MAKUTU.

Otago Witness, Issue 3804, 8 February 1927, Page 79

MAKUTU.

By

Irene Robertson.

(Copyright.—For tiif Witness.) Trees* trees, trees, everywhere growing, right up to the walls of the shack, right round in a semi-circle, hemming it in on three sides. “Trees gentle and clinging, that grow lovingly and protecting]}’; trees heavy and fearsome, that grow threateningly; trees deceitful and cunning, that leer from the background; trees with a character, trees with a soul,” muttered Suzanne to herself as she rose at dawn and lit her tiny fire. She went out to watch the fine grey smoke curl up from the tin chimney and pass awaj’- amongst the leaves. “Zannc, hurry up with my breakfast, and never mind staring round you at this time in the morning. I want to get away,” came a high-pitched, irritable voice from the dimmer recesses of the shack. “No, dews of the morning won’t feed a hungry man,” thought Suzanne, as she slid through the door with a gentle movement, resembling the bending° of a sapling in the wind. But there was none to notice that save the spirit of the place, which brooded over the lonely hut and the sentient bush.

Suzanne s husband had gone awav bush-felling, and would not be home till dusk. Mrs Cripes, her nearest neighbour, was five miles away, and Suzanne was alone. She was not really alone, but she did not know that yet.* In the few weeks since they had arrived she had only yet discovered the reality of the bush, and it had rather overwhelmed her. The - sweet-voiced tui had rung out a pealing welcome, but sure.ly he was the only live thing in the solitude! Suzanne worked. Is not work the hunter of solitude and Gie foe of terrors? To clean every square inch of rough boarding, to clear the dimness from glass, to frame receptacles from benzine cases, and to dig a tiny garden of ferns spun away the time til] dusk grew on. In the fading light she spread the French gowns of other days along the rough table, and looked them over with wistful hazel eyes, thinking of other times. There they lay, bois-de-rose, tinily tucked; shimmering golden-brown taffetas, and orange to enhance the beauty of her faintly brown warm-hued skin;'jade and e eru to turn the hazel eyes from shade of brown to green. One after another she turned them over lightly, wistfully, thinking of the past, and of the davs so filled with mirth and jollity. ’ She thought of church bells pea liner out with a clear sound through the frosty skv, and here was but the lone tui in the heat haze.

As she pondered, she became faintlv aware that something else was occupying her mind, obtruding itself slightly, and' as it were, provocatingly from remote corners. A film of dusk seemed to lie along the edges of the room, and in the dusk lay—what ? Suzanne pulled herse!f up sharply. There was no one there, crif J, the , kerose »e lamp, which flared it fully and threw’ long shadows into the darker corners, while the trees outside whispered and hissed in the risim» wind. As she folded the pathetic frock's and laid them away, rose and gold in their trunks, and turned to pirt the bi.» bill} for tea, s.ie shook herself and tossed her woody-brown shingled hair as though to ’? d herself of an unwanted sensation The sensation was twofold. It was that of an urge to move away from the shack at all costs, and also of a faint brown shadow not so much seen as imaged dimly upon the consciousness, rid ing upon the dusks upon the wall It seemed to move round and round’ in a circle as her eyes moved, never seen but ever shifting, dimly and incomprehensibly vague. Suzanne was going to put on the big tea billy and cook for her loixl’s return but she was unable for a time to leave’ the room, the urge to go and the pull to stay counteracted one another, and she remained motionless, inactive. Soon voices made themselves heard coming up the track ringing through the stillness with a freshness and clearness that roused her in a moment. In clattered two hungry, weary men—Jem MacLeod, her husband, tight-lipped and practical as any Scotchman, and his mate from the next shack further into the bush. Blaise Dufour had trekked with them from the Old Country, and had taken up his abode as near them as the exigencies of the situation would permit; often returning with Jem to spend some happy hours near Suzanne. Her freshness and youth brightened the solitude for the two men. Blaise it was who dried the dishes, Blaise who rode down to the store for fresh provisions, who chopped neat piles of logs for the tiny fire. Blaise it also was who sat after the rough meal had been cleared away smoking and watching Suzanne’s face in the firelight, until, too weary - to sit longer, thev would all fall into their low camp beds and sleep.

Up again with the dawn, Blaise’s tallj slight form would be seen marshalling the dishes, filling the billy, and lighting the fire, while Suzanne would wrestle against odds with the preparing of an appetising breakfast and concocting of lunch for the two men to take away into the heart of the bush. . But on that particular night Blaise saw Suzanne uneasy. Her pretty hazel eyes turned to him fitfully as though asking something. She idly broke into tiny pieces little willow sticks and cast them into the fire one by one, watching them crackle and then die away. Presently she spoke: “Do you boys think there were ever people living in the bush before we came? In English houses one can so often catch, if one is receptive enough, a sensation left from the people who lived there before—a feeling of tranquillity if the people have been tranquil, a feeling of uneasiness if they have been things that they should not be. Here in the bush one would think foot had never trod, and yet I sometimes wonder whether people of a vanished race, long ago, have left traces here in this place. Blaise, do you think people could have been here before ?” “Dahm rot, Zanne. How could they?” interposed Jem. “You people with' imaginations are always raking up some fool stuff like that.” The rough speech made Suzanne shrink back a little, as always. But Blaise replied gently: "I think there is something in what you say, Suzanne, nevertheless. People of particularly forceful personality certainly do leave a mark on their surroundings which is apt to persist, even after death. They do it unconsciously, and what one might do knowingly and consciously, I suppose only the people of antiquity knew. The Egyptians had the secret of it, and the places of the old world are full of the currents of longvanished thoughts.” “But do you think there could be anything here, Blaise—here in this wilderness ?” “Why, my child?” “Of course not, Suzanne,” said Jem. “Because,” persisted Suzanne, “I had the feeling before you boys came in that something from a previous age wae circling round me here in the room and forcing me to something—l know not what. What was it, Blaise?” “Oh, I expect you were mistaken, Zanne. I hardly think anything would be likely to persist here; still less would you be likely to feel anything definitely. Have you ever noticed anything before at any time in England?” - “Well, no, I can’t say I have, definitely. I’ve sometimes had vague impressions, but nothing worth mentioning. But I’ve always had the feeling I'd be pretty receptive.” Suzanne was grateful to Blaise that he listened with interest. It gave her a feel-, ing of confidence. Jem was her husband, but he was so material, so hard. Fancies never throve in the soil of his But if fancies materialised Blaise would be understanding and staunch. The firelight faded, and the trio sitting round the dying ashes slowly rose and moved away to sleep and to forget. Several days passed and the episoda was forgotten. But one night Suzanne began to dream. She saw the bush where they lived with the steep hills around and the sound of the river leaping its way through the fern-clad gorge. She heard the tui singing in the branches, but she saw in place of the tiny clearing and the shack a larger clearing and a group of huts made of branches. There waa an open fire, too, in the centre of the space, and squat before the fire sat a man. The man was not a Maori, but was coffee-skinned and tall of stature beyond common. His features and appearance were printed on Suzanne’s brain as though on a photograph. Immensely tall and wide of shoulder, he bore a tuft of black hair standing erect from the centre of his head, which added to the impression of height. Ho was smiling, with a smile that curved his mouth upwards so as to form part of a semi-circle, but above the smile came the stare of a single eye. _‘.t his feet lay a girl, brown-skinned and beautiful, with scarlet blossoms in her hair and anklets of small scarlet blooms round, her tiny brown ankles. The chief raised his mighty arms to the skies and spoke long. He shook his arms, as it were, over the whole clearing, and it seemed to Suzanne that she could, understand the words: “Cursed, cursed for ever be this place. May no one tread the ground where sho lies. May those who tread where sha lies wither with the full moon and perish' with the waning moon. May the trees of the forest watch over this spot for. ever from full moon to waning moon. Oh trees, do my bidding for ever! Let those who tread on this ground wither and fade, wither and fade, wither and, fade.” . And so saying he took a blazing brand from the fire and set fire to all the huts,carrying the maiden into one of them and appearing no more. Suzanne woke with the vividness of this dream. She cluny- to Jem with fear, ths

fear of a dream which is still present while tvaking. She could see imaged against the Vail the huge, coffee-brown forip, the curved smile, and the single, staring eye. She told Jem what she had seen, not in a dream but in a vision, but Jem growled and laughed. “Don’t be silly, Zanne,” said he. “You’ve had a rotten nightmare. Forget it, and before we’ve done we’ll have a village on this spot, and then where will your brown-skinned men and their curses be? Don’t jou start listening to old wives’ tales about curses and what not. We’re in God’s own country now, and don’t you forget it. New Zealand ! God’s own country !” So Suzanne said no more, but tried to forget. But when she went outside the house to dig in her little garden, she saw again the fires in the clearing, and heard the words re-echoing, “May they wither with the full moon, and perish with the waning moon who tread on the spot where she lies.’’ Above her she saw the same steep crags and around her the same slopes of bush as in her-dream. Then when dusk came and the little llbuse was filled with shadows, and Suzanne was waiting anxiously for the crunching sound of men’s feet coming down tlw track, a brown form lurked there in the shadows, circling round and round. “May no one tread where she lies,’’ seemed to whistle round the house with the rising wind, and the very trees protecting the spot seemed to tap on life roof and at the windows. Suzanne ran to the window. Tnere was no sight of man, only trees, now heavy and fearsome, growing threateningly. Iler favourite, the tender and protective rimu, was hidden from view, and only the menacing soul of the forest, in arms against the intruder, was manifest. And inside the room was certainly a brown, Jingo form, increasingjn definiteness continuously, circling always, and making distinct the meaning: “You must go or perish.” “I must stay for the boys’ sake,” she made answer in her spirit. “The boys cannot leave, and I must not leave. You shall not terrify me into leaving.” But as she spoke the great brown form seemed to reply: “The full moon, the full moon.” There outside the window was the moon rising hear—young and serene. Then men’s hearty voices were heard, but by the time they entered the house Suzanne was standing with her back to the window, with hazel eyes that did not see and lips that could only utter the words: “The full moon, the full moon, makutu I” iJlaise it was who warmed her hands and gently soothed her eyes into seeing and ears into hearing the language of a human voice. “What’s the matter with her, Blaise?” said Jim hoarsely, and in a high-pitched voice. “This devil of a forest’s got hold of her or my name’s not B. D.,” muttered he aside. “Suzanne, wake up, we're here. It’s all right, Suzanne, do you hear, it’s all right.” ■ From that night on Suzanne faded. It was a rapid thing. No longer was the bright, laughing voice greeting them when thej' came in, the bright hazel eyes glowing with pleasure when Blaise brought some little offering of fern for her garden or baby wcka found in the bush. “Oh, for a road, a highroad,” sighed Blaise. “A road bustling with humanity —a road to link us with the outside world to make life bright and easy tor Suzanne. A road whose passing cars and coloured life, even the staid old gig, mud-splashed, would strengthen her link and weaken the pull of these accursed trees and the powers they harbour.” Day by day Suzanne wilted. She would go on her knees at the threshold of the forest and embrace the gentle rimu as though asking for support from the being —ho had once dwelt beneath its shade. >“ut the wind sweeping through the branches made only one single sound, “Ma-ku-tu!” Work was useless, She worked all day and fought to keep the foe at bay. She tramped along bush tracks and kept on the move. But at dusk no artifice, no scheme would avail, and she watched the moon rising full in the sky, lighting the black and splendid bush, the clutching fingers of the trees. “You’ll have to do something about Suzanne,” said Blaise impatiently to Jem. “We’ll simply have to pack up and leave if you want to save the kid.” “1 don’t .see why we should, it means a lot to us,” answered Jem. “I don’t /believe in this nonsense at all. I think if we see this moon out and she finds 'nothing happens that she’ll be quite all right. I don’t believe in humouring this imaginative nonsense either.” “But can't you see that the girl’s down and out? She’s fighting as hard as she .can, but surely you can see that she can’t stand bush conditions much longer. 'Damn it all, man, haven’t you got eyes in your head?” “Well, we’ll wait until next month, jßnyhbw. I’m not going to be driven away by these cursed Maori superstitions.” r“I very much doubt whether this ood has ever been tenanted by Maoris. am inclined to believe it is of much lolder occupation. • I was away, as you jknow, at the Maori settlement down at the mouth of the river some days ago, and I asked them if they had ever heard of any Maori village having existed on the spot where we were camping. They told me that no Maori would ever camp there, that it was makutu. I asked them Why, and they answered only by shrugs and nods. ‘But,’ I said, ‘if it’s makutu, come Maori must have been there to lay the tapu.’” . No, the oldest of . them replied. Before Maori came before Moriori warrior, others here. Brown men left spirits in the bush. Trees guard their Iccrets. Kahore pai go there.” ‘‘They determinedly changed the subJfiict, but lib efforts of Trnine could gather

more information than that they believed that . other had preceded them, and that it_was not good to five in the bush under the hills. “So whether you believe in it or not I think she ought to be taken away. What about letting her go into town and stay with some friends of mine there? I’ll take her in if you like, if you feel you can’t leave just at present, even on Suzanne’s account.” “It isn’t so much that,” muttered Jem, “as that 1 don’t believe in the thing, and I think it ought to be faced and outed. I’m not going to budge.” “Well, then, I’ll take her away next week and see her safely to the house, and come right back, and we’ll face it out whatever it is.” So saying, they followed the track home. Th» moon was a week <past the full, and as they approached the shack the wind had risen, and was screaming round and beating the branches against the back of the roof. Suzanne was inside the house cowering before the fireplace. At their - approach she flung herself into their arms, the beautiful eyes gazing piteously at her husband, the beautiful form grown thin as a ghost and as white and quivery. “Take me away. Jem, take me away, Blaise,” she sobbed. “He’s been right in the room—he will give me only another week. He’s huge and coffee-coloured, and awful, and he’s been so near I could have touched him.” She leaned against the wall, and Blaise went to soothe her. “I’m taking you away in a day or two, Suzanne. You’re going to stay with my friends in town. You'll be allright there, won’t you?” “Take mo away, Blaise, before its too late,” moaned Suzanne, as she slid into a chair and remained huddled there. Four days more went in the same way, and the moon waned and waned. On the fifth day Suzanne lay on her bed, motionless and almost lifeless. Blaise helped her to get ready for departure, saddled the horses, and took her away to meet the service car. “Well, cheerio, Zanne,” said Jem. “I’ll scare the goblins for you. We’ll see you back again shortly. Wish I could come with you, but I must stay and get on with the job, or we’ll never make our money.” “Will you be all right, Jem, do you think ? Look after yourself.” But Jem had shown her so little consideration that she was past alarm for him. He kissed her and watched her till the slim form was lost to sight before he turned to go into the abandoned shack. The others rode on slowly and silently. Ever and again Suzanne turned on Blaise a glance of utter confidence. As they moved away the cloud very slowly but steadily began to lift, and by the time they reached the town together Suzanne was almost joyous, in. spite of overwhelming fatigue. The kindness of her hosts, the gentleness of Blaise, brought her steadiness and refreshment, and it was with confidence that he could return to Jem and to his work. Once again he rode up the old familiar track. He gazed with acrid defiance at the .dark sky from which the moon had vanished, at the shadowy trees. Aha! you moon! She is gone, she is gone, she is safe!” thought he as he entered the open door of the shack. But as he saw through the open door the tiny room, he was aware of a gigantic shadow, brown and menacing, leaping through the window. His first thought was that the girl he had loved so Ion" and so silently and unselfishly was safe 5 . But then his gaze fell on the ground. There lay the motionless form of Jem, with his hand stretched across his face as though to ward off some terror (dead!