The Moa Cave (5 page)

Alice was asleep in the car when they returned to Jacks Bay. She did not look well. They let her sleep while they played on the beach for a while. Tyler stripped and took a quick dip in the water to get rid of the mud.

He was standing by the car drying himself when he heard the growl of an approaching vehicle. It was the black ute. He felt a touch of fear at the sound: nothing good ever happened when it was around.

Only when it pulled alongside did he notice an empty boat trailer on the back. It backed over the grass onto the sand, stopping short of the water. The door opened and a blondhaired man got out. It was neither Shifty nor Grunty. This was a new member of the gang: Blondy.

Blondy barely glanced in their direction before lighting a smoke and pulling himself onto the cab. He peered out to sea, plainly expecting something to happen.

Before his cigarette was half smoked a boat appeared at the entrance to the bay. He hopped down and backed the trailer into the water. Hine moved alongside Tyler. ‘I know what type of boat that is,’ she said proudly. ‘It’s an Aqua-air 50. We have one and I’m allowed to drive it.’

Tyler looked sideways at her. She was talking like a boy. There were boys at school who were always skiting about
cars and boats they’d been in. Never the girls: to them cars went on land and boats on water.

He turned to the boat. ‘It looks funny. As if it’s sinking or something.’

‘It’s an inflatable on an aluminium frame. They’re specially designed for diving. I bet they’ve been out diving for stuff.’

‘Illegally, I bet.’

‘Let’s find out. My dare is to find something for the police.’ She called Mandy over. ‘We’re going to do some detective work. Something to tell the police. I’m going to get the serial number of the boat.’

Tyler spoke up quickly. ‘I’ll get the number plate.’ Hine gave a little smile, causing Tyler to think she’d intended him to get the easy job. For a moment he was annoyed. He didn’t need looking after. He could stay in the game without her help.

Mandy stood thinking for a moment. ‘I know. I’ll chat them up and get their names.’

Hine looked at her doubtfully. ‘That won’t be easy.’

‘I can do it,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ve never been turned down before.’

They agreed the rules would have to be changed so Hine didn’t have to go first, or the others wouldn’t have time to do theirs. Tyler moved towards the ute. Blondy was around the back removing the canvas cover. This was going to be dead easy. He crouched by the front of the vehicle and wiped the number plate with a handful of wet sand, expecting the number to be instantly revealed.

It wasn’t. The plate had been painted with something that made mud and dust stick to it. He tried several times without success. The only way was to trace the letters with his fingers. It was slow work. There were six letters or numbers. By the time he had the third he’d forgotten the first. Fishing a
pen from his pocket he wrote what he could remember on the back of his hand. Soon he had all but the last number.

‘Hey kid! What you doing down there?’

It was Blondy. Tyler dropped the pen in fright. ‘Um, I lost something.’ He scratched in the sand for a moment. ‘Ah! Here it is.’ He held up his pen.

Blondy looked at him suspiciously. ‘You’d better get away from there, kid, or you’ll get run over.’ He stood for a moment before moving to the back of the vehicle. Tyler quickly traced the last number and moved away. He decided to keep away from Shifty and Grunty as they would probably get suspicious if they saw him hanging around again.

Hine and Mandy were in the water near the boat watching the gang load it onto the trailer. Blondy was lifting sacks into the back of the ute. Mandy was talking but Tyler couldn’t hear anything because of the noise of the boat motor. Then suddenly all was silent.

‘…caught so much,’ Mandy was saying. ‘You must be very good fishermen.’

Grunty grunted something that Tyler couldn’t catch. Hine was leaning over the side of the trailer peering into the boat.

‘Is it dangerous out there?’ asked Mandy. ‘The beach we saw yesterday had huge waves. You must be real brave to go out in that.’ Grunty gave a bit of a nod. Encouraged, Mandy went on: ‘My name’s Mandy Parker. What’s yours?’

Grunty gave a sound that could have been a laugh. ‘Terminator Two. And if you don’t shift I’ll terminate you.’ He laughed again. Mandy stepped back quickly.

Meanwhile, Hine had moved away from the boat towards the back of the ute. She gave Tyler the thumbs up, then indicated she was going to look in the sacks.

The men were plainly annoyed by the kids, but also in a hurry to get out of the place. There was a moment when
all three were fixing the boat to the trailer. Hine opened a sack and peered inside. A puzzled look crossed her face. She opened another and looked even more puzzled. Unfortunately she tried the next just as the men finished. When Shifty saw her, his face twisted in a mix of fear and anger. Swearing loudly he strode forward and grabbed her by the arm, swinging her roughly to the ground. He stared down at her, screaming more foul words. When he looked up he saw Tyler. He paused, took a couple of steps towards the boy, mumbled something and then turned back to the ute.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he yelled to the others as he climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘These kids are getting to me.’ The others joined him and soon the boat was bouncing off down the road.

Hine got to her feet. ‘You okay?’ asked Tyler.

‘Yeah. He just hurt my arm, the big bully.’

Mandy asked, ‘Did you get the number of the boat?’ Hine nodded and reeled off a string of numbers.

‘I got the number plate,’ said Tyler.

‘What is it?’ asked Mandy suspiciously.

Tyler held out his hand. ‘Here, I wrote it down.’

Mandy looked at his hand. ‘There’s nothing there.’

Tyler smiled, then breathed heavily on the back of his hand. Slowly the letters and numbers became visible in pink. ‘It’s invisible ink,’ he said.

Hine laughed. ‘Inspector Gadget strikes again.’

‘And what did you get, Mandy?’

‘Nothing,’ she said lightly. ‘But I’ve still got two lives and you’ve only got one.’

Tyler ignored her and turned to Hine. ‘What was in the sack? You looked puzzled.’

‘It was meat,’ replied Hine. ‘They were full of red meat. It must be that stuff they took from the farm.’

‘Why would they take that fishing? That doesn’t make any sense.’

‘I don’t know. But unless they came ashore and killed something, where else would they get it? It smelled a bit fishy but it wasn’t fish meat.’

‘Perhaps they killed a seal,’ suggested Mandy.

Then Tyler had a terrible thought. ‘Or maybe a dolphin,’ he said quietly.

‘No!’ cried Hine. But from her face Tyler knew she believed it could be true.

They never got to the Catlins forest. Alice was too sick to do anything except drive back to the woolshed, where Molly dosed her with a special home-made potion and sent her to bed.

Bill was out on the farm, but would return to take them to the seals later. Tyler saw an opportunity to visit the cave. He needed to get away from the girls for a while. He needed to get away from everybody.

When he got there Hopi was still patiently sitting on the eggs. Tyler had a bantam at home, and when she sat on her eggs she seemed to go into a trance that was neither asleep nor awake. It looked as if penguins were much the same. There had to be strong feelings within that kept them starving in a black cave when outside there was light and food.

The skeleton hadn’t moved either. It still lay on its rocky bed as it had done for hundreds of years. Tyler found a suitable ledge for the torch and sat beside him.

He had no doubts that it was a him. The moa bone and gizzard stones were being held as if they were special things and Tyler couldn’t imagine any girl thinking that—they were boys’ things.

Tyler was forming strong links with the boy from the past: they were probably the same age; both collected bones; and
they had each found the secret cave. He needed a name for his ancient friend, a name that could have been real, back in the times of the moa. For some reason Ata came into his mind and stuck. He liked it, and so the boy from the past became Ata.

Tyler leaned forward to study Ata more closely. He now realised that the dust covering the skeleton could be leftovers from clothes or bed coverings of some form. The bones in the middle had more dust than the others. There was even a line below the neck where the dust layer stopped.

As he watched, some of the dust was lifted by a puff of gently moving air. It could have been his breath, or an eddy from when he moved forward. Whatever the cause, it soon settled leaving behind a patch that was clear of dust. At its centre was a glimpse of white. There was something resting on the neck bones.

He reached in with his thumb and finger and carefully lifted the object. It was a flat pebble about the size of a fifty cent piece. Its surface had been polished to a smooth grey suggesting it had once been a gizzard stone. In the middle was a fossil, a white whelk shell worn down to expose the coils inside.

He carried it to the torch. There was a small hole near the point of the shell. It was a pendant, a very beautiful pendant. He closed his eyes with pleasure. This was another link between the two of them: a love of rocks and fossils. He rubbed it between his hands until it was warm. Oh, how good it felt. And to think that the last time it had been warm was on the chest of this young hunter, four hundred years before.

Tyler let his thoughts drift back to those times. Did Ata make the pendant or was it a gift? Did he have friends? Did he mix with girls? Did he get angry? So angry that he couldn’t think straight? So angry that he had to run?

Perhaps, back in those times, things were a lot simpler and the pressures were different. You just concentrated on what was needed to stay alive and didn’t have enough time to mess about playing stupid games. Ata probably spent most of his time with other men and boys hunting for food. That would have been good, really good. Slowly, images formed of Ata with his brothers, father and grandfather walking along a beach not far from the cave. They wore sealskin coats to protect themselves against the biting cold…

Ata was at the rear behind his grandfather. His father was at the front, carrying a rolled-up wooden fence. The brothers were next, each with a basket, a stone adze and a spear; one had a long narrow sack hung round his neck. Both Ata and his grandfather carried coils of rope and a spear.

Ata was nervous. This was his first moa hunt. Yet it could also be his last. There were so few moa left. He could remember only two other hunts; the last had been five years before, long ago enough for him to worry that he would never have one. Now his brothers had seen a moa at the far end of the beach grazing in the sandhills.

After half an hour, they left the sea to climb the first ridge of sand. From the top they could look back to home where the women were preparing for the anticipated feast. Behind the ridge they moved into a flat-bottomed valley with a small shallow lake. In some places the track was completely covered with water and they were forced to detour. Flax was everywhere, often blocking the way.

They were tense in anticipation of the hunt. Every reed broken under foot increased their nervousness.
Twice they scared ducks out of the raupo: the birds flew noisily across the lake skidding to a stop on the other side. Ata’s heart was beating as fast as the flapping wings.

They found Ata’s eldest brother lying on a sand ridge at the other side of the lake. He’d been tracking the giant bird.

‘It’s been moving around quite a bit.’

‘Where is it now?’ asked Ata’s father.

‘Grazing at the far side of the flat.’

‘What’s it like over there? Is there any swamp?’

‘A small lake up by the dunes but I don’t think it’s swampy enough. The swamp’s in the next valley. If we can force it over there we should get it.’

Ata’s father was silent for a time. ‘Father, take Ata to the ridge on the far side of the next valley. Ata, you patrol the top of the ridge. Keep it within the valley.’ He touched his son’s arm: ‘Remember, son, it’s more scared of you than you are of it.’ Ata doubted whether that was possible.

Ata and his grandfather set off while his father instructed the others. It was to be a simple U-shaped attack with the swamp at the open end. There would be a man at the top of both ridges, one at the bottom of each ridge and two in the valley. The first task was to drive the bird over the intervening ridge. Ata and his grandfather had to prevent it going any further.

When they reached the top of the first ridge Ata’s grandfather put his hand to his lips for silence. Ata peeped over the top. The bird was down by the lake several hundred metres away. Even at this distance it looked huge, much higher than the flax flowers and almost as high as the cabbage trees.

Quietly they crept across the valley, keeping upwind of the animal. Looking back they saw the others moving into the valley behind them. The moa had its head raised, aware that something was happening. It started moving towards the ridge. Ata and his grandfather ran down the other side and across the valley. Each was determined that he would not be the one to fail: Ata because it was his first test of manhood, and his grandfather out of pride for his great deeds of the past.

The bird quietly moved down the ridge and across the valley floor, stopping every now and then to sense the air. Ata could hear a deep ‘tuk, tuk’ sound coming from the nervous bird.

It was moving in Ata’s direction. Even though it was still fifty metres away, he thrust the spear out, more for his own benefit than to scare the bird. The others moved closer forming a semicircle to force it down the valley into the swamp. The moa saw what was happening and looked for the easiest way out; and that was up the ridge past the boy.

Ata yelled at it waving his spear in the air, but the bird knew there was only one way of escape. Without warning it started to run directly at him. Ata yelled as loudly as he could. Abruptly the bird stopped and stared defiantly down at the boy. Ata jabbed the spear at its breast. The moa’s right foot slashed through the air catching Ata’s arm with its sharp claws. He screamed in pain, desperately throwing his spear as he fell. The spear touched the giant bird in the eye before falling to the ground.

The moa was not badly injured but just enough to make it panic. It turned and ran down the hill towards
the swamp. The rest of the hunters closed in, shouting and waving their spears. Without pausing it ran into the swamp and in ten strides it could move no further. Slowly, it sank until its legs were trapped in the mud. The hunt was over; all that remained was the kill.

Two of the brothers ran back for the gear that had been left at the bottom of the middle ridge. Their grandfather tended to Ata. The boy had been lucky, suffering only a gash down his left forearm. There would be no permanent damage, except for a scar that he could use to skite about his adventures. By the time his brothers returned he was back on his feet with the wound covered in toetoe plumes bound with flax.

Ata’s father removed the tie from the rolled-up wooden fence. Standing near the edge of the swamp he skilfully flicked his arms, unrolling it onto the swamp. Now its purpose was obvious: the wooden slats formed a pathway out to the now still bird. Carrying only an adze and the long narrow sack he carefully stepped onto the path. Water oozed between the wood but it held his weight. When he reached the moa it made a few desperate lunges with its beak. On the fourth he slipped the sack over its head. Immediately the bird was quiet. Three slashes at the neck with the adze were enough to cut the windpipe and artery. The dying bird responded by violently swinging its neck around in an arc, catching the man in the chest and knocking him into the swamp.

He scrambled back onto the wooden pathway and stood facing the rest of the hunters, blood over half his body, mud over the rest. ‘Ai, ai, ai,’ hooted one of the brothers. Then they were all shouting and laughing and hugging each other, releasing the tension that had
built over half a day. Ata was patted on the head, the back and even, playfully, his backside, his face almost split in half by his smile.

Eventually they calmed and set about recovering the limp bird. Ropes were attached to the head and legs and the carcass hauled from the swamp. Its huge size was now obvious. It was as big as moa ever got, a wily old bird that had survived all its mates.

Stone blades were used to cut the skin from the neck, down the breast to the crotch. By pulling, punching and a bit of cutting, the skin was removed. This was considered more valuable than the flesh. The meat would last for a few days; the warmth of the skin and feathers would last for many winters.

The gut was opened from the rear. Ata’s grandfather identified it as a female, although he said it had not laid eggs for many years. The large liver was removed and put in one of the baskets. Then the heart was taken out and passed around. It completely filled Ata’s cupped hands. He found the feel of the thing somehow disturbing and only held on to it long enough to hide his thoughts.

Finally the gizzard was removed. Ata’s father hacked it open and washed it clean in a pool that had formed at the edge of the swamp. Suddenly all were quiet as Ata’s father stepped up to his son, holding the gizzard in front of him. Ata knew the tradition, having dreamed of it many times. He bowed, clapped his hands once and then carefully picked the polished stones from the organ. They would be his, a symbol of his mana, his strength and his courage, a prized possession for him and his children. His father dropped the gizzard and hugged the boy in a display of affection that few
were ever allowed to see. They parted, neither of them ashamed by the flow of tears. The silence was broken by a cheer from the others who for a while had relived their own experience of that magical moment.

Later that night, after the feast and the stories, Ata took one of the moa bones, picked up his bag of stones and went to his hut. He rolled the new possessions into the seal skin that was his bed. Quietly he moved out of the hut and into the darkness away from the fire and village. He wanted to be alone and knew just where he would go, a secret place that was all his own.

He waded across the stream towards the cliffs. It took some time to find the opening in the darkness. Carefully he pushed the bedroll in front of him as he crawled into the cave. Inside was total darkness, yet he knew his way around as if it was his hut back at the camp. He climbed up onto the ledge, unrolled his bed and snuggled down into the soft fur. In his hand was the basket of gizzard stones, and under his arm was the thigh bone of the biggest bird anyone would ever see. Soon he was asleep. He didn’t dream, for no dream could ever be better than the day just gone.