Witi Ihimaera - Bulibasha

‘Well, no —’

‘So what do I do? I go to the door and I say to the sheep inside, “You called?” And I think of Auntie Molly.’

Good grief.

‘When I get into the pen and the sheep starts to fight me, I say, “Now don’t do that, Auntie Molly, you know I love you.” Then I drag her out nice and comfortable and put her between my legs. If she starts to kick I ask, “Isn’t that comfortable enough, Auntie Molly?” And I find a position that’s better for her. Then, if she starts to go Baaaaaa, I say, “You don’t have to swear Auntie Molly —” ’

My mouth was hanging open. I had a vision of Aunt Molly being shorn by Uncle Hone. She was bleating away between his legs — ‘You watch it, Hone, you bastard! Are your blades sharp? I don’t want to have any tar, thank you!’

‘The secret is making the sheep feel confident that you know your job,’ Uncle said. I think he was having me on. Sometimes his stories were pretty tall.

At afternoon smoko Uncle Hone resumed the story of Rupeni Poata and the conflict between the families. We were lounging among the bales, letting our kai digest. Mum and Dad were lying on a pile of wool sacks, with Glory half asleep between them. Auntie Molly was sitting on the edge of the docking bay with the shearers. Aunt Ruth was keeping an eagle eye on Haromi who was hoping to flirt with or cadge a smoke from one of the shepherds.

‘Well,’ Uncle Hone coughed, ‘may as well let some more family skeletons out of the bag.’

‘Do we have to?’ Aunt Ruth asked.

‘Only small skeletons,’ he answered. ‘We’ll tell about those kids Dad had before he married Mum some other time.’

‘Turituri!’ Aunt Ruth growled.

Uncle Hone laughed good-naturedly. ‘I want to tell you,’ he said, ‘about how Rupeni Poata became our strongest competitor in the shearing.

‘A month after their return from the war, the soldiers were still being feted. Gisborne pulled out all the stops to welcome our boys home, Pakeha and Maori. The mayor put on a huge reception. Every small town and village began to put up war memorials and halls for those who did not return and for those who did. Whenever one was opened, the soldiers were feted there too.’

‘One soldier among them all,’ Aunt Ruth continued, ‘was singled out for special attention — Rupeni Poata. He was a hero because at Gallipoli he had pulled three men out from under Turkish fire. At great risk to his own life he saved them from certain death. From famous sportsman he became war hero. He was constantly asked to speak at this or that function. He was very popular.’

‘When the press found out he was engaged to marry Maata,’ Uncle Hone said, ‘they had a field day. The mayor said he wanted to put on the wedding breakfast. Apirana Ngata himself agreed to come from Wellington for the occasion.’ Uncle Hone shifted to a more comfortable position. ‘Rupeni’s return also happened to coincide with plans for a visit to New Zealand by a British rugby team. When was that, sis?’

‘In 1920,’ Aunt Ruth answered. ‘Naturally the British itinerary included Gisborne, so a series of trials was planned to pick the home side. Rupeni was up for selection. The mayor asked Rupeni, “When do you want to be married?” and Rupeni said, “Why not straight after the trials?” Apirana Ngata liked the idea because it meant that he could take in the trials as well as the wedding.’

‘So as you can expect,’ Uncle Hone laughed, ‘there was a lot of excitement around!’

Tamihana was also a trialist. Although he had given up individual sports, he still played representative rugby and hockey. Every Saturday during the trials Ramona and the Mahana clan came to watch the games. If Tamihana was on one side, Rupeni was on the other. It soon became apparent that they were going to fight their way through the whole season on the field — and off.

‘Hey, Mahana,’ Rupeni Poata was reputed to have said once, ‘marriage is ripping your balls off. You should retire before they shoot you.’

Although Grandfather had turned to religion, he found it hard to turn the other cheek. Hot tempered, he squared off with Rupeni. Fists started flying.

‘Get off my back,’ Tamihana answered. ‘Play the game, not the man.’

Those gladiatorial fights — like Gordon Scott against Steve Reeves in Hercules Unchained — became the signal for fisticuffs among the other players. The fights were legendary.

Concerned, Ramona asked Tamihana, ‘Can’t you two mend the rift between you?’

‘Nothing would be closer to my own wish,’ Tamihana told her, ‘but it is Rupeni who wishes to carry on this vendetta between us.’

Came the day of the last trial — the Probables versus the Possibles. Rupeni was the captain for one side and Tamihana the captain for the other. Ramona and the Mahana family were all in the stand at the oval. Ramona was like the Princess Alisande in A Yankee in King Arthur’s Court . Apirana Ngata was sitting with Maata and the people of Hukareka. Out on the field it was a blood bath.

There were four minutes to go and it was likely the match would end in a draw, 15-all. The game had gone back and forward, up and down the length of the field. There had been five punch-ups. The people on the stand were baying for vengeance. The referee blew his whistle and called for the team captains.

‘Listen, you guys,’ the referee said, ‘we’re almost there and I want you to tell your teams to back off. You hear me? The selectors have seen what you’re made of, so there’s no need to kill each other. Aren’t you getting married today, Poata? Leave some strength for later! Let’s finish with a good clean game. Quit the rough stuff. Okay boys?’

Rupeni trotted back to his team. From the corner of his eye Tamihana saw Rupeni talking to his players and gesturing at him. The referee blew the whistle. The game recommenced.

Tamihana gathered the first row of the scrum around him. He saw the other side doing the same.

‘Scrum down,’ the referee said.

The two scrums bent, approached and locked .

‘Play ball!’ the referee ordered.

Rupeni, at halfback, fed the ball. Like a raging bull, Tamihana tried to keep on his feet. He braced his legs, locking his kneecaps to maintain the scrum. The further the scrum bore down, the tighter Tamihana’s legs locked to take the pressure, bracing it back up.

Then he heard a voice — ‘Sorry, Tamihana, you won’t be making the team.’

The scrum was being collapsed on purpose.

After that, it all happened so quickly. Somebody placed a sprigged boot just above Tamihana’s right kneecap. Tamihana could see it happening.

Not my knee, please .

Too late. The sprigged boot slammed down. A crack. The scrum wavered. The boot raised itself again and — a second crack.

The scrum collapsed.

‘On that day,’ Uncle Hone said, ‘our father’s entire sporting career ended.’

‘He couldn’t shear either,’ Aunt Ruth continued.

‘Whenever I see our father now,’ Uncle Hone said, ‘I cannot but feel anger at what happened to him.’

Aunt Ruth patted Uncle’s hand. ‘Whenever we play against Hukareka, all I want to do is to take my own vengeance. The pastor talks about turning the other cheek. Even so —’

‘Nothing was proven,’ Uncle Hone said, ‘but we all know that Rupeni ordered Dad to be taken out.’

‘Then,’ Aunt Ruth continued, ‘in the afternoon, after the football match, Rupeni Poata married Maata in the largest wedding of the year. The marriage was a double celebration — Rupeni was made captain of the side that would play the British team.’

‘And it was at the reception at Poho O Rawiri meeting house,’ Uncle Hone said, ‘that Apirana Ngata announced his wedding gift to the happy couple. It was something that Rupeni Poata himself had requested — a substantial gift of money to begin a shearing business.’