TE RĀKAU MATARUA: THE TWIN-EDGED WEAPON
Nā Chris Winitana
PART ONE
STORY ONE: MOEPAPA
Pita's sleep was restless. He tossed and turned, arms and legs twitching, sweat beading on his forehead. In his nightmare he saw himself and his older brother Wī climbing into their car. The engine roared.
"Turn the music up full!" Wī shouted.
"I'm ready!" Pita yelled.
"Let's her fly..."
"Heavy feet, flying feet... tumeke!" they cried together.
The car did a wheelie and took off.
"Yiiiiiiihaaaaaaa!" Pita screamed.
A radio voice came up. "Hold onto your pants, here comes the music tour of Whatitiri, 'TE MURA O TE AHI'..."
"I love this song... hit the pedal!" Wī said.
The car took off again. It ran like a tongue of flame, fast and wild, the engine thundering. Adrenaline coursed down Pita's spine like lightning.
"Faster... faster..." Pita urged.
The speedometer swept past eighty and kept climbing. The car hurtled toward a corner.
"It's sliding... it's sliding..." Pita cried.
"Hold on! Hold tight!" Wī shouted.
"I can't..."
Then came the crash.
Pita woke with a jolt. Eyes wide. Heart hammering. The same nightmare. The car. The spin. The crash. The rolling wreck. The face of his brother Wī, mouth open, no words coming out. Pita tried to shake his head clear, but the cobwebs of sleep held him fast. He turned over, seeking refuge in restless sleep, turning, sinking, hiding.
In the morning, the kettle was boiling and cutlery banged in the kitchen.
"Have you finished tidying your room?" his mother asked.
"Mm!" Pita grunted.
"What's 'mm'? Yes or no?"
"It's done!"
"Your clothes? Your bed?"
"It's done!" he said, irritated.
"Don't forget — when you're finished, wash the dishes, sweep the floor..."
"I know...!"
"Don't throw your words at me like that, boy. When you're done, wash the dishes, sweep the floor, take the rubbish out."
"I'm a slave!" Pita muttered.
"What is that? What did you say?"
"Nothing..."
"Your attitude has been very strange for most of this year, boy! I'm fed up! I'm annoyed!"
"I'm the one who's annoyed!" Pita muttered.
"What did you say! Tell me again..."
"What! You don't listen. I'm the one who's annoyed!"
"Shut your mouth! Even though you're thirteen, Pita Haro, I'll still smack your ears!"
Pita scraped his seat back. "I'm going! You don't understand..."
"To what? To your attitude! Heavy all the time."
He slammed the door shut.
"Pita! Come back right now! Come back. Pita...!"
At the bus, the driver hurried him along. "Hurry up, boy. Get in, we're late."
Kids made noise from the back.
"Hey! You lot! Sit down!" the driver barked.
The school bus. Pita climbed aboard and made his way to the back. He found a seat and sat, but his mother's voice still echoed in his ears. Your attitude has been very strange for most of this year, boy! I'm fed up! I'm annoyed! He closed his eyes. He knew she was right. He was strange. Had been for this whole year. Since the crash. Since Wī died.
"Hey! Eh! Hey! You! Shorty! I'm talking to you..."
Pita was jabbed by a boy. "I'm talking to you, boy! Got any money?"
"No!" Pita said.
"You deaf stone-ear! Got any money?"
"I don't have money!"
Pita knew this thief well. Tūhoro. Half human, half monkey. The size of his shoes roughly matched the size of his brain. Actually, the shoes were probably bigger.
"If you're lying, Shorty, I'll hit you!" Tūhoro threatened.
"Whatever, Monkey," Pita replied.
"What did you say!?"
"I said, whatever, Monkey!"
Tūhoro's hand shot up to strike him, but the driver's voice thundered down the aisle. "H-E-Y! You sit down, Whitiora. Otherwise, you're out!"
"You're lucky, Shorty. Another time... I'll fix your face..." Tūhoro warned.
"What! Just like yours...! Monkey!"
"In time, Shorty."
At the school gymnasium, a basketball was bouncing.
"Tāewa! Put those shoes away! This is a gym! Paraha! The ball, give it here! Sit down, all of you!" the teacher ordered.
"Sir! Is there basketball practice today?" Paraha asked.
"Why?"
"No reason. Just wanted to know..."
"No! You're doing weight training..."
"Ooo! Eh! But sir! It's nothing," a boy protested.
"Enough! Settle down! Don't let me send you on a long run. Who's missing?"
"Pita, Sir. He's not here," Paraha said.
"Have you seen him? You fire-bug!" the teacher asked another boy.
"Oooww! Sir! You swore..."
"Swore! You earwax, boy! Has anyone seen Pita? Ah! Forget it! I'll find him myself. Paraha! You have the whistle. Fifty sit-ups. Fifty push-ups. Twenty laps inside. Do you hear? Start! Now!"
"Yes! I heard..."
"Begin! Now!"
In the toilet, the teacher called out. "H-A-R-O! Are you in here? Pita Haro, are you here?"
A door squeaked closed.
"You're in here, boy. My nose can smell your cigarette smoke."
The teacher knocked on the door. "You're in there, boy! Haro!"
He knocked again. "I'm counting to three, friend. If you don't come out, I'll kick this door down. Then I'll kick your backside! Do you hear! One! Two! Three!"
The door opened.
"There you are! You think I'm a fool, an idiot!" the teacher said.
"No!" Pita said.
"What's your problem, boy? Once you were good! But now, look at you! Your appearance is shabby. Your face is sour. Your mouth is cheeky. You're pointless."
The teacher grabbed Pita's ear and dragged him out.
"Sir! It hurts badly..." Pita gasped.
"Pain! This is pain..."
The teacher kicked Pita's backside. "There!"
"Stop! Stop it!" Pita cried.
Pita shoved the teacher's hand away and ran.
"Hey! Come back! Today or tomorrow, I'll catch you. Come back..."
But Pita didn't care. The teacher's red-faced scolding slid off him like water. He ran the rabbit run — zigzagging, shallow-hearted, gone.
STORY TWO: MAIRE
Pita Haro was thirteen years old. Once, he had been a gentle boy, easy and open. But since the death of his older brother a year ago, his nature had changed completely. He had grown hard and bitter, deaf to reason, cheeky, heavy with burden, always fighting the world. He lashed out at his mother, at the children at school, at the teachers. Because of his constant fighting, he had run away from school. When evening came, the boy would return home. His mother would be waiting.
The door opened.
"There you are! You're back. I've been waiting for you. Come here, sit down," his mother said.
"I'm tired..."
"Come here now! Where are you?"
"I am walking."
"All day? Don't lie."
"But..."
"But what? You weren't at your classroom. I went there to get you, but you weren't there."
"I'm oppressed..."
"By who? By yourself! The principal calls. Boy! It is your fault! You swore at your teacher... you raised your hand to hit him..."
"No! I didn't do that..."
"Shut your mouth! You can't fool me. You go around hitting people, but when you get hit back, oh, you curl up."
"I didn't do that."
"You're very lucky, friend. The only reason they haven't expelled you from school is because I keep defending you."
"Defending!" Pita exploded. "I don't want to be defended! I'd rather be expelled from that place. There's no point to it. Everyone oppresses me. You! The teachers at school! The kids too. What about me. What I want. I don't want to go to school. I don't want you either, any of you, you don't understand at all..."
"Pita!" his mother said softly, with gentle tears. "What has happened to you? You've changed so much. Why? Oh dear! I don't know."
Morning came, and Pita rose late. He dressed, washed, and went down to the kitchen for food. The jug was boiling and the toaster popped.
"Good morning," his mother said.
"Mm."
"There's someone here to meet you."
"Good morning, boy!" the stranger said.
"Mm."
Pita grabbed the milk bottle, drank it all, and burped.
"Pita! Greet him properly!" his mother scolded.
"Who is he? What's he doing here?"
"Forgive him, Maire... the tongue of this child. This is your father's older brother, Maire-te-tū. He's going to take you to school."
"What? No! I'm not going back to school."
"Watch your tongue, boy. First, you are going back to school. Second, the old man is taking you. Third, things are going to be like this until I say otherwise. Do you understand? Hmm? Do you understand?"
Pita groaned.
"Good! Now come back to the table and sit."
Pita sat.
"This is your father's older brother. He's come from afar. He'll be staying here for a while."
"For what?" Pita asked.
"Pita!"
"You don't even ask me..."
"I'm explaining to you right now..."
"You've already decided."
"Yes! It's already decided."
"I'm going to school."
"Yes! That's right! Maire will take you."
"Oooo, embarrassing!"
"He will take you."
In the car, the engine started.
"Your seatbelt. Put it on," Maire said.
"What's the point of a seatbelt!"
"It's on you."
The old man pressed the accelerator. The car lurched forward. He hit the brake. The car stopped. Lurch and stop, lurch and stop, like a rabbit.
"Now, bear with me! I know how to ride a horse. But driving a car, I'm still learning..." Maire said.
Pita pulled his seatbelt across and clicked it in.
"Ah, I remember now."
The car pulled out of the gate, turned onto the main road, and headed toward the school.
"It's a beautiful day. A day of weather. When a person goes outside, they shall greet the sun. A person who greets Tama-te-rā will live warm," Maire said.
Pita stared blankly at the old man.
"That saying comes from your grandfather, my father. It's a chiefly saying."
"Where are you from? I don't want to talk to you. Or listen."
"Yes! He also says, leave the children to break the tahā. That's the work of children."
They reached the school. Pita got out.
"Don't forget. You must greet the sun, so you feel its warmth."
"It seems you didn't hear what I said. I don't want to offend you, but leave me alone. You drive the car, do your things, then we'll be fine. You to yourself. Me to myself. Your talking topics, good health, but I don't want them."
The door shut.
Maire lowered the window and called out. "I'll come back to pick you up after school. Do your work well."
At the Principal's office, there was a knock on the door.
"Sir, Pita Haro is here," the secretary said.
"Send him in. And get Matua Taharepa as well."
"Go in, boy."
"Come here, boy. Stand there."
The principal read the papers on his desk. Pita stood rigid.
There was another knock.
"Come in."
"Good morning, Sir. Ah, there you are, Pita," Matua Taharepa said.
"Pita, I'm reading your report. Many faults, many offences. Fighting, cheekiness, absences, not coming to class, not coming to school... right up to yesterday. I've spoken with your mother, with us teachers, and it's been decided — one more fault and you'll be expelled from school. Do you understand?"
"Yes!" Pita said.
"What do you want? To be expelled? You shall know, if you're expelled, many problems will follow you. No other school will want you. You won't get a job, you'll have no qualifications. In the end, you'll be in trouble. Is that what you want?"
"No!"
"So what's the decision? Will you behave, or not?"
"I'll behave!"
"Good! Go with Matua Taharepa. He will guide and supervise you. Your job today is rubbish collection. Take him."
The schoolbell rang. School was finished. Pita's uncle was waiting for him. But Pita didn't care. He slipped away to his work room — an arcade, a computer games room, a games hall.
Arcade machines bleeped and blooped.
"Pita! You're here. I've got something for you," Hāre said.
"Thanks, Hāre."
"Your pay for last week. Eighty dollars. Good, boy."
"Thanks!"
"If you keep working this well, soon you'll be the boss of this place! I still remember when you asked me for a job. I thought you are just like the rest of your generation — big mouth, deep throat, shallow muscle. But I was very wrong. Here, half an hour, then you start, okay."
Pita moved among the humming machines. He put a dollar into the slot of one, the machine lit up, and his song played.
"Ah, Tekken 4. I've got the iron today, friend! I'll beat you."
It was the King of Iron Fist Tournament, Tekken 3. Pita pressed the buttons to choose his favourite character. The opening titles began.
"Yes! Yes! Eat that!"
Dodge, parry, strike, kick. Pita finished his warm-up quickly. Pow! Pow! Pow!
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. It's Shorty!"
Pita turned quickly. Oh no! It was the big boss, Tūhoro, with his crew. The boys surrounded him like a swarm of mosquitoes. Tūhoro stepped close, nose to nose. Pita could smell his foul breath.
"You fire-bug! I'm going to fix you. And your cheeky attitude."
He punched Pita in the stomach. "Here's your food! Take it outside. Finish it right now."
Tūhoro's eyes were bloodshot. On his forehead, a swollen vein pulsed with anger.
"Grab him! Drag him outside. Come here, Shorty, now you'll see the colour of your blood!"
The boys grabbed Pita and held him.
"Stop! Let me go!" Pita cried.
"Stop! Let me go!" Tūhoro mimicked.
They turned Pita toward the door and pushed him. His mind was racing. How could he get free?
"Wait! Wait! Maybe we shall bet. Let's compete. All of you. Let me go!" Pita said.
"What do you have! A bet. What do you have to bet? Your pants," Tūhoro sneered.
The others laughed.
"I've got eighty dollars. Look!"
Tūhoro's hand paused. He raised his eyebrows to his friends. They let Pita go.
"I'm listening."
"Let's compete at computer games. If you win, the eighty dollars is yours. But if I win, I keep the money."
"You've got a moving tongue, boy," Tūhoro said, turning to his friends. "What do you think? Back me?"
"Yes! Hit him! Let's get his money and his pants," they said.
"Wide mouth. Let's compete."
They set up Tekken 3 as their competition. It began.
"I'll take Yotsimitsu," Tūhoro said.
"I'll take Eddie," Pita said.
"Eh! Your choice is cut."
Yotsimitsu — a ninja, with good skin. Eddie, from South America. His fighting style was capoeira.
"Start! Yeeha!"
The score flickered back and forth. Eddie kicked, Yotsimitsu struck. Two to Pita, three to Tūhoro. Four, five. Oh no, Pita's character fell.
"Friend! You're still wearing nappies. I thought you are a champion at this game," Tūhoro taunted.
They started again. This round, Pita head-butted Tūhoro. The ninja character fell.
"That is just lucky. We're even. But one more match to see who's the champion," Tūhoro said.
Eddie's hand struck out, Yotsimitsu dodged. Eddie flipped, spun, and kicked Yotsimitsu in the head. Dodge, parry, strike, punch. Pow! Pita's character fell.
"You're dead, Shorty. Hand over the money."
"But it's not finished... it shall be three matches..."
"Liar. You're dead. Completely dead."
Tūhoro snatched Pita's money bag. "This is mine. Eighty dollars. Because you're a liar, we're going to beat you up. Grab him, take him outside."
"But... you said you'd let me go..."
"I lied!"
Then, from behind, a quiet voice was heard. "Is there a problem here?"
The boys turned together.
"It seems you're in trouble, boy," Maire said.
"What are you doing here? Get out. This isn't your trouble," Pita said.
"Who's this, Shorty? Your old man. Come to wipe your nose," Tūhoro said.
"No!" Pita turned to Maire. "Get out! I'm fine."
But the old man didn't listen. He pulled Pita behind him and spoke.
"We'll fight. Compete."
"Huh? Us! What's this about, Shorty. You're giving your shoes to this old man to hold?" Tūhoro laughed.
"Never mind the boy. Let's compete. If I win, the money and the boy are mine. If you win, they're yours," Maire said.
"Yo! Wait, old man. My uncle doesn't really know what he's doing..." Pita protested.
Pita was pushed back again.
"Well, do you have the iron, boy? Look at me! I'm just an old man. Are you strong enough to beat an old man?" Maire asked.
"You've got a big mouth, old man. But I'll fix you. Let's compete," Tūhoro said.
STORY THREE: TE KŌ
The games hall flickered with neon and the electronic pulse of machines. Maire — Pita's uncle, his father's older brother — stood before the console opposite Tūhoro, the boy who was half human, half monkey. Their contest was Tekken 4, a computer fighting game. If Maire lost, Tūhoro would take Pita's money bag and Pita himself.
"You've got a big mouth, old man. But I'll fix you. Let's compete," Tūhoro said.
"To you, our bet," Maire replied.
The machine hummed to life.
"Pita! Come here! Now, what's the meaning of these buttons?" Maire asked.
"What's the meaning? Don't you know how to work this thing? Friend, I'm dead — I'm meat being thrown to the lions..." Pita said.
"I won't be long, friends. Just a short time to finish this old man," Tūhoro said.
They began. The old man's fighter was Paul. Tūhoro's was King. Tūhoro struck hard, but Maire slipped sideways. King lunged, and Paul blocked. The match wore on, and however Tūhoro moved, he could not touch the old man's character. Only seven seconds remained. Then Maire came alive. He sent his fighter into the fray. Pow! Smash! Smash! Strike! Throw! Pound! Five, four... kick, smash, three, two, punch, one...
"It's done! You've done it! Tūmeke!" Pita cried.
"Eh... you're a champion at this game..." Tūhoro said, disbelieving.
"Good, boy. That is me," Maire said.
He took the money bag from Tūhoro's hand. "Come, Pita. Let's go home."
"You won! You beat him... amazing," Pita said, still disbelieving. "But how — how do you know the operations of the computer?"
"The computer? The operations? I don't know. But the operations of the art of Tū — ah, I know them very well."
"You're talking about fighting arts."
"Yes! The art of Tūmatauenga, the god of anger, of war."
"But how do you know that stuff?"
"A treasure handed down... from our ancestors."
"From our...?"
"Yes! From them indeed."
The old man smiled. For the first time since his arrival, the boy's eyes were shining. A good sign.
"You wake early this morning. I'll show you."
In the garden, birds chirped.
"Ah. You're awake," Maire said.
Pita yawned. "What are you doing? Is this the heavy work?"
"Yes!"
Maire held a very large stone in his hands.
"Are you doing weight training?" Pita asked.
"Are you ready?"
"Ready? For what?"
"Do you see that digging tool over there? Get it."
"What's that digging tool for? Is it a taiaha? Like this..."
He grabbed it and spun it around. His feet danced, he thrust out, pulled back, twirling the tool like a weapon.
"Huuuwiii! How's my work? Nice, eh!"
Maire scratched his head and puffed out his cheeks. "Boy! Have you heard the saying of the kūmara?"
"No."
"It's true! The kūmara does not speak of its own sweetness. Likewise, that thing you're spinning around — to my knowledge, it's for digging gardens. Does that mean anything to you?"
"But I thought we are doing martial arts..."
"That's also a big problem — you think. Well, do you see those stones?"
"Yes!"
"The stones are laid in the shape of a square. This place is a food garden. Your first job — dig it. Follow the stones."
Maire held up the stone in his hands. "This is the corner. Do you understand, friend?"
"But what about the martial arts work? You said you'd show me this morning."
"Yes! That is our work, boy. I'm showing you. Go! Be strong!"
"But..."
"Aaa! Let the duck be the one to quack. Start. Be strong."
Maire turned and walked away. Pita looked at the kō, looked at the hard ground, and thrust the blade in. It bit the earth and trembled. The soil was hard as stone.
"I don't know what game this old man is playing, but I'm not letting him get ahead of me," Pita muttered.
He thrust the kō into the ground again.
The sun had climbed high and now hung low in the west. Sweat dripped from Pita's nose.
"Old man. The sun is setting. You've finished the garden," Pita said.
"Very good, friend. Very good, your following of my instructions."
"Look at this!" Pita whirled the kō around his head. "My digging tool is a taiaha!"
He zigzagged back and forth, then stopped dead before Maire's feet. He snapped into a mock fighting stance.
"Hai! To you, my weapon, chief!"
"Mmm! Yes!"
Maire took the kō from Pita's hands. With open, flowing movements he spun it — up, down, around — and struck downward, stopping the blade just above Pita's skull. The steel trembled in the air.
"Hai! To me, your weapon, commoner!"
He pushed Pita lightly. The boy fell backward onto the grass.
"Wī! Your bravery. Just one blow of my digging tool, and you will be dead."
"How did you do that? Amazing! Teach me! I'm really ready. Teach me, please!" Pita begged.
"Yes! Good! I'll teach you. Follow me. When you see this garden, dig it three times. Like this."
Maire dug deep, then turned the soil over. "That's the digging work. Dig it."
"But I've already finished the garden work..."
"Yes! The first part is finished."
"First?"
"You must finish the third part now."
"But..."
"Aaa! What are those things on your feet?"
"My gumboots?"
"Take them off."
"But my feet will hurt — the ground is hard..."
"Boy, how will your feet feel the earth if they're covered up? Take them off! No argument."
"But..."
"But, but! Can you do it, friend? Or not. You have the axe. No! You have the digging tool."
STORY FOUR: MOKO
In Maire's room, incantations and mōteatea could be heard.
"Where are you? You didn't come to help me. I'm fed up with you and your cryptic words. Where's the light switch?" Pita was furious. He had been working in the garden all day. He had dug and turned the soil, working the earth around the house. As the day wore on, his anger had only grown. Now he marched into Maire's room.
"Where's the light switch?"
Pita started. He spun around and grabbed the door handle. Before him stood the old man. He wore no shirt. His chest, shoulders, hips, and stomach were completely covered in full moko. Only his hands and face remained free of ink. In his grip he held a weapon — a taiaha. His pāua eyes gleamed with a shifting, living light.
"This is the post that stands, the post of this school of learning, This is the post that stands, the post of this gathering, This is the post that stands, the tight post above, This is the post that stands, the crooked post below. Let the breath of Rua be planted, the main posts reach to the sky, Let the breath of Rua be planted, the whatukura reach to the earth, Let the breath be planted to quicken, Let the breath be planted to illuminate, This post is within you, this post — Ascend, ascend Tangaroa, ui e tāiki e!"
Maire spoke. "The children of Ranginui and Papatūānuku live in total darkness. Their world is cramped. They are pressed between their parents. But their youngest, Uēpoto, is restless and curious. He sees the glimmer of light on the horizon, and because of that glimmer, we emerge from the dark world into the world of light, into the world of humankind.
Boy, you must seek that glimmer of light, as Uēpoto seeks it. If you do not, you will remain heavy inside yourself, and never emerge from the darkness. Only you know what demon is eating you."
Maire extended the taiaha toward Pita. Together they held it.
"Listen. It has words for you, signs — if you will hear them. Its name is Te-Aho-o-te-Rangi. It is a treasure handed down from ancient times."
As Pita's hands closed around the weapon, he trembled. The taiaha felt alive. As though lightning itself was flowing from the wood into his body. How many ancestors had poured their spirit into this weapon?
"Go, Pita. Go, seek. You yourself must turn and grasp the thread of the sky."
The old man sat down. Pita stood, and walked out.
Only one week remained before school finished for the year. Pita followed his own path. He woke, did his chores, went to school. When school ended, he went straight to his work room. He came home late at night, went to his room, and lay on his bed. He avoided Maire.
So many questions churned in his heart. The old man's moko. What did they mean? The taiaha — whose was it? The old man was a tohunga. A tohunga of what? What was the purpose of his signs? He had to seek the light. Which light? Where must he go to find it? And what about the demon?
On the third day, Maire heard the boy whistling. On the fourth day, he heard Pita singing. On the last day of school, Pita's heart finally settled. He came home early, went to the old man's room, took the taiaha standing in the corner, and went outside.
"I claim you! I claim Te-Aho-o-te-Rangi."
He untied the flax binding that covered the head of the taiaha, and lifted it free. He ran his hands slowly over the body of the weapon. Smooth. Polished. Warm. The pleasant glide of the wood beneath his palm.
He began to move. Poutama. Matatū. Popotau. Huanui. Whitiapu. Pītoi. Right side, left side, right side, left side...
"What are you doing?"
It was Maire. He had walked around and now stood before Pita, his face stone-hard.
"What are you doing?"
His face was stone. Then...
"Friend! You're playing air guitar! Wait, let me get you a guitar. Boy, that's a taiaha, not an air guitar."
He carefully took the taiaha from Pita's hands, replaced its flax head-covering, and tied it tight.
"This taiaha carries its own karakia. If you just grab it like that, the ancestor becomes angry. When he is angry, it is only through blood that he is appeased."
"Aren't you angry?"
"Angry? At what? Angry at what?"
They pressed together, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, breath to breath, and embraced.
"Ah. You have begun to beat the demon... aiiiiiiii!"
In the garden, birds chirped.
"When do I start learning martial arts?" Pita asked.
"At the right time."
"When is that?"
"When you are strong enough to wipe your own nose..."
"Matua!"
"Boy, you don't even have legs yet, and already you want to run. In time. In time."
"But by the time I'm ready, I'll be an old man, just like you..."
"So. Are you similar to the woodwork?"
"Yes! Very similar."
"Then, hold these."
"What are these short things?"
"Weapons! This is how you handle them. Turn inward, turn outward, turn upward, turn downward. You do it."
"Turn inward, turn outward, turn upward, turn downward. Good..."
"Owww! You've done it."
"But what kind of weapon is this? I've never seen these kinds of fighting weapons."
"Fighting! Who says these are fighting weapons? These are gardening tools. For pruning the weeds in the garden."
"The garden! Eh... that's a lot of work."
"Now, like this. Prune so the weeds are trimmed. Turn inward, strike! Turn outward, strike! Turn, hit, turn, hit!"
"Ehhh... I still don't see how this work is similar to martial arts..."
"It's true, boy. You can't see, because you're just a child with a runny nose."
"Eh, that's not a stumbling block..."
STORY FIVE: MATARUA
In the games hall, glass was breaking and an alarm shrieked.
"P--I--T--A!" Tūhoro yelled. "I'll eat your heart..."
Tūhoro and his thug friends were trashing Pita's workplace. Tūhoro had thrown a rubbish bin at the window of the place. The glass was completely shattered.
"I've been waiting a long time to fix you, friend! I'll bring you down."
Pita didn't wait. He tipped over the computers behind him to block the charging thugs.
"Chase him, grab him!" Tūhoro ordered.
Pita grabbed the broom from the corner.
"There he is! Grab him!" one of the boys cried.
"He's got a broom, be careful," another warned.
Behind Pita, Tūhoro was chasing. Pita thrust at one of the boys' stomachs with his weapon.
"Oww! I'll hit you! I'll really kill you!" Tūhoro screamed.
Pita ran to the back door of the house, got out, and ran.
"Come back, cowardly tail!" Tūhoro yelled.
"No backbone, come back!"
"Look at the rabbit shaking! Cowardly tail! No matter where you run, we'll chase you, we'll hit you. We'll hit you!"
Pita kept running. He had left his fear behind. He had decided — the fighting with Tūhoro and his crew ended tonight. Whether he stood victorious or fell, his mana would remain, just like his ancestor's. He turned at the corner of the street, and stopped. Before him were three boys waiting.
"Yes! The rabbit has come out of its hole," Tūhoro said.
"Chicken!" the thugs called, making chicken sounds.
"Let's fight! You and me, just us two!" Tūhoro challenged.
Pita looked. He was calm and focused.
"Have you gone mute? No guts? Just us two fighting!"
Tūhoro had a baseball bat. He threw it away.
"Here! Just us two. Forehead to forehead."
Pita stepped forward. He didn't speak. His hands rose.
"Huuuw! Are you paralysed? Boo!" Tūhoro taunted.
Pita stepped back.
"Eeee! Booo!"
Then Tūhoro attacked. He struck wildly, flailing. Pita kept retreating. His work was dodging.
"Eee! Stand and fight, spineless one. What's the point of all this running?"
Tūhoro attacked again.
"Hit him! Kick his guts!"
"Smash his nose!"
But however Tūhoro attacked, Pita kept retreating, dodging and weaving.
"You're a girl, friend. Stand and fight."
Then Pita attacked.
He struck Tūhoro's face. He also kicked his stomach.
Tūhoro just laughed. "I like the taste of blood. Your blood... let it flow."
Tūhoro's friends moved in and grabbed Pita from behind, pinning his arms. At that very moment, in the corner of his eye, Pita saw the headlights of cars approaching.
"Grab him."
Tūhoro pounded Pita relentlessly. His nose was broken, his eyes bruised, his stomach punched.
"You disrespected me, you trampled me, here's your punishment!"
Pita fell to the ground. Blood streamed freely.
"Blockheads! Move aside."
It was Maire. He had arrived.
"It's alright, boy. You are strong to stand."
Pita was helped up.
"Let's go. The fighting is finished."
"Your old man has come... crybaby," one thug said.
"Yes, your cowardly food..." Tūhoro added.
"Now, let's go..."
Pita stood straight. Blood flowed strongly. His face was swollen.
"No! I'm not going... the running is finished... this must end here..."
Because of the strength of conviction in Pita's voice, Maire didn't answer. He bowed his head slowly. He understood.
"The running is finished, old man, it's finished..."
Pita turned, and spoke. "This fight started between just us two. It must end the same way. Just us two."
"Eee! You'll be smashed again! But this time, you'll be smashed with this baseball bat."
The bat whistled through the air.
"It's alright, Pita, I have your weapon."
Maire took the taiaha — Te Aho-o-te-Rangi. He recited the karakia, and removed its flax head-covering.
Like a radio voice, the enlightening words of Maire returned to Pita's heart.
"This weapon faces all four directions. Let it show you. Forward, backward, and to the sides as well. This weapon is your ancestor. You do not carry it. It carries you."
The old man's words were clear.
"Raise the twin-edged weapon of Tūmatauenga. Raise it to the sky..."
"What are you waiting for? Your skinny weapon will break against me," Tūhoro said.
Pita focused. He moved through the stances — matatū, popotau, poutama, pītoi. He was led by his ancestors through the faces of Tūmatauenga. The spiral rose through his body from below to above. The markings were licked by the leaf. His form was an endless kōwhaiwhai.
Tūhoro's weapon came swinging. He struck out, he struck back. Pita's feet danced like a bird of prey, turning, twisting, leaping, landing...
Then Pita leaped, struck downward, and hit Tūhoro's stumbling feet. The boy fell. The weapon was turned, the tongue pointing at Tūhoro...
"Aaaaaa.....iahaha!" Pita cried.
The weapon struck down. The tongue quivered just above Tūhoro. Tūhoro trembled, shaking with fear. He stood, ran away, ran away with the run of the rabbit.
Pita sobbed uncontrollably. He cried for the fighting. For his pain. For his fear. And because the demon clenched inside him was finally released.
"It is my fault... my own... because of me Wī died... I lied to everyone, to Mum, to the police... they all... I told them Wī is driving the car, but it is a lie. It wasn't Wī, it is me, it is me driving, I killed Wī by going too fast, I am the one going terribly fast..."
"It's alright, boy. It's alright," Maire said.
"I died because of my lying, for this whole year I've had no purpose..."
"Listen, boy. For fifteen years I held a secret. Only this month do I release it. Because of me your father died, my younger brother. Because of my jealousy he drowned, it is my fault, my own... to be a father to you, boy... as the saying goes, when a person falls into wrongdoing it is a lesson, but if the person does not return to what is right, then it is a disaster. Now, before us is what is right... the demon has been struck down. Let's go home."
THE STAND OF RONGO
Episode 6
Pita Haro was fifteen years old now. A hard-faced boy. A stone-ear. His uncle had finally arrived. His name was Te Māire. The old man was a tohunga of the war house of Tūmatauenga. The old man had begun to teach his nephew the arts of fighting. At this time, Pita was weeding the garden of his home. Hard work. Strengthening work. Annoying work too. Pita muttered to himself.
"That old fool. Turn inward, turn outward, strike! Look at my hands, they've swollen with water, they've burst. They're dead too."
"Pita! The food is laid out," his mother called from a distance.
"Aaaaggggh! Phewwww! My muscles, my neck, my arms. I've been roasted."
"Ah, you've finished. Very good. How are your hands?" Māire asked.
"They hurt. Really hurt. My joints, my arms. Look."
"Mmmm! Swollen with water. I have a remedy. Put your hands into this water bucket."
"Will it hurt?"
"Boy, put them in."
Pita dipped his hands in. "Owwww! It hurts."
"Owww! It hurts!" Māire mimicked. "You have a crying mouth, eh."
"This is an ancestral remedy..."
"Yes... a very ancient remedy..."
"What is it?"
"It's the Pākehā's salt and water from the tap."
Maire laughed loudly.
Outside, slapping sounds rang out as they played hei tama tū tama.
"Hū boy, you're a real champion eh!? Seven to me, how many to you?" Māire asked.
"Hoihoi! I've only just started learning..."
"I've only just started learning..." Māire mimicked, crying. "Again!"
"Yes! If you lose, will you cry...?"
"I won't cry!!"
"Then, if you cry, I'll kick your backside eh? Yes! That's the deal!"
"No."
"Agreed!"
They played again. Māire won.
"Boy! Your bottom has met my foot, turn around, bend over..."
"No! What's the meaning of this game, there's no slapping."
"Because you really lost eh."
"No!"
"Yes! Turn around! Show me that face of yours."
"Hoihoi! You're so cheeky..."
"What? Can't you do it? Ooooowwww! Can't do it."
"Matua! You're such a child."
"Yes! Then, you're such an old man."
"What's the meaning of this game?"
"It has great meaning, friend. It's about training your eyes and hands to work together."
"What's the good of that? What's the meaning of that?"
"Block me."
"Block!?"
"Yes! Strike at me."
"Like this!"
Pita punched the air.
"Again!"
"Again!"
"Hā! You're too fast. I can't touch you."
"Yes! That's the meaning of this game. It's about strengthening your eyes, so you can see the movements of your opponent."
"Wiiiii! Yes! Then, let's play again! Play again?"
"Play again!? Boy! You'll be embarrassed!"
"Embarrassed!? How?"
"This time, if you lose, you must take off your pants, and run around the house three times, without your pants..."
Maire laughed loudly.
At the spacies, the machines bleeped and blooped.
"This place is mine, old man. I've got the iron. I'll teach you... let's play," Pita said.
"Mmmm! The game machines..."
"Mortal Kombat!"
"Are these the champions?"
"Yes! I'm Scorpion! Choose yours."
"I'll take that guy."
"Him!? Sub-Zero. He's a demon. He's huge. He's scary too."
"Mmm! Your hitting of him will be easy, eh."
"Your turn. You've been challenged."
"Mmmm! Start."
Pita made spacies and kung fu sounds. "Eee! What's that! You're just dodging. Again!"
"Mmmm!"
"Eeee! Matua, you're cheating. The rule is, you must fight back, not just stand there dodging."
"Why?"
"Because...! That's the rule of this game. You must fight."
"I am fighting..."
"No! You're just doing nothing."
"Mmmm! Keep going."
Pita made more sounds. Then Māire ended it.
"Eeee! What did you do... you hit me."
"Yes! That's the rule, isn't it!?"
"But I was really winning."
"No! You were exhausting your strength. I was waiting, for your breath to run out."
"Eee! You're a cheat."
"No! I'm a fighting champion. Fighting is not won by strength alone. It's won by the big brain too. Do you know what the brain is?"
"Cheating! You put me down all the time."
"Not me! It's you who puts yourself down. Close your mouth. Do the work. Let your work raise you up. Not by empty boasting."
In the garden, digging sounds continued.
"Why do we always work the garden? Work the garden, dig the garden, weed the garden, water the garden..." Pita complained.
"You are the garden, Pita. Your heart is the garden being cultivated."
"What's the meaning of that saying?"
"AAA! There's a time for talking, and a time for listening."
"But I don't understand."
"Shush. In the world of your ancestors, whatever the thing, it begins in the earth, in Papatūānuku, then reaches up to the sky, then returns again to the earth."
"I still don't understand..."
"Do you see this weed, pulled out so only one grain of soil remains. Yes, this is you, this grain. Although it is alone, it is connected to the earth, to the sky, to its family, hapū, iwi..."
"I'm a grain of soil..."
"Yes! A grain from the weed, from the earth, from Papa, from Rangi, from the great father in the sky."
"I still can't see the connection of this garden work to the arts of war."
"It should be said like this, how do you know what is hot, if you don't know what is cold? How do you know what is bad if you don't know what is good?"
"I still can't see..."
"Boy, how do you know to control anger, if you don't know how to control peace. In this garden is peace, the stand of peace. The stand of Tūrongo."
"Are you talking about love?"
"Yes! You must know love before you take up anger..."
"Whose anger?"
"Tūmatauenga's."
"I want to meet him."
"Yes! Perhaps tomorrow you two will meet."
"Yes! Tomorrow!"
"Perhaps. But for now... dig, turn, weed, dig, turn, weed..."
HEAVY FEET
Episode 7
In the bush, birdsong filled the air.
"Do you see that bird?" Māire whispered.
"Yes! Which bird is that?" Pita asked.
"A pūkeko."
"What am I watching for?"
"In its walking, watch its feet."
"That bird walks very carefully, eh..."
"Wrong. That bird is actually fast. Yes, it has lifted its foot. The stance is steady. Look. There, it has run..."
"So fast..."
"The pūkeko's way — the speed of flight, and the steadiness of stance... follow its example."
A whistling sound came.
"There's a weka standing there," Māire said.
"It's cheeky."
"Yes! Rather like the pūkeko. Yes, it's dancing about, yes, dancing this way, dancing that way, dodging this way, dodging that way."
"What's it doing?"
"It's stalking. It's showing off."
"What's it showing off to?"
"To the female there."
"Which female?"
"That one there!"
"Wīii! I didn't see, how did you see?"
"With these things, with my eyes... watching."
"It's scratching about the ground, dancing, dodging..."
"Yes... a dodging foot, that foot. From the weka you learn to walk sideways."
More whistling.
"Boy. Keep your ears open. Listen. Heavy feet, wet skin, wet with blood, your blood."
Slapping sounds rang out.
"The meaning is, you must carefully follow the feet of the birds we watched. I don't know which of the birds, the feet you are working. Perhaps the manu kaitā, perhaps the moa..."
Laughter.
"No!"
"Do it again!"
"I'm annoyed with these feet. I've already finished them..."
"Wait a moment..."
"Where are you going?"
"Wait a bit..."
More whistling.
"Thank you. You've brought me a drink."
"Your glass..."
"What are you thinking, matua. Should I climb up to another level eh... eh...?"
"Mmmm!"
"Wait, wait, the glass is full, the water is boiling over."
"Owww! Eh?"
"Hey! The water. It's boiling over. The glass is full!"
"Mmmm! Boy! It's just like you! An empty glass can be filled, a full glass cannot be filled."
More whistling.
Outside, insects chirped.
"I have a question, matua."
"Mmmm!"
"My father... tell me about my father?"
"Mmmm! Your father! My younger brother!"
"Am I like him?"
"Yes! No also!"
"My appearance?"
"Yes, your appearance is like his."
"I don't really remember him. I was just a baby when he died. How did he die? Do you know?"
Maire paused. "I don't really know, boy. He died! Just died."
"My mother said, he drowned..."
"Drowned... yes... drowned... but boy, there is much work for us to do at this time. Are you ready? Has the whistling finished?"
"Perhaps we can talk about him another time?"
"Yes! Another time. Get your weapon, and let's start again."
At the mall, the noise of shoppers filled the air.
"Hello Pita," a girl said coyly, giggling.
"Hello!"
"We're going to the movies... would you like to come with us?"
"I'm not free. I'm buying supplies for my mother."
"Perhaps tomorrow?"
"Yes, perhaps tomorrow..."
Footsteps followed.
"Hey! My bag!" the girl cried.
"My bag!!"
"How much money is inside?"
"Leave her alone! Return her bag," Pita demanded.
"Wīare! That's Pita the show-off," one friend said.
"Tūhoro is looking for you," another said.
"He wants to see the colour of your blood, purple or yellow."
"Return her bag!"
"Yellow blood... eh!" one taunted.
"Return it!"
"Return it! Uuuwww! I'm scared!"
"You're a show-off! We'll fix you."
"Grab him!"
Slapping sounds rang out.
"Wuuuuuuwi! What's this work. You're standing there frozen."
"Is that karate, or what!"
"Don't Pita! That's what they want."
"Stay still worm! Hit him!"
More slapping and hitting.
"You poked me in the eye. I'll kill you."
Fighting sounds continued.
"Pita! Leave him!"
"Yes! Punch him. Fix his face."
"Hey! What are you lot doing!" a guard shouted.
"Leave him! The guard is coming."
"If we see you here again, we'll hit you..."
Footsteps and panting.
"Come back you two! You two!"
"Are you alright Pita. Pita!?" the girl asked.
In the kitchen, sounds of cooking filled the air.
"What happened to you?" his mother asked.
"Nothing!"
"Your eye, it's bruised..."
"It's fine mother, I just tripped..."
"It's fine Maria, it's children's work... You'll survive eh boy. Let's get outside to work," Māire said.
Whistling sounds.
"Did those boys hit you?" Māire asked.
"I wasn't hit!"
"Eh! What happened then?"
"It was just lucky on their part."
"Ah... there were two of them?"
"Another time perhaps..."
"Mmmm! That's right! Like your ancestor, who owned the taiaha Te Aho o te Rangi. This ancestor was a champion at weapon work. Known widely by all tribes. Before a battle, your ancestor stood, and said to his warriors, 'How many of us have fallen? How many more must die before this battle ends?' Then your ancestor went to battle, he alone, with his weapon, and his greenstone mere."
"What happened to him. Did he beat them?" Pita asked.
"No! He was beaten."
"Eee! What's the good of that?"
"Yes, the enemy won the battle, but the mana of the battle was won by your ancestor."
"What about his weapon?"
"Yes! That's what I'm saying. The weapon was returned to his people, and his mere, on the mana of the stand of your ancestor."
"I still don't get it. What's the sign?"
"Pita, the sign is like this. Let your stand be mana in all times, whether you win or lose. Whether you die. Hold fast to your mana."
"Mmmm!"
"Yes boy! You drew blood from one of them."
"Yes!"
"They understand, you don't just bow down."
"Yes!"
"Good! The lessons of Tū were not wasted on you. Hold fast to the twin-edged weapon."
HOUSE OF WAR
Episode 8
In the car nightmare scene, the engine revved up.
"Turn the music up!" Wī said.
"Cher! Cher!" Pita cried.
The radio went on; the 'Tūmauriora' song came up.
"Turn the volume up!"
"Hold on! Get ready!"
"I'm ready!"
"Now, let her fly..."
"Heavy feet, flying feet... t-ū-m-e-k-e!" they cried together.
The car did a wheelie and took off. "Yiiiiiiiihaaaaaaa!" Pita screamed.
A radio voice came up. "...so hold onto your pants, here is the music tour of Whatitiri coming to you, 'TE MURA O TE AHI'..."
The Mura song started.
"I love this song... hit the pedal!"
The car took off again. It ran like a tongue of flame, fast and wild. The engine thundered. Adrenaline coursed down the spine like lightning flashing.
"Faster... faster..."
The speedometer swept past eighty. The needle kept climbing. The car hurtled toward a corner on the road...
"It's sliding... it's sliding..."
"Hold on! Hold tight!"
"Can't..."
Then the crash.
"Pita! Wake up! You're having a nightmare. Pita! Wake up!" Māire called.
"What! What!"
"Wake up boy."
"The crash. Wī.... Wī..."
"It's alright friend. Be calm. Calm your heart."
"A nightmare."
"It's alright. The bad bonds must be released. Take off your clothes. The bonds will be released by the weapon."
A whistling sound.
"By the stance of Pūkeko a person finds balance. Yes, lift your foot. Stand on one foot, ready your weapon. Slowly breathe in through the nose... out through the mouth. Be calm!"
Breathing sounds.
"Boy you are trembling. Let your heart settle down."
Pita was sweating. He still heard the cry of his brother Wī's mouth. There was the demon eating his liver, the death of his brother. The sweat began to flow.
"Close your eyes, keep standing on the stance of Pūkeko."
Pita still smelled the scent of the rubber from the tyres of their car. His ears still heard the screech of the tyres, the thunder of the crash in the darkness, the sound of the window glass being shattered, broken.
"Keep standing boy. I can see you are heavy. Release the bad bonds. Speak out. What exactly is the demon eating you?"
Pita began to tremble. His eyes kept closing. His foot kept lifting. His weapon kept being readied. But his heart was still not balanced.
"Speak out boy. Release it, so you are free."
The fear swelled inside his heart. The muscles of his arms kept tightening from the strength of his grip on his weapon.
"Be strong! Speak out so you are free..."
Pita took a deep breath. His mouth cried out, he stood frozen...
A cry escaped him.
His weapon flew up, but his demon still remained with him. His weapon flew down, the fear still remained. To Pita's sides it thrust, but the quivering tongue of his weapon no longer touched the fear. It struck forward again, the face of the demon stared out at him. The ghost was like a fog floating, utterly overwhelming.
"I can't do it, I'm not strong enough... I'm being eaten by the fear... being eaten..."
Pita dropped his weapon, and ran away. A shameful run. A hopeless run. A shallow-hearted run.
At the spacies, the machines hummed.
"Can you manage this place Pita," Hāre asked.
"Yes! Why."
"I'm going home early tonight, you watch the place."
"Just me?"
"Yes! Can you manage?"
"Yes! Fine."
"The keys are here, here's the number for the alarm. Are you okay?"
"Yes! Fine."
Pita had arrived at his workplace, the games machine hall.
"If there's any trouble, phone me. My number is on the wall. See you tomorrow."
"Yes! Tomorrow!"
A friend called out. "See you at school Pita... see you..."
"Yes! Tomorrow."
The door squeaked and shut.
"Damn. The last person. I must lock this place, and go home."
Pita put away the rubbish, the scraps, and swept the floor. He organised the money, locked it in the safe. When finished, he turned off the lights of the place, and headed to the front door to get out. Beside the door was the button for the alarm. As Pita reached to set the alarm he saw thug boys emerging from the dark shadows of the place.
"P-i-t-a! P-i-t-a! Come to the party. Come to the party," one called.
A dustpan was being hit in time.
"P-ī-t-a! We're waiting for you..."
Pita completely forgot the alarm, pushed, and went back inside the place. He ran forward. His heart was pounding. At the big front window of the place, three boys were standing. One had a torch. He turned it on to illuminate his face. Then, it was seen, it was Tūhoro standing there. The half-monkey, half-human man.
"P-i-t-a! Be afraid! Be very afraid. I'll pull your head from your neck, and feed it to the rats..."
Tūhoro pressed his face to the window, his tongue was stretched out. His appearance was truly terrifying.
"I'm coming to get you..."
"You can't get out, Pita can't get out. Get out Pita, Pita Get out, Hit..."
Pita ran to the phone, pressed the alarm buttons, one, one, one.
"Hurry, hurry! Help! They've broken in! Hurry! Send the police here. What? The Police Station, hurry..."
Then the phone died. The power had been cut. Right in front of Tūhoro's place they were waiting. Tūhoro's mouth was grinning. Then Pita was grabbed from behind.
"Got him, got him."
Pita ran backward, his back hit the wall. Two thugs had entered the place. Pita hid behind the computer machines standing in rows.
"He's here! He's here."
He grabbed one boy. Then the second appeared. Pita was pushed toward the back door. But Pita kept struggling. He kicked one in the stomach, and he bent over. The second was shoved by him, pushed to the side. Pita ran straight to the alarm button beside the back door. He pressed it, and the alarm sound rang out.
"Grab him, quick," Tūhoro yelled.
It was Tūhoro. He lifted a rubbish bin, running toward him. He threw the bin at the window of the place, and the glass shattered... broken.
"P-I-T-A! I'll eat your heart..."
MATARUA
Episode 9
Tūhoro and his thug friends were trashing Pita's workplace. Tūhoro had thrown a rubbish bin at the window of the place. The glass was completely shattered.
"P--I--T--A!" Tūhoro yelled. "I'll eat your heart..."
"I've been waiting a long time to fix you, friend! I'll bring you down."
Pita didn't wait. He tipped over the computers behind him to block the charging thugs.
"Chase him, grab him!" Tūhoro ordered.
Pita grabbed the broom from the corner.
"There he is! Grab him!" one of the boys cried.
Two thugs had appeared before him. The swish of his broom sounded through the air.
"He's got a broom, be careful," another warned.
Behind Pita, Tūhoro was chasing. Pita thrust at one of the boys' stomachs with his weapon.
"Oww! I'll hit you! I'll really kill you!" Tūhoro screamed.
Pita ran to the back door of the house, got out, and ran.
"Come back, cowardly tail!" Tūhoro yelled.
"No backbone, come back!"
"Look at the rabbit shaking! Cowardly tail! No matter where you run, we'll chase you, we'll hit you. We'll hit you!"
Pita kept running. He had left his fear behind. He had decided — the fighting with Tūhoro and his crew ended tonight. Whether he stood victorious or fell, his mana would remain, just like his ancestor's. He turned at the corner of the street, and stopped. Before him were three boys waiting.
"Yes! The rabbit has come out of its hole," Tūhoro said.
"Chicken!" the thugs called, making chicken sounds.
"Let's fight! You and me, just us two!" Tūhoro challenged.
Pita looked. He was calm and focused.
"Have you gone mute? No guts? Just us two fighting!"
Tūhoro had a baseball bat. He threw it away.
"Here! Just us two. Forehead to forehead."
Pita stepped forward. He didn't speak. His hands rose.
"Huuuw! Are you paralysed? Boo!" Tūhoro taunted.
Pita stepped back.
"Eeee! Booo!"
Then Tūhoro attacked. He struck wildly, flailing. Pita kept retreating. His work was dodging.
"Eee! Stand and fight, spineless one. What's the point of all this running?"
Tūhoro attacked again.
"Hit him! Kick his guts!"
"Smash his nose!"
But however Tūhoro attacked, Pita kept retreating, dodging and weaving.
"You're a girl, friend. Stand and fight."
Then Pita attacked.
He struck Tūhoro's face. He also kicked his stomach.
Tūhoro just laughed. "I like the taste of blood. Your blood... let it flow."
Tūhoro's friends moved in and grabbed Pita from behind, pinning his arms. At that very moment, in the corner of his eye, Pita saw the headlights of cars approaching.
"Grab him."
Tūhoro pounded Pita relentlessly. His nose was broken, his eyes bruised, his stomach punched.
"You disrespected me, you trampled me, here's your punishment!"
Pita fell to the ground. Blood streamed freely.
"Blockheads! Move aside."
It was Māire. He had arrived.
"It's alright, boy. You are strong to stand."
Pita was helped up.
"Let's go. The fighting is finished."
"Your old man has come... crybaby," one thug said.
"Yes, your cowardly food..." Tūhoro added.
"Now, let's go..."
Pita stood straight. Blood flowed strongly. His face was swollen.
"No! I'm not going... the running is finished... this must end here..."
Because of the strength of conviction in Pita's voice, Māire didn't answer. He bowed his head slowly. He understood.
"The running is finished, old man, it's finished..."
Pita turned, and spoke. "This fight started between just us two. It must end the same way. Just us two."
"Eee! You'll be smashed again! But this time, you'll be smashed with this baseball bat."
The bat whistled through the air.
"It's alright, Pita, I have your weapon."
Māire took the taiaha — Te Aho-o-te-Rangi. He recited the karakia, and removed its flax head-covering.
Like a radio voice, the enlightening words of Māire returned to Pita's heart.
"This weapon faces all four directions. Let it show you. Forward, backward, and to the sides as well. This weapon is your ancestor. You do not carry it. It carries you."
The old man's words were clear.
"Raise the twin-edged weapon of Tūmatauenga. Raise it to the sky..."
"What are you waiting for? Your skinny weapon will break against me," Tūhoro said.
Pita focused. He moved through the stances — matatū, popotau, poutama, pītoi. He was led by his ancestors through the faces of Tūmatauenga. The spiral rose through his body from below to above. The markings were licked by the leaf. His form was an endless kōwhaiwhai.
Tūhoro's weapon came swinging. He struck out, he struck back. Pita's feet danced like a bird of prey, turning, twisting, leaping, landing...
Then Pita leaped, struck downward, and hit Tūhoro's stumbling feet. The boy fell. The weapon was turned, the tongue pointing at Tūhoro...
"Aaaaaa.....iahaha!" Pita cried.
The weapon struck down. The tongue quivered just above Tūhoro. Tūhoro trembled, shaking with fear. He stood, ran away, ran away with the run of the rabbit.
Pita sobbed uncontrollably. He cried for the fighting. For his pain. For his fear. And because the demon clenched inside him was finally released.
"It is my fault... my own... because of me Wī died... I lied to everyone, to Mum, to the police... they all... I told them Wī is driving the car, but it is a lie. It wasn't Wī, it is me, it is me driving, I killed Wī by going too fast, I am the one going terribly fast..."
"It's alright, boy. It's alright," Māire said.
"I died because of my lying, for this whole year I've had no purpose..."
"Listen, boy. For fifteen years I held a secret. Only this month do I release it. Because of me your father died, my younger brother. Because of my jealousy he drowned, it is my fault, my own... to be a father to you, boy... as the saying goes, when a person falls into wrongdoing it is a lesson, but if the person does not return to what is right, then it is a disaster. Now, before us is what is right... the demon has been struck down. Let's go home."