Volunteers for active service

Tu Tangata, Issue 32, 1 October 1986, Page 68

Volunteers for active service

na Terry Simpson

PAKIWAITARA

Peta reached forward, anticipating contact with the door to the Personnel Utilisation Centre. His hand failed to make contact as it opened automatically in front of him. Ahead of him sat the Profile Input Counsellor. She smiled a welcome to him as he nervously approached the reception point. Her smile quickly changed to an attitude of business-like efficiency by the time he reached the desk. Set to one side was a computer console. Peta glanced at the plush chairs around the perimeter of the suite. He caught a glimpse of the waiting brown faces but there was no sign of acknowledgement or recognition from their downcast eyes.

“Name please.” He returned his attention to the Counsellor. “Peta Henare.” “Spell it please.” Peta hesitated. “P-E-T-E-R-H-E-N-R----Y”. The name was fed into the console in the same detached way in which Peta had spelt it. “Place of birth.” “R-U-A-W-H-E-N-U-A”, he anticipated by spelling his kainga. “Mother’s name.” “Mere -A-R-Y”, he spelt out. The Counsellor looked up inquiringly but Peta had turned his head away. She shrugged and returned her attention to the console. Peta could see his mother. Her soft compassionate face smiled at him reassuringly through her warm brown eyes. The lines on her face told of aroha and understanding. He felt her pres-

ence ease some of his tension. “Father’s name.” Peta’s attention switched back to the present. “Wiremu, W-I-L-L-I-A-M.” This time there was no reaction from the interviewer. His father stood before him as straight as a kauri. In his hand he held a carved rata walking stick which he used as an extension of his personality. In speech it became a means to emphasise his words, moving gracefully in the air or tapping impatiently at the ground. Physically it helped prop up his ageing body in later years. Peta could see the Forest of Tane around him. The gnarled and tortured beech trees reached up to Rangi through the enveloping mist. The branches covered in lichen lost their definition as they merged into the grey background. Then there was the mountain which stood guard over the little settlement. It was the spiritual centre of his home with many tapu places secluded and forbidden to him as a child. Its flat peak was usually covered in a blanket of mist.

The images of the past merged into those of the present and once again Peta could discern the downturned faces of those waiting along the walls. His thoughts were again interrupted by the Counsellor. “Have you any educational achievements?” He felt the eyes of the on-lookers glance at him with passing interest as he gave his responses, which were in

turn relayed into the computer. “Peta Henare Winner of the Senior Speech Competition.” Peta had stepped forward proudly to accept the trophy, an acknowledgement to his ability as an orator in both the Maori and English languages. He grasped the finely carved trophy firmly in his hands. His Uncle Hemi had been one of a succession of outstanding orators and leaders who had held the trophy before him. Now he lay at rest in the shadow of Montecasino on the other side of the world. He had been killed in action as the Allied forces devastated that sacred and strategic Italian mountain. His Military Cross had been awarded posthumously after he had drawn the enemy’s fire away from a wounded soldier. He had been admired for his feats on the battlefield and respected for his ability to call on the emotional and spiritual reserves of his men. As Peta had returned to his seat, his father had reached across and patted him on the knee, “Kia ora, Peta.”

“Mr Henry, what work experience have you?” Peta started in response to the Counsellor’s intrusion. He recalled having worked with his aunties in the kumara gardens, always at the right phase of the moon. He could remember his cousins’ skylarking and the protests of his aunty. “If you don’t get on with the planting, we won’t have any kai for the winter”, she had said. Peta knew that the vegetables they grew, together with the kai from the forest and streams, provided their basic food supply.

He could hear the scream of the saw in the mill as it ripped through the rimu logs. As tailer-out he had taken the rough-sawn timber as it separated from the log and stacked it ready for transporting to the city. The settlement had been viable and busy during those productive years. The community had reluctantly accepted that there would be utu due for the ruthless logging and offence to Tane. The mill had been destroyed by fire and its closure had resulted in a renewed dependence on Papa, the Earth Mother, and a more modest livelihood from the land. The old people accepted these restraints for themselves but the tamariki left to be veneered and finished in the city. His aunty thought his talents would go to waste if he remained so she called a hui at the family marae to discuss his future.

“He must go to the city to seek further education”, she had said. “He is too good to stay around here, he must go to the University.”

Peta remembered the details of the meeting house with its decorated rafters. The kowhaiwhai patterns in black and red, the hunting scenes with the spears poised to take their prey. His ancestors carved in totara stood watch over the proceedings as his future was discussed.

Peta had gone on from the family hui and his kainga to study at University.

He completed his studies and was now seeking to launch his canoe away from the sheltered waters of his earlier years.

His attention now switched back to the present and the Personnel Utilisation Centre. His feet shuffled nervously along with those seated around the walls. The Counsellor raised her eyes from the console.

“Your profile has now been processed by the computer and your instructions will be printed out immediately.” As she said this the printer frenetically tapped out its message. She paused until it came to a halt. She passed him the print-out and scanned the other copy with interest. Peta read the words which would see him begin his journey into the future.

“COMPUTER MATCHING PROGRAMME PERSONAL PROFILE EVALUATION

NAME: Peter Henry. PERSONNEL UTILISATION: You are to report to the Armed Services Assessment Unit at 1000 hours tomorrow 1 June 1986. On satisfying the Selection Board you will be required to undertake 3 months training with the Limited Services Volunteers Scheme. On completion of this training your situation will be reviewed with consideration to a permanent career in the Modern

Conventionally Armed Forces. End of message.” Peta turned to leave the office. His senses were assailed by images and sounds passing through his consciousness. The Forest of Tane, the faces of his family, the carved features of his ancestors, the shriek of the saw and the mountain standing above all else.

Although he heard the call of the Counsellor, Peta did not respond. The waiting figures now formed a rank, commando style. The order seemed to come from Peta himself as the command was given to mount the assault. He felt himself being pushed forward by the surge of the volunteers as they broke rank and stormed into combat. The confusion and excitement intoxicated him. His mind no longer commanded his actions. His arm was raised ready to strike in anger, but hesitated and fell weakly to his side. “Patu, Patu!” wrenched from deep within him sought outward expression but died on his lips. Instead he stepped out from the building into the busy street. The clamour and devastation receded. The reflecting glass of the tall buildings towering over him duplicated the other in their mirror. The people moved silently about their own business insulated from each other but drawn by the same current. The roar of the traffic muffled any human sound as Peta slipped into the stream ...