heaving
itself by muscle contraction even further up the sand. Then, sighing, it had rolled onto its
right side and prepared itself for death.
Five or six elderly females had separated from the herd to lie close
to the bull whale. They sang to it, attempting to encourage it back to the open sea where
the rest of the herd were waiting. But the bull whale remained unmoving.
We had run down to the beach. None of us had been prepared for the
physical size of the beast. It seemed to tower over us. A primal psychic force gleamed in
its swirling tattoo. Twenty metres long, it brought with it a reminder of our fantastic
past.
Then, in the wind and the rain, Koro Apirana had approached the whale.
‘Oh sacred one,’ he had called, ‘greetings. Have you come to
die or to live?’ There was no reply to his question. But we had the feeling that
this was a decision which had been placed in our hands.
The whale had raised its giant tail fin:
That is for you to
decide .
It was then that Koro Apirana had asked that the men gather in the
meeting house.
Outside there was wind and rain, lightning and
thunder. The lightning lit up the beach where the stranded whale was lying. Far out to sea
the whale herd waited, confused. Every now and then one of the elderly females would come to
comfort the ancient whale and to croon its love for him.
Inside the stomach of the meeting house there was warmth,
bewilderment, strength and anticipation, waiting to be soldered into a unity by the words of
our chief, Koro Apirana. The sound of the women assembling in the dining room under Nanny
Flowers’ supervision came to us like a song of support. As I shut the door to the
meeting house I saw Kahu’s face, like a small dolphin, staring out to sea. She was
making her mewling noise.
Koro Apirana took us for prayers. His voice rose and fell like the
sea. Then he made his greetings to the house, our ancestors, and the tribe gathered inside
the house. For a moment he paused, searching for words and began to speak.
‘Well, boys,’ he said, ‘there are not
many of us. I count twenty-six —’
‘Don’t forget me, Koro,’ a six-year-old
interjected.
‘Twenty-seven, then,’ Koro Apirana smiled,
‘so we all have to be one in body, mind, soul and spirit. But first we have to
agree on what we must do.’ His voice fell silent. ‘To explain, I have to
talk philosophy and I never went to no university. My university was the school of hard
knocks —’
‘That’s the best school of all,’ someone
yelled.
‘So I have to explain in my own way. Once, our world was one
where the Gods talked to our ancestors and man talked with the Gods. Sometimes the Gods gave
our ancestors special powers. For instance, our ancestor Paikea’ — Koro
Apirana gestured to the apex of the house — ‘was given power to talk to
whales and to command them. In this way, man, beasts and Gods lived in close communion with
one another.’
Koro Apirana took a few thoughtful steps back and forward.
‘But then,’ he continued, ‘man assumed a
cloak of arrogance and set himself up above the Gods. He even tried to defeat Death, but
failed. As he grew in his arrogance he started to drive a wedge through the original oneness
of the world. In the passing of Time he divided the world into that half he could believe in
and that half he could not believe in. The real and the unreal. The natural and
supernatural. The present and the past. The scientific and the fantastic. He put a barrier
between both worlds and everything on his side was called rational and everything on the
other side was called irrational. Belief in our Maori Gods,’ he emphasised, ‘has often been considered irrational.’
Koro Apirana paused again. He had us in the palms of his hands and was
considerate about our ignorance, but I was wondering what he was driving at. Suddenly he
gestured to the sea.
‘You have all seen
itself by muscle contraction even further up the sand. Then, sighing, it had rolled onto its
right side and prepared itself for death.
Five or six elderly females had separated from the herd to lie close
to the bull whale. They sang to it, attempting to encourage it back to the open sea where
the rest of the herd were waiting. But the bull whale remained unmoving.
We had run down to the beach. None of us had been prepared for the
physical size of the beast. It seemed to tower over us. A primal psychic force gleamed in
its swirling tattoo. Twenty metres long, it brought with it a reminder of our fantastic
past.
Then, in the wind and the rain, Koro Apirana had approached the whale.
‘Oh sacred one,’ he had called, ‘greetings. Have you come to
die or to live?’ There was no reply to his question. But we had the feeling that
this was a decision which had been placed in our hands.
The whale had raised its giant tail fin:
That is for you to
decide .
It was then that Koro Apirana had asked that the men gather in the
meeting house.
Outside there was wind and rain, lightning and
thunder. The lightning lit up the beach where the stranded whale was lying. Far out to sea
the whale herd waited, confused. Every now and then one of the elderly females would come to
comfort the ancient whale and to croon its love for him.
Inside the stomach of the meeting house there was warmth,
bewilderment, strength and anticipation, waiting to be soldered into a unity by the words of
our chief, Koro Apirana. The sound of the women assembling in the dining room under Nanny
Flowers’ supervision came to us like a song of support. As I shut the door to the
meeting house I saw Kahu’s face, like a small dolphin, staring out to sea. She was
making her mewling noise.
Koro Apirana took us for prayers. His voice rose and fell like the
sea. Then he made his greetings to the house, our ancestors, and the tribe gathered inside
the house. For a moment he paused, searching for words and began to speak.
‘Well, boys,’ he said, ‘there are not
many of us. I count twenty-six —’
‘Don’t forget me, Koro,’ a six-year-old
interjected.
‘Twenty-seven, then,’ Koro Apirana smiled,
‘so we all have to be one in body, mind, soul and spirit. But first we have to
agree on what we must do.’ His voice fell silent. ‘To explain, I have to
talk philosophy and I never went to no university. My university was the school of hard
knocks —’
‘That’s the best school of all,’ someone
yelled.
‘So I have to explain in my own way. Once, our world was one
where the Gods talked to our ancestors and man talked with the Gods. Sometimes the Gods gave
our ancestors special powers. For instance, our ancestor Paikea’ — Koro
Apirana gestured to the apex of the house — ‘was given power to talk to
whales and to command them. In this way, man, beasts and Gods lived in close communion with
one another.’
Koro Apirana took a few thoughtful steps back and forward.
‘But then,’ he continued, ‘man assumed a
cloak of arrogance and set himself up above the Gods. He even tried to defeat Death, but
failed. As he grew in his arrogance he started to drive a wedge through the original oneness
of the world. In the passing of Time he divided the world into that half he could believe in
and that half he could not believe in. The real and the unreal. The natural and
supernatural. The present and the past. The scientific and the fantastic. He put a barrier
between both worlds and everything on his side was called rational and everything on the
other side was called irrational. Belief in our Maori Gods,’ he emphasised, ‘has often been considered irrational.’
Koro Apirana paused again. He had us in the palms of his hands and was
considerate about our ignorance, but I was wondering what he was driving at. Suddenly he
gestured to the sea.
‘You have all seen
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