Read Online The Whale Rider by Witi Ihimaera - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Witi Ihimaera
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Apirana’s search for ‘the one’ had become an obsession. Ever
since the birth of Kahu’s young sister he had become more intense and brooding.
Perhaps aware of his own mortality, he wanted to make sure that the succession in the
present generation was done, and done well. But in doing so he was pushing away the one who
had always adored him, Kahu herself.
‘You’d think the sun shone out of his
—’ Nanny Flowers said rudely. Kahu had come to the homestead that
morning riding a horse, with the news that she’d come first in her Maori class.
Nanny Flowers had watched as Koro Apirana had dismissed the young girl. ‘I
don’t know why she keeps on with him.’
‘I know why,’ I said to Nanny Flowers.
‘You remember when she bit his toe? Even then she was telling him,
“Yeah, don’t think you’re going to keep me out of
this!” ’
Nanny Flowers shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, whatever it is,
Kahu is sure a sucker for punishment, the poor kid. Must be my Muriwai breed. Or
Mihi.’
Mihi Kotukutuku had been the mother of Ta Eruera, who had been
Nanny’s cousin, and we loved the stories of Mihi’s exploits. She was a
big chief, descended as she was from Apanui, after whom Nanny’s tribe was named.
The story we liked best was the one telling how Mihi had stood on a sacred ground at
Rotorua. ‘Sit down,’ a chief had yelled, enraged. ‘Sit
down,’ because women weren’t supposed to stand up and speak on sacred
ground. But Mihi had replied, ‘No you sit down!
I am a senior line to yours!’ Not only that, but Mihi had then turned her back to
him, bent over, lifted up her petticoats and said, ‘Anyway, here is the place
where you come from!’ In this way Mihi had emphasised that all men are born of
women.
We sat there on the verandah, talking about Kahu and how beautiful she
was, both inside and outside. She had no guile. She had no envy. She had no jealousy. As we
were talking, we saw Koro Apirana going down to the school where seven boys were waiting.
‘Them’s the contenders,’ Nanny Flowers
said. ‘One of them’s going to be the Rocky of Whangara.’
Suddenly Kahu arrived, dawdling from the opposite direction. She
looked so disconsolate and sad. Then she saw Koro Apirana. Her face lit up and she ran to
him, crying ‘Paka! Oh! Paka!’
He turned to her quickly. ‘Go back,’ he said.
‘Go away. You are of no use to me.’
Kahu stopped in her tracks. I thought she would cry, but she knitted
her eyebrows and gave him a look of such frustration that I could almost hear her saying to
herself, ‘You just wait, Paka, you just wait.’ Then she skipped over to
us as if nothing had happened.
I was lucky enough to get a job in town stacking
timber in a timber yard and delivering orders to contractors on site. Every morning
I’d beep the horn of my motorbike as I passed Porourangi’s, to remind
Kahu it was time for her to get out of bed for school. I soon began to stop and wait until I
saw her head poking above the window-sill to let me know she was awake. ‘Thank
you, Uncle Rawiri,’ she would call as I roared off to work.
Sometimes after work I would find Kahu waiting at the highway for me.
‘I came down to welcome you home,’ she would explain. ‘Nanny
doesn’t want any help today. Can I have a ride on your bike? I can ? Oh, neat .’
She would clamber on behind me and hold on tight. As we negotiated the track to the village
I would be swept away by her ingenuous chatter. ‘Did you have a good day, Uncle? I
had a neat day except for maths, yuk, but if I want to go
to university I have to learn things I don’t like. Did you go to university,
Uncle? Koro says it’s a waste of time for a girl to go. Sometimes I wish I
wasn’t a girl. Then Koro would love me more than he does. But I don’t
mind. What’s it like being a boy, Uncle? Have you got a girlfriend?
There’s a boy at school who
since the birth of Kahu’s young sister he had become more intense and brooding.
Perhaps aware of his own mortality, he wanted to make sure that the succession in the
present generation was done, and done well. But in doing so he was pushing away the one who
had always adored him, Kahu herself.
‘You’d think the sun shone out of his
—’ Nanny Flowers said rudely. Kahu had come to the homestead that
morning riding a horse, with the news that she’d come first in her Maori class.
Nanny Flowers had watched as Koro Apirana had dismissed the young girl. ‘I
don’t know why she keeps on with him.’
‘I know why,’ I said to Nanny Flowers.
‘You remember when she bit his toe? Even then she was telling him,
“Yeah, don’t think you’re going to keep me out of
this!” ’
Nanny Flowers shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, whatever it is,
Kahu is sure a sucker for punishment, the poor kid. Must be my Muriwai breed. Or
Mihi.’
Mihi Kotukutuku had been the mother of Ta Eruera, who had been
Nanny’s cousin, and we loved the stories of Mihi’s exploits. She was a
big chief, descended as she was from Apanui, after whom Nanny’s tribe was named.
The story we liked best was the one telling how Mihi had stood on a sacred ground at
Rotorua. ‘Sit down,’ a chief had yelled, enraged. ‘Sit
down,’ because women weren’t supposed to stand up and speak on sacred
ground. But Mihi had replied, ‘No you sit down!
I am a senior line to yours!’ Not only that, but Mihi had then turned her back to
him, bent over, lifted up her petticoats and said, ‘Anyway, here is the place
where you come from!’ In this way Mihi had emphasised that all men are born of
women.
We sat there on the verandah, talking about Kahu and how beautiful she
was, both inside and outside. She had no guile. She had no envy. She had no jealousy. As we
were talking, we saw Koro Apirana going down to the school where seven boys were waiting.
‘Them’s the contenders,’ Nanny Flowers
said. ‘One of them’s going to be the Rocky of Whangara.’
Suddenly Kahu arrived, dawdling from the opposite direction. She
looked so disconsolate and sad. Then she saw Koro Apirana. Her face lit up and she ran to
him, crying ‘Paka! Oh! Paka!’
He turned to her quickly. ‘Go back,’ he said.
‘Go away. You are of no use to me.’
Kahu stopped in her tracks. I thought she would cry, but she knitted
her eyebrows and gave him a look of such frustration that I could almost hear her saying to
herself, ‘You just wait, Paka, you just wait.’ Then she skipped over to
us as if nothing had happened.
I was lucky enough to get a job in town stacking
timber in a timber yard and delivering orders to contractors on site. Every morning
I’d beep the horn of my motorbike as I passed Porourangi’s, to remind
Kahu it was time for her to get out of bed for school. I soon began to stop and wait until I
saw her head poking above the window-sill to let me know she was awake. ‘Thank
you, Uncle Rawiri,’ she would call as I roared off to work.
Sometimes after work I would find Kahu waiting at the highway for me.
‘I came down to welcome you home,’ she would explain. ‘Nanny
doesn’t want any help today. Can I have a ride on your bike? I can ? Oh, neat .’
She would clamber on behind me and hold on tight. As we negotiated the track to the village
I would be swept away by her ingenuous chatter. ‘Did you have a good day, Uncle? I
had a neat day except for maths, yuk, but if I want to go
to university I have to learn things I don’t like. Did you go to university,
Uncle? Koro says it’s a waste of time for a girl to go. Sometimes I wish I
wasn’t a girl. Then Koro would love me more than he does. But I don’t
mind. What’s it like being a boy, Uncle? Have you got a girlfriend?
There’s a boy at school who
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