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.

Haka Time Baby passing, people laughing, Needles clicking, pois slipping, Guitars strumming, voices humming, This is haka practice time. Feet tapping, thigh-slapping, Eyes rolling, bodies lolling, Arms waving, beards unshaven, This is haka practice time. Granny Pete in the corner, Grey rug around her knees, Brown face like crinkled paper, Piercing eyes that see. Newcomers in the doorway Leaning, ill-at-ease, Till a voice calls out in laughter, ‘In or out! We'll freeze!’ Long line of the haka tane, Taiahas in hand Leaping in the peruperu, Breathless as they land. Steve Waterman