Huia Short Stories 9 E-Book

Anahera Gildea

• Herausgeber: Huia Publishers
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 500

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

Here are the best short stories and novel extracts from the Pikihuia Awards for Maori Writers 2011, as judged by Keri Hulme, Katie Wolfe, Erima Henare and Reina Whaitiri. The book contains the stories from the 18 finalists for Best Short Story written in English, the five finalists for the Best Short Story in Maori and the six finalists for the Best Novel Extract. For over ten years, the Maori Literature Trust and Huia Publishers have been responsible for this unique and increasingly popular biennial writing competition. The awards and their subsequent publications have become much anticipated as they bring more undiscovered gems to the attention of the New Zealand reading public. Past winners and finalists include James George, Briar Grace-Smith, Kelly Ana Morey and Paula Morris.

Leseprobe

First published in 2011 by Huia Publishers, 39 Pipitea Street, PO Box 17-335, Wellington, Aotearoa New Zealand. www.huia.co.nz

ISBN: 978-1-86969-483-8 ISSN: 1177-0848

Copyright © the authors 2011

Cover image: Wiremu Barriball

Ebook production 2011 by meBooks

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.

A Catalogue record for this serial is available from the National Library of New Zealand.

Published with the assistance of

Ngā Tinihanga a Māui

PJ Akuhata

Ko te ao katoa kei te tirohia e ia. Kei raro ko te piki me te heke o ngā puke, o ngā raorao, o ngā ākau, whakawhiti atu ki ngā wai e hīrere iho i ngā pari. Kei tētahi taha he kapua tāhunahuna kei te āmio haere, kei tētahi he huinga karoro e kōpikopiko ana...kei te rere takiwā a Māui! Ka reka! Engari kei te rongo i te reo o tōna Māmā e mānu ana, ‘Māui … Māui … Māui … MĀUI!!’ Ka mutu te moemoeā, kātahi te maranga ohorere.

Ka pupū ake tā Māui whakaaro, ‘E ta Mā, turituri, te moata hoki o te taima.’

Me he māreikura e mōhio ana ki tā te tamaiti whakaaro, ka hoki mai a Māmā, ‘E tata ana ki te iwa karaka e tama, ki te kore koe e ara mai ināianei, karekau tō parakuihi, ā, ka haere ā waewae koe ki te kura!’ Te tere hoki o te aranga.

Ka tae mai rāua ki te kura i runga waka, ka aukatia. Te mākutu hoki o tā Māmā titiro ki a Māui, ka rere tōna reo, ‘E tama, he rangi hou tēnei, he rangi pai. Kia tika tō mahi, kaua e haututū, whakarongo ki a Matua Wiremu…’

Kei te tōtika hoki te titiro a Māui ki tōna mama, ka nui ōna whatu, kei te pōuri tana waha, kei te tūngou ia i tōna upoko, e whakaae ana ki a Māmā. Koirā tana hanga ā-tinana, he āhua rerekē ki roto, kei te kotiti kē ana whakaaro ki ōna māpere, ki ōna hoa, ki ngā kōtiro e whāia ana e ia, ki te aha, ki te aha.

Ka mutu te tohutohu o Māmā, ka kihikihi rāua, ka puta ia i te waka. Mai i te tipuaki ki ngā raparapa, he haututū te hanga. E iwa ōnā tau, nā tōna Māmā ōna makawe kerekere i heru, auare ake. Pūhutihuti kau ana, e pakiri ana ngā niho, kei te mau te tarapu o te pēke i tōna ringa matau, e kukume ana i roto i te puehu. He ihu hupe tōna, engari kei te pīata rawa ōna whatu i te tinihanga o te rangatahi.

Huri ana a Māmā i te piko, ka mutu tana poroporoākī, ka anga atu a Māui ki te kura me te whakaaro, ‘E ta Mā, ehara i a au te raru, kāre rātou katoa i te mārama ki a au …’

Pango katoa te kura i ngā tamariki. Kāore anō ngā karaehe kia tīmata, ā, kei te pūrei tonu. Kātahi ka kite i a Māui a Matua Wiremu e totitoti ana. He māhita tawhito ia, he waewae hape tētahi, koia e totitoti ai te hīkoi. Ka kite hoki i a Māui tōna hoa tata a Te Kara e whai ana i ngā tapuwae o Matua Wiremu me he waewae hape nōna. Ka totitoti a Matua Wiremu, ka totitoti hoki a Te Kara. Na ka tūhono a Māui ki tōna hoa, ka hiki tukemata rāua, ka totitoti te tokotoru ki te karaehe. E haruru ana te whenua i te katakata o ngā tamariki!

Ka tangi te pere ka uru mai ngā tamariki ki rō karaehe. Ka noho tahi a Māui rāua ko Te Kara, kātahi ka tutetute haere rāua ki a rāua anō me te ui nei, ‘Nē? Nē? Ko wai tō pāpā? Ko au nē?’

‘Māui, e noho koe ki tērā taha o te rūma, TK, kia noho tonu koe ki reira, kia tere!’ koirā te tohutohu o Matua Wiremu. Ka mutu, heoi kei te hiki tukemata tonu tētahi ki tētahi.

Ka mea atu a Matua Wiremu, ‘Tamariki mā, i tēnei ata ka haramai te minita ki te kauwhau te rongopai ki a koutou.’ Kī katoa ngā koko o te karaehe i te ngunguru o ngā tamariki.

Ka kōrero tonu te māhita, ‘Māui, TK, ahakoa ka ngaro au i te karaehe mō te wā o te kauwhautanga, ka mātakitaki tonu au ki a kōrua. Kei makarauna!’ I a ia e kōrero pēnei ana, kei te anga te tōroa me te kōroa o tana ringa matau i ōna whatu ki a rāua. Ka tūngou a Te Kara ki a ia, engari a Māui. Ka pakiri tonu ngā niho, ka hiki tukemata ia ki tōna māhita me te whiu pūhohe nei, ‘Tāu i kī mai, koia tērā Matua’ Ka kata ētahi o ngā tamariki i te mea ahakoa tā Māui i kī ai, kāore e kore he whakangahau kei te haere mai.

He minita tāroaroa, he Pākehā, ko Matua Sam tōna ingoa. Kei te mau i a ia te pare mā ki tōnā kakī, ko ngā kākahu he pango katoa. Kei te mōhio ngā tamariki katoa ki a ia i te mea ka haramai ia ki te kura ia rua wiki ki te kauwhau.

Kei te mōhio rawa a Matua Sam ki a Māui nā ōna mahi hīanga ki a ia. I tērā tau nā Matua Sam i ui atu ki ngā tamariki, ‘Ka pēhea te roa o tō aroha ki te Atua?’ Kātahi te hūpekepeke tere o Māui ki runga i tōna tēpū, ā, ka whātoro atu ōna ringa ki te rangi me te hāpārangi, ‘Pēnei te roa! Pēnei te whānui! Pah!’ Nā, ka whētero a Māui, ka oma ia ki runga i ngā tēpū o ngā tamariki tae atu ki muri o te karaehe. ‘Ka rawe Māui, e hoki mai ki mua, e noho koe,’ koirā te īnoi a Matua Sam, tē whakarongo a Māui, ka tīmata ia ki te takitaki i tētahi haka nāna i hanga i taua wā tonu, ‘Ko te tero haunga e patero nei!! Ko au, au, auē hā, hei!’ Kei reira hoki tōna poutokomanawa a Te Kara e umere ana ki tōna taha.

Ka kite a Māui i a Matua Sam, ka hoki ngā mahara, ka wiriwiri ōna pokohiwi. Mēnā e taea ana te titiro ki te patu tangata, ka puehu noa iho a Māui. Engari, kei reira a Māui e pakiri ana, e hiki tukemata ana ki a Matua Sam.

Ka īnoi a Matua Sam hei tīmatanga mō rātou. Ka mutu te ‘āmine’ o ngā tamariki, ka tīmata ia ki te kōrero mō tētahi tangata, ko Rāwiri tōna ingoa. E ai ki a Matua Sam, he kīngi rongonui a Rāwiri i roto i te paipera, ā, he tangata tino whakahirahira.

Nāwai nāwai, ka pau te rua tekau mā rima miniti, ka hōhā a Māui. Ka huri a Matua Sam ki te paipera tapu pānui ai ki ngā tamariki. I a ia e pānui ana, ka maheretia e Māui kia puta ai ia i te karaehe, na ka kōkiritia.

Kei mua a ia e noho ana i runga i tōna tūrū. Ka heke ia ki te papa, ka tīmata ki te ngaoki haere. Ka tae ake ki te paenga pukapuka ka huri whakatemauī, ka ngaoki tonu.

Ka tae tata ia ki te kuaha, ka puta tōna whakaaro whakahīhī, ‘Koia kei a koe, Māui! Ka kite koutou, hehe…. E! Nā wai ēnei hū?’ Kei mua i a ia ka kitea ngā hū e rua. Ka rewa tana upoko, e ta, he waewae nō ngā hū. Ka rewa ōna whatu ki runga rawa, ka kite i a ia a Matua Wiremu e anga atu ana tana matimati ki te tari o te tumuaki, auē taukuri e.

Ka kī mai a Matua Wiremu, ‘Koirā taku whakatūpato ki a koe e tama, kei te mātakitaki au. Ko wai kei tua atu i a koe mō te mahi hīanga? Pūrari takeo, puta ki waho! Haere atu ki te tumuaki, māna koe e whakatikatika.’ Ka tū a Māui, ka ngaro te pakiri o ngā niho i te whakamā, ka pōuri, ka titiro anake ia ki te whenua i a ia e hīkoi ana ki tā te tumuaki tari.

‘E tama, ko koe te mea e hoki ana ki konei ia wiki, tērā pea me hōmai pūtea kia ea ai tō reti, hehe,’ koirā te kī o Whāea Atareta, te tumuaki o te kura. He poto te hanga, he wahine ātaahua i tōna wā. He wahine whaimana a Whāea Atareta, kei a ia ngā pūkenga katoa, hei tā te māmā o Māui. Nāna ngā kerēme whenua i kōkiri i te wā i a ia e mahi ana hei rōia, he mahi aroha mō tōna iwi. Whai muri atu i te tutukitanga o ngā kerēme, ka pīrangi ia ki te whakaako i ngā tamariki, ā, ka hoki anō ia ki te whare wānanga, whiwhi ai i te tohu e tika ana kia āhei ai ia te mahi hei māhita, hei tumuaki.

Ka tatari a Whāea Atareta mō te whakautu, tē puta i a Māui. Katahi ka mea atu ia, ‘Kua taka ngā whetū i te rangi, karekau he whakautu māu! He wā tuatahi mō ngā mea katoa, nē e tama?’ Ka wahangū tonu a Māui, e mātakitaki ana ia i te rango e āmio ana i ōna hū, ka pōuri tonu.

Ko Whāea Atareta, ‘E Māui, kuhu mai, katia te kūaha, e noho.’ Ka pērā tonu a Māui.

Ko Whāea Atareta, ‘E Māui, tō māmā kei te aha? Ka roa te wā kua kore e kitea.’ Hiki pokohiwi, heke iho te whakautu a Māui.

Ko Whāea Atareta, ‘E tama, kāre i te tika ki te whakahāwea te minita pēnei. Kei kōnei ia ki te tautoko i a koe, pēnei ngā māhita katoa e mahi ana. He aha koe e pīrangi ai ki te whakaiti i a ia?’

I tēnei ka hiki te upoko a Māui, ‘Mate katoa au i te hōhā mō āna kauwhau.’

Ko Whāea Atareta, ‘E tama, me whakarongo ki a ia ka tika, he kūare koe ki ngā kōrero i roto i te paipera, māna koe e whakaako.’

Ko Māui, ‘Ehara au i te kūare ki te paipera, Whāea, kei te mōhio kē ahau.’

Ko Whāea, ‘Nē rā? Tēnā e tama, i tēnei rā kei te kōrero a Matua Sam mō ngā mahi a Rāwiri, nē? Whakautua tēnei pātai. Ko wai te tangata rongonui nā Rāwiri i patu?’

Ka tere te whakahoki a Māui, ‘E ta, māmā noa iho. Ko Koriaha tēnā, ko ia te hoariri o te Atua, ko te ope taua o te hoariri e noho ana ki tētahi puke, ko te ope taua o te Atua ki tētahi, i waenganui he raorao anake. Whā tekau ngā rā kei te tāunutia te ope taua o te Atua e te Koriaha, he mataku nō rātou ki te whawhai ki a ia …’

Ka pūkana haere ngā whatu o Whāea Atareta i a Māui e kōrero ana. Ka noho rāua ki reira mō te hāora kotahi, ka whiu pātai a Whāea Atareta ki a Māui, ā, ka tika hoki āna whakautu i ngā pātai paipera, pāngarau, hītori Māori me te hītori Pākehā.

He āhua pōrangirangi nō te hinengaro o Whāea Atareta. Ka ui atu, ‘E tama, kei te ako pēhea koe i ēnei mea?’ Ka heke iho anō te mata a Māui ki te rango, ā, ko te hiki me te heke o ngā pokohiwi tana whakautu ki te pātai.

Te mārō o tā Whāea Atareta titiro ki a Māui, ka toutou tōna upoko ki te hohonutanga o te whakaaro. Kātahi ka tū a Whāea, ka mea, ‘E tama, ānei te whiu. Ināianei ka whakamātautauria koe. Haere mai koe, e noho ki taku rorohiko. Ko tēnei whakamātautau, kia kite ai tō kaha ki te whakakorikori i tō hinengaro. Mēnā he tino rawe ō whakautu ki ngā pātai, ka mutu te kura mōu i tēnei rā, ka taea e koe te hoki ki te kāinga. Ka pai?’

Tērā pea he tāturi nō ngā taringa, kāre a Māui i te whakapono ki tāna i rongo ai. Ka pērā anō te kōrero a Whāea, ā, ka whakaae rawa a Māui.

Ka rere te pātai, ‘Whāea, pehea te roa o te whakamātautau?’

Ko te whakahoki, ‘E rua hāora te roa, Māui, kia kaha. Ka kite koe nē?’

Ka eke a Tamanuiterā ki te poupoutanga, ka pau te rua hāora. Kātahi ka hoki mai a Whāea Atareta ki tōna tari, ka huaki ia i te kuaha, ā, kua takoto a Māui ki te moe i runga i tōna tēpu, tīraha rawa atu.

‘Pai kare e tama, ko wai kei tua atu i a koe mō te mahi hātakēhi!’ tā Whāea Atareta whakaaro. Heoi, ka noho a Whāea ki tōna rorohiko titiro ai ki ngā hua i puta i a Māui. Ko te āhua o tā Whāea mata me he ānini kei te haere, he pōrangirangi, he koa, he kōroiroi, he kore whakapono.

Ka tono atu a Whāea, ‘Maranga takeo, e oho!’ Ka puare ōna whatu kohore, ka heke ki te papa, ā ka kimi ia i te rango, auare noa.

Ko Whāea, ‘Māui he pātai tino whakahirahira tāku ki a koe. Kaua e rūpahu, nē? Nāu tēnei whakamātautau i tutuki?’

Ko Māui, ‘Āe.’

Ko Whāea, ‘E tama, e hoki koe ki te kāinga, he tino rawe ō whakautu, tūmeke rawa atu!’ Mutu ana te kōrero, ka ngaro a Māui, ā, mahue ki muri iho ko Whāea Atareta e ketu ana i tana upoko.

Kāre a Māui i te hiahia kia hoki ki te kāinga kei mōhio a Māmā kua hara anō ia. Nā, ka haere kē ia ki tōna wāhi pararaiha, ki te whare pukapuka. He āio te whare, kī katoa i te pukapuka, ā, kāre he pakeke kūare e tonotono ana ki a ia he aha te aha.

Ka kuhu a Māui i te tomokanga, ka kitea e Whāea Apollonia, he kuia nō te whenua o Itāria. He poto rawa tana hanga, he hina anake kei tōna upoko, e waru tekau mā whā te pakeke. Ko tōna mahi he kaitiaki o ngā pukapuka. Ka nui tōna aroha ki a Māui i te mea kei te rite ki tāna tā Māui hiakai ki te mātauranga.

‘Māui kei te aha?’ te pātai a Whāea Apollonia.

Ka whakahoki a Māui, ‘Tutto apposto nonna, come stai?’

‘Kei te pai ahau, Māui.’

I ngā wā o mua nā Māui i kōingo ki te ako i te reo tūturu o Whāea Apollonia, ā ka tīmata ia ki te pānui i te tikinare me ngā pukapuka Itāriana, me te whakawhitiwhiti i ngā kōrero i taua reo. I tēnei wā, kei te mīharo rawa atu a Whāea Apollonia ki tōna tere ki te ako i te reo Itāriana, me tōna mau i te mātauranga kore rawa e warewaretia e ia.

Nā Māui a Whāea Apollonia i whakamārama mō ōna tinihanga i te ata. Ka mutu pēhea te kōhetehete a Whāea, ka pau te hāwhe hāora ka haere tonu ngā hāpārangi.

‘Whāea, kei te mōhio koe ki ahau, engari kāore rātou katoa e mōhio ana. Ngāwari rawa atu ngā mahi katoa, pai ake te moe i te whakarongo ki a rātou.’ Ka katakata a Whāea.

Heoi anō, nāwai ka tau te puehu i a Whāea, ka kii atu, ‘E tama, kei a mātou ētahi pukapuka hou.’

Ka kanapa ngā whatu, ka ui a Māui, ‘He aha ngā take?’

‘Ko te reo Tiamana tētahi, he pukapuka e pā ana ki te oranga o Nelson Mandela tētahi, he pukapuka whakatikatika rorohiko me tētahi pukapuka penapena pūtea,’ tā Whāea Apollonia whakahoki.

I a Whāea e kōrero ana mō ngā pukapuka ka mahara a Māui, ‘Kua mōhiotia, kua pānuitia, hōhā...nā, kāore au e mōhio ki te mahi penapena pūtea,’ ka mea atu ia, ‘Māku te pukapuka penapena pūtea e pānui, Whāea?’ Ka tūngou a Whāea, ka hoatu ia i te pukapuka, ā ka haere a Māui ki tōna koko o te whare noho ai ki te tūru hāneanea, ā, ka tīmata ia ki te toutou te upoko.

Ka titiro kau ake a Whāea Apollonia ki a ia, ka maharatia, ‘E tama, ko wai kei tua atu i a koe mō te mahi ako?’

This Time It Will Be Different

Tania Bayer

Dear Dharma, Please bring me a dad. Make him big and strong and kind. And good-looking, cos Mum would like that. This is for her too.

Even though you’re a cat, you were a very clever cat. Mum says she’s never seen a cat as knowing as you. She says you would’ve died soon anyway cos your kidneys were packing up, and at least getting hit by a car you went quickly. I miss you, but I’m glad cos I know you’re still with us, not in any pain. I hope you can help us. Now that you’re up in heaven, you could talk to God. Mum says there’s no such thing as God, but when I asked her if you were in heaven she said you were in a happy, beautiful place. So even though Mum doesn’t believe in God, there must be a God if you’re in heaven. Please talk to him and see if he can help us. I miss you.

Wiremu paused, as he thought he’d heard a muffled cough right outside his bedroom. He knew his mother liked to come in when he was asleep to put away his folded clothes.

I’ve gotta go to sleep now, before Mum finds out I’m still awake. Good night, Dharma.

He sighed as he tucked a photograph of Dharma under his pillow. He snuggled deep under the blankets and closed his eyes.

Wiremu stood broom in hand and surveyed the driveway. His mother was right; it was a mess. All those jumps and skids he’d done on his bike yesterday had dug up the lawn and left a tangle of dirt and grass on the concrete driveway. He’d protested when Aroha had banned him from riding on the lawn till the grass grew back. He thought she was being unreasonable, spoiling his fun just when he’d found something to do.

This morning he’d tried to get her to change her mind.

‘It’ll give me something to do!’

‘You want something to do? Here, sweep the driveway. It’ll be one less job for me, and it’s your mess anyway.’ She handed him a broom and shooed him out of the house.

He started sweeping. It was hard yet satisfying work. After twenty minutes, feeling he’d done a reasonable job, he decided he was finished. He leaned on the broom and peered longingly through the fence at the neighbour’s trampoline.

‘It’s crazy. Why don’t they use it? They’d have to lift those silly pot plants off it first.’

‘Too much money, not enough time for fun. They don’t have any kids. They own a trampoline company, that’s why they’ve got one.’ A friendly voice made him jump. He had his back to the fence now, eyeing a smiling elderly woman shuffling down the driveway. He could see she was carrying a jar in her gnarled hands.

‘You heard me?’

‘Course I heard you talking to yourself. I may be old, but I’m not deaf. I’m Nora Butler, from next door: the other side, without a trampoline. What’s your name, sonny?’

‘Wiremu.’

The old woman slowly straightened and looked around. ‘Where are your mother and father, Wiremu? I’d like to meet them.’

He frowned. ‘We left him. Mum’s inside.’

‘Wiremu, can I hear you talking to someone?’ Tucking a stray hair into her ponytail, Aroha Granger appeared from round the side of the house.

‘This is our neighbour.’

‘Nora Butler from number 270, next door.’

Aroha smiled shyly at Nora. ‘Hello. Please excuse me.’ She brushed some dust off her faded jeans. ‘I’ve been cleaning, and just started on the oven.’

‘Don’t mind me. I was visiting my sister up north when you moved in, so thought I’d pop over now to introduce myself.’ Nora smiled at Aroha, handing her the jar. ‘Anyway, welcome. Here’s some home-made plum jam for you.’

Wiremu noticed the corners of Aroha’s eyes grow watery, as they did whenever anyone was nice to her. ‘That’s very kind, thank you.’

‘So it’s just the two of you here?’

He watched his mother hesitate as if she didn’t know how to respond. ‘Yes. We … we’re … here for a fresh start.’ She exhaled, appearing relieved to have just said it. He couldn’t help himself, and rolled his eyes.

‘Heard it all before?’ Nora’s scrutinising frown made him squirm.

‘It’s not the first time we left him.’ His shoulders slumped as he mumbled, concentrating on counting the holes in his shoes.

‘But this time it will be different.’ Aroha chanted her mantra. Wiremu felt the knot in his stomach tighten. He sensed the kernel of uncertainty, through the positive shell his mother habitually put on things. He loved her for trying and meaning well, but was fed up with her lack of ability to see things through.

‘If you want to start a new life, you’ve come to the right place. Whanganui is as good a place as any to settle down and build new dreams.’

He noticed Aroha mouth a silent ‘Thank you’ at Nora.

‘Alright, must be on my way. Give us a yell if you need anything. Goodbye for now.’ Nora turned and shuffled off.

Wiremu felt his mother’s warm hand on his back. ‘I like her. What a beautiful, kind lady. Aren’t we lucky to have such a nice neighbour?’

Wiremu hoped Nora was right about their new home. Despite his reservations about Aroha’s fickleness, he felt a seed of hope sprouting deep within him. Whanganui was a nice place. People seemed friendly, and if Aroha could get a part-time job, things would be easier. He didn’t have any friends yet, but once the school holidays were over, he could start his new school. Being an only child and having moved around a lot, he was good at making friends.

He spoke to Dharma every night about wanting a dad, a real dad who would love them and make them a family. He knew Dharma understood a real dad meant someone loving and good.

He would be happy never to see his stepfather Gray again. Gray seemed to resent his presence, treating him as if he were always in the way. Whatever Aroha did was never up to scratch either. Wiremu wondered why she had stayed with him for so long. She never really seemed happy when he was around. They’d left him before, but when the money started to run out they always went back.

‘He’s coming this weekend.’ Aroha’s positive tone felt like a punch in the stomach. Wiremu looked up from the building-block house he was working on. Aroha’s nervous eyes said it all. A sharp kick of alarm caused him to drop a block.

‘Is the money starting to run out, Mum?’

‘No, no, he’s just here for the weekend, so we can talk and try to sort things out. This time it will be different. You’ll see.’ Wiremu didn’t like the tight, forced smile. He wanted to see a real smile. He wanted to hear Aroha laugh again.

Outside Thistle’s Sweet Shop, Wiremu lingered. Hands thrust deep in his jacket pockets, he shivered. It was cold. He pressed his nose against the window, admiring the rainbow of colours inside. His right hand turned the two-dollar coin over and over in his pocket. The coin he had taken from his mother’s purse when she was talking in a low voice on the phone to Gray. Money was tight, he knew. ‘No money for luxuries,’ Aroha had said often in recent weeks. She hadn’t said anything about the missing coin though. He longed for something sweet. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had lollies.

Stepping into Thistle’s Sweet Shop felt like being enveloped in a warm hug. The kind of hug his mum used to wrap him in all the time before she met Gray. To Wiremu it felt like coming home. He sucked in the sweet smell of every lolly imaginable, from jet planes to jaffas. He wandered around the shop in a daze, knowing he had some tough choices to make. With only two dollars in his pocket, he agonised over what to leave out. It was while he was studying the giant jellybeans that he felt an imposing hand clench his shoulder.

‘This way, thanks.’ The hand propelled him to the back of the shop.

‘What’s wrong? What are you doing?’ He was scared. A man with a red face leaned over to question him as he tried to pull away.

‘I wanna know something. Have you taken anything today?’ He couldn’t know about the two-dollar coin. What’s he talking about? That wasn’t today.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘An old lady said she saw you put some sweets in your pocket. Empty them. Now!’

Wiremu froze. His hands felt heavy, as if they were about to drop off the ends of his arms. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

‘No, I would never do that. I would never take anything.’ I’ll never, ever do it again. Sorry Mum!

‘Empty them. Now!’

He pulled his pockets inside out to reveal his two-dollar coin.

‘Mistake. Never mind, off with you then.’

He wanted to say something to the man, about how mean he was, but his mouth remained glued shut. The heavy feeling had now shifted to his feet, and he was rooted to the spot. His cheeks flushed as red as raspberry liquorice; he was angry at the injustice of it all.

‘Didn’t you hear me? I said get outta here!’

He found his feet again, turned and ran out of the shop. He didn’t stop until he was outside his house, where he crouched between two damp hydrangea bushes and cried. The tears flooded his eyes as he clutched the wet grass. He ached for Dharma, wanting to bury his face in her soft white fur.

‘What’s the matter sonny?’ Appearing out of nowhere, Nora’s concern sparked off a fresh flood of tears. ‘That’s right, old nosey parker from next door. What’s wrong, sonny?’

Annoyed she had heard him, he pushed his palms against his eyes, ready to ignore her.

‘Sometimes it helps to talk.’ His resolve softened when Nora put her hand on his shoulder, the way his Nanny Kahu used to.

‘I’m fed up with grown-ups. They’re all so stupid and mean about things. And dumb, saying things that aren’t true.’

Nora scratched her chin. ‘I know what you mean. We grown-ups, we just don’t know how to handle things all the time. Life is like a story we’re making up as we go along.’ She turned to go, calling back, ‘Your mum means well. Don’t be too hard on her.’

‘But, but, it wasn’t …’ Nora disappeared down the driveway.

He felt in his pocket for a tissue and pulled out his mother’s two-dollar coin. He got up and ran inside to put it back in her purse, before she noticed it was gone.

Wiremu was surprised to be greeted by a warm, inviting smell. The only delicious smells he was used to these days were the tempting aromas wafting over the back fence from the neighbouring KFC.

‘I baked.’ Aroha greeted him with a peck on the cheek and the warmest smile he’d seen in a long time. He paused, enjoying the scene.

‘I invited Nora over for anzac biscuits and scones with her delicious plum jam.’ Aroha was never happier than when she was baking or sharing the fruits of her labour.

‘I thought I’d surprise you. The money from WINZ finally came through, so I was able to buy ingredients.’

‘That’s great Mum.’ He took a seat at the table.

‘Help yourself.’

He could see his mother was bursting to tell him something. She looked like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower as she tidied the kitchen.

‘Nora loved the biscuits and scones. So much so, she made me an offer. She asked me to go into partnership in her baking stall at the Saturday market. She’ll supply the tins and ingredients, and I can help her out by doing most of the baking. She’s wanting to slow down a bit, and needs some help to keep the business going. She said it’s a nice little money-earner. Wiremu, it’d help us get back on our feet!’ Flushed with excitement, Aroha finally paused for breath.

‘So, what do you think?’

‘Does this mean Gray’s moving down here then?’

As soon as he’d said it, he wished he hadn’t. Aroha flinched as if she’d been slapped. She turned away and leaned over the kitchen sink.

‘Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. No, he wouldn’t want to live here.’ Suddenly pulling herself together, she spun around to face him. He was amazed at the speed with which she’d stretched the familiar tight smile across her face.

‘He’s just coming so we can talk. It’s nice to have options anyway.’

He didn’t feel hungry for biscuits any more. He wanted to tell his mother to forget about Gray and move on with her life this time. She deserved better than the mean way he treated her. After their last blazing row, his mother had said there was no going back.

Gray arrived on Saturday morning. Other than Gray’s haircut, Wiremu realised nothing had changed. In spite of promising Aroha that he would make an effort with ‘the boy’, the first thing Gray did when he saw him was demand a cup of tea. Wiremu made the tea and then made himself scarce. Aroha said he could ride his bike into town while she and Gray talked.

After riding round town for a couple of hours, he returned home to be greeted by Aroha’s nervous eyes and tight smile. He felt the blood leave his face as he digested the news he knew was coming.

‘Gray and I are getting back together. We can be a family now Wiremu.’

He wanted to scream.

‘I’ll take over. I’ll talk to him.’ Gray propelled him into the lounge, just like the man who’d pushed him to the back of Thistle’s Sweet Shop. He leaned over Wiremu.

‘I wanna know something. Do you think you can behave yourself? Your mother and me are getting back together. Knew she couldn’t do without me. You better be on your best behaviour now. Keep outta my hair and things’ll be just fine.’ Used to getting his own way, Gray jabbed a crooked finger at him. ‘Understand?’

Wiremu felt the colour rush back into his face, and with it his courage. He wasn’t as pale as white chocolate anymore. His face now resembled a glo-heart. All along he hadn’t wanted to hurt his mum, but he’d had enough. He couldn’t bear the thought of living in fear of Gray. He pulled back his shoulders and stood tall, looking Gray directly in the eye.

‘Yes, I understand.’ His voice grew louder with each word. ‘I understand that you are a mean, horrible man, no good for my mother.’ Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Aroha had rushed to the doorway. A worried expression creased her forehead. Instead of covering things up as he normally would when she was around, he continued. He’d had enough of Gray. Let his mother see Gray’s true colours.

‘You don’t know how to make us be a family. We don’t need you and I HATE you!’

Quick as a flash, like being struck by lightning, he felt Gray’s hand connect with his cheek. It stung like crazy. He was too angry to be scared. Wiremu glared at Gray, as Aroha gently took him by the arm, guiding him out of the house.

‘Wiremu, go over to Nora’s. I need to talk to Gray.’

He waited at Nora’s. Finally, Aroha arrived. She switched off the TV and sat on the old couch, turning to face him. He wasn’t able to read her expression, though her face looked different somehow. She wrapped him in a tight hug. He felt her breathing change as she started to sob.

‘I’m so sorry. I heard you talking to Dharma. I thought you wanted …’

‘A dad. I do, I mean I did. Just …’

‘Not Gray.’

‘No, not him.’ He was relieved his mother finally knew how he really felt about Gray.

‘He’s gone for good.’ Aroha met his eyes with a determination he’d not seen in her before. ‘You don’t have to worry about him ever again.’ She brushed away her tears. ‘I’m so sorry, my son. He shouldn’t have hit you.’

‘And you, Mum.’

Aroha’s eyes widened. ‘He never hit me.’

‘Not with his hands, anyway.’

He was solemn as realisation flooded his mother’s face.

‘I … I always felt there was something wrong …’

He hated seeing his mother upset like this. ‘It’s OK Mum.’

‘I just want it to be the two of us as a family now. We don’t need anyone else.’ He noticed a smile forming on his mother’s tear-streaked face.

‘Except maybe … a cat.’ His hopeful eyes pleaded his case. ‘I miss Dharma.’

‘So do I.’ Aroha laughed. ‘Make that a family of three.’

Wiremu exhaled, the knot unravelling from his insides.

Now they were settling in Whanganui, Nora didn’t waste any time putting Aroha to work. ‘I’m happy you’re staying on. No use beating around the bush: when can you start, Aroha? I’ve got a huge order to fill for the weekend.’

Wiremu smiled as Aroha’s eyes lit up at the thought of all that baking. ‘Right away, Nora.’

She turned to him. ‘I could do with an assistant, if you want to earn some pocket money.’

‘Gee, thanks Mum.’

His mother’s arm draped across his shoulder; he felt blanketed by a sense of warmth. She grinned at him.

‘Sounds like we’re going to be busy. How are you about all this change Wiremu?’

‘Good, cos this time it is different, Mum.’

The Adventures of the Giant and the Ruru

Sharon Clair

In your longing for your giant self lies your goodness

Kahlil Gibran – The Prophet

There once was a girl who lived her days with the spirits of the wind and forest, sea and mountains. She looked to the sun, and loved to feel it on her face as she sat on the ground drawing pictures in the dust. She would watch the other children in her village playing and having fun with each other and wanted to join them, but something always stopped her from doing that, so she continued to draw her pictures and talk to the wind, the birds and all creatures that her eyes gazed upon. Her name was Atawhai, and she made friends with unfriendly dogs that were used for hunting. She sang songs to them in secret, knowing that she and her brothers and sisters had been told to stay away from them. They were not pets for playing with; they were hunters: their job was to kill and provide for the family. She sang songs to the pīwakawaka in her nan’s forest, and life in the sun was pretty good.

At night in bed, she would sometimes be afraid, for the dark scared her: secret things were revealed and told to her that she did not understand. She shivered at the memory of being alone in the dark, for it was during one of these dark times she had found herself in a land full of bones. Bones scattered everywhere – human bones. Somehow she was in the giant’s lair: she could hear him, she could feel his breath and she was very frightened. He was guarding something, and she saw he had eaten the flesh of her kind who went there. She hid, and hoped he wouldn’t know her living presence there. Atawhai didn’t know why she was here in this place, and hoped she wouldn’t have to face this giant: not now, not ever. It was all too scary, and she was too little and didn’t know what she could do against a thing so big, so hungry and so mean. She was shivering with fear, and all she could think to do was pray: E tō mātou Matua i te Rangi kia tapu tō ingoa. It was a prayer her koro had taught her. Then she felt safe, and the experience ended abruptly without her seeing the giant; without knowing why she was taken there in the first place, not able to make any sense of the whole thing at all. But glad anyway, to be away from there. That was the night she met her ruru. And with this memory she felt warm and safe once again, and the feelings of fear left her again. But there was also a sadness that came with that memory.

After that first night of meeting the ruru she would listen out for his call, and silently talk to all ruru near, inviting them to rest with her if they were tired. They never did, except for one. And those times of him stopping by seemed far and long between: she missed him and would tell him this, and ask him ‘Where are you going? Why don’t you stay with me? Why do you always leave?’ He never answered those questions, and when he would go Atawhai would hope he was happy, and always longed for his safe return.

Whenever she was around her whare, the caretaker would say, ‘Your mate has been here, making noise all night; you know your kuia doesn’t like it, and it scares her.’

Atawhai would laugh and say ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of; it’s not scary.’ And she would wait for night to fall so she could hear her friend, who helped her to not be afraid of the dark through feelings of safety and warmth. Sometimes she would sit and listen for him. He would come and hoot hoot, and as her heart lifted with love and joy she would welcome his visit and thank him for coming to where she was.

The days would come, the wind would blow and she would know secrets of the world. She would be swept away sometimes in the wind, and see people and places far from where she came from; sometimes not so far. Sometimes the wind would wrap all around her like a shield as she was about to enter a home, and she knew it was there to help clear out what wouldn’t be cleared.

She kept these mysteries to herself, and experienced her human life as a stranger. One night she was taken on a long journey. She found herself on a winding road but she wasn’t walking this road; she was flying. She wasn’t being carried by the wind; she was flying. She soared, and wings would be spread, and she noticed she could see for miles and miles and miles. She was so happy. Then she saw on the path below an old man: he was alone walking. Behind him was a long, long winding road, in front of him was a long, long winding road, and there was no other in sight. He was all alone but for her, high above him. She thought once again she was being carried on the wings of her ruru, but this was not the case: it was Atawhai who was flying; it was Atawhai who was seeing through her manu eyes, not the eyes of her dear one. She dived lower, and her heart leapt for joy. She knew this old man: it was her koro. But not her koro from her childhood; this was a koro of old, and she knew him: somehow she knew him. Without looking up he stretched out his arm for her to land on like a perch. She did, and turned into herself. Talking to her koro, she asked him what he was doing; where he was going; why he was alone. ‘Always questions,’ he said to her.

‘Oh Koro,’ she said, ‘you know what I mean.’ And they walked a while with each other. He was searching for his home, but ‘You know where home is Koro, you lived there.’

‘Not that home my love; I can’t go back there.’

‘But why, Koro?’

‘More questions, Moko, he would say, and laugh. ‘Because I have a new home that waits for me.’

‘Then I will help you find it, Koro. I can’t stay all the time with you, but I will go ahead, and I will go to the east and I will go to the west and I will go north and I will go south, Koro. I will help you find your new home.’

Days passed and she hadn’t been flying for ever so long. She missed her koro, and cried for him, remembering he was all alone and walking so far with no company and lots and lots of winding road to walk. She cried herself to sleep after many prayers for her koro, and found herself feeling that same freedom of flight: the soaring high above the land and in the wide open spaces of life. She looked and looked, and would dive down towards the land and take herself back up again. She loved this life. She loved gliding in the air; she loved her ability, and she loved her koro. Searching as a child searches, relentlessly, she finally glimpsed a figure on the path below, with his tokotoko in hand and his korowai around him. She knew that shape; she knew the strength of that stride and the tallness of the body that held that strength. He was like a walking tree, solid and never ceasing: it was Koro. She called out and he looked up, and stretched out his arm. She landed happily. This time she had brought him a friend to go some of the way with him after she had gone. She had brought him her little kurī friend Popi, who loved Koro and loved walking with Koro and Atawhai. The three of them walked and talked. Popi barked excitedly, happy to be on an adventure. Koro thought she was real neat, and welcomed her company. He looked at his moko and saw she was no longer a little girl but a woman. ‘It has been a little while, Moko, since I saw you last: you have become a woman in what was a moment to me.’ She told him her life stories and her learning, in hope that it might point to his new home. Many years had her koro been walking. He was lonely; she could see that, and she was happy to leave her little Popi with him.

‘But only for a wee while Koro,’ she said. ‘She can’t stay here; she has to return.’

After a while of leaving Koro and Popi alone it was time to visit and bring Popi back. But on her arrival Koro was different. There was something hidden, unknown, and just different in him. They walked a way. Popi was happy, and talk was had about the usual things, like distance and what the new home looked like and who would be there and how long this walk was. Koro laughed and answered her questions: ‘Always questions, Moko.’ It was time to leave. Parting was always sad for them both, and as she picked up Popi and began to change into the magnificent ruru that she had become, she felt Popi leave the shelter of her wing. Koro reached up to the sky and snatched her back: his face was full of meanness, and he growled that she was to stay. The young woman flew back down to Koro and said ‘No Koro, Popi must return.’ He wouldn’t let Popi go, and he said he wouldn’t let her go either. His demand didn’t work, and his hold was released. Atawhai was so sad for her koro, and promised him she would return. ‘Please don’t be sad Koro. I will come back. I love you Koro,’ she cried out from high above him, watching this lonely old man with his korowai wrapped around him and his tokotoko in hand, heading towards another bend in the road, who had walked for so long on his own, searching for his home, his resting place. Atawhai was more diligent in her search. With Popi safe in hand she returned to her human life.

Time passed, as it does, and one night Atawhai found herself walking up a mountain. It was night and all was still: she walked and walked and walked. The path seemed to wind and curve upwards and upwards: always a corner, always a bend. She became aware of company on this walk: two crawling black creatures. They crawled along the ground; their black was feather-like: like wings, but they didn’t fly. Maybe they couldn’t, she thought to herself. They kept well behind her but grovelled with heads low so she couldn’t make them out. They looked like birds but behaved like snakes: worm-like, nasty and hungry, following behind her every step. Atawhai was unable to see their eyes, but knew they were watching her. They repulsed her. She didn’t know why she felt no compassion for them: it was unusual for her, for she had had many an experience where she felt compassion for an ugly creature. However, she disciplined herself to pay little attention to them, and finally reached a marae. There was a wharenui, and there were people there who knew her and welcomed her. She didn’t know who they were but she felt comfortable with them and with being there. She knew that the two creatures behind her were still there. The people of this place were also aware of their sneaky presence and they were sending them on their way: they were not to enter this place. Atawhai saw them crying and scurrying on their bellies down the mountain. Next thing, she saw Popi come bounding up, happy as any little dog ought to be, and behind her a friend of Atawhai’s. Surprised but happy of course to see Popi and her friend, Atawhai spoke with them for a wee bit, but her friend was taken away by the people. He was OK; all was well.

She took herself to a grassy space that overlooked the valley below. She sat there thinking of her koro. And she realised ‘This is Koro’s home; this is his resting place.’ As quick as she thought it, she was flying: she flew and flew with excitement and abounding joy. Finally, she came upon him. ‘Koro, Koro, I found it!’ – and to her surprise he wasn’t that far from this destination. She landed on his outstretched arm, transformed, and began excitedly to share with Koro her experience of the mountain. She looked at him, and he was tired. His eyes were weary and his walk was laboured. They shared a heavy sadness. She pleaded with Koro to not give up. ‘You’re nearly there, Koro!’ He promised he would keep walking, and Atawhai set to the air, keeping close to him, but with enough distance between them to keep him encouraged to not give up. Before she knew it she was back on the mountain, and a young woman again. She spoke with the people and let them know that Koro was coming, but days passed and there was no Koro; nights passed and there was no Koro. Atawhai sat despondent on her grassy knoll, waiting, waiting, waiting. Then, she heard a krill sound from women along the path up the mountain. People were leaping to their feet and racing about: the women were doing a call never heard before by Atawhai: a sound of joy and thanks and praise and laughter all mixed into one.

Then she saw a figure coming up the path. She knew this figure: he made it; Koro had made it! The people were cheering and respectfully lowering their heads to not permit their eyes to meet his, as he passed them. Walking next to him was Popi. He had his tokotoko in hand and korowai around his shoulders. Atawhai heard that krill again, so loud and so joyous, and realised it was coming out of her: it was her call of joy, her krill of celebration. All the love she had for her koro was in that sound; all the sadness she felt for his lonely and long walk was in that sound; their lives entwined together were in that sound, and she ran to her koro and saw his beautiful smile. She looked up at him. He seemed so much taller than she remembered him last; she felt small and safe again, and all the love of a little girl was shared between the two. ‘Koro you made it! Where have you been? I have been so worried about you! Are you OK?’

He looked at her so lovingly, and smiled ‘Questions Moko, always questions.’ They both laughed as they walked together to the whare.

Atawhai loved her koro and he loved her. The people were his people, her people. They were home; he was so happy. They wrapped their great love for him around him, and in that moment Koro shook his korowai and pointed his tokotoko, and Atawhai exclaimed in awe as she saw this magnificent, strong, well-defined, giant ruru, his wings spread out over the whole width of the marae. His legs were as long and strong as the biggest tōtara tree that ever stood; his talons went deep into Papatūānuku and his eyes were all seeing and all loving as he cocked his magnificent head upwards and gave a krill that reverberated through Atawhai’s whole body. It shook the very ground and opened the clouds. He wrapped his massive wings around his people, around his home, and looked at his moko below him and bent down.

Atawhai was not to return to that place again, although she longed to. She hadn’t been forbidden to visit; she just didn’t get there, for there were many more adventures to be had, and another giant she was yet to meet. But she kept this memory to warm her heart. She still looks out for her ruru, but he hasn’t visited for a very very long time. She still invites the ruru on her path to rest at her whare and asks after him. They don’t tell her any news of him. She sends her love to him and to them all, and prays for their safety, particularly on cold nights. She still gets to laugh when she goes to her whare and the caretaker says, ‘Your mates are back. You know Aunty doesn’t like them.’ And that night was the night Atawhai saw the white ruru … but that is another story.

Haowhenua

Piripi Evans

The trench Joe had dug in the back yard was the last outrage as far as his wife was concerned. She did not ask for an explanation; she just packed some things in a suitcase and told Joe that she was going to her sister’s house, to get some ‘sanity time’, she said. Joe shrugged and went back to his excavations.

A week later, a neighbour popped his head over the fence, looked into the six-foot deep trench, and asked, ‘hey Joe, you done away with the missus?’ Joe looked up, leaned on the shovel and spat. The neighbour looked at Joe’s unreadable black face under the silver mane, and at the big hands around the shovel, bunched up with muscle. He decided to ask no more questions.

Joe’s trench was the last straw for the Council too, especially when it began to extend into the front yard as well as the back. Letters on official letterhead began to turn up in the mailbox. It has come to our attention that the excavation on your property has encroached onto road reserve and is now a significant public nuisance, etc. But still the digging continued and eventually began to undermine the footpath, leaving only a thin biscuit of asphalt to walk on, which became the sagging roof of an under-street catacomb where Joe worked by lamplight. Joe played the good citizen by marking off the hazard with a bright orange cone on the affected footpath, but it was not long before a council car pulled up. After the slam of the car door, Joe heard the click of black dress shoes on the pavement. Joe peered out over the brim of the excavation at the approaching shoes, and then glanced up to a pair of grey dress trousers, a black uniform vest worn over a business shirt and tie, and a young freckled face with black hair slicked close against the skull. Joe decided he would ignore this visitor. He went back to his work, which at that moment was a delicate scraping operation at one wall of the trench.

The council worker hovered for a moment with bureaucratic uselessness before he eventually found his voice. ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘I need your attention. I’ve come to serve a notice on you.’

Joe looked up. ‘Another notice,’ he said. ‘And they have it delivered by some little sperm sample, barely out of college. Drawn the short straw, have you?’

The council worker explained that he had been sent because he was a Māori Liaison Officer. He gave his name and said that he descended locally from Te Āti Awa and various of the other Taranaki tribes that were resident around the harbour. Joe responded with a withering stare, and the young man realised that this whakapapa was considered to be not to his credit. Nevertheless, the youngster crept to the lip of the trench with the council envelope held out at arm’s length, like a tourist on extreme safari offering a titbit to a lion. Joe’s fingers closed on it with a snap. He tore the envelope open and gave its contents only the briefest skim through contemptuous huffing breaths, before he crumpled envelope and letter together and stuffed them into the back pocket of his clay-dusted blue track pants.

The council worker’s thoughts began to turn towards moving off and buying some lunch at the bakery that he had passed on the way up the road. But he felt that duty demanded at least a passing mention of the contents of the crumpled notice.

‘Sir, I must point out that your work is a hazard and must cease immediately.’

‘It’s not going to cease.’

‘Then can I at least ask what the purpose of this excavation is?’

‘Paleoseismic investigation,’ Joe replied, without looking up from his work.

‘Paelo-what?’

‘Paleoseisemic,’ Joe repeated, this time with a brief look up. ‘I’m looking for the fault line. I’m going to prove that you people have mapped it in the wrong place. Come inside and I’ll show you.’

The council worker’s curiosity was now stimulated. It is not every day that one meets such a dedicated amateur in paleoseismics; and particularly one in such an unexpected guise. He followed Joe into the little cottage. He considered doing the proper thing and taking his shoes off at the door, until he noticed that Joe did not bother to do so. The dark grey carpet just inside the door was stamped with the numerous clay imprints of Joe’s boots. The curtains were drawn and the interior was dusky and cold. Joe flicked on the light and illuminated a row of photographs on the mantelpiece, where the exited wife and now grown-up children smiled from their time-stained black and white backgrounds. Above the mantelpiece hung a clock that ticked loudly. Next to that was a crude, hand-made instrument that was labeled QUAKEOMETER. It was a dial semi-circular in shape and labeled in different segments, from zero, which was painted blue, through low, moderate and high, and ending at extreme, which was painted red. An ice cream stick had been painted black and served as a hand, which pointed at the orange high segment.

While the council worker looked around his surroundings, Joe went into the kitchen and filled the jug, which began to heat with a roar. He came back out into the dining room and rummaged among a pile of papers that had obviously accumulated on the kitchen table over a very long period. He swept the unwanted ones to the floor; among them a dozen or so unopened council envelopes. Eventually he retrieved an A3 photocopied map from the bottom of the pile. It was headed Fault Rupture Hazard Zone.

‘From the District Plan,’ said Joe. ‘You clowns have marked the fault here, up amongst the trees,’ he ran his finger along the shaded area on the map. ‘Actually, it’s here.’

Joe took a pen from his pocket and marked the street outside his front door with an angry slash, making an ink-lined rift on the page.

The council worker blinked at the map for a moment, and then asked: ‘how can you be so sure?’

‘I know this land, boy.’

With that, Joe went into the kitchen. He returned with two cups of tea and a packet of gingernuts, which seemed a bit on the old side, and were softer to the bite and more floury on the tongue than was proper. The council worker felt compelled to eat one.

‘You are very proud of your whānau,’ the council worker observed, gesturing with his exquisitely stale biscuit at the row of photographs on the mantelpiece.

Joe snorted, as if he found the comment amusing. ‘They’ve all gone away. The kids both went to live in Aussie. I don’t hear from them, but I’m pretty sure they still love the old man, deep down. Maybe even the wife does. But they got sick of living with an old testament prophet; that’s what they called me. The wife said I was obsessed. It was all the geology books I read. It was the way I knew every fault line, and would let everyone know whenever we drove over one, by saying tick-tock tick-tock. And then we bought this house. She liked it because she said it had character and she could do things with it. I liked it because it was right on the fault, just where I could dig.’

‘Except your digging has gone beyond your own property now. What if a young mother is pushing a pram along and the pavement falls away under them? It would be your fault – and the Council’s, unless we act to stop you.’

‘Don’t start getting all official again. Property is a fantasy. And the risk to the public of my digging is a small risk, compared to that.’ Joe meant the quakeometer. He drained the last of his tea, then turned and pointed at it. ‘That instrument measures all available scientific data: mathematical probability, the recurrence intervals of nearby faults, the position and phase of the moon. Put it all together and I can estimate the risk factor.’

There was something slightly strange in the way Joe spoke these words, the council worker thought to himself. The technical terms were very carefully enunciated. It was the wary and slightly defensive tone, perhaps, of a dedicated amateur whose theories had never enjoyed credibility among the boffins.

‘But,’ Joe continued, ‘the most scientific instrument of all is here.’ He patted his stomach. ‘All our roads, bridges and buildings remain standing on the sufferance of the land. The land’s not at ease. It’s tired of being abused. Maybe you don’t feel it, but I do.’

The council worker stared for a moment at the hand that lay settled on the great puku bulge of the ragged white t-shirt. He finished his tea and swallowed the rest of the biscuit. Then he left his business card on the table and politely took his leave of the crazy old man.