The Whale Rider, Page 2

  I could understand, however, why the old man was so against the idea. Not only was Kahutia Te Rangi a man’s name but it was also the name of the ancestor of our village. Koro Apirana felt that naming a girl-child after the founder of our tribe was belittling Kahutia Te Rangi’s prestige. From that time onward, whenever Koro Apirana went past the meeting house, he would look up at the figure of Kahutia Te Rangi on the whale and shake his head sorrowfully. Then he would say to Nanny Flowers, ‘You stepped out of line, dear, you shouldn’t have done it.’ To give credit to her, Nanny Flowers did appear penitent.

  I guess the trouble was that Nanny Flowers was always ‘stepping out of line’. Even though she had married into our tribe she always made constant reference to her ancestor, Muriwai, who had come to New Zealand on the Mataatua canoe. When the canoe approached Whakatane, which is a long way from our village, Muriwai’s chieftainly brothers, led by Toroa, went to investigate the land. While they were away, however, the sea began to rise and the current carried the canoe so close to the rocks that Muriwai knew all on board would surely perish. So she chanted special prayers, asking the gods to give her the right and open the way for her to take charge. Then she cried, ‘E-i! Tena, kia whakatane ake au i ahau!’ Now I shall make myself a man. She called out to the crew and ordered them to start paddling quickly, and the canoe was saved in the nick of time.

  ‘If Muriwai hadn’t done that,’ Nanny used to say, ‘the canoe would have been wrecked.’ Then she would hold up her arms and say, ‘And I am proud that Muriwai’s blood flows in my veins.’

  ‘But that doesn’t give you the right,’ Koro Apirana said to her one night. He was referring, of course, to her agreeing to the naming of Kahu.

  Nanny Flowers went up to him and kissed him on the forehead. ‘E Koro,’ she said softly, ‘I have said prayers about it. What’s done is done.’

  Looking back, I suspect that Nanny Flowers’ action only helped to harden Koro Apirana’s heart against his first-born great-grandchild. But Nanny was keeping something back from the old man.

  ‘It’s not Porourangi who wants to name the girl Kahu,’ she told me. ‘It’s Rehua.’ Then she confided to me that there had been complications in the birth of Kahu and, as a result, the delivery had been by caesarean section. Rehua, weak and frightened after the birth, had wanted to honour her husband by choosing a name from his people, not hers. That way, should she die, at least her first-born child would be linked to her father’s people and land. Rehua was from the same tribe as Nanny Flowers and had that same Muriwai blood, so no wonder she got her way with Porourangi.

  Then came a third telephone call from Porourangi. Rehua was still in intensive care and Porourangi had to stay with her, but apparently she wanted Kahu’s afterbirth, including the birth cord, to be put in the earth on the marae in our village. An auntie of ours would bring the birth cord back to Gisborne on the plane the next day.

  Koro Apirana was steadfast in his opposition to Kahu.

  ‘She is of Porourangi’s blood and yours,’ Nanny Flowers said to him. ‘It is her right to have her birth cord here on this ground.’

  ‘Then you do it,’ Koro Apirana said.

  So it was that Nanny Flowers sought my help. The next day was Friday, and she got dressed in her formal black clothes and put a scarf over her grey hair. ‘Rawiri, I want you to take me to the town,’ she said.

  I got a bit worried at that because Nanny wasn’t exactly a featherweight, but she seemed so tense. ‘All right,’ I said. So I got my motorbike out of the shed, showed her how to sit on the pillion, put my Headhunters jacket on her to keep her warm, and off we roared. As we were going along Wainui Beach some of the other boys joined us. I thought, ‘I’ll give Nanny Flowers a thrill and do a drag down the main street.’

  Well, Nanny just loved it. There she was, being escorted through the Friday crowd like royalty, waving one hand at everybody and holding on tightly with the other. We had to stop at the lights at Peel Street, and the boys and I gunned our motors, just for her. Some of Nanny’s old cronies were crossing; when they saw her through the blue smoke, they almost swallowed their false teeth.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ they said. ‘Who is this?’

  She smiled supremely. ‘I am the Queen of the Headhunters.’ At that stage I was getting worried about my shock absorbers, but I couldn’t help feeling proud of Nanny. Just as we roared off again she poked out her little finger, as if she was having a cup of tea and said, ‘Ta ta.’

  But when she met Auntie at the airport, Nanny Flowers’ mood changed. We were watching from the road when Auntie got off the plane. She started to cry, and then Nanny started to cry also. They must have been cryingfor at least ten minutes before our Auntie passed Kahu’s birth cord to Nanny. Then Auntie escorted Nanny over to us and kissed us all and waved goodbye.

  ‘Take me back to Whangara a quiet way,’ Nanny asked. ‘I don’t want people in the town to see me crying.’

  So it was that Nanny and I and the boys returned to the village, and Nanny was still grieving.

  She said to me, ‘Rawiri, you and the boys will have to help me. Your grandfather won’t come. You’re the men who belong to Whangara.’

  The night was falling quickly. We followed Nanny as she went back and forth across the space in front of the meeting house. She took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching us. The sea hissed and surged through her words.

  ‘This is where the birth cord will be placed,’ she said, ‘in sight of Kahutia Te Rangi, after whom Kahu has been named. May he, the great ancestor, always watch over her. And may the sea from whence he came always protect her through life.’

  Nanny Flowers began to scoop a hole in the loose soil. As she placed the birth cord in it, she said a prayer. When she finished, it had grown dark.

  She said, ‘You boys are the only ones who know where Kahu’s birth cord has been placed. It is your secret and mine. You have become her guardians.’

  Nanny led us to a tap to wash our hands and sprinkle ourselves with water. Just as were going through the gate we saw the light go on in Koro Apirana’s room, far away. I heard Nanny whisper in the dark, ‘Never mind, Kahu. You’ll show him when you grow up. You’ll fix the old paka.’

  I looked back at the spot where Kahu’s birth cord had been placed. At that moment the moon came out and shone full upon the carved figure of Kahutia Te Rangi on his whale. I saw something flying through the air. It looked like a small spear.

  Then, far out to sea, I heard a whale sounding.

  Hui e, haumi e, taiki e.

  Let it be done.

  summer

  halcyon's flight

  five

  Uia mai koia whakahuatia ake, Ko wai te whare nei e? Ko Te Kani! Ko wai te tekoteko kei runga? Ko Paikea, ko Paikea! Whakakau Paikea hei, Whakakau he tipua hei, Whakakau he taniwha hei, Ka u a Paikea ki Ahuahu, pakia, Kei te whitia koe, ko Kahutia Te Rangi, aue, Me awhi o ringa ki te tamahine, A te Whironui, aue, Nana i noho Te Roto-o-Tahe, aue, aue, He Koruru koe, koro e!

  Four hundred leagues from Easter Island. Te Pito o te Whenua. Diatoms of light shimmered in the cobalt-blue depths of the Pacific. The herd, sixty strong, led by its ancient leader, was following the course computed by him in the massive banks of his memory. The elderly females assisted the younger mothers, shepherding the new-born in the first journey from the cetacean crib. Way out in front, on point and in the rear, the young males kept guard on the horizon. They watched for danger, not from other creatures of the sea, but from the greatest threat of all — man. At every sighting they would send their ululation back to their leader. They had grown to rely on his memory of the underwater cathedrals where they could take sanctuary, often for days, until man had passed. Such a huge cathedral lay beneath the sea at the place known as the Navel of the Universe.

  Yet it had not always been like this, the ancient whale remembered. Once, he had a golden master who had wooed him with flute song. Then his master had used a conch shell to bray his commands to the
whale over long distances. As their communication grew so did their understanding and love of each other. Although the young whale had then been almost twelve metres long, his golden master had begun to swim with him in the sea.

  Then, one day, his master impetuously mounted him and became the whale rider. In ecstasy the young male had sped out to deep water and, not hearing the cries of fear from his master, had suddenly sounded in a steep accelerated dive, his tail stroking the sky. In that first sounding he had almost killed the one other creature he loved.

  Reminiscing like this the ancient bull whale began to cry his grief in sound ribbons of overwhelming sorrow. Nothing that the elderly females could do would stop his sadness. When the younger males reported a man-sighting on the horizon it took all their strength of reasoning to prevent their leader from arrowing out towards the source of danger. Indeed, only after great coaxing were they able to persuade him to lead them to the underwater sanctuary. Even so, they knew with a sense of inevitability that the old one had already begun to sound to the source of his sadness and into the disturbing dreams of his youth.

  six

  Three months after Kahu’s birth her mother, Rehua, died. Porourangi brought her and Kahu back to our village where the funeral was held. When Rehua’s mother asked if she and her people could raise Kahu, Nanny Flowers objected strongly. But Porourangi said, ‘Let her go,’ and Koro Apirana said, ‘Yes, let it be as Porourangi wishes,’ and thereby overruled her.

  A week later, Rehua’s mother took Kahu from us. I was with Nanny Flowers when the taking occurred. Although Porourangi was in tears, Nanny was strangely tranquil. She held Kahu close, a small face like a dolphin, held and kissed her.

  ‘Never mind, girl,’ she said to baby Kahu. ‘Your birth cord is here. No matter where you may go, you will always return. You will never be lost to us.’ Then I marvelled at her wisdom and Rehua’s in naming the child in our genealogy and the joining of her to our lands.

  Our genealogy, of course, is the genealogy of the people of Te Tai Rawhiti, the people of the East Coast; Te Tai Rawhiti actually means ‘the place washed by the eastern tide’. Far away beyond the horizon is Hawaiki, our ancestral island homeland, the place of the Ancients and the Gods, and the other side of the world. In between is the huge seamless marine continent which we call Te Moana Nui a Kiwa, the Great Ocean of Kiwa.

  The first of the Ancients and ancestors had come from the east, following the pathways in the ocean made by the morning sun. In our case, our ancestor was Kahutia Te Rangi, who was a high chief in Hawaiki. In those days man had power over the creatures of land and sea, and it was Kahutia Te Rangi who travelled here on the back of a whale. This is why our meeting house has a carving of Kahutia Te Rangi on a whale at the apex. It announces our pride in our ancestor and acknowledges his importance to us.

  At the time there were already people living in this land, earlier voyagers who had come by canoe. But the land had not been blessed so that it would flower and become fruitful. Other tribes in Aotearoa have their own stories of the high chiefs and priests who then arrived to bless their tribal territories; our blessing was brought by similar chiefs and priests, and Kahutia Te Rangi was one of them. He came riding through the sea, our ancestor Kahutia Te Rangi, astride his whale, and he brought with him the life-giving forces which would enable us to live in close communion with the world. The life-giving forces, in the form of spears, were brought from the Houses of Learning called Te Whakaeroero, Te Rawheoro, Rangitane, and Tapere Nui a Whatonga. They were the gifts of those houses in Hawaiki to the new land. They were very special because among other things, they gave instructions on how man might talk with the beasts and creatures of the sea so that all could live in helpful partnership. They taught oneness.

  Kahutia Te Rangi landed at Ahuahu, just outside our village, in the early hours of the morning. To commemorate his voyage he was given another name, Paikea. At the time of landfall the star Poututerangi was just rising above our sacred mountain, Hikurangi. The landscape reminded Paikea of his birthplace back in Hawaiki so he named his new home Whangara Mai Tawhiti, which we call Whangara for short. All the other places around here are also named after similar headlands and mountains and rivers in Hawaiki — Tawhiti Point, the Waiapu River, and Tihirau Mai Tawhiti.

  It was in this land that Paikea’s destiny lay. He married the daughter of Te Whironui, and they were fruitful and had many sons and grandsons. And the people lived on the lands around his pa Ranginui, cultivating their sweet potato and vegetable gardens in peace and holding fast to the heritage of their ancestors.

  Four generations after Paikea, was born the great ancestor Porourangi, after whom my eldest brother is named. Under his leadership the descent lines of all the people of Te Tai Rawhiti were united in what is now known as the Ngati Porou confederation. His younger brother, Tahu Potiki, founded the South Island’s Kai Tahu confederation.

  Many centuries later, the chieftainship was passed to Koro Apirana and, from him, to my brother Porourangi. Then Porourangi had a daughter whom he named Kahu.

  That was eight years ago, when Kahu was born and then taken to live with her mother’s people. I doubt if any of us realised how significant she was to become in our lives. When a child is growing up somewhere else you can’t see the small signs which mark her out as different, someone who was meant to be. As I have said before, we were all looking somewhere else.

  Eight years ago I was sixteen. I’m twenty-four now. The boys and I still kick around and, although some of my girlfriends have tried hard to tempt me away from it, my first love is still my BSA. Once a bikie always a bikie. Looking back, I can truthfully say that Kahu was never forgotten by me and the boys. After all, we were the ones who brought her birth cord back to Whangara, and only we and Nanny Flowers knew where it was buried. We were Kahu’s guardians; whenever I was near the place of her birth cord, I would feel a little tug at my motorbike jacket and hear a voice saying, ‘Hey Uncle Rawiri, don’t forget me.’ I told Nanny Flowers about it once and her eyes glistened. ‘Even though Kahu is a long way from us she’s letting us know that she’s thinking of us. One of these days she’ll come back.’

  As it happened, Porourangi went up to get her and bring her back for a holiday the following summer. At that time he had returned from the South Island to live in Whangara and work in the city. Koro Apirana was secretly pleased with this arrangement because he had been wanting to pass on his knowledge to Porourangi. One of these days my eldest brother will be the big chief. All of a sudden, during a cultural practice in the meeting house, Porourangi looked up at our ancestor Paikea and said to Koro Apirana, ‘I am feeling very lonely for my daughter.’ Koro Apirana didn’t say a word, probably hoping that Porourangi would forget his loneliness. Nanny Flowers, however, as quick as a flash, said, ‘Oh you poor thing. You better go up and bring her back for a nice holiday with her grandfather.’ We knew she was having a sly dig at Koro Apirana. We could also tell that she was lonely too for the grandchild who was so far flung away from her.

  On Kahu’s part, when she first met Koro Apirana, it must have been love at first sight because she dribbled all over him. Porourangi had walked through the door with his daughter and Nanny Flowers, cross-eyed with joy, had grabbed Kahu for a great big hug. Then, before he could say ‘No’ she put Kahu in Koro Apirana’s arms.

  ‘Oh no,’ Koro Apirana said.

  ‘A little dribbling never hurt anybody,’ Nanny Flowers scoffed.

  ‘That’s not the end I’m worried about,’ he grumbled, lifting up Kahu’s blankets. We had to laugh, because Kahu had dribbled at that end too.

  Looking back, I have to say that that first family reunion with Kahu was filled with warmth and love. It was surprising how closely Kahu and Koro Apirana resembled each other. She was bald like he was and she didn’t have any teeth either. The only difference was that she loved him but he didn’t love her. He gave her back to Nanny Flowers and she started to cry, reaching for him. But he turned away and walked out of the
house.

  ‘Never mind, Kahu,’ Nanny Flowers crooned. ‘He’ll come around.’ The trouble was, though, that he never did.

  I suppose there were many reasons for Koro Apirana’s attitude. For one thing, both he and Nanny Flowers were in their seventies and, although Nanny Flowers still loved grandchildren, Koro Apirana was probably tired of them. For another, he was the big chief of the tribe and was perhaps more preoccupied with the many serious issues facing the survival of the Maori people and our land. But most of all, he had not wanted an eldest girl-child in Kahu’s generation; he had wanted an eldest boy-child, somebody more appropriate to teach the traditions of the village to. We didn’t know it at the time, but he had already begun to look in other families for such a boy-child.

  Kahu didn’t know this either, so of course, her love for him remained steadfast. Whenever she saw him she would try to sit up and to dribble some more to attract his attention.

  ‘That kid’s hungry,’ Koro Apirana would say.

  ‘Yeah,’ Nanny Flowers would turn to us, ‘she’s hungry for him, the old paka. Hungry for his love. Come to think of it, I must get a divorce and find a young husband.’ She and all of us would try to win Kahu over to us but, no, the object of her affection remained a bald man with no teeth.

  At that time there was still nothing about Kahu which struck us as out of place. But then two small events occurred. The first was when we discovered that Kahu adored the Maori food. Nanny had given her a spoonful of fermented corn, and next minute Kahu had eaten the lot. ‘This kid’s a throwback,’ Nanny Flowers said. ‘She doesn’t like milk or hot drinks, only cold water. She doesn’t like sugar, only Maori food.’