Kitty Page 8

  ‘And you wonder why you are hot,’ Amy said disparagingly.

  As they continued to gaze at her, Kitty glanced down at her own naked body. Compared with them, she looked like some sort of pale grub that had never seen the light of day. Her skin was so white that the green-blue of veins could be seen on her breasts and where her thighs met her hips. Her breasts were a completely different shape, too—more rounded and with less of an upturn at the nipple. Her feet were smaller, and pink from being jammed into boots all day, and she was altogether more slender, her bottom less full and her waist narrower. She had had no idea that women of different races could look so unalike.

  She stepped into the pool, feeling smooth stones against her soft feet as she waded towards the girls, luxuriating in cool, clear water that felt like heavy silk sliding over her sweaty skin. She let herself sink until she was completely submerged, her hair fanning out behind her in the rippling water. The sensation was heavenly. As a child she had paddled at the seaside where her father had once taken her and her mother on holiday, but that had been an unpleasant, gritty, sand-ridden experience, nothing at all like this. And once she’d turned twelve, she had been forbidden to take her shoes and stockings off to paddle in anything at all, so that had been that.

  But this was wonderful. She stood up, the water reaching to her chest. Had it been any deeper, as it clearly was further out where the pool merged with the wide stream flowing past, she wouldn’t have felt so confident, but here, within reach of both the bank and the girls, she felt safe. And, best of all, cool and refreshed.

  ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’ she said, splashing for the sheer joy of feeling the water on her face.

  Watching her curiously, Wai said, ‘Can you not swim?’

  Kitty shook her head.

  Wai waded over. ‘Try this,’ she said, and pushed off from the bottom of the pool and floated on her front, paddling like a dog, her head up and her feet kicking, their pale soles flashing as they occasionally broke the water. She paddled in a wide circle around Kitty, then put her feet on the bottom again.

  Kitty had a go. She splashed too much and went down at first rather than forwards, but after a few minutes started to make real progress, giggling with delight like a child. Amy and Wai laughed.

  ‘Try this now,’ Wai suggested. ‘It is good when you are tired in the sea.’

  She floated on her back with only her hands and feet submerged, making it seem the easiest thing in the world. Her legs drifted apart and it was then that Kitty glimpsed it, at first not believing her eyes.

  ‘My God, your…your thing is tattooed as well!’ she exclaimed, transfixed with horror at the dark lines etched into Wai’s outer labia and disappearing into her pubic hair.

  Wai moved her hand to cover her genitals. She stood up and looked warily at Kitty.

  ‘Didn’t it hurt?’ Kitty asked. ‘And why?’

  ‘Ae, it hurt,’ Wai replied. ‘But it is an honour. It means that the tamariki, the babies that I make from my first arranged marriage, will be aho ariki, of the line—noble, you would say—but those I make from any other union will not. It protects the birthright.’ At Kitty’s doubtful expression, she repeated, slightly sullenly now, ‘It is an honour.’

  Kitty had never seen anything so bizarre in all her life. ‘But what a barbaric thing to do!’ she insisted.

  Amy pointed at Kitty’s stays abandoned on the bank. ‘No, that is barbaric,’ she said, and proceeded to energetically mimic the pained expressions of a person whose stays were laced far too tightly.

  Wai laughed, her moment of doubt gone. She launched herself high out of the pool, flipped over backwards like a gleaming bronze fish, disappeared for a moment, then reappeared, her hair slick as a seal’s and her long eyelashes sparkling with drops of water. Kitty wished she could do that—Wai seemed to be part girl and part water nymph.

  Amy lifted a finger to her lips. ‘Hush,’ she whispered. ‘You can get koura here if you are very, very quiet.’

  ‘What’s a koura?’ Kitty whispered back.

  Amy pulled a face while she tried to remember the corresponding English word, announcing after a moment, ‘Crayfish. But little ones that live in the fresh, not the salt. Good for supper. But it is too deep here.’

  Together they waded towards the bank, water streaming off their bodies. When they were only thigh deep, Amy stared fixedly at the bottom of the pool for a long moment, then signalled that they should crouch down. As they did, almost submerging themselves again, she whispered, ‘Now wait.’

  The seconds ticked by, then turned into minutes. Kitty’s legs began to cramp and she considered getting out. Then Amy suddenly sank beneath the water and reappeared a moment later with a wriggling, spiny-looking creature about six inches long gripped in her hand. Grinning, she held it up for inspection, then gave it to Wai to look after. Kitty fervently hoped she wouldn’t be asked to hold it—the thing reminded her far too much of a weta.

  They settled down to wait again, more minutes passing in a silence broken only by the occasional rasp of a late cicada and the murmur of the river. Consequently, they all jumped violently when a brittle, cracking noise came from the bush bordering the pool, followed almost immediately by a muffled thump and the sound of someone hurrying not very stealthily away.

  ‘It is those bloody boys from the village,’ Amy declared, although she didn’t sound particularly perturbed.

  Kitty didn’t bother reprimanding Amy for her language—she’d already discovered there was no point. ‘Spying on us?’ she asked, crouching lower in the water.

  Amy shrugged.

  ‘No,’ Wai replied, ‘too much noise—not one of us.’

  ‘Who else?’ Amy said, frowning.

  ‘I do not know, but we should go.’

  And they did. Aunt Sarah was not at all pleased when they wandered into the house with wet hair, the wriggling koura and Kitty carrying her boots and stockings bundled under her arm.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded. ‘And why aren’t you wearing your boots?’

  ‘We went for a swim, Aunt Sarah, and it was too hot to put them back on.’

  ‘A swim! Where?’ Sarah looked really shocked.

  ‘In the river.’

  ‘Surely you weren’t…?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Kitty said, ‘I wore my chemise.’

  Sarah’s mouth tightened. ‘I forbid you to do that again, Kitty, it is thoroughly inappropriate. And unshod feet are most unbecoming to a young lady. You should be setting an example for Wai and Amy.’

  Kitty wasn’t sure why—she hadn’t seen either girl with shoes on since the day they’d moved in.

  In an effort to suppress her laughter, Amy snorted. A thin string of snot flew out of her nose, which she wiped off her lip onto her sleeve. Revolted, Sarah looked away.

  ‘I’m sorry, Aunt Sarah,’ Kitty said.

  ‘I should think so. Go and tidy yourself up. Wai, there’s a message here from your father.’

  Wai looked surprised; her father never sent her messages.

  Sarah handed her a slightly grubby piece of folded paper.

  ‘Did he bring it himself?’ Wai asked.

  ‘No, your Uncle Haunui did.’

  Wai opened the note and read it slowly.

  ‘What does it say?’ Sarah asked, believing that as mistress of the house she had a right to know.

  ‘I am to have a moko placed on my chin, in readiness for my marriage.’

  Sarah looked scandalised. ‘But your face is so pretty! Why would you want to do something like that to it?’

  Kitty was grateful her aunt hadn’t seen Wai naked.

  ‘Is it completely necessary?’ Sarah demanded.

  Wai nodded. ‘It will say to all who I am. When I am married, it will announce my identity and my mana, so that I am not just a chattel belonging to my husband.’

  After a moment Sarah said in an odd, tight voice. ‘No, being a chattel is not a good thing.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Nevertheless, I�
�m afraid I will have to have a word to Mrs Williams about this, Wai. It really is barbaric. Perhaps she could speak to your father.’

  ‘I wish you luck,’ Amy said.

  Kitty watched as the blood drained from her aunt’s already pale face, then gasped at what came next.

  ‘Don’t you be so cheeky!’ Sarah snapped. ‘In the unlikely event that I might ever want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Until then, keep it to yourself.’

  Kitty was stunned. Never in her life had she witnessed her aunt lose her temper to such an extent.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Kereha,’ Amy said, not in the least chastened.

  Sarah covered her face with her hands, just for a second. ‘God forgive me. Amy, please go to the kitchen and start on the supper.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Kereha,’ Amy said again, but her tongue came out the second Sarah turned her back.

  Chapter Six

  Sarah did indeed have a word with Mrs Williams, but apparently without the result she was hoping for, as a week later Haunui came to collect Wai and escort her to the village at Pukera where the moko ceremony was to take place. Amy went as well—for moral support and because it was far more interesting than changing bed linen—and so did Kitty.

  Sarah and George had been startled and somewhat disconcerted when Wai requested that Kitty accompany her. But, as Haunui related to George, not nearly as startled as Tupehu, who had declared to everyone within hearing distance that it was unheard of, a Pakeha attending a moko ceremony. Even worse, a Pakeha woman! Was there to be no end to the liberties the missionaries intended to take? Eventually, however, after Wai had insisted that if Kitty wasn’t present then she wouldn’t be either, Tupehu had come around to the idea, convincing himself that there could actually be a fair bit of mana attached to the presence of a minita’s niece at the time of his youngest child’s tattooing. Perhaps, Haunui suggested with more amusement than George felt necessary or appropriate, Tupehu had decided that some of Miss Kitty’s evident spiritual proximity to the Lord might rub off on his daughter during the procedure.

  Pukera village was a revelation to Kitty, who had never in her life imagined that people could live in such crude conditions. But the more she looked, the more she realised that the little houses were in fact solidly constructed and therefore probably capable of withstanding most extremes of weather, and that the larger buildings were beautifully carved and decorated and obviously designed for communal activities. In fact the whole settlement, perched on a flattened hilltop surrounded by palisades and with its own little spring and neatly laid-out vegetable gardens, was actually very cleverly sited to protect the occupants from attack or invasion.

  They waited for several minutes outside a gateway of heavy posts carved to represent a pair of naked, ferocious-looking male figures, Kitty trying not to stare at their exaggerated genitalia. Then a tiny wizened old woman, whose powerful soaring voice belied her stature and frailty, welcomed them through the gates and inside, where a crowd, headed by Tupehu, was already waiting. Kitty assumed that the atmosphere of ceremony was associated with Wai’s imminent tattooing, but Amy explained that it was in fact in honour of Kitty’s presence as a missionary on such a solemn occasion, which made Kitty stand a little taller and keep her eyes steady, instead of gazing about taking in as much as possible.

  Then came several long, impassioned speeches from a handful of Maori elders, which Kitty had little chance of understanding, even though her grasp of the native language was improving daily. This was followed by hymns sung by a group of young children—some of whom Kitty recognised as her pupils—who did a lovely job of ‘The Lord is My Shepherd’ and ‘When I Survey the Wondrous Cross’ with hardly any giggling at all.

  When they’d finished, Wai and Kitty, Tupehu and Haunui and half a dozen old men and women entered the largest of the carved buildings—the meeting house, according to Haunui’s whispered aside. Amy had already disappeared. The air inside was stuffy and hot, and the light dim, but there was enough to see the intricate and beautiful patterns on a woven mat that had been rolled out on the earth floor. At the head of the mat sat an elderly Maori man Kitty had not seen before, cross-legged, with his head bowed as though in deep contemplation, almost a trance.

  ‘Who is that?’ she whispered to Wai.

  ‘The tohunga ta moko.’

  ‘The one who’ll…do it?’

  Wai nodded.

  Haunui motioned to them to sit, Kitty trying not to wriggle too obviously in an attempt to make herself more comfortable on the hard, packed earth. Wai herself was helped onto the mat, where she lay flat on her back with her hands at her sides, staring up at the patterned rafters spanning the roof.

  Tupehu glanced at Haunui. ‘Kei hea te koha?’

  Haunui pointed through the small doorway at the sack he had left outside in the porch, which contained the bodies of several birds considered to be delicacies, fish, eels, half a dozen rats, fern root and pikopiko, all caught or collected that morning as payment to the tohunga for his services. Tupehu nodded.

  The prayers started then, intoned mainly by the tohunga, and seemed to go on for ever. Kitty’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom, but the heat was becoming more and more oppressive. She found herself beginning to nod off, and had to pinch herself to stay awake.

  Eventually, the tohunga came to the end of his prayers. Extending his arms, he interlaced his fingers then turned them inside out, stretching the joints until they emitted a series of ghastly cracks. He lit a pair of lamps arranged on either side of Wai’s head, then took his time selecting from his assortment of tools a narrow-handled instrument with a pointed tip.

  Kitty squeezed her eyes shut: she had a reasonable idea of what was coming next and didn’t at all want to witness it. But nothing seemed to be happening, and after a moment she opened her eyes again to see that the tohunga was so far only drawing the pattern of the moko onto Wai’s chin. Tupehu, however, was looking at Kitty rather contemptuously. The elders were muttering among themselves as well, but stopped when she glanced over at them.

  When the pattern had been rendered to the tohunga’s satisfaction, he selected a small mallet and a bone chisel with a blade about a quarter of an inch across.

  Without moving her head, Wai reached out and took hold of Kitty’s hand.

  The tohunga set the blade against the smooth, unblemished skin just beneath Wai’s lower lip, raised the mallet and tapped the chisel briskly but with considerable force. A crisp, slightly moist sound accompanied the movement.

  Kitty felt Wai’s fingernails dig sharply into her palm, although she did not otherwise move, and her own gorge began to rise as a line of blood trickled across Wai’s jawline and down over her neck. With each tap of the mallet Kitty became more and more convinced that she was going to vomit. After seven or eight blows, unable to bear it any longer, she let go of Wai’s fingers, scrambled to her feet and lurched towards the doorway.

  Outside, her hand clamped firmly over her mouth and the bright sunlight temporarily blinding her, she staggered around the side of the meeting house as far as she could manage and bent over, jamming her skirts between her knees to keep them clear. Everything came up then in a hot stinking rush, heave after heave until she was empty.

  She hoicked and spat, involuntary tears streaming down her face, then stepped away from the mess and grabbed a handful of grass to wipe her mouth. Bent over again with her hands bracing her wobbling knees, she drew in deep lungfuls of air to slow her racing heart and the pounding in her ears.

  A shadow fell across the ground and someone at her elbow remarked conversationally, ‘Dear me, that doesn’t look too good.’

  Startled, Kitty straightened abruptly, accidentally catching the speaker full in the face with the back of her head.

  ‘Christ Almighty!’ Rian Farrell yelped, staggering backwards and clutching his nose, which had taken the full force of the blow.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Kitty said, torn between contrition because she’d clearly hurt him and mortification th
at he’d seen her heaving up the contents of her stomach.

  Rian took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed at his nose, expecting blood but not finding any. ‘What are you doing here? And why were you sick?’

  ‘Wai is having a moko done.’

  ‘Yes, I heard that, although I didn’t realise she was one of your housegirls,’ Rian said, putting his handkerchief away again.

  Kitty nodded. ‘I’m supposed to be in there holding her hand but, truly, it turned my stomach.’

  Rian suddenly went very still. ‘What?’

  ‘It turned my stomach. Literally.’

  ‘No, you said you were supposed to be holding her hand.’

  ‘Yes, she asked me to sit with her.’

  His face darkening and all traces of amusement gone, Rian snapped, ‘Well, get back in there, then! Go on!’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Go back and sit with her, for God’s sake! There’ll be hell to pay if you don’t.’

  Kitty was beginning to feel angry now, as well as perplexed. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t you realise what a tremendous honour it is to be asked to attend at a moko ceremony? You especially, a Pakeha woman?’ he demanded. ‘Obviously not, but then you wouldn’t, would you, so recently arrived from a mollycoddled life in England and stuffed full with the good works of the Lord.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Kitty exclaimed, and slapped his face.

  He grabbed her arm and began to drag her around to the front of the meeting house. ‘You, Miss Carlisle, will go back in there even if it kills you.’

  Kitty tried to yank her arm out of his grasp, but couldn’t. ‘Let go of me,’ she squawked, and kicked his shin instead.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I said let go!’

  Then, as she became aware of a small crowd of villagers watching interestedly, she stopped struggling.

  Rian let her go. ‘Please go back inside, Miss Carlisle,’ he said reasonably, although Kitty could see that his grey eyes were still narrowed in anger. ‘They will all be extremely offended if you don’t.’