‘What seems to be the trouble, Aunt Molly?’
Aunt Molly’s voice issued from the depths of the kitchen. ‘Don’t think you can sweet talk me, you bastard! You told me I would have a good kitchen this time and —’
Clang as something was thrown against the wall.
‘I find the same fucken place as last year. Didn’t you talk to Mister High and Mighty Williamson about it? Not only that —’
Crash of something on the ceiling.
‘How am I going to feed all you buggers when there’s only four hooks to hang the pots from! Then there’s the little matter of the stream —’
Splat as something, probably Uncle Hone, was spilled onto the floor.
‘The water is too fucken far away, the safe is broken and there’s not enough air in here for even one person, let alone my girls and my boy Willie. What the hell do you expect me to do! I can’t work miracles, you know, only God can do that and even He would have a hard time in this —’
Smash as something was booted by her foot.
‘Place. What do you think I am Hone? Eh, you tell me that! You tell me —’
We waited outside while Uncle Hone tried to pacify Auntie Molly as best he could. She was worth her weight in gold. Many a time Mahana One, Two and Three had tried to capture her, but her loyalty to Mahana Four was legendary. Not even Grandfather had been able to persuade her to come over to the top gang.
‘I’m sorry, auntie,’ Uncle Hone began. ‘I don’t know how you put up with us, year in and year out. Goodness knows we can’t manage without you.’ Grease, grease, Uncle. ‘All we ask is that you do your best, Auntie Molly, that’s all. And if the food is not up to scratch, even the crumbs off your table are better than a big kai at Mahana One, Two or Three.’
Auntie Molly began to sniff. Uncle Hone edged around the doorway and beckoned us to hurry up and come in. As we did so, we patted her on the shoulder –
‘Never mind, Auntie.’
‘We love you, Auntie Molly.’
To one side, Aunt Esther was waiting, and Faith and Hope were grinning with pride. So was Willie. The cookhouse may have just been a one-roomed tin shack with a long table down the middle but, despite her fulminations, Aunt Molly had organised the most splendid breakfast ever — porridge, sausages, bacon and eggs, Maori bread straight out of the oven, cocoa and cordial.
That was always the way with Aunt Molly. She loved us so much that nothing she did was ever good enough.
We sat down to breakfast — and could we eat? Could we what! And as we ate, the bantering and stories began again, arising easily out of the camaraderie, as if any silence had to be filled in. Uncle Hone started to reminisce about how beautiful Grandmother Ramona had been as a young girl. As he was talking I began to revise my image of her — young boys don’t go around thinking about their grandmothers as sex symbols. She must have been some looker to have two men fight over her.
‘She’s where I get my looks from,’ Aunt Ruth said, striking a pose.
‘Gee, sis,’ Uncle Hone answered from the head of the table, ‘our mum and dad made you on a bad day.’
‘Huh,’ Aunt Ruth retorted. ‘At least they made me during the day,’ referring to her fair complexion, ‘rather than at midnight!’
Everybody laughed. Then Uncle Hone began to tell how the great conflict between Rupeni Poata’s family and the House of Mahana began.
‘Never underestimate Rupeni Poata,’ he said, picking up a fork and waving it at us in warning. ‘He is a formidable opponent and his family have the advantage of his excellent training, just as ours has from our father.’
‘Ka tika,’ Aunt Ruth nodded. ‘You may think that as a young man Bulibasha had the greater mana, but Rupeni Poata was his equal. They had known each other before Dad took Grandmother Ramona from Rupeni and had been good friends.’
Friends?
‘It’s true,’ Uncle Hone confirmed. ‘Not only that, but in those days Rupeni Poata’s achievements as a sportsman were as good as our father’s.’
The older ones nodded sagely. ‘They were twins on the sportsfield. If Grandfather won —’
‘Rupeni was second,’ Uncle Hone said. ‘If Rupeni won —’
‘Grandfather was second,’ Aunt Ruth continued. Whenever they were racing, boxing or wrestling, people took bets on who would win. Some sports our father excelled in —’
‘Like swimming and sprints,’ Uncle Hone continued, ‘but there were other sports that Rupeni excelled in. Although he was smaller and shorter than our father, he had great reserves of power. His upper arms, for instance, were much more developed. This gave him the advantage in wrestling or in shot put or javelin.’
‘In field games too,’ Aunt Ruth said, ‘they were eager competitors. In rugby, our father played in the forwards —’
‘Rupeni was a halfback,’ Uncle Hone continued.
‘Our father played centre in hockey,’ Aunt Ruth said.
‘Rupeni was a winger,’ Uncle Hone added.
‘They were always against each other in the games between Hukareka and Waituhi,’ Aunt Ruth continued. ‘Luckily, the representative games weren’t competitive, so sometimes they found themselves on the same side, and they were friends —’
Uncle Hone nodded. ‘It is important to remember this,’ he said, ‘because our father bore Rupeni no ill.’
‘Rupeni Poata gained as much fame for his sporting prowess,’ Aunt Ruth underlined, ‘as our father did. Our father had no other peer than Rupeni. His house in Hukareka is likely filled with as many trophies as our homestead at Waituhi.’
There were murmurs of doubt that this could possibly be so.
‘However, everything changed between them when Dad took Grandmother Ramona from Rupeni,’ Uncle Hone said. ‘Although both of them wrote to Rupeni in Europe seeking to mend any ill feeling, there was no reply. They waited for Rupeni Poata and the boys who had gone to the war to return.’ There was a pause. Uncle Hone looked up at the clock. Starting time was in a quarter of an hour. ‘What do you think, sis?’ he asked Aunt Ruth.
She nodded. ‘Tenei korero he korero tika,’ she said. ‘Everybody must understand.’
Four years had passed since Rupeni Poata had left for the war. Now he was returning with the other soldiers to a heroes’ welcome at the railway station. His home crowd from Hukareka was there in force. They proposed to swing into a haka of acclamation as soon as he stepped from the train. When Tamihana and Ramona arrived with their three children, Matiu, Maaka and Ruka, and others of the Mahana clan, some of the Hukareka people were hostile.
‘Must you rub Rupeni’s nose in your offence to him?’
‘We have come to welcome our hero also,’ Tamihana said. ‘Bygones should be bygones.’
Some of the Hukareka people agreed. ‘Ka tika,’ they said. ‘The world has turned four times and cannot be returned to the way it was. A reconciliation would be a good way to begin in the new world. There is so much to challenge us all. Let us go forward having resolved the unhappinesses of the past.’
Then Grandfather discovered that another taumau marriage had been arranged for Rupeni with a woman from Waikato named Maata. A letter had been sent to Rupeni to ask if he would accept the arrangement and he agreed.
Maata stepped forward to greet Ramona. She was a proud and handsome woman with stars in her eyes. ‘I wish only to serve Rupeni,’ she said. ‘He has already written to me about the death and the destruction he has seen. Men have been blown to bits on the battlefield. They have been suffocated by the deadly gas used in the trenches. He wishes only to return and to find peace. My arms are ample. They will bring him the peace he seeks. My hips are big and will bear many sons.’ Maata told Grandfather and Grandmother they should remain.