Witi Ihimaera - Pounamu Pounamu

Mrs Jones swore under her breath.

Again the tokotoko circled and jabbed at the door. Hurriedly, I went to do as Mr Hohepa commanded but the tokotoko motioned me away and then pointed at Mrs Jones. She was the one who was to do it. And she was to do it alone.

‘Like hell I will!’ Mrs Jones yelled and her words cracked the air. She tossed her head and took another step from the verandah.

The tokotoko banged away again. Mr Hohepa’s rage was terrible to behold. I trembled and thought: here it comes … the makutu. Fearfully I watched as Mr Hohepa and Mrs Jones fought silently and grimly for domination over the other. It seemed a battle between giants. The air was tense with hostility. They faced each other, it seemed, while decades and centuries whirled past. And then Mrs Jones smiled.

‘Take it in yourself,’ she said calmly.

She showed her back to Mr Hohepa and he stood up, shivering with anger.

‘You! Woman! You dare to …’

But he didn’t get any further, for Mrs Jones interrupted him with a hail of words. She must have been spoiling for a fight with him for a long time. Sitting up there like a king! she said. She knew, she said, she knew all about him. Thought he was just the cat’s whiskers, didn’t he! Thought he was something in this district, didn’t he! Well, she knew better. He was too big for his boots, that was his trouble. And he needn’t start swearing at her in Maori, either. She knew what he was saying. Yes, thought he was just royalty, didn’t he! Everybody knew, she said, that he was just common. He didn’t really have any authority around here. Just because his mother had been an ariki didn’t make him one. Well, she wasn’t going to kiss his common behind. And, she said, things were going to be different from now on!

I listened to them quarrelling: Mr Hohepa raging away in Maori and shaking his tokotoko in the air; Mrs Jones, barking like a small terrier. I edged away from them and sneaked into the van. Every now and then, I’d take a peep at Mr Hohepa. He was almost purple, and his voice blasted out like a trumpet.

‘Don’t you talk to me like that!’ he said. ‘I warn you, woman! You’re just a public servant. I’ll report you,’ he said. ‘Yes, they’ll listen to me. Coming here and disturbing my peace. Running down my hens. Yes, I saw you, woman,’ he said. ‘I saw you! And don’t you answer me back either. So much talk, your husband must have died of it!’

Mrs Jones didn’t take that lying down. She launched into the attack again.

‘Report me, go on, report me!’ she yelled. ‘See if I care! And don’t you dare talk like that about my husband. He loved me, which is more than anyone can say about you. They all laugh at you, yes, they laugh at you, sitting up here in all your pomp and splendour. You should see yourself! God, if ever I was to marry again and you were the last man on earth, I wouldn’t even look at you!’

And with that blistering remark, she turned away from him and stepped into the van. All the time, Mr Hohepa was still yelling from his verandah, banging away with his stick.

‘Pae kare, woman!’ he said. ‘I warn you, you better do as I say. This flour, you come back and take it inside. You just do as I tell you!’

And he began to mutter what seemed to be a magic spell. I looked at Mrs Jones; she was in for it now. But she just laughed, started the van, put her foot down, and we roared away from the verandah toward the first gate.

‘Leave it open!’ she yelled to me. I hesitated, and looked back to where Mr Hohepa was still yelling and jumping around.

‘Leave it open, I say!’ Mrs Jones ordered again.

So I did. That gate, the second and the third. And as we turned off down the road, Mrs Jones waved her hand and tooted her horn at Mr Hohepa.

‘That’ll show him!’ she said to me. ‘Let him shut his own gates!’

I was horrified. Didn’t Mrs Jones know that she was doing something dangerous? Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparkling with triumph.

‘He hasn’t seen anything yet!’ she said. Then she laughed, a long laugh which bubbled in the air. I looked at her amazed, and if I had had any doubts about whether I really loved her, they were dispelled right there and then. I’d never seen Mrs Jones look so beautiful.

That was just the beginning.

On the next round, we left Mr Hohepa’s stores at the third gate.

The round after that, his stores were left at the second gate.

On the third round, just inside the first gate.

And on the fourth, Mr Hohepa’s stores were deposited on the side of the road.

And always, Mrs Jones would wave and beep the horn at Mr Hohepa before leaving, and I would see his eyes glowing from the shadow of the verandah.

Around this time, I was thinking of resigning from my job. It was getting unhealthy. Makutu … makutu … Only my love for Mrs Jones persuaded me to stay.

Naturally, everybody soon found out what was happening. Most of them were on Mrs Jones’ side, but admitted a healthy respect for Mr Hohepa. I became one of the most popular people around. I’d be asked:

‘What happened today, Tawhai?’

And I’d have to tell them the same story: that we’d just delivered Mr Hohepa’s stores to the first gate and no farther.

‘But what happened?’ they would ask again, impatiently. ‘Surely there’s something else! You must be hiding something, that’s why you’re scared to tell us, eh. Mr Hohepa put a makutu on Mrs Jones, eh? You don’t have to hide anything. We won’t tell!’

In the end, I used to manufacture a story to satisfy them. I’d dwell at length on the fierce countenance of Mr Hohepa. How he’d come running up the road, shouting curses at Mrs Jones, and how Mrs Jones had shouted back at him. Anything, just to have some peace from all those Jack Nohis who wanted to know every little detail. I must admit that I enjoyed it, but even so I began to feel more uneasy. And in one of my more sane moments, I said to Winti Edwards:

‘Hey! Do you want my job? You can have it if you like.’

He just laughed at me.

‘You can keep your harateke job!’

Around that same time, Mrs Jones’ boss on the Council also found out what had happened. One day, when we were almost ready to set off on our round, he came to see her. He was very worried.

‘Mrs Jones,’ he said, ‘I’ve heard that you’ve been having a bit of trouble.’

‘No,’ Mrs Jones answered innocently. ‘Not as far as I know.’

The Council man coughed, embarrassed.

‘Well,’ he continued, ‘I’ve heard, only heard mind you, that you and Mr Hohepa have … well … that you haven’t been delivering his stores to his door.’

Mrs Jones flared.

‘Did he tell you that?’

‘Oh, no,’ the Council man interrupted hastily. ‘I’ve just heard about it. I don’t know whether it’s true or not, but I’d just like to say that Mr Hohepa is a very powerful man and …’

Mrs Jones cut him short.

‘Don’t you worry about me!’ she snapped. ‘I can look after myself.’

The Council man looked at her and then nodded.

‘I suppose you can,’ he muttered. ‘But if anything happens to you, the Council disclaims any responsibility.’

Then he walked away. Mrs Jones watched him go, a thoughtful look on her face. She whispered something, meant for herself.

‘What do you know? Old Hohepa hasn’t reported me.’

Then she collected herself.

‘And that’s the way it should be,’ she said grimly. ‘This is only between him and myself.’

She drove like the Devil that day.

Christmas came and went. I saw the old year out and the new year in. I bought my water pistol. Rural deliveries were discontinued over the holidays. It was a happy time, and yet I couldn’t help feeling worried about Mrs Jones. I was sure that something would happen to her. Something to do with makutu. Something. And not even the fact that Mr Hohepa had smiled at her on Christmas Eve when they’d met in the pub, could dispel my fears.