The Dream Swimmer, page 43
Oh, he was mighty, the second kai wero. From the very beginning of his drill, he made it clear that he was a warrior to be reckoned with. He held his taiaha in the on-guard, popotahi, position. He came stepping sideways rather than advancing on a straight line towards us, moving lightly, lifting his heels high to show his agility. Not for him the showy movements of the first kai wero. Not for him the careless disregard for the ope in front of him.
Then quickly, the second kai wero made the huenui motion of the taiaha, flipping the spear over to the left side of the ope from Te Aitanga A Mahaki.
The shadow of the taiaha plucked the web, as if it was a dissonant harp, and the spider lifted and swivelled to watch the approaching warrior.
Was the second kai wero fazed? No, he stood his ground, gesticulating with his taiaha. His face was mobile, his visage fierce, his tongue rapidly feathering in and out of his mouth. Then he moved to the right of the ope, testing that side and, again, he stroked the web.
The spider swivelled to the right and began to shimmer.
‘You’re too close!’ the elder from the iwi kainga called.
Indeed, at that moment, the ope took the shape of the attacking spider. With a hiss, Uncle Hepi commanded the kai taiaha of our ope to take the legs of the spider out to their maximum extension.
(‘There was a huge cry from the people around the perimeter,’ the journalist said. ‘By some power of suggestion there was a spider out there on the concourse that night. It dwarfed us all. It rose above us all. We all thought the second kai wero was caught.’)
‘Get out there!’ the elder of the iwi kainga yelled.
He began pushing his kai taiaha from the shadows to join the second kai wero. Indeed he was brave, the second kai wero, a strong-willed and fearless young man. Again he stood his ground. He felt the rushing wind of his companions as they came to support him.
So it was that he was able to bend, reach into his waistband for the rakau taua, the second dart, and place it on the ground.
All around, people were applauding the second kai wero’s bravery. They watched as he retreated from the dart. As he did so, he kept indicating at it with his taiaha, hissing the challenge to Te Ariki to pick the dart up.
Te Ariki took a few steps forward. The dart was at his feet.
‘Wait,’ I called.
‘Those Te Aitanga A Mahaki bastards,’ the elder from the iwi kainga swore. All he could think of was that one of his best boys was out there doing the wero and how dare these upstart East Coast people treat him in this manner.
Eyes bulging, hupe dripping, sweat pouring off him, the second kai wero kept pointing his taiaha at the dart. He was hissing the command to Te Ariki to pick the dart up. His companions, the kai taiaha of the iwi kainga, joined him. Their shouted, insistent voices echoed across the concourse like rifle shots.
Te Ariki looked back at me and the Ringatu elders.
‘Again,’ the Ringatu elders said, ‘this is your decision.’
It was then that I noticed that the second kai wero’s piupiu was loosening.
Within the context of the wero ceremony there are a number of actions that signal misfortune for the iwi kainga. A kai wero losing his taiaha or allowing it to hit the ground are two such misfortunes. A taiaha that breaks during the ceremony is another. Anything out of the ordinary is considered an ill omen.
The second kai wero looked up at me. He knew that I had seen his slipping piupiu. Spit was spraying from his mouth. He was pleading me with his eyes to give Te Ariki the order to pick up the dart.
I almost wavered. But it was too late.
The piupiu slid from the second kai wero’s waist on to the concrete concourse. Someone in the crowd laughed.
With a sudden movement Tiana darted out and claimed the piupiu. She looked at the second kai wero, and then across to the Minister of Maori Affairs and the elder of the iwi kainga. Her movements indicated that this piupiu was food enough.
She lifted the piupiu to her lips.
The laughter stopped as she spat on it.
‘Come back!’ the elder of the iwi kainga called. He moved on to the concourse. He motioned to the second kai wero and his kai taiaha guards to return. There was no time to wait. The third kai wero must be sent out immediately.
‘Go,’ the elder commanded. He was perspiring heavily. He felt a touch at his shoulder. The Minister of Maori Affairs was looking at him, alarmed.
‘They haven’t picked up the second dart,’ he said. ‘What happens if they don’t pick up the third one?’
The elder looked at him. ‘I don’t know. I have never known of that happening. I guess there is always a first time.’
‘Then my question remains,’ the minister said. ‘What happens if –’
The elder paused to ponder the matter.
To be truthful he was enjoying the whole business. It had been years since his wits and his senses had been confronted like this. The blood was rushing through his body, singing the old songs of war. He moved along the lines of the iwi kainga, selecting kai taiaha warriors to go out and support the third kai wero.
He felt a hand at his elbow. The second kai wero was kneeling in front of him.
‘E Ta,’ he pleaded, ‘let me also go with the kai taiaha warriors. Allow me to restore the mana of the iwi kainga as well as my own dignity.’
‘All right,’ the elder nodded.
He watched as the phalanx of kai taiaha warriors moved out to join the third kai wero. Then he turned to address the entire iwi kainga. ‘Be ready to move at my command,’ he called.
The elder returned to the side of the minister.
‘If it’s a fight they want, they’ll get one,’ he said. He spat on his palms and rubbed them together. ‘You ready for a good old-fashioned punch-up?’
Meantime, the third kai wero was approaching the ope. He was tall and strong, and I recognised him as a true fighter. He was known to have fought four men singlehandedly and thrashed them all.
I was having trouble maintaining my anger and sustaining the energy that kept our simulation of the spider. All around me the ope was murmuring. Te Ariki himself was openly questioning my decision not to pick up the second dart. I turned on him:
‘Obey me, my father, or leave while you still have the chance.’
My words came out more harshly than I had intended, and Aunt Hiraina looked at me, alarmed.
‘All of you,’ I continued, ‘obey me.’
The ope settled down. They began to breathe as one. I nodded at Uncle Hepi.
Uncle Hepi gave the command. The legs of the spider retracted and the ope assumed the shape of the spider who waits.
The third kai wero maintained a firm line, holding his taiaha in the popotahi, on guard, position. His approach was extremely well controlled. He tantalised us with his drill, moving fluidly from the flip-over huenui movement through the hammerhead, or mango-pare, movement to the te tohu a Tu, the swinging of the taiaha from side to side. At every variation he would flicker his tongue and grimace. Then he executed a lightning series of movements, and his feet danced upon the web.
But this time the spider was confused because the kai taiaha warriors were also tapping the strands of the web. Not only that, but the second kai wero was making sharp attacking movements that distracted our attention.
From the perimeter came cheers as the second kai wero offered himself up as a sacrifice making a tightrope of the web.
‘No,’ the elder of the iwi kainga cried. He saw that the second kai wero sought death and was dancing too close to the spider.
Then, just as the spider was about to leap, the third kai wero approached. He went down on one knee and looked up into the eyes of the spider.
He placed the final dart.
The wind died down. After a brief moment it changed direction, coming from the east.
And the spell was broken.
The third kai wero laid the final dart, the one known as the rakau whakawaha, the one that clears the way between the visitors and the tangata whenua. As he placed it on the concourse, he stared straight at me. Although Te Ariki was the one who would make the action, he knew I was the one who would give the order.
‘Pick it up!’ someone from the perimeter called.
Soon, angry cries echoing that first cry resounded through the air.
‘Pick it up! Pick it up! Pick it up!’
(‘The waiting was just awful,’ the journalist said. ‘All around, people were crying out to your father to pick up the dart. Some of the calls were abusive. Others were encouraging. The suspense was – there’s no other word for it – terrifying.’)
‘They’re not going to do it,’ the elder of the iwi kainga cried. ‘Is everybody ready? Move out and hit them at my command.’
Te Ariki turned and looked at me. My father has always been a magnanimous person. Even if I had told him not to pick the dart up, he would have done so.
‘For the third time,’ the Ringatu elders said, ‘it is your decision.’
There was so much power in me, I was filled with joy. This was how a Roman emperor must have felt. Godlike. Invincible. Then I heard a voice. It was Tiana.
‘Enough, Tamatea,’ she said. ‘You walk too close to the border between darkness and light.’
Her words reminded me of what had happened on the marae in 1949 when Riripeti’s invocation had taken her too far.
I swayed. Aunt Hiraina steadied me. All around, people were calling and calling. All those voices raining down on us like fists, as they had done on that day in 1949.
I nodded at Te Ariki.
‘Yes, Te Ariki, receive the dart.’
(‘The huge sigh of relief as your father picked up the dart,’ the journalist said, ‘must have been heard for miles. Everywhere, people began to cheer and your father, great actor that he was, held the dart up for all to see.’)
The third kai wero looked upon us all, caught us in his gaze and then whirled to face into the marae. He raised his taiaha high above his head and began to lead us in. Vindicated, the second kai wero and kai taiaha warrior escort followed after him. People began to clap. The iwi kainga launched immediately into the welcoming ceremony. The concourse began to echo with the sounds of the karanga, echoing backward and forward between the women calling for the iwi kainga and the women calling for the ope. It was like one archway of sound being built on another archway of sound. Great elemental doors were opening in the sky.
The whole atmosphere of the assembly changed.
‘Hei runga, hei raro!’ the iwi kainga thundered. Their fronds of greenery moved up and down in rhythmic actions to hit the thighs like cymbals.
‘Kumea mai, te waka,’ the iwi kainga chanted. ‘Toia mai, te waka. Haul the canoe. Drag the canoe. To the lying place to lie, the canoe.’
But the elder of the iwi kainga was so wild. All of a sudden he had advanced on to the concourse in front of the ope from Te Aitanga A Mahaki, waving his walking stick furiously in the air.
‘You bloody Te Aitanga A Mahaki savages,’ the elder yelled. ‘You think you can come down from your godforsaken mountains and shit on this marae? You think you can come in here and trample on us and get away with it? Fuck the lot of you.’
It was at that moment that I stepped forward.
(‘When I saw you,’ the journalist said, ‘you rolled the years back. The elder was still shouting and swearing at the ope but you stood firm and resolute against his accusations. You refused to be penitent.
‘Standing there like that, you reminded me of your grandmother. You had the same upward tilt of the head. The same patrician manner. The same arrogance: yes, that’s the only word for it. And, the same sense of anger in your stillness.
‘Then, while the elder was still speaking, you began to perform a strange ritual motion with your hands and feet, stamping your feet with great rapidity and moving your arms up and down. When you began it, the whole gathering started to murmur. I asked a Maori standing next to me what you were doing. He answered, “We call it the tipatapata,” he said. “In the old days warriors would use it to express extreme anger and to interrupt the speechmaking. Clouds of dust would be created by the movement.”’)
My concentration was totally focused. I gathered all the rage of the universe to come to me, all lightning, all thunder, all the elements of destruction. I invoked the shades of the past to bring their pain, as Riripeti had invoked them when she had come to the marae in Wellington. With passion rising in my heart, I created a cyclone of such intimidation that the elder’s korero stilled on his lips.
Then I raised my hand to him.
‘I and my ope mean no disrespect, koroua, to you and yours. But you are not the man and not the people we have come to see. Instead, that man has sent you to divert us from our sacred task. In this respect, you are like one of the owls that our ancestor, Wi Pere, spoke of when he was a member of Parliament in this place.’
The elder began to rail against us again, but for the second time I stopped him.
‘One day,’ I began, ‘while in his protected surroundings, the owl was attracted by a bright light and the joyful crying of the other birds outside the forest. “Oh,” thought the owl, “what a lot of good things there must be there.” He flew through the trees, but on reaching the forest edge his eyes were blinded by the light and he was obliged to perch on a tree. A man saw the owl and took a firebrand in one hand and a stick in the other. As he neared the owl it prepared to fly, but the man blinded the bird with the firebrand in one hand and stunned it with the stick. He then put it in a cage and made an ornament out of it. E koro, you know this parable speaks much truth.’
The elder’s eyes were bulging with the implied rebuke. I pressed on.
‘Koroua,’ I asked, ‘even I have been like a blinded owl, and these, too, who have come with me. We now seek release from the cage. In particular, we seek the man with the firebrand and the stick. Our quarrel is with him and not with you. He is the Prime Minister. Let us pass.’
It was then that it happened.
I felt something land on my head. I knew it was the black warrior spider.
People say that the spider crawled from out of my hair and sat there, a glorious diadem glistening black and red.
The warrior spider reared in an attack position.
I saw the elder blanch and take a backward step. He turned away from me and hid his face in shadows. When he looked back, his face was wet with tears.
‘Twenty-eight years have passed,’ he began, ‘since I last saw you, Tamatea. Now that I see her sign on your forehead, I know you are of Riripeti, whom we also called Artemis. Forgive me for not recognising you, but it has been such a long time and my eyes are old. At that time, when your grandmother was such a great nuisance to us all, I was opposed to her because I thought that her ways were wrong and my ways were right.’
The elder was Timoti. For a moment he conferred with the Minister of Maori Affairs. The minister was shaking his head, protesting at what Timoti was saying to him. Then Timoti turned to our ope.
‘You people of Te Aitanga A Mahaki were always ruthless warriors, and proud.’ Timoti’s back was straight, his voice was clear. ‘I may have tried to stop you and Artemis in 1949 but I will not stop you now. I have grown older and wise enough to realise that after all these years her way may be right.’
With a sudden, authoritative movement, Timoti swept his carved tokotoko, cleaving a path for us toward the glass doors of the inner sanctum of Parliament.
The iwi kainga moved to the side of the stairs. The women began to call us to proceed up them.
‘Pass by, Beloved of Riripeti,’ Timoti said, ‘and fulfil your destiny.’
I bowed to Timoti. Then I nodded to Uncle Hepi.
The ope underwent its fourth transformation. The kai taiaha again took the legs out to their maximum extension. They held their taiaha above their heads, horizontal, jabbing the air in short movements. Tiana and my sisters tensed, ready for the springing movement that would propel us forward.
The ope took the shape of the killing spider. When such a spider kills, it moves fast, sometimes leaping with extraordinary speed through the air.
Sammy, in front, swivelled the ope so that it was facing the glass doors of Parliament.
‘Nekeneke!’ I called.
With a surging movement, the karanga roaring in our ears, the ope prepared to move. All around voices from the iwi kainga were shouting their encouragement.
‘Get the bastard, Mahaki.’
‘Give it to him.’
I gave the signal. The ope flexed and literally leapt up the stairway.
It was like a giant spider moving with lightning speed up the steps of Parliament, through the glass doors and in.
And the stars were falling from Heaven like silvered flounder hooked by the beauty and voice of Riripeti. And Riripeti placed me in the cradle of her love and pushed me out on to the tides of the universe. ‘E mokopuna,’ she said, ‘this has always been your purpose, it has always been your destiny, to take the fight against the Pakeha into your generation.’
Then did she push me out, out, out on to the river of stars and amid the teeming, leaping, silvered flounder. Swirling out on to the suck of the moonlit night.
And now, tonight, the tides had turned and brought me back, back to the shore.
They had delivered me up unto Pharaoh’s palace. The Paremata O Te Pakeha.
The kai taiaha went first. They kicked themselves through the glass doors, past the security men, creating the pathway for the body of the attacking spider to follow. The eyes of the spider were busy, looking this way and that, alert for danger from all sides.
‘Can you see the Prime Minister?’ I asked.
Aunt Hiraina nodded. She pointed ahead. In front of us was another set of glass doors, and behind them the glittering diplomatic reception was taking place. I motioned to Uncle Hepi. In a trice the doors had been opened and we entered.
We went through chanting of our pride and our passion. The guests turned, surprised, as the kai taiaha moved through them, toward the man we had come to see. Pharaoh. The Prime Minister saw us coming, and flicked a glance towards his security men. I raised an arm to him in a motion intended to placate.
