Untitled

Te Ao Hou, September 1964, Page 9

can never tell with animals the same as with humans, eh boy?’ ‘Koro’, whispered the boy, ‘when I get to your place, promise you won't lock me up in a dark room and leave me by myself. Can I sleep with you? I'll do anything for you, I promise, anything you say so long as I don't stay in a dark room by myself.' By now the boy was crying again. ‘I wish I could find someone to look after me, to want me. Koro, be good to me and I'll be good to you,’ he whimpered pleadingly. The old man looked down at the taut, serious, tearstained face of the boy and took one of the cold trembling hands in his, but could not then put into words what he would have liked to have said to him. Instead, he looked at him long and hard, tucked him closer to his side, and began to whistle softly. The boy slowly relaxed his grip on the old man's trouser leg, shifted himself to the back of the seat and sat there quietly. And so they continued their journey in silence, each looking at the other, each unable to comprehend what the other was thinking. Unknown to them, both their thoughts were running parallel. ‘Koro,’ went the boy's thoughts, ‘I feel like I never felt like this before. I always felt it inside of me at times, wishing that it could be my mother or perhaps my father, I wish I had a father. I feel different, but I still have the same hands, legs, probably my eyes have gone brown, I wish they weren't greeny-grey as everyone seems to think—it's a bad thing to have that colour eyes and they are always bringing that up whenever I get with old people. But I not to worry now I have you Koro. Nobody is going to take you away from me, no hidings, no dark room, nothing. I feel so happy I want to die, and then I'll have to be a ghost but I won't go round scaring the other kids, I'll play with them when their mothers and fathers go out at nights. Goodnight, Koro.’ With that silent parting, the boy curled himself up beside the old man and was soon asleep. ‘“My son,” how new those words sound,’ thought the old man. ‘I have always wanted a son. God, how me and the old woman wanted one, but after she died the feeling went too. Somehow I feel at peace with everything, even with myself. The present, the past, the future: you are given the freedom of how you spend your life, the onus is on you. But also we are partly responsible for each other, as I shall be responsible for only part of this boy's life. I'm glad you have Pakeha blood in you, boy. I'll take you to all the meetings, you must sit amongst us old people and listen to what we have to say, come on all the visiting trips with us, learn to stand well, talk well, and know when to shut up; learn to work and take your place amongst the people: learn to know the full meaning of humbleness, and pride. I know you will, because of your mixed blood. I will send you to a good school, and I won't have you getting swell-headed, that's no way for a leader to behave. Well kid, I had that nice feeling of what I want you to be but funnily enough it doesn't last. It's gone now. But you are still here with me. Sleep boy, sleep. ‘Gee up there, Nugget.’ Ramai Hayward photo Miss Consuella Taimana, recently back in Auckland visiting her parents, is a highly qualified occupational therapist specializing in the care of children with cerebral palsy. At present with a clinic in Newfoundland, she hopes later to further her studies in London. Consuella's parents are Mr and Mrs Te Moanaroa Taimana of Auckland. After gaining her university entrance and studying at the N.Z. Occupational Therapy School in Auckland, Consuella went to the U.S.A. to do post-graduate work in Los Angeles. She says that she is deeply grateful to her parents, who have seen to it that all of their six children have had a good education. This has been a real effort, for they have had no assistance from educational grants and have managed with Mr Taimana working as a labourer.