Aue, page 12
And we wanted to be those guys. It was unoriginal – I could see that – buskers on a beach playing their guitars for girls.
One of the girls could sing. Jessie. Jessie’s voice was nice-ish. Everything else about her was annoyingly intense. She watched my fingers move on my guitar, seemed to stare down my throat when I sang. Elliot walked away with the other girl, who had another name, maybe Sarah. Jessie came upon me like a wave, and the urge to push her away pulsed through me. She kissed me and I could hardly breathe. I felt the ghost sand rise in my chest and I turned away to cough. When I’d got all the sand up, I used the urge I’d had to push her to kiss her hard instead. Let her unbutton my jeans. Let my fingers unbutton hers. Let myself be seventeen. Let myself do what a guitar-playing boy on a beach, with a girl whispering, ‘Fuck me,’ into his ear would do.
The feel of it, on the early morning air, ghost-like, trying to find its way under my skin, woke me. I wasn’t ready to be waking up on a beach.
The sun wasn’t up, but it was already getting light. And there was all that sea, right there, where we’d slept. I shook her.
‘Jessie, let’s go.’
‘Why?’ she curled closer to me, rubbed her head against my chin, her eyes closed, ‘It’s nice here. Light the fire again.’
‘No. I want to go.’
She sat up. ‘Stay.’
I stood. ‘I’m going.’
I started walking quickly up the beach, over the rocks to where the car was parked. Elliot and the other girl were asleep inside. I thumped on the window, then turned my back, leaned against the car.
Looked out at that sea. Got impatient. Thumped the window again. ‘Oi. Wake up. Get your clothes on. Time to go.’
Jessie came running up the beach with her sandals in her hands, her hair all a mess. Straps falling off her shoulders.
‘You would just leave me?’ She was shouting and slapping me with her sandal.
‘No. I told you … I told you I wanted to go.’
She drew the strap of her singlet back onto her shoulder. ‘Typical Māori.’
I stepped towards her, my fists clenched at my side. Behind her the sea blended with her hair.
‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing.’ She shook her head. ‘I meant. Typical men.’
I leaned back on the car, looked out at the sea lighting up, ‘This typical Māori has got a job to get to.’
Which was a lie. I had nowhere to go and nothing to do. But she didn’t know that.
I punched the car window. ‘Hurry up. Get dressed.’
I jumped in the driver’s seat, put my head out the window at Jessie, her arms folded in front of her. ‘Get in, girl,’ I said, and I turned the ignition. Revved the car.
Jessie got in and slammed the door. I sped off as the two in the back rummaged for clothes.
‘What’s the hurry, bro?’
‘Don’t like sleeping on beaches.’
‘What kind of surfer are you?’ He laughed. ‘Oh, right, you’re one who just drives round with a board on his roof looking to score.’
I stared in the rearview mirror at him, said nothing.
Ārama
One flew away. I remembered that.
The last one we found died, like the two before, but this one was special, Taukiri said. It was a baby tūī. I thought it looked exactly like all the rest of the birds we found. With the same fluff over the pink body and the same pear shape and alien head, and the tiny soft-looking beak.
Mum had told Tauk to take me to the school playground. I was on the swing and he’d gone behind a tree, and I could see puffs of smoke in the air and knew he was smoking, which Mum would be really mad about. It was a cold day and my fingers hurt holding the metal chain.
I walked to Tauk. He dropped the smoke on the grass and stood on it. Then he saw something. He crouched down.
I ran up to him. It was a baby bird.
‘A baby tūī,’ Tauk said.
‘How do you know?’
Its mother had been flying around, singing, he said. Searching for her baby. I wasn’t sure I believed him, it sounded like one of his middle-of-the-night-and-go-back-to-sleep stories.
‘How’d you know it was this baby’s mother?’
Taukiri picked it up.
‘I reckon this time we should try something,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘This time we should say a karakia. We never did that before. It couldn’t hurt to try.’
Taukiri told me to close my eyes, and put my hands together. And I did. Then he said: ‘Dear God. Can you please help this baby bird get strong enough to fly, so he can find his mummy? Āmene.’
‘It’s not a karakia if you just add āmene on the end,’ I said.
‘Shall I say the karakia I know then, smart-arse? Bless the food. Then I’ll eat its head right off, and you can have the rest?’
‘Ewww.’
‘Thought as much. Now shut up and pray.’
He said the same not-a-real-karakia again. Told me to keep my eyes closed but I opened them a little bit and peeked to the side to look at him.
I’d never heard him use the word ‘mummy’ before.
He kept his head down a bit longer, his hands still pressed together, and I looked from his face to the baby bird, and then he opened his eyes, so I quickly scrunched mine closed, and put my face down and he must’ve thought I’d been doing that the whole time.
Walking home the wind bit my face, made my eyes and nose water. My fingertips stung.
‘The bird’ll die,’ I said. ‘It’s so cold today.’
‘Maybe not,’ Tauk said.
‘Why don’t we ask Nanny for a real karakia?’
‘Look, Ari. Nanny’s not magic, not as special as you think she is. If her karakia were so wonderful she would have found that stupid earring by now, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose. Sorry. The earring wasn’t stupid though.’
‘Forget it. If the bird dies, blame me. Like everyone else.’
He was quiet then, but he unzipped his jacket, opened it and pulled me to him, and we walked home like that. In Tauk’s smokey jacket, the wind hurting my face and the baby bird in his hand.
Jade and Toko
One wrist bandaged, five stitches in her cheek, an eye swollen and shiny like an oil spill, a rib that only let her take in so much air before she felt something jagged might puncture her lung, a deep ache in her tail bone and a single plaster covering something on her neck, something she hadn’t bothered to look at, Jade peeled spuds for the tangi. She cut pumpkin and shredded cabbage. She was working beside a kuia. And as they worked the kuia sang waiata and sometimes she wept. Every now and then she patted Jade on her arm, as if she were trying to move something inside her. Wake it.
Then she spoke: ‘Auē! Te mamae hoki – kia tangi koe.’
Jade didn’t understand the words but she could see what the kuia wanted in her face. Jade couldn’t give it to her, really couldn’t, though she tried.
The kuia had thick strong arms and short white hair and a face like a moon, and as she pounded the pāua, kneaded dough, split crayfish or snipped beans, she sang and she wept. And she sang and she wept as she washed dishes, as she dried dishes and as she made the apple crumbles. And Jade did not like to work beside anyone else. Even though others were also singing and weeping and snipping beans, Jade liked being near the kuia, who was Sav’s great-aunt.
When Jade had arrived at the marae, she’d gone to the kitchen to avoid all the grief beside Sav’s coffin. One woman had looked up but not into Jade’s eyes and another had smiled meekly. It was then that the kuia patted a chopping board, hauled up a bag of spuds and said, ‘I saved you a spot, girl.’
Jade found she belonged in the kitchen making the kai. And after sun had set and the sky had filled with stars, and smoke was drifting lightly into the night air like an incense cone from the hāngi pit, the kuia would set a plate for Jade beside her at a small wooden table close to the entrance to the marae kitchen and tell her to sit. She’d say a karakia mō te kai and tell Jade to eat all her mutton and earth-steamed vegetables and after that she’d pour cream over Jade’s bowl of hot apple crumble.
‘But I’m stuffed full,’ Jade would say.
‘Bit more. Āe. You must. Or how will you bear this kākahu whakataratara?’
‘What’s that?’ Jade asked.
‘Can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel the heavy cloak of nettles on you now, girl?’
Jade couldn’t. She could hardly feel a thing, just a throbbing in her tail bone. If she’d felt more, maybe she could wail too.
Early on the last morning of the tangi the kuia found Jade at the sink scrubbing potatoes. She stormed towards her, took Jade’s arms fiercely and held them tight. She cried, ‘Come on, girl, let it out.’
Jade closed her eyes and searched herself for the unshed tears. Then she remembered a story and told it to the kuia. It was about a road trip she once took with Sav – to a tangi they never got to. They’d put on a mix-tape Sav had made. REO Speedwagon’s ‘Keep on Loving You’ was playing.
‘Have this song at my funeral won’t you, babe?’ Sav said, her eyes on the coast as they drove.
‘For who?’
‘For Tommy.’
‘Is Tommy singing the words, or you?’
‘Tommy.’
‘The funeral will be for us not you. When I die play “Peace Train”, for you, from me.’
‘And when I die, play this! ’ She shook a painted finger at the player. ‘This heartbreaking song for me – from all the men that’ve ever loved me, to help them cry. So I can see. So I can see I existed. So I can see I was loved.’
‘Stupid girl.’
‘Watch the road,’ she laughed. ‘I wanna die old.’
Jade put her Cat Stevens cassette in the player and found ‘Peace Train’. So happy – the two of them – thinking about the good things.
‘Call me stupid, you one stupid bitch, you were raised in the House, not a commune. Those commune hippies, we’re lucky. I wouldn’t trust them weirdos.’
They sang, their hair flapping as the wind blew in through the open window. They sped along the coast, and from a certain angle they knew they must have looked like other people with other lives.
‘Ask him to come.’
‘Who?’
‘Tommy. Tell him when I die to come to my tangi. So I can see him cry.’
Jade put her hand on Sav’s leg, ‘Let’s try and do a bit better than that – eh, babe? Let’s try.’
‘Yeah, let’s try.’ Sav tapped her foot to Jade’s song, and when it was finished she put her mix-tape back in the cassette player and replayed ‘Keep on Loving You’.
‘This is more honest,’ she said.
‘Than what?’ Jade asked.
‘Than “Peace Train”.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Because, Jade, as long as there’s love, there’s never gonna be peace,’ she tossed her black hair to one side. ‘And really, love is the only thing we wanna doooooo.’
‘I think you have mistaken love for other things – ’ Jade started counting off her fingers held in the air ‘– money, fear, greed, hate.’
Sav shrugged, ‘Whole lot of energy goes into getting our mack on, though. Recovering from the joys of love. So much useful energy. Play love is all we wanna do.’
When Jade finished telling the kuia the story, the kuia let go of Jade’s arms and marched away from her. And Jade wanted to call her back and tell her she was sorry. Because all the waiata had been beautiful and Jade felt so forlorn. So numb and so dry inside and there were no tears to come. But she didn’t call the kuia back, she just watched her leave the marae.
Jade was cleaning a bench when the kuia returned. She had a boom box in one hand and a brand new CD in the other. And she tore the plastic off the brand new CD: REO Speedwagon. She put it in the player, found the track and pressed play.
And Jade stared at her and she stared back at Jade, and when Jade didn’t respond, she turned the music up louder. ‘You cry, girl. I will not let you leave until you have. We will make the tangi go on forever if we must.’
Then the music was upon Jade and all the pain. She felt there must be something wrong with her that it had taken this Pākehā music to help her cry when all the beautiful waiata didn’t. But when the song stopped the kuia played it again and she took Jade into her arms, and Jade howled into the old woman’s soft neck and couldn’t stop. The woman pressed her closer till her eye and her tail bone and whatever it was under the plaster on her neck throbbed terribly – and Jade was happy to feel the things she’d only seen when looking in a mirror, like they were illusions. The kuia played the song a third time and said: ‘It’s a perfect song for our Sav. It’s a beautiful song.’ And then the kuia sang it too. Sang it and wept.
The kuia scowled when the men in leather jackets and black sharkies arrived on motorbikes and in big gangster cars. But then she pinched Jade’s arm and cackled. ‘Sav’d love this. Oh, my little minx’d love this.’
Tattoos crawled out of clothes and onto necks and bled into the crevices of scarred faces. Hands, knuckles and shaved skulls. Up and onto chins, around mouths. Sav would have loved to see how many men were there, how they leaned over her coffin and kissed her cheek and wept for her.
Hash too.
And Tommy, his eyes covered by dark, dark glasses. Then Jade saw that boy from the beach. And he saw her. He came to her and he kissed her cheek. Then he kissed the kuia, and he handed her an envelope and said, ‘Anei taku koha, ahakoa iti.’
And the kuia took it and hugged him. ‘Māhea mai i tēnā.’
Jade went to the coffin before it was closed and knelt beside it and kissed Sav. She took her cold, stiff hand and sang quietly that she wanted to keep on loving her and she would forever and it was all she’d ever want to do. She wept and wept and hoped she’d be able to stop.
At the urupā Toko stood behind Jade as they lowered Sav’s coffin into the ground, and he stepped up to stand beside her as the dirt was being thrown over it.
When the coffin was covered he touched Jade’s hair and said, ‘You want to come for a drive to Kaikōura?’
The kuia was standing close and she took Jade’s hand and kissed it. ‘If you don’t, I will,’ she laughed.
Jade left the tangi in the backseat of Toko’s car. It smelled of bleach. Toko drove and Tommy sat in the passenger’s seat. She struggled to breathe with the freedom blowing in her face through the window she’d opened. Then closed. It was like all the air she had ever missed was coming at her full force and her lungs couldn’t take it. She could hardly believe she was just driving away, that she’d just got in a car and left, answering to no one. She touched the birds tattooed on her ribcage.
Sav had been with her the day she had them done because it was a birthday gift. Sav had stolen a wallet she saw in a car with its window down.
‘It’s a gift from the gods, not stealing, cuz,’ she said. ‘This was offered, because today is your birthday.’
It was one of those rare days that they had entirely to themselves.
‘What do you want? Books? I know how you like those things.’
‘No,’ Jade said. They could be burned or ripped, pissed on.
‘A necklace then?’
‘No,’ she said again. Could be stolen or sold, tightened around her neck.
‘What then? A new pair of shoes?’
‘To walk where?’
‘Come on, girl. Think. Jeans, earrings, a mean feed?’
The mean feed appealed, but then she had an idea.
‘A tattoo.’ A tattoo, like a mean feed, could not be taken from her.
At the tattoo parlour she choose a bird. A bird in flight. Black, with a small white tuft at its throat. And a jewel! The bird should have a jewel, she decided. One of the jewels her father never had the chance to give her. One of the jewels he’d promised.
When the tattooist finished the bird, Jade loved the way it looked on her, raw and black, and she loved how the needle had burned and she didn’t want to go home yet, so she asked to have two more. Sav pulled more birthday cash from her pocket. ‘No mean feed then.’
And when he finished the two more she asked for two more. ‘I want five,’ she said.
‘You can’t afford five,’ the tattooist said. He pulled his woollen beanie down a little, rubbed his hands together and folded his long arms. Jade saw the skulls etched into his knuckles then and wanted to be alone with her birds.
Sav walked over to him and touched his arm, pressed her body close, nuzzled her nose into his neck, took off his beanie, put it on her head.
‘Hey,’ he said and ran a hand through his curls.
‘Come on, baby,’ she said. ‘Let my cousin have two more little birds. It’s her birthday.’
And they went into a back room to have sex.
Jade could hear them, as she lay on the table waiting for the last two tūī to be inked into her side. As she waited she fingered away the tiny beads of blood rising to the surface of her fresh tattoos, and put them on her tongue.
Later that night at the House, Jade heard her cousin yelling at Hash, telling him she could do what the fuck she wanted when she wanted. Jade heard other sounds to the contrary. The next day Jade held Sav’s hand, pressed a cold cloth against her swollen cheek. The tūī on Jade’s ribcage throbbed. Throbbed like they’d been pressed into her wingless body, like they’d rather not be stuck on that skin.
Jade wandered Toko’s small seaside house barefoot when they arrived. He brought in the single bag she had packed, though she had been tempted to leave it behind. She would never get the smell out, the smell of the House, and was sure she would be lucky to just get it out of her nose, her dreams. The smell of booze, cigarettes and pot. Vomit and urine, the metallic smell of blood. The metallic smell that made her wonder where the bullets and gun were kept. In a toy box? For playing gang?
