Witi Ihimaera - Pounamu Pounamu

When I was seven, Mum and Dad moved Caroline and me — and we had been joined by two more sisters, Polly and Vicki — to the house Dad was finally able to buy from his shearing income at 11 Haig Street, Gisborne. So there I was, with one foot in one culture and the other foot in another, but still with huge love for Waituhi. Indeed, whenever we visited Waituhi, Nani Mini was the person I would always look for first. ‘Where’s Nani Mini?’ I would ask, until I found her. In appearance she had the look of a Peruvian Indian, short, compact, strong, eyes burnt black by the sun. She gave me a lot of hugs, but woe betide if I was disobedient, because Nani also had a tongue on her. She had a piano in the house and because I was learning music, she liked me to play it for her; my cousin, called Little Mini to separate her from Big Mini, has told me that I was the only one of the mokopuna allowed to play it. Some of the keys weren’t working though and, even today, when I listen to ‘Me He Manurere’ or other songs of those times, my ear wants to hear ‘Me’e manu’e’e’ with spaces in it where the keys didn’t sound.

Later I left Gisborne, but on one visit home from Wellington as a young man, Dad met me at the railway station and told me that Nani Mini was very sick.

I like to think of this story as being my Queen of Hearts story. Ever since it was published, it’s been my calling card.

The phone rang just as I got back to the flat. It was Dad, ringing from Waituhi.

‘Hello, son,’ Dad said. ‘Are you coming home for Easter?’

‘I’m not sure,’ I answered but, even as I said the words, I could sense Dad’s disappointment. ‘It’s just that I’m broke at the moment,’ I continued, floundering for a reason. ‘If you give me a loan, I’ll give you the time.’

‘A loan?’ Dad laughed. ‘I’d rather put the money on a horse; at least that way I’ll have a chance of getting my money back.’

‘So what’s on in Waituhi?’

‘The Maori hockey tournament,’ Dad explained, offended. ‘Surely you haven’t forgotten that it’s Waituhi’s turn to host. I want you to come home and to help out. Not only that, but the Waituhi men’s team is short.’

‘Okay,’ I answered.

‘Can you bring a mate?’ Dad asked. ‘When I say our team is short, I mean it’s really short.’

‘Don’t you worry, Dad. I’ll see what I can do.’

Later that day I asked Jerry Simmons if he’d like to come home with me at Easter. Jerry was a Pakeha mate of mine who was a good hockey player. Actually, we were university students and had made plans to go with the university ski club at Easter to Mount Ruapehu. Jerry had visions of pulling a few women.

‘Every year the East Coast has a hockey tournament with a dance afterwards,’ I told him. ‘The teams come from all over the Bay.’

I could tell Jerry was disappointed at this change in plan. ‘I didn’t know you blokes had separate tournaments,’ he said.

‘For tennis, rugby and golf too,’ I answered. ‘As far as my family is concerned, though, the hockey tournament is the most important. The supreme trophy in the men’s competition is for my grandmother’s shield.’

‘How big a tournament is it?’

‘Well …,’ I began, uncomfortably, ‘once upon a time the tournament used to attract over fifty teams, but big Maori events have been declining in our area for some time. As more and more people leave for the cities there’s less and less people at home. We don’t always go back. We’re probably down to around twenty-five teams that still arrive for the hockey though. I guess that makes the tournament more important than it ever was. Anyway, you’ll see when you get there.’

‘I haven’t said I’m coming yet! Don’t rush me, don’t rush me.’

‘I’ve got a terrific looking sister,’ I said, giving Jerry a wink. That did the trick. I had told Jerry a lot about Mere and how pretty she was. Anyone would know by just looking at me, that any sister of mine would be pretty: I’m quite a handsome fella myself. But I hoped Jerry wouldn’t be too wild with me when he met Mere.

Easter came and, although Jerry moaned about not going to Mount Ruapehu, we started off in the car for Waituhi. It was a long journey and, as I’d been out rather late the night before, I wasn’t in the best of moods when Jerry began pestering me about Mere.

‘Is she really pretty? Is she really pretty?’ he kept asking.

I got so sick of it I couldn’t resist teasing him. ‘She’s terrific,’ I answered. ‘She’s tall for her age, but not as tall as you. Good figure, long legs, eyes that smile right at you, and a mouth that’s just waiting to be kissed.’

As I was describing Mere, however, I began to realise, hey, Jerry was a bit of an animal. No way would I ever want any woman I knew, no matter what age she was, to even be in the same room with him.

‘She hasn’t got a boyfriend already, has she?’

‘Come to think of it,’ I answered, backing off, ‘I think there might be somebody who’s got his eye on her.’

Did Jerry get the joke? Nah. When he met Mere he gave me a dirty look. She was seven, and Jerry saw her playing with her dolls when Dad opened the door.

‘So you came,’ Dad said, as if he hadn’t been too sure I would. ‘I thought you might have been studying too hard or having too good a time down there in Wellington.’ My father was like the sky above me, wide open, embracing, filling my life with sunlight. There’s so much love between us, and I regretted the earlier hesitation about coming. Yes, Dad, I was studying hard and having a good time. But you called and I came.

I forgot all about Jerry until he pounced on me after dinner. ‘I should have known better than to trust you! Good figure, huh! Long legs, long hair, a mouth just waiting to be kissed!’

‘Easy on! Take it easy, Jerry! I was only joking. Wait. Where will violence get you? Wait! Listen, Jerry! I’ve got this fantastic looking cousin and …’

But Jerry wasn’t going to be taken twice. He was really sorry though when he discovered that this time I was actually telling the truth.

The next morning I woke at dawn and went up to the family graveyard to pay my respects to my kuia, Nani Miro. She had died at the end of winter. Somebody had stuck an Ace of Hearts onto her grave, and small windmills whirred brightly with the wind. Then I saw Dad waving from the homestead and went to join him.

‘Miro would have been pleased that you came home to help out,’ Dad said. ‘I’ve had to take on a lot of the responsibilities she had for Waituhi. And somebody —’ he nudged me hard, to make sure I took the hint — ‘will have to take it on when I go. Never forget your obligations to your family and to your iwi.’

We had breakfast, I helped Dad sort out the programme for the day and, because Jerry was still sleeping, we left him to get breakfast started for the visitors at Takitimu Hall. Dad stayed there while I went to finish marking up the grounds where the hockey games would be played. By the time Jerry arrived, quite a few of the bystanders had joined me and some of the teams were practising. Jerry had polished his boots and put on his socks and shorts. When he saw the hockey grounds he was horrified.

‘Is this it?’

‘Yes, Jerry.’

‘You mean this … this paddock?’

‘Yes, Jerry.’

An hour later, Jerry was still wandering around, dazed. I’d begun introducing him to the multitude of my relatives and there was not a white one in sight. The buses had started to arrive from Takitimu Hall and the tournament was gradually gaining some semblance of order. A tent had been put up in the paddock, and my Auntie Annie was doing great business selling soft drinks and lollies to the local kids.