A Different Kind of Man by Riki Erihi This was to be the great day. For three weeks now, everyone in the little district, all of them kinsfolk, either by marriage or by birth, had been discussing this big event. Never in all their lives had anything quite so scandalous happened. Well, not quite; the last time being when the local visiting clergyman had been found in bed with Hemi Heiwari's youngest daughter Ruihi, who was now the proud mother of a blue-eyed baby daughter. Oh yes, they had got over that one quick enough. That scheming old Hemi had betrothed her to his brother-in-law's son Rangi. Now Rangi, being a bit simple-minded and a full-blooded Maori at that, could never get over how kind the gods had been in blessing this betrothal with such a beautiful fair-skinned child, his pride and joy. When his wife Ruihi deceitfully told him that their third child, who was born fair also, was an act of God, he said his prayers religiously. But many were the times he spent wishing that the good Lord above would let all his children be the same colour, for their second child was dark and brown like the bark of the rimu tree. It certainly wouldn't do to have a baby like that piebald mare of old Hawea's. Rangiheke was a pleasant valley, surrounded and sheltered by bush-clad mountains. In the summertime the green patches were highlighted by the millions of snowy white flowers of the climbing clematis. From the hills there flowed a wide river, which glided its way through the lush fields until it mingled some miles away with the moody waters of Te Moana Nui a Kiwa. Sometimes at night one could hear the call of the sea as it pounded on the rocky shores. Especially on a clear night, we always knew what the weather would be like. When the noise sounded like distant drums, you could be more than certain that tomorrow's dawning would be golden and bright. It was predominantly a Maori district, the only Pakehas being the two school teachers and Mr Long. Mr Long was a prosperous farmer and also the local forest ranger. It was often said that the holes in his old peaked army hat didn't only come from the teeth of his little mongrel puppy. Funny thing though, we always classed him as a Pakeha, yet he was related to many of us. His Maori blood had been bedded away by marrying back into that race, so that his brown ancestry showed only in his nose and protruding lips — not forget-