Witi Ihimaera - Bulibasha

‘If we’re going to be hanged,’ she said, ‘we may as well make it worth it.’

Grandfather Tamihana was waiting for us. He looked as if he’d just crawled out of the bottom drawer of Hell. My cousin Mohi The Greaser was pretending he had been doing all our work. There he was, cutting the meat for dinner, as if it was a feat equivalent to climbing Mount Everest.

‘So you finally decided to come home?’ He Who Must Be Obeyed said. His eagle eyes saw the packages and boxes of clothes bought in Gisborne. ‘Father Christmas has already been, has he?’

‘It’s my fault,’ Aunt Ruth mumbled as she went past.

‘No, mine,’ Aunt Sephora said.

‘Mine,’ Aunt Esther said.

‘No, it was mine,’ Haromi said.

They were just like the handmaidens of the beautiful princess Laloumi in Sirens of Baghdad . To save her from a fate worse than death, all the handmaidens said they were the princess.

‘No,’ Grandfather interrupted. ‘The one responsible is Joshua, and he must explain.’

‘I’m sorry, Bulibasha.’

The door slammed. Grandmother Ramona was back from her beehives. She removed her veils and released a bee which had been trapped in the netting. The bee buzzed over Grandfather’s head and he ducked, swatting at it. We all started to edge out.

‘What’s going on?’ Grandmother Ramona asked. She turned to Grandfather. She was in an irritable mood. ‘Are you still making everybody’s lives a misery? Why don’t we all enjoy Christmas for a change.’

‘You and your bees!’ Grandfather Tamihana answered.

Grandmother saw Mohi putting aside his knife. He must have thought Dad would take over now he was back.

‘Mohi?’ Grandmother yelled. ‘You keep cutting the meat!’

If looks could kill –

‘But —’ Grandfather Tamihana began.

‘No buts, Tamihana. All of you are in my way, sitting in the kitchen. Sephora? Esther? Hurry up with the tea.’ She turned to Grandfather again. ‘Are you still here? This is not your place, this is the women’s. You look after your job and we’ll look after ours.’

We made our escape.

Curious, I turned to Dad. ‘Why do you let Grandfather trample all over you?’ I asked.

‘He doesn’t trample over me!’

‘Why do you let him do it?’

Dad looked at me, puzzled. ‘I love my father,’ he answered. ‘As the Bible says, “Honour thy father and mother and be obedient to them in all things.” ’

My frustration leaked out. God had poked me with a pin.

Oh. Yes. Of course.

As if to pay us back for playing truant, Grandfather kept Dad, Mum and our family at the homestead until late afternoon on Christmas Eve. He knew full well that we still had our real Christmas shopping to do. Mum was almost beside herself with anxiety by the time we left — Haromi’s five-minute spree was not her style. She reckoned she’d need hours .

‘Go round the back way, dear,’ Mum said when we approached Patutahi. Like everybody else in Waituhi she didn’t want to see Miss Zelda’s accusing stare as we slipped by the general store without paying off some of our account.

Gisborne was really hopping. The police had closed off Gladstone Road from Peel Street to the clock tower. There were people everywhere. As usual, my mother Huria prefaced each trip back and forth to the car with, ‘And now I’m just going to Melbourne Cash.’ She wanted to make sure we weren’t there to see what she was buying for us. It was a logistical nightmare, but by six o’clock we had done it.

‘Well, dear,’ Dad said, ‘I think we should have something to eat. How about getting some fish and chips at the Lyric Cafe and going down to the riverbank for a feed?’

This was a great extravagance but, ‘Oh, why not,’ our mother said. Glory was in seventh heaven.

On the way I saw Haromi in her new bolero jacket. She was parading back and forth outside Melbourne Cash’s window where they still displayed the poster of Miss Sandra Dee.

‘I’ll meet you later,’ she hissed. ‘There’s a late movie at the Majestic. They’re showing Rock Around the Clock again.’

I might as well have been a dummy. Her eyes were looking over my shoulder to where young boys in black jackets were lounging around a car dazzling with silver chrome. Emblazoned across the back was the dubious message from here to maternity. Righteous matrons cast glances of outrage as they hustled their daughters past.

‘Dad,’ I asked, ‘can I stay in town? I’ll come back with Andrew. All the Whatus are staying and —’

‘Don’t get into trouble,’ Dad said.

‘And do not go to that rock and roll movie at the Majestic,’ Mum said. ‘There’s a perfectly good movie playing at the King’s.’

‘Yes, Mum,’ I said, putting wax in my ears.

April Love with Pat Boone? Vomit.

Haromi, Andrew and I loved going to the movies, especially since the latest in cinema technology — the wonders of Cinemascope, Vistavision and wall-to-wall Cinerama — had finally come to Gisborne. Grandfather Tamihana didn’t exactly approve, although he didn’t seem to mind if we saw films on religious subjects, like The Robe, Demetrius and the Gladiators and Shoes of the Fisherman . What he didn’t realise was that these films were really just an excuse for actresses to show lotsa flesh. The Prodigal , for instance, was a ploy for glamour girl Lana Turner to get dressed up in strategically situated beads. The Silver Chalice had Virginia Mayo floating around in almost see-through lingerie. The greatest of them all, Rhonda Fleming, showed off one of the best figures of all time in Revolt of the Slaves as she ran around the catacombs of Rome wearing a dress she herself had ripped so as to bind the wounds of the hero.

There were other movies, too — westerns, crime movies, romances and comedies — and some were screened in 3-D so that you sat with cardboard glasses on and ducked as people threw spears or rocks. Best of all, though, were the new crop of films made just for us. The moody films of James Dean, of teen stars Fabian, Frankie Avalon or Bobby Darin, or the rock and roll films of Elvis Presley, aimed at rebellious youth. And Rock Around the Clock was tops, man. Best of all, it made our parents worried .

By the time we got to the Majestic, Haromi didn’t want to know me and Andrew at all. She was in the foyer, smoking with one hand and propping up a young drunk with another. When she saw us she made a great play of trying to hide her neck. A vampire had had a good suck at it. Andrew and I decided to make Haromi’s day. We did a double take as we went past her, then –

‘Isn’t that the —’ I said to Andrew in a loud voice.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘It can’t be —’

‘I think it is.’

By this time the whole foyer was wondering what the mystery was.

Andrew snapped his finger, suddenly remembering. ‘That girl,’ he whispered in a loud voice, ‘is wearing Sandra Dee’s jacket.’

There was a gasp. A little voice piped up, ‘Yes she is . There’s a picture of it in Melbourne Cash.’

Ooh. Ahh. Errr.

I winked at Haromi. You owe us one, babe.

She let her bloke fall flat on the floor — his name, I found out from Haromi later, was Mihaere — and began posing like mad.

Andrew and I managed to get some seats at the back of the theatre. Just as the lights went down I saw the delicious Poppy come in with Tight Arse Junior and Saul.

The movie was a riot. The management called in extra staff to handle the rowdiness. Fat chance they had. As soon as the credits started to roll, Bill Haley sang, ‘One two three o’clock, four o’clock, rock !’ The whole upstairs and downstairs began to tap their feet on the floor.