Witi Ihimaera - Bulibasha

He started to cry. He pushed his plate away and clutched me. His body rattled like a hollow gourd.

‘If it wasn’t for your grandfather, boy, I wouldn’t get close to the gates of Heaven. You thank him for me, boy. I be Heavenbound soon and he the one saved my soul.’

By the time I got back to the homestead, the family were already sitting down to dinner — Grandfather, Grandmother Ramona, Aunts Sephora, Miriam and Esther, Mum and my three sisters. I washed quickly but as I came into the dining room Aunt Sephora shot me a warning glance. She got up to get my plate from the kitchen.

‘He can get it,’ Grandfather said.

Aunt Sephora sat down again.

I’d had enough. It was Aunt Sephora’s job, not mine, to get me my plate. But he was saying now it was my job. As if the kitchen was my place, too. As if I was a woman. As if I was useless.

‘I’m not hungry,’ I said. I stalked out and slammed the door.

All of a sudden there was an eruption behind me and women’s screams. The back door flew open. I knew the fucker was running behind me, hip hop hip hop, and I hoped he would trip on his bad leg. My heart was pounding, but I kept on walking steadily onward. Fuck him, fuck him.

Then he was on me. He lifted me up by the scruff of the neck. He pulled me back, half strangled, into the kitchen.

‘The food that is put on this table was given to us by the grace of God —’ his voice hissed out. ‘Your father, uncles and aunts are all out there shearing so that this food can be put into your belly —’ The pots were steaming on the stove. ‘I will not have anybody in this house refuse food that good hands have prepared —’

He opened one of the pots. He pushed my face into it.

When my head came up it was covered in puha and mashed potatoes. I was too stunned to care about what came next. It was the humiliation more than anything else. The humiliation of being too weak and too young to fight back. The humiliation of having my mother, sisters, grandmother and aunts as witness. I know it was idiotic but I looked at Aunt Sephora and said, ‘Mmn, nice.’

Grandfather threw me against the wall. ‘You’re getting too big for your boots, Himiona.’

Grandmother Ramona tried to reach Grandfather, to stop him. ‘Hoihoi,’ she reproved him, ‘he tangata porangi ke.’

She was too late. He raised a hand to hit me.

I saw Glory and semaphored to her. Play dead, Glory, quick !

She screamed and crumpled to the floor.

I wrenched away from Grandfather and ran out into the darkness.

Above the moon and stars. Below the earth.

Glory found me in the cowbail, crying my eyes out. She cradled me. ‘There, there, Simeon.’

We went back down the hill towards the quarters. My mother Huria was waiting for me. When she tried to hug me I pushed her away.

‘Kua mutu,’ she said, ‘Kua mutu. Stop this, Himiona. I won’t have this anger between us.’ Her eyes were haunted. ‘I know how you’re feeling,’ she said. ‘I feel that way sometimes about your grandfather. But he is Bulibasha.’

Faith and Hope joined us. My mother grabbed us all in a fierce embrace.

‘We have to remain a family,’ she continued, piercing me with her eyes. ‘You, your sisters, your father and me. Perhaps one day. Perhaps —’

It was all a zigzag of lightning in a summer sky. The next day there was no mention of the incident. Grandfather got on with his life and his job; we got on with ours. I guess Grandfather could have piled more work on to me, but he didn’t. Nor did he go out of his way to avoid me, as I did him. Life went back to normal, whatever that was. However, Grandfather did think that Glory should see a doctor about her fainting spells.

At the end of the third week the Mahana shearing gangs returned to the homestead. It was the beginning of a new month and another family meeting, the opportunity for a huge feast. My mother was overjoyed to see my father Joshua. She didn’t tell him what had happened between me and Grandfather.

‘You’ve done well, son,’ Dad said. ‘I’m proud of you. Your grandmother has told me how good a job you did.’

Grandmother, yes. But not Grandfather.

There was a full gathering at the family meeting. Ihaka Mahana and Zebediah Whatu were there as well as the shearers and shedhands. Grandfather opened with a karakia. Then, ‘The first month of the shearing is ended. My sons, let me have your reports.’ He indicated we could get off our knees and that Uncle Matiu should begin.

‘Well, Father,’ Uncle Matiu said, ‘it took us a while to oil our rusty joints —’ Everybody laughed. ‘But the boys did well and our shearers were soon up to their three hundred-a-day tally.’

‘Yes,’ Grandfather nodded. ‘Jack Horsfield rang me to say he’s very pleased with your work. He told me he’s increased his shearers’ positions on the board by one extra.’

‘That’s right,’ Uncle Matiu said. ‘Lucky we had the man for the job. Mohi’s got the makings. His first season, Father.’

‘Good on you, boy,’ Zebediah called out. Mohi grinned proudly.

‘We’ve another three or four weeks up at Horsfield station. Then we go on to Brian Smedley’s.’

Grandfather nodded. ‘Mahana Two?’

‘We had a bit of a surprise at the Wi Pere station,’ Uncle Maaka began. ‘The wool was full of bidibid and the fleeces are pretty greasy this year. Our handpieces worked really hard and we were sharpening the blades a lot. It’s going to take us a while to finish there. I’ve asked Mahana Three if they can give us a hand after they’ve finished Williamson station. Then we had to find a replacement for Lloyd.’

‘Mother Ramona and I are going up to the hospital to see him soon. There have been complications —’ Complications? I had an image of Lloyd jumping off the top diving board at the Peel Street baths in Gisborne, holding his nose and sailing down to make a huge splash. ‘And the problem of our cook — thank you, Simeon, for doing our meat.’

‘Himiona was just doing his job,’ Grandfather cut in. ‘Mahana Three?’

I surveyed all the people in the drawing room and wondered what was it about Grandfather that made them so respectful and obedient? There in the front were Uncle Matiu and Aunt Sophie, for ever stuck in the role of exemplars for family. Pious churchgoers, they lived only to please Grandfather Tamihana; their seven children were going the same way. Next to them were Uncle Maaka and his wife Barbara, pregnant with a fourth child; Maaka had suppressed his own eagerness for a career in the army when Grandfather ordered him to return home to Waituhi. Further along was Uncle Ruka, reputed to beat up on poor Aunt Dottie and their five children; Aunt Dottie had never quite recovered from coming from a small sane family to such a huge and insane one as ours.

Squeezed in with them was Uncle Hone, my favourite, with Aunt Kate. In the second row Aunt Ruth was sitting with Uncle Albie. Of all the family, theirs was the saddest story. Something was wrong with Aunt Ruth and she couldn’t have children. My Aunt Sarah at least managed to have one child — my fabulous cousin Haromi — before kicking Uncle Jack out of her bed. No wonder he was rooting around with other women. Uncle Jack also went to the pub and drank hard liquor. In the third row — of course — was my father Joshua with Mum and my sisters, and my three spinster aunts. They were the ones who stayed at home and to whom no land would be given because there was none left to give. Their inheritance was the crumbs from Grandfather’s table.

The place of the spouses in all this was interesting. They held a ranking second even to my own. If they had any opinions, they voiced them through Grandfather’s children. For instance, my mother Huria never spoke to Bulibasha direct, and certainly never before Dad had spoken. Normally, if she had anything to ask, she got Dad to ask for her. If he wasn’t there to deliver her request, she buttoned her lip.