The Bone Tiki Read Free Page B

traditional Maori greeting. Mat found himself pressing noses with an array of dark wizened faces, some rheumy and shaking, some hard-looking and grim, most smiling and warm-eyed. He followed his father andnoticed the respect and deference they all gave him, and felt a little pride in that.
    When they reached the end of the line of elders, they were free to mingle with everyone else. Tama tapped Mat on the shoulder. ‘I need to see some people. Don’t go far. I want you to meet someone. Be back at the gate in twenty minutes.’
    ‘OK,’ said Mat, as he slid out of his father’s grip. He could see Riki standing by a fence on his own, sucking on a stem of grass. He slouched over in his direction. His dad called something after him, but Mat pretended not to have heard.
    Riki was a lanky dark-skinned youth, the same age as Mat but a head and shoulders taller. He took nothing seriously and the teachers either loathed or despaired of him, but he always looked after Mat when it came to the big stuff.
    Riki pushed his wavy long hair out of his eyes and grinned. ‘Hey, Bro.’
    ‘Hi. What’s happening?’
    ‘Nothing much. You’ve missed all the wailing and singing. Most of the guys are down by the back field, helping open up the hangi. You hungry?’
    Mat’s mouth watered. The thought of fresh hangi food was enough to set a huge rumble off in his belly. Then he paused. ‘I should, you know, go and see Nanny Wai.’
    ‘Oh yeah. I’ll come along if you like. Make sure you don’t faint.’
    Mat looked to see if Riki was teasing.
    Riki had a determinedly serious look on his face. ‘Deadbodies can do that for some guys, eh. They get the jitters and start shaking, then—whomp—they just pass out.’
    Mat decided he was being teased. ‘Uh-huh. Anyone in particular?’
    ‘Some of the girls.’
    Mat frowned, ‘I can handle it, I’m not a girl.’
    ‘True,’ nodded Riki. ‘Although you play rugby like one,’ he added slyly.
    Mat flicked him a rude finger, they grinned at each other and sauntered off toward the meeting house.
    The entrance to the main meeting house, the whare runanga, was lined with carvings, like gargoyles on old English churches, there to protect from evil spirits. Somehow, in the odd light of this cloudy, sun-streaked day, they tingled with energy. Elders hunched past, greeting each other gravely, casting warning glances at any teenagers making a noise. These elders would have known Nanny Wai. Mat ducked his head, and shuffled into the meeting house beside Riki.
    Inside it was dimly lit—a long rectangle with central pillars and carved panels in red and black. Stylised images of gods and serpentine taniwha with leering eyes and twisted claws crawled over the pillars. A low moaning funeral song, a waiata tangi, filled the hall, lending it a weird, ghost-ridden feeling. The air was musty and damp. The carvings seemed to blink and turn as Mat looked at them. The waiata came from an old woman, huddled in a richly feathered cloak, sitting beside the central pillar. But what drew Mat’s eye was the casket, on a table at the far end, where people gathered about the blanket-covered body of Nanny Wai. Mat swallowed asour rush of spittle in his mouth. He’d seen dead people before, at other funerals, and he could never explain to himself what it was that he didn’t like about them. Maybe it was the emptiness, where life had been. Maybe the thought that death was somehow contagious. Or perhaps it was that one day he’d be like this too, laid out on a slab. He shivered involuntarily, wondering where that thought came from.
    Mat and Riki shuffled through the old people to the table. Mat saw Aunty Hinemoa standing beside the head of the table, her hand stroking Nanny Wai’s hair. She was short and plump, and always talked in a sing-song way, as though whoever she was addressing was six years old. He always felt embarrassed around her, felt she hadn’t noticed he’d grown up now, but she was kind. He