Into the River (3 page)

“Te Arepa! Up here!”

It was Wiremu. He had found a way to cross the river and was just above him with his shirt off and dangling from his hand.

“Grab this, man! I’ll pull you up.”

The shirt fluttered tantalisingly close. He knew the moment he
let go of the toitoi he would sink. It had to be done quickly: his first chance was his best. Above him Wiremu lay face forward, one arm behind him holding something, and the other extended far as it could go.

“Ready?” called Te Arepa.

“Go!” was the answer.

Te Arepa snatched the shirt with his free hand, clung to it, then with all his remaining strength, tied a loop in it with both hands. It stretched and made a few tearing noises. For a moment he was sure it would split in two and that would be the end of it. But it held.

“Try to climb up, man, I can’t pull you,” Wiremu called.

He dug his toes into the mesh of weeds and this time he was able to climb. The eel kept the line tight, so he had to move upstream at the same time. At last he reached a point where Wiremu could let go of the branch he was anchored to and haul him up by the shirt. A moment later they both lay gasping on the bank.

“Let’s get that eel off you, man, and get out of here.”

Te Arepa could see now that Wiremu was as scared as he was. But he shook his head. He couldn’t let it go. Not now. It had cost him too much.

“What?” Wiremu’s face incredulous. “He nearly drowned ya, we’ll never get him out.”

“Give us that stick,” Te Arepa said, indicating the winding stick that Wiremu had brought along. He handed it over quickly, and Te Arepa struggled to wind a couple of twists onto the stick, just above his hand.

“Now you pull,” he ordered, and the other boy pulled on both sides of the stick.

With the tension off, Te Arepa was finally able to free his hand. He ignored the deeply bruised flesh around the base of his thumb. They had a job to do. Something to finish.

Even with both boys pulling hard, there was no movement in the line. It was as though it were attached to the creek bed itself.
The line disappeared into a patch of watercress which allowed no glimpse of what was on the end.

“What now?” Wiremu asked.

“Don’t know. Something’s gotta happen.”

And then it did.

The big eel broke cover heading downstream. Both boys let out a yell. They had forgotten how big he was. Nearly as long as they were, and thicker than their thighs.

“He’s a monster!”

“He’s the taniwha of the river!”

The eel made his leisurely way downstream, the hook projecting from the side of his mouth. The boys trotted along, keeping pace. After fifty metres, the river changed course and crossed a shallow ridge of river boulders.

“We can get him when he crosses the rocks,” yelled Wiremu.

As if he heard, the eel immediately made for the bank. It nuzzled its way into the reeds immediately above the rapids.

“Now’s our chance,” said Te Arepa. “We might be able to drag him over to the rocks.”

They let the line go slack and ran to where it was shallow enough to cross. Once they were halfway across, they began to pull together. At first it seemed pointless. Nothing would shift this monster. But then his head appeared and he made a dash straight past them over the rushing rocks.

“Stone him, quick!” screamed Wiremu. “Stone him, man!”

They both dropped the line and picked up the biggest rocks they could find. The eel came so close to Te Arepa’s feet that he nearly dropped his boulder. He threw it wildly. Although it seemed to score a direct hit, the eel carried on undaunted.

Wiremu was more considered, and dropped his directly on the eel’s head. The fish knotted itself in a violent spasm. Its silver underside gleamed as it thrashed in the shallow water. The boys sensed the advantage and pelted it with smaller, more accurate rocks.

“Get it in the tail, that’s where its second brain is!” yelled Wiremu.

“Bullshit second brain!” grunted Te Arepa as he closed in on it, sensing the kill.

“It’s true, my uncle told me.”

That’s what Wiremu always said when he claimed some unbelievable statement as scientific fact.

The eel had stopped going anywhere and slowly curled in on itself, as if trying to protect its head from the relentless barrage of stones. After a while all its movement slowed to a sleepy shudder.

“That’s enough, Wiremu, he’s dead now, it’s just the nerves.”

Te Arepa was anxious not to spoil the animal’s terrifying head. That would diminish their mana. Already he was planning a triumphal return. “Let’s get him out!”

Confident now, they struggled to drag the heavy, slippery body to the bank. It seemed impossible. Their hands were hopelessly coated with slime.

“If only there was somewhere to grip him, like a gill or something.”

“Wrap him in your shirt, Reps, it’s torn anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

Although it was true, Te Arepa noted he always seemed to be the one making the big sacrifice. Wiremu was fussy about his clothes, baggy old hand-me-downs though they were. With the checked shirt tied tightly around the glistening body they were finally able to haul it up to the safety of the bank. They fell beside it, exhausted. For the first time Te Arepa noted the sky was getting dark.

“I wonder what the time is.”

“I reckon it must be about … I dunno. We’d better get back.”

Wiremu sat up as the eel’s tail gave a lazy flick.

“Woah!” They were both startled, but then it stopped again.

“How old do you reckon this taniwha is?”

“He could be hun’reds of years old.”

“Not that old, man, he’s not a tree.”

“No it’s true, eels live for hun’reds of years.”

“Your uncle?”

Wiremu nodded.

“Well that was before we came along. The greatest eel hunters the world has ever known,” said Te Arepa grandly.

Wiremu liked this idea and sat grinning to himself, memorising the phrase.

Te Arepa looked at his hands, both of them criss-crossed with cuts and beginning to throb.

“You ready, Wiremu?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how we’re going to carry him home. Maybe we should leave him here and get someone to give us a hand.”

“I’m not going back without him.”

“It can’t be done, man, he weighs as much as I do and he’s sooo slimy.”

They stared at its massive length. The twitches had almost completely subsided.

“Wait here.” Te Arepa walked along the bank to a stand of manuka. He was able to break one of the skinny trunks off at the base and after some rocking and twisting had it free. They bound the shirted eel to the long pole by winding the line around it. There was something comical about it, like an eel wearing clothes in a cartoon, the ugly head sticking out of the collar. Most of their fishing line was used to secure it. After that it was just a matter of hoisting it onto their shoulders, like native bearers in a Tarzan movie.

Although Te Arepa’s idea seemed a good one at first, the eel soon became very heavy. The ground was rough and they needed to put it down and rest every thirty metres or so. The trip back was much longer than the one in. Their legs ached and they rarely spoke. When they reached Goldsmith’s paddock neither of them
cared enough to crouch, even slightly. They walked on, silently bracing themselves for the shotgun blast that would end their exhausting trek. It would be a relief.

By the time they made it home it was getting dark. How good to see lights on in the kitchen as they marched triumphantly around the back. They lowered the eel onto the square of light cast from the kitchen window.

Ra emerged with a tea towel in his hand. “Now that’s an eel to be proud of.” He turned and called towards the house. “Rawinia! Come, see what Wiremu and your brother have caught.”

Rawinia came rushing out but then drew back.

“Eee! He’s an ugly devil.” Then she said, “Why’s he wearing your shirt, Te Arepa?”

“He got cold on the way back and asked for it … I reckoned it was the good thing to do.”

“True?” she asked.

They all laughed.

In the old wash house Ra slowly untangled the line and then slid the big eel into one of the wooden tubs. He put the plug in and ran water over it.

“Ooh! He’s coming back to life,” said Rawinia.

It was true the tail made a few languid movements as if waking up.

“No, they often do that, eels, this one’s headed for the smoke-house. So boy, where did this one come from? Goldsmith’s Bush?”

Wiremu and Te Arepa were startled. They nodded.

“How did you know?” asked Te Arepa, and then added guiltily, “We haven’t been there before.”

“That’s the only place around here where you get eels that big. Further down the Pokaiwhenua they’re much smaller.”

“Why’s that?” asked Wiremu.

“We don’t fish there.” Then, by way of explanation, “There’s a rahui on the river where it goes onto Goldsmith’s land.” He paused, then said almost reverently, “An old one that’s never been lifted.”

He saw the boys beginning to look uncomfortable and he laughed.

“Don’t worry! You’re not going to have a makutu placed on you. You didn’t know.”

“How come there’s a rahui on the river up there but not down at the bridge where I always fish?”

“That’s a long story and it’s time for Wiremu to be going home.”

He turned to Wiremu who was leaning against the wall, eyelids beginning to droop.

“Wiremu, your folks will be wondering what’s happened to you. They’ll think that you’ve been eaten by this taniwha.”

Then noticing Wiremu’s reluctance, he added, “You run home. Tell Mahu he’s got half of a big eel headed his way in a day or two.”

That night, as Te Arepa was about to go to bed, Ra called out from the sitting room, where he sat in front of the fire.

“Boy! You asked about that rahui. Come through and I’ll tell you.”

Te Arepa sat on the floor beside his chair.

“People talk about Goldsmith’s Bush, but the bush isn’t his, it’s iwi land. Our people don’t go there much because they have to cross his land to get to it and there have been a few arguments over the years. A bit of bad blood. But that’s not the main reason. The main reason dates back to your beloved Diego.”

Te Arepa’s face lit up: Diego was a name that always caught
his attention.

“Just above the waterfall is the ravine where the Ngapuhi visitors finished up. It was the place where Diego taught us the power of secrets. How to harness the fear of the unknown. He told us that if everyone kept their silence about this then there would be no utu. That a huge and terrifying monster would protect us.”

“What monster?” asked Te Arepa.

“I can’t tell you what he looked like but I can tell you where he lived.”

“Did he live in a sort of cave house near the waterfall?”

“You went there?” Ra’s tone changed to one of alarm.

Te Arepa nodded. “There was something there. We ran.”

“So he’s still there, eh?” said Ra wistfully. “It’s been a few years I can tell you. No boy, that’s not our monster, that’s another monster. He gave you a scare, eh? What did he look like?”

“I couldn’t see him properly. It was too dark in there. I heard a noise and saw these two eyes gleaming in the dark … then we ran for it.”

“Do you know what that was?” asked Ra.

Te Arepa shook his head, eyes wide with suspense.

“It’s an old billy goat. He’s lived in that house for years now. That house was the place where the tohunga lived. The one left to guard the river, preserve and enforce the rahui. He was so tapu that he couldn’t touch food, had to be hand-fed like a puppy. When he died the house was left. Our people won’t go in there to this day.”

“But I went in there. What’s going to happen to me?”

Ra looked at him. “Nothing probably. There’s enough Diego in you to give you protection, but your Maori part …” he stopped then and said no more.

Te Arepa began to feel strange, as though cold water had been poured over him.

“Because you didn’t know … that’s not as bad. Had you done it knowingly …” his words broke off and he thought for a moment.
“Had you done it knowingly, it would have been like you were challenging the spirit world. Not wise, eh?” Ra seemed thoughtful, like there was something else that was troubling him. “Anyway, it’s my fault really, I should have told you … I should have guessed you’d find your way in there one day.”

“But that’s where the terrifying monster lives, the one that keeps the Ngapuhi away?”

“No, boy. He’s much more potent than that. Closer to home.” He chuckled and he leaned forward to touch Te Arepa on the forehead with his index finger. “He lives right there. That’s where he lives, and once he has been set loose there is nothing in the world that can stop him.”

Te Arepa looked disappointed.

“He’s just imaginary?”

“There is nothing just imaginary about it, boy. The Ngapuhi fear of what happened to their war party was what kept us safe, what saved us, during the dangerous days when Pakeha brought guns to this country. Everyone had their eye on each other’s land, everyone seemed to have an old score to settle.”

“So what should I do now?”

“You sit quietly. Time for karakia, then bed for you.”

Ra began his long chant. The familiar tauparapara, the lengthy introduction that was like the family signature. Then he went back to the darkness. The darkness before the universe was created. The time when nothing existed. Nothing except the possibility of existence.

Te Arepa leant against the chair. He knew the chant would be long. Exhausting. He knew that the chant was because of him. His fault. That it had to undo the damage that he had caused by going into the old cave of the tohunga. His mind raced with fearful possibilities. A blur of eel, the dank mossy cave of the goat, the deep hidden recesses of the river, Goldsmith’s shotgun, and behind them all was his main fear. Death. That it would take his mother. Then Ra, Rawinia and himself.

He was awoken by Ra’s hand on his shoulder. “You go off to bed now.”

Once in his bed, sleep, which had fallen on him so quickly during Ra’s karakia, was now elusive. His whole body was awash with unease. He had violated something. Transgressed. There would be consequences. Even Ra couldn’t protect him from that. It was many hours before sleep finally found him, and it seemed only moments later that he awoke to the dawn’s first bird sounds, panting and drenched with sweat.