Hana looked him up and down. “So you became a cop to teach the Maoris to walk straight?
“No. To see that they don’t walk where they shouldn’t.”
“You never did know where to position yourself.”
“We all do what we can.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.”
“No, it’s sad.”
“It comes to the same thing.”
Her black hair was streaming over her shoulders, covered in sea spray. She started to smile, but the smile turned melancholy and drowned in the water. They both fell silent.
The freighter sailed past Cape Colville, greeted the seagulls at Port Jackson, and cut through the stronger waves in the Channel. A colony of terns overtook them. Paul and Hana continued standing there by the guardrail. Shaken by the heavy swell, the little Chinese kids had finally gone back to the bench where their parents, who were starting to look green, were putting away the cameras.
“What about you?” he resumed. “Why were you away so long?”
“To learn.”
“Learn what? Ethnology? The Maoris live here, not in Europe.
“I wanted to know the world of the pakehas before I came back,” she said. “I wanted to learn their mauri30 the better to defend ours.
“Defend it against what?
Hana threw him one of her fiery looks. “You Westerners probably think that primitive peoples are crushed by the dominant culture, in other words, your culture, but we haven’t disappeared. Not only do we continue to think without you, we continue to think about you. I left for Europe to get your degrees and try to modify your approach to humanity, your famous social sciences, force the discipline to change, transform your domineering attitude and oblige you to speak about us as partners in the modern world rather than have us conform to your model of civilization.” She was becoming heated now. “Civilization! How many times do we have to say this? You conquered native peoples in the same spirit as a trainer taming a wild animal. Your explorers, your great discoverers, your so-called heroes not only plundered our economic resources but also our art, our very culture! Your museums are full of our most sacred possessions. You stole our history, our languages, our customs, and imposed your way of life, your religion, your culture, your puerile antics, what you call your values. Oh yes!” She was radiant with anger. “Let’s talk about your values! The right to exploit everything all the time even if that means emptying the earth of its substance, of its life. The right to enslave anyone who doesn’t conform to your famous criteria. How many times do you need to be told?” Big tears were rolling down her cheeks now, and her voice dropped to a murmur. “What you don’t understand is that violence . . . violence . . . How many more times . . . In what language . . . ”
Paul shuddered. Hana was sobbing quietly beside him, bent over the guardrail, and he didn’t dare take her in his arms, for fear of ruining everything. Was it her grandmother’s death that had brought her to this state?
“What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “That depends on a lot of things. Including you.”
She had quickly dried her tears. Paul was motionless beside her, although he was shaking inside.
“The break is coming,” she said.
“What break?”
“Between pakehas and Maoris.”
“It isn’t a break we need,” he said. “We need to learn how to live together.”
“Live together?” Hana said. “You’re thinking like a white man, Paul. If the only way you want us to live is in a state of alienation from your system, then you can keep your system. We don’t want any of it anymore: your system, your society, your laws. The world is slowly dying, but we won’t die like that. No, not like that . . . ”
Hana was no longer gritting her teeth. Now she seemed to be dreaming of happy endings. Plagued with doubts, Paul remained silent.
A tourist plane flew over the freighter and lowered its wing in greeting, but, with the condition of the sea, even the Chinese didn’t have the heart to wave back anymore.
They threw up as they passed the Coromandel Peninsula. In the distance, Great Barrier was looming out of the heat haze. Larger than Bali, but with a population of little more than a thousand, the island of Great Barrier was a curious compromise between nature and civilization.
At one time, filled with green ideals, the government had instituted a scheme to encourage farmers to settle on that jagged land mass. Those who had migrated there had tried to cultivate the stony slopes plunging into the sea, razing the bush and sowing seeds, but all to no avail. The slopes were so steep that only the most stubborn roots could cling to them. The farmers had left, giving way to a marginalized but easygoing population, and the only plant that deigned to grow in that earth, apart from couch grass, was cannabis. The rest of the population consisted of managing directors or merchants disillusioned with the market economy and/or their wives, who would come there at weekends to recharge their batteries with a fishing trip and a few crates of beer. But this influx tended to concentrate on a few converted sites near the port of Tryphena, leaving the rest of the island as virgin soil, crisscrossed only by a few hiking trails. Beyond those trails, there was nothing but almost impenetrable bush, cliffs tumbling into the sea, and a few white sandy beaches much prized by surfers.
“You still haven’t told me what we’re doing here,” Hana said.
“No.”
The freighter had just dropped anchor in the bay.
“As mysterious as ever.”
“You’re the one who disappears at every opportunity,” he retorted, “not me.”
Hana smiled slightly. The captain was advising the passengers to get back to their vehicles.
“Let’s go.”
The little port of Tryphena, with its clear waters, nestled between verdant valleys. The Chinese kids had gotten their color back. On the landing stage, half a dozen natives were waiting for a relative, a friend, or a few scarce commodities. A bit farther on, kids in filthy T-shirts played barefoot. Paul and Hana got in the old Dodge.
“Why did you buy this old crock?” she asked.
“Because of the wheel.”
Without a cover, it looked fairly ridiculous. They followed the blacktop as far as the village of Claris, the last bastion of civilization before the steep forest began. They passed a lodge, a few farms down a dusty track, and plunged into the bush.
Paul zigzagged to avoid the roots. The dense vegetation had invaded the road, giant broccoli rooted in the earth. Soon, nature enveloped them. They drove on, raising a cloud of smoke and insects swallowed by passing blue piwakawakas. They reached a first summit, from which they could see the turquoise waters of Rangiwhakaea Bay, and set off toward it, due north.
