Huia Short Stories 10 by Tihema Baker Page B

road, a group leaves a church service. A woman wearing a silver fox fur around her shoulders crosses the road, pulling along an anaemic looking boy about Wī’s age. She notices Pāpu with his hand in the rubbish, and recoils when he draws out the hotdog and begins to eat it with gusto. She wags a gloved finger at him. ‘That’s filthy!’ she says.
    Pāpu continues to eat, finishes the hotdog and smiles up at her, meat caught in his teeth. The woman looks around. She spots Āpi standing sheepishly on the footpath.
    â€˜Where are your parents? Get home, the lot of you!’ she says.
    WÄ« appears from behind her, riding his steed. He whips out the pretend pistol and points it at her. ‘E, piss off, you bloody old bitch,’ he says. He bends over and gives her a brown eye.
    The woman’s son stifles a laugh. The woman pulls him away from the heathens, up the street. WÄ« giggles and swaggers some more; shoots his pistol at her back.
    â€˜Pishaw! Pishaw!’ says WÄ«.
    Ä€pi smacks the back of his head, and WÄ« jerks with surprise.
    â€˜E, what’d you do that for?’ says WÄ«, rubbing his head, his pride injured. His lips begin to quiver.
    â€˜The code, man. Number nine. A cowboy must respect women,’ says Āpi.
    â€˜E, you’re all talk. What about Number one, bro?’ WÄ« rubs his head again. ‘Never hit a smaller man?’ He wipes his watery eyes. He puts his pistol back into its hip holster and storms off into the night. Āpi watches him, remorse flitting across his face.
    â€˜Hey, wait up! Bro! WÄ«!’ calls Āpi. WÄ« disappears around a corner. Āpi grabs Pāpu’s hand and they race after their brother.
    They find WÄ« sulking on a wooden seat on the platform of the train station. Pāpu sits down beside him and sidles up close. Āpi stands nearby, awkward, with his hands in his pockets. WÄ« is looking off into the distance, where the tracks meet the horizon.
    Pāpu looks that way too, trying to see what WÄ« sees. He puts his hand around his brother’s shoulder. WÄ« begins to talk to no one in particular.
    â€˜I reckon I might hop on the next train that comes by.’
    â€˜Yeah, me too,’ says Pāpu.
    â€˜How you gonna pay for a ticket?’ asks Āpi.
    â€˜Just sneak in, like we do at the pictures,’ says WÄ«.
    Pāpu nods wisely. ‘Yeah, just like the pictures, eh,’ he says.
    â€˜No you won’t. We can’t. What about Dad; who’ll look after him?’ says Āpi.
    â€˜Shut up,’ says WÄ«.
    â€˜Don’t tell me –’ says Āpi.
    â€˜Shh!’ says WÄ«. The boys are quiet. ‘You fullas hear that?’
    The boys listen. In the distance, a whistle. Wī’s serious face cracks into a smile. ‘It’s a bloody train!’
    A cloud of steam appears on the horizon. A train chugs slowly into view. The boys laugh and jump as it pulls into the station. Hissing steam fills the air. They peer into a nearby carriage.
    â€˜Farrrr! Check it out!’ says WÄ«.
    It is cosy and bright inside, and there is a family eating at a table. They have a steaming thermos, thick sandwiches and biscuits with butter. Pāpu licks his lips.
    Ä€pi notices a tall man hop off the train and briskly walk past them. He is greeted by his family at the end of the platform – the woman with the fox fur stole and her son.
    The train sounds its whistle and begins to pull away. Pāpu’s face is still glued to the window. His eyes drink in the sight of the family inside with their delicious spread. He begins to run beside the train.
    â€˜Hey, wait! Wait … for me,’ he says.
    His calls are drowned out by the train’s loud whistle. As he nears the end of the platform Pāpu trips, landing near the woman and her family. They look down at Pāpu, who is holding his knee and bawling. The son begins to go to Pāpu’s aid,