Hiwa, page 6
‘I got a call about you losing power?’
‘Yup, can’t fry the piggies properly,’ said Doofus.
Scoobs got a whiff of pig death outside but one foot inside and it was gagging awful.
‘You get used to the smell,’ Doofus said.
Hopefully not, Scoobs thought. ‘So how does it work?’
‘They come down the shoot, give ’em a zap across the noggin, cut their throats, drop ’em in this hot tub time machine of boiling water to flash cook the outside, then hook ’em out and down to the gut floor.’
‘Where’s the fuse box?’
‘Right there, but, obvs, we checked that. We’re not numbnuts. Fuses look fine.’
Scoobs checked the fuses and they were good. This was going to be more than fifteen mins. The stink was going to be in him, in his clothes and everywhere.
‘You might have to crawl underneath.’
Scoobs’s nice clean overalls got totally munted as he crawled around under the tub. There was dust and dirt, rat shit and bird shit, and finally he found a section of cable rusted right through.
‘I got to go back to the van,’ Scoobs said, inching back out.
‘We’ll be waiting,’ said Doofus. By now his workmate had turned up for a gawk, and Doofus turned real quick, grabbed this new guy and thrust him out over the edge of the tub. Then, just as sudden, Doofus yanked him back.
‘Saved ya!’ Doofus yelled, a killer clown.
Scoobs’s world collapsed. Big black hole. Time as a concertina, and he’s a little kid back on the top of the Hāwera water tower. He staggered back to the van, hyper-ventilating. He rolled a doob, deep inhaled, tried to calm the fuck down. It was all clicking into place now. The Doofus had a beard. It was a disguise. But Scoobs knew it was Worm, effing fucking Worm, the psycho from primary. He couldn’t go back in there. Should just drive away. Send someone else out. No. No, have to go back in there. Man up. Keep pretending, don’t recognise him.
Scoobs had mellowed with the joint now. Back inside, he was all cool calm collected.
‘So what’s up?’ asked Worm.
‘Just a cable rusted out. You got bird and rat shit down there, plus some water. It’s all corrosive. Gets rusty.’
‘I know what corrosive means, varsity boy. That’s where you went, right?’
‘Um, yeah, but I dropped out.’
‘C’mon, Scoobs, let’s drop the game, you recognise me, eh? I’m Worm? Wiremu from school?’
‘Oh. Oh, yeah. Of course. Sorry, the beard, it threw me. You look good. Muscley.’
‘Thanks. Yeah, I’m training for Iron Māori. Whereas you, mate, have packed on the beef with the old bay window out front.’
‘Yeah. Look, I got another job soon. I’ll turn everything off and should be done in thirty minutes. You might as well go off and take a long smoko.’
‘Nah, I like to watch,’ said Worm. ‘And we can catch up on old times.’
He followed Scoobs down to the bottom of the tub. Worm talked all sorts of shit, all sorts of reckons, doing this wack Scooby-Doo voice, as if they were best mates at school. Took Scoobs forty-five minutes, but it was as good as a bought job once it was done.
‘Okay, I’ll see ya round,’ said Scoobs.
‘Nah, let’s make sure it works. Wouldn’t want to have to call you out again, would we?’
Scoobs never wanted to see Worm ever again. He turned everything back on.
‘So you do remember me from school, right?’ asked Worm.
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Scoobs. ‘You were a real rugby star, right? Still playing?’
‘Just pressies for the piss-ups. What’d you play back in the day, Scoobs?’
‘Um, badminton.’
‘Badminton. Shuttlecocks. Nice. Hey, sweet job, bro, the temp has rocketed right back up. Let’s rock’n’roll.’ Worm let some poor pig in. ‘You want to stick it?’ he asked, as if it was some sort of honour to be bestowed. ‘You just take the knife – ’
‘No, it’s fine.’
‘We call this the cradle. Hahaha. For our pig babies. Usually we zap ’em first. But seeing as we got a special guest – you – let’s have some fun.’
Worm slit its throat. Blood pissed out. Then he released the cradle and tipped the pig into the boiling tub. But it was still conscious. Worm never did the zap. Pig screamed and gurgled out the gash in its throat, flailing around. Worm and his mate cracked right up. Then, fuck me, if Worm didn’t grab Scoobs by the scruff of his overalls and jerk him out over the steaming water, to see the flailing pig better, kicking its last. Same as he did to the other poor bastard. But then the zip on Scoobs’s overalls busts, and Scoobs is falling down, till Worm grabs him by the ankles and yanks him back up to safety.
‘Saved ya! Just like the old days! Ha ha, holy, almost lost you, but no harm no foul. Bit of entertainment, eh. Need it in a boring as batshit job like this. That’s why I give some little piggies a last chance to dance.’
Worms hooked the hot-pink, finally dead pig out and sent it off down the chute to the gut floor. The next live pig ran into the cradle. Worm gave it the zap. Eyes rolled back to white. Throat slashed. Tipped into the tub.
‘So you still in Hāwera?’ asked Worm, all matey now. Like he never just about killed poor Scoobs.
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m still there, too. But don’t see you around.’
‘Keep to myself.’
‘What happened to your missus and kids? Heard there was some trouble.’
‘Nah, just separated. Then she and the kids shot through to Aus. She’s got rellies over there. I’m going over to catch up at some stage.’
‘Right. Right. Let’s go for a beer some time. Catch up on old times.’
‘What old times?’
‘Whoa. Weren’t we sort of mates, Scoobs? Once upon a time?’
‘Nah.’
‘Hey, remember when that kid fell off the water tower?’
‘Nah.’
‘Yeah, you do. On the school trip? What was their name?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Yeah, you do. You were right there, bro. Right beside me.’
‘I got to go.’
‘Hey, don’t be a misery guts. What’s your number, we’ll go for a beer.’
‘I don’t drink.’
‘Hey, we were just kids, Scoobs, and shit happens. And you know your phone number is on the side of your van, right? I will find you.’
‘She was full of life.’ Scoobs turned to face Worm.
‘Yeah, always jumping around. Think she even had a pogo stick at one stage. Whatever, it was fucking annoying, eh?’
‘Yeah, about as annoying as a big kid going around pushing other kids towards the edge, and then pulling them back and yelling, “Saved ya!”’
‘Yeah, except then there was another kid, who thought he could be just as cool, and did the same thing. But, sadly, wasn’t quite so coordinated. And missed pulling the girl back when, full of life, she jumped and he pushed her at just the wrong moment. And just the wrong place.
‘That’s not how –’
‘And he didn’t save her.’
‘That’s not how, that’s not how I remember it. You’re re-writing history.’
‘Am I now? Well, water under the bridge, eh, declared an accident. Hey, you want to check the cable one last time? See if there’s anything else that needs fixing? So you never have to see me again?’
Scoobs crawled back down under the tub. Didn’t find any more rusty cables, but – a rat!
Scoobs jerked his head back – bonk! Belted his head into the tub. Then reeled back – BONK! Bashed his head into the concrete below. Everything went black. Then somehow he was at A&E, and then in a house with a boy and a big screen, and ‘Guns and Hoses’!
‘Wake up, Scoobs! Wake up!’
VII. NEVER SAY YOU’RE SORRY – MAKIN’ BACON
‘Wake up, Scoobs. It’s seven a.m., you made it through the night. How you feeling?’ Worm was frying bacon, while Junior made green smoothies. ‘We get all the bacon we can eat. I made you three rashers. Hey, sorry about the rat thing.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘Was one I found dead weeks ago, probably poisoned, all dried up, so I tied it to a pole, to scare the shit out of the others. Bit of entertainment.’
‘So you poked that rat at me?’
‘Yeah, hahaha, and then you bonked your head. Sorry. But I took you to A&E, and then back here to make sure you didn’t cark it during the night? You remember all that now?’
‘Where’s my pants?’
‘On the chair. I’ll drop you back at your van, but can you take a look at Junior’s story first?’
‘I liked some of your ideas, Mr Scoobs,’ said Junior, ‘but I came up with something better. This couple come into the KFC, and it has a playground with tunnels and slides beside it like Macca’s, and they put their kid in there, and the kid crawls into a tunnel. But then the orders are taking a long time, and finally the couple get their burgers, but the kid has disappeared. And guess what? Guess.’
‘The kid’s in the burgers?’
‘The kid’s in the burgers! Then that hardcase Tito dude that you were telling me about, trying to give me some history lesson – well I made him the KFC Manager and he’s turned it into this Cannibal Fried Chicken joint where –’
‘The original Tītokowaru never ate kaitangata.’
‘But, nah, last night you were saying that he said: My throat is continually open for the eating of human flesh.’
‘I know, I know. And the Auckland Punch said, “he had a large supply of Cured Constable, Potted Pakeha, and Dried Militiamen always on hand”. And it’s true that his warriors, on some rare occasions, ate the hearts of soldiers, but not Tītokowaru. He was more into using his words to try to freak the white folks out into stopping their creeping confiscation. And other times he was preaching peace as a Christian. He was a complex character, not to be trifled with, not to be dumbed down. Some say he was our greatest military leader, who then went on to be a great businessman, selling grass seed to settlers and –’
‘I love zombies,’ chipped in Worm. ‘Hey, maybe the parents can eat their kid and become cannibal zombies. Fuck, I love that The Walking Dead show. Can’t wait till the world’s like that. I’m ready. I’m ready. Hey, Scoobs, you’ll have to come around and see all my guns and survival shit, some time. But right now I’m late for work. Scoobs, if your head’s all clear, let’s go.’
‘I’m good,’ said Scoobs. ‘Thanks, Junior, for getting me through the night. If you ever –’
‘No worries. Thanks for helping with the story for the comp. Hey maybe you could pretend you’re a kid and submit your own one?’
‘Nah. Nah, that would be cheating.’
They headed out the front door. Scoobs meant to tread gingerly down the steps, but Worm gave him a shove from behind, then whipped him back from the precipice.
‘Saved ya!’
VIII. DECOMMISSIONING MĀUI
‘With petrol prices through the roof, I’m not sure decommissioning oil rigs is our best bet. Could lose Labour an election,’ reckoned Ron.
It was night and the wind ripped in off the Tasman. They could see workers in high viz vests on the Māui platforms below: angry orange ants.
‘You sure this kite is safe?’ asked Ron.
‘Safer than your bloody Vauxhall,’ snapped Tito. ‘And they’re not kites. They’re Manu-aute-nui.’
Tito guided them higher up into the sky to get a better view.
‘I mean, what if we fall?’ asked Ron.
‘We die, we get resurrected? Recycled? What do you call it, Bud?’
‘Reincarnated,’ said Bud, who was really the Buddha in one of his many forms. ‘Hey, fullas, almost midnight, it’s been real, but Cinderella has got to get back home.’
‘For sure, for sure, ka kite,’ said Tito, hoiking to see if he could hit someone, but the westerly whipped his spit away.
‘Hold on, Bud,’ said Ron, suddenly all serious, ‘I got to know, before you go, do you really think I’ll be one of those poor buggers who becomes famous after –’
‘Ron, you’re already dead,’ said Bud, losing his temper, which was not like him. ‘Honestly, all of us, even me, who’s been around a lot longer, we’ll all be forgotten, busted back to stardust.’
‘Can you play that one, Ron, “Stardust”?’ asked Tito.
‘I used to.’
Tito produced a ukulele, tuned it. But Bud was gone.
‘Where does he go?’ asked Ron.
‘Oh, Bud, he’s everywhere, and nowhere, and has to be back at the Garden of Edam – Fronds & Fromage Centre in Stratford by midnight or he turns into a pumpkin. Or Gandalf dobs him in to the Kēhua Police.’
‘There’s Kēhua Police?’
‘Oh yeah. And they’ve taken the word gullible out of the dictionary.’
‘What? Why?’
Tito sighed deeply. His new tauira was going to teach him a lot about patience.
‘No, we police ourselves, bro,’ said Tito, patiently.
‘Oh. And Gandalf?’
‘You’ll meet him. We call him Gandalf but he’s basically just a glorified gnome. Some kitschy druid-esque LOTR hobbit-inspired wizard crap someone dreamt up as a garden ornament, that then some lost soul chose to inhabit. But, yeah, they’re more or less married, Gandalf and Buddha. And Bud gets the odd night out with the boys, but he’s got to be back on time or else Gandalf sulks. There’s a lot of passive-aggressive gaslighting going on. Anyways, The Garden of Edam Centre is owned by some Masonic Rotarian Oddfellow Lodge, carrot up your bum, local mayoral material, descended from unimaginative militia men who put bounties on our heads and didn’t take kindly to us pulling up their survey pegs, and –’
‘Do you think I’ll make the new history curriculum?’
‘Jesus, Ron, give it a rest.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Just – just look out there. What do you see?’
‘The sea? The stars? The land? Oh, I know, I know, I just got to slow down, right. Breathe it all in. Just be. Be one with it all.’
‘That’s right. You’re relatively new here. Got a lot to learn.’
‘You know, I’m still pissed off we never saw Leonard Cohen.’
‘Well, once you develop your powers some more you can conjure him up.’
‘I could do that?’
‘Yeah, and you can start by singing his songs.’
‘I’ll sing “Hallelujah” right now.’
‘Sure. But first, you heathen, the bit about the chair, in the song, that’s about Samson getting messed up by Delilah. And the start is about David getting tempted to stray by Bathsheba stripping off. And, guess what, the original Tito, the one I’m named after, he had exactly the same prob. Shagged the missus of one of his loyal followers, and his warriors pretty much all abandoned him. We fuck up, Ron, we fuck up. And we keep fucking up, until we die, and are forgotten. Forever. But hopefully somewhere along the way we find a Creator or Creators, and humble ourselves, and are forgiven. We find we’re just human, which is enough. Good enough.’
‘That’s beautiful. What’s that from?’
‘The Bible.’
‘Really? You’re right, I got so much to learn. So much. How does “Hallelujah” start again?
‘Whakaoho! Whakaoho!’ The wind cut through the conversation.
‘Ruh-Roh!’ said Tito.
‘What the hell was that?’ asked Ron.
‘That’s my Scooby voice. Ruh-Roh! Good show, Scooby-Doo. But a bit formulaic. I mean they always solve the mysteries the same way. But hey, that’d be a cool one to dub into te reo for the tamariki. And you fancy yourself as a writer, and want to stay relevant, maybe you could do that?’
‘Nah, nah, I’m white bread lightly toasted,’ said Ron. ‘And there’d be all sorts of accusations of cultural appropriation. Nah, but what the hell was that “Whackaho” voice on the wind?’
‘Oh, that’ll be the real Tito, Tītokowaru, whipping around, keeping an eye on things. We probably conjured him up talking about him. And the Ancestors, they’re always a lot closer than you think.’
‘What does whackaho –’
‘Whakaoho,’ corrected Tito. ‘It means wake up. I know it sounds a bit like wacka ’cause we don’t pronounce the ‘h’ over here. But that’s how we tell if you’re true Taranaki.’
‘So what does it all mean?’
‘You got a lot of questions, don’t ya. That’s the last one you get tonight. I guess, I guess Tītokowaru wants everyone to wake up. Or else.’ Tito smiled, his grin a knife ground down by the steel. ‘And I reckon you’re one of the smart ones, Ron. You’ll get it. Adapt or else. So start here: Slow down – Whakaroa.’
‘Whaka-row-ah.’
‘Wake up – Whakaoho.’
‘Whak … ’ Ron wanted so bad to taste the new words, the new world. Write a new story. Wha-ka – but his tongue felt fat and furry, as though he’d swallowed a dead rat. The dead rat! That was in the story he’d dreamt up. But never wrote? Or, no, was he, Ron, now in someone else’s dream? Reincarnated? What was real? What had happened? Wiremu/Worm had scared Scoobs at the piggatoir with a dead rat. Scared the shit out of him the way Worm did when he and Scoobs were kids at The Tower. Saved ya! Saved ya! It was all coming back. The head knock. The son Scoobs now wanted to save. And the girl who fell. Who wasn’t saved. But who really pushed her? Who said ‘Saved ya!’ Worm? Scoobs? Ron? Who was the real psycho killer in the story? The psycho in disguise that the real Scooby-Doo would help expose? It was a mystery. Perhaps one that couldn’t be, wouldn’t be, shouldn’t be solved.
The headspins kicked in again. Ron reeled. Sweated bullets. Held his own hands to stop them shaking. Got the shivers. Someone was walking over his grave. Someone was putting words in his mouth. Yes, perhaps the reincarnation that Bud had talked about had started. Whatevs, something was coming back. The gun metal poison of stale booze was a lizard creeping up his gullet into the back of his mouth. The dry horrors. Ron needed a drink real bad. A top up. Needed to get blotto. Blot it all out. The story, the story would have to wait, or perhaps he could just sing himself back to sleep, like he’d done after those nightmares he’d had as a kid. Hareruia! Hareruia!
