Witi Ihimaera - The Whale Rider

‘All of our fishing grounds, banks and rocks have had names assigned to them and the legends surrounding them have been commemorated in story, song or proverb. Where our fishing grounds have no local identification, like a reef or upjutting rock, we have taken the fix from prominent cliffs or mountains on the shore. Like there and mark . And there and mark . In this way the fishing places of all our fish species have always been known. And we have tried never to trespass on the fishing grounds of others because their guardians would recognise us as interlopers. In this respect, should we ever be in unfamiliar sea, we have surrounded ourselves with our own water for protection.’

Then Koro Apirana’s voice dropped and, when he resumed his lesson, his words were steeped with sadness and regret. ‘But we have not always kept our pact with Tangaroa, and in these days of commercialism it is not always easy to resist temptation. So it was when I was your age. So it is now. There are too many people with snorkelling gear, and too many commercial fishermen with licences. We have to place prohibitions on our fishing beds, boys, otherwise it will be just like the whales —’

For a moment Koro Apirana hesitated. Far out to sea there was a dull booming sound like a great door opening, a reminder, a memory of something downward plunging. Koro Apirana shaded his eyes from the sun.

‘Listen, boys,’ he said, and his voice was haunted. ‘Listen. Once there were many of our protectors. Now there are few. Listen how empty our sea has become .’

In the evening after our lesson on the sea we assembled in the meeting house. The booming on the open waters had heralded the coming of a rainstorm like a ghostly wheke advancing from the horizon. As I went into the meeting house I glanced up at our ancestor, Paikea. He looked like he was lifting his whale through the spearing rain.

Koro Apirana led us in a prayer to bless the school. Then, after the introductions, he told us of the times which had brought the silence to the sea.

‘I was a boy of seven years’ age,’ he began, ‘when I went to stay with my uncle who was a whaler. I was too young to know any better, and I didn’t understand then, as I do now, about our ancestor, the whale. At that time whaling was one of the great pastimes and once the bell on the lookout had been sounded you’d see all the whaling boats tearing out to sea, chasing after a whale. Doesn’t matter what you were doing, you’d drop everything, your plough, your sheep clippers, your schoolbooks, everything . I can still remember seeing everyone climbing the lookout, like white balloons. I followed them and far out to sea I saw a herd of whales.’

The rain fell through his words. ‘They were the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.’ He made a sweeping gesture. ‘Then, down by the slipway, I could see the longboats being launched into the sea. I ran down past the sheds and the pots on the fires were already being stoked to boil down the blubber. All of a sudden my uncle yelled out to me to get on his boat with him. So there I was, heading out to sea.’

I saw a spiky head sneaking a look through the door. ‘That’s when I saw the whales really close,’ Koro Apirana said. ‘There must have been sixty of them at least. I have never forgotten, never. They had prestige. They were so powerful. Our longboat got so close to one that I was able to reach out and touch the skin.’ His voice was hushed with awe. ‘I felt the ripple of power beneath the skin. It felt like silk. Like a god. Then the harpoons began to sing through the air. But I was young, you see, and all I could feel was the thrill, like when you do a haka.’

He paused, mesmerised. ‘I can remember that when a whale was harpooned it would fight like hang. Eventually it would spout blood like a fountain, and the sea would be red. Three or four other boats would tow it ashore to the nearest place and cut it up and share out the meat and the oil and everything. When we started to strip the blubber off the whale in the whaling station, all the blood flowed into the channel. Blind eels would come up with the tide to drink the blood.’

I heard Kahu weeping at the doorway. I edged over to her and when she saw me she put her arms around my neck.

‘You better go home,’ I said, ‘before Koro Apirana finds out you’re here.’

But she was so frightened. She was making a mewling sound in her throat. She seemed immobilised by terror.

Inside, Koro Apirana was saying, ‘Then, when it was all finished we would cut huge slabs of whale meat and sling them across our horses and take them to our homes —’

Suddenly, before I could stop her, Kahu wrenched away from me and ran into the meeting house.

‘No, Paka, no !’ she screamed.

His mouth dropped open. ‘Haere atu koe,’ he shouted.

‘Paka. Paka, no!’

Grimly, Koro Apirana walked up to her, took her by the arms and virtually hurled her out. ‘Go. Get away from here,’ he repeated. The sea thundered ominously. The rain fell like spears.

Kahu was still crying, three hours later. Nanny Flowers was livid when she heard about what happened.

‘You just keep her away from the meeting house,’ Koro Apirana said. ‘That’s all I say. I’ve told you before. And her.’

‘My blame,’ Kahu wept. ‘Love Paka.’

‘You men ,’ Nanny Flowers said. ‘I can show you where you come from.’

‘Enough,’ Koro Apirana said. He stormed out and that ended the argument.

Later that night Kahu kept sobbing and sobbing. I guess we thought she was still grieving about being growled at, but we know better now. I heard Nanny Flowers going into Kahu’s bedroom and comforting her.

‘Shift over, Kahu,’ Nanny Flowers soothed. ‘Make a little space for your skinny Nanny. There, there.’

‘Love Paka.’

‘You can have him, Kahu, as soon as I get my divorce tomorrow. There, there.’ Nanny was really hurting with love for Kahu. ‘Don’t you worry, don’t you worry. You’ll fix him up, the old paka, when you get older.’

In the hiss and roar of the suck of the surf upon the land I listened to Nanny Flowers. After a short while Kahu drifted off to sleep.

‘Yes,’ Nanny Flowers crooned, ‘go to sleep now. And if you don’t fix him,’ she whispered, ‘then my oath I will.’

Hiss and roar. Ebb and flow.

The next morning I sneaked in to give Kahu a special cuddle, just from me. When I opened the door she was gone. I looked in Koro Apirana and Nanny Flowers’ bedroom, but she wasn’t there either. Nanny Flowers had pushed Koro onto the floor and had spread herself over the whole bed to make sure he couldn’t get back in.

Outside the sea was gentle and serene, as if the storm had never happened. In the clear air I heard a chittering, chattering sound from the beach. I saw Kahu far away, silhouetted on the sand. She was standing facing the sea and listened to voices in the surf. There, there, Kahu. There, there .

Suddenly Kahu turned and saw me. She ran toward me like a seagull. ‘Uncle Rawiri!’

I saw three silver shapes leaping into the dawn.

If you ask me the name of this house, I shall tell you. It is Te Kani. And the carved figure at the apex? It is Paikea, it is Paikea. Paikea swam, hei . The sea god swam, hei . The sea monster swam, hei . And Paikea, you landed at Ahuahu. You changed into Kahutia Te Rangi, aue . You gave your embrace to the daughter of Te Whironui, aue , who sat in the stern of the canoe. Aue, aue , and now you are a carved figurehead, old man.