Huia Short Stories 10 by Tihema Baker Page A

hill they pass Mr Bennett, a leathery Pākehā farmer, fixing a fence in the failing light. He smiles at the boys as they run by. Āpi stops and leans on a post.
    â€˜Come by tomorrow, Āpi. I need help with the drenching,’ says Mr Bennett. The farmer is good to Āpi, giving him jobs. Āpi often helps drench the sheep or do other work around the shearing shed. Now and then the farmer’s wife has Āpi do a spot of gardening or cleaning or odd jobs around their house.
    â€˜Will do, Mr Bennett.’ Āpi waves, runs to catch up with the other two boys. WÄ« is shaking his head as Āpi approaches.
    â€˜What?’ says Āpi.
    â€˜Nothing. Just reckon you shouldn’t be that cocky’s bloody slave. And what about school?’ says WÄ«.
    Ä€pi stops in his tracks and glares at WÄ«. He looks like he might punch his sibling, but instead he puts Pāpu on his back and begins to run again, this time faster. He leaves WÄ« in his dust.
    â€˜E, wait up, bros!’ calls WÄ«.
    As night falls the boys run into Te Kuiti – a flourishing town on the main trunk line. But tonight it is eerily quiet, except for the sound of their feet on the footpath and their breathing. They rush through the streets, not noticing that shops are closed and there are no cars parked on the street. Āpi sets Pāpu down.
    â€˜Hurry, you fullas. It’s probably started already.’
    They quickly approach a grand building. It is decorated in posters and flanked by a ticket booth edged with gold paint. A large sign above reads ‘State Theatre’. It is unlit. The boys finally notice something is amiss.
    â€˜Hey, where’s all the people?’ says WÄ«.
    Ä€pi looks around, confused. He walks up to the double doors and tries to open them, but they are locked. He peers inside. It is dark.
    â€˜What’s this say, bro?’ says WÄ«, pointing to a sign on one of the doors. Āpi clears his throat.
    â€˜It says “No showing today due to Good Friday”.’ Āpi shakes his head, disappointed. Pāpu’s lips quiver.
    WÄ« spits a gob on the footpath. ‘E, No pictures! Good Bloody Friday!’
    All three boys press their noses up against the glass door of the theatre and look in longingly.
    â€˜E, bloody no pictures alright man,’ says WÄ«.
    Posters hang in the side windows of the theatre. One shows Roy Rogers and Trigger. WÄ« ogles one featuring the Lone Ranger and Tonto. Āpi goes up to another poster and looks at it with awe. It shows his favourite, the singing cowboy Gene Autry, riding his white-maned horse, Champion. Āpi smiles up at his hero.
    He is pulled from his reverie by a tugging at his pants. It is Pāpu, rubbing his tummy sadly.
    He says, ‘My guts hurt, bro, and this is boring as.’
    Behind them WÄ« is riding his pretend steed again up and down the empty footpath, with an oily handkerchief wrapped around his neck.
    â€˜Hi ho, Silver. Wahoo, man!’
    Ä€pi leans down to Pāpu and whispers in his ear.
    â€˜Let’s be cowboys on the lookout for Indians. Maybe they left some kai behind, eh?’
    Pāpu nods. Āpi finds his own dirty handkerchief in his pocket and ties it around Pāpu’s neck.
    â€˜WÄ« is the Lone Ranger, you’re Roy and I’m Gene,’ says Āpi.
    Ä€pi begins to swagger up and down the street a few times, trying to act tough. Hands on the hips, at the ready to pull out his pretend gun. Pāpu giggles. WÄ« sees him and joins in. He puts his hands on his hips too. Āpi dives behind a rubbish bin and begins to shoot at invisible Indians in the night. He looks inside the rubbish bin and sees a half-eaten hotdog. He leans over to Pāpu.
    â€˜Look – the Indians were so scared they ran off and left their kai behind!’ says Āpi. Pāpu’s face lights up and he digs into the rubbish. ‘Look! Injuns are coming,’ says WÄ«.
    Across the