Witi Ihimaera - Uncle's Story

The elderly man whispered to Anne-Marie:

‘The truck driver has just radioed for help.’

Sam shook his head.

‘That’s not going to do any good,’ he said. ‘I’ve served in Vietnam and I know when a man’s bought it. And I’ve bought it.’

Then death really squeezed Sam’s heart. In panic, he turned to Anne-Marie.

‘There’s a man you must find. He’s waiting at the airport. I was supposed to meet him there. His name is Cliff —’

Sam’s voice was getting weaker. The name sounded like Chris.

‘Please find him. Give him this.’

He pressed a greenstone pendant into Anne-Marie’s palm.

‘I’m not leaving you,’ Anne-Marie cried. ‘You can’t die. I won’t let you.’

The rain was falling. Everywhere, people were moving, shadows in the light.

Cliff, where are you? You said you never left anybody behind. Come and get me, Cliff, come and get me.

The rain, only the rain. And strangers, only strangers. And a strange woman in a white dress. Why was she crying?

In his mind Sam could hear himself saying the words:

‘You must find Cliff for me. Find him for me. Please. Tell him that —’

But Sam knew his voice wasn’t working and the woman couldn’t hear him. Desperately, he began to move his fingers in sign.

You must find Cliff. Tell him, tell him that I was coming and that I loved him, oh how I —

Then there was nothing. Only darkness and rain.

I was sitting in Mrs Davidson’s small unit in Upper Hutt. Fran excused herself to make us a cup of tea.

‘Sam died in my arms,’ Mrs Davidson said. ‘Neither of my two husbands died in my arms. That’s why I remember him. He was so beautiful when he died. The police came. The ambulance came. The police needed a statement. After it was over, they wanted me to go to hospital for observation. I convinced them I was all right. I asked the elderly man to help me. I said to him, “Could you please drive me to the international terminal?” He was such a lovely man. He waited for me as I wandered around the building. God, I must have looked a sight in that ball gown, covered in blood. I kept on calling “Chris! Chris!” The airport security people came up to me. They couldn’t have a mad, demented-looking woman walking around and scaring everybody. Not until later, when I met George, did I know his name was Cliff. When you do find Cliff, please tell him how sorry I am. I feel so responsible for Sam’s death. If he hadn’t stopped to help me —’

An hour later, Mrs Davidson saw me to her door.

‘Could you do something for me?’ she asked. ‘Could you telephone me when you get back from America and Canada?’

‘Yes,’ I promised.

I started to walk away — then I remembered something. I turned to Mrs Davidson.

‘You said you had something that belongs to Cliff Harper.’

‘Oh, yes. I’ll go and get it.’

She was away only a minute. But my heart was beating loud enough to split the world open with sadness. When she returned and I saw what she was carrying, I couldn’t help it. I burst into tears. And Mrs Davidson began to cry too.

‘The thing is,’ she wept, ‘I tried to return this to your grandfather, but he said that it had been defiled and he didn’t want it back. I didn’t know what to do with it. I asked George, but he didn’t want anything to do with it either. When Sam was dying he wanted me to take it to Cliff Harper at the airport. But —’

In Anne-Marie’s hand a box with its lid off.

‘Anyway, here it is.’

Nestling in the box, a greenstone pendant. Cliff had thrown it to Sam on the night he had left the farm. It had twisted and tumbled, catching fire and turning into a flaming bird.

Bring it back to me, Sam. You son of a bitch, you bring it back to me.

And I was sobbing while Mrs Davidson held me, sobbing for something that should have happened but didn’t.

You hear me, Sam? Bring it back.

Tunui a te Ika.

Midnight. Carlos’ flat.

I slipped out of bed and left Carlos to his dreams. I couldn’t believe how uncomplicated he was. I’d taken him to a restaurant where he’d ploughed through the menu with gusto, eating everything in sight.

‘I go to the gym every day,’ he explained. ‘That’s how I keep my weight down — and that’s where I first saw you. I can’t believe that you don’t remember me!’

‘I wish I could say I did —’

‘Couldn’t you lie?’ he pouted. ‘But I hadn’t shaved my head then.’

He downed his food with a good bottle of red, and then looked at his watch:

‘I’ve got a meeting in the morning, so I have to get up early. We’ll have to give the dance clubs a miss. Even though you don’t deserve it, having such a bad memory and all — your place or mine?’

‘Let’s go to yours,’ I answered.

I’d expected to see the usual bachelor shambles: unwashed plates in the kitchen, the bed still unmade, clothes lying all over the place. Instead, the apartment was austere, minimalist. Polished wooden floorboards. Bare walls with a scattering of paintings. Some interesting books on philosophy and religion. The bed was a platform on the floor. All the windows were wide open. I’d looked at Carlos, intrigued. He showed me a small room where there was a shrine.

‘I’m a Buddhist,’ he said.

I laughed, incredulous. ‘A Maori who’s a Buddhist?’

Temple not far from here. Go before rain comes.

‘It happens.’ Carlos shrugged. ‘Trouble is, there are still many things of the flesh I still crave. Like food and —’

He took me in his arms and began to undress me. Once all his appetites had been appeased, he slid easily into sleep.

I slipped through the moonlight. I was still perplexed as to why Carlos hadn’t asked me about Jason.

‘You have a past,’ he’d said, ‘and so do I, but we live in the present. If you’re asking if I’m jealous of anybody in your life, no, I’m not.’ Then he said something that intrigued me. ‘I can share you, Michael, if I have to. Roimata and I have already talked about that. We’ll work something out —’

Tunui a te Ika was in my jacket. I fumbled in the pocket for it. My fingers touched the greenstone — so cold, so cold. But, before I knew it, it began to get warm and slid itself into my palm.

I took the greenstone out and held it by the cord to the moonlight. A small breeze from the window made the greenstone start to twirl. Slowly, at first. But soon it was spinning, scattering the light, and I imagined it chuckling like a child for joy.

‘Ae.’ I nodded. ‘Do you recognise me? Do you see Uncle Sam in me? You are of my people! For thirty years you’ve been waiting, haven’t you! I’m sorry it’s taken so long. Forgive me —’

I traced the whorls of Tunui a te Ika. The face, the body, the penis with its white marks like a comet’s tail. The greenstone seemed to come alive at my touch, glowing with contentment. I felt it trying to leap from my hands and take its place close to my heart — but I thought of Cliff Harper.

‘No,’ I said. ‘You’ve been promised to somebody else. I’ll take you to him soon.’

The next morning, Carlos woke me up with a cup of tea.

‘I’ve gotta go. I’ll catch up with you later. I heard you get up in the middle of the night. I thought you were leaving. I’m glad you stayed.’

‘Maybe you’re getting to me.’

‘Good!’ he beamed. ‘I’ve been trying hard enough! I heard you talking to somebody —’

I told him about Uncle Sam, Cliff Harper and Tunui a te Ika.