Heartland (22 page)

The trench

Di Masefield stands proudly, still as a tree trunk, on her ‘mark’. She wears a cape of scarlet fur over some sort of silver-mesh body armour. On her feet, furry winged boots. Rising from her wiry grey hair are two feathery protuberances that could be antennae. Across the other side of the trench, a camera crew line up the shot. They confer, move the camera a few metres, then back.

The director makes a suggestion and the camera is moved again. Di might as well
be
a tree trunk for all the notice they take of her.

Lovey Kingi, kitted out in a diaphanous blue and green tunic, twigs arranged in her artfully tousled hair, comes to stand in Di Masefield’s lee.

‘It’s cold,’ she says. ‘At least you can wear a coat.’

‘Shh,’ says Di, staring straight ahead, ‘I’m working.’

‘Could I come under your coat?’

‘No,’ says Di, then, looking down at Lovey’s pinched face, she opens one flap and closes it quickly around the child.

‘Thanks.’

After a few minutes of wriggling, which Di finds rather pleasant, Lovey is ready to chat.

‘Who are you then?’

‘Ang Soo, Queen of the Nether Regions. I think she might be some sort of moth. What about you?’

‘I’m not sure, really. I have to flit between the trees when you come up.’

‘You’ll be a wood spirit then.’

Lovey tucks her cold hands into Di’s warm ones. Make-up has transformed her light brown skin to a darker, greyer shade. She looks like a joey, peering out from the folds of the cape. ‘This is a spook place,’ she says.

‘No it’s not. Just a bit of bush.’

‘There’s dead people here. We could get a curse on us.’

‘Don’t be silly. This is simply an old abandoned section. People lived here once.’

‘And died.’ Lovey shivers. ‘I don’t like it much. I wish they’d hurry up.’

Di secretly agrees. This standing around is becoming tedious, though she daren’t say so to the famous director.

As if he’s heard her, the famous director calls across. ‘Di darling, thanks for your patience. That’s marvellous. Now one last shot to line up. Take the steps down at the deep end of the trench.’

‘Certainly.’

Di ejects Lovey and moves away. She climbs gingerly, careful of the riotous antennae, down into the trench which slopes upwards and away into the trees. Lovey hops up and down, watching her eerie disappearance. Red light floods the scene.

‘Smoke now!’ calls the director. ‘Di darling, can you hear me?’

There’s a muffled assent from somewhere below Di’s headdress.

‘Marvellous. Now. Could you flick the switch on your right cuff?’

There’s a pause, and then Lovey gasps to see cold blue light flickering and snaking through Di’s hair and up the antennae. The rest of Di is hidden in the trench; there’s only the eerie blue light, the mad headdress, seen through drifting wisps of smoke.

‘Wait!’ calls the director. ‘Wait … and go! Just walk like a queen. Think regal, Di, we may use this take. What the hell, Tim, I want smoke from the underworld, not on the child! Ang Soo must
emerge
from the fiery mists. She must
burst
through the ground. Cut, cut. We’ll do it again.’

Lovey sighs and stops her flitting. Di, whose head is now well above ground, turns majestically and begins to descend again.

‘Don’t go back down,’ whispers Lovey urgently, following her. ‘Don’t do it, Mrs Masefield. It’s tapu.’

‘Your imagination is getting the better of you, child.’ But Di is a little nervous as she inches down.

‘Turn away, please, Di darling,’ says the director. ‘We don’t want your face. You’re looking for someone. A bit agitated. We may use this shot, as Lydia is not keen on walking in the trench.’

The director waves at Lovey. ‘Back into the trees, sweetie, we just want a tiny
glimpse
of your flitting.’

Lovey moves behind a tree and watches, her eyes round and dark. She chants something in a quiet, unsettling
sing-song
. Di tries to ignore the thread of sound. She rights one of the antennae, which has slipped over her ear, and walks along the trench, looking from side to side as if searching.

‘Excellent,’ calls the director. ‘Now, one more time, please — not so much wagging your head as searching with your eyes.
Feel
the anxiety. Walk
very, very
slowly.’

Di takes tiny steps. Perhaps this cameo will be the beginning of a film career. She glances around and shivers once or twice to denote anxiety. Lovey’s chant is unsettling her, though. She wants to stop and order the child away.

She does stop, but for a different reason.

‘Wait a minute,’ she says, her voice quavering. ‘There’s something down here.’

She bends down to get a better look, then straightens. Held at arm’s length, between finger and thumb, is a yellowing jawbone. The cameraman zooms in on it.

‘Don’t touch it!’ screams Lovey, too late. ‘The curse will get you!’ She runs away, out of the bush, her bare feet dancing over the tussocks, arms waving wildly. The cameraman tracks her, thinking this might be useful footage.

‘Bugger,’ says the director, taking the bone from Di and turning it in his hands. A tooth falls out. ‘Tim! Did we put body parts in the trench?’

Tim shakes his head. All the crew are silent.

‘Jesus wept,’ says the director, holding the jawbone up for them all to see. ‘We’ve got a situation here. This is real.’ He looks more closely. ‘Human. Just what we bloody need. Cut the smoke, Tim.’

Cursing, he throws the jawbone back into the trench. It hits Di on the arm and falls at her feet.

‘Get away, get away!’ she screams, kicking it as if it’s alive. No longer Queen of the Nether Regions, she scrabbles her way out
of the trench, desperate to get away and up into the real world.

The director waves her and the crew into his orbit. He speaks in a low voice. ‘Look. Do you think we can keep this under wraps until the shoot is over? A couple of weeks? Three?’ He looks down into the trench, then jumps in and kicks some soil around. ‘There. No sign of the rest. Anyone uncomfortable about that?’ He looks belligerently from face to face. There’s a bit of shuffling; no one looks him in the eye. ‘We tell the officials when we’re done, eh?’ He looks up at Di. ‘Very tight schedule, darling. Producers on our back. Mum’s the word meantime?’

Di swallows. The hand that held the bone is burning. ‘I won’t go into the trench again.’

‘Understood, sweetheart. We got good footage that time anyway. Stunning. I tell you what, we’ll move the trench a little.’ He speaks to one of the crew, business-like now that the schedule seems on track again. ‘Get Claude and his digger to fill in say three metres here and we’ll film just a bit further down the line.’

Di walks slowly out to the road. Despite her warm cloak and her burning hand, she’s shivering. She tells herself that Lovey is a silly impressionable child, her head full of outdated Maori legends. But Lovey’s high-pitched scream, the threat of a curse, is taking root, overriding Di’s rational sense. She pulls up a clump of wet grass and scrubs at her hand; tosses it away again as if it’s filthy.

Back in the catering tent, she gulps down hot tea.

‘What’s up with Lovey?’ asks Tina. ‘She ran off home like a scalded cat.’

Di Masefield shrugs and walks away. She wants the costume off, the boots off, her old safe self back in control.

Breaking news

Mona Kingi leaves her lovely kitchen, where baking bread warms the air and all is clean and orderly. Her step is firm, her eyes bright. Whatever the new medication is, it’s working. She hasn’t felt like this for years. She smooths back her hair, which has grown out grey over the past few years but still curls and kinks around her glowing and sweaty face. She walks upright, with a little sway which her mother and grandmother have taught her. ‘Remember your royal blood, Mona,’ they would say. ‘You are of a chiefly family and must step with mana.’ Mona knows her step recently has been anything but chiefly, but today, at last, feels again the presence of her ancestors. Outside, the air is crisp, the morning sun a blessing. She smiles at nothing much, looking around for George. There he is, out in the shed, loading hay onto the tractor. Her good solid husband. She speaks to her ancestors quietly: Let this be the end of it all. Let things stay normal this time.

But despite her good mood, she has a purpose. George must hear this. She waves to him and mimes a cup of tea. He waves back, showing five fingers. He’ll be in shortly. Back in
the kitchen, she makes the tea, butters fresh scones.

‘Lovey’s in a bit of a state,’ she says, when George has come in and they’re both sitting by the wood-burner. ‘I don’t think it’s good for her being an extra in the film. She gets ideas.’

George picks straw from his jersey, is about to drop it on the floor, then notices his wife’s frown. He opens the wood-burner door and chucks in the handful. ‘When doesn’t our girlie get ideas? What’s it this time?’

‘She was over in the bush block yesterday. Says they found human bones. Says it’s tapu and they’ll all be cursed.’

George straightens. ‘Bugger.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

George won’t look at her as he speaks. ‘Bull Howie’s stirred up about that block too. Lovey maybe caught a hint from him and made up her own story. She thinks the place is spooked.’

‘She thinks it’s tapu, George. Says she saw a jawbone.’

‘It’ll be a sheep. Or a deer. Plenty of them buried around here. They’re filming again today, aren’t they? If they’d found human remains, the authorities would be all over the place.’ George watches her, anxiety in every line of his face.

‘Don’t look like that, George, I’m not going down again. But Lovey might be right. What if it is an old urupa?’

‘A what?’

‘Urupa, burial site. Who dragged you up, George Kingi?’

George grins. ‘Not your old kuia, that’s for sure. Look, if they found something, why are they still filming?’

‘They could be ignoring it. Covering up the evidence till they’re done. I think you should have a word to Stan down at the police.’

George scratches his head, picks at another straw. ‘Yeah, well. Maybe I will. Wait till Lovey’s back from school, see if her story’s still the same, eh?’ He stands and looks down at her. ‘God, you look bonza today. I could eat you along with the scones!’

She throws the tea towel at him, laughing. ‘I can see through you, George Kingi, trying to change the subject. Get on out with you!’

Mona watches him go. He doesn’t want to rock the boat, that’s clear. He won’t go to the police. But he’s uneasy — George can never hide his feelings. She considers reporting it herself but knows there will be raised eyebrows, comments behind her back, whispers about her state of mind. And Lovey has a bit of a reputation herself for over-dramatising, for seeing ghosts behind every bush. Mona decides it won’t hurt to wait until Lovey gets home.

Lovey is uncharacteristically quiet in Room One that day. Miss Piaka, though enjoying the peace, is worried. The child is pale and the shadows under her eyes darker than usual. Taking part in the movie is an unwarranted interruption in Miss Piaka’s eyes, though the older sister, Tina, had assured the head teacher that it would be for only a few days, and that learning about ancient legends and filming techniques would be a valuable cultural experience for Lovey. Three of the older children have already had bit parts. In a two-teacher school
like Manawa — and one with a sinking roll — even a few kids away makes a big dent. She and Mick will be glad when the filming is over.

At interval Lovey stays inside instead of making her usual rush for the playground. She sits at her desk, destroying her sandwich and pushing the crumbs about.

‘Something wrong, Lovey?’ Miss Piaka suspects the mother’s health.

Lovey nods.

‘Want to talk about it?’

Lovey nods again, stirring the crumbs into patterns.

The teacher rules out the mother. Lovey never breathes a word about her mother’s ‘episodes’, which are well discussed in the community.

‘Someone bullying you?’

Lovey shakes her head. ‘I think I got a kanga on me.’ She looks up, her eyes black as tar. ‘Mrs Masefield too — even worse than me.’

‘Lovey,’ says Miss Piaka firmly, ‘no one would put a curse on you. Or Mrs Masefield,’ although she finds this more believable. ‘Who’s been telling you these silly stories?’

‘I saw the bones.’ Lovey fingers her own jaw. ‘I saw the teeth fall out. I saw Mrs Masefield hold it. It was buried, but they dug it up.’

Miss Piaka waits for more. Out it all comes, Lovey enjoying the telling now she has started.

‘The film people dug a trench over the other side, in a spook place. It’s real spooked, Miss Piaka, you can feel dead people under the ground. It’ll be our tupuna for sure, and now they’ve
got stirred up and Mrs Masefield is for it ’cause she picked up the jawbone, and I might be too, and the cameraman and the director and all them watching. They’re all for it.’

Miss Piaka narrows her eyes. ‘The film crew were watching?’

‘Ae, but I said a karakia, Miss, and I ran away quick when I saw it. Do you think that might get me off the kanga?’

Miss Piaka smiles approvingly. ‘You did the right thing. Now, Lovey, listen, this is important. You’re sure it wasn’t a dead sheep? Or other animal? How did you know it was human?’

Lovey fingers her jaw again. ‘Dad brings out deer and pigs and that. He’s always hunting. We know what they look like. This jawbone was short. The teeth were small. And anyway, you don’t get a spook feeling from dead animals.’

‘Indeed.’ Miss Piaka breathes through her nose, a sure sign she’s angry. ‘Lovey, I’m going to talk to the police about this. Can you tell them this same story?’ Lovey nods solemnly and Miss Piaka pats her on the shoulder. ‘Run out now, sweetheart. You did the right thing telling me.’

Hekia Piaka is from up north. A proud Nga Puhi stalwart. Manawa parents believe she scared off any suitors long ago. Tall, bony and narrow-nosed, she has kept the junior class in strict order for the last ten years. She marched as a teenager in the great land hikoi, and enjoys taking on the authorities over Maori issues. The belief that a film crew might deliberately desecrate an ancient urupa is fuel for her crusading fire.

After school, she rings up Matt Scobie at the
Ruapehu Bulletin
and offers him a story. Together they call in to the police office in Ohakune.

‘Come on, Hekia,’ says Stan Lam. ‘We don’t want to pull the plug on a good little earner for the town. Especially this year.’

Hekia Piaka glares — a frightening accomplishment which she has perfected in the classroom. ‘You can’t be serious. This could well be an urupa.’

‘On the say-so of an impressionable child? It’ll be wild pig or deer.’

‘She knows her animals. You have to talk to her, Stan. And to Di Masefield. She was there evidently.’

‘Di Masefield? Bloody hell.’ Stan sighs. He doesn’t like Hekia. Her pushy demands rub him up the wrong way. His family, Chinese market gardeners, have lived in the district for generations. In Stan’s opinion, the secret to policing in this mixed community is to keep your eyes open, your head down, and always be ready for a friendly man-to-man chat. He leans over the counter to wink at Matt Scobie, who’s sitting in a corner, listening, his camera dangling from his neck, notebook in hand. ‘What do you say, Matt? Let it lie until we have a more reliable witness?’

Matt shifts uncomfortably under Hekia’s scrutiny. He shrugs, torn between wanting to side with the policeman and the possibility of a good story.

‘At least check with Di,’ says Hekia, her sharp eyes challenging. ‘She’s got property interests in Manawa. It might suit her to cover up something like this.’

‘Thank you, Hekia,’ says Stan, lifting the counter flap and coming around to face her. He smiles, offering his hand, which she shakes reluctantly, then ushers her to the door. ‘I’ll look into it.’

When she’s safely outside, he turns to the reporter, grinning. ‘You game to take this up with the battle-axe?’

Matt grins back. It’s tempting. He’s had plenty of run-ins with Di Masefield. ‘Give it a go.’

But the battle-axe is out for the day, her husband says, meetings in Whanganui. Matt Scobie decides to drive out to Manawa; take a look, speak to some locals. A new angle on the filming won’t go amiss.