The Whale Rider Page 5

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.