‘The pa at Te Namu was very small but also secure. It sat on a plateau, like the top of a very high table, on a rocky outcrop of the coast, almost surrounded by vertical cliffs. Around this, runs hollowed out land, some sixty yards wide, separating it from the mainland.
Like a moat?
Yes Adie, perhaps that is how you’d describe it. Across the way is cleared space where the gardens grow: kumara, sweet potato, yams and gourds. From the top of the pa, which was very like a sentry box, invading forces could be seen long before they arrived.
When I was placed in the enclosure at the edge of the pa, I felt great weariness. My head was painful from the blow I’d been struck, and I must have been weak from the loss of blood. I thought I might be allowed to live but nothing was certain, and a part of me was ready to let go, to simply sink into that other sleep from which there is no waking. Louisa lay in my arms, bruised and sad. Like me, she seemed ready to give up the ghost. I saw by her eyes that she was in great pain, but past crying. She held my finger with the frailest of grasps. And all of this time I didn’t know where John was.
Jacky, I said in my head, as if I was preparing a speech for him, to explain myself. They wouldn’t let me keep him. I tried, but they took him away, my precious boy, and my heart is broken. As these thoughts followed each other round, I began inventing wild schemes of breaking free and going into the bush to look for John. But I wouldn’t have known where to begin and who knew how far away he was by now. In quiet moments, I strained my ears as if I might hear his voice blown on the wind but I only heard seabirds, the circling gulls, and the voices of the people in the pa, who were strangers to me.
The day after our arrival in the pa, the people began cooking provisions taken from the wreck of the Harriet. If they had asked me, I could have told them the mixture they were preparing was a mistake. They mixed together flour and sugar and soap, and when it was foaming in the heat of the fire, they tested it for taste, expecting a delicacy. Of course, they found it disgusting, and I saw angry looks cast in my direction, as if it was my fault. The mood about the place turned sour. I could see them thinking they had been cheated. The flour we had hoarded with such care was thrown over the clifftop. They said it was some kind of sand and should be returned to the beach.
There was still more cooking to be done. In the morning, from the place where I was confined, I saw flames in the direction of the river we had followed after we were wrecked. Flames shot in the air, and I smelt burning flesh, a smell I know all too well. But I was puzzled. I wondered if this tribe had a different way of preparing human flesh.
That night the women came to me, and passed a flax basket of meat through the entrance to the hut.
I shook my head, no. And no again. They pulled it back, their eyes resentful, as if I had done them another wrong.
Ruiha squatted down in the doorway. She told me I must eat something. For my child. She was begging me to take the food.
That is my brother, I said, and began to weep tears that wouldn’t stop.
No it is not, she said. We have killed a pig in honour of your coming. At that I began to scream, and backed away into a corner of the whare. I don’t believe you, I shouted.
You don’t understand, she said. Te Matakatea has ordered that the dead be burnt. He has made a great fire. It was so that your dead would not be eaten. You are our family now.
She went away and brought me a basket of sweet potatoes, and these I did pick at, in spite of myself. I knew it was true that if I was to do anything to save my children, I must gather my strength for whatever was to happen next. The food was very good.
All the same, I could not bring myself to speak to them, and I did not know what to believe. The scorched smell of the distant fire lingered in the air. From the whare, I saw dinner being eaten. I saw the man Oaoiti who had carried John up the hill. He ate with delicacy, and I thought, if that is my brother, at least he has eaten him with respect, and for that I was grateful.
I shook my head, no. And no again. They pulled it back, their eyes resentful, as if I had done them another wrong.
Ruiha squatted down in the doorway. She told me I must eat something. For my child. She was begging me to take the food.
That is my brother, I said, and began to weep tears that wouldn’t stop.
No it is not, she said. We have killed a pig in honour of your coming. At that I began to scream, and backed away into a corner of the whare. I don’t believe you, I shouted.
You don’t understand, she said. Te Matakatea has ordered that the dead be burnt. He has made a great fire. It was so that your dead would not be eaten. You are our family now.
She went away and brought me a basket of sweet potatoes, and these I did pick at, in spite of myself. I knew it was true that if I was to do anything to save my children, I must gather my strength for whatever was to happen next. The food was very good.
All the same, I could not bring myself to speak to them, and I did not know what to believe. The scorched smell of the distant fire lingered in the air. From the whare, I saw dinner being eaten. I saw the man Oaoiti who had carried John up the hill. He ate with delicacy, and I thought, if that is my brother, at least he has eaten him with respect, and for that I was grateful.