Witi Ihimaera - Uncle's Story

‘She sounds like Roimata,’ I said.

‘I see you’re getting the picture,’ Tane answered, his eyes twinkling. ‘Anyway, right there in the meeting house, Leah said to me, “I haven’t come here, Tane, against my will. I have come of my own accord. I would have come to see you by myself, except that my relatives wanted to turn it into a circus as usual. I know you are a homosexual —’

‘At the word, everybody in the meeting house coughed and pretended not to hear. “So I do not come to this blind to your physical desires. But my womb is crying for children, as greatly as your mother weeps for grandchildren. And I want to ask you a question, Tane. Just because you’re gay, does than mean you can’t be a father? I think not. I hope not. You are a fine man and your sexuality has a strength of its own which you can bring to a relationship not only with me but with any children we may have. We are both too old not to accept this arrangement. I want a son. I can give you a son. I don’t even know if I could love you. I admire you for what you do and the courage you have. Those are the qualities I am looking for in a husband and a father. You are my last chance. I am yours —”’

Tane shook his head with wonderment. It wasn’t too difficult for me to see what Leah saw in him. His body was carved from earth and sky. Its angularity had been made for holding children. Its strength for sheltering a family.

‘When Leah said it like that,’ Tane continued, ‘she blew my socks off. I realised she was right. I made my choice. After all, I was born a Maori and that is how my people will bury me. I owed it to them. Two kids later, I thank Leah every day for having given me my sons. They and she are more important to me than anything else in the whole world.’

Tane ordered two more beers. He downed his in two gulps as if to fortify himself.

‘So here’s the thing, Michael,’ he said. ‘I’m here as a go-between. Don’t shoot me because I’m just the messenger. Just as my mother arranged my taumau with Leah, I am here to ask you to consider such an arrangement with Roimata.’

I should have been surprised, but I wasn’t — and Tane moved swiftly on.

‘Marriage should be an option for gay Polynesian men and women. With it we can establish a tribe — a tribe based not just on sexual identity but on family. A tribe must have children to survive. It must also have parents, grandmothers and grandfathers. Even though the children may not be gay by practice, they will be gay by genealogy through their fathers and mothers. When my own children grow up, I want them to think of themselves as belonging to a great new gay family, a wonderful new gay tribe —’

‘What about other partners?’ I asked. ‘Gay or lesbian lovers?’

‘It will be difficult,’ Tane conceded. ‘But we come from a tribal people and surely the tribe should be able to accommodate —’

His voice faded. He knew that what he was talking about was some ideal that might exist way in the future, if ever. He also realised he was talking too much, pushing too much. He backed off, leaving me some space to think. The seconds turned into minutes and:

‘You don’t need to give me an answer right now, Michael,’ he said.

‘It’s not that,’ I answered.

For some reason I thought of Carlos. He was getting to me.

‘It’s just that I don’t know where my life is going right now. There’s so much to sort out. The timing isn’t right —’

‘Michael,’ Tane said gently, ‘it never is.’

I returned to the office. Roimata’s eyes were red, as if she had been crying. When I took her in my arms she clung to me as if her life depended on it.

‘I’m so embarrassed,’ she said.

‘You embarrassed?’ I asked. ‘That’s a new one. Really, I’m honoured. Who knows? This might just be the way to win back the family.’

‘Yours and mine,’ Roimata said. ‘So you’ll think about it?’

‘May as well.’ I shrugged. ‘My life is already ratshit. One extra thing on top of it won’t make it any worse.’

Roimata knew I was joking. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

At that moment, the telephone rang. It was Auntie Pat.

‘There may be more information about Cliff up at the old farmhouse,’ she said. ‘But I’m not going up there by myself. So I’ve booked you to come back up to Gisborne. I’ve already paid for your ticket. Pick it up at the airport. You’re on the last plane out of Wellington tonight and the mid-morning plane back.’

‘Great,’ I answered.

But Auntie Pat hadn’t finished with me:

‘Michael,’ she said, ‘I’m so afraid. I haven’t told you everything.’

It was pitch black when I arrived in Gisborne. I was one of only a handful of passengers on the plane and we dispersed quickly into the night.

‘This is getting to be a habit,’ I joked when I saw Auntie Pat waiting by the car.

She offered her cheek for a kiss. This time she was in the driver’s seat. When we reached Gladstone Road she turned left on the highway out of town.

‘We haven’t got much time,’ she said, ‘so I thought we’d go straight out to the old farm and stay there overnight. I’ve cleared it with your father, though I didn’t tell him you’d be with me. He was curious why I would want to go out there. Neither of us has been there for years. I told him I was going up with Kara — you know, Bully’s widow — to collect some of their stuff.’

When Grandfather Arapeta had died in 1983 he left the farm to Auntie Pat and my father. But Dad didn’t want to move back there and Auntie Pat had taken Nana Florence to live in Gisborne. Bully became the manager of the farm and, as the years went by, his role dwindled to caretaker. Six months ago he had passed away.

We arrived at the farm. PRIVATE PROPERTY and DO NOT ENTER signs had been wired to the gates. Auntie Pat gave me the keys to unlock them, and she drove through, towards the old homestead. The moon had come up above it, glinting on the windows and transforming the verandah posts into white teeth. I’d forgotten how big and imposing it was. In its day it had been one of the largest homesteads in the valley.

By the time I caught up with her, Auntie Pat was out of her car with the torch, and going up the front steps to the door.

‘Can you bring the stuff in the boot?’

I nodded and lifted the box with its overnight supplies: sheets, bedding, milk, food, soap and other toiletries. Auntie Pat unlocked the door and went into the pantry. There, she found some candles and a box of matches.

‘I hope you don’t mind, Michael, but I didn’t get the chance to have the electricity switched back on. We’ll be using candles tonight.’

Auntie Pat scraped a match. It flared as she applied it to a candle. I thought that her fixed stare as she lit one candle after another, and ordered me to take them into all the rooms, was simply a matter of concentration. Later, I realised that Auntie Pat wanted to make sure there was not a dark corner anywhere. Only when the house blazed with light did she step from the pantry. Even then, I could see the terror in her eyes as her childhood came rushing back to confront her. For me, it was different. The homestead was just an old house, derelict, standing in the middle of dark bush. But for Auntie Pat it was filled with ghosts. Perhaps ghosts she thought she had exorcised years ago.

‘All right,’ Auntie Pat said. ‘Let’s see if we can find anything. When Mum, Monty and I left here, Bully was told there were two rooms that were always to remain shut. One of them was Sam’s bedroom. The other was the room that Dad used as his office and where he kept his accounts, whakapapa books and all his military records. You look in Sam’s room, Nephew. I’ll do Dad’s office.’