The Whale Rider Page 6

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.