Witi Ihimaera - The Thrill of Falling - Stories

I was on a roll. ‘That’s how the gods b-b-behaved in those days, eh Koro?’

He nodded, approvingly. ‘They were always courtly and highly principled. Not like some of the dregs who live in Uawa.’

Seth jabbed me with his elbow. ‘Shut up, Little Tutae,’ he warned. ‘Otherwise we’ll be here all day.’

‘Anyway,’ Koro continued, ‘Vairumati was flattered that a god would give her attention and agreed that he could visit her. ’Oro was overjoyed when his sisters took the news back to him and he made a bridge from Te Ratuitai to earth, a rainbow which he could travel down to her home in the red-ridged mountain below.’

‘Was it like a slide, K-k-koro?’ I asked, edging away from Seth. I was really interested.

‘Maybe,’ he answered. ‘So began ’Oro’s courtship of Vairumati. On his first visit he conjured up a cloud to hide his descent and, when he emerged from the vapour and saw that Vairumati returned his interest, he took her as his wife.’

Took? Koro saw me open my mouth to ask a question … and he pressed the fast-forward button.

‘Every evening ’Oro …’ Koro decided to accommodate my fancy ‘… slid down the rainbow, and returned to Te Raituitai the next morning. And very soon Vairumati bore a son — ’

I opened my mouth again.

‘—who became a powerful ruler among men,’ Koro rushed on. ‘However, two of ’Oro’s god brothers became curious about his behaviour. Where did ’Oro go when he went down the rainbow? They set out to find the answer and saw him with Vairumati. Aue, but they should have brought gifts for the happy couple! Ashamed that they had come empty-handed, one of the gods transformed himself into a pig and the other into a bunch of red feathers and they presented themselves, in those ahua, to the two lovers. When Vairumati expressed her delight at the gifts, ’Oro decided to reward his brothers for their ingenuity.’

‘C-c-cool, Koro!’

Koro smiled. ‘’Oro transformed his brothers back into gods and constituted them …’

He was looking at Uncle Tu-Bad as he said the word.

‘… Arioi.’

On our way home that day, Mum and Dad were exchanging glances. Then Mum gave me a word of warning.

‘I wouldn’t appear too enthusiastic if I was you,’ she said.

In subsequent Sunday lessons, Koro told us how the Arioi quickly gained numerous followers and the worship of ’Oro spread quickly through all the islands of the Maiohi nation — and many pigs were gladly dedicated to ’Oro. Their leaders soon built temples and other sacred precincts on Hawaiki, Tahiti, Moorea, Maiaoiti, Huahine, Tahaa, Porapora and Maurua. Only high-ranking men and women were admitted and, because ’Oro and Vairumati had been beautiful, they had to be comely too. An important part of all the ceremonials was the carrying of a young pig to the temples where it was sacrificed and offered to ’Oro with red feathers.

So that was why we ate pork every 23 October.

And then the shit hit the fan.

Oh, there’d been rumours, but it wasn’t until Uncle Tu-Bad was arrested in a police sting that the news came out: he’d been cultivating weed in the backblocks behind Uawa. The operation had actually been the result of a patient surveillance and stakeout on a gang headquarters in Auckland. The police waited until they’d uncovered the courier trail, and it led them to the supplier on the East Coast — and eventually to Uncle Tu-Bad as one of the growers.

The arrests and subsequent trials in Auckland, Hamilton, Rotorua, Whakatane and Gisborne were reported on radio and television and in all the newspapers. The TV newsreader on one channel began the item by saying, ‘Among the accused caught in the recent nationwide drug bust was the son of prominent Maori court official, Tupaea Mahana.’

Koro, of course, was devastated. Not just by Uncle Tu-Bad’s guilt, but also by the shame of having himself and the family exposed to national scrutiny.

‘Why didn’t somebody tell me?’ he cried when the news broke. He was very angry with the family, especially when it appeared that Uncle Bo and Uncle Charlie and their wives knew about Uncle Tu-Bad’s activities, even Dad — I don’t think Mum did: if she’d known, she would have told Uncle to wise up.

Koro offered his resignation to the Maori Land Court, but it was declined: he was too good an official to lose. At the initial hearing in Gisborne, some people thought that he might use his influence to obtain a lighter sentence for Uncle Tu-Bad, but he didn’t: his eldest son was guilty and should face justice.

Like the other growers, Uncle was sentenced to two years in prison.

‘I wish I’d never named you Tupaea,’ Koro said to him. ‘Your ancestor will be grieving today.’

Uncle Tu-Bad’s eyes streamed with tears. And after Uncle went to prison, Koro moved swiftly to find somebody else over whose shoulders he could throw the mantle of Tupaea.

‘M-m-me?’ I asked.

‘Sometimes, the mana jumps a generation,’ Mum answered, trying to convince herself. ‘Now that your Uncle Tu-Bad hasn’t worked out, well, you seem to be the likeliest candidate. Ever since you were born, Koro’s always loved you. Not only that but …’ Mum bit her lip, knowing that her spotless reputation was to blame ‘… Pa’s furious with your uncles and that makes me, Dad and you flavour of the month.’

All I could feel was absolute terror. I clutched my inhaler, taking a deep draw on it.

‘And after all, you bear Tupaea’s name,’ Mum said.

You know, Koro and Nan Esther’s house is still there on the beach at Uawa, No. 5 Pohutukawa Road. I’ve no idea why they should number it that way as there’s no 1, 2, 3 or 4, and the road goes on for a mile before you get to Roger Grant’s farm.

Koro still likes visitors. If you’re passing through Uawa, stop and say hello for me, eh? Tell him Little Tu sent you.

Don’t believe any of the stories he tells about me.

The mana skips a generation?

Well, what can you say when you’re only twelve, you want to please everybody and your mother puts the hard word on you? And who was I to disappoint Koro, the man who’d kept vigil over me when I was a baby and given the name of Tupaea to me rather than to Seth? So Koro told (not asked) Mum that I was to stay after every Sunday roast for extra tuition in Maohi history and culture; I think he felt that if he pressed automatic tuning in my head long enough, the ancestral broadcasts would come in loud and clear. Mum said yes (jumped) and Dad agreed (obeyed) because he never liked being disparaged by the Mahana family and always tried to please his father-in-law.

My uncles Bo and Charlie, and their wives, welcomed the fact that Koro had zeroed in on Mum, Wally and me when it came to what they called ‘all that Tupaea stuff’. So did Seth: he, Abe and Spade laughed at me, saying, ‘We’re glad that we’re not called Tupaea.’ And when my extra lessons began, Seth constantly asked me, ‘Does Koro have anything valuable? Any greenstone or whalebone? Any dollars?’ He hoped I’d be able to steal something that he could sell and, with the money, buy stuff to smuggle to his dad in prison.

On those Sunday afternoons, Mum helped Nan Esther clean and tidy up after lunch. Dad turned himself into a dogsbody by chopping Koro’s wood and doing odd jobs around the homestead and maybe obtaining a favoured look or two. Koro and I adjourned to the Holy of Holies, the corner of his library where he kept his archives about the Maohi and, especially, Tupaea. In the alcove was a rolltop desk and two chairs and, there, Koro began to seriously induct me into our family history.