The Whale Rider (3 page)

five

Uia mai koia whakahuatia ake, Ko wai te whare nei e? Ko Te Kani! Ko
wai te tekoteko kei runga? Ko Paikea, ko Paikea! Whakakau Paikea
hei
, Whakakau he tipua
hei
, Whakakau he
taniwha
hei
, Ka u a Paikea ki Ahuahu, pakia, Kei te
whitia koe, ko Kahutia Te Rangi,
aue
, Me awhi o ringa ki
te tamahine, A te Whironui, aue, Nana i noho Te Roto-o-Tahe, aue, aue, He Koruru koe, koro
e!

Four hundred leagues from Easter Island. Te Pito o te Whenua.
Diatoms of light shimmered in the cobalt-blue depths of the Pacific. The herd, sixty
strong, led by its ancient leader, was following the course computed by him in the
massive banks of his memory. The elderly females assisted the younger mothers,
shepherding the new-born in the first journey from the cetacean crib. Way out in front,
on point and in the rear, the young males kept guard on the horizon. They watched for
danger, not from other creatures of the sea, but from the greatest threat of all
— man. At every sighting they would send their ululation back to their leader.
They had grown to rely on his memory of the underwater cathedrals where they could take
sanctuary, often for days, until man had passed. Such a huge cathedral lay beneath the
sea at the place known as the Navel of the Universe.

Yet it had not always been like this, the ancient whale remembered.
Once, he had a golden master who had wooed him with flute song. Then his master had used
a conch shell to bray his commands to the whale over long distances. As their
communication grew so did their understanding and love of each other. Although the young
whale had then been almost twelve metres long, his golden master had begun to swim with
him in the sea.

Then, one day, his master impetuously mounted him and became the
whale rider. In ecstasy the young male had sped out to deep water and, not hearing the
cries of fear from his master, had suddenly sounded in a steep accelerated dive, his
tail stroking the sky. In that first sounding he had almost killed the one other
creature he loved.

Reminiscing like this the ancient bull whale began to cry his grief
in sound ribbons of overwhelming sorrow. Nothing that the elderly females could do would
stop his sadness. When the younger males reported a man-sighting on the horizon it took
all their strength of reasoning to prevent their leader from arrowing out towards the
source of danger. Indeed, only after great coaxing were they able to persuade him to
lead them to the underwater sanctuary. Even so, they knew with a sense of inevitability
that the old one had already begun to sound to the source of his sadness and into the
disturbing dreams of his youth.

six

Three months after Kahu’s birth her mother, Rehua, died.
Porourangi brought her and Kahu back to our village where the funeral was held. When
Rehua’s mother asked if she and her people could raise Kahu, Nanny Flowers
objected strongly. But Porourangi said, ‘Let her go,’ and Koro Apirana
said, ‘Yes, let it be as Porourangi wishes,’ and thereby overruled her.

A week later, Rehua’s mother took Kahu from us. I was with
Nanny Flowers when the taking occurred. Although Porourangi was in tears, Nanny was
strangely tranquil. She held Kahu close, a small face like a dolphin, held and kissed her.

‘Never mind, girl,’ she said to baby Kahu.
‘Your birth cord is here. No matter where you may go, you will always return. You
will never be lost to us.’ Then I marvelled at her wisdom and Rehua’s in
naming the child in our genealogy and the joining of her to our lands.

Our genealogy, of course, is the genealogy of the
people of Te Tai Rawhiti, the people of the East Coast; Te Tai Rawhiti actually means
‘the place washed by the eastern tide’. Far away beyond the horizon is
Hawaiki, our ancestral island homeland, the place of the Ancients and the Gods, and the
other side of the world. In between is the huge seamless marine continent which we call Te
Moana Nui a Kiwa, the Great Ocean of Kiwa.

The first of the Ancients and ancestors had come from the east,
following the pathways in the ocean made by the morning sun. In our case, our ancestor was
Kahutia Te Rangi, who was a high chief in Hawaiki. In those days man had power over the
creatures of land and sea, and it was Kahutia Te Rangi who travelled here on the back of a
whale. This is why our meeting house has a carving of Kahutia Te Rangi on a whale at the
apex. It announces our pride in our ancestor and acknowledges his importance to us.

At the time there were already people living in this land, earlier
voyagers who had come by canoe. But the land had not been blessed so that it would flower
and become fruitful. Other tribes in Aotearoa have their own stories of the high chiefs and
priests who then arrived to bless their tribal territories; our blessing was brought by
similar chiefs and priests, and Kahutia Te Rangi was one of them. He came riding through the
sea, our ancestor Kahutia Te Rangi, astride his whale, and he brought with him the
life-giving forces which would enable us to live in close communion with the world. The
life-giving forces, in the form of spears, were brought from the Houses of Learning called
Te Whakaeroero, Te Rawheoro, Rangitane, and Tapere Nui a Whatonga. They were the gifts of
those houses in Hawaiki to the new land. They were very special because among other things,
they gave instructions on how man might talk with the beasts and creatures of the sea so
that all could live in helpful partnership. They taught
oneness
.

Kahutia Te Rangi landed at Ahuahu, just outside our village, in the
early hours of the morning. To commemorate his voyage he was given another name, Paikea. At
the time of landfall the star Poututerangi was just rising above our sacred mountain,
Hikurangi. The landscape reminded Paikea of his birthplace back in Hawaiki so he named his
new home Whangara Mai Tawhiti, which we call Whangara for short. All the other places around
here are also named after similar headlands and mountains and rivers in Hawaiki —
Tawhiti Point, the Waiapu River, and Tihirau Mai Tawhiti.

It was in this land that Paikea’s destiny lay. He married
the daughter of Te Whironui, and they were fruitful and had many sons and grandsons. And the
people lived on the lands around his pa Ranginui, cultivating their sweet potato and
vegetable gardens in peace and holding fast to the heritage of their ancestors.

Four generations after Paikea, was born the great ancestor Porourangi,
after whom my eldest brother is named. Under his leadership the descent lines of all the
people of Te Tai Rawhiti were united in what is now known as the Ngati Porou confederation.
His younger brother, Tahu Potiki, founded the South Island’s Kai Tahu
confederation.

Many centuries later, the chieftainship was passed to Koro Apirana
and, from him, to my brother Porourangi. Then Porourangi had a daughter whom he named Kahu.

That was eight years ago, when Kahu was born and then
taken to live with her mother’s people. I doubt if any of us realised how
significant she was to become in our lives. When a child is growing up somewhere else you
can’t see the small signs which mark her out as different, someone who was meant
to be. As I have said before, we were all looking somewhere else.

Eight years ago I was sixteen. I’m twenty-four now. The boys
and I still kick around and, although some of my girlfriends have tried hard to tempt me
away from it, my first love is still my BSA. Once a bikie always a bikie. Looking back, I
can truthfully say that Kahu was never forgotten by me and the boys. After all, we were the
ones who brought her birth cord back to Whangara, and only we and Nanny Flowers knew where
it was buried. We were Kahu’s guardians; whenever I was near the place of her
birth cord, I would feel a little tug at my motorbike jacket and hear a voice saying,
‘Hey Uncle Rawiri, don’t forget me.’ I told Nanny Flowers
about it once and her eyes glistened. ‘Even though Kahu is a long way from us
she’s letting us know that she’s thinking of us. One of these days
she’ll come back.’

As it happened, Porourangi went up to get her and bring her back for a
holiday the following summer. At that time he had returned from the South Island to live in
Whangara and work in the city. Koro Apirana was secretly pleased with this arrangement
because he had been wanting to pass on his knowledge to Porourangi. One of these days my
eldest brother will be the big chief. All of a sudden, during a cultural practice in the
meeting house, Porourangi looked up at our ancestor Paikea and said to Koro Apirana,
‘I am feeling very lonely for my daughter.’ Koro Apirana
didn’t say a word, probably hoping that Porourangi would forget his loneliness.
Nanny Flowers, however, as quick as a flash, said, ‘Oh you poor thing. You better
go up and bring her back for a nice holiday with her grandfather.’ We knew she was
having a sly dig at Koro Apirana. We could also tell that
she
was lonely too for the grandchild who was so far flung away from her.

On Kahu’s part, when she first met Koro Apirana, it must
have been love at first sight because she dribbled all over him. Porourangi had walked
through the door with his daughter and Nanny Flowers, cross-eyed with joy, had grabbed Kahu
for a great big hug. Then, before he could say ‘No’ she put Kahu in Koro
Apirana’s arms.

‘Oh no,’ Koro Apirana said.

‘A little dribbling never hurt anybody,’ Nanny
Flowers scoffed.

‘That’s not the end I’m worried
about,’ he grumbled, lifting up Kahu’s blankets. We had to laugh,
because Kahu had dribbled at that end too.

Looking back, I have to say that that first family reunion with Kahu
was filled with warmth and love. It was surprising how closely Kahu and Koro Apirana
resembled each other. She was bald like he was and
she
didn’t have any teeth either. The only difference was that she loved him but he
didn’t love her. He gave her back to Nanny Flowers and she started to cry,
reaching for him. But he turned away and walked out of the house.

‘Never mind, Kahu,’ Nanny Flowers crooned.
‘He’ll come around.’ The trouble was, though, that he never
did.

I suppose there were many reasons for Koro Apirana’s
attitude. For one thing, both he and Nanny Flowers were in their seventies and, although
Nanny Flowers still loved grandchildren, Koro Apirana was probably tired of them. For
another, he was the big chief of the tribe and was perhaps more preoccupied with the many
serious issues facing the survival of the Maori people and our land. But most of all, he had
not wanted an eldest girl-child in Kahu’s generation; he had wanted an eldest
boy-child, somebody more appropriate to teach the traditions of the village to. We
didn’t know it at the time, but he had already begun to look in other families for
such a boy-child.

Kahu didn’t know this either, so of course, her love for him
remained steadfast. Whenever she saw him she would try to sit up and to dribble some more to
attract his attention.

‘That kid’s hungry,’ Koro Apirana would
say.

‘Yeah,’ Nanny Flowers would turn to us,
‘she’s hungry for
him
, the old paka.
Hungry for his love. Come to think of it, I must get a divorce and find a young
husband.’ She and all of us would try to win Kahu over to us but, no, the object
of her affection remained a bald man with no teeth.

At that time there was still nothing about Kahu which struck us as out
of place. But then two small events occurred. The first was when we discovered that Kahu
adored the Maori food. Nanny had given her a spoonful of fermented corn, and next minute
Kahu had eaten the lot. ‘This kid’s a throwback,’ Nanny
Flowers said. ‘She doesn’t like milk or hot drinks, only cold water. She
doesn’t like sugar, only Maori food.’

The second event happened one night when Koro Apirana was having a
tribal meeting at the house. He had asked all the men to be there, including me and the
boys. We crowded into the sitting room and after prayer and a welcome speech, he got down to
business. He said he wanted to begin a regular instruction period for the men so that we
would be able to learn our history and our customs. Just the men, he added, because men were
sacred. Of course the instruction wouldn’t be like in the old days, not as strict,
but the purpose would be the same: to keep the Maori language going, and the strength of the
tribe. It was important, he said, for us to be so taught. The lessons would be held in the
meeting house and would begin the following week.

Naturally we all agreed. Then, in the relaxed atmosphere that always
occurs after a serious discussion, Koro Apirana told us of his own instruction years ago
under the guidance of a priest. One story followed another, and we were all enthralled
because the instruction had mainly taken the form of tests or challenges which he had to
pass: tests of memory, as in remembering long lines of genealogy; tests of dexterity,
wisdom, physical and psychological strength. Among them had been a dive into deep water to
retrieve a carved stone dropped there by the priest.

‘There were so many tests,’ said Koro Apirana,
‘and some of them I did not understand. But I do know the old man had the power to
talk to the beasts and creatures of the sea. Alas, we have lost that power now. Finally,
near the end of my training, he took me into his hut. He put out his foot and pointing to
the big toe, said “Bite.” So I did, and —’

Suddenly, Koro Apirana broke off. A look of disbelief spread over his
face. Trembling, he peered under the table, and so did we. Kahu was there. Somehow she had
managed to crawl unobserved into the room. Koro Apirana’s toes must have looked
juicy to her because there she was, biting on his big toe and making small snarling sounds
as she played with it, like a puppy with a bone. Then she looked up at him, and her eyes
seemed to say, ‘Don’t think you’re leaving
me
out of this.’

We were laughing when we told Nanny Flowers.

‘I don’t know what’s so
funny,’ she said sarcastically, ‘Kahu could have gotten poisoned. But
good on her to take a bite at the old man. Pity she doesn’t have any
teeth.’

Koro Apirana, however, was not so amused and now I understand
why.