on now over many, many long years of time.’ As the old man finished his story he dived into the sea and disappeared in the surf. ‘Come back! Come back!’ called Tahu, standing in the waves and searching for a sign of the old fellow. His white head did not appear, but away out at sea a strange sea-creature was playing. It leapt above the waves, then plunged in again. As it twisted and turned the sunlight glinted on its shiny scales. At last Tahu saw it cut through a roller and glide back toward the beach. Fascinated, he watched as the old man rose from the sea. ‘So you are the taniwha-man?’ ‘Yes. It is I who am the last of the taniwha. Remember that I was always a friend to children. Many times I have lain at the bottom of your river and listened to you at play. I have been afraid to show myself because the children would be afraid.’ ‘Yes,’ answered Tahu. ‘It is sad, but we would have been afraid, and we would not have swum there again. Even now, if I tell the others, they may try to kill you. But I would like to see you again. May I see you next year on the day you are a man?’ ‘Yes, but you must have the piece of greenstone, so that Tangaroa understands you mean me no harm.’ ‘I shall come. Do you know which day it will be?’ ‘No. That is the hard part,’ said the old man. ‘I don't know until Tangaroa tells me. You will have to come every day. And now you must go, or the tide will turn and I shall not get back.’ They held hands and walked into the water. Tahu kept his eyes open as he dived. He thought he saw the man's legs turn into a long scaly tail. And the hand in his, he now realised, became a flipper like a seal's. Soon, however, they were moving along so fast that he had to shut his eyes. In no time at all they were once more in the cave of roaring waters, and then they were racing down, into ever-darkening depths. For a time he felt the sandy bottom as they dashed along, and then the scaly tail swished his legs and he was plummeted upwards, right out of the water onto the sand by the river-pool. Tahu flicked back his damp hair, and looked across at the rock. It was quite dry. The sun was hot and high above. Only the faintest ripple disturbed the surface of the pool. He could see no old man, no taniwha … But in

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his hand lay the perfect piece of greenstone, limpid and smooth and beautiful. ‘Tahu! Tahu!’ he heard his mother calling. She was walking in his direction, gathering driftwood. Slowly he got up and went to meet her. That night Tahu hid his greenstone in a special place. Through the winter months, whenever he could escape from the others, he looked at it and polished it on his arm. All the next summer when he swam with the other children in the pool, he took his greenstone and hid it out of sight of the others. Some days he swam alone and there was no sign of his friend. One day in midsummer, Tahu went early to the pool with his greenstone, hoping to be alone. The air was very hot, and he found Tiria, Jimmie and Kath already there. ‘Come in, Tahu,’ they said. ‘Try to get to the bottom.’ Tahu took his place on the rock behind the others. First Tiria dived. Then it was Kath's turn. As she bent forward, she flicked back her long arms. Her fingers caught the back of Tahu's hand, and he felt the lovely smooth pendant slip from his grasp and drop into the pool. Tahu knew that it was gone forever, although he dived for it again and again. Every day through the summer he went to the pool, but the taniwha-man did not come back. Sometimes, at home, Tahu's mother says, ‘You should not swim in that pool; a taniwha lives there.’ ‘Nonsense,’ her husband says. ‘Haven't they all swum there? And who has come to harm?’ Only Tahu knows that in a way they are both right, and at times he begins to wonder if he dreamt it all. He goes every day to the pool in the river, just in case one dreamy afternoon when the sea-water is blue and beautiful and the sun high and hot, Tangaroa will decide the time has come for the last of the taniwha to come back to the land.