Ma, why did it have to be you

Tu Tangata, Issue 4, 1 February 1982, Page 40

Ma, why did it have to be you

ANGIE HARAWIRA is a 15-year-old pupil at Taupo-nui-a-Tia College. This story, E Ma, is her winning entry from 150 competitors in the 1981 Bank of New Zealand Young Writers Award. Angie received a $l5O prize and another $l5O went to her school’s library fund. Judge Mrs Judy Siers described E Ma as “a beautiful story. The structure is sparse and the message immediate”.

AUE e ma, why you? Why did you have to die?, E ma, it hurts so much, knowing you have gone. Why ... why did it have to be you? Aue e ma, it hurts so much.

I look around me, at our people, our family, all so unhappy, so sad.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it just seems to grow larger and larger. I blink quickly, my body seems to be filled with pain, hurt, sadness.

Again I look around me, the koraias, old wise heads bent towards the earth, the kuias, tear streaked cheeks covered by scarves or hankies, all my many relations and my friends, are with me.

Slowly we make our way to our marae’s urupa, our cemetery. I turn suddenly and see my Nanny, my Mother’s Mum. The confusion, the unhappiness, the pain and yes, the frustration, I see clearly in her eyes. The hurt is there too. Aue, taku kuia, aue. My poor Nanny.

‘‘lt should be me there!” I hear her whisper painfully. ‘‘l am so old and she was so young! It should be me there not her ... ”

I look away from her, I could take away some of her hurt, comfort her, do anything, but already the burden I carry is heavy, and by helping her I would instantly make it heavier. Aue ... Nanny, I’m sorry but already I have too much to bear.

The wailing, the crying, echoes around me, presses against, fill me.

I blink hard and look at Ranginui our skyfather. He is clothed for mourning, his skies blanketed with heavy grey. E ma, I hurt so much. “Tipene, Tipene,” a soft voice interupts my thoughts and I look down. My baby sister is looking up at me, her great big eyes seeming too big for her little face. “Haramai Pepe,” I say, and I know my voice is all choked up and funny. I awhi her tightly, tightly, in case I lose her too.

She is my favourite and I am hers. Maybe it is because we are so different from my three brothers and the other two girls, as our hair is jet black and we

have our mother’s light green ‘‘pakeha” eyes, whereas the rest have the same brown colouring. Whatever it is, she has come to comfort me and I hug her to me even closer.

I so badly need an outlet for all the hurt rising inside me.

My Nanny’s quiet wailing suddenly turns into a high painful scream.

I tense, blink hard and try to swallow even harder.

They are placing Mum gently into Papatuanuku, our Earthmother.

It hurts so much. How I wish I was a little boy, so I could scream and cry out my frustration, my pain, my hurt. I am still, I can’t relax, the pain inside me feels as if it is boiling nearly ready to explode.

“Mamae Tipene, mamae. Mummy’s sleeping ne ra?” I hear Pepe’s voice, but I can only look at her and nod dumbly. Her big green eyes stare up at me and I know she understands what I am going through.

‘‘Pepe has the eyes of a wise old kuia in a face of a young child,” Mum had said once, her lips smiling, her eyes dead serious. ‘‘Yes, my baby sister is very wise,” I think to myself.

The sound of brown soil meeting polished wood reaches my ears. I will hate that sound for as long as I live.

Aue, it hurts. But, I am a man! I am 15! Men do not cry. Aue, it is so hard to be a man, when you are watching someone you love leaving you, for ever.

E ma, I’ll never understand why it was you. Why, why? You were always so helpful, kind, loving, now you’ve gone. I’ll miss you.

I can feel the unmanly tears rising and I know that there is no way to stop them.

‘‘Tipene, look at Daddy,” Pepe says softly as she points to our father.

I look over, a man of all men, people call him an example of a “real” male. He is crying. Tears are running down his cheeks, unheeded; but he is still a man of all men, he looks so different. “Thank you Dad,” I whisper softly. I finally have an outlet. I feel tears on my cheeks, they are not mine, they are Ranginui’s, he has blessed me by covering my tears with his. I have my outlet at last, the pain is still there but it is easing and it is helping so much. I manage to smile at Pepe. I am still a man, the tears don’t prove or disprove the fact. E ma, I am still a man! Haere ra, e ma ... till we meet again