By the last day over two thousand people had come to farewell Bulibasha. Over and over mourners praised his exploits as a Maori Samson and honoured our family. His links with Ngata were elaborated on. The establishment of the shearing gangs. The fairness, honesty and reputation of Mahana One, Mahana Two, Mahana Three and Mahana Four were all spoken of. References were made to the winning of the Golden Fleece. Finally, accolades were accorded Grandfather’s status as the head of the family of God. He had, indeed, been a faithful servant of his God and, by his works, had been a living witness and testament that God lived.
During the final hours, Grandfather had a surprise visitation. From out of the sun, Rupeni Poata and the people of Hukareka arrived. Their ope numbered over a hundred and they came walking down the road calling and wailing to us. Poppy was on Rupeni’s arm. She was proud, undaunted.
Aunt Ruth was outraged. ‘How dare they come,’ she hissed. ‘Have they forgotten that they come to Waituhi only at their peril?’
‘If they try anything,’ Uncle Matiu said, ‘they will surely pay. With their lives.’
We were all alert for any offence, any slight against our grandfather. We sent out our best women to karanga back to them. Then Uncle Matiu nodded to David and Benjamin to go out and challenge them. We offered up our most fierce haka to assure them that they were not dealing with mere mortals. We watched, our noses flaring and eyes bulging, as they walked onto our marae. The whole earth seemed to become charged with psychic energy. Hukareka, watch out.
Hukareka presented three speakers. All of them were intermediaries between the Mahana and the Poata clans and sought to reconcile us. We listened, our minds alert to their nuances. Was that a criticism? No? How about that one? Well, we’ll let that one slide by –
Then Rupeni Poata himself stood up. He approached the porch where Grandfather was lying in state. He nodded in deference to Grandmother Ramona. Then –
‘I’m glad you’re dead, you bastard,’ he shouted. ‘You hear me? I’m glad you’re lying there in your coffin. The sooner we get you buried the better.’
I couldn’t believe my ears. My uncles and cousins wanted to run out and kill Rupeni right on the spot. We were held back by Zebediah Whatu.
‘All of Hukareka rejoices that you’re dead,’ Rupeni continued. ‘I rejoice. Now that you are gone there is space for us. You cast too big a shadow, Bulibasha. Take it with you and leave us the sun.’
Then Rupeni sat down. The sun polished his face with glowing bronze. He was like a proud statue.
‘Don’t you understand?’ Zebediah asked. ‘Of all the eulogies delivered, that one was the greatest. The greatest compliment, the greatest homage to Bulibasha.’
At the reading of Grandfather’s will, all the land and shares were, as expected, left to my uncles Matiu, Maaka, Ruka and Hone, my aunts Ruth and Sarah and my uncles Aperahama and Ihaka. Grandmother was left the homestead and a large cash settlement for as long as she lived. At her death, the homestead and residue were to be shared equally by my aunts Sephora, Miriam and Esther.
My father Joshua was referred to as ‘already having been provided for by his mother’.
Chapter 56
A month went past. I came home from Hamilton for the holidays. I was falling in love so often at the college that my heart welcomed the rest of Waituhi, and the physical labour. Like all boys in their late teens I was tussling with who I was and what I wanted.
One day, after Dad and I had come in from fencing, my mother said, ‘Something’s happening up at the homestead. Mother Ramona is acting peculiar.’
‘It’s to be expected,’ my father answered. ‘After all, Father was Mother Ramona’s entire life. They were married for a long time. She’s bound to feel his loss.’
‘This is different,’ my mother said. ‘You’d better find out what’s troubling the old lady.’
I too had become aware of some change in Grandmother Ramona. Her daily visits to Grandfather’s grave had been attended by some transcendence, some luminosity of appearance. I often saw her standing up there, a black silhouette against a blood-red sky, unmoving, eternal, appearing for all the world an icon of undying love.
There was a rightness about Grandmother’s faithfulness to Grandfather. If the Mahanas had been Hindu, no one would have doubted that Grandmother Ramona would gladly have gone to the funeral pyre with him. Perhaps she was ready to die now.
But what was this?
‘Mother’s been talking to somebody on the telephone,’ Mum said. ‘Sephora has caught her at it a number of times now. Mother Ramona hangs up immediately. She has also started locking her door. One day Esther saw her through the doorway. Mother Ramona had taken that old wedding dress of hers out of her hope chest. She was ironing it.’
Later that month came the event we had all been dreading — the first gathering of the family since Grandfather’s death. The full complement were present to confirm the ongoing nature of the Mahana clan. Zebediah Whatu and Ihaka Mahana had agreed out of respect to us that they would not attend.
‘Where’s Mother Ramona?’ Uncle Matiu asked. Being the eldest, he was expected to take over the running of the family meetings.
‘She’s not ready yet,’ Aunt Esther answered.
‘Aue, poor Mum,’ Aunt Sarah sniffed.
There was an uncomfortable silence while we waited.
‘Are you going to take Father’s seat?’ Uncle Aperahama asked Uncle Matiu. He motioned to Grandfather’s now vacant throne. Uncle Matiu gave a slight hop of alarm.
‘No, that would be disrespectful. Next week I’ll go into town and buy a new one.’
Then Grandmother Ramona arrived, regal in black gown and greenstone earrings. Aunt Sarah began to sob as if life had broken into tiny pieces. I watched Grandmother keenly as she made her way through the family to her accustomed chair. There was something different about her. Some resolve. Some sense of purpose. Her procession was marked by increasing sobs and wails from Aunt Sarah. Grandmother Ramona sat down and sighed — ‘Oh shut up, Sarah,’ she said. ‘Carrying on all the time as if the world was going to end. No wonder your husband took to the bottle and your daughter has run away.’
Our mouths fell open.
Then Grandmother Ramona’s eyes softened. Her demeanour became supplicatory.
‘Your father is dead. You are his children. I am your mother. The dead to the dead. The living to the living. I have a request. I have done my duty by him, your father, and by you all. I want you to let me go now. Go back to him who I have loved all my life.’ She paused. ‘To Rupeni.’
To Rupeni?
There was a shocked silence, then Aunt Sarah stepped up to Grandmother Ramona and said, ‘You’re over sixty, you stupid old woman. What the hell are you playing at?’
Bedlam broke out.
It is very difficult to trust adults once you have found them out. All my life I was accustomed to the usual Mahana evasiveness whenever I had any questions. Answers like, ‘Ask no questions and you get no lies.’ Or, ‘It’s none of your business.’ Or, ‘When you’re older we’ll tell you.’ These had always been the three main responses to any questions about the enmity between the Mahanas and the Poatas. So is my scepticism to be wondered at when a story turns out to be a complete lie from the start?