiled.
‘Yes,’ he saluted. ‘I guess they do, Kemo Sabe.’
By the time Glory and I returned, dusk was setting in. The cars had been transformed into strange-shaped carriers. Mattresses were tied to the sides and back; the spare tyres were transferred to the front where they were lashed to the radiator. The blankets, pots, pans and boxes of food were on the top of the car. Legs of mutton swayed over the windows. Petrol cans were roped to the runners. Mum had decided to take some laying hens, and put their cage on top of the Chrysler. Their husband, the rooster, was going crazy trying to get at them.