Great heavens, thought Lavinia, Mr. Marsh again! He plays an invisible role in our lives.
• • •
A broad path climbed gradually up toward the forests. Ahorangi Oval, again in her orange skirt and flax blouse, sat astride a nervous bay mare dancing and shifting about. Lavinia, feeling constricted and slightly tortured in an ill-fitting riding habit, was on a tractable piebald mare. Dieter on a rangy gelding, and Mr. Oval on his Thoroughbred Queenie, rode behind the two women, talking of Mr. Marsh. Two bareback Maori men — the brothers of Ahorangi — rode in front, turning and calling out comments in good English. The servant and a packhorse laden with full kete baskets followed the party.
“You speak English very well,” said Lavinia to Ahorangi.
“Yes, thank you. I went to school in London,” she said.
At noon the brothers reined up near a stout tree with a self-important air. “A cabbage tree,” said Ahorangi. “All parts are good to eat, we can thatch roofs, make our rain capes. It gives good medicines. It shows itself as different from other trees, so we plant them sometimes to mark a notable place. Let us have lunch here with the ti kouka.”
• • •
The path rose and they entered a totara grove, the elegant trees rising high, showing needled spikes and red berries.
“This,” said Ahorangi, gesturing with her expressive hands, “is the tree we esteem above all others.”
“Even above the kauri?” asked Lavinia.
“Yes. The kauri is important and we revere it, but it is whitemen who love it to the exclusion of other trees. For them it is the ideal timber tree. But it is the totara with whom our lives and religion are even more deeply entwined. Like kauri, it is one of the great chieftain trees — also rimu and kahikatea and rata. Those are our royal trees.”
“They remind me somewhat of yews,” said Dieter, looking at the totara, “though they are much taller. Very tall indeed.”
“Oh yes,” said Mr. Oval. “They are a much-favored tree, both by the Maori and whites. The Maori prefer totara for carvings and war canoes, houses and so much else — framing timbers, even. The fruit is tasty and plentiful, a bark decoction controls fever. White men like it for its rot-resistant timber.”
Ahorangi led Lavinia to a flounced rimu with drooping fronds. “This is my favorite,” she said. “I love the rimu, but so do the timbermen.” She touched a dangle of green. “The botanists say it is a pine, but it is different. It has no cones like European pines, but a good kind of berry. Kakapo — hear them? — like the berries very much.”
In fact all the previous night in the Fern House, Lavinia had heard a smothered thumping sound like someone dropping cannonballs from the trees. Now she heard it again. Ahorangi told her it was the mating call of the kakapo, a fat puffy parrot that could not fly but spent its time in the rimu gorging on fruit—“usually they make this sound only at night, but I think this one may be rather ardent.” Ahorangi touched Lavinia’s arm and with a sad half smile said, “I must ask you something. I am afraid for the rimu. My husband says you are an important lady who owns a timber company and that you come here to look at the trees with a thought to cut them. I hope you will love our trees and not cut them. They are our lives. To live happily in this place we need the trees. I am afraid for them. You will not cut them, please?”
Lavinia said nothing, and in a few minutes Ahorangi understood the silence and walked back to her husband and brothers. For the rest of the day she stayed with them and made no effort to speak again with Lavinia.
Dieter rode up. “What is it?” he said, aware something was not right.
“She does not want us to cut any trees,” said Lavinia. “She begged me not to cut them. I did not know what to say. There are so many trees here that there is no possibility they could be all removed as she seems to fear.”
“Let us hope so,” said Dieter. “That is my wish.” And he, too, fell silent.
They passed through the rimu and followed a twisting trail that wound around a slope and into a grove. Lavinia and Dieter knew at once these were the kauri; they could be nothing else. Massively broad grey trunks with branches bunched at the top like the victims of a robbery throwing up their hands; but the staggering size of these monsters stunned them both.
“My God,” said Dieter, “this is the enchanted forest from some ancient tale.” He dismounted, tied his horse to a shrub and began to walk around a very, very large kauri. He was suddenly joyful. “They are too big to be cut,” he said to Lavinia. “They cannot be brought down.”
They can, Lavinia thought, they will be. Yet she, too, had been a little moved by the great silent trees, so immense, so helpless.
• • •
After dinner Lavinia tried to make amends. “Dear Mrs. Oval,” she said.
“Please, call me Ahorangi.”
“And you must call me Lavinia. I want to say that if I am here to look at the kauri trees for cutting, my husband is here because he believes in replanting what one takes. We wonder if it is possible to plant infant kauri trees, perhaps one for each large one that is cut, to care for the young trees as they grow and age?”
Ahorangi gave a small laugh. “The big kauri trees are very old — thousands of years. We will take you to see Kairaru of Tutamoe. It is the largest one. It would certainly be a hundred human generations before a seedling could replace one fallen mature kauri of such girth.”
“One must have faith in the power of a seed,” said Dieter. “We plant them knowing we will never see them when they are grown. We plant them for the health of the world rather than for people not yet born.”
Nashley Oval leaned forward in his chair, his face tense and excited. “This — this idea of planting kauris. I like this very much. I wish to make a nursery — I suppose it would be a nursery — for starting young trees. I am not quite sure how they propagate…” He looked at his wife.
“They have cones and the cones carry the seeds. Many times you have seen the winged seeds spiraling down to the ground, riding on the wind, no?”
“Yes. So all one would have to do is gather those seeds and put them in a bed of soil?”
Dieter spoke up. “Likely one would get better results by gathering cones not quite ripe enough to disperse their seeds. And these should come from younger trees in vigorous good health. I know nothing of the germination rate of kauri seeds but there are bound to be variations. When do the winged seeds begin to disperse?”
“I would say February — March,” said Ahorangi. “In the autumn, a few months hence.”
“I should never get used to the seasons being opposite,” said Lavinia.
“Oh, it’s not difficult,” said Nashley Oval. “It all falls into place quite naturally.” He was quiet while the guests murmured over the roasted hoki fish with shallot sauce. “I plan to empty my glasshouse of lettuces and green pease and collect kauri seeds this coming February. I shall try my hand at starting young kauri trees.”
“You will be the first in the world, dear Nashley,” said Ahorangi, touching his hand.
Dieter spoke earnestly. “Mr. Oval, if you do such a thing allow me to congratulate you on a valuable hobbyhorse. You will find yourself lavishing your infant seedlings with affection and tender regard for their welfare. But pray do not give up your vegetables — if you can, do construct a glasshouse especially for the kauri. I would be most happy to contribute to such a venture in the interest of improving the future.”
Ahorangi spoke to Lavinia. “You have not yet seen the young kauris — they call them rickers, and they look rather different than the mature trees. Tall and thin, like young girls before they — develop. They are a bit amusing. We shall see all ages while you are here.”