Saturday Afternoon

Te Ao Hou, March 1964, Page 8

Saturday Afternoon by Jo Friday Wiki appeared suddenly, out of a clear blue sky. Bare legs swung over the edge of the verandah roof, then Wiki himself arrived, plopping down beside Hinemoa, all of a heap. ‘Tena koe,’ he said, grinning and hauling loquats out of his shirt front. ‘Hullo,’ muttered Hinemoa, embarrassed and not looking at him. She didn't like people to call in unexpectedly, so that she had to talk to them before she had sorted them out in her mind, and anyway, Wiki was a sixth former, and far too grand to go clambering over people's verandah roofs. However, she accepted a loquat. ‘Sour,’ she said, pulling a face and spitting the kernel into the flower bed below the verandah. ‘I know,’ Wiki said comfortably, ‘They are this year.’ ‘Nah,’ she disagreed. ‘It's just that you pick them too green. Where'd you get them from, anyway?’ He jerked a silent thumb at the back of the house, and she gasped. ‘Ho, Mum will tan you if she catches you.’ ‘I know,’ said Wiki, still comfortable. ‘Where's Kingi?’ ‘Chopping wood. Mr Thomas caught Kingi smoking in his cowshed, and he told Pop.’ ‘Sneaky,’ Wiki commented. He stretched in the warm sun. ‘Gee, your house is quiet.’

‘It always is when Kingi's out. He's the one who has the radio so loud. And Dickie,’ Hinemoa added as her younger brother came tearing round the side of the house. ‘Hi, Wiki,’ said Dickie, skidding to a halt. ‘Ya can't see Kingi, ya can't see Kingi! Ol' man Thomas caught him smoking, ha ha.’ ‘Beat it,’ said Wiki. ‘Are you telling this boy to beat it?’ Dickie enquired, turning a cartwheel. ‘Boy, you'll feel this fist.’ ‘Yeah?’ Wiki grinned. ‘Beat it, twerp.’ ‘Ma baby loves the West-un-mo-ovies,’ sang Dickie, capering. Heta Thomas came plunging round the corner of the house. ‘Ho!’ said Dickie, and disappeared rapidly, with Heta in panting pursuit. ‘Those boys!’ said Hinemoa, ‘Just wait till they get to secondary school.’ Wiki wasn't listening to her; he was frowning into the sun, his big face screwed up. ‘Kingi is allowed out tonight?’ he asked cautiously. Hinemoa grinned. ‘What are you worrying for?’ Wiki and Kingi were in the dance band that played at all the country dances round about. ‘No-one can play the drums like Kingi,’ said Wiki, thinking of Kingi bent grinning over the snare drum, and the thudding scuff and scuttle of the brushes on the taut skin. ‘Say, he is allowed out, isn't he?’ ‘Yeah,’ said Hinemoa, shrugging. She peeked enquiringly at Wiki. ‘Do you smoke?’ she asked. ‘Nah,’ he said, pulling a face. ‘How do you think I have enough wind to play the sax and rugby?’ ‘Kingi can play rugby too,’ Hinemoa retorted, stung. ‘Not for long, boy,’ Wiki said, comfortable as ever. ‘Girl, I mean,’ he amended, squinting at her in a slightly puzzled fashion. ‘Me,’ he went on, ‘I'm going to play for Varsities next year.’ ‘You reckon?’ she said incredulously. ‘Well,’ he said, more cautiously. ‘Maybe not in the top team, at first. I've got to get some exercise, though,’ he went on, patting his midriff. ‘Got to keep the weight down.’ ‘Are you going to University?’ she asked, awed. ‘Yep,’ he said. ‘Ho,’ she muttered. She was silent, thinking that somehow it was wrong that a good Maori should go to the city and study Pakeha ways; but then people said that it was a very good thing, because a Maori like Wiki could grow up to become a great Maori leader. It was all too complicated, and she gave up thinking about it. ‘Ra Parera said that you were at the pictures last night,’ she said. ‘Yes,’ he said, crooking his fingers like talons. ‘“The Horror from Outer Space”.’ ‘Aue,’ she said. ‘The midnight session,’ he added smugly. ‘But weren't you scared?’ she asked. ‘Of course not. I always go.’ ‘But doesn't that cost a lot of money?’ ‘Not much. I don't spend my cash on smokes,’ he said, grinning. Hinemoa hesitated, unsure whether to be angry or laugh, but in the end she laughed. ‘I'd be awfully scared,’ she said. ‘Tiaho Parera and I went to see “Dracula” in the daytime. I was too scared to look.’ ‘I saw that too,’ he said enthusiatsically. ‘Do you remember when she went down into this undertaker's place, and Dracula was in his coffin waiting for her?’ ‘Aue,’ said Hinemoa, and then giggled. ‘Don't remind me.’ ‘It was pretty scary,’ Wiki admitted. ‘I just don't see how you can go home in the dark after seeing a film like that,’ Hinemoa said earnestly. ‘Are you by yourself?’ ‘Of course,’ he said, swaggering. Then he settled his back comfortably against the verandah post, warm in the sun. There was a twinkle in his eye. ‘I remember once, though,’ he said. ‘Yes?’ said Hinemoa, all attention. ‘Well, I sleep in the backyard, in a sort of cabin. There's a revolving clothesline outside; and it's very good, because I don't disturb anyone when I come in.’ Wiki paused. ‘Go on,’ said Hinemoa. ‘I remember once,’ he said, ‘I'd been to see this film. Horrid, it was, called “The Day the Robot Came”. This robot came up out of the sea and used to trample these cities. Then they chucked an atom bomb at it, and it swallowed it, and took off head-first for the sun.’ ‘What nonsense,’ said Hinemoa, giggling. ‘That's not very scary.’ ‘Ma baby loves the West-un movies,’ sang Dickie, scampering back round the corner. ‘Heta's dad caught Kingi smoking, ha ha.’ A well aimed pebble clipped him behind the ear, and with a roar of rage he tore back round the house. ‘It was a scary film, actually,’ Wiki said. ‘They always sound silly afterwards, but

they're scary at the time.’ ‘I know,’ said Hinemoa. ‘They have such creepy music.’ Wiki grinned. ‘That's right. Anyway, I never like riding past the church at night. There are moreporks sitting on the eaves, and they glide round your head, and they're such funny, papery things.’ Hinemoa shivered. ‘The morepork came when my grandmother died,’ she muttered. ‘That's silly,’ said Wiki, laughing. ‘That's a silly superstition.’ ‘You talk like a Pakeha,’ Hinemoa snapped. ‘Heta, Heta,’ Dickie chanted, reappearing. ‘Heta is a weta.’ Heta flung himself round the corner, and the two boys rolled around on the grass, growling. ‘Anyway,’ said Wiki firmly, ‘I got home and went to bed.’ There was a short silence. ‘Well?’ said Hinemoa. ‘Well,’ Wiki said mysteriously, ‘I was lying there in bed and, suddenly, something white—flipped past the window.’ ‘Aue!’ ‘Yeah,’ said Wiki. ‘I tell you, I was up out of bed like THAT.’ He snapped his fingers. Kingi lounged round the end of the verandah and stood, hands on hips, watching the show on the lawn. ‘At him, boy, at him!’ he said, swaggering towards them and grinning. His shirt was hanging outside his jeans and he looked hot. ‘Been waiting for you,’ said Wiki. ‘Boy, you took an age.’ ‘Had to split a couple of logs,’ Kingi said airily. ‘Pai Thomas caught me smoking in his cowshed, and he told Pop.’ ‘You're an ape,’ Wiki commented. ‘Boy, I've come to see you about that new arrangement for tonight.’ ‘Sweet Sue? Groovy, eh?’ Kingi lowered himself to the warm boards. Hinemoa, Mum wants you out back.’ ‘Oh,’ said Hinemoa. She looked enquiringly at Wiki, but he didn't seem to notice. ‘Beauty game of softball yesterday,’ he said to Kingi. ‘Beauty, boy!’ Kingi ejaculated. ‘Bases loaded, and Henry hits a homer. Thought Tiny was going to catch it, for a moment. He's a beauty fielder, eh?’ ‘Boy, he can pitch,’ Wiki commented. ‘Heta is a weta, Heta is a weta,’ sang Dickie, dancing around on one leg, while Heta lay winded. The dog yipped uproariously. ‘His old man caught Kingi, caught Kingi.’ ‘Wait till I fix that boy,’ Kingi growled, leaping towards him. Hinemoa grinned. He was a good boy, that one. Next year he would stay at home to help Pop on the farm, like most of the big boys round here. Except Wiki, or course. ‘Mum wants me,’ she said, standing up. ‘Quick, finish your story.’ ‘What story?’ Wiki asked, poised on the edge of the verandah. Kingi and Dickie were plunging around, and Heta was giggling fit to burst. ‘About the kehua,’ Hinemoa urged. ‘The kehua that flipped past your window.’ Wiki laughed. ‘That was no kehua,’ he said. ‘It was a shirt on the revolving clothes-line.’ And he sprang off the verandah, leaping to join the brawl.