Ka Kite, Bro by Willie Davis

A moment of silence. Heads smash the silence. You open eyes bowed and tears quietly spill to and people breathe again. the floor. Hupe strings and runs ‘The funeral will be held and is wiped away. tomorrow, all those who wish to ‘Aue!’ screams your heart. attend the service make sure you see your form teachers.’ ‘Aue!’ scream your memories. ‘Stand, school.’ But all that can be heard is the shaking of your body as you sob We do, and the teachers file out. quietly. I battle inside. I scream. ‘School dismissed.’ ‘I want to wail.’ The school hall empties and I sit ‘Not here, Tama.’ and think.

‘I want to sing. It’s my way, it’s ‘Hey, Tama.’ yells Pete. ‘Wipe the way Maori have always done your nose, you big sook.’ it.’ I stare and yell: ‘Piss off, Pete’ ‘Not here, boy.’ ‘Come on, Tama, I was only ‘Why Dad?’ joking.’

‘We’re different, boy. They have ‘Not in the mood to laugh, bro.’ their own way – we have ours.’ ‘Sorry, Tama.’ ‘But, Dad.’ ‘Yeah, whatever…’ ‘Shhh, boy.’ ‘Just leave you alone again, ‘Thank you, school.’ The okay.’ speakers explode and words ‘Yeah, good idea!’ I snap, and off ‘And, boy, try and keep control. he slinks. You know, like what you Maoris say … how does it go … keey … An empty school hall and me. yaar…kaar…haar.’ Rows of chairs, rows of photos all of students of the past. ‘Kia kaha, sir.’

‘I guess they’ll have to put your ‘Yes, that’s it. Be ahhh...’ and photo up there, too, bro.’ twiddles his fingers to remember. ‘Be ahhh..’ Darryl Parker – Winger in the 1st XV 1993. I remember and cry ‘Strong, sir.’ some more. ‘Yes, that’s it, be strong.’ And he ‘You’d better not take off before I punches the air and repeats his get to say goodbye.’ new-found wisdom ‘Be strong.’

No Darryl. No reply. Not even a ‘Whatever,’ I mumble. grunt. ‘Pardon, Tama.’ ‘I’ll drop in later. I promise. You ‘Whatever you say, sir.’ always were a quiet bugger. ‘Good lad. Now, off to class.’ ‘Tama.’ echoes Mr Watson’s voice in the hall. ‘What are you It felt strange walking to class. It doing here? Who are you talking was like not having a shadow. to?’ Darryl had always been quiet. I’d talk. Mostly he’d just nod, let out ‘Nothing, sir. No one, sir.’ a grunt. In some way he was still ‘Pull your socks up, tuck in that there. I just couldn’t hear him shirt and wipe your nose, boy.’ grunt anymore.

‘Sorry, sir.’ Back in class.

‘Now get to class. You’re not ‘Miss.’ going to use your friend’s death ‘Yes, Tama?’ as an excuse to skip class now, are you?’ ‘I’d like to go to the tangi tomorrow.’ ‘I wasn’t , sir.’ ‘The what, Tama?’ ‘But…’

‘The funeral, for tomorrow.’ ‘Shhh, boy.’

‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Grit and teeth rub together. Bell rings and shatters the class to ‘I want to hongi him.’ attention, but not my mate. ‘To what?’ Homeward I trudge. I just want to say goodbye. I cry some more. I ‘Press noses together, you know.’ remember some more. I head ‘I hope not, that’s disgusting.’ towards Darryl’s home. I’ll just pop in for a little while. ‘It’s not, miss. It’s how we say goodbye to the ones we…’ I knock. The door opens. Mrs Parker greets me. ‘I don’t care, Tama. This is not one of your tangys. It’s a ‘Tama, come in. And leave your funeral!’ shoes on.’

‘Tangi, miss, not tangy.’ I take them off anyway and follow her into the lounge, ‘Whatever, Tama. You keep your expecting see Darryl in his coffin. culture and your nose to No Darryl. The lounge is like it yourself.’ always is. ‘But, miss…’ ‘Is he in his bedroom, Miss ‘Not … another … word.’ Parker?’

Anger and hurt added to more She stares and tears form. anger and hurt. Inside I battle ‘He’s dead, Tama.’ again. ‘I know, miss. I thought you’d ‘I want to wail.’ bring him home so you could ‘Not here, Tama.’ have the …’

‘My pain and tears want to sing.’ ‘I understand, Tama. We’re different to you.’ ‘Not here, boy.’ ‘Where is he? He’ll be alone, Off I run to see my mate, to the he’ll be scared. Can I visit him?’ funeral home. I push doors, the buzzer sounds. A lady peers at me ‘He’s at the funeral home. I don’t over her glasses. think you’ll be able to visit. He’ll be at the church tomorrow. You ‘And what can I do for you, could see him there. I nod and young man?’ leave. ‘I came to see my mate, Darryl ‘He’ll be all alone, Dad.’ Parker.’

‘I know, boy.’ ‘He doesn’t work here.’

‘He might be scared.’ ‘No, he’s one of the dead fellas.’

‘He’ll be all right, boy.’ ‘Pardon?’

‘You ever been to one of their ‘My name – I came to say tangis, Dad?’ goodbye.’

‘No, boy.’ ‘You want to say goodbye.’

‘Can’t be all that different.’ ‘If I could, miss.’

‘Don’t know.’ ‘Look. I think you’d better go home. It’s not a very funny joke.’ ‘Dad, if Maori leap off at the top of the Cape, where do Pakeha ‘I’m not joking.’ spirits leap off?’ ‘Leave or I’ll call the police.’ ‘No idea. Maybe you’ll find out I turn and push through the doors. tomorrow.’ That night, I slept and dreamed ‘Yeah, probably will.’ and Darryl visited me to say goodbye. This time, he did all the ‘See you later, Dad.’ talking and I listened. ‘Where you off to?’ ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me. See you ‘To see a friend.’ later.’

And he left. The next day. The tangi. We Everyone stands. Darryl arrives. I arrive through a gate, along a path wait for the wail and screaming to and the church rises before us, begin for the karanga to call, but grey and dark. tears squeeze out rather than flow, sobs are controlled rather ‘Spooky, eh.’ shivers Pete. than wiri and tangi. ‘Yeah, spooky all right.’ ‘Why don’t they cry, sir?’ ‘c’mon lads.’ yells Mr Watson. No reply, but his words echo ‘Line up.’ again inside. ‘Try to be keey… ‘Sir.’ yaar…kaar … … … … haar.

‘Yes, Tama.’ But I stand and cry without shame and let my hupe run. ‘Will they pass the stick today?’ ‘Wipe your nose, boy.’ says Mr ‘Pass the what?’ Watson. ‘The stick. You’re given the No response from me. walking stick and then you speak to Darryl. When you finish you The minister stands and starts to pass it to the next person.’ prattle on. He didn’t even know Darryl. A couple of times he calls ‘I don’t think so, Tama.’ him Darryn. I wait for my chance ‘When do you speak?’ to speak. Finally, he opens the floor for those wanting to speak. I ‘I don’t know, Tama. You’ll just don’t hesitate. have to wait and see, won’t you. Now, get inside.’ ‘Tama, sit down, boy.’ barks Mr Watson. I head to the front. The In we walk and they grey minister stands staring at me. concrete rises. Light through the stained glass dances across the ‘I just want to say goodbye to pews. The church is packed. A Darryl.’ He hands me the hymn squeezes and pumps from microphone. the organ at the back. ‘What’s this for?’ ‘To say goodbye with.’ I never found out where Darryl’s spirit leapt off. I’ll probably find ‘I’m only saying goodbye to out later. Darryl, not to all you fellas.’ I hand him back his microphone. I bow my head and karakia. I lean over the coffin and whisper and cry. My tears fall on to my mate’s cheeks. He cries with me.

‘I know you’re sorry, mate. Everyone’s been jumping down my throat. All I wanted was to see you and say goodbye the only way I knew how. Well, it’s more like, see ya later than goodbye, bro. Better not muck around, eh. Everyone’s staring at me. I bow and hongi.

I press my eyes shut and remember.

Warm flesh presses cold

Maori presses Pakeha

Tangi hongis funeral

Ka kite ano. bro. ka kite ano.

I sit beside Mr Watson and wipe my nose.

‘Good on you, boy,’ he says.