ANIWA'S DIVORCE

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXII, Issue 22094, 27 April 1935, Page 19

ANIWA'S DIVORCE

BY KKIC RAMSDKN

Even in old age Aniwa never became really fat. , Until the end she retained the robust •ymmetry of one of her own totara trees. Wide in girth, perhaps, for Aniwa's brown limbs had never known a pair of corsets, and there again the resemblance to the totara came in. In bearing she was tall and stately. Trained in the old school, she knew how to walk as became an aristocrat, leisurely. Aniwa was never in a hurry. On her chin ,was the tohu, delicately outlined in bluish-black, a sign now seldom seen in When Aniwa was young, however, and that was a y" long, long time ago, it was common enough among her sex. _ As children, we were more impressed by her mother, old Mrs. Herernia. The old lady could not speak one word of English. For hours at a time she sat in a shady spot in the pa and drowsed in her senility. A voluminous skirt elaborately patterned in Manchester designed feathers completely covered her legs. We were told that old Mrs. Herernia was so aged that she had completely worn off her legs, and we implicitly believed that statement. But it was Aniwa, the chieftainess, who gave the' large orders at the store. - It was Ailiwa, too, who paid the bills. Peacefully smoking her pipe old Mrs. Hereinia faded from our memories, snoozing the hours away. Now I come to think oijit, she could not have been considered very important in the tribe; for if there had been a tangi when she • passed away, I should certainly have remembered it. As we grew older and heard stories of Aniwa's matrimonial prowess we took more interest in her. Among her own a sub-tribe of the NgatiKahungungu/ whose ancestors had, in the dim, distant past, crossed the Great; Ocean of Kiwa from faraway Hawaiiki, via Rarotonga, her word was law. Heremia, her father, had not left any sons. Aniwa was the only child to survive. Heremia, (or Jeremiah, ns the missionaries had called him) slept in the ancestral burial ground beneath a marble monstrosity that Aniwa imported from Italy. Now, she, too, sleeps in that urupa on the hill above the pa beside her mother, the old lady • without any legs. Apart from her rank, Aniwa Heremia was a Voman of consequence. The leases that her father had signed ' with the pakeha (European) newcomers provided Ajiiwa with an incomo of a good many thousands a year. The chieftainess was one of the first in the district to own her motor-car. As the years T ; passed, and the Rolls changed in de- ; sign, Aniwa replaced it with another, j It .Was said that her fowls roosted on j th(> last, or, perhaps, the last but one. As a girl, she had; been 'married by | an enterprising pakeha. 1 ™ mad : had.Joo&d upon the j .wealthy young Maori woman as a specu-

A NEW ZEALAND STORY

tCOPrRIUBTt

lation. When she found him deliberately cheating one of her own tribesmen, an old man, Aniwa tossed him out. She could do that. A succession of lovers followed the pakeha, none of any particular importance in Aniwa's eyes. The fact remained that her dearest wish, a child, never came to the chieftainess. As she advanced in years Aniwa commenced adopting children. The colour did net matter particularly. Some were the children of friends, who parted with their offsprings in the Maori way. This custom had been sanctioned from time immemorial. Others were just waifs and strays. One day Aniwa came back to the pa with a white bafcy in her arms. The child had been found, feebly wailing, in a drawer in a Wellington hotel in which she had been staying. Aniwa adopted him, too, and called him Wi, and earned the everlasting gratitude of a drudge about the place, his mother. Little, red-headed Wi joined the everincreasing brood at the pa. But, of all the children she brought up, none appealed to motherly Aniwa more than did young Piri. She never could pronounce the European equivalent, of his name—-Billy. To his fostermother he always remained Piri. Besides, there was breeding in this one. Piri was no stray. There was no taint of white blood in his veins—not that that, of course, mattered much. A child is never penalised in a Maori community' because of its paternity—more than £an bo said for Europeans! Piri came of gentle stock. Lithe, slim and bronzed, with wavy, jet-black hair, he had the clear-cut features and light coppery skin of his pure Polynesian Viking ancestry. Whenever Aniwa toured in her luxurious motor-car, Piri would be found curled up in a fur-lined rug. Aniwa was rather partial to furs. A two-hundred-guinea coat was an essential pari; of her extensive wardrobe. There wore times when Piri returned to his own folk. But he never liked it. Thoroughly spoilt, he was not content to remain one among many; besides, he missed the motor-car and the supply of ready cash that his adopted mother provided him with. He always returned to the pa. Later, Aniwa sent Piri to a college in Wellington, the hill-girt capital city. Apart fiom learning to spejjk English sis melodiously as only a Maori can, gaining sotuo reputation as a footballer and inquiring certain expensive tastes (for which Anhva was only too willing to pay), the lad made no particular impression at school. When he returned finally, however, in his late teens, she looked at him with a new interest. Here was a tall and handsome Piri, long of limb, flashing of eye—with an eye, too, that was apt to roam among the kotiro of the pa. Aniwa made up her mind instantly. •Her marriage with the pakeha, long since forgotten, had never received the blessing of church or the sanction of State. The chieftainess bundled the only too eager Piri into the Rolls one morning. A week or so later lie returned to the pa to receive the tribal congratulations on liis marriage to a bride of fifty Bummers or more, Thore wils nothing Piri wanted that he did not get. Like all Maori boys, he was fond of mechanical' toys. Aniwa' bought him a

motor-cycle. She liked to ride beside him, until, one day, when Piri j had imbibed more liquor than was good for him, he nearly broke the august neck of the great lady who rode so proudly at his side, as well as his own. Waiting her opportunity, Aniwa grasped a branch from a friendly willow, and thrashed Piri until he brought the careering machine to a stop. After that she abandoned the sidecar. When the lady travelled in state to other tribes, Piri was at her side. At the Land Court, he was her adviser. Invariably, he cashed the rent cheques. Naturally, the role of Prince Consort had its drawbacks. Still, the chieftainess was nothing if not tolerant. She know that youth must have its fling, when a particularly entrancing kotiro caught Piri's fancy, his wife shut one of her kindly brown eyes and winked the other. Full well she realised that such affairs could never last. . Aniwa was always buoyed by the hope, too, that one day she would bear a child to Piri. For a noblewoman of her rank, it was imperative that she should have issue. Was she not the last of her long line? As a woman it was a constant rebuke that she had no infant at her breast. Cars, furs, even a husband or a motor-boat could be bought, but a baby of her very own could never be purchased. Its absence occasioned a dull, gnawing ache that she could never stifle in her heart. With that pathetic obstinacy that often characterises women so highly born in her race, she still believed that one day her wish would come true, and just as obstinately ignored Nature's warning finger. . . . The time came when Aniwa had to pay a ceremonial visit of more than usual importance. Attended by liri and a small party, she travelled north to the Bay of Tokerau, the Bay of the One Hundred Isles. In accordance with her rank, her hosts, the Ngapuhi, placed Aniwa at the right hand of the Prime Minister, and she saw nothing incongruous in the pink and white boudoir cap she had placed on her head, above a new, magnificent musquash coat. But that Tokerau visit had consequence for Piri. As his wife's mere consort, he took 110 part in the ceremonies, but, like every other young man of his age with few responsibilities, enjoyed himself around the pa. It was there that he met Miriama, a slim, pretty little thing, with raven tresses and laughing eyes. As the pakeha would say—it was a case of love at first sight with both. During the week's festivities, uutu the food supply was consumed and the distinguished visitors had, perforce, to depart, Piri saw as much of Min as he could. Somehow her supple brown fingers had entwined themselves around liia heart. At last he knew that he detested his old wife. This was no passing affair. Piri formed a resolution. He would stay at Tokerau with his beloved. Holding a blushing, terrified Miri by the hand, Piri faced old Aniwa and told her of his passion. " You would leave me, a nobly-born woman, for her!' declared the indignant chieftainess. When she realised that Miri was no mere fancy, a kotiro for any man to play idly with, Aniwa used her brain. What would Piri do, she demanded, when his money was gone? He was unaccustomed to work. As a last resource Aniwa thrashed her erring husband, and saw that Miri s father thrashed her, too. Yet, it was of no use. When the Ngati-Kahungungus left Piri was not with them.

Aniwa returned to her people in a fury, a woman scorned. Nothing would satisfy her but one of those absurd pakeha conceptions —a divorce. She had

money, slie said, and she would pay for it. Piri and his lady love would be humbled by the majesty of the law. Months later, as the old lady entered the Divorce Court in Wellington to secure her freedom she saw two pathetic figures standing near the entrance. Ike girl she ignored. But there was her own Piri. a saddened, disillusioned Pin, a Piri without money, no longer attired in the tailor-made suit that his wife had once so willingly paid for. Truth to tell, Miri had no means. Piri could' not earn much. Through Aniwa's mind flashed a picture of the cuddlesome, brown-skinned baby that had once been Piri, the Piri she had once, so proudly, sent to college. " E hoa!" he cried, as she took his hand and pressed his nose in the hongi with her own flat one, ' take this!" From her bag she grasped a handful of notes. "Take these," she added. " Get yourself clothes and food for your wahine!" (woman). Somehow, this transaction at the court door reached the ears of the judge. " If the petitioner had been a European I . . ." he announced, with much humming and hawing. But I don't think she understands the meaning of the term ' collusion.'. . .However, decree nisi returnable within six months." , , ~ . . A year or so later 1 met old Amwa at a wayside railway station. Tearfully she greeted me, wailing in the traditional manner for those who had trodden the Broad Path of Tane into the Setting Sun since last we had seen each other. We stood and honci'ed, nose against nose, hand in hand, while the old woman had her cry. Then, her eyes flashing, she told me thai: she had mamcd ngam. I wondered who had taken Pin s place in her affections, but, of course, it was not etiquette to inquire. . " Ae—yes, I have married, Amwa remarked. "You see, Piri ™ I°™£ and sad. He had no money, and I knew he would soon tire of that girl..As I knew he would, he came back to me. So I took him along to the registrar s office —no more church this timo we were married again! Aniwa smiled happily as she wrapped her fur collar round her throat, for the morning was chilly. . . " I am on my way to a tangi in Rotorua." she added. " Pin-he, is at home. Now, I always travel alone.