“Yes, I had done my research carefully,” said Kevin, “and the Government regarded the protection of the huia as a matter of the gravest national importance.”
Kate, standing on the outside of this group, was furious. Something had happened in her, and she felt detached from the whole gathering. She couldn’t help thinking about Eleanor. The search for Stan and Bill had been called off. She couldn’t help thinking about the broken leatherwood on the Waitoa side of Devil’s peak.
What was more important – birds or people?
It was a strange question for a huia enthusiast to be asking. But within her mind an even stranger question was forming.
She found herself observing Kevin more closely. The main thing she noticed about him was his air of seriousness. He spoke slowly and rather self-importantly in a boring monotone. Yet the man had achieved his greatest ambition in life, an achievement which to anyone else would be a dream. Why doesn’t he get excited? Why doesn’t he smile? “Gravest national importance!” How pompous can you get?
Suddenly all her frustration boiled up against him. If he hadn’t discovered the huia, the search would not have been called off! Compared with Stan he’s a wimp!
But there are some things he does get excited about, she thought darkly. What was that angry argument that John had spoken about, the one he had with Stan on Little Barrier?
Dammit! I’ll stir him up!
“Well spoken, Kevin,” she said, coming up close to him. “I was going to ask you what you think about Nga Tama’s proposal for the Waitoa Sanctuary?”
“What’s that?” he said. “Nga-what?”
She sensed a sharper tone in his voice.
“Nga Tama. You know – that Maori group that are protesting about the huia. They’re saying the Maori people have a customary right to hunt the huia and to take its feathers because it is their royal bird. Therefore, if the Government wants them to give up this right, it has to pay them compensation.”
As she looked carefully at him she noted the narrowing of the eyes and the deep vertical trough appearing between them, the thin lips setting in a tight straight line, the knuckles of the fists whitening. “It’s time they were put in their place! What on earth is the Government doing to allow that kind of blackmail?”
Kate’s mind raced. She remembered Kevin’s presentation and a thought came to her so bizarre that she could hardly comprehend it.
“What a beautiful bird in your photo! You couldn’t mistake it for a female huia. In fact, apart from the background, the absence of its mate and the way it’s facing, it’s identical to the Keulemans painting.”
“What are you talking about? Keulemans? Never heard of him!” he said tersely.
She was on the verge of saying, “He was the painter who did the original illustrations for Buller’s Birds,” but stopped short because she realised that something was terribly wrong with his answer. She looked around at the other faces in the group. When he denigrated the Maori activists, it was evident that some of them nodded approval and others saw nothing unusual in it. Moreover, most of these people were not ornithologists. The 1967 edition of Buller’s Birds was expensive and not widely known. The name Keulemans evidently did not mean anything to them, and besides they were intent on hero worship.
But she knew from the Ornithological Society Librarian that Kevin had borrowed the book for a fortnight immediately before he left on his trip to the Raukumara. His special interest was the huia, he was a careful, studious man and in his research he was thorough. He would certainly have studied the section on the huia and the superb painting by Keulemans in the midst of the text, particularly for help in identification.
The other curious thing was his failure to recognise her deliberate mistake in the gender. She had said “you couldn’t mistake it for a female huia” when she knew it had the longer beak and therefore was the female.
She walked away, her heart thumping.
Kevin Carr was glad the huia business was over. Any public appearance was a strain to him, but especially the interview for the documentary and speaking to the Alpine Sports Club.
But one thing upset him particularly about last night and that was Kate Fairweather supporting the Maori terrorists. It was bad enough for the Maoris to be talking so much about their royal bird when all they had done was to hunt it to extinction.
He was not normally an emotional man, but the Maori claims on wildlife and the conservation estate had in the last few years built up in him a deep, almost pathological anger. It had begun with the blocking of mountain and forest access because of disputed ownership and alleged wahi tapu and continued with the demand for customary rights to shoot native birds based on alleged treaty rights.
This anger was so strong it was not easy to handle, but a lot of others felt the same and he knew where he could get help.
As for that innuendo about his photo – that was a slander that he would see his solicitor about. But first of all, he would talk to the Director-General.
He might also have to reconsider his membership of the Ornithological Society if people like Kate Fairweather continued to run it.
Perhaps it was time he took a holiday.
“I just rang to thank you for speaking to us last night.”
The voice made Kevin’s blood pressure rise, but he held himself in.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking but I have another request. I’m doing an article for the Notornis, our journal, on the discovery and I thought it would be useful to get some background on the adventure tourist company you were advising and how you managed to get this appointment. More of a human interest story, you could call it.”
The cunning of the woman appalled him. “As a matter of fact I do mind. I discussed the meeting last night with the Director-General with whom I am in daily contact. He has suggested that I give no more information to the Ornithological Society while you are Secretary.”
“Really? Is there a reason?”
“We feel that you are too close to the people who are trying to destroy the sanctuary.”
“Why, that’s nonsense. The Wildlife Service has appointed me an advocate.”
“The Director and I have also discussed that.”
Kate felt she wanted to scream.
Something beautiful had just been trampled on.
Show me a huia!
CHAPTER 18
“Are you all right driving, Jim?”
A few days before the New Year Jim and Susan McAndrew were returning to Auckland from Wanganui where they had spent Christmas with Susan’s mother. They had left later than planned, and darkness had already overtaken them on the hilly part of the road between Taumarunui and Te Kuiti. Susan at these times always regretted that she had never learned to drive.
“We can always look for a motel in Te Kuiti.”
Her husband grunted. “I’ll see how I go. Not much traffic tonight.”
They were climbing a long hill. Suddenly, as they came around a bend, flashing lights shone on the road ahead of them.
“Looks like an accident,” said Jim, slowing down.
Two cars were slewed right across the road. Somebody was lying on the tar seal between them. There were several other figures huddled around, their bodies lit up eerily by the flashing hazard lights.
Jim stopped and began to open the door.
“Wait!” cried Susan. She had seen the body on the ground move. It leapt to its feet, brandishing a knife. The other figures moved away from the cars and rushed towards them. They wore balaclavas, their faces were masked and their arms heavily tattooed. They carried knives and baseball bats.