I ignored Graham — the buddy had obviously become my enemy.
‘Is this arsehole going to say everything for you?’ I asked Jason
Graham hissed with anger and Jason put a hand on his shoulder to restrain him.
Then Jason looked at me.
‘I’m moving out, Michael. I’ll come by to pick up the rest of my things later.’
Graham stood up. ‘And now that he’s told you,’ he said, ‘we can leave.’
‘Not so fast,’ I answered. ‘I’m entitled to some time to understand all this. I’ve told the folks, Jason. They know about me now.’
Jason tried to get away from me but I caught his hands, not letting him go. Sometimes everything you want to say to a person is in the touching. When we had first got together there had been so much physicality, so much fun, so much laughter. So much touching.
‘And did you tell them about me too?’
‘No, not yet, but —’
Jason shook his head. His smile was bitter and knowing.
‘You still don’t understand, do you. Anyhow, it’s too late.’
He tried to get away from me but I kept holding on to him, not letting him go.
‘Speak to me, Jason. It’s not too late. Please, I don’t want to lose you.’
At my words Jason started on the offensive.
‘Michael, you say you don’t want to lose me, but it’s ownership our relationship is based on. It’s dependency. I’ve always suspected it, but it wasn’t until this weekend, after you left for Gisborne, that I had the time to think it all through. I’ve relinquished the control of my life into your hands. I have to take my life back.’
Jason began to weep and people in the restaurant looked at him, alarmed. Although I reached out to console him, it was to Graham that he turned. I felt the usual sense of helplessness, the usual inability to respond whenever this happened — these tears that came out of nowhere. For the first time I realised that something else was happening to Jason, something more profound than what we were going through. Something bigger than both of us. Why hadn’t I seen it before?
After a moment Jason recovered. He turned to me.
‘I know I was a coward not to wait until you got home to tell you this,’ he said, ‘but I had to leave the flat before you got back. Otherwise I would never have had the strength to do it. Even now I can feel myself wanting to go back to you, but I mustn’t. If I do, I’ll never find myself. I have to find out who I am and what I want.’
‘Can’t we work this out together?’
‘No, I have to do it myself. In many respects, this has actually got nothing to do with you or us. What it’s got to do with is me. Margo says that what you and I have been going through is only the symptom of the larger problem. There’s a lot of identity issues she still has to guide me through before I know what the problem is. Graham’s been helping me when we have our group sessions —’ Jason paused. His eyes were still shining with tears. ‘The thing is that I do think I love you.’
I truly believed Jason. I wanted to believe him. He turned to Graham and indicated that it was time to leave. But not before his parting shot.
‘If I do come back to you, it would be nice to know that you’ll be waiting.’
He walked away. Long after he had left I sat there, alone at the table, holding that hope of his return in my hands.
Of course I was left to pay the bill.
Yes, the irony really was that Jason started it all. But I had no inkling of what was coming, even when I returned to the flat and found a message on the answerphone from Auntie Pat.
‘Hello, Nephew. If you have any plans for the weekend, cancel. I’m coming down to see you and I want your undivided attention.’
That’s all I needed. I ordered up a pizza, watched a movie on television and tried not to think of Jason. At two in the morning I found myself sitting on the tiles of the shower, the water cascading around me. All I could think of was that I’d come out to my parents, my boyfriend had cleared out, the flat was a mess — my whole life was a mess. And now my aunt was coming to see me when all I really wanted was to be left alone.
How I got through the week, God knows. But, come Friday, Auntie Pat blew in along with the southerly:
‘So this is the den of iniquity, is it?’
I gave her the usual minimalist hug, showed her where to dump her suitcase and then took her out to dinner.
‘How’s the folks?’
‘Well, you gave them both barrels last week,’ Auntie Pat answered. ‘What do you think? How we got through the wedding I’ll never know.’
Ah yes, the wedding. The way we played Happy Family should have won an Academy Award. Nobody got up at the ceremony to show just impediment, and I did not disgrace anybody by turning up to the reception in a dress. Immediately after the wedding, however, with Amiria, Tyrone and American in-laws duly despatched to the four corners of the earth, Dad really let me have it. The stone I had thrown at the mirror of my parents’ lives cracked the glass apart.
‘Setting aside the way the family feels about this, Michael, do you think the iwi will still respect you once they know what kind of pervert you are? They have nurtured you, held you in their cradle of aroha, but what you do is abhorrent to them. It is anathema to their beliefs both as Maori and Christians.’
‘Does God have to come into this?’ I asked.
‘The people have claimed you as one of their own. They have expectations of you because of your Grandfather Arapeta’s mana. You have been brought up to have a place in the tribe. People like you are outcasts. They do not belong. If you are a Maori, one of the privileges is that when you die your iwi will honour you by coming for you and bringing you home to be buried. No matter where you are or what you’ve done — murdered somebody even — they will honour their obligation.’
‘So it’s better if I am a murderer?’
Mum joined the attack.
‘Michael, doesn’t your family mean anything to you? You have a proud lineage. Your grandfather was a respected man. You’re the only grandson and the only son. Does this mean that we will have no mokopuna? No grandchildren? What will happen to our whakapapa, our genealogy? It will finish with you, Michael. How dare you be so selfish.’
‘Amiria can have the children.’
At that, Dad raised his fist. This was the way he always did it. With words, words, always words and, if that didn’t work, with fists.
But I didn’t back down.
‘Why don’t you spit it out, Dad? The real reason why you’re upset has got nothing to do with me. It’s all about this family and its reputation. What you’re really angry about is that people will start pointing the finger at you and saying, ‘Oh, have you heard? That grandson of Arapeta’s, Monty’s son, is a faggot.’
Sometimes the threat of violence has as much impact as the act itself. When Dad came for me, Mum screamed — but it was Auntie Pat who stopped him. Quivering, he pointed an accusing finger:
‘Nobody in our family has ever been like you, Michael. Nobody.’
‘You have to tell me, Nephew,’ Auntie Pat asked me over dinner, ‘how did all this happen to you?’
I looked at Auntie Pat and thought, ‘Why should I be polite any longer?’ I decided to be brutal. To her credit she didn’t flinch or bat an eyelid.
‘Maybe it dates from the time I was molested.’
‘By whom?’
Two uncles. Drunk. Coming from a party and stumbling into a room where children slept. Any old bed. Any warm body. Ripping me open like a tin can.
‘You don’t want to go there, Auntie.’
‘Somebody in the tribe?’