‘I will tell them.’
‘The family always comes first, Himiona.’
‘Yes, Grandfather, it does.’ I answered. ‘But not even the family is above the law.’
I knew that I had gone too far — over the lip of the known world and into insanity. Behind and around me was a forbidding hush. I realised I was alone on this issue. When Grandfather Tamihana came for me, hip-hopping across the room, I knew that this was just between me and him — nobody would come to my defence.
Grandfather lifted me up by the scruff of the neck. He pulled me out of the drawing room, past Mum and Dad and into the kitchen. He threw me out into the back yard. When Grandmother tried to stop him, he roared, ‘Stay out of this.’
He turned to me.
‘Ever since you were born —’
Jabbing me like a boxer.
‘You have been like a viper at my bosom —’
Hitting my stomach, my chest.
‘Every time I want something —’
Feinting at my face.
‘You are always there to confound me —’
The first hit to my temple. Blood pouring from the cut.
‘Not any more.’
Slowly and methodically Grandfather began to take me apart. Oh, I could have fought back, but what was the use? Grandfather would have beaten me to pulp in time. Better to let him get it over with. It was faster this way. I tasted blood on my lips. I saw everything in a haze. The family had come out to watch, standing there on the verandah.
Yes, I suppose I had this coming. After all, the family did come first and I had challenged that commandment. Yes, I suppose I did deserve it, but oh shit standing up for your principles hurt –
Then I heard somebody screaming and yelling. Someone small was running across the back yard.
Glory.
‘You leave my brother alone!’
She jumped onto Grandfather Tamihana’s back. She put her legs around his waist and began to claw at his eyes.
‘Run, Simeon,’ Glory cried. ‘Run!’
She was a raging cyclone of fists and fury, spitting like a kitten. I tried to warn her that she was in danger, but my mouth was filled with blood.
No, no, Glory. Play dead, darling. Play dead.
The bastard was hitting her too. He reached behind, tore Glory from his back and threw her against the pump. She squealed with shock.
‘Glory, no —’
I ran to my sister. Grandfather was after us.
‘That’s enough, Father.’
A strong arm came behind Grandfather to restrain him.
‘These are my children, Father. So help me God, I will kill you if you raise another hand against either of them.’
My father, Joshua, was standing between us. His voice was all choked up. He was trembling with sorrow.
‘Get out of the way, Joshua,’ Grandfather threatened. ‘That boy needs to be taught a lesson.’
‘Please don’t make me do this,’ Dad said. ‘Please —’
Grandfather tried to push past him. My father’s fist came up. He cracked Grandfather on the jaw. Grandfather fell. He was like a huge tree, crashing in slow motion to the ground. The silence surrounding his fall was thunderous.
Dad started to sob. ‘Oh God forgive me —’
Slowly, the family emerged from the verandah. My mother and Grandmother Ramona came to me, Glory and my father Joshua. Zebediah Whatu, Ihaka Mahana and aunts and uncles gathered around Grandfather to help him up and into the house. Uncle Hone put an arm around me.
‘It will be all right,’ he said.
A spell was broken that night — a spell that had been cast for a long time. The spell had to be broken so that we could all grow. But as with all momentous changes, the breaking of the spell came with great sadness. The children of Ranginui, when they separated their father sky from their mother earth so that they could walk upright, must have felt exactly as we did on that night.
Chapter 47
Three weeks later a huge crowd from Gisborne and the East Coast came to farewell the special steam express which was travelling from Gisborne to Masterton via Napier, Hastings, Waipukurau and Dannevirke carrying the two teams from Gisborne who were representing the province in the Golden Fleece competition. The whole town was caught up in the excitement, no doubt assisted by the local newspaper editor who likened our journey to that taken by the Greek hero Jason and his valiant argonauts, who sought and finally won the golden fleece. Even the mayor could not resist the opportunity for some classical allusion of his own.
‘The hopes of the district go with you,’ he said. ‘On your return, we will look for a white sail of victory rather than the black sail of disappointment.’
The brass band played. Red and blue bunting fluttered in the breeze. The train conductor called, ‘All aboard!’, and the express began to chug out of the station. The people on the platform were like tiny flags. We burst out of the suburbs into the green country. The steam from the engine was a white pennant curling in the sky.
All of Waituhi was on that train. Carriages five and six were taken by the Hukareka people, including Rupeni Poata. Behind them were supporters from all over the province. We took up carriages three and four, both the Mormon and non-Mormon sides of the valley. Among us was Nani Mini Tupara. Stay at home while everybody was at Masterton? Get off the grass. Religious differences aside, we were all family, deriving common ancestry from Mahaki, the leader of our iwi.
Grandfather Tamihana and Grandmother Ramona, being VIPs, were up in the first carriage with other provincial officials. Aunt Ruth was with them. She had the pip with me and was still siding with her father.
I think all of us were glad that Grandfather was not sitting with us. After the family meeting Ihaka Mahana and Zebediah Whatu had tried to reconcile him with the legal situation about Mahana Four: no substitutions would be allowed. He remained adamant. In the end I suggested a show of hands be taken and, for the first time, Grandfather Tamihana realised he had lost against his own family. Is this how democracy begins?
‘Mahana Four will never win,’ he said when the results of the vote were read to him. ‘However, if that is what all of you want — to support a losing team — then so be it.’
When I think back on it, I know that Grandfather Tamihana was right to be anxious about the composition of Mahana Four. We had gone into the provincial competition with our usual crew — Uncle Hone, Dad, Pani, Uncle Albie and Sam Whatu as our shearers; Haromi and Frances as sweepers; Aunt Sephora as our wool classer aided by Mum, Miriam — Aunt Ruth had gone back to Mahana Two — and Esther, and David and Benjamin on the press. I was still the sheepo with my two mates Peewee and Mackie and, even though she hated the attention, Glory was a grim presence concentrating on her dags. By contrast, both Poata One and the Lawson syndicate were made up entirely of adults. The Brute was doing the dags, for goodness sake.
Being in the national finals was different. No way could we hope to compete and expect to win — not with Haromi still throwing the occasional fleece upside down or Uncle Albie’s slow pace. But there was no turning back. It must have been luck, after all.
At the last moment, Hukareka asked the judges if they could make two substitutions. The judges agreed on condition that Waituhi also have that option available to them. Thus Uncle Albie stepped down in favour of Uncle Matiu and Aunt Ruth replaced Frances. Grandfather at least got part of his way. Wily as he was, he also tried to have Mohi take over either David or Benjamin’s position on the press. Their father Sam would not have it.