MAKUTU.

Auckland Star, Volume LVII, Issue 132, 5 June 1926, Page 27

MAKUTU.

"Spiritualism."' sez you! Take it rora mc, the only thing? the Maori !on*t know aliout it are them scientific larues that Hodge and Doyle tack on to ;he cr—tin- —what i< it—phenomina hey can'; • il Must 'uv been nunewHerrs ii the eighties—about a vi?a. after i left n;e ir~t Maori missus. Part, who'd opened ny scalp with a lirokr!) p.ate. that, mes.in* about on od.l jobs at Kotorua. I irst r;iri against the sjirl Hana Although [ had sworn a pink, blue purple oath | lever more to hitch up with an cffyet was she sucli a quaint peach Df a kid that I fell to her p-onto. and ;!ear;n' out together, we I;vpH on her :>lace jn the tiing Country for foul years and a-half. About six months tack from the fi:iis.. something woke mc up in the nisht. md by my side I heard her voice speakin angrily to some gink I'm dashed if I ?ould see. "Go away," she sez. "You are always ivorryin' mc," , she sez. "I didn't hear no one answer, but ~<">mingly she did. because she replied, snaky-like. as if to a question: "No!" she sez. decided, "you story is a lie. Go! 1 would sleep." Seem' this queer dialogue was about through, 1 chipped in, speakin' pakeha. "Who the devil was you slatin' just then, Hana?" ! asked. "Oh," she sez. off hand, "'twas that old wharekeno botherin , mc again." Droppin' into he own lingo, "Wharekeno!" I cried, surp.-iseu. "Why, that tattooed old villain has oeen dead for years.' , "That I know. Barney, but he insstthat the green flat by the river belongs by rights to his grand-daughter Pehi. He says I must give it back to her. He bothers mc very much indeed." I was plumb out ot mc depth—blowin' bubbles, in fact. "But he's dead," 1 -.■/.. v eak-like. "Dead tn c n't turn 'emselves into a Native Land Court." "It's because the child's dead parents are not caring tor her, while her living relations are taking advantage of her youth to steal away her lands, and 'tis because he has much love for the little girl that he is looking after her. Therefore does be come with threats at night among us." "But you haven't sneaked the kid's land, have you?" "Oh, no, Barney! But mine is a splendid, rich flat dividin' her property into two halves; so old Wharekeno, who was ever a grasper, wants it and tries to frighten mc into giving it over, as he has already frightened those land thieves, her cous.ns." "That crowd deserves all that's comin , to them, but has the old chap a reasonable claim on you?" "He tells a long tale —too 'ong to tell you now—but it is full of craftiness md lies." By this time I was Dringin' common sense into focus again. "Look here. Hana," I sez, "you've just been bloomin' well dreaming , ; you've been thinkin' of him so hard that you only fancy you see him. Hβ a'in'i there really, you know." "'Foolish one," sez she, sort of pitvin , my ignorance. "Was he not here even a moment ago? Could you not see him and hear him yourself? He says he is making a very strong makutu'to protect his grandchild." "Bunk!" sez I fretfully. "Bunk, piffle and flap-doodle!" I sez. "Don't you worry no more, my dear. Any makutr that wizened up old heathen 'can put across might easy be mistook for a flea bite." "1 must think out what to do." sh« murmurs. -'I suppose in the end I shal let him havp the land." "Not on your blessed potato patch/ sez I, quick and sharp. -'That's the best bir of soil on the place." "Of course." she answers, "that's wh\ he wants it." "Then he bloomin' well won't get it,' I sez with decision. She did not answei at once. "It must be as you wish." she sez at last. "If you want it very much, thenthen—" She said no more, but turned over on her side, and, seemingly, slept I worried for a day or two, and put in some leading questions. But she would not speak further of the matter although her expression was thoughtful and sometimes a little sad. I was uneasy. She had closed the door of her mind, leaving mc outside, gropin' at th« window fastenin's. Then, for over foul months I heard no more of the silly business. But one mornin' at break oi day she woke mc up. "That Wharekino was here again last night." sez she. ''The devil he was," I answers. "1 thought you had forgotten that sneakin' old buffer long ago." "How can I. unthinking one, if he will not let mc?" "It's all darn foolishness. You must not think about him any more, or you will to batty—porangi." "He says his makntu is ready and is terribly strong; that, if I do not give up the land by the rising of the next new moon, it will, at the full, remove mc. Then when I am out of the way, his grandchild, being next of kin —for. alas! Barney, we have no children—can claim the land as her own." I was determined to clear her mind of its dismal spook, so I spoke, kind but firm: "Hana. my dear, you must right now quit scarin- yourself out: of that fine bit of land by chewin' over and over your silly dreams. Its like a cow and a hard turnip that's always comin , back to be chewed over again, and ends by stickin' in her throat. "Would you be very, very angry il I gave up the land, Barney ?"'

(Told by BARNEY MROCNI.j

-liuiu: Witch-craft; an evil ipel!; hooc!

"Kcpablc ?c/. I ' 1 , _ri:i na.l 1.-l— I'd —■' She put lu-r hand quk-k on my arm. "You would not go away from mc." •lie asked, with the eyes and voice oi j kid frightened of tlie dark I wish :o Gfx] now that 1 had read better that look or heard what was underneath the voice. "Go.' , ' shouts I. "I'd lake on bluer, ar.d me' f or the tall timlier at oni-p. for iinw ran t> man live in Jot and peact v\ it'i a looney pirl what"= always thinkin of »pook=." "And iril, 1 tell nld Wharekino that he may pn on working !ii« spells, but ':(•■ -=!in 11 not have the land?' , "That"s the tn\'.<: and tell Him tc ~tir em vigoroi:'.*' sez I. '"Tell him tc = t':r "em visoro-.;? vrit'.i the porridfr* -poon.' . She looked at mc funny for a spell ninkin' mc somehow, uncomfortable. Sly took her hand slowly from my arm anf : Min'i her head. Bein' a sensible, prae;ir>nl .-ortpr joker. I shook myss'.f to put an arm around her waisl , n ,l kissed her. Phe brightened up. 'Now." sez 1. -forget it. and coaii shin". "

Coming* from work on the nieht of the new moon. I heard her in the α-hire sinsiri'. or maybe 'twas what you -all intonin'. Afterwards the word* all -amo Hack to mc. and T got a sort of nnpt hloke to ftrins them irto English. i stopped short and listened. Fir hiTn tbnt larc tne happiness. That bronsht mc lore, hnrp 1 done tQiS: ! fear not that my ansrr one vt-jH Hin swr with Rlner now. One more new moon will these py* see •\n-l-wnfrti to "row to if= fnll. Vml then no mor P of HzM an<l love. Vpr Km I ell><l. for fie will T i»on!rl not lire were lie to ?... That fetched mc with a rattle. S v e '■•jH : :i=t returned from a flyina visit to !:n"oriiß. and possibly her rarent* had ■ !.V<i 'n her fears It waF obvious that •ti;' .-n'lfpunded thing preyins m her *n::ii| had now become so serious that. : v S° r refusal to oblige a self-eoninred -■ook-film. -he actually contemplated •hr- sacrifice of her young life to her :roat lovp—a love far too generous and true to he sntlled on a rotter waster likp myself Yet will the devil find some woman to honestly believe he has more virtues than God himself. I goes inside, md treats her tender. "Listen, mate." I sez. "T heared what you was sinsrin', but I never thought that you really cared much for those old nightmaree of yours; but if it's goin , to make yon better, give the land away quick, with both hands, and you can't do it too *udden to please mc. Why. my dear." I sez. "you are worth all the land there is in the world, on top or in between " "1 hear you, foolish one." she eez. look in' at mc very kind, yet very sorrowful, "but old Wharekino put the makutu on mc early—just as the moon aroee." "What!" cried T. dismayed. "Has he been here already?" "Oh, yes. He was very prompt." "And did —did you refuse him the land again?" "Of course. I could not bear that you should run away with Bluey." (1 fancy she thought, poor girl, that my bluey swag was a possible rival.) "But I wae only talkin'. You know 1 was only kiddin , ' Surely, little Hana. you knew that?' . She came into my arms. "You will not go away from mc this moon. Barney? You will not leave mc by myself?" "I can safely promise that. More than that. We* will clear out from here and go somewheres for a holiday." She seemed pleased. "Yes," she sez, "we will go to Kawhia by the sea. There we will stay with my mothers brother and make play for two weeks. Then we will return and lift the potatoes ere the rain come and spoil them.' . Anything to take her mind away from the direful forebodings that haunted it, I jumped the chance, and nest day saw us started on our journey. Then through a stretched out sequence of lazy sunny days, we fished about the harbour; bathed' in its blue waters, splashed on the big breakers at the heads, wallowed in those queer hot springs that you hollow out of the sands with a shovel; to jump out and dive into the rolling breakers or scamper along the long grey ocean beach, tt c were like two kids at playtime. All the wiiile. though. I watched her closely, becoming gradually easier in mind "and more and more certain that the change had effected what all my | arguments and good horse-sense had failed to do. Here in a few days she became just a laughing girl, irresponsible and happy, enjoying to the dizzy limit every minute of the day. Id about a fortnight we returned and crot busy with our crop of spuds. All "be time she chatted of her trip; every incident was twice rehearsed; each little, joke or word recalled and I was con- j tent One night we was chattin goodoh in the whare. I was in great form j spinnin , some yarns about a funny bloke j [saw in Fullers. Little Hana wasn't very quick on the uptake, and the joke took a powerful lot of explainin'. Maybe she saw it at last, or maybe not, but she laughed sorter dutifully and then looked up at the clock. "Look at the time," she sez, "and there's no wood in. Will you get some, j lazy one?" "Sorry," sez I, "but when I start i talking"! forget everything but the music of mc own sweet voice. 11l go get some now.' , I took the lantern and grabbed the axe. "Kiss mc, Barney," she sez. Which 1 did and went to the wood heap wonderin' a bit. I soon had cut enougH" to suffice. I had just stooped to encircle a bundle with- my arms, when, pushin<* over the horizon, appeared the brilliant rim of a big full moon. Suddenly— unaccountably—l took fright. I dashed inside, only to pull up dismayed—helpless. She was standin' in the middle

of the room. With closed eyes, hei body swaying to the rhythm, sho was chantin": "I made my will in Uotorua:Tiier ■ a lawyer made my will. My «ili leaves to my own beloveil. Tii my careless, dear heloved. Kverytbinz that I ran leave. AlHimi ah tbou. \VLiare'r>i:i<> i'.r'pn now thy tnakuru iWhir-h (iarklv crept iuto my limlyi l-'rmn my bosom's n?st is tearing Life".* despairing grips anar. tie yoar mab'UU strong as W. Mine is strouger. futile one. Ktir Death Is transient—mine's al>"<lin.^ In the heart of my l.elor^.l. My makutu—which is love. So in them !>n<k into the ilarknes*. s»iur and hurt, onsatlsfled. For landless nnw thy mokiipniw. l"ri«- n<l less now tby i-hert«hfl t'"'.v. All thy scheming nulliSe'l. Tn-nlalit vr.ur mnkntii t Inns'i at. Kn>iwlD2 tint I |pa\v liehiml ■• :e tint's ■.•.-pater, pver armvlnij. ':,'Mwin; nitU Tiiue's rassi:i-. li-MH'ln: !.ri-!ir>>r likp :i H:m'<-. V'«-!! Ij'<e a flame I see it lilrzlns i.\ ! i. lielnreil! onencli ir not i It fills tlie i-ominc rears with li-isbtni , *" - Kill? my failins heart tvith " Tlie stop was abrupt. Her ryr< on<>ne(l starinply —stonily. Slio threw forward wirle-opened 1 tlioujht she saw mc. "Barney' Barney!" she waili'fl. I jumpe<l ji:st in time to save tin , fall. Outside on the wood henji ti-.c '.r.r.tim liurncd all night.