Witi Ihimaera - Bulibasha

‘There’s no more land for Grandfather to give us. Even if there was, he wouldn’t give us any —’

Tears were brimming in Mum’s eyes. I took the bucket from her.

‘And you know why, Mum? Do you really want to know why? It’s all a matter of mana. Of our place in the order of the family.’

Flies were already feeding off the thick congealed blood. They rose angrily, buzzing around my head.

‘Turituri to waho,’ Mum whispered. ‘It is an honour to stay with the old people and to look after them.’

I shook my head. I took up the yard broom, intending to sweep the concrete clean of the blood.

‘We’re here not because of the honour. We’re here because the others in the family are older and have been given land and there’s none left for us. There’s something else too. Grandfather likes to have us here. We’re trapped. He won’t ever let us out.’ My mother tried to take the broom from me. ‘No, Mum. After all, this is my job, isn’t it? It’s the way it’s meant to be, isn’t it? We’re here because in this life there are chiefs and there are Indians. We’re the Indians.’

She gave me a long, fierce look. Her hand came up and slashed me across the face.

‘I never want to hear you say that again, Himiona.’

Just to make sure, she hit me again.

‘Never.’

That night at dinner, my mother and I were not speaking. Glory kept on kicking me under the table but I refused to take any notice. Glory hated it when we weren’t playing Happy Family. Later, I was doing homework in my bedroom when Grandfather came in. He looked at my books.

‘Why do you want to learn about mathematics?’ he asked. ‘And why do you read all these books? This one about China, for instance? What will that do to get you a job?’

‘Why?’ I answered. ‘It’s called getting an education. What I read in books helps me understand the world.’

‘The best education is right here,’ he said. ‘This is where your world is. This is where your job is. The only time you need to use mathematics is when you want to tally the sheep. I already have people to do that. Reading books isn’t going to help you put meat on the table. Books will only make you whakahihi, a know-all.’

Anything you say, Grandfather. Three bags full, Grandfather. As if, like my father and aunts, I was going to stay here all my life.

Grandfather told me that one of the cooks in Mahana Two had injured his hand, so the meat would have to be sent up to the gang every morning. I would be butchering every night.

‘Do you want me to get someone to help you?’ Grandfather asked. ‘So you’ve got time to read your books? I could tell Mohi to come back.’

Yes, that’s right, Grandfather, throw Mohi in my face. You know I’ll say no.

‘I’ll be okay,’ I answered.

After all, it was my job.

The punishing work schedule put me in a rebellious mood. I was also at a stand-off with my mother, who had not forgiven me. She did her job, helping my spinster aunts; I did my job.

Up every morning at five to milk the cows, sir . Separate the milk, deliver all the cans to the kitchen, take one can over to Zebediah Whatu’s house, sir . Get the copper going for the washing, sir . At six, butcher one beast, skin, prepare for the kitchen and Mahana Two, sir . Wash and have breakfast, sir . Make sure that all the lamps have kerosene and do any other jobs as required, sir . Catch the bus at eight and go to school and have a nice long rest, sir .

After school, make sure nobody misses the bus, sir . Chop wood for an hour, sir . Feed the dogs and the pigs, sir . Move the sheep in rotation from one field to another, sir . As required, do some work in the maize garden or bag potatoes or kumara, sir . Have dinner and, if I’m lucky, May I now go to the toilet to have a shit, sir !

And always, Grandfather Tamihana was keeping an eye on me, making sidelong comments like:

‘Having a rest, Simeon?’ (I’d only sat down for a minute), or:

‘Not bad for you, Simeon’ (in other words, as good as can be expected), or:

‘I’ve told you before, Simeon, get your hair cut’ (that is, you’re weak like a girl).

Just to keep me on my toes.

‘He’s like that with everybody,’ my Aunt Sephora said. ‘He’s just testing you, to see if you’ve got spunk.’

Testing? Aunt Sephora wasn’t kidding. I was supposed to be a good samaritan, too.

‘Simeon,’ Grandfather said, ‘I want you to take some meat and maize over to Maggie’s place. After that call at Pera’s. The old fella phoned me. He needs help.’

To get through this one, I’d asked Andrew to help me.

Maggie’s old shack was on the other side of the maize fields.

‘This is my lucky day,’ she slobbered. ‘ Two young boys, and juicy too.’

‘Cut it out, Auntie,’ I said. She roared with laughter, showing her black teeth. She was eighty if she was a day.

‘Huh? I must be losing my reputation!’ She looked at the meat and maize and sniffed approvingly. Then, ‘You got to hand it to Bulibasha,’ she said. ‘He looks after his women.’

This was Andrew’s chance. ‘You mean women really went for him?’

‘Did they what?’ Maggie answered. ‘My boy, when the word spread about the size of it —’ She made a guess with her hands, shook her head, expanded the gap between her hands, and shrugged. ‘Oh how can I possibly be expected to remember.’ She yawned. ‘I’ve had so many.’

Andrew broke up laughing. The last thing I wanted to hear, however, was yet another exaggerated claim about Grandfather.

‘I’ll leave you two sweethearts,’ I said.

The company wasn’t any better at eighty-three-year-old Uncle Pera’s.

‘Thank you, boy,’ he said when I went into his bedroom. His chamberpot was full to the brim. I had just enough time to take it to the outhouse, pour it down the stinking hole and take it back to him. As soon as I returned he was wanting to slide off the bed and on to the pot. His old body burst into a series of farts, hiccups and splashes of piss and shit into the bowl.

That’s right, Granduncle, go ahead and make my day.

‘Sorry, mokopuna,’ he said.

‘That’s all right, koro,’ I answered.

‘My daughter, she usually come to fix me up but, hullo, her car lie down and die today.’

‘No problem, Uncle Pera,’ I mumbled. I wished he wouldn’t talk to me. I was trying hard to hold my breath. My words came out more like NopoblemuncaPera.

Afterwards, eyes and nose averted, I wiped his bum and got him to lie down while I washed him all over with a sponge. I’d done this with him before so knew where he hurt and where he didn’t. What always surprised me was that his skin was so smooth and dark, polished by age and the sun to a shining ebony. It was a privilege, really, to touch him, and know he was my kin, my own flesh and blood.

I changed Uncle Pera’s sheets, put him into a new nightgown and back into bed. In the lean-to kitchen I found some Maori bread and boiled up some broth of watercress and kumara. Uncle Pera didn’t know where his false teeth were so I had to break his bread for him, soak it in the broth and feed him that way.

‘That grandfather of yours —’

Slurp.

‘He’s a great man.’

Not again.

‘I remember when we all go down the river to be baptise. All us peoples —’

Munch.

‘Down the river. Singing our heads off. Long time ago. All dress in white like the peoples of Israel. We were so happy. The elders all there. We wade right in up to here —’

Spill, slurp, munch.

‘They raise their hands and ask us, “You want to receive the Holy Ghost?” I nod and down I go. All the way under.’