‘Look at you! How come it’s taken all this time for us to realise that we can have such fun together?’
By three o’clock I was ready to call it a night. We’d gone from The Hellfire Club to Jordan’s, where Auntie Pat was introduced to the joys of playing billiards.
‘I’m bailing out,’ I said.
‘Good,’ said Roimata, ‘because Auntie Pat and I are going on to Girls Only bar. That okay with you, Girl?’
Once Roimata got going she could never stop. Auntie Pat didn’t even have the courtesy to look apologetic.
‘Sure, Girl,’ she said to Roimata. She gave me a hug. ‘Don’t wait up!’
I caught a taxi, had a shower and put myself to bed. Around dawn I heard a car come to a halt outside the flat and Roimata helping Auntie Pat up the stairs to the spare bedroom. Just before leaving, Roimata came into my bedroom and sat down on the bed beside me. I was half asleep.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you and Jason had split up!’
‘Did Auntie Pat tell you? I was embarrassed. He might come back anyway.’
‘God, you men are all the same.’
She kissed me on the cheek.
‘Sleep well, Michael.’
I was still asleep when, at midday, Auntie Pat woke me up.
‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I have to get back to the real world.’
‘You haven’t had any breakfast. You can’t hit the road until you’ve had something to eat. Let me cook you up some bacon and eggs.’
Auntie Pat was insistent. ‘No, stay in bed, Nephew. I’m okay.’
I relaxed, sinking back into the pillows. ‘Well, I’m glad you came, Auntie Pat.’
‘Thank you for showing me Sodom and Gomorrah. All night I was waiting for lightning to strike me dead or to be turned into a pillar of salt!’
To my surprise, Auntie Pat began to stroke my face and to tousle my hair. ‘But I didn’t just come to dance the night away, Michael,’ she said. ‘Or understand more about you and your other life. I also came to give you something.’
She reached down to the floor and picked up a large brown package wrapped around with string.
‘I’ve kept this for years and years, not knowing what to do with it. I think I must have been waiting for someone like you to give it to.’
‘What is it?’
‘Don’t read it now. Wait until I’ve gone.’
Auntie Pat’s voice faltered. Then it rose in clarity and strength, as if sunlight had just broken through a clouded sky.
‘Your father was wrong to say you were the first gay man in the family. He knows you weren’t. He was there when our Dad, your grandfather Arapeta, kicked Sam out. And like you, Sam was afraid to tell Mum and Dad what he was. So I understand you, Nephew.’
‘Sam?’
‘My brother. Your father’s brother.’
‘But there’s only Dad and you in the family.’
‘No,’ Auntie Pat said. ‘We had an elder brother. His name was Sam.’
Her voice softened. She handed me the package.
‘This will explain everything.’
Later, I took Auntie Pat’s package out onto the balcony. She had tied the knot so firmly that I had to use scissors to cut through the string. I peeled through the brown paper covering. Within was another layer of packaging, old faded newspapers from 1970. Inside was a book:
SAM’S DIARY.
The diary was charred, as if at some time it had been caught in a fire. I fingered through it gently. The slightest motion caused some of its edges to fray and pages to fly like wings in the wind. Some had been burnt right to the spine. Others were missing.
A scorched and burnt newspaper clipping fell from the diary. It was part of the front page of the Gisborne Herald, dated 10 August 1969, and featured a large photograph under the heading: THEY’RE OFF TO VIETNAM. I recognised my grandfather at once, but not the three young men standing with him. Two were staring down at the ground, the third was looking straight ahead. Under the photograph the caption read: ‘Poho o Rawiri marae was the venue for the rousing send-off of three young soldiers, the first Maori to volunteer from the district for the New Zealand infantry in Vietnam. Pictured are Mr Sam Mahana, Mr George [the surname was burnt from the clipping] and Mr Turei Johnson. Also pictured is proud elder, Mr Arapeta Mahana, father of Sam Mahana. Mr Mahana Senior served with distinction as a commander in the Maori Battalion during the Second World War, where he was awarded the Military Cross.’
I knew, even before I read the caption, that Sam was the one looking straight at the camera. He had the Mahana way of standing, balancing on both feet, leaning slightly forward, ready to take on the world. The same positioning of the head, slightly tilted to one side, wary but watchful.
Then suddenly it seemed he looked past the camera. By some trick of light he was looking at me. His eyes drew me in.
And the past came rushing out.
PART TWO
Uncle Sam
Chapter Three
‘Hei runga, hei raro! Hii haa, hii haa.’
The karanga, the ritual call of the women, came arcing from Poho o Rawiri meeting house to where Sam, George and Turei were waiting at the gateway. George and Turei were so nervous they were looking at their feet.
‘Okay, boys,’ Arapeta said. ‘Time for action. Turei, you and George look up. Your people want to see you the way you will be in Vietnam. Proud. Eager. Men.’
‘I’d much rather face the enemy than go through this,’ Turei said to Sam. ‘I’m used to being around the back digging the hangi, not coming through the front gate.’
‘Did you have to do this, Dad?’ Sam gestured at the marae and the huge crowd. ‘Does everything have to be a big production number?’
‘I want them to see what my son has become,’ Arapeta answered. ‘A soldier going to war, just like his father did.’ He grasped Sam’s hand in a firm handshake. ‘I am very proud of you, Son. This will make you into a man. It is the happiest day of my life.’
Arapeta pulled Sam into a tight embrace. He searched in Sam’s eyes for his soul.
‘That’s the trouble with Dad,’ Sam thought. ‘Always trying to get into my skin.’
Sam shut Arapeta out. He commanded his soul to hide in the shadows, far away from his father’s probing gaze where it could not be seen.
‘Toia mai, te waka! Ki te urunga, te waka! Ki te takotoranga i takoto ai, te waka!’
The surging sound of the welcoming haka burst across the air. Arapeta motioned to the black-scarved women in front of him to lead the ope onto the marae. Arapeta had assembled a formidable number of supporters for the occasion: two of his ex-Maori Battalion mates, Claude and Kepa, would help him lead some 50 other men and women from Maori military families of the district. On this day Arapeta would ritually present Sam, George and Turei into the hands of General Collinson, Commander-in-Chief of the Army. Collinson knew a publicity opportunity when he saw one. He had flown up to Gisborne with Army news media to film the occasion.
As the ope moved onto the marae, Sam saw his mother, Florence, and that his sister Patty had wriggled away from her and was running to him. He put his arms around her and ruffled her hair.
‘You look so lovely,’ Sam said. ‘What a pretty dress.’
‘I’m wearing this just for you. When are you coming back?’
‘Not for a long time, sweetheart. But do you know what I’m going to do? I’m taking a photo of you with me and I’m going to put it in the pocket nearest to my heart. You’re my best girl.’
At that moment Arapeta looked at Patty. The ritual entry was over and now the speeches would begin.