The Whale Rider

Fourteen

The muted thunder boomed under water like a great door opening far away. Suddenly the sea was filled with awesome singing, a song with eternity in it. Then the whale burst through the sea and astride the head was a man. He was wondrous to look upon. He was the whale rider.

He had come, the whale rider, from the sacred island far to the east. He had called to the whale, saying, ‘Friend, you and I must take the gifts of life to the new land, life-giving seeds to make it fruitful.’ The journey had been long and arduous, but the whale had been filled with joy at the close companionship they shared as they sped through the southern seas.

Then they had arrived at the land, and at a place called Whangara the golden rider had dismounted. He had taken the gifts of Hawaiki to the people and the land and sea had blossomed.

For a time the whale had rested in the sea which sighed at Whangara. Time had passed like a swift current, but in its passing had come the first tastes of separation. His golden master had met a woman and had married her. Time passed, time passed like a dream. One day, the whale’s golden master had come to the great beast and there had been sadness in his eyes.

‘One last ride, friend,’ his master had said.

In elation, anger and despair, the whale had taken his golden master deeper than ever before and had sung to him of the sacred islands and of their friendship. But his master had been firm. At the end of the ride, he had said, ‘I have been fruitful and soon children will come to me. My destiny lies here. As for you, return to the Kingdom of Tangaroa and to your own kind.’

The heartache of that separation had never left the whale, nor had the remembrance of that touch of brow to brow in the last hongi.

Antarctica. The Well of the World. Te Wai Ora o te Ao. Above, the frozen continent was swept with an inhuman, raging storm. Below, where the Furies could not reach, the sea was calm and unworldly. The light played gently on the frozen ice layer and bathed the undersea kingdom with an unearthly radiance. The giant roots of the ice extending down from the surface sparkled, glowed, twinkled and flashed prisms of light like strobes in a vast subterranean cathedral. The ice cracked, moaned, shivered and susurrated with rippling glissandi, a giant organ playing a titanic symphony.

Within the fluted ice chambers the herd of whales moved with infinite grace in holy procession. As they did so they offered their own choral harmony to the natural orchestration. Their movements were languid and lyrical, and belied the physical reality of their sizes; their tail flukes gently stroked the water, manoeuvring them ever southward. Around and above them the sealions, penguins and other Antarctic denizens darted, circled and swooped in graceful waltz.

Then the whales could go no further. Their sonics indicated that there was nothing in front except a solid wall of ice. Bewildered, the ancient bull whale let loose a ripple of harmonics, a plaintive cry for advice. Had his golden master been with him, he would have been given the direction in which to turn.

All of a sudden a shaft of light penetrated the underwater world and turned it into a gigantic hall of mirrors. In each one the ancient whale seemed to see a vision of himself being spurred ahead by his golden master. He made a quick turn and suddenly shards of ice began to cascade like spears around the herd. The elderly females throbbed their alarm to him. They were already further south than they had ever been before and the mirrors, for them, appeared only to reflect a crystal tomb for the herd. They communicated the urgency of the situation to their leader.

The aurora australis played above the ice world and the reflected light was like a mesmerising dream to the ancient bull whale. He began to follow the light, turning away from the southward plunge. As he did so he increased his speed, and the turbulence of his wake caused ice waterfalls within the undersea kingdom. Twenty metres long, he no longer possessed the flexibility to manoeuvre at speed.

The herd followed through the crashing, falling ice. They saw their leader rising to the surface and watched as the surface starred around him. They began to mourn, for they knew that their journey to the dangerous islands was now a reality. Their leader was totally ensnared in the rhapsody of his dreams of the golden rider. So long part of their own whakapapa and legend, the golden rider could not be dislodged from their leader’s thoughts. The last journey had begun and at the end of it Death was waiting.

The aurora australis was like Hine Nui Te Po, Goddess of Death, flashing above the radiant land. The whales swept swiftly through the southern seas.

Haumi e, hui e, taiki e.

Let it be done.

Fifteen

Not long after Kahu’s dive for the stone, in the early hours of the morning, a young man was jogging along Wainui Beach, not far from Whangara, when he noticed a great disturbance on the sea. ‘The horizon all of a sudden got lumpy,’ he said as he tried to describe the phenomenon, ‘and lumps were moving in a solid mass to the beach.’ As he watched, the jogger realised that he was witnessing the advance to the beach of a great herd of whales. ‘They kept coming and coming,’ he told the Gisborne Herald, ‘and they didn’t turn away. I ran down to the breakwater. All around me the whales were stranding themselves. They were whistling, an eerie, haunting sound. Every now and then they would spout. I felt like crying.’

The news was quickly communicated to the town, and the local radio and television stations sent reporters out to Wainui. One enterprising cameraman hired a local helicopter to fly him over the scene. It is his flickering film images that most of us remember. In the early morning light, along three kilometres of coastland, are two hundred whales, male, female, young, waiting to die. The waves break over them and hiss around their passive frames. Dotted on the beach are human shapes, drawn to the tragedy. The pilot of the helicopter says on camera, ‘I’ve been to Vietnam, y’know, and I’ve done deer culling down south.’ His lips are trembling and his eyes are moist with tears. ‘But my oath, this is like seeing the end of the world.’

One particular sequence of the news film will remain indelibly imprinted on our minds. The camera zooms in on one of the whales, lifted high onto the beach by the waves. A truck has been driven down beside the whale. The whale is on its side, and blood is streaming from its mouth. The whale is still alive.

Five men are working on the whale. They are splattered with blood. As the helicopter hovers above them, one of the men stops his work and smiles directly into the camera. The look is triumphant. He lifts his arms in a victory sign and the camera sees that he has a chainsaw in his hand. Then the camera focuses on the other men, where they stand in the surging water. The chainsaw has just completed cutting through the whale’s lower jaw. The men are laughing as they wrench the jaw from the butchered whale. There is a huge spout of blood as the jaw suddenly snaps free. The blood drenches the men in a dark gouting stream. Blood, laughing, pain, victory, blood.

It was that sequence of human butchery, more than any other, which triggered feelings of sorrow and anger among the people on the Coast. Some would have argued that in Maori terms a stranded whale was traditionally a gift from the Gods and that the actions could therefore be condoned. But others felt more primal feelings of love for the beasts which had once been our companions from the Kingdom of the Lord Tangaroa. Nor was this just a question of one whale among many; this was a matter of two hundred members of a vanishing species.

At the time Kahu had just turned eight and Koro Apirana was down in the South Island with Porourangi. I rang them up to tell them what was happening. Koro said, ‘Yes, we know. Porourangi has rung the airport to see if we can get on the plane. But the weather’s cracked down on us and we can’t get out. You’ll have to go to Wainui. This is a sign to us. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.’

Luckily, knowing Kahu’s kinship with the sea, I was glad that she had still been asleep when the news was broadcast. I said to Nanny Flowers, ‘You better keep our Kahu at home today. Don’t let her know what has happened.’ Nanny’s eyes glistened. She nodded her head.

I got on my motorbike and went round rousing the boys. I hadn’t realised it before, but when you catch people unawares you sure find out a lot about them. For instance, one of the boys slept on his stomach with his thumb in his mouth. Billy had his hair in curlers and he still had a smoke dangling from his lips. And a third slept with all his clothes on and the motorbike was in the bed with him.

‘Come on, boys,’ I said. ‘We’ve got work to do.’ We assembled at the crossroads, gunned our bikes, and then took off. Instead of going the long way by road we cut across country and beach, flying like spears to help save the whales. The wind whistled among us as we sped over the landscape. Billy led the way and we followed — he was sure tricky, all right, knowing the shortcuts. No wonder the cops could never catch him. We flew over fences, jounced around paddocks, leapt streams and skirted the incoming tide. We were all whooping and hollering with the excitement of the ride when Billy took us up to a high point overlooking Wainui.

‘There they are,’ he said.

Gulls were wheeling above the beach. For as far as the eye could see whales were threshing in the curve of sand. The breakers were already red with blood. We sped down on our rescue mission.

The gulls cried, outraged, as we varoomed through their gathering numbers. The first sight to greet our eyes was this old European lady who had sat down on a whale that some men were pulling onto the beach with a tractor. They had put a rope round the whale’s rear flukes and were getting angrier and angrier with the woman, manhandling her away. But she would just return and sit on the whale again, her eyes glistening. We came to the rescue and that was the first punch-up of the day.

‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ the lady said. ‘The whale is already dead of course, but how can men be so venal?’

By that time many of the locals were out on the beach. Some of them still had their pyjamas on. There were a lot of elderly people living near Wainui and it was amazing to see them trying to stop younger men from pillaging the whales. When one of the old women saw us, she set her mouth grimly and raised a pink slipper in a threatening way.

‘Hey lady,’ Billy said. ‘We’re the goodies.’

She gaped disbelievingly. Then she said, ‘Well, if you’re the goodies, you’d better go after them baddies.’ She pointed down to where a truck was parked beside a dying whale. There were several beefy guys loading a dismembered jaw onto the back. As we approached we saw an old man scuffling with them. One of the young men smacked him in the mouth and the old man went down. His wife gave a high piping scream.

We roared up to the truck.

‘Hey, man,’ I hissed. ‘That whale belongs to Tangaroa.’ I pointed to the dying beast. The stench of guts and blood was nauseous. Seagulls dived into the bloodied surf.

‘Who’s stopping us?’

‘We are,’ Billy said. He grabbed the chainsaw, started it up and, next minute, had sawn the front tyres of the truck. That started the second punch-up of the day.

It was at this stage that the police and rangers arrived. I guess they must have had trouble figuring out who were the goodies and who were the baddies because they started to manhandle us as well. Then the old lady with the pink slipper arrived. She waved it in front of the ranger and said, ‘Not them, you stupid fool. They’re on our side.’

The ranger laughed. He looked us over quickly. ‘In that case, lady, I guess we’ll have to work together. Okay, fellas?’

I looked at the boys. We had a strange relationship with the cops. But this time we nodded agreement.

‘Okay,’ the ranger said. ‘The name’s Derek. Let’s get this beach cleared and cordoned off. We’ve got some Navy men coming in soon from Auckland.’ He yelled, ‘Anybody here got wetsuits? If so, get into them. We’ll need all the help we can get.’

The boys and I cleared the beach. We mounted a bike patrol back and forth along the sand, keeping the spectators back from the water. The locals helped us. I saw a shape I thought I knew tottering down to the sea. The woman must have borrowed her son’s wetsuit, but I would have recognised those pink slippers anywhere.

All of us who were there that day and night will be forever bonded by our experience with the stranded whales. They were tightly bunched and they were crying like babies. Derek had assigned people in groups, eight people to look after each whale. ‘Try to keep them cool,’ he said. ‘Pour water over them, otherwise they’ll dehydrate. The sun’s going to get stronger. Keep pouring that water, but try to keep their blowholes clear — otherwise they’ll suffocate to death. Above all, try to stop them from lying on their sides.’

It was difficult and heavy work, and I marvelled at the strength that some of the elderly folk brought to the task. One of the old men was talking to his whale and said in response to his neighbour, ‘Well, you talk to your plants!’ At that point the whale lifted its head and, staring at the two men, gave what appeared to be a giggle. ‘Why, the whale understands,’ the old man said. So the word went down the line of helpers.

The tide was still coming in. The Navy personnel arrived and members of Greenpeace, Project Jonah and Friends of the Earth also. Two helicopters whirred overhead, dropping wetsuited men into the sea.

A quick conference was called on the situation. The decision was made to try and tow the whales out to sea. Small runabouts were used, and while most of the whales resisted being towed by the tail, there were some successes. In that first attempt, a hundred and forty whales were refloated. There were many cheers along the beach. But the whales were like confused children, milling and jostling out in the deeper water, and they kept trying to return to those who were still stranded along the beach, darting back to those who were already dead. The cheers became ragged when all the whales returned to beach themselves again at low tide.

‘Okay, folks,’ Derek called. ‘We’re back at the beginning. Let’s keep them cool. And let’s keep our spirits up.’

The sea thundered through his words. The seagulls screamed overhead. The sun reached noon and began its low decline. I saw children coming from buses to help. Some schools had allowed senior students to aid the rescue. Many of the old folk were pleased to be relieved. Others, however, stayed on. For them, their whale had become a member of the family. ‘And I can’t leave Sophie now,’ an elderly lady said. The sun scattered its spokes across the sand.

The whales kept dying. As each death occurred the people who were looking after the whale would weep and clasp one another. They would try to force away the younger, healthier whales which had returned to keep company with their dying mates. When a large whale was turning on its side, several juveniles would try to assist it, rubbing their bodies against the dying whale’s head. All the time the animals were uttering cries of distress or alarm, like lost children.

Some old people refused to leave the beach. They began to sing ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’. They continued to try to right the whales, rocking them back and forth to restore their balance, and encouraging them to swim in groups. It was soon obvious, however, that the whales did not wish to be separated. So the ranger decided that an effort should be made to herd the surviving whales as one large group out to sea. They seemed to sense that we were trying to help them and offered no resistance or harm. When we reached them, most were exhausted, but when they felt us lifting them up and pushing them out to sea they put their energy into swimming and blowing.

Somehow we managed to get the whales out again with the incoming tide. But all they did was to cry and grieve for their dead companions; after wallowing aimlessly, they would return to nuzzle their loved ones. The sea hissed and fell, surged and soughed upon the sand. The whales were singing a plaintive song, a fluting sound which began to recede away, away, away.

By evening, all the whales had died. Two hundred whales, lifeless on the beach and in the water. The boys and I waited during the death throes. Some of the people from the town had set up refreshments and were serving coffee. I saw the lady with the pink slippers sipping coffee and looking out to sea.

‘Remember me?’ I said. ‘My name’s Rawiri. I’m a goodie.’

There were tears in her eyes. She pressed my hand in companionship.

‘Even the goodies,’ she said, ‘can’t win all the time.’

When I returned to Whangara that night, Nanny Flowers said, ‘Kahu knows about the whales.’ I found Kahu way up on the bluff, calling out to sea. She was making that mewling sound and then cocking her head to listen for a reply. The sea was silent, eternal.

I comforted her. The moon was drenching the sky with loneliness. I heard an echo of Koro Apirana’s voice, ‘This is a sign to us. I don’t like it.’ Suddenly, with great clarity, I knew that our final challenge was almost upon us. I pressed Kahu close to me, to reassure her. I felt a sudden shiver as far out to sea, muted thunder boomed like a door opening far away.

Haumi e, hui e, taiki e.

Let it be done.

Sixteen

Yes, people in the district vividly remember the stranding of the whales because television and radio brought the event into our homes that evening. But there were no television cameras or radio newsmen to see what occurred in Whangara the following night. Perhaps it was just as well, because even now it all seems like a dream. Perhaps, also, the drama enacted that night was only meant to be seen by the tribe and nobody else. Whatever the case, the earlier stranding of whales was merely a prelude to the awesome event that followed, an event that had all the cataclysmic power and grandeur of a Second Coming.

The muted thunder and forked lightning the day before had advanced quickly across the sea like an illuminated cloud. We saw it as a great broiling rush of the elements; with it came the icy cold winds hurled from the Antarctic.

Nanny Flowers, Kahu and I were watching the weather anxiously. We were at the airport, waiting for the flight bringing Koro Apirana and Porourangi back to us. Suddenly there was the plane, bucking like an albatross, winging ahead of winds which heralded the arrival of the storm. It was as if Tawhirimatea was trying to smash the plane down to earth in anger.

Koro Apirana was pale and upset. He and Nanny Flowers were always arguing, but this time he was genuinely relieved to see her. ‘Oh, wife,’ he whispered as he held her tightly.

‘We had a hard time down South,’ Porourangi said, trying to explain Koro’s agitation. ‘The land dispute was a difficult one and I think that Koro is worried about the judge’s decision. Then when he heard about the whales, he grew very sombre.’

The wind began to whistle and shriek like wraiths.

‘Something’s going on,’ Koro Apirana whispered. ‘I don’t know what it is. But something —’

‘It’s all right,’ Kahu soothed. ‘It will be all right, Paka.’

We collected the suitcases and ran out to the station wagon. As we drove through the town the illuminated cloud seemed always to be in front of us, like a portent.

Even before we reached Wainui Beach we could smell and taste the Goddess of Death. The wind was still lashing like a whip at the landscape. The car was buffeted strongly, and Nanny Flowers was holding on to her seat belt nervously.

‘It’s all right,’ Kahu said. ‘There, there, Nanny.’

Suddenly, in front of the car, I could see a traffic officer waving his torch. He told us to drive carefully as earth-moving machinery was digging huge trenches in the sand for the dead whales. Then he recognised me as one of the people who had tried to help. His smile and salute were sad.

I drove carefully along the highway. On our right I could see the hulking shapes of the graders, silhouetted against the broiling sky. Further down the beach, at the ocean’s edge, were the whales, rocked by the surge and hiss of the sea. The whole scene was like a surreal painting, not nightmarish, but immensely tragic. What had possessed the herd to be so suicidal? The wind hurled sand and mud at the windscreen of the station wagon. We watched in silence.

Then, ‘Stop,’ Koro Apirana said.

I stopped the station wagon. Koro Apirana got out. He staggered against the onslaught of the wind.

‘Leave him,’ Nanny Flowers said. ‘Let him be with the whales by himself. He needs to mourn.’

But I was fearful of Koro’s distraught state. I got out of the car too. The wind was freezing. I walked over to him. His eyes were haunted. He looked at me, uncomprehending.

‘No wai te he?’ he shouted. ‘Where lies the blame?’

And the seagulls caught his words within their claws and screamed and echoed the syllables overhead.

When we turned back to the station wagon I saw Kahu’s white face, so still against the window.

‘This is a sign to us,’ Koro Apirana said again.

We turned off the Main Highway and onto the road to Whangara. It was so dark that I switched the headlights on full. I looked up at that illuminated cloud. I had the strangest feeling that its centre was just above the village. I felt a rush of fear and was very glad when Whangara came into sight.

Whangara must be one of the most beautiful places in the world, like a kingfisher’s nest floating on the water at summer solstice. There it was, with church in the foreground and marae behind, silhouetted against the turbulent sea. And there was Paikea, our eternal sentinel, always vigilant against any who would wish to harm his descendants. Caught like this, the village was a picture of normality given the events that were to come.

I drove up to the homestead.

‘Kahu, you help take Koro’s bags inside,’ I said. ‘Then I’ll take you and Daddy home. Okay?’

Kahu nodded. She put her arms around her grandfather and said again, ‘It’s all right, Paka. Everything will be all right.’

She picked up a small flight bag and carried it up onto the verandah. We were all getting out of the wagon and climbing towards her when, suddenly, the wind died away.

I will never forget the look on Kahu’s face. She was gazing out to sea and it was as if she was looking back into the past. It was a look of calm, of acceptance. It forced us all to turn to see what Kahu was seeing.

The land sloped away to the sea. The surface of the water was brilliant green, blending into dark blue and then a rich purple. The illuminated cloud was seething above one place on the horizon.

All of a sudden there was a dull booming from beneath the water, like a giant door opening a thousand years ago. At the place below the clouds the surface of the sea shimmered like gold dust. Then streaks of blue lightning came shooting out of the sea like missiles. I thought I saw something flying through the air, across the aeons, to plunge into the marae.

A dark shadow began to ascend from the deep. Then there were other shadows rising, ever rising. Suddenly the first shadow breached the surface and I saw it was a whale. Leviathan. Climbing through the pounamu depths. Crashing through the skin of sea. And as it came, the air was filled with streaked lightning and awesome singing.

Koro Apirana gave a tragic cry, for this was no ordinary beast, no ordinary whale. This whale came from the past. As it came it filled the air with its singing.

Its companions began to breach the surface also, orchestrating the call with unearthly music.

The storm finally unleashed its fury and strength upon the land. The sea was filled with whales and in their vanguard was their ancient battle-scarred leader.

On the head of the whale was the sacred sign. A swirling tattoo, flashing its power across the darkening sky.

I zoomed on my bike through the night and the rain, rounding the boys up. ‘I’m sorry, boys,’ I said to them as I yanked them out of bed, ‘we’re needed again.’

‘Not more whales,’ they groaned.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But this is different boys, different. These whales are right here in Whangara.’

Koro Apirana had issued his instructions to Porourangi and me. We were to gather up the boys and all the available men of the village, and tell them to come to the meeting house. And we were to hurry.

‘Huh?’ Nanny Flowers had said in a huff. ‘What about us women! We’ve got hands to help.’

Koro Apirana smiled a wan smile. His voice was firm as he told her, ‘I don’t want you to interfere, Flowers. You know as well as I do that this is sacred work.’

Nanny Flowers bristled. ‘But you haven’t got enough men to help. You watch out. If I think you need the help, well, I shall change myself into a man. Just like Muriwai.’

‘In the meantime,’ Koro Apirana said, ‘you leave the organising to me. If the women want to help, you tell them to meet you in the dining room. I’ll leave them to you.’

He kissed her and she looked him straight in the eyes. ‘I say again,’ she warned, ‘I’ll be like Muriwai if I have to. Kahu, also, if she has to be.’

‘You keep Kahu away, e Kui,’ Koro Apirana said. ‘She’s of no use to me.’

With that he had turned to Porourangi and me. As for Kahu, she was staring at the floor, resigned, feeling sorry for herself.

Together, we had all watched the whale with the sacred sign plunging through the sea towards us. The attending herd had fallen back, sending long undulating calls to the unheeding bull whale, which had propelled itself forcefully onto the beach. We had felt the tremor of its landing. As we watched, fearfully, we saw the bull whale heaving itself by muscle contraction even further up the sand. Then, sighing, it had rolled onto its right side and prepared itself for death.

Five or six elderly females had separated from the herd to lie close to the bull whale. They sang to it, attempting to encourage it back to the open sea where the rest of the herd were waiting. But the bull whale remained unmoving.

We had run down to the beach. None of us had been prepared for the physical size of the beast. It seemed to tower over us. A primal psychic force gleamed in its swirling tattoo. Twenty metres long, it brought with it a reminder of our fantastic past.

Then, in the wind and the rain, Koro Apirana had approached the whale. ‘Oh sacred one,’ he had called, ‘greetings. Have you come to die or to live?’ There was no reply to his question. But we had the feeling that this was a decision which had been placed in our hands. The whale had raised its giant tail fin:

It was then that Koro Apirana had asked that the men gather in the meeting house.

Outside there was wind and rain, lightning and thunder. The lightning lit up the beach where the stranded whale was lying. Far out to sea the whale herd waited, confused. Every now and then one of the elderly females would come to comfort the ancient whale and to croon its love for him.

Inside the stomach of the meeting house there was warmth, bewilderment, strength and anticipation, waiting to be soldered into a unity by the words of our chief, Koro Apirana. The sound of the women assembling in the dining room under Nanny Flowers’ supervision came to us like a song of support. As I shut the door to the meeting house I saw Kahu’s face, like a small dolphin, staring out to sea. She was making her mewling noise.

Koro Apirana took us for prayers. His voice rose and fell like the sea. Then he made his greetings to the house, our ancestors, and the tribe gathered inside the house. For a moment he paused, searching for words and began to speak.

‘Well, boys,’ he said, ‘there are not many of us. I count twenty-six —’

‘Don’t forget me, Koro,’ a six-year-old interjected.

‘Twenty-seven, then,’ Koro Apirana smiled, ‘so we all have to be one in body, mind, soul and spirit. But first we have to agree on what we must do.’ His voice fell silent. ‘To explain, I have to talk philosophy and I never went to no university. My university was the school of hard knocks —’

‘That’s the best school of all,’ someone yelled.

‘So I have to explain in my own way. Once, our world was one where the Gods talked to our ancestors and man talked with the Gods. Sometimes the Gods gave our ancestors special powers. For instance, our ancestor Paikea’ — Koro Apirana gestured to the apex of the house — ‘was given power to talk to whales and to command them. In this way, man, beasts and Gods lived in close communion with one another.’

Koro Apirana took a few thoughtful steps back and forward.

‘But then,’ he continued, ‘man assumed a cloak of arrogance and set himself up above the Gods. He even tried to defeat Death, but failed. As he grew in his arrogance he started to drive a wedge through the original oneness of the world. In the passing of Time he divided the world into that half he could believe in and that half he could not believe in. The real and the unreal. The natural and supernatural. The present and the past. The scientific and the fantastic. He put a barrier between both worlds and everything on his side was called rational and everything on the other side was called irrational. Belief in our Maori Gods,’ he emphasised, ‘has often been considered irrational.’

Koro Apirana paused again. He had us in the palms of his hands and was considerate about our ignorance, but I was wondering what he was driving at. Suddenly he gestured to the sea.

‘You have all seen the whale,’ he said. ‘You have all seen the sacred sign tattooed on its head. Is the tattoo there by accident or by design? Why did a whale of its appearance strand itself here and not at Wainui? Does it belong in the real world or the unreal world?’

‘The real,’ someone called.

‘Is it natural or supernatural?’

‘It is supernatural,’ a second voice said.

Koro Apirana put up his hands to stop the debate. ‘No,’ he said, ‘it is both. It is a reminder of the oneness which the world once had. It is the birth cord joining past and present, reality and fantasy. It is both. It is both,’ he thundered, ‘and if we have forgotten the communion then we have ceased to be Maori.’

The wind whistled through his words. ‘The whale is a sign,’ he began again. ‘It has stranded itself here. If we are able to return it to the sea, then that will be proof that the oneness is still with us. If we are not able to return it, then this is because we have become weak. If it lives, we live. If it dies, we die. Not only its salvation but ours is waiting out there.’

Koro Apirana closed his eyes. His voice drifted in the air and hovered, waiting for a decision.

‘Shall we live? Or shall we die?’

Our answer was an acclamation of pride in our tribe.

Koro Apirana opened his eyes. ‘Okay then, boys. Let’s go down there and get on with it.’

Porourangi gave the orders. He told the men that they were to drive every available truck, car, motorbike or tractor down to the bluff overlooking the sea and flood the beach with their headlights. Some of the boys had spotlights which they used when hunting opossums; these, also, were brought to the bluff and trained on the stranded whale. In the light, the whale’s tattoo flared like a silver scroll.

Watching from the dining room, Nanny Flowers saw Koro Apirana walking around in the rain and got her wild up. She yelled out to one of the boys, ‘Hoi, you take his raincoat to that old paka. Thinks he’s Super Maori, ne.’

‘What are they doing, Nanny?’ Kahu asked.

‘They’re taking all the lights down to the beach,’ Nanny Flowers answered. ‘The whale must be returned to the sea.’

Kahu saw the beams from the headlights of two tractors cutting through the dark. Then she saw her father, Porourangi, and some of the boys running down to the whale with ropes in their hands.

‘That’s it, boys,’ Koro Apirana yelled. ‘Now who are the brave ones to go out in the water and tie the ropes around the tail of our ancestor? We have to pull him around so that he’s facing the sea. Well?’

I saw my mate, Billy, and volunteered on his behalf.

‘Gee thanks, pal,’ Billy said.

‘I’ll take the other rope,’ Porourangi offered.

‘No,’ Koro Apirana said. ‘I need you here. Give the rope to your brother, Rawiri.’

Porourangi laughed and threw the rope to me. ‘Hey, I’m not your brother,’ I said.

He pushed me and Billy out into the sea. The waves were bitingly cold and I was greatly afraid because the whale was so gigantic. As Billy and I struggled to get to the tail all I could think of was that if it rolled I would be squashed just like a nana. The waves lifted us up and down, up and down, up into the dazzle of the lights on the beach and down into the dark sea. Billy must have been as frightened of the whale as I was because he would say, ‘Excuse me, koro,’ whenever a wave smashed him into the side of the whale, or, ‘Oops, sorry koro.’

‘Hurry up! Hurry up!’ Koro Apirana yelled from the beach, ‘We haven’t much time. Stop mucking around.’

Billy and I finally managed to get to the tail of the whale. The flukes of the whale were enormous, like huge wings.

‘One of us will have to dive underneath,’ I suggested to Billy, ‘to get the ropes around.’

‘Be my guest,’ Billy said. He was hanging on for dear life.

There was nothing for it but to do the job myself. I took three deep breaths and dived. The water was churning with sand and small pebbles and I panicked when the whale moved. Just my luck if it did a bundle, I thought. I sought the surface quickly.

‘You’re still alive,’ Billy shouted in triumph. I passed the two ropes to him. He knotted them firmly and we fought our way back to the beach. The boys gave a big cheer. I heard Billy boasting about how he had done all the hard work.

‘Now what?’ Porourangi asked Koro Apirana.

‘We wait,’ said Koro Apirana, ‘for the incoming tide. The tide will help to float our ancestor and, when he does we’ll use the tractors to pull him around. We will only have the one chance. Then once he’s facing the sea we’ll all have to get in the water and try to push him out.’

‘We could pull him out by boat,’ I suggested.

‘No, too dangerous,’ Koro replied. ‘The sea is running too high. The other whales are in the way. No, we wait. And we pray.’

Koro Apirana told Billy and me to get out of our wet clothes. We hopped on my motorbike and went up to the homestead to change. Naturally, Nanny Flowers with her hawk eyes saw us and came ambling over to ask what was happening down on the beach.

‘We’re waiting for the tide,’ I said.

I thought that Nanny Flowers would start to growl and protest about not being involved. Instead she simply hugged me and said, ‘Tell the old paka to keep warm. I want him to come back to me in one piece.’

Then Kahu was there, flinging herself into my arms. ‘Paka? Is Paka all right?’

‘Yes, Kahu,’ I said.

‘There, there,’ Kahu said to Nanny Flowers. ‘They’ll be all right.’

Suddenly the horns of the cars down on the beach began to sound. The tide was turning. Billy and I rushed to the motorbike and roared back.

By the time we got back to Koro Apirana the boys were already in action. ‘The sea came up so sudden,’ Porourangi yelled above the waves. ‘Look.’

The whale was already half submerged, spouting in its distress. Three elderly females had managed to come beside him and were trying to nudge him upright before he drowned.

‘Now,’ Porourangi cried. The two tractors coughed into life. The rope took up between them and the whale, and quickly became taut.

With a sudden heave and suck of sand the whale gained its equilibrium. Its eyes opened, and Koro Apirana saw the strength and the wisdom of the ages shining like a sacred flame. The tattoo of the whale too seemed alive with unholy fire.

Do you wish to live?

‘Sacred whale,’ Koro Apirana said. ‘Yes, we wish to live. Return to the sea. Return to your kingdom of Tangaroa.’

The tractors began to pull the whale round. By degrees it was lying parallel to the beach. The boys and I put our shoulders to its gigantic bulk and tried to ease it further seaward.

It was then that the ropes snapped. Koro Apirana gave a cry of anguish, burying his face in his hands. Swiftly he turned to me. ‘Rawiri, go tell your Nanny Flowers it is time for the women to act the men.’

Even before I reached the dining hall Nanny Flowers was striding through the rain. The women were following behind her.

‘In we go, girls,’ Nanny Flowers said. ‘Kahu, you stay on the beach.’

‘But Nanny.’

‘Stay,’ Nanny Flowers ordered.

The women ran to join us. Porourangi began to chant encouragement. ‘Toia mai,’ he called. ‘Te waka,’ we responded. ‘Ki te moana,’ he cried. ‘Te waka,’ we answered again. ‘Ki Tangaroa,’ he chanted. ‘Te waka,’ we replied a third time. And at each response we put our shoulders to the whale, pushing it further seaward and pointing it at the ocean stars.

Out to sea the herd sang its encouragement. The elderly females spouted their joy.

Life or death?

A ripple ran along the back of the whale. A spasm. Our hearts leapt with joy. Suddenly the huge flukes rose to stroke at the sky.

The whale moved.

But our joy soon turned to fear. Even as the whale moved, Koro Apirana knew we had lost. For instead of moving out to sea the whale turned on us. The tail crashed into the water causing us to move away, screaming our dread. With a terrifying guttural moan the whale sought deeper water where we could not reach it. It is death. Then, relentlessly, it turned shoreward again, half-submerging itself in the water, willing its own death.

It is death.

The wind was rising. The storm was raging. The sea stormed across the sky. We watched, forlorn, from the beach.

‘Why?’ Kahu asked Koro Apirana.

‘Our ancestor wants to die.’

‘But why?’

‘There is no place for it here in this world. The people who once commanded it are no longer here.’ He paused. ‘When it dies, we die. I die.’

‘No, Paka. And if it lives?’

‘Then we live also.’

Nanny Flowers cradled the old man. She started to lead him away and up to the homestead. The sky forked with lightning. The tribe watched in silence, waiting for the whale to die. The elderly females cushioned it gently in its last resting place. Far out to sea the rest of the herd began the mournful song of farewell for their leader.

Seventeen

Nobody saw her slip away and enter the water. Nobody knew at all until she was halfway through the waves. Then the headlights and spotlights from the cars along the beach picked up her white dress and that little head bobbing up and down in the waves. As soon as I saw her, I knew it was Kahu.

‘Hey!’ I yelled. I pointed through the driving rain. Other spotlights began to catch her. In that white dress and white ribboned pigtails she was like a small puppy, trying to keep its head up. A wave would crash over her but somehow she would appear on the other side, gasping wide-eyed, and doing what looked like a cross between a dog-paddle and a breaststroke.

Instantly I ran through the waves. People said I acted like a maniac. I plunged into the sea.

If the whale lives, we live. These were the only words Kahu could think of.

We have lost our way of talking to whales.

The water was freezing, but not to worry. The waves were huge, but she could do this. The rain was like spears, but she could do this.

Every now and then she had to take a deep breath because sometimes the waves were like dumpers, slamming her down to the sandy bottom, but somehow she bobbed right back up like a cork. Now, the trouble was that the lights from the beach were dazzling her eyes, making it hard to see where she was going. Her neck was hurting with the constant looking up, but there, there, was the whale with the tattoo. She dog-paddled purposefully towards it. A wave smashed into her and she swallowed more sea water. She began to cough and tread water. Then she set her face with determination. As she approached the whale, she suddenly remembered what she should do.

‘That damn kid,’ I swore as I leapt into the surf. For one thing I was no hero and for another I was frightened by the heavy seas. Bathtubs were really the closest I ever liked to get to water and at least in a bath the water was hot. This wasn’t. It was cold enough to freeze a person. I knew, because I’d only just before been in it.

But I had to admire the kid. She’d always been pretty fearless. Now, here she was, swimming towards the whale. I wondered what on earth she expected to do.

I saw Porourangi running after Koro Apirana and Nanny Flowers to bring them back. Then the strangest thing happened. I heard Kahu’s high treble voice shouting something to the sea. She was singing to the whale. Telling it to acknowledge her coming.

‘Karanga mai, karanga mai, karanga mai.’ She raised her head and began to call to the whale.

The wind snatched at her words and flung them with the foam to smash in the wind.

Kahu tried again. ‘Oh sacred ancestor,’ she called. ‘I am coming to you. I am Kahu. Ko Kahutia Te Rangi ahau.’

The headlights and spotlights were dazzling upon the whale. It may have been the sudden light, or a cross-current, but the eye of the whale seemed to flicker. Then the whale appeared to be looking at the young girl swimming.

Ko Kahutia Te Rangi?

‘Kahu!’ I could hear Nanny Flowers screaming in the wind.

My boots were dragging me down. I had to stop and reach under to take them off. I lost valuable time, but better that than drown. The boots fell away into the broiling currents.

I looked up. I tried to see where Kahu was. The waves lifted me up and down.

‘Kahu, no,’ I cried.

She had reached the whale and was hanging onto its jaw. ‘Greetings, ancient one,’ Kahu said as she clung onto the whale’s jaw. ‘Greetings.’ She patted the whale and looking into its eye, said, ‘I have come to you.’

The swell lifted her up and propelled her away from the head of the whale. She choked with the water and tried to dog-paddle back to the whale’s eye.

‘Help me,’ she cried. ‘Ko Kahutia Te Rangi au. Ko Paikea.’

The whale shuddered at the words.

Ko Paikea?

By chance, Kahu felt the whale’s forward fin. Her fingers tightened quickly around it. She held on for dear life.

And the whale felt a surge of gladness which, as it mounted, became ripples of ecstasy, ever increasing. He began to communicate his joy to all parts of his body.

Out beyond the breakwater the herd suddenly became alert. With hope rising, they began to sing their encouragement to their leader.

‘Kahu, no,’ I cried again. I panicked and I lost sight of her, and I thought that she had been swept into the whale’s huge mouth. I was almost sick thinking about it, but then I remembered that Jonah had lived on in the belly of his whale. So, if necessary, I would just have to go down this whale’s throat and pull Kahu right out. No whale was going to swallow our Kahu and get away with it.

The swell lifted me up again. With relief I saw that Kahu was okay. She was hanging onto the whale’s forward fin. For a moment I thought my imagination was playing tricks. Earlier, the whale had been lying on its left side. But now it was righting itself, rolling so that it was lying on its stomach.

Then I felt afraid that in the rolling Kahu would get squashed. No, she was still hanging onto the fin. I was really frightened though, because in the rolling Kahu had been lifted clear of the water and was now dangling on the side of the whale, like a small white ribbon.

The elderly female whales skirled their happiness through the sea. They listened as the pulsing strength of their leader manifested itself in stronger and stronger whalesong. They crooned tenderness back to him and then throbbed a communication to the younger males to assist their leader. The males arranged themselves in arrow formation to spear through the raging surf.

‘Greetings, sacred whale,’ Kahu whispered. She was cold and exhausted. She pressed her cheek to the whale’s side and kissed it. The skin felt like very smooth, slippery rubber.

Without really thinking about it, Kahu began to stroke the whale just behind the fin. It is my lord, the whale rider. She felt a tremor in the whale and a rippling under the skin. Suddenly she saw that indentations like footholds and handholds were appearing before her. She tested the footholds and they were firm. Although the wind was blowing fiercely she stepped away from the sheltering fin and began to climb. As she did so, she caught a sudden glimpse of her Koro Apirana and Nanny Flowers clustered with the others on the faraway beach.

I was too late. I saw Kahu climbing the side of the whale. A great wave bore me away from her. I yelled out to her, a despairing cry.

Kahu could climb no further. It is my lord, Kahutia Te Rangi. She saw the rippling skin of the whale forming a saddle with fleshy stirrups for her feet and pommels to grasp. She wiped her eyes and smoothed down her hair as she settled herself astride the whale. She heard a cry, like a moan in the wind.

I saw black shapes barrelling through the breakers. Just my luck, I thought. If I don’t drown I’ll get eaten.

Then I saw that the shapes were smaller whales of the herd, coming to assist their leader.

The searchlights were playing on Kahu astride the whale. She looked so small, so defenceless.

Quietly, Kahu began to weep. She wept because she was frightened. She wept because Paka would die if the whale died. She wept because she was lonely. She wept because she loved her baby sister and her father and Ana. She wept because Nanny Flowers wouldn’t have anyone to help her in the vegetable garden. She wept because Koro Apirana didn’t love her. And she also wept because she didn’t know what dying was like.

Then, screwing up her courage, she started to kick the whale as if it was a horse.

‘Let us go now,’ she shrilled.

The whale began to rise in the water.

‘Let us return to the sea,’ she cried.

Slowly, the whale began to turn to the open sea. Yes, my lord. As it did so, the younger whales came to push their leader into deeper water.

‘Let the people live,’ she ordered.

Together, the ancient whale and its escort began to swim into the deep ocean.

She was going, our Kahu. She was going into the deep ocean. I could hear her small piping voice in the darkness as she left us.

She was going with the whales into the sea and the rain. She was a small figure in a white dress, kicking at the whale as if it was a horse, her braids swinging in the rain. Then she was gone and we were left behind.

Ko Paikea, ko Paikea.

Eighteen

She was the whale rider. Astride the whale she felt the sting of the surf and rain upon her face. On either side the younger whales were escorting their leader through the surf. They broke through into deeper water.

Her heart was pounding. She saw that now she was surrounded by the whale herd. Every now and then, one of the whales would come to rub alongside the ancient leader. Slowly, the herd made its way to the open sea.

She was Kahutia Te Rangi. She felt a shiver running down the whale and, instinctively, she placed her head against its skin and closed her eyes. The whale descended in a shallow dive and the water was like streaming silk. A few seconds later the whale surfaced, gently spouting.

Her face was wet with sea and tears. The whales were gathering speed, leaving the land behind. She took a quick look and saw headlights far away. Then she felt that same shiver again, and again placed her head against the whale’s skin. This time when the whale dived, it stayed underwater longer. But Kahu had made a discovery. Where her face was pressed the whale had opened up a small breathing chamber.

She was Paikea. In the deepening ocean the fury of the storm was abating. The whale’s motions were stronger. As it rose from the sea, its spout was a silver jet in the night sky. Then it dived a third time, and the pressure on her eardrums indicated to the young girl that this was a longer dive than the first two had been. And she knew that the next time would be forever.

She was serene. When the whale broke the surface she made her farewell to sky and earth and sea and land. She called her farewells to her people. She prepared herself as best she could with the little understanding she had. She said goodbye to her Paka, her Nanny, her father and mother, her Uncle Rawiri, and prayed for their good health always. She wanted them to live for ever and ever.

The whale’s body tensed. The girl felt her feet being locked by strong muscles. The cavity for her face widened. The wind whipped at her hair.

Suddenly the moon came out. Around her the girl could see whales sounding, sounding, sounding. She lowered her face into the whale and closed her eyes. ‘I am not afraid to die,’ she whispered to herself.

The whale’s body arched and then slid into a steep dive. The water hissed and surged over the girl. The huge flukes seemed to stand on the surface of the sea, stroking at the rain-drenched sky. Then slowly, they too slid beneath the surface.

She was Kahutia Te Rangi. She was Paikea. She was the whale rider.

Hui e, haumi e, taiki e. Let it be done.

The tribe was weeping on the beach. The storm was leaving with Kahu. Nanny Flowers’ heart was racing and her tears were streaming down her face. She reached into her pockets for a handkerchief. Her fingers curled around a carved stone. She took it out and gave it to Koro Apirana.

‘Which of the boys?’ he gasped in grief. ‘Which of the —’

Nanny Flowers was pointing out to sea. Her face was filled with emotion as she cried out to Kahu. The old man understood. He raised his arms as if to claw down the sky upon him.