Witi Ihimaera - Uncle's Story

With a quick slash, Lieutenant Haapu slit the soldier’s throat.

Sam felt the soldier’s fingers unclasp the greenstone.

And all there was, was rain.

Day Three

The wind and rain squalled and shrieked through the night like banshees. Exhausted Sam tried to sleep. The squad had arrived back at base at midnight and, although they had been lucky, others in Victor Company hadn’t. One of the platoon had been crossing a T-junction when the enemy had ambushed them. One man had been killed and two others wounded.

Sam moaned and, finally, entered a world that was not quite sleep, not quite wakefulness. It was like being in twilight limbo. How long would his luck hold? The jungle became jewelled with menace and he heard an owl call out: cu cu cu cu. He had a phantom premonition of George falling into a bamboo pit, punji stakes puncturing his chest.

‘Oh, God, and we have to go back on patrol again tomorrow. Will that be the day when the owl comes?’

Around 4.00 a.m., Sam was still tossing and turning. The jungle had become truly demonic. Cobras rose, flared their hoods, hissed and struck. They were advancing on him, striking again and again. They struck at his defences, opening him up in all his vulnerability.

And it was as if Arapeta had been waiting for this very moment when his son was vulnerable and susceptible to attack. Through the terrible coil of his nightmares, Sam saw his father loping through the darkness and launching himself at him. Disarmed and defenceless, Sam melted into the embrace.

‘Dad!’

Then he saw the obscene smile on Arapeta’s face. Before he could stop him, Arapeta had put his fingers into Sam’s mouth, as if to prise it open. Sam started to laugh and push Arapeta away. But Arapeta was strong and now had both hands in Sam’s mouth, forcing the jaws wider. With mounting terror, Sam heard his jawbone splinter and crack. Eyes bulging, he felt Arapeta’s left hand going down past his tongue, around his tonsils and into his throat. Then the right hand, sliding in.

‘Open wide, son, and let Daddy in.’

The veins in Sam’s neck began to break and shred. Sweat popped like blisters on his skin. He couldn’t breathe and his heart was labouring, its pulsations bursting in his ears. He began to choke, and tried to vomit his father out of him. It was all happening so quickly: now Arapeta was up to his armpits in Sam’s mouth, the hair of his armpits grazing Sam’s lips. And Dad’s face was level with his, slick and moist in some unholy kiss. He looked at Sam —

With a cry, Sam fought himself awake. His heart was pumping and he was sucking the air into his lungs. He saw a blood red dawn — the mackerel sky again. And he began to shiver with grief and fear as he remembered what happened a few days after he had let the golden palomino go.

Dad had been acting strangely all that week. He was always absent from the farm, never returning until late at night. Curious, Sam asked Florence:

‘Where’s Dad?’

‘You should know better than to anger your father,’ Mum answered. ‘Do your chores, Sam. You’ll find out soon enough.’

Mum’s words made Sam uneasy. One night he stayed up to talk to his father. Dad was buoyant and pleased with himself.

‘Where’ve you been, Dad?’

‘Breaking in horses,’ Arapeta answered. ‘I’ve got a really good one for myself. I’ll show it to you one day. Once I’ve broken it in. It’s a real fighter.’ Dad laughed at some private joke and ruffled Sam’s hair. ‘You’ll see, son. Won’t be long now.’

Three days later, Sam was doing some repairs on the barn. He was on the roof, and Monty and Patty were on the ground, furious that he wouldn’t let them come up on the ladder.

‘No, you can’t come up. What happens if you fall off?’

‘I won’t fall,’ Monty pleaded. ‘Patty might though, because she’s a girl and girls are always hopeless and can’t do anything.’

At that, of course, a fight broke out between them. Sam, laughing, straightened up. The sun dazzled in his eyes and he put up a hand to shade them. Far off, he saw Dad riding back down the road to the homestead. Monty and Patty saw him too and were off, shouting:

‘Daddy! Daddy!’

Sam clambered off the roof and joined Patty as Arapeta reigned up.

He saw that Mum had come onto the verandah and was watching, her arms folded against her chest as she were holding herself in.

‘Is this your new horse?’ Sam asked.

Arapeta’s eyes gleamed under the brim of his hat. ‘Yes it is.’

Sam took a step forward. He saw that his father had had to lay the whip to it. ‘Wow, he really fought you, didn’t he!’

He laid his hands along the horse. Its back was caked with dried blood. Then the horse whinnied and something stabbed at Sam’s memory. He looked at the horse again, and stepped back as if he had been struck.

Once, it had been a golden palomino, king of all stallions.

Sam’s blood was beating in his temples as he watched his father dismount.

‘Bloody useless animal,’ Arapeta said. ‘I thought he’d be a good horse to keep, but look at him. No good to me at all.’

Arapeta swung his rifle up and, casually, without even sighting, blew the palomino’s brains out. The horse crumpled on its front knees. For a moment it panted, then it keeled over into the dust. Somebody was screaming and Sam knew it was Mum. She came running from the verandah and pulled Monty and Patty to her.

Sam took a step towards the palomino. He looked into its eyes and saw a golden sun going down. He knelt there in the dust, bewildered and trying to understand. And he heard his mother cry:

‘You had to do that, Arapeta, didn’t you?’

‘Do what?’

‘You had to do that to your son. Catch that stallion again. Break it. You had to be the king stallion. The black stallion.’

‘You never make sense, Florence,’ Arapeta said. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Sam gave a cry, and backed away from Arapeta. Next moment, he was running. Anywhere, as long as he could get away. Into the open country, across the landscape, making for the hills he loved. Up the hills he ran and, before he knew it, he had reached the place where the hills cut sharply into the blue. There in front of him was the mackerel sky and shoals of silver fish were scattering the light. When he reached the place he jumped and was falling into the sky, the mackerel opening and scattering, flash, flash, flash all around him.

‘Why did you do it, Dad?’

And now, three hours later, Sam was back on patrol, dazzled by the sun and the silvered sky, climbing Two Horn mountain.

And there it was again, the track to the village.

Sam smiled as, in his mind’s eye, he saw the old woman waiting for him on the verandah of her hut. He imagined her shaking her head at all the disturbance the platoon was making in Nature. Hadn’t she said the hills had ears? The hills had eyes? Sam could almost hear the slap-slap of her footsteps as she went to the well to fetch water for cooking:

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

Suddenly, George and Red Fleming stopped, raised their hands in warning and went to ground. The platoon hit the deck. Sam low-crawled to George’s side. A short moment later he was joined by Lieutenant Haapu.

Village ahead. George signed. Something doesn’t match up.

Sam took out his binoculars and swept the village. It looked exactly like it did yesterday. The same bridge. The same cluster of hootches. The village square and the well. Then he realised that there was no sign of life, either human or beast. Nothing. And he smelt, rather than saw, ash on the air, something still burning.

Villagers, where are they?