Witi Ihimaera - Bulibasha

A crowd had begun to collect around us and Grandfather, aware of the attention, wanted to get the matter over quickly.

Chantelle trotted over and whispered in my ear. ‘We don’t mind, honey,’ she said.

The trouble was, I did. ‘No change,’ I told Grandfather. My heart was thudding in my ears. My mouth was dry.

‘What did you say ?’

‘There will be no change in either the name or the team.’

‘You will make a laughing stock of me,’ Grandfather said. ‘I am ordering you to —’

‘Have you ever taken the time to watch us, Grandfather? No, you’ve been too busy watching Mahana.’

‘This is your last chance, Himiona.’

Just then, Nani Mini Tupara, alerted to what was happening, came running over. The light of battle was in her eyes and her temper was up.

‘Are you trying to muscle in on my team?’ she asked. ‘They’re registered under me, Tamihana, not you.’ I could see Nani Mini was enjoying having Grandfather on. She loved to get her own back on him for splitting the valley with that Mormon angel of his. ‘Anyway, cuz, it’s all the same, isn’t it? We’re all Waituhi, aren’t we?’

Meantime, the ref had heard what the ruckus was about and hurried over to assert some authority.

‘Sorry, Bulibasha,’ he said. ‘Mini’s right. This is her team, not yours.’

Grandfather knew he had lost.

‘Himiona,’ he whispered. ‘Why did you register under your Nani Mini? Why not under me?’ His voice sounded so adrift, like an anchor that has failed to take on the sea bed. I felt ashamed. ‘One day,’ Grandfather said, ‘you and I —’

He walked away.

Ask anybody who has played seven-a-side hockey and they will tell you that it is a difficult and punishing game. With only seven players each, teams have to be fast and fit to last the distance — fifteen minutes first half and fifteen minutes second half and not just for one game, either. In a tournament you played eight games or more a day. No good pulling all the stops out at the beginning and running out of steam as the day progressed. The main secret to success was having and keeping possession of the ball. As long as you had possession, you could control the speed and the destiny of the game.

Over the preliminaries I had developed an enormous respect for Donna, Cindy and Chantelle’s abilities to keep possession. Although they were transvestites there was nothing feminine about the way they slammed that ball. They were massive — and they could run.

Could they what!

I had every reason to expect that Waituhi Rebels would give Hukareka Two a good run for their money. What I hadn’t anticipated, however, was that Donna, Cindy and Chantelle would be so devastated by Grandfather’s dismissal of them that they would give up. From the moment they walked on to the field they didn’t even try. They thought everybody was laughing at them.

The Hukareka Two team, led by Alexander Poata, swiftly took possession. Despite attempts by me, Andrew, Dad and Pani to stop the fast Hukareka Two men — Alexander, Tight Arse Senior, Tight Arse Junior, Bill, John and two others I didn’t know — Hukareka Two scored one runaway goal after another. By halftime Hukareka Two were ahead by 15 to nil — a goal a minute.

‘Chantelle,’ I pleaded. ‘We’ve got to turn this game around. Please —’

By now people were laughing at Donna, Cindy and Chantelle. All along the sidelines, men were beginning to heckle us. Some were making effeminate gestures and mincing along like women. Grandfather, having washed his hands of us, was standing like a monument to morality and righteousness.

Nani Mini came over. ‘Huh? What’s wrong with your players?’ she asked. ‘They better pull their stockings up.’

Then I saw Mohi blowing kisses at us and I saw red. I walked up to him and socked him in the mouth. ‘You leave them alone, Mohi.’

‘Whu —’ the crowd rumbled.

Before Mohi could hit me back, the ref had blown his whistle to start the second half. Dad, Pani and Andrew were silent as I trotted back. I started to rearrange the team.

‘Why don’t we just throw in the towel?’ Pani asked.

‘No,’ I answered. ‘If we keep possession of the ball we can keep the score down. I’ll play centre forward; Dad, you play left inner; Andrew, you play right inner, and Pani, you play at centre half.’

‘What about —’ Andrew jerked his head at Donna, Cindy and Chantelle.

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘Play ball!’ the ref cried.

Tears of rage were stinging my eyes. I barged back and pushed Chantelle away from the centre forward position.

‘You bitches,’ I yelled at my cousins. ‘If you don’t want to fight for yourselves, get off the field. Go crawl back into your holes and die.’

I settled down to bully against Alexander Poata. All I could think of was winning the bully, shooting the ball out to Andrew, streaking into Hukareka territory and –

I felt a hand on my shoulder.

‘You better step aside, honey.’ Chantelle’s voice was kind, but there was steel in it. ‘You’re standing in my position and I don’t like it .’

I looked at Chantelle, uncomprehending.

‘Off you go now, there’s a good boy. Me and my girls are going to work.’

I moved back to centre.

‘Are we ready, girls?’ Chantelle asked.

‘Any time, any place, any way you want it,’ Donna and Cindy responded.

‘So why are we waiting?’ Chantelle said. ‘Let’s kick ass .’

The game took off. Chantelle bullied so fast that Alexander Poata was left literally standing in the middle of the field wondering what had happened. He looked like one of those cartoon characters who lose their pants and cross their legs: Eek. She pushed the ball past Tight Arse Senior and yelled to Cindy, ‘Go, girl!’

The ball cracked from Chantelle down the middle of the field. Cindy took off after it, picked the ball up and swerved and dipped past the remaining Hukareka Two players. Like an avenging angel she sprinted down the field and slam –

Hukareka 15, Waituhi Rebels 1.

‘One down,’ Chantelle yawned, tossing her hair, ‘fourteen to go. Ready, girls?’

The onlookers were stunned into silence. Then they let out a surprised roar. Nani Mini was laughing so loud she almost lost her teeth.

Hockey one, hockey two, hockey three and –

Again the ball cracked from Chantelle, but this time to Donna who hit it into the far corner and sped after it. Did I tell you that Donna had been a champion sprinter? None of those Hukareka players had a chance. Donna was there to pick up the ball and leisurely dribble it into the Hukareka goal.

‘What took you guys so long?’ Donna said as the panting Hukareka players caught up.

Alexander Poata was so pissed off about being beaten by a takatapui that he took a swing at Donna who ducked, kneed him in the balls and asked the other men, ‘Next?’ It was the kind of strength that people on the sidelines understood — even Grandfather Tamihana. They cheered and stamped their approval. Donna went to take a bow.

‘Never mind about that,’ Chantelle yelled. ‘We’ve only got another twelve minutes.’

Hukareka 15, Waituhi Rebels 2. We would never make it.

The game got harder, but we had the crowd with us all the way. People like to see born losers clawing back. Against all odds we managed to draw 15–15 in the last second.

‘Extra time!’ the ref allowed. Now the game would continue until the first goal was scored.

Nani Mini was beside herself. She upbraided Chantelle. ‘Why didn’t you fellas play like this in the first half?’

Chantelle looked at me with tenderness. ‘We can fight our own battles, Auntie,’ she said. ‘But sometimes it takes us a while to remember what they are.’