The Death Of Paretu

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 219, 16 September 1939, Page 13 (Supplement)

The Death Of Paretu

Prize Winning Short Story

r T'[ IT. high sun beat down upon li I Ihr Wide, swampy lowlands. ' II made the still air stifling, and heavy with vapours drawn up from the peaty earth. Over the ' tops ~f the hills, blue with distance. the heat shimmered. From the s|.r,,wlin K buildings of the pa a stre'eh of sea was visible, and the id.ire of the white fringing sands. ; " ,| "ii' t<iliJiiit.il. put. huddled ii|. mi I '" 1 «l.i«.i » ,iy til one of the • 1 1 i ~ <• 11i n crossed uniis, " " 11 "" u F'.u L t hat eonld ll " 1 l " 1 ' I'i" t lli ll. u rinklril li,„ly h;i. 1 ll"' Mill, HCareely lliovillnr, «• 11.. I,U.l\n oaten ""I"" 1 ,' .nl that, li.i y. lli s Imnos showed ilemU under Hi,- lirnwii s km, whirl, ll;ln - loosely, a s if meant lnr 11 -" ■ i'' r Hi in.* than this. Indeed, vs •' ~ 1 ' 1 '.V a'ji- anil fasting, the l"im retained somethiup — some * "I I 'li'jnry :i rnl ,i ri«n»t h ,iM ' V"'»- r warrior pi ,est ; the clisnltv ii u "ii I-1 I In I In- end. "" 1 i"iilos* in the hea I. and the ' ll '' ' 1 ' \ i ned nI ra ted in 1 «el e lilark and clear V' • - "'a i" "it Ii their on n " I .V• I lie.v ah,lie of the whole 'I-'""' ll iiij lie neha I ile r"' ri 'l"- ll"' liiiwk of his f ace, '""I ileejily tattooed. The yi'e v I'M -till .-liiivx in- M leaks of Idaek, was 1,111 '""I i'it i-li'. I' l'i'in one ear linna |>• >11 -1 n.* 11 yrceiisti njo tiki.

ByT. E. Woodward

[lis eyes wore ti.xed on the swamp and "'o pie ot 11 i.s tiil.e who toiled there. Ihe beiii figures moved ciiiHc-i-dv among Ihe li>\v blunted shrubs and the rushes, rnttiii'j the long fbi v leaves, tviug them swill Is inlo great bundles and earrving them on their backs to the pa. This win little more than a hastily built village a kainga ■ «>t on a boggy streli li of land a lil Fie above the surrounding swamp. Iwen hero in the clearing between tho huts, where men and women squatted, .•craping incessant ly at tho gathered flax leases, the black water oozed up about their feet where they trod. 11l I 1 • i > . *

All work i*(l silently, quickly, as if driven I »v some morbid intensity of the spirit. There wan no singing. no careless abandonment to work. Thorp was Utile e\ en sjiokon. The workers from the swamp plodded into the pu with their burdens, dumped them on the grou-nd, and without a word strode otT again. The brackish water squelched tip bet with their torn. The dressers seized upon tho bundle*, taking loaf liy lonf, tediously scraping with their storio blades, Inch by ineli, scraping, scraping. All see tried lost in a timeless fever of monotony. Now and then onp would glance up as he linishod n loaf, one shred of a slowly mounting pi I o of fibre. He wduld glance a I, I lie huddled form of tho tohunga, in his doorway, at his brooding eyes. Ho would shako his head. "Old Paretu is sad." f t • ■ . Hut, tie end!op a work would «?iV on. II must go on. It was at once the tribe's de«| ruction and its one hope for life. The despair, the frantic strivings to exist, of n, prpud. and defeated people, had levelled down to this nervous io«illation to toil anil miserable suspense. •• Auet Parotn cotild have wept. Tt made liis hortrt bleed to see tlioni—his own people—scraping and swootinjj and starving and .wasting away in these evil swamps. Apprehennivfl, always, through all tho hot, wearying days anil tho dark freezing nights, that, the enemy might full upon them again anil find them defenceless. Oh! The agony of it! And ho could do nothing, nothing! Ho. old Paretu, tho tohunga, to whom the tribe hud always turned for counsel! Ho know they wero expecting it of him now. That for days they had been waiting for a tign. But what sign could hft give them? He felt bewildered, uncertain of his powers. The old order was changing. New tilings, strange ways, were cmeping into tho land, and altering the hearts of men. They wore not a numerous people, his tribe, but they had been strong, a tribe of great lighters. They had hold their land for centuries, and tho pa on the

ill h«l been sfron-r an.l cunningly 1' fended, and though often attacked it N'd never been taken. I nlil Ilii, \ear! Alio! Tlie memorv 1 I , 1 "' i or! They were pro'""'d, and had thought I hemsclves secure • I'r.iud fords tlint t hey liad been! — • l< nit inbei I'd tbe boastings of Kcrewa, ran-alira. full „f eonlidenee and •accrues* ~| Vf.itlt. Ilerewa. the stronjr. 1,0 'lave, t:, whose father I'aretu bad ~ !|° li -'- >•( a iii-cs| in s. .That'll Hi <• brave boast in-. 11„. blood-«tirriii R lakas —that, was the i;i'_r|,t before l.lie ''' ]. 'in*. And llercwa? l.vitiß :l I'undred other bra\e li-lite is iiuonjr the smoking a<hes. Weapon Of Death It was the miir-ket—the white man's iveapon not the Xpapuhi, that had la lightered theni. It ivhs something ~nt ' somet hi hit fearsome, that only liie musket itself eonld repel. And they 1111,1 ll '" 1 muskets. Only the stone mere, the spear, the axe, the slinjr. And llieii emirate! Ah! Tlicv had fought 11 k e devils to the last. All! All of I Item. Women and children with the I'i'spair. liatred. had made theni brown shrieking liends. Old I'aretu liim-elf had shrieked and'* ra.'jed back fud 1 fU'tli, he with the rest, memories "lil lieree battles tiiiL'linir in his Mood ami driving his tired old bone*. l>ut. tin"v* had 'jone down in the end, torn mid sea tiered bv the musket balls like loresi. leaves before the wind. I hey hail escaped into I lie night, those that were left of them. They had fled — wretched bedraggled remnant—fugitives gliding through tamiliar forest, wading streams that lor generations li.nl known no fishes but. their own people; and had collected in the dreary lowlands by the sea, where no men eame. Oh! Well lie remembered how they bad stood for one long moment on a crest, staring back, before plunging out of sight of tiieir old home. The hilltop was ablaze, reddening the dark skv. ISlack smoky billows lolled about it and burst into -iiiblen dull flame. Streams of sparks I rum palisade and roof, scattered by the cold wind, whirled and (lew out and up inlo the sky. to lie blotted out in the darkness. Oh! The lieree hatred, the amjuish, of l hat moment, with the slaughter and the close, desperate struggling nnd turmoil cutting freshly into their brains, the sharp war cries, and the ga-ps, and the noise of the miickets still in their ears. <3> <$>

<3> ; <«> Young Taiero, TJerewa's brother, had turned, at the last, as the red glare dropped from sight, had turned anil shaken bin feather-tufted taiaha spear —- for he was ehief now —and shouted defiance and vengeance on the Ngapuhi. All! Pnretu had looked and seen the bitterness that gnawed him. A greater bitterness than lie rotihl show in his voice. His young wife lay dead on that hill, the beautiful Karamaea, with a body as graceful as a supple rata, whom he had love<l for the wit and the ready laughter that always lurked about her lips and in lier dark eyes. Raramaca and Rerewa, dead! —and tlie best of hia tribe. Lying bloody and wild-staring in tin 1 black night. O! The bitterness and the despair that was in them that night could not bo expressed. Jt had weighed upon l'aretu and sickened him like a bodily pain. Jt was like au animal, a demon, biting inside him, twisting and destroying liis bowels. And his hot anger had

surged up at each memory of the dead chicttain. fie saw in imagination the heart of Beiowa, torn out by the Xgapuhi. Pcrha|>s to be eaten! Fa ret u himself had shrieked aloud, calling njn>ll Whiro, tlio war-god, for revenge. Ah! But that was in the frenzy of t hoi r defeat, and the slaying. Now there was nothing to inspire the tribe, but a sort of hopeless desperation. The enemy had swept over their lands like ft scourge, destroying their homes and plundering their crops. They had thought 1" break up this attack! Or, at tlie very least, to remain firm against the great southward onslaught, to let it flow past, like a great rook against the waves. They had known their own powers, their own strength. Rut not the power of the .pakeha's weapon—that had destroyed them. Weakened *nd dispirited, they had not dared return to their lands. Muskets they must have and the black powder to make them kill. Without them there could now be no safety. And so they had come here, to the black swamps, and thrown up a few straggling huts. Here they had slaved for months, driven on by a mad desperation, with the dread of discovery always overhanging them. They had lived on fern-roots and occasional berries from the stunted bushes, on shellfish front tlie beach. Occasionally a bird was snared, or a scurrying lizard killed, or a few fish. But these were delicacies for which they eould spare little of their precious time. Flaxcutters' Frenzy The dreary work 11111 st go on. The interminable frenzy of flaxcuf ting, from early morning to dark, of dressing it, scraping out the soft green tissues, building up the slow brown pile of fibre. Everyone was needed. Everyone was infected with the madness. Even the few children. Ah! So much flax was needed — such a very great pile! —to buy one single gun, one single barrel of the black powder. And muskets and powder meant life to them. New life! Return to the land! — rebuilding, planting again of kumaras! Paretu glanced sadly about him. There, sitting by her mother, was little Tiri. Ah! How thin and weak she looked- she could be only 10 or 11—'11 —now he remembered—it was in the early spring she had been born; the rains had been excessively heavy that year, and the river had risen over the lowest kttmara field. She was a fat, chuckling, wriggling little baby. Not at all like T : '"i sitting there on the damp moss, vraph'g flax leaves. But then, the food here was so wretched, the nights so dank, The. mists would creep up after dusk out of the stagnant waters and slirnc of raupo swamp, out. of the reeking soil itself, would swirl and flow over the wide dismal wastes, blotting out the shine of the sea and the slender black silhouettes of the cabbage trcee against the sky. Things were mysterious then. They assumed a new horror, different from the stark repugnance of the flats under the hot sunshine. Spirits were abroad. If the tohunga listened carefully, he could hear the soft moan an<l the swish of the waves beating the sand. He had not slept for many nights. He had only an old, prized dog skin cloak, which he had managed to save, to wrap about his body. The cold seemed to creep in through his very flesh and pok •. damp, icv lingers at his bones, making them ache. He had lain all last night in dull misery, listening to the noises outside. Tiri had been roughing. He had heard her in the next hut, where she slept with her mother. It was a horrible deep persistent rasping from the lungs and. coming in from the dark, it brought despair to the old man's heart. Tiri would cry, too, between couching, and her mother would make soft crooning noises for comfort. Sometimes the

sounds from the hut stopped for long minutes at a time, hut Paretu was sure neither of its occupants was asleep. The thought distressed him. ami he would strain his cars for the slightest sob or cough, until lie could not tell what sounds were real, nor if what he hoard were the furtive movements of spirits or merely .-mall things stirring among the rushes in the swamp. Tiri and her mother sat together now outside their hut, scraping Max. Paretu watched them dully. Ilis body ached with a feverish chilliness that "the sun s heat had drawn out. His eyes burned. I o him they seemed bulging and swollen far beyond their right size, and ready to bur.-t out from their .-oikets. But he could not close them. Little Tiri coughed only a little in the daytime. The sunshine seemed to do her good. Ah! Jiut she was so thin! And hor mother how gaunt, and spare and hollow-eyed!—who had been one of the beauties of tho tribe. The two of them sat there ii. silence, their legs crossed under the flax mats covering their thighs. Tiri was infected with hci mother's feverislui-'ss. With quick jerky movements their blades swept u| and down the green strips, scraping out the pith . . . endle-sly scraping, lip ami down. Up and down, with swift, feverish regularity. Oh! Ilis eyes! They were aching horribly. Thcv were swollen They seemed projected in some unsuli stantial way beyond himself ... it wa.as if lie could see into the minds of tin girl and the woman . . . as if ho knew tho beating thoughts that tilled them

tliat drove tliem on. The persistent thoughts that drove the libidos nj> and down . . . Flax. (Jrem Max. Scrape . . . up nnd down. Oh! Fa>-iter! Faster! Flax is life. Flax is life. Muskets. Powder. Revenue. Ah! Revenge the dead, Life. Xew life! LiIV nnd peace and the time to plant the kumara, to hunt, and iitsh. and love. To gather the berries and snare the birds once more in the green familiar forests. To rise nnd leave this mournful place of death . . . leave it behind like a dream that affrighted in the darkness. To sing once more—even to speak —to dance with the poi, and sit around the steaming ovens in the old pa. Taiero, the brother of Rerewn, came in from the far swamps, to which the flax gatherers, passing back and forth, had worn'a long trail. Taiero—a chief! A rangatira! He came plodding in like the rest, with bent head, lost to this slave's work. He dropped his grent bundle near Pa ret u and straightened and stretched his stoojved body. The flax-scrapers bv the next hut glanced up—they and Taiero all together, and looked at Paretu, at the skinny, shrivelled body of the old tohunga sitting cross-legged in the sun with black staring eyes, ns if in a trnnce. Though so frail, the body seemed to them almost immortal. The spirit that it held—they all knew—was the tribe's medium with the gods, their intercessor with fate. Tribe*s New Hope The eyes of Paretu could still see. He knew the tribe's thoughts. In the look that they gave him he saw a new ' hope. A mere flash. A brief, renew-.-d expectancy. For the pile of flax in the I store-house was very high now. Enough to buy many muskets. Perhaps t. is ; was the time to return . . . now, while some strength yet remained. No one spoke. The eyes of the women dropped and their fingers took up the old furious monotonous work. Taie-o turned and plodded down to the swamp. Aue! The spirit of Paretu wept. How could he give a sign? There was none to find. No stars flashing across the skies, no black eclipse. Nothing. His bodv ached. His eyes felt enormous, as if in some way detached from him . . as if their pain belonged to themselves alone. . . . as if they were the centre of the universe. How could he think? Ah! He did not even have the strength to throw the niu sticks. He could tell his peop'le nothing. Nothing . . . save the despair and the black fever that racked him. Tiri and her mother were scraping away as before. Scraping, scraping . . . Flax, to buy muskets. Muskets to kill and revenge . . . Muskets for life . . . new life! Ah! that woman—Tiri'a mother—he remembered her, too, as a child. Old, forgotten memories were crowding lxick. He-had sat by her when at maidenhood they had tattooed her chin. —Eh! But she had stood it well—scarce a whimper —she came of chieftain stock—he had sat by her side as the tattooer worked, and had murmured his rhythmical incantations.

Now she would die, and 'Tiri, as well. They would both waste away and be buried here together in this bleak waste. All his people would perish, all, unless they left this place. They looked to him for an augury. A step so important was only to be taken when the omens were good. And what omens could he find'! Ah! He felt only an old weak man. Helplessness rose up and engulged his spirit. Over there in the distance a few men still cut flax. Beyond them the swamps stretched out of sight. Brown sedges and rushes —patches of dead raupo in the deepest parts—clumps of flax with green leaves and bright red flowers — tangled bracken fern and miserable bushes of manuka and coprosin.a. Further back a few gaunt scattered cabbage trees rustled their top-lieavv foliage. When Paretu turned his head the white glare of the beach blinded him. A sour, boggy, earthy smell came ii]i to him from the ground. He closed his eyes at last, shutting out the eight of all these things. He

shut out, too, the distracted thoughts of the flax-scrapers. A drowsiness crept over him, dulling the pain, until he could not even hear the little sounds from the swamp. He saw the green forest below the pa on the hill. He could feel its coolness. I he undergrowth brushed against hie bare legs as he walked down the narrow trail with K e re w as father, the stalwart I ewaka. The other warriors, armed with stone axes, came behind. It was a fresh, sparkling morning, and the yellow sunshine struck through the trees in patches, and danced on the leaves. 'I lie black slender stems of the supplejack — the karaco — writhed up among I lie highest trees. The sweetness ot its tiny flowers drifted down to him in the wind. A strange, buoyant sense of anticipation swept through him, as it he—as it the whole earth—were oil the eve of new and great ventures. 1 lie totara rose like a lonely giant from the deep forest. It towered majestically over the tiny figures of the. warriors who were about to cut it down. 1 hey had made a clearing about it, to give space for the crash. The men stood in a group while Paretu chanted the sacred invocations to propitiate Tare, whose spirit tilled the whole forest around them. Then, almost reverently, the tree was approached, and the long work of axe and fire and carving was begun The Swiftest Canoe The war canoe shot out from the shore like a spear flying true from a warrior's hand. Of the whole fleet this was the longest, the swiftest. The air was filled with the excited cries from the beach and the sharp fierce chant of 1 the paddlers. The great vessels were ' crowded with warriors—grim, eager for battle —a picked tana. And the priest

of the war party was Paretu. Paretu the tohunga, whose wisdom would ensure success. Paretu the fighter, whose blood pounded as fiercely even as T»waka's in the lust for combat. The canoes swept on down the coast. Paretu himself seemed hurtled forward more rapidly than his thoughts could follow, as if part of a bright swift vision. . . . They had fought tlieir way to the enemy at last. They were face to face at the last palisaded trench. Here the fight, was the most furious of all, the deadliest. Hatchet and mere and spear rose and struck, thrust and parried. The two lines of fighters swayed, struggled at death grips, so close that each man could feel in his face the hot breath of his opponent, see the tense sinews of his neck, the wild stare of his eyes. Tliev strove in fierce silence. Their short cries, breaking explosively into the stillness, only accentuated it—the hiss of breath that accompanied a blow, the brief, exultant shout of the victor, the gasp of the fallen. Beserk. Paretu leaped and struck in the midst of it. The enemy line reeled before Tewaka's men. wavered and broke. Paretu dashed forwa rd. "They fly!" he cried. "They fly! Forward! Forward!" + ♦ ♦ ♦ The chill of late afternoon was creeping over the pa from the swamp. The flax-cutters had suddenly straightened from their toil and turned, sheltering their eyes from the western glare of the sun. They were gazing up at the pa. where, shouting, the old tohunga had leapt for one moment in triumph to his feet. "Forward!" cried his people, running to him where he lay on the ground. A brave new light shone in their eyes.