Witi Ihimaera - Uncle's Story

The old woman stood up and greeted Sam. Her voice reminded him of singing. Of an aged grand-aunt who lived long ago. He was taken to her once, to the place where she lived, a hut just like this — except that it was called a whare — and she had welcomed him and his mother in a similar singing language. Later that evening, after dinner, he had traced the moko on her chin and listened as she sung him to sleep with oriori, lullabies for children:

Po! Po! E tangi ana ki te kai mana

Waiho me tiki ake ki te Pou, a hou kai

Hei a mai te pakake ki uta ra —

The rain, the shivering trees and, when Sam blinked, he was back in Vietnam and an old lady was looking quizzically at him. Her hair was scraped into a bun. Her teeth were betel-stained. Behind her was an old man, her husband. He had lost a leg and was standing on a crutch. He had a scar running from his left ear to his chin. From the hut came the aroma of wood smoke and cooked rice.

‘What is she saying?’ Sam asked Flanagan.

‘The old mother says that she has been waiting for us,’ Flanagan interpreted.

‘How did she know we were coming?’

‘The hills have eyes. The birds left their shelter at our approach. The hills have ears too. They sent the vibrations as we trod every blade of grass. The old mother invites you inside to have a meal with her.’

At that, the woman’s husband yelled at her.

‘The old man doesn’t want us to come in,’ Flanagan explained, ‘but she’s insisting on it. She’s reminding him that she’s the one who wears the pants.’

Sam paused. He felt himself falling, as if he was going through a looking glass, and he remembered again the whare of his grand aunt. Like that house, this one also had mats on the floor, but instead of greenstone and feather cloaks it had an altar with a house God. Placated with offerings, the house God brought good fortune.

The old woman showed Sam the front room. A shrine, with yellowed photographs of loved ones. In front of each, a bowl containing money and tidbits of favourite foods, dedicated to the family’s ancestors. Through a window, a small temple in the backyard to appease wandering spirits.

‘Pho?’ the old woman asked Sam.

She led him into her kitchen. The old man stumped after her. To one side was a cooking area. A large ceramic urn, emblazoned with a dragon and filled with water, sat near the fire.

‘The old mother asks if you are hungry,’ Flanagan said.

The woman crouched over a charcoal burner. She was so skinny that when she hunched over, folds of loose skin wrinkled around her knees.

‘An com?’

She pulled Sam towards a pot that was simmering on the burner, put handfuls of noodles into a couple of bowls, then lifted the lid off one of the pots. Large bones bobbed about in the simmering liquid. Pushing these aside with a ladle, the old woman scooped up broth and poured it over the noodles. Next came handfuls of bean sprouts, slivers of meat and an array of garnishes. The soup looked salty and spicy.

At that moment there was a disturbance. Lieutenant Haapu arrived. When the old woman saw him, she raised a bowl to him. Lieutenant Haapu shot Sam an angry glance. Then he turned to the old woman, and in a gesture that was part tenderness, part sadness, shook his head. He had captured the two black-clad figures who’d run from the village. When they saw that the old woman was offering food, they spat at her. Defiant, she came out of her hut and began to berate them. The two captives retreated as if her anger had become physical and was pushing them back.

‘The old mother is telling them,’ Flanagan said, ‘that they should know she is a supporter of the Vietcong. Didn’t her sons and daughters go gladly to fight for them? And her grandchildren? And what is her reward? She knows that one of her daughters is dead but can the Vietcong tell her where she is buried? The old woman wants to know so she can visit her daughter’s grave before Tet, and invite her spirit to be at peace. She would offer food and fruit to nourish her daughter’s spirit. But she cannot and her daughter has become a wandering soul. She is one for whom no incense burns. There is also a son who is missing. The old mother thinks that he, also, has been hy sinh, sacrificed to death.’

The old woman stopped, exhausted. Her chin came up. She looked to the mountains. She began speaking again.

‘While the old mother supports the Communists, she is angry with them at the moment. A few days ago they turned up and, for some reason, they took her prized sow. She wants it back.’

As if that wasn’t enough, the old woman looked at Lieutenant Haapu, Sam and the rest of the platoon and began to chastise them too.

‘The old mother wants to remind us,’ Flanagan said, smiling, ‘that she is still our enemy. When the French ruled the country she had no sympathy for them — they killed her father. Neither does she have any sympathy for us.’

‘That means that she could poison you with her food,’ Turei said. ‘Or, at the very least, give you crook guts.’

The old woman must have sensed Turei’s concern. She gave a look of contempt. With a theatrical moan, she clutched at her throat and pretended to die. Then, recovering, she pulled Sam, Lieutenant Haapu and Flanagan back into the hut.

Eat! Eat! she motioned.

‘I don’t understand,’ Sam said. ‘If we are the enemy, why does the old mother want to feed us? One day we might meet her children in battle and kill them.’

‘The old mother asks why you presume you might kill her children?’ Flanagan said. ‘They might kill you .’

The rain began to hammer down.

‘We’ve stayed here long enough,’ Lieutenant Haapu said. ‘It’s time to move out.’

Sam bowed and thanked the old woman for her food. Her face was wan and eternal:

You are a boy. You were hungry, like all boys, and all boys must eat.

‘Go rejoin your men,’ Lieutenant Haapu said to Sam.

His voice hissed out. He could not look Sam in the eye. Halfway across the village square Sam turned back. He saw that the old couple were lighting joss sticks and placing them in the brass incense urn. Cupping her palms like a lotus bud, the old woman began to pray. That’s when Lieutenant Haapu grabbed her arm, manhandled her down the steps of her hut and threw her in the mud. The old woman squealed like a bird as she fell. Her husband rushed to protect her. Lieutenant Haapu pushed the old man to the ground and raised the butt of his rifle.

‘What the hell,’ Sam thought.

Next moment, the hut was on fire. Within a minute it was completely alight. Silhouetted, the old couple cradled themselves, weeping.

Sam grabbed Lieutenant Haapu’s arm.

‘If I were you,’ Lieutenant Haapu said, ‘I wouldn’t say anything, Sergeant. Now get your men together and let’s get the fuck out of here. Now .’

Only when the platoon had cleared the village did Lieutenant Haapu pull the men in for a meeting.

‘Our mission has always been to find the enemy. He saw us go into the village. He has seen us coming out. He will assume we are returning to home base. He knows we like to be nice and dry, so he’ll think it’s safe to visit the village after we’ve cleared the area. Well, he has a surprise waiting for him. We’re staying and we’re setting up a night ambush.’

‘I want to know why you did that back there,’ Sam asked. ‘That old couple did nothing to us, they —’

Lieutenant Haapu jabbed at Sam, pushing him back.

‘Concentrate on the job ahead. There’s a crossroad not far from here. That’s where we’ll lay our ambush. Let’s get it done before it gets too dark. And you’d better pray, Sergeant, that we’re successful — or, if we aren’t, that the Vietcong will be persuaded by the little charade I pulled back there. Can’t you see what you did? When you accepted the old woman’s hospitality and food you signed her and her husband’s death warrant.’