Witi Ihimaera - Bulibasha

Today people still remember that semifinal game and the one that followed. They remember it not with laughter but with admiration for the team that came from the back and ended in the front. Mind you, people thought Waituhi Rebels had decided on our tactics from the very start.

‘That was clever,’ Granduncle Pera said, ‘to get Hukareka Two all tuckered out first!’

For two minutes the fight of the champions see-sawed from one end of the field to the other. There always seemed to be somebody from either side able to stop the ball from going into the goal. Then the ref blew his whistle and announced that the first team to hit the ball from the circle anywhere over their opponent’s back line would be the winner.

Hockey one, hockey two, hockey three.

I was so exhausted I could hardly stand.

Alexander Poata won the ball. Hukareka were on the attack. Then from out of nowhere Pani stopped the ball. He saw Donna waving from afar and hit it to her. But Donna was tired and the Hukareka players were catching up –

Suddenly Chantelle yelled, ‘Cops, Donna! Cops!’

You should have seen Donna take off — like a rocket. Over the circle and slam .

Oh yes, we won the finals too.

In the early evening both Nani Mini Tupara and Grandfather, on behalf of Waituhi Rebels, went up to receive the coveted silver-studded shield at the prizegiving ceremony. I had mentioned to Nani Mini earlier why it was imperative that Grandfather join her.

‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘But your grandfather can fight his own battles, you know. Just remember our bargain — I get to take the shield to my place. That’ll fix the old paka.’

So Grandfather did win against Rupeni Poata, sort of, in the end. Not that Rupeni Poata seemed to care. When the official photograph was taken and everybody applauded he caught my eye and raised his arms to indicate his personal applause.

Dad was standing beside me. I turned to him and –

‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said.

‘You were the captain,’ he answered. ‘Not me. Father was wrong in thinking he could change the name of the team and the players. Sometimes there is no choice.’

‘There’s always a choice, Dad.’

‘Not when there’s only one right answer. You were right, son, and Father was —’

Dad still could not make the admission.

The community hall was packed that night for the celebration concert and dance. We young ones were looking forward to letting off steam — the Black Shadows were playing, which meant we’d be able to rock and roll.

Andrew and I had a long shower and doused ourselves with two bottles of cologne; Andrew also drank some. He hoped he would get lucky in Nuhaka. My thoughts, as usual, were on Poppy. I was combing my hair into a duck tail — in those days I had enough hair — when the toilet flushed and Chantelle came out hitching up her skirt. We looked at each other in the mirror. Nothing needed to be said. Chantelle winked and was gone.

I had brought my new pair of grey pointed shoes — they were so long in the toes the only way I could walk was with my feet splayed out at right angles. Andrew lent me his bright red shirt and lime green pants. When I walked into the hall I looked like traffic lights trying to make up their mind whether to show Stop or Go.

By eleven the dance was in full swing — and no sign of the Hukareka crowd. Then Poppy walked in on the arm of Rupeni Poata, and they started to waltz. Everybody went, ‘Aah.’

All of a sudden Rupeni stopped just in front of where Grandmother Ramona and Grandfather Tamihana were sitting. He bowed to Grandmother and, turning to Grandfather, congratulated him on the Waituhi Rebels’ win. I think it was only then that Grandfather considered his mana had been restored.

Just as he was leaving, Rupeni almost fell. As he passed by I saw that he was trembling.

The dance turned hot . Waituhi’s sense of competition against Hukareka was still running high, and the dance hall split down the middle. Waituhi lined up facing our partners — girls in one line and boys in the other. Hukareka did the same. We began to show off our dancing skills, trying to outdo the other side.

‘You think you guys are so great? Take this .’

The music got hotter and hotter. The steps grew more and more complicated. People started to leave the floor to the gun partners, and soon boys were throwing their partners in the air, leaping and falling into the splits and gyrating like tops. The Puerto Rican dancers on the rooftops in West Side Story had nothing on us. The hall was awash with verve and excitement. Haromi took my hand and pulled me into the middle. The band erupted into ‘Rock, rock, rock.’

‘Oh no,’ I said.

‘Oh yes, cuz,’ she answered. ‘All you have to do is stand still. I’ll do the work.’

Haromi was wearing a red dress that flared whenever she spun. She had learnt how to do French rock and roll and nobody could dance like she could. The floor cleared for us as Haromi dipped and circled and jumped into and out of my arms.

‘Go, girl, go !’ everybody chanted.

For one shining, elated moment both Waituhi and Hukareka forgot our differences. When Haromi span like a top — shedding her veils, as Aunt Sarah would have said — we were simply young men and women who felt so lucky to have been born in these modern times. We were kids from many villages, roaring our heads off.

Afterward, Poppy came up to Haromi and said to her, ‘Next year I get to wear the red dress.’ She turned to me. ‘You were pretty good too.’

The dance ended at one o’clock in the morning. Both Andrew and I had struck out in the girls department. I had met a few whom I liked but shyness always had a way of tying my tongue into knots. So my cousin Andrew and I wandered off down the road towards the meeting house. Half way along we heard rustling in a paddock and the sound of a loud slap . A red dress came through the furrows towards us.

‘ Men ,’ Haromi said. ‘Always after one thing. Look at my dress. Gotta smoke?’

We went to sit on a bank, watching the crowd as they drifted to the complex of marquees around the meeting house. The mood between the three of us sweetened and I felt absurdly happy.

‘Hey guys,’ Andrew said, ‘did you know —’

This was the way he always began whenever he had found something out.

‘Know what!’

‘You won’t believe this —’

‘Believe what!’

The moon came out and flooded the nightscape.

‘Grandfather and Grandmother aren’t married,’ he said.

‘Bulldust,’ I answered.

‘They had all those kids,’ Haromi added.

‘It’s true ,’ Andrew said.

I scoffed at the notion. ‘Grandfather is too religious to live in sin.’

‘I heard Aunt Ruth telling Aunt Sarah,’ Andrew insisted.

‘So are you saying,’ I began, ‘that after Grandfather stole Grandmother away from the church they didn’t get married?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why not!’

‘Search me.’

Haromi, Andrew and I stared at each other, unable to comprehend. Haromi began to laugh and laugh with absolute and unyielding delight.

‘Oh fu-uck !’ she yelled. As if she’d heard the most marvellous news of her life.

Everybody in Poverty Bay was talking about the Golden Fleece competition — everybody, that is, except Grandfather Tamihana. When Uncle Matiu raised the matter at our family meeting and asked Bulibasha if Mahana was entering, Grandfather laughed and said, ‘Why should we go into a Golden Fleece competition? We’re already the best! Waste of time even having a competition. They should give us the prize and save money.’