THE FORBIDDEN TREE— Continued from page 13 The unsuspecting pig's hind legs were in his hands: for a moment he tossed and grunted with it, then into the drum it splashed, its squealing silenced by the meal it had been so greedily devouring. Silently its slayer crept away over the paddocks. No lights could be seen at the marae. He guessed it was fairly late. Ruihi was already in bed, and if he thought she would show some gratitude then he was wrong again. ‘I'll bet when he finds his fat poaka drowned in the morning he'll offer it for the hui and not tell a soul how it died,’ was all she said. But stone the crows, how he cursed when on going to retire she ordered him to sleep with the children, as he still smelt of pigs and she had no intentions of sleeping with someone who had just killed his own brother's pig. Besides, she didn't want her permed curls spoilt before the wedding. He grudgingly went into the bed of one of his little ones, muttering to himself about the good old days when a man ruled his home with an iron fist—what's happening with the world. All this matauranga and Pakeha schooling is taking away the Maori's mana. If a man uses too much fist in his home to beat a bit of sense into his wife or kids the police send you to the whare herehere. A man was better off when he was younger. You hardly saw a policeman then, though your life was strictly controlled by religion and superstition. Golly, those were the days. That night Rangi dreamt he was at a party with the good-looking widow Bella. But each time he went to refill his glass, instead of wine there poured out little printed letters that made fearful-sounding words, like abomination, destruction, consequences, catastrophe and conflagration. The very first thing he saw when he awoke in the morning was the newly-framed text hanging above the bed. It read, ‘The Wages of Sin Is Death’. Quickly he jumped out of bed, grabbed his clothes and rushed out into the kitchen. There he was scolded by his wife for his ‘total lack of hygienic understanding’, and just think what the neighbours would say if they caught him undressed in the kitchen. What with her being on all those committees and being a Sunday School teacher and due to be president of the Women's Institute. ‘Really Rangi, you and your barbaric ways do make me wild.’ This sermon against him infuriated Rangi so much that he took his time and sat before the stove, opening the door to warm himself. Stubbornly unmoved by her pleas to hurry along, he sat there poking at the fire. Words from his dream came back to him: destruction—abomination—conflagration—that was as far as he got, for with a hiss, a burning cinder shot out from the fire and landed right in his lap. ‘Aue! A-uuu-eee ko toroa au i te kapura!’ With a roar that reminded all of the lion at the last circus, Rangi leapt up into the air. Grimacing with pain he rushed to the table, picked up the butter from its dish, and vigorously began applying it to the blistered area. ‘What's the matter with Daddy? Mummy, is he doing a Maori haka?’ cried little Hemi joyously. ‘I'll haka the lot of you if you don't shut up,’ shouted his father furiously. Then to the mother ‘As for you this is all your doing, why can't you be contented with what you've got. Always wanting this and that.’ Unconcerned, Ruihi carried on mixing the batter for the pikelets she had promised the children. Her silence made Rangi twice as angry. ‘You're the biggest crook out around here, worse, worse than that scoundrel of a thief Hone Heke. Ever since your old man took to that new religion, life has been a complete ab—abo—abomination—hell on earth—that's what it is—no need to wait for the Judgment Day you preach at Sunday School.’ Startled, his wife wondered what had gone wrong with her usually docile man. She wasn't to know that just before receiving his blisters he had been thinking of the good-looking widow. ‘You can talk about me as much as you like Rangi, but just leave my father and my illustrious ancestors out of it.’ Tossing her newly permed hair about: ‘You're a fine one to grumble to me about wanting things. We would be living in a nikau hut like some of those ignorant cousins of yours’, digging gum and wearing sugar sacks for all you cared.’ It should have warned her when she saw his eyes widen and roll. No, she must have her say. ‘What about you walking around the kitchen without any clothes on. You stand up at meal times if I don't remind you to sit, and I've caught you cutting the children's fingernails at night. Don't forget the time I caught you