Witi Ihimaera - Pounamu Pounamu

‘You did so swear.’

‘I bloody well did not!’

‘Ooooo! Dad! She swore again!’

Georgina wails. Dad doesn’t like swearing.

‘But Da-aad. Hema started first with his spying.’

Dad gives a sigh.

‘Lord preserve me. Quit it, you two! Have pity on your suffering father.’

‘Yes, quit it!’ Mum also growls. ‘No time for quarrelling today, we’re running late as it is. Hema! What took you so long? Did you have to make that milk!’

‘It was Gina’s fault, Mum,’ Hema says. ‘She didn’t set the fire for this morning and I had to go out and get the wood myself.’

‘Oooo! You big liar. Let me get at him, just let me get at him!’

Mum grabs Georgina and thrusts her into a chair by the table.

‘Oh no you don’t, Gina,’ she says. ‘You just sit at the table and have your kai. And you too, son! Where’s that Hine? Hine, stop trying to make yourself beautiful and come to the table!’

Hema sits at the table opposite Gina. She tries to kick him underneath the table and he mouths taunts at her without saying the words.

(Ha-ha, ha-ha, you-missed-me, you-missed-me.)

(Not that time I didn’t), Georgina mouths back. She smiles with supreme delight at the sight of Hema’s pain. He bares his teeth at her.

(I’ll fix you, Ugly)

(Listen to who’s calling who Ugly)

(You bee-eye-tee-see …)

‘Hema!’ Mum yells.

‘Yes, Mum?’ he answers. His mother is looking suspiciously at the milk in the can. Hmmmm.

‘You been putting water into the milk again, haven’t you!’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you!’ Mum says. She comes over to the table and rolls back her sleeve. ‘Next time you put water in the milk, you’ll feel my hand good and proper!’

‘Yes, Mum,’ Hema answers meekly. His mother turns her back and he pokes his tongue at her.

‘You do that again, Hema,’ Mum says, ‘and you’ll feel my hand right now!’

Hema gasps. How did she know?

‘I’ve got eyes in the back of my head,’ Mum informs him.

Hema shrivels, but Georgina is delighted.

‘He’s doing it again, Mum!’ she says.

‘Oooo, you liar!’

But Mum doesn’t hear.

‘Put your kai where your words come from!’ she snaps.

The children settle to having their breakfast. Hema says:

‘Pass me the butter, Gina.’

‘Pass me the butter Gina what?’ she taunts.

‘Pass me the butter Gina please!’

But Gina just stares at him and doesn’t bother.

‘Mum!’ Hema yells. ‘Gina won’t pass me the butter.’

‘He never asked for it,’ Gina answers.

‘I did so!’

‘No you didn’t. Mum! Hema’s reaching across the table!’

As quick as a flash, Mum is back and she slaps Hema’s fingers with the flat of a knife. Ow!

‘Now ask for the butter!’ Mum says. ‘We’ve got manners in this house! And you better remember it, boy.’

Hema scowls.

(Well?) Georgina mouths.

‘May I please have the butter, sister dear?’ he says sarcastically.

And Georgina gives a huge triumphant smile.

‘Of course, brother dear!’

She passes the butter and he slaps it onto a piece of bread, still with his eyes peering furiously at his sister.

(I’ll fix you!)

(Oh, yeah?)

(Just you wait, Tutae-face)

(Blacky)

(Piss-pot)

(Stink-bum)

Hema picks up the bread. He eyes it and his sister dangerously, pretends that the bread is her, and bites her head off.

‘Have I got heathens for children?!’ Dad roars. He has come from the bedroom and is tucking in his pants. ‘In this house, we say grace first. And we all sit down together for our kai!’

‘Yes, Dad,’ Hema mutters.

‘Mum! Hine! Come and sit down. Right! Now I’ll say grace.’

The family bow their heads. Dad begins.

‘For what we are about to receive and-Hema-if-you-touch-that-piece-of-bread-I’ll-crack-you-over-the-head may the Lord make us truly grateful Amen.’

‘Amen,’ the family intone.

‘So what’s everybody waiting for?’ Dad enquires. ‘Hoe in!’

And breakfast proceeds. No more mouthings, no more bickering, because Dad is at the table. But as he is eating his porridge, Hema’s mind is racing. Shall I ask him now? Go on, don’t be afraid! But what if he says no? There’s no harm in asking! I’m scared. The showdown has to come sooner or later! Okay, I will ask him! And so Hema puts his spoon down and gives three very obvious coughs.

‘Have you got a cold, Son?’ Dad asks.

‘No.’

‘Are you sick or something?’

‘No.’

‘Well then, eat up! This is good kai and I won’t have it going to waste. Lord preserve me.’ And he continues eating.

Hema picks up his spoon. But then he suddenly decides that it’s now or never.

‘Dad, I’d like-a-pair-of-long-pants,’ he says in a rush. In the following silence, he takes a spoonful of porridge.

‘Pardon?’ Dad asks.

‘A pair of pants, Dad.’

‘What do you want a pair of pants for!’ Mum enquires. But Dad interrupts.

‘No, let the boy speak,’ he says to Mum. ‘He must have a reason for asking. Well, Hema?’

But before Hema can speak, Georgina butts in.

‘Maybe he’s getting cold knees,’ she giggles.

‘That’ll be enough from you, girl!’ Dad commands. ‘Speak up, Hema!’

‘Aw, Dad. All the other boys at school have got long pants and I’m the only one who hasn’t. And I’m thirteen now.’

‘That’s no reason, son!’ Dad says. ‘Being the same as the rest of the crowd, that’s no reason at all. You have to be worthy yourself of having long pants. You have to show you’re capable of wearing them, and wearing them well.’

‘Dad, I am,’ Hema pleads. ‘I’m a man now. I’m thirteen years old. Can’t you see?’

‘A man!’ Georgina guffaws. ‘How do you know, Hema? Have you got a girl into trouble?’

Dad gives her a steely glance.

‘Is that supposed to be funny, Georgina? That’ll be enough from you.’

Dad looks across at Hema. He sees his boy, embarrassed and pleading. And all of a sudden, he remembers what happened to him about this time. The memory is a shock and a revelation. It seems only yesterday that he was a boy; and now, here he is, a father, and Hema seems exactly like he was when he had first asked his own father for long pants.

‘Yes, I suppose you are a man,’ Dad thinks aloud. He looks at Mum. ‘We’d better have a talk about this, eh, Mum?’

‘Not with all these Big Ears flapping around the place,’ she answers.

‘Korero Maori?’ Dad asks her. She nods her head. And they begin talking on the subject in the Maori tongue. Hema looks at Georgina.

(What are they saying?)

(I dunno. But you won’t get your long pants.)

(Wanna bet?)

(You’re still a kid, you little bee-you-gee-gee …)

And then Dad interrupts.

‘Okay, Son, you can have your pair of long pants.’

And Hema’s heart leaps and pirouettes with joy.

‘When, Dad, when!’

‘On Friday, when we go into town.’

‘Oh, thank you, Dad.’

And then Georgina pipes up. She cries to Mum.

‘Mum, it isn’t fair! If Hema can have a pair of long pants, then I should be allowed to have a long dress. I’m older than he is.’

‘Me too!’ says Hine. ‘Share and share alike!’

And Mum groans.

‘See, Dad? I told you this would happen! Anyway Georgina, what’s wrong with the long dress you already got!’

‘It’s out of date!’ Georgina wails.

Dad sighs.

‘Lord preserve me, I’ve got a daughter who follows the fashions now.’ And he brushes Georgina’s pleas away. Then he eyes his son. ‘So you think you’re a man now, son? Okay, then from today, you begin proving it.’