TOKI by Patricia Grace He thinks he's a good fisherman, Toki, a good fisherman. Ah, yes. From the North he came in his young day to show the Ngati Porou how to fish. It was his boast that, to show the Ngati Porou how to fish. ‘They are all there the fish,’ he said. ‘In the waters of the Ngapuhi. The tamure, the tarakihi, the moki and the hapuka. And Toki, he has the line and the hand for all of them. Toki from North, Toki the fisherman.’ But it was not as a fisherman we saw him then but as a boaster and a stranger, though she was from among us, his mother. Ngati Porou she, married to a Ngapuhi and Toki her only son. A young man, Toki, when died his father, and his mother she came back to her home among us. A big welcome for her we gave, and gave it also to her son though we looked upon him with some suspicion. A boaster and a stranger this, and named Toki Fish by us since long ago days. It was long ago days before the war, we had a mind for the same girl, Toki and I both. A beautiful girl this, and looking my way till he came with his boasting ways. The throat of a bird, she, and promised to me, for it had been arranged between our families. Then he came, Toki, and her head was turned until I showed him as a boaster. After the wedding of our eldest brother when all were gathered for singing and dancing, he began again to boast of days fishing, Toki. And she listened with eyes down, the girl, which was a way of hers. Very jealous then I, and stood to speak.

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‘Well it may be,’ I said, ‘to catch many fish where fish are many. In North they are plenty, the fish, and you wait with your hooks and your lines for them to come. A fisherman of skill catches fish where there are none to catch.’ ‘They are many or they are few, the fish,’ said Toki. ‘But still they come to me because I have the line and the hand.’ ‘Together then we, tomorrow,’ I replied, and he knew my meaning as did those who listened. ‘Not together, but one, then the other.’ he. ‘Together tomorrow to choose a place,’ I. ‘Equal then we. After that I go, and the next day you.’ They all spoke then, the old people, of days fishing, and much advice they gave to us of young days. But sat quietly, I, to wait for morning. Many times fishing with my father, and the fishing grounds known to me, but not for the ears of a stranger this. So I decided a place next day. Rowed together past the point of crayfish rock and in a line to Poroti where green meets blue. ‘Here then,’ I said. ‘So,’ said Toki. It was all there, the bait, when we returned, for all were eager to see who would be the fisherman of skill. To the rocks for crayfish they, for it is best bait in these parts, the crayfish. Tied to the hooks with strips of flax because it is soft, very soft, the crayfish bait. Next morning then I, with many there early to see me go. Out to sea with the day just coming, pulling strong and straight. Around the point, then quickly to the chosen place to get my line down before the sunrise. Not one of the fishing grounds this, and doubtful I, at the start. But as the day came in, the tarakihi. A quick pull this, and knew many would follow because it is the way of the tarakihi. Eight hooks on my line and counted eight before bringing them up. Fat they were, waving in the water as my hand pulled in my line. Quick