Witi Ihimaera - Bulibasha

As soon as I said the words, I felt a rush of elation. Grandfather wasn’t too sure what I was saying. Was I agreeing with him? Or disagreeing? It was as if suddenly I had discovered a new language, a way of saying things beyond his limited comprehension. In knowledge was power, yes. But the secret was how to articulate that knowledge.

My grandfather, despite his mana, was piss ignorant. The understanding made me feel triumphant.

My father came looking for me after prayers. I was in my bedroom doing my homework when he burst in and motioned to a book on the bed.

‘Is that your biology book?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘I want you to burn it.’

Burn it?

‘You can’t, Dad. It doesn’t belong to me. It’s from our class set.’ I paused. ‘Grandfather wants this done, doesn’t he?’

‘Give me the book, Simeon.’

‘Dad, this is really dumb.’

We began to tussle over the book. Laughing, I wrenched it away from Dad. He raised his fist and hit me. I couldn’t believe it. I touched my right cheek. This couldn’t be happening.

Dad took the book. I watched from the window as he handed it to Grandfather. The entire family had been ordered to watch. Grandfather doused the book with kerosene. He threw a match at it. There was a whump , and the book burst into flame.

He looked across at me where I stood at the window. He was laughing, and he looked maniacal. This was the only kind of reaction he could muster — physical or symbolic. I had discovered Grandfather Tamihana’s weakness. He feared anything that would destroy his world.

Later I had it out with Dad. When did I ever get to be so wise?

‘Dad,’ I began, ‘I don’t mind that you did what you did. But there are other books just like the one Grandfather burnt. Is he going to burn every book?’

‘Just that one,’ he answered.

‘Dad, you can’t stop progress.’

‘Progress is not always a good thing, Simeon.’

I was getting nowhere. I tried to be kind. ‘You only say that because those are Grandfather’s words. You only do what you do because Grandfather tells you to. At some point, Dad, you’re going to have to make a choice without looking to him first. All the family will have to make that choice one day. Are you always going to choose for Grandfather Tamihana?’

‘Honour thy father and thy mother, Simeon.’

‘When are you going to choose for me , Dad? For my mother and my sisters? For yourself? And when are you going to choose for what is right? Are you always going to take his side just because he’s your father? What if he’s wrong?’

My father looked at me, frightened. ‘I know he’s wrong sometimes, son,’ he said.

‘Then you’re a coward, Dad.’

He raised his hand again.

‘Don’t you hit my son,’ my mother interrupted. She had just come into the room. I thought she would take my side. Instead, she turned on me. ‘You think you’re so smart, Simeon. But you’ve never had to live the way your father and I have. Life is not easy. The choices are not so simple.’ She kissed me on the forehead. ‘We do love you, son,’ she said. ‘But just because you know more than me and your father, and can read and write, it doesn’t mean to say you know everything.’

Aunt Sarah had the Mahana haka team practising right up to the hour before the finals.

‘Good,’ she would say during rehearsals, ‘but not good enough.’

Again and again she drove us through our new entrance and the new action song. She had fallen in love with the tune I’d composed for it, and she’d pulled out all the stops to create the appropriate words and actions.

‘This is a gutsy composition,’ she admonished. ‘I want you all to put some guts into it. Come on, girls! Never mind about trying to look pretty. Get into it!’

I thought we had a smash hit on our hands. By the time we arrived at the Gisborne Opera House, we were ready to go for gold.

‘We’re on last,’ Aunt Sarah announced. ‘Ka pai! And guess what? Hukareka’s on first!’ She was triumphant. Now we’d be able to watch everyone else and tailor our performance accordingly. And the judges would have forgotten Hukareka by the time we’d finished. She bustled us backstage so that we could change into our costumes and queue up for Uncle Matiu to paint moko on us. Aunt Sarah hid the cloaks so that none of our competitors would see them until we emerged, resplendent. Then we went up into the balcony to join the other performers.

The view of the stage from the balcony was gorgeous. Flowers decorated the apron and sides. The Apirana Ngata Shield and Heni Materoa Cup dazzled in silver glory. The audience was dressed up to the nines. The men were wearing suits or sports jackets; the women were elegant in black, and some were wearing fake fur. The kuia were stunning with their greenstone earrings and pendants. The older ones had chiselled moko.

The lights dimmed. The compere came out. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and the audience whistled. He went offstage and came on again for another whistle. How we all laughed! Then he whistled at us .

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘from here you all look fabulous. Not a black singlet or pair of gumboots in sight. Sorry, Auntie Mary, I didn’t see you out there! Seriously folks, you look proud, beautiful and dignified. Yes, even you Auntie Mary. You all lend lustre to this occasion. For tonight we are going to witness the very best of our performing arts.’

We all started to preen.

In the distance I saw Poppy sitting with the Hukareka girls. She was vivacious in her black and white costume, her long hair curling on her shoulders. Her lips had been darkened and a moko applied to her chin. She looked like the daughter of a Renaissance prince. My heart gave a lurch –

Night. A full moon shines on a balcony in an old Italian citadel. A young girl comes out, looking around as if searching for somebody.

Girl Taku tane, taku tane, kei hea koe taku tane?

(Subtitles: Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?)

A young boy from Waituhi, transformed so that his nose isn’t as big and he is taller, detaches himself from the shadows.

Boy Ko ahau, kei raro nei!

(Subtitles: Down here, beloved, down here.)

Did Poppy see my adoring eyes? No, for the Hukareka group was hastening down to the stage.

‘Good luck,’ I said to her as she passed my seat.

She started to smile. Then she saw I was a Mahana and her eyes widened with surprise. With a flick of her piupius she was gone.

‘But you don’t want to hear me all night,’ the compere said. ‘So let’s begin our competition with Hukareka first, followed by L.D.S. Mahia, Hauiti and Whangara. We’ll have a break for a smoke —’ The compere saw Grandfather sitting in the front row downstairs. ‘Oops, sorry, Bulibasha.’

Grandfather waved the joke aside. Beside him, Grandmother Ramona was beautiful in that serene way of hers. She wore her long dress of white Spanish lace. She was like a dove among eagles.

‘Then after the break Mangatu, Waihirere, Manutuke and Mahana. Break a leg, folks! And first on — Hukareka !’

The opera house erupted into cheers. We kept our hands under our bums. Clap for Hukareka? No fear.

The curtains opened. The stage was empty. On came Hukareka, proud and vigorous, executing that amazing scissors pattern. ‘Karangatia ra, karangatia ra —’ They moved in double time, hands outstretched and quivering, claiming the stage with assurance and authority.

‘They are good,’ Aunt Sarah nodded. ‘They’re going to be hard to beat.’

As the competition continued, Aunt Sarah revised her opinion. Everybody was going to be hard to beat.