Conrad Cooper's Last Stand ePub (7 page)

Hey Tane,

I went over to Mrs O'Leary's after dinner, just in case she had fresh tarts. She served me a gooey piece on a napkin and said, ‘Guess what, Conrad? My papers came today, I'm an official Kiwi.'

‘You mean you're not from an island any more?'

‘Well, I'm still from
Ireland
, if that's what you mean. But I've been living here on a residency for twelve years, so I applied for citizenship. Look, I've got extra stamps on my passport. I'm a true-blue New Zealander.'

She waves her little book at me, like a paper flag.

‘Um, Mrs O'Leary?'

‘Yes, dear?'

‘Does that mean, like, anyone can change their … their … what's it called?'

‘Nationality?'

‘Yeah. I mean, if I moved to England would I become English?'

‘If you lived there long enough, certainly.'

‘So, Ravi in my class, he'll be a New Zealander? So long as his parents get proper stamps?'

‘Of course.' She laughs – she finds everything funny, even when I haven't told a joke.

And I thought,
hey.
People can change their nationality, so maybe I can become Maori. I mean, they were here first and I've lived here for ages, so that means I must qualify!

Cool eh, Tane? I figure this way you won't have to worry about me being European and, if I'm Maori, I can just walk up the hill and help out. Shouldn't be a problem, right?

Yours in the name of the … oh, I always forget this bit.

Amen.

PS. It's Conrad, by the way.

Tane, being a Maori isn't easy.

Truth is, I don't know a lot about Maoris, seeing as I'm not one. I can't just go and ask someone how to be one, especially not after Miss Cody told me off for talking to Mere. I might be rude by accident.

I need to get up that hill, so I can work on being seriously good. But where am I going to learn about being Maori? … Oh, I know! Every year we do a school project on the Treaty of Waitangi, so there should be excellent information in there, right?

I find my last Treaty project under my bed, along
with my report cards and three odd socks. It's covered in dust, so I blow that off and start reading. There's at least three pages of refill, and my handwriting looks like beetle tracks, so it takes me ages.

Talk about a waste of time. All we did was copy out bits of clauses and then answer stupid questions like, ‘What was the name of the Governor-General?' At no point did the early settlers write down useful stuff like, ‘How do I become a Maori?' or ‘How do you cook a hangi without getting dirt all over the chops?'

Next day I ask Miss Cody and she says, ‘For heaven's sake, Conrad. It's a legal document about land agreements, not a recipe book. Now go and sit down.'

It's a bit hard to argue with that.

So I'm stuck, like someone glued me to this stupid problem. If Miss Cody is a teacher and she can't help me, I'll just need to do proper research – and there's only one place for that.

When the lunch bell goes, me and Jasper head into the school library and look for books. He finds a series called ‘It's a Small World'. Each one has a different kid on the front saying things like
Hello, I'm Danish!
or
Hello, I'm a Native American!
We both stare at the shelves and Jasper scratches his head. ‘Maybe it's out?' So he goes up to our librarian, Mrs Havell, and asks, ‘Do you have
Hello, I'm a Maori!
?'

She stares at him, then looks at the pile of Small
World books and says, ‘Oh, no. They didn't do one of those.'

‘Why not?'

‘Uh, well …' She shrugs. ‘I'm not sure, but we don't really need one, do we? Seeing as we live here, we already know a lot about Maoris.'

‘We do?'

‘Um … yes.'

Being a grownup, I guess she knows more than me, so I say, ‘Excellent! Can
you
tell me about them?'

‘Me?' She blinks. ‘Well, let's see. Uh, they're the native people of New Zealand and they used to live in fortified villages called pas.' Her voice gets smaller, like the words are trying to disappear. ‘And … there's a special meal called a hangi, where they cook food underground, and … is that enough? I … I can't think of anything else. Not right now.'

Jasper shakes his head. ‘But we know
all
that.'

Poor Mrs Havell, she's really very nice. She finds us a picture book on Maui and the sun, which isn't very helpful, but at least she's doing her best. She sighs, stamps my book and says, ‘This is a children's library, we don't have the kind of books you're after. It's a pity Mr Kelly isn't here, he could … Oh.' She bites her lip. ‘Never mind.'

Mrs Havell picks up a metal stamp and sits down behind her desk, putting cards into new books.

Jasper just shrugs at me and says, ‘We'll have to think of something else.'

‘Like what?'

‘I dunno.'

There's only one thing to do. I stand in front of Mrs Havell's desk and try to get her attention by coughing, until she says, ‘Cover your mouth, dear. I don't want to catch anything.'

‘Sorry. I was just wondering … how can I find Mr Kelly?'

She doesn't lift her head; the stamp hits the book hard,
ka chink, ka chink
. Wrinkles stretch across her face as she mutters at the page, ‘Why would you need to do that?'

‘I've got some questions to ask him about, um, my project.'

‘Well, I don't think you can get in touch with him.'

‘Why?'

‘Because he's up the hill …' She closes her mouth fast and gulps, like she's trying to swallow her own words. ‘Oh, I mean, he's living up
a
hill, somewhere.'

‘You mean he's
living
on Bastion Point?'

‘Maybe. I mean, I've heard but I can't really be sure.' She waves her stamp at me like it's an extra finger. ‘Look, it's really none of my business where he's living, I hardly know him, and I'm sure he won't want to be bothered with questions from his old students.'

‘But you just said –'

‘Conrad, I've got a lot of work to do.'

‘Wait …' I look her up and down. Mrs Havell did
say
she knew a lot about Maoris, so it can't hurt to ask. ‘Can you just tell me why they're protesting?'

‘I've already told you I'm very busy. Off you go.' She whacks a book with her stamp. ‘
Now
, thank you.'

Mum sits at the kitchen table, trying to mend a black hole in Gaz's work pants. He smokes like a chimney and the ash from his ciggies leaves tiny holes in his best clothes. When you think about it, he's breathing fire, which can't be safe. Could he burn down a forest just by using his breath?

‘Conrad?' Mum looks up from Gaz's trousers. ‘What's eating you?'

‘Nothing.'

‘You're standing in the doorway, staring. That's not nothing.'

‘I was just wondering …'

‘Yeah?' She squeezes her lips together, concentrating hard on the needle.

‘You know how there's Maori people living up on Bastion Point? The ones Gaz talks about?'

‘The protestors? What about them?'

‘Well, I was just wondering why they're there.'

‘Oh … well. It's something about land. The Maoris say it's theirs but the government wants it. Something like that.'

‘Is it Maori land?'

‘Well, you know me. I'm not a big news reader, but Mrs Granger across the street says there used to be a Maori pa close by, and she'd know, she's lived here long enough.' Mum squints at her needle. ‘Mind you, Gaz thinks it'll be better for the community if the Crown turns their land into housing. He says the Maoris weren't doing anything with it, and the land's just been sitting there.'

‘Huh.' I lean against the wooden door and stick my finger into the lock, pinging my nail against the painted metal. ‘Well … Mum, what do
you
think?'

‘Oh.' Her frown deepens. ‘I dunno.'

I poke my finger in deeper, thinking about my best Star Wars rubber. I keep it in my pencil case, in a little compartment with a flip-out lid. I never use it, 'cause it'll get wrecked and I want it to last forever.

Is there a rule about losing stuff you don't use? Does that mean someone could take my Star Wars rubber? Wow – that would stink.

‘Mum, can you take someone's things if they're not using them?'

‘Uh, well …' Mum's thumb sneaks into her mouth, and she frowns again. ‘No. Not usually.'

‘But, is it okay to take people's land, if they're not using it?'

‘I'd have to ask Gaz …' She pulls her thumb out,
slurp, pop
. ‘He knows more about these things than me …
Why don't you go and watch TV, eh? There's a good boy.'

Tane, Mum's smart and if she doesn't have the answers, it's all very confusing. I mean, if taking property is wrong, how can it be happening? Aren't there laws about stealing?

I'm not asking Gaz, seeing as he doesn't like talking about work with me. I'm also not sure he'd be keen on me turning Maori and protesting, but it's not on my star chart. So it should be okay, right?

I need more information on this whole thing. I mean, what if Mum's got the wrong end of the stick? People can't just run around stealing stuff. There's only one person left to ask, someone who'll definitely know the answers. Tomorrow, I'll ask Mr Kelly what's going on.

I don't tell Jasper what I'm doing. He'd want to come along and wave signs and sing Bob Dylan protest songs. I mean, Mr Kelly might get annoyed if Jasper chains himself to the gates and starts singing. Our music teacher says Jasper's voice would be excellent for a civil defence emergency, 'cause it makes everyone want to run and hide.

After school, I bike along the dirt track leading up to the point. Then I hike up the path and head across the sloping paddock towards a fence. A small group of men are standing by the wooden gate, staring at me.

I'm not sure what to say, so I just ask, ‘Excuse me, but is Mr Kelly in?'

A man wearing an oilskin coat raises an eyebrow. ‘In?' He flicks a long ponytail hanging over his shoulder and props himself against the fence. Behind him, two older men laugh.

Maybe they didn't understand. ‘Mr Kelly. He's an old teacher from my school.'

‘Oh, the teacher guy?' A man with white stubble leans over and mutters something, I dunno what, but the ponytail guy answers, ‘This kid here, he wants to see Joe.' He nods over his shoulder, along the track, and a teenager in cut-off jeans runs back up the path. ‘Where's your parents, kid?'

‘I dunno.'

Okay, Tane, I know you want me to be good, but that's not really a lie. I mean Dad
could
be down at the police station and Mum
might
be watching TV on the couch, but I can't be sure. I'd need a telescope to see that far, and X-ray-vision glasses too.

The ponytail guy folds his arms, his eyes glued on me. ‘Whadda'ya think, Mike?'

‘For real?' The older man laughs. ‘Come on, Pete, he's hardly a cop in disguise, is he?'

He's not laughing at me. I can tell 'cause Pete's eyes get bigger as he says, ‘I'm just saying, we can't have Pakeha kids running around here without their mums. If anything happens, we'll be in for it.'

‘Look, did you drag this kid up here?'

‘No.'

‘Well then. He's not your problem.'

‘Yeah? Bet we'd still get the blame.'

Seeing as Gaz sometimes blames me for things, even if I don't do them, I feel sorry for Pete. Maybe I should go. But then a tall, skinny man with legs like broomsticks
walks through the group of men. It's Mr Kelly. He stands in front of me, wiping his hands on his T-shirt.

‘Someone said there's a kid here to see me.' His dark eyes fix on my face and he frowns. ‘Who're you?'

‘I'm Conrad Cooper. I go to Koha Primary.'

He looks me up and down. ‘I don't know you. Do I?'

‘I'm in Room 4, Miss Cody's class.'

‘Okay.' He looks at the other men, then shrugs. ‘Well, what can I do for you?'

‘Thing is, Mr Kelly, I wanted to ask … I was wondering …'

I can't say it. My idea sounds stupid now and they're all so tall. It's like being in the principal's office while Mum talks and everyone stares down at me. Mr Kelly frowns like Mr Walker too. His eyebrows twitch, making the hairs stick up like the back of a hedgehog.

‘Well?' he says. ‘You must have something to say?'

‘Uh …' I clear my throat, forcing words out my mouth. ‘I was wondering if you needed a hand. You know, with your protest.'

Yep, he's staring at me now. I get that a lot, so you'd think it wouldn't bother me. You'd be wrong.

Mr Kelly folds his arms over a muddy T-shirt – it looks like he's been doing gardening. Then he opens his mouth, but before he says anything I say, ‘I
could
help, honest. Give me a try in the garden, I'm real good with weeds.'

Someone snorts.

‘Well …' Mr Kelly rubs his hands on his T-shirt, our eyes stuck in some kinda tug of war, and then he sighs. ‘Come on then, kid. Just for ten minutes.'

‘My name's Conrad, Mr Kelly.'

‘Okay, kid.'

The men stand back, laughing, saying things like, ‘Hey, Pete, you still wanna frisk him?'

‘Joe, you sure about this?'

‘She'll be right, boys.' Mr Kelly puts a hand on my shoulder, saying, ‘Come on, you,' and calls back to the men, ‘I wouldn't mind hearing what they've been saying at work.'

We walk around the camps, waving at people and smiling. It's been raining and the ground's turned muddy, so everyone's got dirty shoes. Mum would die. But no one seems unhappy, except for two ladies trying to flap wet sheets in the breeze. Maori kids wave at me too and call out, ‘Who are you?' so I call my name back, but Mr Kelly just waves them away.

‘Conrad's not staying,' he tells everyone. He's got that right, I can't stay. I didn't bring a toothbrush, clean undies or anything.

‘Mr Kelly?'

‘Yeah?'

‘I was wondering, do you reckon I could become Maori?'

Mr Kelly stops so fast his whole body bounces, like an
invisible hand just pushed him. ‘
What
?'

‘I mean if I wanted to join, how would I do it?'

He's frowning again and I get a feeling like I've done something wrong. He stares at me, his eyes searching every corner of my face. I dunno what he's looking for, but then he sighs and shakes his head fast, like he's trying to throw a thought out of his ears. ‘Kid, you know what you need?'

‘Some kind of stamps?' I ask, remembering Mrs O'Leary's passport.

‘No, a mirror.'

Mr Kelly starts walking again.

What does that mean? I've got three mirrors at home, is there a special initiation ceremony involving mirrors? But I don't ask; there's a funny look on his face. It's hard to read but his lips are pulled tight, so he might be mad. Maybe you've gotta wait until someone asks you to join, like one of those secret clubs or something.

But he can't be that mad with me. I mean, he doesn't tell me to get lost, and I'm not going to get another chance like this again. So I hurry after him, trying not to slip in the mud, which isn't easy 'cause he's charging down the hill. Dunno why he's in such a hurry.

‘Hey, Mr Kelly, can I ask you another question?'

He looks at me, sideways. ‘I doubt I could stop you.'

That sounds like a yes. ‘Um, why're you guys living up here? I mean, I know it's a protest and everything, but
what are you protesting about, exactly?'

He doesn't answer.

Okay, maybe I did make him angry. There's nothing but the sound of wet grass squelching under our shoes. And then he sighs again.

‘You don't know why we're up here, but you want to help with the protest?'

‘Everyone says it's about stealing, but they've all got different ideas …'

I stop in mid-sentence; better not to mention some of the other ideas, especially the ones I heard in the playground. If there is a secret jet plane, Mr Kelly mightn't like me knowing about it.

‘I bet they do.' He looks up at the sky and waves one arm at the paddocks and cliffs. ‘Okay, look, this is our land, always has been. We've even got an agreement, written way back with the Treaty, saying it's ours. Now, Robert Muldoon and a whole lot of other bigwig politicians want to sell it for a profit to the highest bidder.' He shrugs. ‘
That
's what's going on.'

‘But they can't do that, not if it's yours.'

Mr Kelly snorts again. ‘They're taking it anyway.'

‘Um, are you sure it's your land? 'Cause one time in class, Jasper got mad at me for stealing his ruler and it turned out we both had
identical
rulers, but –'

‘No.' Mr Kelly's voice cuts sharper than the blades on Gaz's motor mower. ‘It's definitely ours.'

Okay, now I'm sure he's angry. ‘Sorry. Um … do you want me to go?'

‘What?' He blinks. ‘No. I'm not mad. Well, not at you, anyway. You're just a kid.' Mr Kelly points left, towards a couple of large vegetable patches. ‘Right, there you go.'

I stare at the garden and then back at Mr Kelly. He grins at me. ‘What're you waiting for? Off you go. Start digging.'

‘Uh, okay.'

He waves at some lady gardeners and winks. ‘I've brought you guys an expert. I'll be back soon.' And then he takes off back up the hill.

Uh-oh.

A couple of women stand up to their ankles in cabbages and dirt, digging holes. One of them hands me a green trowel. They look like they expect me to know what I'm doing, so I get down beside them and start digging my own hole.

Trouble is, the ground's hard clay. It chips off, like cleaning dried paint on the school art sink, and comes away in crumbs. After five minutes of digging, my hole gets wider, not deeper. I look up at the ladies and say, ‘Excuse me, but I might've exaggerated a bit. I don't really know
that
much about gardening, but if you're planning a hangi, I think my hole's big enough for a large roast chicken.'

The red-haired woman with pale skin and freckles
tugs at a skirt that looks like a sheet tied around her waist. She looks at the Maori lady next to her and they crack up laughing.

‘What's so funny?' I look down at my hole.

‘Nothing,' says the sheet-wearing lady. ‘Keep digging.'

The other one wipes a tear off her face. ‘Let us know when you see China,' and they're off again, laughing.

In the end, I dig five holes and the ladies tell me I did just fine. When Mr Kelly comes to walk me back, I ask him about the laughing. He just says, ‘Women are a great mystery and a man could spend his life looking for clues.'

What's that supposed to mean? If you ask me, he's being mysterious too, but I don't say anything. It might be like calling him a girl, and I don't think he'd go for that.

We don't say much else until we get to the gate. When he's lifting the heavy metal latch, I say, ‘I'm not sure I did a good job in the garden. I'm not great with holes, pulling weeds is more my thing.'

He shrugs. ‘Doesn't matter. Thing about gardening is, you've just got to make a hole and put seeds in it. Sometimes plants take, sometimes they don't. It's up to the land.'

‘What about watering and weeding?' I look down at my hands. ‘I'm pretty sure there's something about green thumbs, too.'

‘Well, look at it this way: humans didn't invent vegetables. Cabbages and potatoes have been growing in the ground for thousands of years, long before people started fussing over them.' He looks back at the buildings. ‘When it comes to gardening, Papatuanuku gets the last word. That's just how it is.'

‘Oh.'

‘See you, kid.'

He waves goodbye and heads back up to the tents. Papatuanuku … I remember that word from your book, Tane. It means Earth Mother. How about that? Mr Kelly knows your mum.

‘Hey, Conrad!'

I turn back; he's halfway up the hill, shading his eyes with his hand.

‘Yeah, Mr Kelly?'

‘I meant to ask you, what'd they tell you at school?'

‘About what?'

‘About me being up here.'

‘Nothing, Mr Kelly.'

He frowns – maybe he's worried about people gossiping. So I explain, ‘No one talks about you at all.'

I can't see his expression under the hand. But when I reach the bottom of the track I look back and he's still standing there, watching. Dunno if he's looking at me, he seems to be staring off into space. Which makes sense, I guess, as it's an excellent view.