Witi Ihimaera - Pounamu Pounamu

It was an ugly situation and a sad one too. Had the Heremaia children been responsible? They seemed the obvious suspects, the obvious ones to blame. That was the trouble: you thought them guilty even in cases like this one, and you did not give them the benefit of the doubt.

No matter now. The affair had long been over. The Heremaia children had made overtures of friendship and Jack Simmons had accepted them in the end. But the doubt and caution had still remained, dormant perhaps but still there, to feed suspicion against the children when the next crisis flared.

Jack Simmons sighs ruefully. Life next door to the Heremaias has certainly not been a calm one. For three years now, it has continued in a state of amicable warfare, each crisis separated by long periods of amity. If only the Heremaias were a little more balanced in their behaviour! Then relations between the two families wouldn’t oscillate in such an extreme manner. Right from the start it has been a series of escalations and de-escalations and treaties signed and treaties broken. All very wearing and wearying. Under the circumstances, it is most surprising that the two families have been able to get on at all. Yes, what is needed is a little more stability in the Heremaias. Take Millie now: usually calm and even-tempered, but tonight she is in one of her moods.

‘What are you thinking about, Jack?’

Jack Simmons looks up at his wife. She has poured a cup of tea for herself and sits at the table.

‘Nothing in particular,’ he answers. ‘I was wondering about the Heremaias. About Millie.’

‘Mrs Heremaia is in her mood,’ Mark whispers.

‘She’s awful when she’s in her mood,’ Anne continues.

‘That’s enough!’ Sally Simmons interrupts. ‘I’d prefer not to hear about Mrs Heremaia’s mood when I’m having a cup of tea, thank you very much!’

Millie’s mood is a legend in the street. It is probably not greater than anyone else’s raging temper except that when she has it, everybody knows about it. When she is in her mood, you can hear her shouting right at the end of the street. Yet you sometimes find it difficult to believe that she can have such a temper, for she is a small and usually docile woman.

‘I wonder why she’s in her mood tonight?’ Mark asks.

‘Who knows?’ Jack Simmons replies. ‘Mrs Heremaia has her moods for many reasons.’

‘That’s enough, Jack!’ Sally Simmons repeats firmly. ‘Or I shall be in one of my moods as well!’

Jack Simmons laughs. But he knows that Millie’s mood is no laughing matter. Heavens, he has been on the receiving end of it himself. As usual, the incident had been one involving her children. Jack Simmons had merely wanted to ask George if he’d been into the henhouse again, and he’d only touched George lightly on the arm, just lightly mind you ….

And next minute, an angry explosion had sounded from the Heremaia house, the door had almost buckled at the hinges, and Millie had steamed out to rescue her child.

‘I saw you, I saw you!’ she’d yelled. ‘You touched that kid, I saw you doing it with my own two eyes, and don’t you tell me that I’m a liar. Not me, boy! You touch him again and I’ll lay into you myself, you bully! If you want to pick on somebody, pick on me. I’ll show you.’

Jack Simmons takes a hasty sip at his tea. Millie’s tirade had kept on and on and had been heard all the way down the street. But Millie didn’t care two hoots about that. If people didn’t like it, then they shouldn’t listen. Nobody was going to lay a hand on her kids and get away with it.

That ghastly episode taught Jack Simmons a very valuable lesson. If you had any accusations to make against the Heremaia children you had to face Millie as well. If your accusations were proven right, you were safe. But Heaven help you if you were wrong. It was best if you meekly joined the queue to see Millie, bearing cap and complaint in hand. And you had to have a good case to present, for Millie had a formidable arsenal of protective motherhood to bring to bear against you.

Yes, if you won your case, you were safe. But you still left Millie in her mood. That was even worse, for Millie was ruthless in punishing her children. Sometimes you wondered whether you should have gone to her at all. Somehow, hearing her punishing her children made you wish you could retrace your steps.

Jack Simmons finishes his cup of tea.

‘Are you going to have your shower now?’ Sally asks.

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he answers. ‘I’ll have it after dinner. I’ll go down to the henhouse to make sure everything is okay.’

‘All right,’ Sally Simmons says. ‘And you just stop thinking of Millie Heremaia!’

She pushes him out of the kitchen into the passage. Jack Simmons puts on his shoes again.

Strange really, how could you reconcile the Millie Heremaia in her mood with the calm and warm-hearted woman? For that is also Millie Heremaia. Admittedly, she and her husband Sam are not always tactful. Their humour may not always be in the best taste, but it is honest and open. And to hear them laugh is to hear laughter as it really should be: punched straight from the chest with no holds barred. Absurd it may be, but you could say a lot of good about the Heremaias.

Jack Simmons shakes his head, puzzled. He opens the door and goes out of the house. The afternoon is still light and the wind is cool. He looks over the fence at his neighbour’s house and is just in time to see Jimmy duck down from the bedroom window. Poor little fellow. Still, he may not have the flu. If only the other children were like Jimmy. If they were, they would cease to be a puzzlement.

If Jack Simmons were asked which of the children he preferred most, he would without hesitation choose Jimmy, the second youngest of the brood. Jimmy was different. His curiosity was not generally of the criminal kind but was instead, delightful and sensitive. If he was naughty, it was more because he was a follower of the other children and therefore an accomplice by default. Heavens, it wasn’t his fault that he was Maori. Yet, despite this natural mishap of birth, he had revealed a gentle and sympathetic mind which, Jack Simmons hoped, would help him transcend the natural leanings of his race in later life.

Unlike the other children, it had been difficult to get to know Jimmy. The others left you no choice for they intruded upon your life so much. You could say they forced themselves upon you. But even from the beginning, Jimmy had been the one who always hung back, who seemed to be waiting to be introduced. Jack Simmons liked that. He liked the solemnity in the boy, his tact and his courtesy. It was such a relief to discover that one of the children at least was equipped with manners! Mind you, all these good attributes could disappear when the six went on the rampage; but when you were alone with Jimmy, you were made aware of them through his demeanour and his diffident air.

Over the last three years, Jimmy hadn’t changed for the worse at all. It would have been quite easy for his personality to be swayed or altered by his brothers and sisters. He still remained essentially the same child who used to ask:

‘Mr Simmons, please, why are you cutting those branches off? Mr Simmons, does it hurt the trees when you cut them off? Is a macintosh really the same as a raincoat? Why is the same thing called two different names?’

Hopefully, Jimmy would grow up without acquiring too many of the Maori habits and characteristics displayed by the rest of the children. Jack Simmons held great expectations for him. The quicker Maoris adjusted to European life the better. It was no use their trying to live in their old careless manner. They had to have some regard for their neighbours, accustomed to a more private mode of living. An Englishman’s home was his castle; he preferred it that way. And Jimmy would no doubt be found most acceptable as a visitor in any such home.