HALCYON

Te Ao Hou, 1971, Page 14

HALCYON by Witi ihimaera Once there was a nest, floating on the sea at summer solstice, and happy voices to charm the wind. And somewhere, somewhere, float scattered straws, perhaps only a single straw, which I may light upon…. It was summer, and my parents had decided that they would go to Auckland for a few weeks. We were five, then: Mum and Dad, myself, Kara and Pare. I was the eldest, an important seven years old, and there were my two little sisters. It was decided that we would stay with Nanny Caroline while Mum and Dad were away. We'd never been to Nanny's place. She was an auntie of Mum's and lived up the Coast near Ruatoria. We didn't want to go. Auckland seemed a better place, but Mum said, ‘No, you can't come.’ But as a bribe, only if we were good children at Nanny's mind you, she would bring back some toys; a red clockwork train for me, and a doll each for Kara and Pare. That decided the matter. So one morning, while we were still asleep, Mum got up and packed a small suitcase with clothes she thought we would need; a few shirts, shorts and a pair of

sandals for me; some cotton frocks for my sisters. ‘You won't need much,’ she said. ‘It's summer and it gets hot at Nanny's place. Anyway, most of the kids up the Coast run around with no clothes on.’ That remark just about brought on a revolution until Mum said that we didn't have to take off our clothes if we didn't want to. We were very shy children then, and didn't relish the idea of showing our bottoms and you-know-what to strangers. We had to take a nap that morning; we always had to take a nap if we were going anywhere, even to the two o'clock pictures at the Majestic. But we couldn't sleep. The thought of going away from home, the first time, to a strange lady's place in the strange country, frightened us. ‘It's about time you got to know your relations,’ Mum said. ‘You kids are growing up proper little Pakehas. And Nanny Caroline's always asking me if she's going to see her mokopunas before she dies. Don't you want to see your Nanny?’ We were always respectful children, so we had to say, ‘Yes, we'd like to see Nanny.’ But we didn't really, because we didn't know her. Only what we'd heard: that she was very old, at least fifty, that she had grey hair and a moko. Oh, yes, that she was married to Uncle Pita, and had twelve children with names as funny as ours. Even longer than Mum's, which was Turitumanareti something-or-other. Nanny Caroline's children also spoke Maori. We couldn't, and we wondered how we would be able to talk to them. But I had been to Scouts and Kara had learnt some sign language from Janet, the Pakeha girl next door, who was a Brownie. But we still didn't like the idea of going; it was all Maoris up the Coast, no Pakehas, and we were used to Pakehas. Furthermore, the Maoris didn't even wear pyjamas to bed and we knew that was rude. But Mum said, ‘You'll like it up there and anyway Nanny knows you're coming.’ So we had to go, because it's not polite not to go to somebody's place after they know you're coming; just like the time when Allan had invited us to his birthday party and his mother got angry when we didn't turn up. Dad put our suitcase in the boot of the car and yelled out to us to hurry up as he didn't have all day. We kissed Mum goodbye and told her not to forget our toys. Pare started crying, so Mum gave her a lolly. We hopped in the front with Dad and he started the motor. ‘Goodbye, Mum,’ we cried, hoping that she would suddenly change her mind and let us go to Auckland. But she fluttered her hand and went into the house. We wondered if we'd see her again. We slept most of the way to Nanny's place. The heat from the motor always made us feel sleepy. But most of all, we hoped that when we woke up, we'd find that going to Nanny's place had just been a bad dream. But it wasn't a dream, because every now and then I'd make a small crack in my eyes and look out and see Gisborne going past, then Wainui, then Whangara. At Tolaga Bay, we stopped at a small shop and Dad bought some orange penny suckers. We had pointed out that it wasn't fair that Pare had a lolly and we hadn't. So for a while, we sat quietly sucking our lollies and watching the hills coming to meet us. Pare had a sucker too, and that wasn't fair either, because it meant that she had had two and we had just had one. But Dad wouldn't stop the car again. He said it was a long way to Nanny's place and he was in a hurry. Sometimes we sang songs, because Dad liked us singing songs while he was driving. He said it helped keep him awake. We wondered that if we didn't sing, perhaps he'd go to sleep and we'd never get to Nanny's place. We crossed our fingers. But Dad was wide awake that day. It seemed ages before we got to Tokomaru Bay. That was the furthest away from home we had ever been. We watched silently as the township slid past, over the edge of our world. After a while, we went to sleep again. We must have been asleep for a long time, because when the truck bumped to a stop. it was night. ‘Where are we, Dad?’ I asked. ‘Almost at Nanny's place,’ he said. ‘Hop out and open the gate.’ I opened the door and ran to the gate. It didn't have a latch, just a piece of wire wound round and round a batten, but I managed to get it untangled and the gate swung open. Dad drove through. Kara and Pare were awake, and we sat looking out the window, watching the head-

lights bobbing along the rough, muddy. track. Then all of a sudden, the track disappeared and we were at the edge of a cliff. Far below, we could see the sea, thundering against the rocks, white-tipped and angry. And on a small spit of sand, shone the lights of Nanny's place. ‘Here we are,’ Dad said. Pare started to cry again. ‘Tom! Is that you?’ a voice yelled. Dad yelled back. ‘Hang on a minute,’ the voice said. We looked down to the house and saw a man putting on his gumboots in the light of the doorway. He shouted in a strange language and a smaller shadow appeared from inside with a tilly lamp. The man took the lamp and we watched as it glided along the beach and started to climb up the cliff. We heard the man huffing and puffing and swearing when he slipped, and we clutched each other because he sounded just like the fee fi fo fum man. Then he was there, and he didn't look like a giant. But you could never tell. With him were some kids. They surveyed us curiously. They were wearing pyjamas, tucked into gumboots. ‘Tena koe, Tom!’ the man said. He shook Dad's hand and grinned at us. Then he shook our hands too, even Pare's. ‘Here, give that suitcase to Albert,’ he said. One of the kids took the suitcase. He was quite a bit bigger than I was. ‘Right! Let's go down to the house,’ the man said. He turned to us. ‘Come on, mokopunas, your Nanny been waiting for you all day.’ We followed him. Dad was carrying Pare because she was the smallest. Kara clutched tightly to his coat and I clutched Kara. Dad was speaking to the man, and every now and then they would both laugh and look at us. At the door, Kara and I bent down to take off our shoes. ‘E tama!’ the man laughed. ‘Leave them on, leave them on.’ But we still thought we'd better take them off. Nanny's children giggled and we were embarrassed. Then, suddenly, the light seemed to go out. We looked up, startled. ‘Tena koutou, mokopunas.’ It was Nanny Caroline and she was crying. She grabbed us to her and squeezed us. She was soft and very fat and she had a funny mouth because she didn't have any teeth. Then she held us away from her to have a good look at us. She mumbled something in Maori and then in English. ‘You kids look just like Julia.’ Julia was our mother's Pakeha name. She gave Dad a hongi and began to growl him for not bringing us earlier, speaking flat out in Maori and giving him playful smacks. We observed our Nanny carefully. She didn't seem old, not as old as we thought she would be. She looked a bit like Mum, except that she was fatter and didn't have nice brown hair. She did have a moko, and it looked very nice, all green and curly. Nanny ran her eyes over us, concernedly, and began to mumble something like, ‘You kids are skinny,’ and ‘Doesn't Julia feed these kids, Tom?’ and, ‘We'll soon put the beef on them.’ On an open fire was a big black pot. We clutched Dad tightly, and he whispered in Nanny's ear. She laughed and went to the pot and motioned us toward it. The children giggled. We went and had a look. Inside, was some kai. We were suddenly very hungry. I looked at Kara and grinned. She grinned back. We had a big feed then, on large tin plates filled with potatoes, mutton chops and some funny stuff we later found out was seaweed. Nanny piled our plates so full, that some of the food overflowed onto the table, but she didn't seem to mind. The children sat down with us. Kara asked for a knife and fork and the kids giggled. But Nanny said ‘Turi, turi,’ and told Grace, the biggest girl, to get us knives and forks. We were embarrassed then, especially when we saw the kids getting stuck in with their fingers, and Nanny and Uncle Pita and even our father slurping away at the seaweed. Every now and then, the kids would giggle and put their hands over their faces and look at us and giggle again. Afterwards, Nanny introduced us to the other children. Tamihana, the eldest, was nearly as big as Dad. Then came Grace, George, who was very shy, Albert, who'd carried my case, and Kararaina, a girl with huge eyes. Hone gave me a big grin, and Sid, who seemed about the same size as I was, smiled too. Kopua and Sally were younger. Sally looked smart. I was surprised when Kepa, who was four, came and stood by me and held my hand. Whiti, just a bit smaller, came over too, and held onto Kepa. Emere was crawling on the floor. It wasn't made of wood, just dirt. But Emere didn't seem to mind. She

crawled between everybody's legs and every now and then, one of the kids would put their hands under the table and put a piece of mutton into her mouth. Nanny had a cat too, and the cat and Emere often had to race for the meat. Emere mostly won. While we were having our tea, Kara and I looked round. Nanny didn't have electricity, just some lamps and candles and the light from the fire. The room was very plain, hardly any furniture except for the table, two long forms, a few extra chairs, a cupboard for crockery, and a small tin food safe. On the wall was a picture of the King, and a big photograph of Nanny's whole family, except for Emere. When we pointed this out to Nanny later, she laughed and said, ‘Emere's there!’ But we still couldn't see her, so Nanny pointed to her puku in the photograph, and we thought she was rude. The room was decorated with pictures from magazines, and streamers from last Christmas were strung across the rafters. In the middle of the roof, a long sticky fly paper hung, spattered over with dead flies. And on the mantelpiece above the fire, was a long piece of newspaper, cut into jaggedy patterns. The house was very warm, but a little smoky, because the wind used to come down the chimney and billow the smoke and ash onto the floor. Outside, we could hear the sea saying swish, swish, swish. It seemed as if Nanny's place was a nest floating in the sea…. After tea, Nanny Caroline told the kids to wash up. We asked if we could help, but she said, ‘What you think I have all

these kids for?’ But Kara helped and she and two of Nanny's girls were soon gabbling quickly. Kara was always good at getting on with people. I sat down by Dad and listened to him and Uncle Pita talking, but I couldn't understand. And anyway, I wanted to go to the toilet. I leaned over and whispered to Dad. He laughed and asked Nanny Caroline, ‘E Kara! My boy wants to go and have a mimi,’ I looked down to the floor quickly and blushed. ‘Kopua,’ Nanny called, ‘you show your cousin where the lavatree is. Go with him. He might fall into the hole.’ Kopua grinned at me and got a torch. ‘Come on coz,’ he said. Nanny's place didn't have a toilet inside. I put my shoes on and Kopua shone the torch along a track. At the end of the track was a tin shed and Kopua shone the torch inside. ‘I'll wait here,’ he said. He sat on a log. ‘No, it's all right,’ I said. But he just sat there, directing the light on the seat. I tried to hide myself as I slid my pants down. I wished the place had a door on it. I was sure that they could see me from the house. ‘Pass me a comic,’ Kopua said. I reached down to the wooden boards and threw him a tattered Western. He swung the torch from me to the pages. We weren't allowed to read comics, only Dad. I tried to hurry up and make as little noise as possible. And when I finished, I tried not to rustle the paper too much. ‘I'm finished now,’ I said when I was dressed again. ‘That was short,’ Kopua said. He grinned. I was glad it was dark. We walked back to the house. Dad was getting ready to go. Pare had fallen asleep and he had taken her to bed. Kara was crying and I would have cried too, except that boys aren't allowed to cry. ‘We walked with Dad to the truck. He kissed us both. ‘Be good,’ he said. ‘Will you be back to get us?’ Kara asked. ‘O course,’ he said. We held him tight and then he hopped into the truck and started the motor. The truck backed onto the track, and headlights swung round. Then it slowly trundled away, and we were left standing with Nanny Caroline, under the lamp collecting moths to its glow. That night, I tried not to cry too loudly, because I was in the boys' room. There were three beds, and I shared one bed with Kopua and Hone. I was in the middle and it was uncomfortable because Kopua kept on kicking and Hone was always pulling the blankets off. It was strange sleeping with other people, but Nanny's place was very small. The younger ones even slept in her bed, with her and Uncle Pita. I wondered how the kids didn't fall off, because Nanny was very fat and Uncle had a big puku. Kara and Pare were sleeping in the next room. We had kissed each other before going to bed, Kara and I, because now that Dad was gone, we only had each other and Pare. I couldn't go to sleep for a long time, because Pare woke up soon after Dad left and she kept on calling ‘Mummy, Mummy,’ and that made me cry too. But Nanny got up and I watched the candle flickering past the door and heard Nanny comforting her. Then the candle floated past the door again, and I saw Nanny holding Pare in her arms, taking her to sleep in her bed. I wished I could go too, because Nanny looked just like Mum in the candlelight. For a long time, I listened to Pare sobbing, and the warm hushed sounds of Nanny singing her a song. Then the sobbing began to get quieter, and soon there was only that soft lullaby, sending me to sleep. The next morning, I woke up to find I was the only one in bed. I jumped out and hurriedly got dressed before somebody came in. There were no doors and I was shy. I called through the wall, ‘Kara, are you there?’ There was no answer, so I crept slowly into the room to have a look. She was gone. And so was Pare. I walked into the kitchen to look for them. Nanny was sitting at the table playing patience. Pare was clinging to her skirt. ‘Tena koe, sleepyhead,’ she laughed. I looked down. ‘You have a good sleep,’ she asked. I nodded, ‘Yes, thank you, Nanny.’ She laughed again and said ‘Come and give Nanny a kiss.’ So I put up my cheek for her. ‘My mokopuna,’ she said kindly, ‘you're Julia's kid all right. You got a hungry puku?’ I said yes, so she yelled out, ‘Grace! Come and get some kai for your cousin.’ Grace came in. and through the open door I could see Kara playing with the

other kids. I felt she had forsaken me and was very hurt. I turned to Pare and kissed her, but she was busy playing with the cat. I was alone and I felt very sorry for myself. Kara came in and said, ‘You're up at last.’ She laughed and the other girls laughed too. I ate my kai and then sat silently for a while. Hone came in. He had just finished milking the cow. ‘Gidday, coz,’ he greeted. ‘Gidday,’ I said. He put the milk pail down and some of the milk sloshed onto the floor. But Nanny didn't seem to mind. Hone came and sat by me. Then he said, ‘You want to come?’ I asked, ‘Where?’ ‘Just to look around.’ I nodded. Hone was about two years older than me and taller too. He had big shoulders and a lot of muscles. He swaggered a lot, but that was only for show. I liked him. We climbed to the top of the cliff and rested without speaking to each other. I looked back at the house and gasped. Hone laughed. ‘What's wrong, coz?’ he asked. ‘Look at your house,’ I said. ‘It's almost in the sea!’ He laughed again. ‘That's because it's high tide,’ he explained. ‘You want to come here in winter, we turn into a boat then!’ For a long time, I couldn't take my eyes from the house. It was very old and made of rusting corrugated iron, nailed firmly together. It was very small, a small tin shack standing on the sand, lazy smoke curling from the chimney. But the most surprising thing was that the sea lapped just a few feet away, like the edge of a slice of bread that someone had bitten. I could just imagine the house suddenly floating among the waves, floating, floating away…. ‘Don't you get scared?’ I asked. Hone shrugged his shoulders. ‘If we drown, we drown,’ he said. ‘Look over there.’ Hone pointed out to sea. A small row-boat bobbed among the glistening waves. I shaded my eyes. ‘Who's that?’ I asked. ‘That's Dad and Tamihana,’ he answered. ‘They're having a look to see if they caught any crayfish today. That's how we live.’ I looked at him, puzzled. ‘Does it take long to catch crayfish?’ He laughed. ‘You are a townie! You use pots to catch crayfish.’ ‘Oh,’ I said. Is that all that Uncle Pita does?’ ‘That's all, that's how we live. A good life.’ I looked out again. I wasn't so sure. Hone stood up. ‘Come on coz, there's still a lot to show you.’ We walked together along the cliff, Hone pointing out all the landmarks; where an old pa used to be, a small sandy cove where they usually went swimming, the cow bail, the neighbours' house so far away. We went down the track to the main road and watched the cars whiz past, the kids in back seats staring back at us. A big sheep truck rumbled by and the driver waved and honked his horn. ‘That's Uncle Jackie,’ Hone informed me. ‘He's one of your bones too.’ After a while, we turned back. ‘What you do at school?’ Hone asked. I told him that I was in Standard One and he said he was in Standard One as well, so I said I was dumb anyway. Because Hone was two years older than me, and he looked embarrassed. He said he was leaving school as soon as he was 15 and going to work on a station. I was envious. ‘What you going to do?’ he asked. I told him Mum wanted me to stay at school for a long time. ‘What for?’ I couldn't tell him. I didn't know. When we arrived back at the house, some of the other boys were playing Four Square with a tennis ball. Every now and then, they had to run after the dog, because he would rush up and grab the ball in his teeth and run away with it. ‘Get away, Spot!’ they would yell. And they would squabble that the ball had gone into somebody else's square. ‘Cheat! Cheat!’ they yelled. They saw me. ‘You want a game, coz?’ I joined them. We played for a long time and it was very exciting. I won a few games and Kopua told me, ‘You can play good.’ That made me feel very proud, but I wasn't so sure that I could because sometimes it seemed that they were letting me win. Especially Kepa who made such a fuss when he lost a point. ‘Don't be sore, snotty nose!’ one of the other boys would yell. The girls decided to join us, so Kopua made some more squares in the sand with a piece of stick and we played with ten squares. That was more exciting!

Kararaina got so carried away, that she forgot to be a lady and tucked her dress into her pants. Then Nanny called, ‘Haere mai ki te kai,’ so we scrambled inside. ‘Having a good time?’ Nanny asked. I nodded excitedly. ‘You kids can go for a swim afterward,’ she said. So we hurried up eating. ‘Can you swim?’ Albert asked, as we ran down the beach. I nodded. In Gisborne, Kara and I used to go to Swimming Club with Graeme and I had once won a twenty five yard race. ‘I can too,’ he said. Ahead of us, I could see Kara and Pare, screaming and yelling and waving their towels. Sometimes, Pare would be left behind because her legs were small. So Sally would grab her up and give a piggy back for a while. Pare loved that; she always liked having a ride. We played tiggy all the way and I was almost out of breath when we reached the cove. ‘You fullas go and get changed over there,’ Grace yelled when we got to the cove. Kepa poked his tongue. ‘She thinks she's boss,’ he whispered to me. ‘And don't you look, either,’ Grace added, ‘or I'll give you a hiding!’ The other girls giggled and hid behind a rock and whispered quietly to one another. ‘Come on, coz,’ Albert said. He motioned me to a shady place. The other boys were nearly all undressed. I looked away quickly, because Sid had hairs. ‘Eee!’ they yelled, pointing and slapping at each other's you-know-what. ‘Eee!’ I turned myself away from them, slipped down my pants and put my togs on. The others laughed. Then we ran down the beach and plunged into the sea. The sea was warm and we splashed round, swimming in circles because Nanny had said not to go too far out. The girls joined us. Grace had a petticoat on and a bra and she was fat. ‘Look at the whale!’ Albert yelled and Grace caught him and ducked him underneath. He came up spluttering and she said, ‘What you call me, what you call me ay? Say it again, go on, say it again. Aha! That'll teach you!’ But Albert wasn't scared of her. He swam away from her where she couldn't get him and began calling again, ‘A whale, a whale!’ But Grace couldn't be bothered with him. She cradled Pare in her arms and Pare made bubbles in the water and said, ‘I can thwim, look at me thwim!’ We stayed in the water for a long time, because it was very warm. We swam races and played tag, and Spot came and swam with us. Spot was a good swimmer for a dog. He could even bark in the water. We stayed at the cove all afternoon. Sometimes we swam in the sea, sometimes we raced on the beach. And sometimes, Kepa threw a stick for Spot to fetch. Then Spat would prance along the beach, his tail wagging, and bring it back. A lot of times, we just talked, getting to know each other. And Albert and Kopua put their arms round me just to show that we were friends. Albert and Kopua knew lots of things that I didn't. They knew how to milk a cow, strain a fence, ride a horse, drive a truck, all of the important things. I admired them very much; that I knew my ten times table and could spell hard words and speak properly didn't seem half as important. And afterwards, Sid tried to teach me how to whistle the dog with my fingers. I tried and tried, but Spot wouldn't do anything, just sat with his head cocked to one side. looking very puzzled. Everybody laughed and Kopua said. ‘You're a townie, all right.’ But I didn't mind them laughing, because I was laughing too much myself. About four o'clock, Grace yelled out, ‘We better go home now.’ And as she was the boss, we hurried to get changed. I was so happy, that I didn't bother to turn my back. ‘Eee!’ my cousins grinned. I smiled. Then Albert said, ‘Let's go and give the girls a fright!’ I wanted to say no, but the others were already scrambling over the rocks. ‘Sssh!’ they said as I came in my shoes. Albert got a handful of sand and threw it over the rock, then we scrambled away, laughing. The girls screamed and Grace's voice boomed out, ‘I know it was you, Albert! I know it was you! Just wait when I catch you. I'm going to give you a good hiding!’ Albert turned to me. ‘That'll teach her for pushing me under the water.’ He yelled out to Grace, ‘E koe, you tutae thing!’ We ran away down the beach before Grace could catch us. But she did in the end and slapped us boys over the head, even me, but I didn't mind, because it meant I

wasn't a stranger anymore. That night, we had crayfish for tea. We didn't have a wash because Nanny said, ‘You mokopunas already clean enough,’ and we were glad. The crayfish was boiled in a big pot. Kara almost cried when she looked at them boiling. She came to me and whispered, ‘We're going to eat them alive! They're still waving their legs!’ But by the time the crayfish were cooked, they were very dead. Nanny showed us how to eat them, ripping off their legs, breaking them open and sucking the meat from them, and then gouging into the body with her fingers. ‘Put some of the brown stuff on the flesh,’ she suggested, indicating a thick brown paste inside the crayfish. So we did, and the crayfish was sweet. We really gorged ourselves, even Pare who usually didn't eat much. Nanny just laughed and was very pleased. ‘We'll soon put the meat on you kids,’ she said. After tea, Albert told me that the brown stuff was the crayfish's tutae. I told him not to tell lies. Kara helped with the dishes again and I offered too. But Uncle Pita said, ‘That's woman's work.’ I decided to tell Mum what he said when she got home, and maybe I wouldn't have to do the dishes any more. For a while, Uncle and I talked. I was curious about something and I asked him; ‘Uncle, why do we call you Uncle and Nanny, Nanny?’ He laughed. ‘A long story,’ he said. ‘Nanny and me were related before we got married!’ I tried not to blush. ‘It's like this, mokopuna,’ he began. ‘Nanny is my auntie.’ ‘She doesn't look older than you,’ I said. ‘She isn't, but she's still my auntie.’ ‘Isn't that naughty?’ I asked. Uncle's belly shook with laughter. ‘E tama, you're a funny one!’ Nanny came to see what was happening. Uncle told her. He winked at me. ‘Your Nanny was the naughty one,’ he said. ‘She was waiting for me in the bush and she led me astray!’ Nanny hit him and growled him in Maori. ‘Don't you listen to him,’ she told me, ‘He's a big liar.’ ‘So is Dad,’ I said. They laughed. Afterwards, we all sat by the fire, and George got his guitar. He had a good voice and he made that guitar sing. Uncle Pita had a smoke and Nanny had a pipe. Kara and the other girls went into the bedroom. The boys sat at the table, playing cards and yelling ‘Snap!’ Spot was eating a bone by the fire. The candle began to burn low. Pare got sleepy and Nanny picked her up and rocked her in her arms. ‘Time to go to bed,’ she said. ‘Put out the fire when you come, Pita,’ she added, and then trundled off to her room. I played cards with the boys for a while, and then we went to bed too. I kissed Uncle Pita on the forehead and he smiled. ‘Good night, mokopuna,’ he said. I followed Albert into bed and crawled into the middle. ‘We don't kiss our father,’ he told me. I was surprised, because we always kissed Dad. When I told Albert, he said, ‘I'm never coming to your house!’ He grinned and turned over and went to sleep. For a long time, I looked up at the ceiling. The fire from the kitchen flickered through the door. Then I heard Uncle Pita stamping about and the fire flickered away. Then there was no noise, only the swish, swish of the sea outside the house. My eyes were tired and I soon went to sleep. Pare didn't cry that night. The next morning, I woke early because I wanted to go with Hone to milk the cow. Nanny was still in bed, but Grace was in the kitchen lighting the fire. She grinned at me. ‘What you doing up?’ ‘I'm going with Hone,’ I said. I watched her as she bent and lit the fire, blowing at the small flame. Hone came in with a big load of wood which he dumped by the fire, and picked up the bucket. ‘Come on, coz,’ he said. I followed him and we walked down the path, past the toilet, and trudged through the field to the cow bail. Lottie was already waiting for us, and she mooed ‘About time you came.’ Hone patted her flanks and she walked into the bail. ‘Aren't you going to tie her leg?’ I asked. ‘No,’ Hone said, ‘she's a good cow.’ He got some grease and rubbed it on her teats. Then he began to milk her. Spurt, spurt, went the milk, foaming in the bucket. ‘You're full today, aren't you?’ Hone said to his cow. Lottie mooed again, and swung her eyes to look at me. ‘Do you always talk to the cow?’ I asked. ‘All the time, she likes it.’ So I began to talk to Lottie too, saying

‘Good cow, good cow.’ Hone laughed. ‘You want to have a go?’ ‘I've never milked a cow before,’ I said. ‘Come on, have a try.’ So I squeezed over and sat down on the stool. From below, Lottie was huge, and I was scared she might kick. ‘Good cow, good cow,’ I whispered. But I was scared. I pulled and pulled but no milk came out. ‘She's got no more,’ I said. But Hone was too busy laughing. ‘You look hardcase,’ he said. Lottie began to get impatient, and she moved. I jumped up. ‘You better finish,’ I said. He grinned and sat down. I was glad that at home we got our milk in bottles. We went back to the house and had breakfast. Afterwards, I went and watched Uncle Pita put the boat out. I wished I could go with him but he said, ‘Tomorrow, mokopuna, tomorrow.’ I watched him rowing quickly out to sea. All that morning, I played with my cousins. We went up a hill to some cabbage trees, and chopped some leaves off. Then we sat on the leaves and went sliding down the hill. That was fun! Afterwards, we made spears from toitoi and played war, yelping and screaming along the beach. Only, the girls didn't play fair. They refused to stay dead. ‘You missed, you missed!’ they would say. ‘Cheat! Ee, you cheat!’ we would yell. Nanny called out to us to come and have lunch, so we hurried back because we were very hungry. ‘You like pipis and pupus?’ she asked. Kara and I looked at each other. What was that? The children grinned and Nanny was very surprised. ‘E kore!’ she said. ‘What that Julia been feeding you kids?’ She shook her head and mumbled something in Maori. ‘Right.’ she said. ‘We'll get some this afternon and have a big feed at tea.’ ‘Hooray!’ my cousins yelled, so we did too. We hurried up, then, and the girls rushed through washing the dishes while I went with the boys collecting the kits and knives. Nanny said that we may as well get some pauas for Uncle Pita as he loved them. ‘So do we!’ yelled the kids and rolled their eyes and licked their lips to show Nanny how much they liked pauas. So we took knives to prise pauas from the rocks. ‘Hurry up!’ Nanny kept saying. ‘We haven't got all day.’ She cut some slices of Maori bread to take with us, and filled a flagon with cordial. ‘Kia tere!’ she called. ‘We're ready! We're ready, Mum!’ my cousins answered. We pushed through the door and skipped along the beach. Nanny puffing after us. ‘Hold your horses!’ she yelled. We looked back at her and giggled. Even Pare could run faster than Nanny. We circled the beach, skipping through the sand and waded across a small inlet where seagulls were basking. The seagulls flapped away with furious noises cackling, ‘How dare you, how dare you disturb us!’ A bright blue kingfisher scooped low across the inlet, flashing its reflection across the water. ‘Hurry up, Nanny!’ we called. She picked up her petticoats and splashed carefully towards us. ‘Wait your hurry!’ she yelled. When she joined us, we ran away again, towards the reef. When Nanny caught up, she plonked herself on the beach. We were already in our togs and running into the sea. ‘Come on, Nanny!’ But she just sat there, her puku heaving, and flapped her hand. ‘You go ahead,’ she said, ‘Nanny's going to have a little moe, she's tired.’ We waded into the sea. We had shoes on, because Nanny had said that the reef was sharp. Albert and I paired up. He gave me the sack to hold. He reached into the water, underneath a ledge, and tugged. ‘This a paua,’ he told me. In his hand, he had a big shell and inside was a long black rubbery looking paua. ‘You got to be quick,’ he said, ‘because if the paua feels your hand, he sticks tight to the rock and you got to use a knife to get him out. Here, you have a try.’ I put my hand down among the seaweed. I was scared because a crab might bite me. Or maybe a giant clam would clamp my hand and not let go, just like I'd seen in the pictures. ‘Ouch!’ I yelled. ‘Something prickly down there!’ Albert laughed. He grabbed underneath and pulled out a brown spiny thing. ‘This is kina!’ he said. ‘You eat that?’ I asked in wonder. Albert licked his lips. ‘Kina's beaut!’ he said. I opened the bag and he dropped the kina in.

It didn't take long to fill our sack. Albert did most of the work. I had to use the knife. We worked our way from one pool to another. I was entranced. The seaweed waved gaily and the anemones opened their petals and little fish scurried away from our hands. Sometimes, I tugged too hard and a piece of reef would come away and muddy the water. Most times though, I fell back and got all wet. Then Albert would laugh and point his finger at me. A lot of times, I forgot all about the sea and a big wave would sneak up and say ‘Got you!’ before it slid over my head. But I didn't care, because it was fun looking for paua. After we'd filled the sack, I pulled it after me and took it up the beach to Nanny. She smiled. ‘Good ay?’ I nodded, then ran back to Albert. ‘Don't go too far out,’ Nanny yelled, ‘the shark might get you!’ She laughed and her puku jiggled. I knew she was joking. We stayed all afternoon in the water. Sometimes, I had to have a rest. I'd look up and see the other kids, and sometimes it seemed as if they were kissing the water. I saw Pare looking in the shallower pools for pupus, because they were easiest to find and looked like snails. When she saw one, she'd scream to Grace in her little voice, ‘I got one Grace! I got one!’ Then Grace would have to come and get it, because Pare was too scared to pick the pupu up. ‘Yes, Pare, that's one,’ she would say. All afternoon, Pare was yelling out to Grace, ‘I got one, I got one!’ And it seemed all afternoon, that Grace kept on trudging back to Pare to pick the pupu up and saying, ‘Yes Pare, yes Pare.’ She must have been very patient. Suddenly, Kara screamed. I looked up, to see the girls hustled about her. ‘Take it off! Take it off! Kara screamed. We ran up to see what was wrong. Grace was laughing. ‘It's only a baby,’ she was saying. On Kara's arm was a little octopus. She was crying, so George picked her up and piggy-backed her to the beach to the arms of Nanny. ‘There, there, Kara,’ Nanny soothed. ‘See? It won't hurt you.’ She poked at the octopus with a stick and it moved. Kara screamed again. The kids all laughed. So did I, but I was scared of the octopus too. I didn't want to go back into the water, because what would happen if the mother octopus was out there? Kara stayed with Nanny on the beach, and after a while, she calmed down. She poked at the octopus and inspected it. ‘Uncle Pita like octopus,’ Nanny told her. Kara couldn't believe that Uncle would actually eat it. But he did, and she felt very proud. ‘I caught that octopus, Uncle,’ she said to him. ‘I caught it!’ When all the sacks and kits were full, we played on the beach. Then Nanny said, ‘Time to go,’ so we picked up the sacks and trudged home. We had to rest a lot, because the sacks were very heavy. I was tired, so I had a nap. Kara and Pare joined me. The other kids giggled at us, but Nanny said ‘Turi, turi,’ and shooed them outside. We always took a nap if we were tired. Uncle Pita got home late that night. We had a big feed. And you know what? Pauas are good! The day dawned, and true to his promise, Uncle Pita took me out with him in his boat. We started out early, and Tamihana came too. Uncle Pita was very strong, but he puffed a lot at the oars and kept on mumbling, ‘Boy! I'm getting old!’ Sometimes Tamihana would have to row for a while, while Uncle had a rest. One time, I asked Uncle, ‘Shall I row for you?’ It looked easy. Uncle winked at Tamihana and nodded his head. So I grasped the oars, but it was hard! We just stayed in one place, and soon I was puffing and blowing as much as Uncle had been. So he said, ‘Never mind mokopuna, your uncle too heavy to move!’ ‘Sorry, Uncle,’ I said. But he just laughed. We reached the first crayfish pot and Uncle Pita steadied the boat. He began hauling at the line and far down in the water, I could see the wire cage. The pot broke the surface and Tamihana reached in and grabbed the crayfish. I thought he was brave, because the crayfish looked very fierce, waving their feelers in the air and going click, click with their claws. Tamihana threw the crayfish at my feet and I yelled. I almost upset the boat, but Uncle thought it was a big laugh. The seagulls must have thought so too, because they began to cackle. Uncle Pita talked to me while we went continued on page 42