‘And he wasn’t one of the tough kids?’
‘Not at all. He was a chubby little Maori kid. Really sweet and quiet. You hardly would have noticed him if it wasn’t for the other Maori kids giving him a hard time. But he just took it all on his chin and worked hard on his schoolwork. His Dad was a tough cop. He got killed. I can’t believe I didn’t recognise him sooner.’
‘He doesn’t seem like the chubby quiet type to me,’ Matt said, nodding across the water, and watching Aimee as she followed his gaze and also spotted Hemi, Drew, as he ran by for the umpteenth time.
‘No, he’s changed a lot, I hardly recognise him anymore. But that’s definitely Drew.’
‘Do you think he’s dangerous?’
‘I can’t imagine it. Not unless he pent up a lot of anger over the years of bullying. Nah, I reckon Drew is one of the good guys.’
‘I guess we have to wait and see.’
‘Yeah.’ Aimee nodded and took another bite from her chicken sandwich.
They finished their meal and watched the ducks aimlessly float from side to side. Matt decided he really liked Dunedin. It was peaceful, pretty, green, and boasted history that he hadn’t seen elsewhere in New Zealand. That, and his hand still tingled from Aimee’s touch. With any luck, they would stick around for a few days.
CHAPTER 40
Matt and Aimee scanned the comfortable looking chairs trying to identify the men they were to meet. It was the summer break in New Zealand. But despite there not being all that many people in the large atrium that neighboured the university library, no one looked up to greet them.
‘Could it be that couple over there?’ Aimee asked, indicating in the direction of the cafe counter near the other end of the hall.
‘I don’t know, I was expecting two older Maori men, lots of tattoos and really hard faces. You’re the Kiwi, what do you think?’
‘We better ask. It would be terrible to miss them based on a silly prejudice.’
Aimee led the way across the room and approached the laughing couple that they had observed.
‘Pardon me.’ Aimee started. ‘We’re meant to be meeting some…’
Before she could finish, the lady, perhaps in her sixties, leapt out of her chair and reached out her hand.
‘You must be Aimee. My name is Matawai Blake, you can call me Matawai.’
Then, much to Matt’s confusion, Matawai leaned in and touched her nose to each side of Aimee’s. She must have seen Matt’s confused look. ‘What’s your friend’s name, Aimee? He looks like he’s about to cry.’
Aimee laughed.
‘Matawai, meet Matthew Cameron. He’s British.’
‘Ah right. We’ll forgive you then, eh Andrew?’ Matawai turned to her friend and let out a laugh like Matt had never heard before in his life. Sort of like a subtle foghorn that increased in tone four times. She reached out her hand and shook Matt’s. Then, pulling him in, she said ‘It’s called a Hongi, Matthew, it’s one of the ways we greet friends.’
‘Oh, thanks,’ Matt said, doing his best to return his first Hongi.
The greetings continued between Matt, Aimee and Andrew. Then everyone took a seat at the table.
‘Your name is Andrew?’ Matt asked. ‘Were you not given a Maori name?’
‘No, no, no, yeah… I got a Maori name alright. It’s Anaru, Maori for Andrew.’
‘Oh right. I hadn’t realised that there were Maori equivalents of English names.’
‘There’s a lot. Rawiri for David, Tipene for Stephen, Erihapeti for Elizabeth. Plenty of original Maori names to choose from too, but.’
Matt found this very interesting, but he knew he had to get away from the small talk before it got uncomfortable and move on to the reason they were here. He also didn’t want to waste Matawai and Andrew’s time. He wasn’t sure how to change the subject without looking rude, so he was relieved when Matawai did it for him.
‘So I don’t reckon you got us to come in here to talk about Anaru and Maori names. What can we do you for?’
Matt looked at Aimee, hoping she would start things off. She would surely know how to go about this tactfully. Certainly, she was better equipped to tackle this than he was. She took her cue.
‘We want to discuss the history of the region and the local Maori with you. We would like to hear about your oral traditions. What stories have you had passed down from your fathers? Stuff like that.’
‘What sort of stuff in particular?’ Andrew asked, leaning forward and looking interested.
‘It might be a bit of a touchy subject,’ Aimee said, a nervous twinge to her voice.
‘Don’t worry about us girl, we’re big kids, touch away.’ Matawai said, as she glanced over to Andrew.
Aimee looked at Matt. His turn. He now leaned forward a little closer too, he didn’t really want everyone else in the atrium hearing what he was about to say.
‘We want to know if there are any oral traditions of white people living amongst you, or visiting, before the British came.’
Andrew sat bolt upright, sucking in his breath with shock. The look on his face said it all. Horror. Matawai also sat back, exhaling and looking thoughtful. Matt looked at Aimee, who looked like she was holding back tears. He didn’t even want to know how pale he had turned at their reaction. He felt sick. Five or six seconds passed, then Matt got the shock of his life when Matawai and Andrew glanced at each other and burst out laughing. Two foghorns repeating their merry scales for a good thirty seconds or more. Matawai composed herself first.
‘Oh God,’ she said, through lighter laughs and visibly struggling to catch her breath. ‘We love doing that. You white fullas fall for it every time.’
Andrew was still laughing, but he held up his hand to signal to Matt his agreement. He clearly needed longer to get his breath and seemed to relive the joke every few seconds and started up again and again. Eventually he settled.
‘We’ve got no problem talking about these stories, Matthew. There are some born-again Maoris who would rather not know about them, but us older folk haven’t forgotten.’
‘Born-again Maoris?’
‘Some of the young’uns. They don’t give a toss for Maoridom their whole lives, then they go get a degree and decide that they want to make a difference. They become a born-again Maori and start fighting for our rights. But mostly, they don’t represent us at all, they don’t even know what it is to be a Maori. They just want to be important somehow. A whole lot of noise. Mostly a problem up north, Wellington, Auckland.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘So what stories have you got?’ Aimee asked. ‘Anything about earlier visitors?’
‘Yeah,’ Matawai answered, turning to Andrew. ‘Your Dad told you the same stories too? About the ones out on the peninsula?’
‘He did. They came a long time ago on a big canoe, that’s how the story went. Now we know it was a ship, of course, but we tell it like our ancestors told it. So, a big canoe.’
‘What happened?’ Matt asked.
‘Don’t know exactly,’ Matawai said. ‘My uncle told me that many years ago, maybe four or more generations before Cook came, a big canoe arrived on the Peninsula. The white men on the canoe were friendly and came to stay with the people here. They were welcomed into the tribe and had families. They lived in a village near a beach and there was a cave above the beach with their special things. After many years, they wanted to take their canoe and look up and down the coasts. They left their wives and children behind and sailed away, promising to come back. They were never seen again.’
‘And their wives and children?’
‘Lived among the Maori, as Maori. Their wives were Maori anyhow. They didn’t come with woman, only men.’
‘That’s amazing,’ Matt said. ‘Do you believe it?’
Matawai laughed. ‘Of course I believe it. We don’t make up stories like this. This is our people’s history.’
