Witi Ihimaera - Uncle's Story

The two men were panting as they faced each other. Then, slowly, Harper began to spell out his feelings again in sign:

So, you’re scared, right?

‘Yes, aren’t you?’

Harper nodded. He lifted his face to the light and his voice cut through the darkness.

‘You gotta talk to me, Sam —’

‘Talk?’ Sam asked.

He was fearful. This thing Harper was wanting had to be stopped before it got out of hand.

‘Talk about what? There’s nothing to talk about! Hey, I can be your friend, your brother, your father if you like. Let’s keep it like that, eh? Buddies? Good friends?’

For a moment, Sam thought he had won and that Harper would agree: Yes, good friends. But he should have known better, and when Harper answered him, the words leaned so hard on the walls of Sam’s world that he could feel them collapsing around him.

‘Sam, the box is already open. You know what was in it? A grenade. It has already exploded in my face.’

Harper turned on his heel. He walked away into the darkness.

‘Haramai ki o tatou mate e, haramai, haramai, haramai.’

The sound of the karanga came across Poho o Rawiri marae like a spear. Sam and George and other Army pallbearers waited at the gateway. In front of him, Sam felt the rage of the iwi that one of their sons was being returned not in glory but in death. The old women of the village had now begun to cry out their distress.

‘What is the sign in our hands? They are the kawakawa leaves of mourning. You ask again what is the sign in our hands? I tell you, kawakawa leaves! Alas, lower them to the waist and let them fall! Death alights —’

Beside him, Sam heard George in agony. George had sobbed all the way from Vietnam. All through the night flight to Singapore, then all day down from Singapore on an RNZAF Hercules, George had not left the side of Turei’s coffin. The sound of George crying among the Army equipment and supplies struck Sam as the loneliest he had ever heard. And he was still crying as they waited for the karanga to end.

‘Turei! Turei, you got in the way of the owl,’ George cried. ‘It was coming for me. Why did you do it, you bastard?’

Sam saw his father leading the men in a haka powhiri. ‘Toia mai, te waka! Ki te urunga, te waka —’

Old men with Maori Battalion medals and ribbons, stamping their feet and slamming their chests with their fists.

‘Bring our son back to us! Bring him among us —’

Sam signalled the pallbearers to lift — and they had Turei’s casket on their shoulders. Boy, was Turei heavy? Was he what .

The pallbearers slow stepped their way through the gate and onto the marae. Behind them General Collinson, other Army brass and supporters followed, heads bowed.

‘Return in spirit, son, return to your birthplace —’

The old women completed their welcome to Turei. Their calling drifted into silence. Sam signalled to the pallbearers to lower the casket onto the marae. He saw Lilly on the porch of the meeting house, being comforted by her daughter Emma and other female relatives and friends. Among them was his mother, Florence — and was that Patty? Yes, it was. She smiled across the marae at Sam and waved to him.

Arapeta stood to speak. He strode purposefully backwards and forwards across the marae. His glance flicked across General Collinson — and then across Sam. There was no sign of recognition.

Arapeta pointed his walking stick at the casket.

‘He was not supposed to come back like this,’ Arapeta thundered. ‘Why has he come back before his time? Why has he not come walking back so that we may greet him with our pride and in joy? Why has he come back, sealed away so that we are not able to cry over him as is our custom? Why?’

Arapeta’s walking stick slashed its anger and accusations across the marae. At every outburst the grief of the mourners escalated. Lilly was screaming for her son, and the women surrounding her were having trouble restraining her. With a sudden determined movement she pushed them away and, crying, went stumbling through the crowd.

General Collinson spoke nervously to his Maori adjutant.

‘I hope Arapeta is not blaming the Army for this.’

‘No,’ the adjutant said. ‘The protocol of the tangihanga demands such rhetoric. It is our way of appeasing all the conflicting thoughts of the mourners.’

Sam knew otherwise. He knew that his father’s words were obliquely referring to him: Why, son, did you not save your mate?

‘There is not one old man here,’ Arapeta continued, ‘who would gladly give up his life if he could so that this young son of ours could walk again among us. We have had our lives, we have had our battles —’

‘Ah, ka tika,’ the old men murmured, ‘that is true, indeed you speak truly.’

‘But we cannot, for he has already been taken by the man-eating insect. Yet —’

Oh, Arapeta was so good at korero. With skill he modulated his voice and turned the thoughts of the mourners to the ideals of heroism and personal sacrifice.

‘By being taken unto death, Turei has brought honour to his iwi. There was no greater accolade for a warrior consecrated to Tumatauenga, the God of War, than to die in battle. For all of us who are here today, that was not our honour or privilege. And so we are belittled, made lesser men in the face of this young son of ours who did what we didn’t do — gave up his life in the service of his people and his country.’

The mourners began to sigh at Arapeta’s words. A hush came over the marae.

Suddenly, screams started to come from the crowd.

‘No, Lilly, don’t.’

Lilly reappeared. Her eyes were streaming with tears. In her hands was an axe. Before anybody could stop her, she strode across the marae to the coffin and struck it with the axe.

‘Turei! My son! ’

The whole assembly began to moan and weep as the sounds of the axe reverberated across the marae. General Collinson blanched. Sam felt a tremendous pain in his heart and turned to George.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We have to finish the job.’

Sam walked over to Lilly. When she saw him, she swayed and collapsed in his arms.

‘I can’t let Turei go,’ Lilly said, ‘without seeing his beloved face —’

Sam nodded. ‘Give me the axe, Auntie.’

Sam struck at the lid. At every blow the wailing escalated, a wild, demonic sound that could have split the sky apart. But when it was done, and Turei’s face appeared, the keening subsided into a soft sighing sound. Lilly leaned and stroked Turei’s face and she nodded at Sam and George.

‘Thank you, boys,’ she said. ‘Once there were three of you. Now there are only two —’

She motioned for them to take the coffin onto the porch and lay it to rest among the women.

‘Savages,’ General Collinson muttered.

Angrily, Arapeta pointed his walking stick at him.

‘Ka mate, ka mate! It is life, it is life, it is death, it is death! You must understand, Sir, that our people have never been afraid to look upon the face of Death. Our boy once belonged to the army. Your right to him ends here —’

Arapeta pointed to the gateway.

‘He is ours now.’

Later in the afternoon, Sam, George and other young men of the village carried Turei up to the village graveyard. The hills echoed with the sounds of rifle shots from the Army’s guard of honour. The bugler sounded the Last Post.

At the graveside Florence, Patty and Monty stood beside Sam. On the other side, George was standing with Lilly and Emma — and Emma’s baby boy. Already George was taking Turei’s place as surrogate son.

Sam felt Florence press his arm.

‘It’s so good to see you, Sam,’ she said. ‘Are you well? Are you staying home for a while?’