Witi Ihimaera - Pounamu Pounamu

A pity you couldn’t say the same of Tommy, the youngest of the six children. Four years old and already on his way to neighbourhood infamy!

Chuckling to himself, Jack Simmons walks towards the henhouse. On his way, he notices that Mark has left his bicycle leaning against the wall of the car shed. Or perhaps one of the Heremaia children has borrowed it today! His smile grows broader and he decides to put the bicycle in the shed where it belongs. He certainly has mellowed in the last three years! Previously, he would have become exceedingly angry if anyone, child or no, had borrowed something which belonged to him. Mind you, he still gets angry, but the sting of that anger has diminished now, only showing on the more unforgivable occasions. But one could not be angry for ever. There were other characteristics in the Heremaia family which redeemed them totally.

The greatest of these was their generosity. When the Simmonses had first settled in their new house they had had no furniture or cooking utensils because their household effects were still in transit from the landing port of Wellington. Sam and Millie had come to the rescue, and Millie had taken great delight in providing Maori bread along with the cutlery. Later, when the furniture arrived, Sam came around every day to help Jack Simmons move it into the house. He was a massive fellow and built like an ox. But like the children, he was also under Millie’s strict thumb. It was always, ‘Sam, do this’ or ‘Sam, do that’ or ‘Sam? Where the hell are you!’ And it had been Millie apparently, who’d told Sam to get out the scythe and cut the Simmons’ long grass when they were away on holiday one Christmas. When Jack Simmons thanked him, Sam had laughed and said he was only carrying out the boss’s orders; then he’d quipped that the grass would come in handy for feeding his sheep. He had a small country run on which he fattened sheep for sale at the local livestock sales. Sam was a character. He was always bringing sweets home for his children. Millie used to get angry at him, but he told her that the sweets wouldn’t do any harm as the children had rotten teeth already! He also brought sweets for Mark and Anne too. It wasn’t fair if everybody’s teeth weren’t rotten, he explained.

All things considered, the relationship between the two families had been a very neighbourly one. Mark and Anne often went to the beach with the Heremaias. Sometimes, Sam would bring over a leg of mutton or a sack of potatoes. Once there’d been a hangi and Sally had thought the food delicious. The sight of kina had put her off, however, and she thought that puha was a little too rough for her taste.

Jack Simmons wheels the bicycle into the shed. He locks the door and then continues toward the henhouse. Raising hens is only a recent hobby of the Simmons family, and Jack Simmons is very proud of the results. His henhouse is only a small one and he doesn’t have many hens, but Maria’s eggs should be hatching out any day now. Poor Maria, she’s suffered so much from the Heremaia children, always after her feathers.

Shaking his head, Jack Simmons reaches the henhouse. Strange, the latch isn’t properly secured. But then he had been in a hurry this morning.

The hens cluck and gather at Jack Simmons’ feet. They follow him to one corner of the coop where the grain bin is kept.

‘All right!’ Jack Simmons laughs. ‘Don’t be impatient now.’

He scoops grain from the bin and scatters it across the coop. The hens chase from one grain to the other. Jack Simmons watches them a moment. Then he goes into the henhouse where Maria is patiently sitting on her eggs.

‘How are they coming, Maria?’ Jack Simmons whispers. Maria clucks warningly at him.

‘Let me see, old girl!’ he continues. ‘Let me see.’

Maria struggles as his hands close around her. He chuckles to himself.

‘Don’t be frightened, old girl.’

And slowly, the eggs are revealed.

There are eight of them. Two of them are still intact. The shells of the other six are cracked and the chickens can be seen within them. But the chickens have not hatched. They are dead.

Jack Simmons is stunned. If he was a child, he would weep. But because he is a man, he feels anger instead, deep and raging.

The latch not properly secured … yet he definitely fastened it this morning. There seem to be scuff marks on the floor of the henhouse. Yes, here is the imprint of a small bare foot. The eggs couldn’t have been broken by Maria.

Somebody has been here during the day. Somebody has broken these eggs. Obviously, that somebody was one of the Heremaia children. Only one of them would do such a thing.

Quivering, Jack Simmons puts Maria back in her nest. She settles herself upon the eggs.

‘It’s too late, old girl,’ Jack Simmons whispers. ‘But by Heaven, those children have really asked for it now.’

Jack Simmons stalks out of the henhouse.

‘Sally? Sally!’

His wife appears at the doorway. She comes toward him.

‘What’s wrong Jack?’ she asks.

‘Those Heremaia children,’ he seethes. ‘They’ve really done it this time. I’ve told them time and time again to keep away from the henhouse. You’ve heard me tell them! I’ve warned them but, oh no, they keep coming and …’

‘Jack! What’s wrong!’

‘What’s wrong? Those kids are what’s wrong!’ he explodes. ‘They’ve been in here while we’ve been away and …’

The sharp twanging of a wire screen door interrupts him. It is Henare. He waves to Jack and Sally Simmons, and comes running toward them.

‘Hullo, Mr Simmons; hullo, Mrs Simmons! Did you have a good time today? Boy, we’ve missed you fellas.’

He grins and then begins climbing over the fence.

‘ Don’t come any closer, boy!’ Jack Simmons growls.

Henare looks up, alarmed at the tone of Mr Simmons’ voice.

‘Is there something wrong, Mr Simmons?’

He watches uncomprehendingly, as Jack Simmons walks to the fence and lifts his hand and …

‘Jack!’ Sally cries. She sees Henare slowly getting down from the fence and backing away, his body quivering. She sees his hands begin to cover his face and tears springing from his eyes. She sees the shocked look in the boy’s face. And she hears her husband shout:

‘And don’t any of you set foot over this side of the fence again. You hear? You hear me?’

Sally turns to her husband.

‘You shouldn’t have done it, Jack.’

Suddenly, the Heremaia’s back door twangs open again. Millie bursts into the backyard.

‘What’s up!’ she shouts. ‘What’s happening! Hey!’

She runs towards her son and crouches beside him. The other children, attracted by the shouting, come to see what is happening.

‘You kids stay in the house!’ Millie shouts. Then she turns to Jack Simmons and her anger is dangerous.

‘Boy, you better count yourself lucky that Sam isn’t home,’ she rages.

‘Those kids have been into my hens again,’ Jack Simmons thunders. ‘They’re a damned menace around here!’

‘Which kids are you talking about?’ Millie interrupts. ‘Who are those kids you’re talking about? Who are they?’

Her voice cracks out like a whip.

‘Which kids? Who! Who!’

‘You know which kids,’ Jack Simmons answers.

Millie Heremaia laughs and it is glittering and sharp.

‘Oh yes, I know whose kids. My kids, it’s always my kids who’ve done it when something is wrong. Always my kids who are pinching your bike or breaking your windows. Nobody else’s kids, oh, no. And it’s always my kids who have been into your henhouse. That’s what you think, eh! Well, I’ll tell you something, Mr High and Mighty Simmons. They might have gone into your henhouse last time, but not this time Boy.’