WORK

New Zealand Listener, Volume 28, Issue 717, 10 April 1953, Page 8

WORK

ee A Short Story by

MARIE

INSLEY

= HEY all bought new hats for the job-felts, with wide brims, Toi said they would keep the dust out of their eyes, The hats fitted. well, except that Piri’s hat would not keep down over his bushy hair. He wore it on one side. On the other side the black, glossy hair spread out to the edge of the brim. They wore coloured shirts and grey slacks: Over these Toi wore overalls. He was the only one allowed to handle the drill. Sometimes, while they were waiting for Toi to cut a new line, Piri and Heta would practise the double throw with the picks, If Ken, the gang boss, came along, he would scowl and say, "Get on with the job!" Piri and Heta liked best to work the lever that loosened the rails. As they sat facing each other they would talk, sometimes sing. Their laughter rang out even above the noise of the drill. But Piri was not happy. At the house where they had a room they were always being told to be quiet: At home there was always plenty of noise. Everybody sang. Everybody laughed. Nobody worked as hard as Toi was doing with the drill. Now, at night, Toi was too tired to go out or to sing the songs with them. "Community tonight? Do the sticks?" Piri asked as he and Heta worked the lever, . "The pictures," Heta replied, "I take the kotiro to the pictures, Pakeha girl, eh?" "Whee!" There was disappointment in Piri’s voice. "You promised to show me that throw."

"I show you when we have the spell," Heta promised. The previous night, at the Community Centre, they had been doing the stick game. When the game was over -Heta had got up from the floor and, picking up one of the long sticks. twirled it around and around in his hands, Throwing it into the air while it was whirling fast he had caught it on his forearm, then on his shoulder and finally, on the bent forearm, all in perfect rhythm. Piri had tried it again and again, but without success, Now as they worked the lever back and forth Piri felt lonelier than ever. Heta was going out ==

with a girl and Toi would ‘be tired and go to bed. He would have to go to the

Community Centre alone. A great longing for his village filled him. All the time, day time, night time on the marae everybody was happy. Everybody worked but they could stop in the work to talk and laugh, to have the joke. He thought of the--three years at High School. Walking two miles every day to catch the launch which took them across the river. Then another mile on the other side to the school. What was the good of it all? Now it was over and there was no work. When: the three boys had come tc the city in search of jobs they found that hundreds of Maori boys had lately come to town, Some, a few, were lucky.

They had got jobs as apprentices, some in offices. "And they had been able to get atcommodation in a hostel, But the hostel was small and could. not take a quarter of their number. Piri and Heta and Toi had slept in the park for three nights. Then they had found a small room in a tumbledown house in a back street. They had their meals out. LITTLE drizzle started. Piri jumped up. "Come on, Heta!" he called. "The rain! We can’t work in the rain!" He picked up the big broom, which was used to sweep the lines when a

tram came along, and ran for the shelter of ia shop verandah. Heta fol-

_ a _- lowed him, laughing Again and again Piri twirled the broom, but when he came to throw it into the air, and tried to catch it on his outstretched arm he would miss and the broom would fall to the ground, Then Heta took the broom and showed him. How easy it looked! Several of the shopkeepers came out on to the pavement to watch. Toi stopped the drill and came, too, Then Ken came over to talk to a man who was standing in his shop doorway. Piri had the broom again. He twirled the broom fast and faster, threw it and caught it just as Heta had done on arm, shoulder, and bent forearm. He practised it again and again, The drizzle stopped. Heta and Toi went back to work. Piri still ‘stood on the edge of the pavement twirling the

broom. "Back to work!" Ken calléd. "The rain’s over." Piri put the broom over his shoulder and walked slowly back. Ken turned to the man in the doorway. "They're bone. lazy!" he said loudly. "You have to drive them all the time!" "Oh, I don’t. know," the man answered. "They’ve covered a lot of ground since yesterday." "They waste too much time," Ken grumbled, FTER three weeks of working on the tram lines Piri decided to go back home, It was-too lonely and sad in the town. Nobody laughed while they worked, Nobody sang. Even the people walking along the streets looked sad. Anyway, just breaking up the pavement, driving the pick in, sorting the heavy pieces and throwing them into _heaps-was it for this that he had gone to secondary school? He looked at Toi whose whole body was shaken by the drill. Toi was getting sad, too. Sad and tired. He had been a smart boy at school, Piri leaned on his pick, his eyes on Toi. Then he saw the gang boss at the end of the line, watching him. He picked up two of the shovels and, with a feot on each, using them as stilts. he walked towards him. He smiled broadly as he saw Ken’s face flush with anger. Piri stopped when he came level with him and, still balancing on the shovels, said, "I take the sack, Ken." He jumped down, put the shovels one inside the other and laid them on

the ground. Then he walked away. He turned to wave to Heta and Toi. They would be angry. It was good money and Heta and Toi believed ‘that one day they would get other work. Piri knew it was hopeless. He was going back home, * * A CAR pulled up on the roadway. The occupants got out and came slowly up the hill towards the marae. Piri was aware of their voices but he did not look up. Often Tarua, who had been to the University, would show the pakeha around the pa. Sharp and clear the vision was before Piri. With each turn of his wrist and fingers he was working out the design. The spirits of his ancestors were working within him. Each day his vision took shape, growing slowly into the carving, Soon it would be finished. Until that day he could not rest. Only at night when it was too dark to work, would he pause. Even then, in his sleep, he could see the finished carved pole in all its beauty, the legend clearly marked upon it, He knew that the visitors had stopped besire Eru, the other young carver. They were watching him at work on the panel. Eru was talking to them, stopping his work to answer their questions. Then they were coming to him. He tried to shut out their voices. If he stopped to talk to them the picture would fade, the knowledge of what he had to do would be gone. And he would have to{wait, perhaps a long time, before he could continue. They were silent as they grouped about him. Perhaps they felt his withdrawal. He worked on without raising his eyes. Then a woman spoke in a _ highpitched voice. "Oh, but I think it’s marvellous! Just marvellous!" And a man’s voice, "Where do they learn all this?" ; Tarua answered. "There is a Maori school of carving. The boys go there some for five years, to study under one of the old Maori carvers. But this boy has never been there. He is one of the lucky ones. He does not need to learn the carving. Eru, over there," he said. pointing, "is a skilled craftsman. He is given the design and follows it, though he does not fully understand its meaning. But this boy," he rested his hand

on Piri’s shoulder, "this boy comes from a long line of carvers and weavers." "But how does he do it?" The man was speaking again. "How does he know what to do?" Tarua chuckled. "He just knows, The carvers of long ago come back and work through him. The designs? Some are just the same as those found on the ancient Maori carvings. Carvings this boy has never seen." "And how long does it take to finish? Say, this one?" the man asked. "A long time: It is hard ae This boy works day after day, never stops. Not until dark. Only at night he rests." "What does it all mean? What story is there?" It was no use. That voice. Piri had to look up. That voice disturbed him, Someone he knew? He turned and looked up at the man. Then he smiled. "Ken!" he said, standing up.

"Goo’-day, Piri!" Ken reached forward and grasped Piri’s hand, letting it fall immediately. "So this is where you got to! When are you coming back to Auckland?" | Piri said nothing but stood there looking at him. "Toi has a car now, and Heta is married," Ken said. "I know," Piri replied. Tarua had moved away, all but Ken following him. "You should come back," Ken said. "This is all right.’ In one swift glance he took in the pa and its surroundings. "This is all right, but a smart boy like you should be in the city." "I stay here," Piri said. "Well!" Ken. threw out his hands. He looked at the carving and then back at Piri again. "Tell me, then, what’s this all mean? These lines at the side. What do they mean?"

"I can’t tell you," Piri said. "You mean you don’t know?" Ken said in a surprised voice. Piri did not answer. "Tarua said that the spirits of your ancestors worked through you. How dc they do that?" "I don’t know," Piri answered. Piri’s eyes moved from the distant hills to the willow-bordered stream that wound around at the base of the hill on which the pa stood, then to the marae in front of the meeting-house. Down or the flat piece of ground at the edge of the stream some of the young people were working among the corn and vegetables. He could hear laughter and singing. He wanted to join them. "Well, so long," Ken said. Tarua had taken the group into the meetinghouse. Ken hurried after them. "You come to town, boy," he called back. Piri threw himself down on the

grass beside the carving. He was disturbed but he knew that through the earth came comfort and healing. Soon he would be quiet again and go back to his work. He thought of Toi. Toi at the drill and Toi ‘in his new car. And he thought of Heta and his young pakeha wife, living in one room in the city. And Ken! Ken had wanted to know the meaning of the carving, the story it told. How could he tell him? Some things he was forbidden to tell. And Ken had wanted to know how his ancestors worked through him. He could not tell him that. He did not know himself. He only knew that this restlessness possessed him when he was not working. That as soon as he took up the knife he was at peace and so quickly did the pattern form in his mind that he must work ceaselessly to follow it.