Tiger Tiger Chickening Nights
”There he goes. He’s hiding here, the bastard.” came the voice from nowhere on a summer’s full moon night in Manurewa. Followed by another: “Yes…Yes. I can see him. He’s here”. South Auckland was filled with angry shouts and screams just near my window. I woke up with a start and actually broke into cold sweat. I was sure it was me they were searching for. I could not move lest I was seen. I stayed paralysed for an eternity of fifteen minutes. I was sweating all this time. My pillow had gone damp.
I always fancied myself as a bit of a tiger and a brave-heart. Talking of brave-hearts I always maintained that Maoris have a big heart. In the summer of 2002, sometime in November just before I moved in with my ‘Pakeha’ girlfriend, I stayed at a Maori mate’s house. Wakena was returning me an old favor. Waky (as I called him) and me hadn’t always been friends. Sometimes I knew for a fact that if he wasn’t a Christian, he would have killed me.
We were working at the warehouse of The Warehouse (where everyone gets a red bargain) at Wiri. That day, as I was moving the bottles out of the dispatch trail, I suddenly saw a big Maori fella leaning over me. His face was totally tattooed. He looked at me with what I thought were kind eyes, for someone with tattoo for facial skin. He proclaimed, “He is coming.” I knew this was an abstract statement and didn’t bother to look around for ‘who’ is ‘he’. I just smiled at him and he said, “Isu is coming”. I knew Isu was Indian for Jesus and I said, “Oh, that’s nice”. After a cross-fire of banter we became friends.
The Clendon ward was surprised to see an Indian and a Maori as friends. “A lot of people are surprise to see a Maori walk with an Indian but you are in many ways like me…not easily intimidated.” Wakena said. I was ‘wow’ as I looked at the tattoo-faced seriousness. I just nodded in a cool-sort-of-a-cowboy-knows-his-way-across-the-sunset way. I was dreaming of other imaginary glories like taking a hat trick, making love to Irene etc. as I dozed off.
That day I decided to retire early since it was a Friday night and I had nothing to do after the spicy Pau Bhaji I had made for the family. Waky is the only guy in the entire world that can eat the spice I dish out.
It had been a tiresome week and I was still intrigued by how close the state houses were. From my window I could see the lesbian women’s ‘living in sodomy’ house. They were the butt of every church going Mormon’s joke in that clammed neighborhood. I could see three other houses. I was thinking of the compliment Wakena had paid me as we were walking home besides his bicycle, Yeah, yeah…the same brave heart one. I was slow-motioning the walk on tar road and relishing the moment; the sun was setting on the green hills as I was re-runnning the compliment.
I fell asleep and was soon dreaming. Ancient Mongolians were attacking the enemy on the green fields that stretched on and on. Then it happened.
At two I heard voices and screams. “There is the bastard”. “He’s hiding here.” “Catch him.” I gasped, did not dare to turn the lights of the ghetto house, since I slept in the nude. “Fuck… why did I ever come to stay here. They were after me!” I was scared shitless. I heard another set of footsteps in the house, running everywhere on the wooden house…through the green toilet that had floating toys in the bath tub around my room and towards Waky’s room. My room did not have a latch as I inched my way after a good twenty minutes, frantically ducking from the window line of vision.
I was searching for my faded wranglers in the dark. Under the small single bed..no. Besides my cotton sheet that kept me from itching in the night…no. Hung on the old oil heater. I was crouching tiger – gutless dragon. I found it. Was on the floor on my back wearing it. Luckily no one opened my door. After about fifteen minute of abject commotion, I stared out of my small, sneaky window (that opened only half an inch for oxygen). All the lights in the neighbourhood were ablaze. I decided to venture out into the lounge. My manhood was at stake. Remember, I was the guy who could not get intimidated.
I looked at the whanau. They were all untouched by this violent night, where punches and screams were thrown in for the added interest. Waky was trying to start someone’s car. I did not speak just looked around and ensured that I was safe.
I even boldly went up to Waky and said, “Hey! What happened?”
Waky shrugged off “Oh a fight in the neighborhood.”
I smiled at Kathy “That happens?”
“Oh! All the time.”
Now my curiosity took precedence over my fear that I hid rather well. Ok so what’s happening? I ventured nearer to the gate and saw lots of cars and Police lights and Waky driving the car a fair bit. I did not completely risk going out. What if someone says, “What’s this bloody Indian doing here?” And, suddenly everyone realizes his point and starts smashing me. But hey! I had proved that I was brave inside. So there! It was time to sleep.
I later put all the fragmented pieces of information together and realized that there was a party happening in the cream house besides the Lesbian Villa and someone got drunk and mistook someone else’s wife for his. Actually he just molested her. And hell broke loose. The culprit ran through the backyard into our house and ran through the door. Whew! That was a close shave. These New Zealanders didn’t they ever bolt their doors? I had generalized till I saw how meticulously Emma turned the alarm and bolted the every little window in the house.
My stay at Wakena’s house was fairly comfortable but I was awakened by Mormon readings of the Bible in tongues from the other room. I did enjoy chips dipped in white sauce. Waky loved my curry. However, one morning when I heard Waky and Kathy fighting over ‘how he’s not interested in touching her’. I realized that I was a mouse not a fgiery warrior. I decided it was time to pack.
I did not mind them occasionally turning my God’s picture frame face-side-down because they were sure it was the Devil. But, when husband and wife start fighting, it is time to leave. So I am not brave. But I’m alive and what’s more everyone thinks I’m James Bond himself.
