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  [TE ARIKI laughs]

  TE ARIKI Also, you’ve got to remember that the reports were not like today – it wasn’t the same as the reporting that went on for Vietnam. There was the idea that the news was important for morale.

  ALAMEIN Do you mean that it was all propaganda?

  TE ARIKI There was propaganda, of course; you’ve seen the posters and the adverts?

  ALAMEIN Yeah. I’m surprised they were so on the nose.

  TE ARIKI They could be then. There was more pressure on people to conform. They were taught at a young age to accept given wisdom. I was brought up to question things, so naturally that would lead to questioning what we were being told.

  ALAMEIN That seems quite progressive – your education.

  TE ARIKI [Laughs] It was ahead of that time. [Pause] What I’m trying to say is that if you are not taught to question, it is very difficult to do so.

  ALAMEIN So, the reporters then were naive?

  TE ARIKI No. We have this idea – no, an ideal – about journalism and the news. We want the news to be balanced and fair and neutral. But it simply can’t be – it is written by people, and we all have our … blind spots. Perhaps they saw their job as supporting the troops and their families. Isn’t it a better story – the glorious heroics of the battle, or the humanity one soldier shows to another – rather than the waste of young lives?

  ALAMEIN So there is no truth in the news reports?

  TE ARIKI No, I’m saying ‘truth’ is distorted by whatever biases you have. Truth can never be objective; it is always subjective. The ‘truth’ about that first Anzac Day is that it didn’t affect us at all. And the second … What were we doing in 1916, girl?

  [Shuffles]

  TAIMONA There’s no entry.

  ALAMEIN So you didn’t commemorate the day at all?

  TE ARIKI To us, Anzac Day was just one of many. Yes, there were a lot of lives lost – but there were lives lost every day. A day of commemoration is for those who did not serve. They can have their day of remembering and promising that it will not happen again, and then they can pack it away and not think about it for another year. If you were there – if you lost someone you knew – it isn’t just one day. It is every day – those people are missing every day for the rest of your life.

  ALAMEIN Some people say that Anzac Day is significant because that’s when we came into our own, when we started to see ourselves as a nation.

  TE ARIKI If you think about it, what does it say about us as a people? That it took the deaths of thousands of our sons to realise that we were not as valuable to the Empire as we had thought. And then the next time they called, what did we do? We jumped to. Again and again. Will we ever grow out of trying to prove ourselves to others? Why do we beg approval? It makes me think of kids willing to do anything to be included in the gang. If they are admitted they are always looked down on by the others; someone that desperate is not respected but pitied.

  TAIMONA When your cousins were younger, Alamein, I used to say ‘If so and so jumped off a bridge, would you?’

  TE ARIKI Yes, that’s exactly it.

  ALAMEIN So you’re saying we jumped off the bridge?

  TE ARIKI To be fair, we were pushed.

  [Silence]

  ALAMEIN So what did you think of Anzac Day when you got home?

  TE ARIKI Never went. ‘Lest we forget,’ they say, and then only twenty years later we’re at it again; the whole world suffered from amnesia.

  ALAMEIN Well, that’s the point of studying history, isn’t it? To find out what happened so it will never happen again.

  TE ARIKI I didn’t think you were this naive … like the rest of them. Lest we bloody forget …

  ALAMEIN But it wasn’t like they entered into war gleefully – there was a real threat …

  TE ARIKI To life, to freedom.

  ALAMEIN Well, yes. You can’t deny that terrible things were happening in Europe.

  TAIMONA And closer to home. The Japanese in the Pacific …

  TE ARIKI Of course I understand all that. But you’ve got to understand that it felt as if we were cheated. Those young men had died so that the world would not know war again. The Great bloody War to end all wars. We came home, made lives for ourselves. Our sons, just become men, and the world yearns for blood again.

  [Silence]

  ALAMEIN Uncle Jack enlisted.

  TE ARIKI Stupid, foolish boy. He volunteered, volunteered …

  ALAMEIN Dad said that he wanted to enlist too.

  TE ARIKI He probably would’ve if I hadn’t kept him on a short leash.

  ALAMEIN But you couldn’t stop Uncle Jack?

  [Silence]

  TAIMONA Let’s not upset your koro, Alamein …

  TE ARIKI The boy is fine; he’s not upsetting me.

  TAIMONA But you are upset.

  TE ARIKI Who wouldn’t be upset? He was my boy, and he goes off and volunteers. What did he think? That it was all some sort of adventure?

  TAIMONA I think perhaps that he’s had enough …

  TE ARIKI [Over] He had this idea that we were heroes; that men ought to die for their country. That’s what all this commemoration business really is! It is not to honour the actual dead, but the idea of them. I thought he would be safe – he was a couple of years shy of twenty-one when war was declared. But as soon as he came of age … [Sighs] He volunteered. He agreed to his own death, my boy Jack … They say ‘Not one more acre.’ I say ‘Not one more man.’

  9

  21 JUNE 1915

  It’s Riki’s birthday, but he can’t get his head around it. He’s not sure if it is his birthday, considering he technically hasn’t been born yet. One hundred years from now, on 21 June, Riki will turn eighteen. So what does that make him now? Negative one hundred and eighteen? Thinking about this stuff really messes with him – there’s no way of knowing whether the world he seems to have woken to is still just a dream, or some sort of weird fantasy, or if he really has travelled back in time. Time travelling is just too unbelievable – wouldn’t he need a time machine? Aren’t there rules about time travel, too – about not mucking around with the past?

  Riki is not ready to admit this world – this time – is real, even if the evidence of it is beginning to be overwhelming. He knows it is far too detailed for him to have made it up. But if it is not a dream – if he truly is in the past – then that just makes matters more complicated. Where is the real Te Ariki Mikaera? Matatau was the last person to see him, but he still keeps his distance from Riki. Putting his missing great-great-grandfather aside, if Riki is in the past, has he gone missing in the future? Or has he swapped places with Te Ariki? Is his great-great-grandfather struggling with the twenty-first century as he’s struggling with the early twentieth? Has he really been gone for a couple of months, or is it like those Narnia books: months here are only seconds, or fractions of seconds in his world?

  His world. What did the fortune teller say? That he doesn’t belong here? No kidding – but how does he get home? Riki runs through the options: talk to the wizard, kill the witch, click his heels three times, go through a magical door … or find out what happened to the real Te Ariki.

  It is too much to think about before dawn. He wishes his brain would just shut up. But of course it doesn’t; he is his mother’s son.

  Riki can hear Matatau snoring. Matatau is one of those guys who once he’s asleep will sleep through anything. Sometimes he snores so loud that one of the Mos will throw something at him to get him to shut up. He’s had a boot to the head and he didn’t even break rhythm. Riki rolls to his side and looks towards Matatau; he’s the only one who knows what happened in Dead City on Good Friday. Matatau might be the key to get Riki home.

  Home: think of home. Riki closes his eyes and tries to will himself back to sleep. If he was at home, what would he be doing? Probably sleeping after a big party the night before; his birthday has fallen on a Sunday this year. Or in a hundred years, anyway. Yeah, massive party with Jackson. Gemma too �
� they would have sorted everything out. Riki hopes the pregnancy thing was just a scare. Even if it wasn’t, by now Gemma would have made a decision, and Riki knows that she has far more ambition than being a teenage mum. Gemma is decisive; it’s one of the things he loves about her. She would have made up her mind and that would be that.

  He doesn’t want to think about it. He focuses on his party instead. The party would’ve been at his place, and then into town to catch a gig and buy his first legit beer. And then on his actual birthday, his mum would let him sleep in and make him a fry-up. If the surf was good, him and Jase would head to Lyall Bay for the afternoon and brave the freezing cold water; then home to a roast dinner and a cake. Of course Te Awhina would talk about the great Te Ariki Mikaera because it’s his birthday too; that’s why he’s your namesake, and Riki and Jase would pretend to listen. Nice, normal, boring – that’s what Riki wishes for.

  Most mornings when Riki hears reveille, he wants to shove the bugle down the bugler’s throat, but this morning he’s grateful that it drowns out his thoughts.

  Riki knows that one of his wishes for today will come true: it will be boring. The days have been pretty much the same since they arrived in Malta. Get up, do fatigue, dig a trench, rifle practice and parade, with eat, drink, shit mixed in for a bit of variety. To be fair, that’s not why Riki knows it will be boring today. The Governor is coming to speak to them, to give his farewell address before they break camp tomorrow. So the morning will be standing around in the heat in their dress uniforms, their stiff and scratchy dress uniforms, buttons and boots shining.

  Jack groans as he swings his legs out of his bed. Matatau, of course, has already folded his bedding ready for inspection.

  ‘Mōrena, Jack.’ It is impossible to say that Matatau sounds cheery – he is the tent’s Eeyore, after all – but he does sound happier than usual.

  Jack smacks his lips together. ‘I’m dying for a cuppa …’

  Riki throws Jack a canteen of water. Jack unscrews the top and sniffs it. ‘Argh. It’s water.’

  ‘Drink it. It will make you feel better.’

  ‘How can something so bland make me feel better?’ Jack drinks the canteen dry.

  ‘Hey, Riki,’ he says, as he throws Riki’s canteen back to him. ‘A little bird told me something interesting about you.’

  Riki looks at Matatau, who’s always trying to get him in trouble with Jack. Thankfully, he’s stopped calling him a demon – at least within earshot. Riki frowns. ‘I’m not interesting.’

  Jack laughs. ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘Burn!’ Big Mo and Little Mo say, and Riki regrets teaching them that, although it cracks him up to hear it.

  Jack and Rewai laugh. Riki wants give Jack the finger, but he’s not sure if that’s offensive yet. He turns away and pretends to tidy his bed.

  ‘Riki,’ Jack groans at him. ‘Pūweto. Stop being a ninny. Look what I got for you.’

  Riki turns around, and Jack is holding a string of sausages. ‘Happy birthday!’

  ‘Happy birthday!’ everyone except Matatau says.

  ‘How did you know it was my birthday?’

  ‘I have a mate in personnel,’ Jack says, ‘and I read the letter from your mother.’

  Sausages are perhaps the weirdest gift Riki has ever received. ‘Where did you get these?’

  ‘In the village. They are zalzett. I thought we could have a hākari for your birthday, and to say farewell to the camp.’

  ‘Where have you kept them?’ Riki wonders how long the sausages could have kept without refrigeration.

  ‘In Mata’s trunk.’

  ‘What?’ Mata says.

  ‘Think of it as your contribution to Riki’s present.’ Jack stands and opens Mata’s trunk. ‘I had to move your things: you can’t have food and clothing together,’ Jack grimaces.

  ‘Where are my things?’ Mata says.

  ‘I have put them somewhere safe.’ Jack pats the breast pocket of his shirt.

  ‘Give me back my letters!’

  Sometimes Jack likes to wind Matatau up. ‘Everything will go back after the hākari …’

  Matatau is suddenly on Jack, holding him by his tunic. It’s always surprising how quickly Matatau moves. It makes Riki think of a cobra: incredibly still until he strikes.

  ‘Give me my letters, Jack.’

  ‘Calm yourself, Mata,’ Rewai says.

  Big Mo and Little Mo take each of Matatau’s arms and try to prise him off Jack – it is difficult, even though they are big men. Matatau has that weird strength wiry guys have.

  ‘You can have your letters.’ Jack waits until Matatau’s grip has loosened, then takes the letters from his pocket and gives them to Matatau. ‘I don’t know why you’re so upset. They’re from your sister, not a sweetheart.’

  ‘How do you know who they’re from?’

  ‘I may have glanced …’

  ‘They are PRIVATE. You have no RIGHT …’

  ‘Jack,’ Rewai says. ‘You should apologise.’

  ‘They’re just letters …’

  Matatau tries to spring on Jack again, but is held back by Big Mo and Little Mo.

  Riki steps in front of Jack. ‘Hey, Mata. I’m sure Jack meant no harm …’

  ‘She didn’t even have anything interesting to say,’ Jack says.

  Matatau struggles to free his arms from the brothers’ grip.

  ‘Jack, you’re not helping,’ Rewai says. ‘Just step out of the tent for a bit …’

  ‘I’m just in my shirt and underwear.’

  ‘Well, take your uniform with you.’ Riki picks up Jack’s tunic and shorts and hands them to him. ‘We need a minute, all right?’

  ‘You’re eighteen for all of five minutes and already you’re ordering your elders around …’

  ‘Jack. Out.’ Rewai points to the tent flap, shepherding Jack out.

  Jack rolls his eyes and sighs, ‘Fine. But there will be hell to pay if I’m caught.’

  Once Jack and Rewai have gone, Matatau seems to calm down a bit.

  The Mos let Matatau go. He is still, and on the surface he looks calm.

  Riki approaches him slowly, as if he is the snake he’d imagined. Matatau keeps his eye on Riki and steps back – does he imagine Riki to be a predator too?

  ‘Listen, Mata,’ Riki says. ‘I know Jack went ahead and used your trunk without asking, but I want to thank you for storing the sausages. I think it was a nice gesture on Jack’s part to think of my birthday – and of all of us.’

  Matatau is still staring at him. Riki sighs. ‘Look. I know we’ve had a falling out, and I’m sorry for whatever I’ve done to offend you …’

  ‘Your existence offends me.’

  ‘Well, there’s not much either of us can do about that, is there? I wish I could apologise properly, but I can’t remember what happened. Can we just move on?’ Riki holds out his hand, but Matatau makes no move to shake it.

  ‘Fine.’ Riki lowers his hand. ‘You don’t want to be friends with me. But don’t be mad with Jack for too long. You’ll need mates at the front. Let’s not have bad blood over a few letters.’

  ‘It wasn’t just letters – there were other things in my trunk. Private things.’

  ‘Something worth losing a mate over?’

  Matatau doesn’t answer, and retreats to his bed – no doubt he’ll look for his bible.

  Little Mo’s stomach growls, and he looks around the tent trying to pretend it wasn’t him. ‘You guys should go to the canteen,’ Riki says to the brothers.

  Big Mo looks at his brother, then at Matatau and Riki. ‘Will you be all right?’

  Riki nods.

  Riki was right about the bible. Matatau sits on his bed and reads it as if he is trying to block out the rest of the world.

  ‘I’m going to the canteen to have a cuppa with Jack and Rewai,’ Riki says. ‘Join us if you want to.’

  But Matatau doesn’t even acknowledge Riki’s words.

  Riki goes out.


  ‘Am I in trouble with mother?’ Jack’s head appears from the flap of the tent next door.

  ‘Let’s go have a cup of tea.’

  The canteen is filling up as Riki and Jack arrive. They find a place to sit with their cup of tea and biscuit. The biscuits are too hard to eat as is. Riki drops his entire biscuit into his cup. Jack prefers the dip method. Either way, once the biscuits are soft enough to bite, it hardly seems worth the effort. They are so bland – just made of flour and salt.

  ‘Tonight, we feast like kings!’ Jack says. ‘I invited the fellows from the tent next door to our party too.’

  ‘You need to apologise to Matatau.’

  ‘I said I was sorry.’ Jack gnaws at his biscuit.

  ‘No you didn’t.’

  ‘I may not have said sorry, but I meant it.’

  ‘I think you’ll actually have to say it as well.’ Riki pokes his biscuit further down into his cup.

  ‘Whetewhete has no sense of humour,’ Jack says.

  Whetewhete. Matatau Whetewhete. There’s something about that name that’s familiar.

  ‘You shouldn’t have read his letters,’ Riki says.

  ‘I was curious to see who would write to Mata.’

  ‘It could have been anyone. It could have been his wife.’

  ‘What poor lass would marry Mata?’ Jack laughs. ‘Besides, I reckon he’s going to be a priest.’

  ‘I don’t think it was just about his letters. He said there was something else in his trunk.’

  ‘His dress uniform.’ Jack puts his hand in his pocket. ‘And this.’

  Riki looks at the object in Jack’s palm. It is a few centimetres long, and looks like a blue pebble – perhaps a river stone, since its shape is so regular. He picks it up for a closer look. It is not just a pebble; it has been carved: the top is like a beetle, and underneath there are hieroglyphs. Riki is searching for the word when Jack says it.

  ‘A scarab. This beats my little brass ring, eh?’

  ‘Where did he get this?’

  ‘Dead City, of course. Look at your face, Riki! Makes you wish you stayed curio hunting with Mata, eh?’

  Riki hands the scarab back to Jack. ‘You should put this back.’