Huia Short Stories 11

see something white in the background, which sounds like the descriptions of a mountain. The crew are overjoyed, but then suddenly my dream switches. The waka taurua is smashed to pieces, just wreckage floating on the surface of the ocean.’
    â€˜Did they make it to shore?’ Taiki asked.
    â€˜They must have. They’re on shore standing in line and waving at me, but I don’t know if they are waving for help, or waving me away.’
    â€˜How many are there?’ he asked. Haani closed her eyes briefly and thought for a moment.
    â€˜Eight, but one is a child. Is it possible there’s a child with them?’
    Doom crept over Taiki’s face as he thought about Inewehi. His appetite was suddenly gone. He pushed the bowl of food away and stood up.
    â€˜You know where I am if anyone needs me.’
    Haani watched as he walked off, certain he was going to the wharenui.
    As Taiki walked along the beach trying to make sense of his dreams, he paused and looked across the Rakahanga lagoon to the islands on the northern end. These islands they called home were miniscule, so flat there were no points of land higher than the top of even the smallest coconut palm. There were no rivers, no hills, no waterfalls and no mountains. If he hadn’t been to the island of Tumu-te-varovaro as a young man, he wouldn’t believe such things existed anywhere. Nevertheless, even though he’d been lucky enough to experience these things in person, the sheer magnitude of the mountain in his dream placed it firmly in the realm of fantasy. A mountain coloured pure white, like the inside of a coconut, just made no sense.
    Ignoring the mountain in his dream for a moment, Taiki thought about the island at its base instead. Its dimensions were inconceivable to anyone from the smaller Rakahanga islands. Here, any man could swim across the lagoon and back without trouble, even if he swum the longest stretch from north to south. A boy could paddle a waka ama around all of the six islands that surrounded Rakahanga Lagoon in half a day, as long as he stayed within the reef. Even a child could run from where Taiki was standing now to the ocean side of the island and back, with five breaths.
    What they called home was in fact a tiny collection of puny islands in the midst of Moana-roa. If this island in his dream, which the navigators called Avaiki-tautau, really did exist, it certainly justified the journey Arepuni undertook.
    Unfortunately, as soon as he thought about the crew, the part of his dream that disturbed him more than fascinated him reappeared. A child was with them.
    Full of guilt, he shook his head and continued on.
    As Taiki arrived out front of the wharenui, his eyes were drawn to the carved figure atop the central post, carved in memory of Arepuni and his peaceful nature, his most admirable quality. Daily it inspired Taiki to lead the way he did. He wondered whether Arepuni would be proud of him if he was still alive. He took a long deep breath and made his way through the door.
    Lately, his daily routine was to come here and sit with his back against the poutokomanawa and let the carvings speak to him in dreams. It often helped, but not always. Sometimes the guilt was unbearable, and he chose to reminisce about the construction of the wharenui. It was the first thing built after the cyclone twenty years ago, as an emergency measure for the twelve families that survived. With everyone’s help, the carvers finished it in less than two days. Initially they just stood the posts and completed the roof. This served as shelter until each family’s new whare was built, waka ama were constructed and gardens replanted. Slowly life returned to normality. It was accepted that Arepuni and his crew were never returning, but instead of pulling the wharenui down, it was immortalised in ceremony as a sacred place, and improved. Carvings representing each crew member were erected, intricate woven wall panels depicting