Witi Ihimaera - Bulibasha

‘Now,’ Miss Zelda said, leafing through the pages, ‘Mahana E, Mahana H, ah here we have it, Mahana J, for Joshua.’ She shifted the book so my mother could look at the ledger. ‘You can read for yourself, Mrs Mahana, that you owe us £45 already and you are getting very close to being in the red. Can you see? Last week you bought a sugarbag of flour and —’ Perspiration beaded Mum’s face. Obediently she followed Miss Zelda’s pencil, nodding as it went down the figures. I wondered whether she saw the look of contempt on Miss Zelda’s face. ‘But this will help pay off some of the interest,’ Miss Zelda said. ‘You couldn’t perhaps pay off more? No? Well, anything is better than nothing. Perhaps Mr Mahana might be able to work a little harder. Or you might be able to find some work for yourself, Mrs Mahana. Good day.’

Miss Zelda offered us four aniseed balls. Free.

I said, ‘No thank you, Miss Zelda, my sisters and I don’t eat sweets.’

Nothing would induce us to be beholden in any way, to be in emotional as well as financial debt.

Back at the car my father was waiting.

‘Next time, darlings,’ my mother said to us. She knew we would have loved some lollies.

‘They’re mouldy old sweets anyway,’ Hope said.

‘All done?’ Dad asked.

My mother nodded. Both of them seemed afraid. Dad took Mum’s hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back.

My mother couldn’t read. My father couldn’t read either. They knew it only too well. So did Miss Zelda.

That night at dinner we broke our fast with a simple ceremony of bread and water, knowing that in the households of Granduncle Ihaka and Zebediah Whatu the same ceremony was happening.

Then Grandfather nodded his head and Aunts Sephora, Miriam and Esther, assisted by my mother, began to bring the food out from the kitchen. The table, which Grandfather had made himself, was three huge slabs of kauri which could be fitted together or taken apart depending on how many people needed to be served. Tonight the three parts had been pushed together, end on end; we were seating thirty of the family and some of our shearers. The food was simple country fare: lamb chops, potatoes, kumara and pumpkin, peas and beans, all smothered in rich brown gravy. Jellies and ice cream had already been placed on the table. Jugs of red and orange cordial were there also, with small jugs of cream. Plates of paraoa rewana and other Maori breads, plastered with slabs of butter, were spaced at regular intervals.

My aunts sat down. Together we held hands around that large table. I noticed one of the shearers, a handsome nineteen-year-old named Pani, was sitting next to Aunt Miriam. He crimsoned when she went to hold his hand. I wondered why — Aunt Miriam was a plain woman who at twenty-five was much too old for him. Yet she was blushing too.

Grandfather signed for Matiu to bless the food.

‘Lord, we thank you for Father Tamihana and Mother Ramona and ask you to protect them with your love. At the same time, we ask you to bless this food and the hands which prepared it, in Jesus’ name —’

‘Amine,’ we said.

Then Grandfather Tamihana said, ‘We are all family. The family comes first. The family always comes first —’

YesBulibasha YesBulibasha Yesyesyes.

Even I found the words readily on my lips.

‘And are we all ready to begin our new season?’

‘Yes, father,’ Uncle Matiu said. ‘Mahana One will start at the Horsfield station next Wednesday.’

‘Mahana Two will be at the Wi Pere estate,’ Uncle Maaka said. ‘I rang the station manager up. Bob said they’re bringing the first sheep in tomorrow.’

‘We go up to Otara station,’ said Uncle Ruka about Mahana Three. ‘I’ve asked Maaka if he can spare one of his boys as Lloyd is in hospital.’

‘When did he go in?’ Grandfather asked. Lloyd had been shearing with us for four seasons. He was a muscular man with the sun in his smile and all the world before him. Always eager to please, he adored Grandfather as most of the young men seemed to do. He would have walked on water for Grandfather, or placed his life in Grandfather’s hands.

‘Last week. He might have appendicitis. Something has been bothering him.’

‘You should have told me,’ Grandfather reproved. ‘He’s not working, but he stays on the payroll. He has a family just like the rest of us.’

‘Yes, Father,’ Uncle Ruka said.

‘And Mahana Four,’ Uncle Hone coughed, ‘we start at the Collinsons’. No sweat.’

‘Good,’ Grandfather Tamihana said. ‘We must all work hard. There must be no slackening. Any problems should be brought to me immediately. Don’t leave it to the last minute. That’s when problems happen. Kua pae?’

‘Kua pae,’ we agreed.

‘The family —’

‘Comes first,’ we said.

There was a pause. Grandfather picked up his fork. The sign to eat.

As I was climbing into bed that night I heard the dogs beginning to practise for Monday with little squeals and yelps, clearing their throats for tomorrow’s dawn. Our rooster was also in rehearsal, preening his feathers and doing his scales — do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, cock a doodledo ! The whole universe seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as if to say, Roll on Monday.

I heard Glory calling out, ‘’Night Mummy, ’night Daddy, ’night Faith, ’night Hope, ’night Simeon —’

She did this every night, a childish mantra to set her world right before she could sleep, a special piece of magic to get us through the night. I heard the others call back, including Dad, with, ‘Go to sleep, Glory.’

I decided to pretend I was asleep. Sure enough, I heard the pitter-patter of little steps and a small shape jumped on me.

‘I won’t play dead any more,’ she threatened.

‘Night Glory,’ I squeaked.

‘That’s better.’

A kiss and she was gone.

Monday, and sometimes if I was lucky I managed to get into the bathroom before going to school. On those days I was able to see something of myself, for this was the only place, apart from Grandfather’s own bedroom, where there was a mirror. Grandfather regarded mirrors as devices of the devil, leading to vanity and selfishness.

The mirror in the bathroom at the homestead was hung so high on the wall that usually all I ever saw was my forehead. This was because Grandfather Tamihana was over six feet tall and so were most of my uncles. As a consequence my forehead became the most well-known part of my body and I have watched it grow higher as I have grown older. In those days, though, my forehead was pretty close to my eyebrows but not so close that anybody could accuse me of having werewolf ancestry.

A couple of blocks of wood to stand on did the trick. There I was. All five feet six inches of me. At fourteen I wasn’t handsome, but I wasn’t plain either. My hair had a tendency to stick out all over the place but at least it hid my big ears. I couldn’t do anything about that big Mahana nose, but all in all, not a bad looker — and all man . All sex machine . Eyes that could look soulful and wicked at the same time. A nose that flared at the nostrils like a stallion. Lips perhaps a little on the generous side but you wouldn’t be able to miss those beauties in the dark.

Mohi, The Magnificent Turd, came in. ‘Once a short arse,’ he said, ‘always a short arse.’

He proceeded to elbow me out of the way and to bend — like my uncles he too was at least six feet — to comb his thick wavy hair. A few self-regarding winks and smiles later, and a poking out of his tongue to see if it was yellow and –

‘If you’ve got it, you’ve got it,’ he said.

‘Why all the fuss?’ I asked. ‘You’re only going to the shed.’