Witi Ihimaera - Uncle's Story

All of a sudden Cliff belched and the air that he had taken into his lungs ascended in a huge glassy bubble. Quickly, Sam grabbed Cliff, propelled himself from the river bottom and shot them both to the surface. When Cliff broached the surface his first intake of breath gulped in the entire air of the universe.

Sam pushed Cliff to the bank of the river. All around, Jake, Jimbo, Bully and the other men were laughing.

‘From now on,’ Sam said, ‘you stay here and paddle in the shallows.’

Sam was half lying on Cliff, wagging his finger in Cliff’s face as if he were a naughty boy.

He started to slide back into the water. He heard Cliff gasp.

Unseen by the other men, Cliff’s penis was stirring. Helpless, he looked into Sam’s eyes.

‘God dammit.’

With a smile, Sam pulled Cliff a little further down from the bank to where the water covered him from the waist.

‘Try not to frighten the fish,’ he said.

Then he broke away to clamber up the bank, run at the rope and swing out again into mid-river. There, just as the sun flamed across the water, he let go and was suddenly made molten as he arrowed into a crucible of gold.

With the sun off the river, the night began to cool. Some of the men, led by Bully, snuck off to have another look at the women upriver. The rest stopped swimming and sat on the riverbank, quizzing Cliff about being a helicopter pilot. Sam could hear the skill in Cliff’s responses. He gave them what they wanted to hear, the stories of bravery that would affirm the experience. Nobody wanted to know about the darkness and terror that was at the heart of every soldier’s experience in Vietnam.

‘I’ll tell you what, though,’ Cliff said, ‘you guys were fortunate to have such good camaraderie between Maoris and whites.’

‘Yeah, well, whites are almost as good as us,’ Sam quipped.

‘No, seriously, in the American Army, it wasn’t the same for American blacks. They often fought a different war. Do you think the racial discrimination stopped because we were fighting on the same side? I heard talk that blacks were regarded as cannon fodder and often pushed to the front of American attacks on the enemy — and they knew it.’

Cliff was interrupted by the return of Bully and his raiding party — and they were chortling with glee. They’d come across some of the women’s clothing and stolen it. They sat waiting for the fireworks, and sure enough an outraged voice boomed out from upstream:

‘Okay, Bully. We know it was you who pinched our clothes. You just give them back!’

‘Who, me?’ Bully yelled back, all innocent. He was showing the boys a bra. ‘It must be Anita’s,’ he said.

‘No, Anita has bigger tits,’ Jimbo replied loudly. ‘I think it’s Kara’s’.

A furious squeal came from Kara, because the bra concerned was, well, of ample dimensions.

‘I heard that, Jimbo! How dare you go looking through Anita’s window at night!’

Jimbo flushed, and the men ribbed him — and because the conversation had taken something of a sexual turn, he coughed and asked Sam:

‘Ah, Sam, what did you say your mate’s nickname was?’

‘You should ask him yourself.’

‘Hey, Yank, why do they call you Woody?’

‘All the guys have nicknames.’

Cliff was noncommittal, but the telltale crimsoning of his neck gave him away.

‘Do you have a cartoon character by the name of Woody Woodpecker down here?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m named after him.’

Jimbo looked at Sam and grinned. ‘I reckon it’s also got something to do with that, ’ he whispered, motioning to Cliff’s penis. ‘That is some pecker, huh, Woody?’

Until that moment, Sam had not made any sexual connection. When he did, he couldn’t help it. He lifted his throat and:

‘Ha-ha-ha, ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha, ha-ha! That’s the Woody Woodpecker song!’

While Sam was singing, Cliff stood up and began to make mock poses, flexing his biceps, sucking in his stomach and making all the men laugh. He was right in the middle of the routine when Anita and Kara, supported by Patty and a few other women, marched up to get their clothes back. What they saw was a buck naked American boy with green eyes like the river whose hair had been set on fire by the sun and whose pellucid body was jewelled from the water. They saw it all — and there was a lot to see.

Sam heard the girls scream with laughter. Patty seemed totally shocked. Next moment, cowpats and clumps of mud rained around Cliff and the men. Kara, arms akimbo, yelled to Bully:

‘You know very well that wasn’t my bra!’

Sam turned to his mates. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ He dived for cover back into the river, and the others followed.

‘What about me?’ Cliff called to Sam.

‘You’re on your own,’ Sam called as he saw Cliff run for shelter behind some bushes.

‘That’s not going to do you any good,’ Anita shouted after him. ‘You need trees!’

Kara nodded in agreement. ‘Lots and lots of trees!’

Gales of laughter rang across the swimming hole. The sun winked out.

Sam was nervous at family dinner that evening. He wanted everything to be right. He wanted his family to like Cliff; he wanted Cliff to like his family. Just before sitting down he whispered to Cliff:

‘Look, Dad likes dinner to be formal. He’ll say grace —’

‘I’m accustomed to that.’

Cliff had changed into a red-checked lumberjacket shirt and rolled up jeans.

‘And I’m on to your father. Head of the household, right?’

‘Mum’s been worried all day about whether you’ll like the food —’

Cliff’s eyes crinkled into a grin. ‘They’re worried? Hell, I’m the one who’s worried!’

For the first quarter of an hour, everybody was on their best behaviour. The men seated themselves and Arapeta said grace. He gave the briefest nod to Florence and Patty, as if they were personal kitchen staff. Immediately, the two women began to bring the meat, potatoes and vegetables to the table, serving the men before they sat down. Arapeta picked up his knife and fork and at this signal the family followed suit.

‘What about some wine for our guest?’ Arapeta asked.

‘I’ll do that,’ Sam said.

‘No,’ Arapeta answered. ‘Let your mother do it.’

Florence was rising from her chair when Arapeta turned to Cliff:

‘Are your lamb chops all right? Not overdone? And the kumara?’

Sam saw Mum give Cliff a stricken look. Sometimes, Dad’s questions often sounded like a death sentence.

‘They’re the best I’ve ever had,’ Cliff said.

He turned to Florence and made a gesture to the table. It was overbrimming with farm fare: bowls of peas and beans, dumplings, pork chops as well as lamb chops and bread freshly baked from the oven.

‘You are a fine cook, ma’am, and I congratulate you on the beautiful meal we’re having here.’

Florence blushed at the compliment. She went to the scullery and returned with a bottle of wine.

‘I’ve only just begun to make wine,’ Arapeta said. ‘I hope this chardonnay will be to your liking.’ He raised his glass. ‘Welcome, Sir,’ he said to Cliff. ‘The hospitalities of the house are yours. Nothing is good enough for the man who saved my son’s life and —’ Arapeta’s eyes twinkled ‘— was bold enough to stop my horses going down that river!’

Cliff made a gesture with his hands. He returned to the food.

‘Well, it’s certainly a pleasure to have some real home cooking. Beats the Army Mess at Nui Dat doesn’t it, Sam?’

Sam smiled a silent thanks to Cliff for diverting attention from his mother and on to the middle ground of man-to-man talk. He saw that Florence had noticed Cliff’s skill. A look of tenderness came over her. The evening progressed and, following a second bottle of wine, Arapeta relaxed. Sam knew that his father always prided himself on being a generous host; having a guest in the house brought out the best in him. Even better, Cliff kept asking the kinds of questions which played to his vanity, allowing him to recall story after story about his exploits during the Second World War.