Witi Ihimaera - White Lies

‘Of course I have consulted European doctors,’ Rebecca Vickers answered somewhat scornfully, ‘and much earlier than this when I realised I was pregnant. Whatever they did to me did not work.’

‘Then why have you not had further consultations with them?’ Paraiti asked.

‘Don’t think that I haven’t done what you suggest. Just before returning to New Zealand from England I even consulted a back-street abortionist, a butcher who failed in his job. And now no doctor will do what I ask, considering that I’ve gone beyond the point of no return. But when Maraea saw you in the street today she thought you might offer me some hope. She told me that you Maori have ancient ways, and could get rid of it.’

‘If your doctors cannot perform your miracle for you,’ Paraiti flared, ‘don’t expect me to be able to. Oh yes, I know of herbs that can end the pregnancy, but they work only in the first nine weeks. However your baby is at least double that — too late for the herbs that will make your uterus cramp and break down, so that the baby can be expelled from the womb.’

Angrily, Rebecca Vickers put on her dress again. ‘I knew this was a foolish notion, but Maraea told me that you especially were renowned for your clever hands and that, by manipulation, you could secure the result I seek.’

‘You assumed I would do it just because you asked me?’ Paraiti’s voice overrode the other woman’s. When she had been examining Mrs Vickers the baby had moved , cradling against Paraiti’s palms, almost as if it knew Paraiti was there, trying to snuggle in. And oh, Paraiti’s heart had gone out to it. ‘Why are you intent on ridding yourself of your baby? Most women would be overjoyed to be a mother. A baby is the crown of any woman’s achievement.’

‘You stupid woman,’ Mrs Vickers raged. ‘That is only the case if the husband is the father. How long do you think my husband will keep me when he discovers I am pregnant with another man’s child?’

So that was it.

Rebecca Vickers realised she had gone too far. She reached for a silver cigarette case, opened it and took out a cigarette. ‘Don’t seek to advantage yourself with that information,’ she said to Paraiti, ‘because if you try I’ll see you in prison before you can open your mouth.’ With delicate fingers she removed a shred of tobacco from her lips, inhaled and then pressed on. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing that you can do for me?’ she asked coolly.

‘You are already too far gone,’ Paraiti answered. ‘You will have to carry the child to term.’

‘Have to?’ Rebecca Vickers laughed. ‘I don’t have to do anything.’ She exhaled, paused, then said, in a voice that chilled, ‘Rip it out of my womb.’

‘That would require you to be cut open,’ Paraiti said deliberately. Good, the thought of her lovely skin being marked had made Mrs Vickers flinch. ‘You would be scarred and carry the evidence of the operation. Your husband would know that something had happened.’

‘Men can be so easily duped,’ Rebecca Vickers countered. ‘And Mr Vickers is an old man who wanted the luxury of a young woman. But he is also a man of class and reputation and … he has his vanity. A scar? He would turn a blind eye to that. But evidence that he’d been cuckolded by a younger man? No, his pride would never countenance that. Therefore such an operation wouldn’t be too high a price to pay.’

‘It is too dangerous. You could die, along with the baby.’

‘You’ve been playing me along.’ Rebecca Vickers rose and adjusted her clothes. ‘I don’t like to be treated as a fool.’ Her anger was all the more intense for being so contained. Not a flicker of it disturbed the stillness of her face. ‘Maraea will pay you for your consultation. She will give you a cup of tea before you leave.’ Her reflection locked gaze with Paraiti, and the room filled with eyes from all the mirrors.

Of course it wasn’t as easy as that for Paraiti.

The following day, while she was feeding her animals at Waituhi, she saw the local constable, Harry McIntosh, approaching her gate, huffing and puffing. ‘What have you done now, eh?’ he asked.

She must go with him to Gisborne for questioning. ‘Were you in the vicinity of Waterside Drive yesterday? If so, were you invited into the home of Mrs Rebecca Vickers? She has reported that her servant took pity on an old Maori woman who appeared to be faint from the heat, and that her servant gave her something to eat. She left the woman for a moment to talk to the gardener. Now a diamond bracelet is missing.’

Paraiti was taken to the Gisborne jail. For two days she was imprisoned in a cell: a small room, with one square window, a pallet to sleep on and a hole in the ground to crouch over when you wanted to answer Nature’s call. There were three other cells containing a scatter of men who watched her curiously as she was locked in; one look at her scar and they turned away.

This was not the first time that Paraiti had been imprisoned. Sometimes, jealous Maori whispered about her clandestine medical activities, which led to arrest and incarceration. On such occasions, Paraiti would think of her parents. ‘I am getting off lightly compared with them,’ she would say to herself. ‘My father was imprisoned for two years, my mother died in jail.’

On the third day, she was dozing when she heard approaching footsteps and someone rapping on the bars of her cell. ‘You have a visitor,’ Constable McIntosh said.

Dazed from sleep, Paraiti saw that it was Mrs Vickers, her face hidden behind a dark veil, which was sucked in slightly by her breath whenever she spoke. Her eyes were glowing, triumphant. ‘So, Paraiti … there are more ways than one to skin a cat. I have come to offer you your freedom.’

Behind her, head bowed, was Maraea. ‘Please do as she says, takuta,’ she pleaded. ‘It would be better for all of us.’

‘It is dirty, shameful work,’ said Paraiti. ‘No person would do it.’

‘I will pay you handsomely for your work and your silence. If you do what I have already asked of you I will drop the charges.’

‘They are false and you know it.’

‘Who do you think the authorities would believe?’ Rebecca Vickers smiled. ‘Someone like me? Or …’ — her tone was mocking — ‘someone like you?’

‘Keep your money,’ Paraiti said angrily. ‘Constable?’ she called. ‘We’ve finished our korero here.’

‘I will say when our conversation begins and when it ends,’ Mrs Vickers hissed between clenched teeth.

Paraiti turned her back to the young woman. ‘Get out,’ she said.

Rebecca Vickers raised the veil and stepped closer to the bars. ‘You doctors,’ she continued, ‘Pakeha or Maori, you’re all the same, kei te mimi ahau ki runga ki a koutou.’

Paraiti gasped, shocked at the precise cultured voice articulating the Maori words. She turned, took a few steps towards Mrs Vickers and peered closely at her.

‘Yes, medicine woman, take a good look.’ Mrs Vickers turned her head this way and that for the inspection. Paraiti noted again the flawless skin and the cleverly applied make-up. She caught a glimpse of something else: beneath the powder the surface was glazed, as if it had been treated by some whitening agent.

Paraiti took a step back. ‘Aue, e hine,’ she grieved.

Rebecca Vickers’ eyes widened with anger. She had been expecting some other reaction, some acknowledgement of her cleverness. ‘What an ignorant woman you are, Scarface.’ She smiled mockingly. ‘I expected you, at least, to understand.’ She lowered her veil and left the cell.