he knew so much about them. I said to this Pakeha, “O.K. I'll see you later.” ‘But you know, that Pakeha he knew a thing or two and he told me that he would call for me in a couple of days time at the Y.M.C.A. in Wellesley Street at 5.30 in the evening. I thought he was a bit porangi. Fancy having dinner at night instead of the middle of the day. Then I remembered my Kani Papa telling me that Pakehas called the main meal dinner. “These Pakehas have a cup of tea in bed first thing in the morning, then breakfast, morning tea, then lunch—what we call dinner—afternoon tea, dinner, then supper. They seem to be eating all the time but they never get fat like us.” ‘Well I said “yes”, because I didn't want him to think that I was ungrateful. I didn't want to hurt his feelings. But I've found out over the years that it doesn't hurt him at all if you say “no” in the first place, instead of saying “yes” then not turning up. ‘I'm sure I was the whitest or greyest Maori in Queen Street. I was scared out of my pants. “Never mind,” I said to myself, “the old man reckoned they were only people.” The chaps I worked with seemed to be alright. ‘I tried to look sick. I thought of getting hurt on the job, thought of walking in front of a tram, but didn't have what my Pakeha cobbers call enough intestinal fortitude. ‘At 5.30 there was this Pakeha in a big flash car. He said to me, “Good evening”, but it was raining cats and dogs. I still can't figure this business. I got into the car and started to think of what the old man had said. “Don't forget. The safest thing to do is to say ‘yes’, and then ‘no’, and sometimes the things you think he would like to hear.” ‘So I said “yes” … “no” … “you've got a beauty car—you must be a very rich man. You look like the real rangatira.” I think he really liked that one—no different from the Maori—all chiefs, no Indians. ‘We arrived at his big flash house. He didn't knock or walk in, but pressed a button. As we waited for the door to be opened, I started taking my shoes off. Then I remembered what the old man had said, “You wipe your shoes on the mat and you keep your shoes on.” ‘Boy that was close! My grandfather's pearls of wisdom which he had cast—I mean that he'd told me—started coming back to me like bees to the hive. “You don't just walk in as we do at home. Even the man of the house has to knock at the door or ring the bell. You wait at the door until the lady of the house comes. Don't worry when you see her all dressed up. She's not going out. This is just for you. You will be introduced to her, and don't forget to say, ‘Pleased to meet you’, even though you might be feeling unhappy. The host will probably say, ‘This is the wife’. You don't shake hands unless she puts her hand out first.” ‘Sure enough Mr Spencer, (that was his name), said, “The wife, she won't be long.” ‘“Of course,” I thought to myself, “she would be Mrs Spencer.” ‘She came to the door, said “come inside,” and she was dressed as if she were going to church. ‘The old man had warned me that I would find it a little strange because the women and kids would do most of the talking, and they certainly did! “The children won't sit back and be quiet, but will sit up at the table and join in the conversation. They will ask a lot of questions. The wife won't be standing up serving you—she will also sit up at the table and monopolise the conversation.” ‘He had also warned me to watch which knife, fork or spoon they used, but not to fall into the same trap that had been set for his older brother when he had gone to a posh Pakeha house. ‘Kani Papa's brother had followed every move of the host … using a fork for the soup … putting sugar on the roast … cutting the steamed pudding with a knife and fork … then to top it off copying the host in dipping his forefinger into the mustard pot, eating it and smacking his lips in enjoyment. My Kani's brother didn't know that his host had only pretended the eating and enjoying. Much to his discomfort, his mouth started burning, tears rolled down his cheeks, and he realised too late that his host had put one across him. ‘The host politely asked Kani's brother why was he crying, and without turning a hair he