Witi Ihimaera - Pounamu Pounamu

Before that dance, Claudia Petrie had just been another girl. After it, she was the one and only. And Hema would watch her playing basketball during lunchtime and be in absolute agony.

‘Claudia, I love you.’

He would never ever think to tell her of his love. For the time being, he loved her from afar, because she, apparently, had forgotten all about that tumultuous waltz. Her flippant ‘Gidday, Hema!’ whenever she saw him was both sheer ecstasy and sheer pain. Couldn’t she see how he was being tormented? Oh, the pain of loving and not being loved in return! Often, as Hema was watching her, he would think:

‘When her friends have gone away, I’ll go up to her. I’ll say: “Claudia.” And she’ll whisper: “Yes, Hema?” And then I’ll ask her: “How’d you like to come to the pictures with me next week?” And she’ll look up at me with tears in her eyes and say: “Oh, Hema.” And then she’ll give a little nod of her beautiful head and maybe our hands will brush and if they do, I’ll take her hand and hold it and then we’ll belong to each other. And then I’ll wait for Saturday to come and I’ll say to Dad: “Dad! I need some money!” And he’ll ask: “What for?” And I’ll say: “Because I’m taking Claudia Petrie to the pictures.” And he’ll say: “Oh, that lovely girl you were dancing with?” And I’ll say: “Yes, Dad. That’s the one.” And then, because I haven’t got a licence, I’ll ask Dad: “Will you drive me down to the pictures?” And he’ll say: “Of course!” Because Dad himself thinks that Claudia Petrie is the best looking girl in town. So I’ll get dressed and maybe by Saturday I’ll have some long pants, and then Dad will drive me into town and drop me off outside the picture theatre, and Claudia will be there and she’ll be so beautiful. And I’ll take her hand and whisper: “Hullo.” And she’ll whisper back and hold my hand. And I’ll ask her: “Do you mind if we sit in the cheap seats because then we’ll have enough money to buy icecreams at interval!?” And she’ll say: “Anything you say, Hema, darling.”’

And so Hema would continue to dream. But by the time he finally worked up enough courage to ask Claudia, she would have gone. Misery.

In the last few weeks, Claudia Petrie had driven Hema to the depths of despair. What’s the use of being a man if you haven’t got a girlfriend? His mother and father aren’t much help either.

‘What’s wrong with you, Hema! You’re always mooning around the place. If you haven’t got anything better to do, go and chop some wood.’

Why can’t parents understand? Here he is, Hema Tipene, just wasting away and all they can think of is getting him to chop wood. It just isn’t fair! Life is harsh. Life is one long longing after a skinny, tall Pakeha girl called Claudia Petrie.

In his more desperate moments, Hema would go into the bathroom and look at himself in the mirror. And there, amid the toothpaste and bath soap and scrubbing brush, he would whisper: She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not.

‘Oh say that she loves me!’ he would entreat the mirror.

‘Don’t be stupid!’ the mirror would intone.

‘But she must, she must.’

‘Why must she? You ain’t no raving beauty.’

‘Neither is she, but I still love her.’

‘She’s better than nothing, but what do you know about love? You’re only a kid!’

‘I am not either. I’m a man.’

‘You listen to me, Big Ears. You’re only a kid still and you better believe it. Anyway, that Claudia Petrie wouldn’t take a second glance at you.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cause she’s taller than you, and Pakeha too. And you, you’re as black as they come and only five foot two and a quarter inches tall.’

‘Can’t you think of anything better to say? Why are you always pickin’ on me! I’m going to crack you one day!’

‘Boy, you better not! If you do, I’ll give you seven years of no girls and that won’t do your manhood no good!’

‘Wrap up and go bite yourself.’

‘And the same to you doubled,’ the mirror would sniff.

Poor Hema! Nobody likes him, everybody picks on him and the only girl in the world doesn’t love him. But wait, is that she, calling from afar? Oh, how beautiful she is, running in slow motion with a Hollywood orchestra playing behind her!

‘Heeemmmaaa!’ she calls. She lifts her hand to wave slowly to him. Along the fenceline toward the cow bail she comes, oblivious of the cow pats. Her hair streams behind her, her hat blows free from her hair and is gone with the wind. And he, Hema Tipene, rises from his seat and lifts his arms to receive her. Onward and onward she comes, her long gingham dress flowing and curling softly around her skinny legs. The orchestra thunders, the clouds go by, red sails in the sunset, and suddenly she is there, swooning in his arms. She palpitates against him and there are joyous tears in her eyes. He pulls her to his manly chest. And she lifts her head to receive his lips.

‘Kiss me as you never have before,’ she cries.

And he does as she commands.

Right smack bang on the bristled behind of Queenie who kicks him back into the sad, sad world of reality.

It just isn’t fair!

A voice calls from far away:

‘Hema! Hurry up with the milking, we can’t wait all day!’

It is Mum and she is her usual grumpy self this morning. Hema pokes his tongue in the direction of her call. It elongates, sidles through the trees, over the gate and along the path to flap rudely at her. Nobody’s going to shout at him any more!

‘It’s all your fault,’ Hema says to Red. ‘You and Queenie are mean to me and just look at this mess!’ He points to the large pool of milk, spilt from the bucket by Queenie when she kicked him. What will Mum say? There’s not much milk left in the bucket because Red has refused to give. Oh well, he’ll top it up with water and Mum won’t know the difference.

Hema finishes milking, stands clear and allows Red to sway out of the cow bail. Gosh, he is very late this morning. Worried, he picks up the bucket and hurries back to the house. But before he goes, he casts a murderous glance at the two cows.

‘You fellas better be waiting for me tomorrow,’ he warns, ‘or else! You hear me? You hear me you dumb cows?’

Then, muttering to himself, he walks quickly along the pine trees, through the gate, and forgets to breathe deep before passing the outhouse. The smell is foul and he staggers as if asphyxiated. Oh, when are they going to have modern plumbing around here!

‘Hema!’ his mother calls again from the depths of the kitchen.

‘I’m coming, I’m coming!’ he screams. He takes the milk into the wash-house, strains it into a large can, looks furtively around before running cold water into it, and then carries the can onto the back verandah. Off with his gumboots, and another quick wash before opening the door and placing the can on the floor.

‘Got you!’ someone screams behind him. It is Georgina, and she is livid with anger.

‘Lemme go, lemme go!’

‘Dad! Da-aad!’ Georgina yells. ‘Here he is, here he is!’

‘Lemme go, Gina!’

Georgina bares her teeth and whispers to him:

‘I’ll teach you to spy on me when I’m in the lav, you little shit!’

Then she calls again to her father.

‘What’s up! What’s happening here?’ Dad moans.

‘Dad, Hema was spying on me!’

‘She swore at me, Dad!’

‘Stop trying to wriggle out of it. You were watching me. Dad! I want you to give him a good thrashing.’

‘Dad, she swore at me. She called me a little ess-aitch-eye-tee!’

‘I did not!’

‘You did so, too!’

‘Stop telling lies. Dad, giving him a hiding.’