rock down there? That’s Kamakamaru, and a man called Turi Buck lives in a house just on the other side. I should have seen him before now but I’ve been too bloody busy.’
McGill hung his backpack on a convenient post outside Turi Buck’s house. ‘Better not take that inside. The ice would melt.’
Ballard knocked on the door which was opened by a girl of about fourteen, a Maori girl with a cheerful smile. ‘I’m looking for Turi Buck.’
‘Wait a minute,’ she said and disappeared, and he heard her voice raised. ‘Grandpa, there’s someone to see you.’
Presently Turi appeared. Ballard was a little shocked at what he saw; Turi’s hair was a frizzled grey and his face was seamed and lined like a water-eroded hillside. There was no recognition in his brown eyes as he said, ‘Anything I can do for you?’
‘Not a great deal, Turi,’ said Ballard. ‘Don’t you remember me?’
Turi stepped forward, coming out of the doorway and into the light. He frowned and said uncertainly, ‘I don’t …, my eyesight’s not as good as … Ian?’
‘Your eyesight is not so bad,’ said Ballard.
‘Ian!’ said Turi in delight. ‘I heard you were back – you should have come to see me sooner. I thought you had forgotten.’
‘Work, Turi; the work comes first – you taught me that. This is my friend, Mike McGill.’
Turi beamed at them. ‘Well, come in; come in.’
He led them into the house and into a room familiar to Ballard. Over the great fieldstone fireplace was the wapiti head with its great spread of antlers, and a wood fire burned beneath it. On the walls were the wood carvings inlaid with paua shell shimmering iridescently. The greenstone mere – the Maori war axe – was still there and, in pride of place, Turi’s whakapapa stick, his most prized possession, very intricately carved and which gave his ancestry.
Ballard looked around. ‘Nothing has changed.’
‘Not here,’ said Turi.
Ballard nodded towards the window. ‘A lot of change out there, though, I didn’t recognize the valley.’
Turi sighed. ‘Too much change – too quickly. But where have you been, Ian?’
‘A lot of places. All over the world.’
‘Sit down,’ said Turi. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘Tell me about yourself first. Did that beautiful young lady call you “Grandpa”?’
‘I am a grandfather five times now.’ Turi’s shoulders shook. ‘My sons are men and all married. Both my daughters are mothers.’
‘Tawhaki,’ said Ballard. ‘How is Tawhaki?’ He had been Ballard’s playmate as a child and a constant companion as he grew older.
‘He does well,’ said Turi. ‘He went to the University of Otago and took a good degree.’
‘In what?’
Turi laughed. ‘In economics. Imagine a Maori knowing about economics. He has a post in the Department of Finance in Auckland. I don’t see him often.’
‘You must give me his address. I’ll look him up when next I’m in Auckland.’ Ballard saw Turi regarding McGill with interest. ‘Mike, here, is very interested in snow. He’s so interested he’s going to Antarctica later in the year.’
Turi’s seamed face broke into a grim smile. ‘Then there’s something for you here, Mike. We have a lot of snow; more than I can remember since 1943.’
‘So I’ve seen.’
Ballard went to the window. On the other side of the valley the cedar branches drooped heavily under the weight of snow. He turned, and said, ‘What happened to the trees on the west slope, Turi?’
‘Above the mine?’
‘Yes,’ said Ballard. ‘That slope has been stripped.’
McGill became alert. ‘The slope used to be timbered?’
Turi nodded and then shrugged. ‘When they put in the mine they wanted props. Kahikatea make good mine props.’ He looked up. ‘The Petersons own that land; they made a good profit.’
‘I bet they did,’ said Ballard.
‘Your mother shouldn’t have sold it to them.’ Turi clasped his hands. ‘Then they blasted out the stumps and put the land down to grass for hay. They run cattle on the river flats; Herefords for beef and a few dairy cows. That’s also become profitable now the town has grown.’
Ballard said, ‘Didn’t anybody think of what would happen when the snow came?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Turi. ‘I did.’
‘Didn’t you say anything? Didn’t you object when they put up the mine building? When they built the township?’
‘I objected. I objected very loudly. But the Petersons were louder. Who would listen to an old man?’ His lips twisted. ‘Especially one with a brown skin.’
Ballard snorted and looked at McGill who said slowly, ‘The stupid bastards! The stupid, greedy bastards!’ He looked about the room and then at Turi. ‘When did you come to the valley, Mr Buck?’
‘My name is Turi, and I was born here.’ He smiled. ‘New Year’s Day, 1900. I’m as old as the century.’
‘Who built the house?’
‘My father built it in about 1880, I think. It was built on the site of my grandfather’s house.’
‘And when was that built?’
Turi shrugged. ‘I don’t know. My people have lived here a long time.’
McGill nodded. ‘Did your father give any reason for building on the same site? Under this big rock?’
Turi answered obliquely. ‘He said that anyone building in Hukahoronui must take precautions.’
‘He knew what he was talking about.’ McGill turned to Ballard. ‘I’d like to test those samples pretty quickly. And I’d like to come back to talk to you, Turi, if I may?’
‘You must both come back. Come to supper and meet a couple of my grandchildren.’
As Turi accompanied them to the door Ballard said, ‘You don’t think much of the mine, do you, Turi?’
‘Too many changes,’ he said, and shook his head wryly. ‘We now have a supermarket.’
‘You know I’m in charge of the mine now – and I don’t like it much, either. But I think my reasons are different. You’re going to see more changes, Turi, but these I think you’ll like.’
Turi thumped him gently
