Solomon's Song (5 page)

Hawk dresses Tommo carefully and his body is carried to the marae, the meeting hut, where it will lie in state, for Tamihana has declared that Tommo must have the honours of an important rangatira bestowed upon his death rituals.

Tommo is dressed in Mr Sparrow’s clothes and boots since they are of a high quality and have scarcely been worn as Tommo reverted to the Maori fashion of dressing. In his long black Ikey Solomon coat and his fine hat he looks more substantial in death than in life.

In less than half an hour the women emerge from the dark line of the forest, carrying armloads of kawakawa, the creeper that symbolises death. This they festoon about the meeting house and wave about themselves in the ritual powhiri dance.

The old women appear at the marae dressed in black and begin the tangi, a dance performed together with a high, uncanny wail and much breast beating to express their grief for the recently deceased as well as to summon all the dead to attend the hui in the marae.

They surround Tommo, moving in a halting fashion about him, wailing, waving the kawakawa creeper and singing ‘Haere atu, ka tu ka tangi; haere atu, ka tu ka tangi’ (’Move, stand and weep; move, stand and weep’).

Soon men and women from the surrounding tribes arrive at the outskirts of the village and halt, waiting to be welcomed with true warmth as they have come to pay their respects to the little warrior Tommo Te Mokiri, the leader of the now legendary fifty-five fighting axes, heroes of the Maori wars. Chief Wiremu Kingi of the Ati Awa tribe sends a large delegation of mourners but lies sick abed and cannot come himself, though he sends his chief orator to take part in the whaikorero, the oration.

Their women wail, showing their sorrow is of a great and appropriate kind and when it reaches a crescendo, the tribal women dancing the tangi return this wailing in a most melodious way, ‘Neke neke mui, neke neke mui’ (’Draw nearer, draw nearer’). They have been welcomed with the Maori heart.

The women wail while the men weep silently and bow their heads; all about there is the deep hum-wail of grief as the tribe’s tears flow for the dead. Soon the old women, those whose beauty has passed and wisdom has become fixed to their faces, lacerate themselves, cutting the skin of their faces and breasts, arms and legs with a sliver of obsidian until they bleed on all the exposed surfaces of their bodies.

The wailing and weeping for Tommo continues for three days to show the extremity of their grief. Their respect for him is witnessed by the copious amount of tears and nose mucus which is left to drip unchecked so that the song ‘Na te hupe me nga roimata, ka ea te mate’ (’By tears and nose mucus, death is avenged’) may be seen to be true.

There is much oratory performed in this period known as the mihi, where etiquette demands that orators are carefully chosen with the appropriate praises and lamentations given according to their rank. Chief Tamihana has briefed a famous orator, a master of genealogy, ancient chants and local history, who has at his command all the appropriate proverbs.

The orator, who Hawk sees is a consummate actor, creates a great spoken drama on the life of Tommo Te Mokiri. He tells of an ancient time when a great and wise king whose name was Solomon married a black Queen of Sheba, a woman of exquisite beauty, and how forever thereafter each generation produced two sons, one black and the other white, a giant and a small man, so people might know that small men and big, black and white, have an equal part in life. At this remark the mourners look to Hawk who stands at seven feet tall, the magnificent General Hawk, their beloved Black Maori, and then at the diminutive body of Tommo, whereupon a fresh wailing commences which causes the orator to stop until he may be heard again. He describes Tommo’s exploits in the great battle of Puke Te Kauere where Tommo got the wound that has brought about his death. He even makes the mourners laugh a moment when he tells of how Tommo was saved in the swamp water by having his head against the great arse of a dead British soldier. He goes on to explain that Tommo’s ancestor, Icky Slomon, sits on the Council of the Dead as a Maori ancestor and that his advice is no doubt much respected by the ancestors.

Hawk thinks of poor old Ikey sitting among the Maori chiefs of the past where the luxury of roast pork is the daily fare, ‘my dear-ing’ them with every sentence and trying to teach them the intricacies of cribbage and the Jewish perspective of seeing every point of view in an argument and so defeating it with commonsense.

There is much wailing and nose mucus as the mourners show their appreciation for the dead Tommo Te Mokiri who has left them his seed in the form of the Princess Hinetitama, an infant to be brought up in the Maori tradition in the household of Chief Tamihana.

While Chief Tamihana and his tohunga, the priests, do not allow the supreme honour of a chief, that Tommo’s heart be cut out and buried separately in a sacred place, forever tapu, so that any person who approaches the place of its burial will meet with certain death, they agree that his body may be placed high up in one of the tallest trees in the forest where it will remain until all the flesh has fallen from him. After the women have cleaned his bones and skull, they will be placed in a cave looking to the west where he can forever greet the morning sun.

Hawk remains a further fortnight during which time he takes a Maori ketch to Auckland and interviews several land agents until he finds an American with the improbable name of Geronimo Septimus Thompson, who he believes he might trust. Using the five pound notes in Mr Sparrow’s stash he opens a letter of credit with the Bank of New South Wales in Auckland and, visiting the Government Surveyor’s office, he studies the land titles abutting the Ngati Haua tribal lands. He instructs Geronimo Thompson to buy out the small farms surrounding it.

‘You will offer two times what the property is worth,’ Hawk tells him, ‘and allow six months or the next crop to come to the landowner before he must vacate. The name of the buyer must never be known, Mr Thompson, do you understand me?’

‘But how much shall I buy?’ asks the bemused Thompson. ‘Is there a limit? Five thousand acres? More? Farmland only?’

‘You must buy everything, valleys, fields, forests, hills, mountains, rivers and streams. If you can find a way to deal with the Almighty I wish you to buy the sky as well,’ Hawk instructs him, but then cautions Thompson, ‘The parcel must be clean, there can be no farms left unvacated in any part of the land you buy except at its perimeters. I shall return in a year and instruct you further.’

‘But, but…’ Thompson splutters, ’such an undertaking will attract attention, if I have no name for the purchaser, how shall I answer?’

‘You will buy the land in the name of the Bank of New South Wales and they will hold the titles.’ By doing this Hawk has prevented any possibility of Thompson cheating him.

Hawk returns to the tribe and informs Chief Tamihana that he must return at once to Australia. The old chief commands that a great farewell feast be held on the marae in his honour.

During the festivities and much to Hawk’s embarrassment, Chief Tamihana invites Hawk’s old friend, the one-armed, one-eyed Hammerhead Jack to tell the rangatira, the elders of the tribe, and the tohunga, and all those gathered at the hui about the time Hawk saved his life when the great sperm whale had overturned their whaleboat and his arm had been severed by the harpoon line.

‘I am not much Maori, with only one arm and one eye, but my mana is in my left eye and it would be my privilege to die for my brother, Ork,’ Hammerhead Jack concludes at the end of his talk.

The rangatira clap and shout their approval of Hammerhead Jack’s sentiments. Chief Tamihana has earlier reminded them of the contribution of General Black Hawk, who with his new guerilla tactics, which the Maori call ‘the running away war’, made the forces of Wiremu Kingi and General Hapurona achieve victories against the British. They have more to add to the collective memory of the giant black man they think of as one of their own.

It is an altogether grand farewell though Hawk is somewhat bemused at how his reputation as a fighting man and as a general has grown in his absence.

‘Chief Tamihana, I am honoured to be counted among you, to be accepted as rangatira, but surely you speak of a stranger. I have neither the wisdom nor the bravery you bestow upon me. Of the running away war, it was something I learned in books and I cannot take credit for it.’ Hawk walks over and stands beside Hammerhead Jack who is seated among the highest of the rangatira. ‘We have been brothers in war and I could ask for no braver man at my side. At the battle of Puke Te Kauere it was this man who was the true general when we fought outside the pa. Without him we could not have succeeded and without him Tommo would have drowned in the swamp. How can I merit praise when it is due so much more to others, to this man, my Maori brother?’

The rangatira clap, enjoying Hawk’s modesty and his copious praise for one of their own warriors. Hawk promises he will return each year to attend to the needs of Tommo’s daughter Hinetitama and to sit with his brothers in the marae. He tells them that he knows himself to be a Maori in his heart and is of the Ngati Haua tribe and he wears their moko on his face with great pride.

‘He thanks the rangatira and is careful to do the same to the tohunga. Priests, Hawk has observed, have long memories for small slights, and finally he thanks Chief Tamihana for the honour they have bestowed on Tommo by giving him the burial rights of a great warrior and for elevating him to the ranks of the rangatira.

*

Hawk will sail in the morning and it is late, with a full moon high in the night sky. Chief Tamihana sees him to the hut they have provided for him in the chief’s compound. ‘I shall leave you now my friend and we will sail you to Auckland in the morning, I have but one more gift for you which I hope you will enjoy.’

‘Gift? I have been honoured beyond any possible merit, Tamihana, I have been given the gift of brotherhood and of your friendship. With Tommo dead there is none I value more than yours and that of Hammerhead Jack.’

Tamihana chuckles softly. ‘Ah, Hawk, this is but the gift of one night, an old memory revisited.’ With this remark he bids Hawk goodnight and takes his leave.

Hawk is too tired to think what the old chief might mean and gratefully enters his hut. The night carries a cool breeze from the mountains and Hawk wraps a blanket about himself and is preparing to sleep when he becomes conscious of a shadow darkening the door of his hut, blocking out the moonlight.

‘Who is it?’ he says wearily. He has talked and listened too much for one night and wishes only to be left alone.

‘It is me, General Black Hawk, Hinetitama, whose name you have taken for the daughter of Tommo. Do you remember me?’

It is as if time has stood in the same place, for in the moonlight he watches as the woman loosens the neck cord and allows her feather cloak, the sign of a highborn Maori, to fall at her feet.

In the silvered air Hawk can see that she is still as beautiful as when she first came to him. He can remember almost every word Hinetitama said to him that first night so long ago. ‘Oh, Black Maori, I have wanted you so very long. I have eaten you with my eyes and I have tasted you in my heart a thousand times. I have moaned for you alone in my blanket and my mouth has cried out to hold your manhood. My breasts have grown hard from longing for you and I have brought pleasure to myself in your name.’

Hawk’s throat aches suddenly, for he can think only of Maggie Pye, her sweetness and her brash and unashamed love for him. Maggie so different to this beautiful shadow in the night.

Now the moonlight throws a silver sheen across her skin and he can see the curve of her breasts and stomach. It is as if he is within a dream repeated, each detail the same as before even though so much has changed in him.

Hinetitama crosses the small hut and she lifts his blanket and lies beside him. ‘I have never forgotten you, Black Maori,’ she whispers into Hawk’s ear. She begins to kiss him, as she did before, across his chest and belly, moving lower and lower. Hawk feels himself grow hard. ‘Oh, Maggie, forgive me,’ he moans silently, for Hinetitama’s mouth has reached his trembling hardness and now it engulfs him. Hawk thinks that he will die with the pleasure of her lips and, just when he feels he can bear it no longer, she withdraws and her hand guides him into her so that she now sits astride him. Hawk begins to moan softly.

‘Black Hawk, have you learned nothing from your pakeha women?’ she laughs. ‘You must wait for me, there is a twice greater pleasure when the moment is shared.’

‘Aye,’ Hawk gasps, and then adds in the Maori tongue, ‘But I am only a mortal man.’ He can see the flash of her white teeth as she laughs and the fine curve of her neck and the sheen of moonlight as it catches the rounded slant of her shoulder.

‘Ah, but did you say this to your Maggie Pye?’ She laughs again.

Hawk’s eyes open in sudden surprise. ‘Maggie! You know of Maggie?’ he exclaims.

‘See how I have caused you to wait.’ Hinetitama laughs again. ‘It is not so hard to contain your pleasure when your mind is distracted.’

‘Yes, but how? How do you know of Maggie?’ Hawk repeats urgently.

‘The Maori are everywhere, Black Hawk. Our men are sailors on the whaling ships and those that bring timber to Sydney. Many of our women are widows who have lost their husbands in the wars against the pakeha and so remain barren and unloved for lack of men, some have been taken by the pakeha sailing captains to Sydney.’ She laughs. ‘As a lover I can’t say you have improved, but you have become a great fighter since you left us, a great man who is known by all the Maori in Sydney. You also honoured my tribe when you took Johnny Heki to train you, he is a Maori with my moko. Ah, Black Hawk, there is much we know of you, for you are one of us and they are our Gods who protect you now and forever.’

Hawk, taken by surprise at the mention of Maggie’s name, has lost much of his tumescence. Hinetitama’s voice takes on a mocking quality. ‘First you cannot wait for me, now you wait too long,’ she teases softly. ‘Black Hawk, if you do not make love to me better than this, I shall think your Maggie Pye has taught you nothing.’