Witi Ihimaera - The Thrill of Falling - Stories

Watching Uncle as he directed the work, I couldn’t help but think how proud Koro should be of his eldest son. Later, when we buried Nan, I heard him say to Koro:

‘We’ll be all right, Pa. Don’t worry, we’ll be all right.’

The question was what to do with Koro, now that he was a widower.

Soon after the tangihanga, Mum, Dad and Mum’s brothers got together. They all looked to Uncle Tu-Bad to chair the meeting. ‘May will have to move back to Uawa to look after him,’ Uncle Bo said. ‘She’s the girl in the family.’

‘Just because she’s the daughter,’ Uncle Tu-Bad answered, ‘doesn’t make May the one to take sole responsibility.’

‘Pa’s a pain in the arse,’ said Uncle Charlie, ‘and he’ll get worse now that Ma’s not around. He’ll need a housekeeper to keep him in the manner he’s accustomed to and we can’t afford to hire one. May’s the best person to do the job.’

Mum was glaring at Bo and Charlie. ‘You brothers have got this all sorted out, haven’t you. Don’t I have a say?’

Wally made it easier for her. ‘I know you think I like my job in Wellington, dear, but family is family.’

None of us heard Koro joining us. ‘Talking about me behind my back already?’ he asked. ‘Well, I’ve made my own decision about what I want to do. May can’t move back to Uawa. Are you all stupid? She and Wally have got good jobs down there and I’m not going to ruin Little Tu’s chance of going to university.’

I thought he was going to claim his independence and tell the family that he was quite capable of looking after himself. Instead:

‘So, if the maunga can’t come to me … I will go to it,’ he said. ‘I’m moving to Wellington.’

‘We’d love to have you, Pa,’ said Mum, ‘but we haven’t got any room.’

‘Esther and I had savings,’ Koro answered, ‘and I’ve had a good pension plan for years, so now that I’m retired that will ensure my financial independence. I’ll rent the homestead out and we’ll buy a house in Wellington together.’

I could see the wheels turning sluggishly in Uncle Bo and Uncle Charlie’s minds. Pa spending his money and not leaving any to them? They didn’t like that either!

‘You go for it, Pa,’ Uncle Tu-Bad said.

The proposal meant a lot of travelling back and forth between Uawa and Wellington.

Mum, Dad and I returned to the capital, and Mum started looking for a property with at least three bedrooms and space for Koro’s library. When she’d narrowed down the choices, Koro flew to Wellington and, finally, he and Mum settled on a big old place in Island Bay: two double bedrooms overlooking the sea, one single room at the back, a huge basement, double garage and sleepout.

‘You’ll like it here, Pa,’ Mum said. ‘You can have one of the bedrooms in the front. Wally and I will fix up the basement for all your books and whakapapa, but some of your precious things will have to go to a storage unit out at Porirua.’

‘And will Little Tu have the room at the back?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I think he’s old enough to sleep by himself now.’

Gee, thanks, Koro.

‘Oh, him,’ Mum answered, as if I didn’t matter. ‘Can’t you see that he’s got his eye on the sleepout? At least if he goes in there he won’t wake us up when he goes training in the mornings and he won’t have to sneak out the window any more to be with his mates or those girls who keep hanging around him.’

As always, I zipped my lip. If I protested Mum might present evidence and I might not be able to refute it.

Once the sale was settled, we drove back to Uawa to help Koro to pack. Ralph and Tommy came with us, having hired two huge moving trucks for the job.

Uncle Tu-Bad organised a big farewell for Koro at the marae. People from Uawa know how to throw a good party, no matter what the occasion, and Koro was extolled and honoured for his leadership and generosity. During the celebrations, he revealed another reason why he was coming to Wellington with us.

‘Look at those elders,’ he said to Mum. ‘They can’t wait to see me go so that they can move one up on the paepae!’ He cast a proud glance at Uncle Tu-Bad. ‘Well, they’d better not do that too soon because it looks like the tortoise has put on speed and is coming through. Maybe I should have left sooner to leave him space to do it, eh.’

Came the day we were supposed to leave, there was no sign of Koro.

‘I think I know where he’s gone,’ Dad said. ‘Probably to see Esther and say goodbye to her.’

We drove out of Uawa to the family graveyard and, sure enough, there was Koro’s car, parked at the bottom of the cliff face that rose starkly from the bush. The cemetery was lovely in the sunlight; the cliffs behind were tapu, sacred, like palisades climbing to the sky and honeycombed with potholes and tunnels.

‘There he is,’ Dad pointed.

‘He’s been up to that bloody cave,’ Mum groaned when she saw him emerging from the trees.

He had something wrapped in a blanket. ‘What’s that he’s carrying?’ I asked her.

‘Don’t,’ she warned me, knowing I was teasing. ‘You know what it is.’ She wound down the window and yelled, ‘I’m happy to have you in the house, Pa, but that ironwood and whatever or whoever is in it is going straight into the storage unit.’

When he came to the car, Koro looked at me, puzzled.

‘What is your mother talking about?’ he asked.

Koro came to stay.

At first Mum, Dad and I were concerned that he would be lonely staying home by himself. What were we thinking! Two weeks after he arrived in Wellington the phone began to ring.

‘Hello, Uncle. Why didn’t you let me know you were in town? Could you help me out? I have to attend a land meeting with Ngati Awa and you’re just the right person to go onto their marae with me. I’ll send a car to pick you up.’

‘Tena koe, rangatira. I have to talk to some bankers today: would you come with me as my elder? The car will be there in half an hour.’

Again, the phone. ‘May I speak to Mr Mahana? Oh, Mr Mahana, I’ve been given your name. We’re looking for a kaumatua for the proposed heritage pathway around the eastern bays and I’ve been told you’d be perfect.’

‘Will you be home for tea?’ Mum would ask, as Koro smoothed his hair and tightened his tie.

‘Better not wait for me,’ he would answer. ‘I should have realised that my poor nephews and nieces would want someone from Uawa to be on their paepae. Had I known, I would have moved down earlier.’

Meanwhile, I was successful in obtaining one of the places for Maori in law at Victoria, and also got a Maori scholarship to help pay for my fees and give me an allowance.

How could I possibly fail? Koro had strong-armed every Maori politician he knew.

Bilbo decided to join me at university (‘Could you call me Alapati now, mate?’) but Thierry went to work with his father at the gym, and Horse decided to go overseas for a gap year. While I was in the line enrolling, I met a cute Maori girl, Marama Te Puni.

‘You’re not from the East Coast?’ I asked.

‘No,’ she said, puzzled. ‘Why?’

‘Oh, nothing.’ In private, however, I was thinking, Yay, not a cousin. As well, I needed to know somebody who looked like they had brains and could help me out; it was an added attraction that Marama was also pretty.

My university studies began well.

First-year law required me to take a general course — I chose arts: Maori, history and philosophy — plus legal studies. I gave English a miss; if I’d paid attention to Four-Eyes Wilson that might have given me the confidence to tackle it. Despite my anxieties, I took to my arts subjects as to the manner born. Much to my surprise, Koro turned out to be a help rather than a hindrance, mainly by doing his ‘homework’ at the same time as I did mine. Whenever he wasn’t helping out somebody in Parliament he liked to bring home piles of books on Maori and Polynesian culture.