Familial Love Theme Analysis

“A girl,” Grandfather, Koro Apirana, said, disgusted. “I will have nothing to do with her. She has broken the male line of descent in our tribe.” He shoved the telephone at our grandmother, Nanny Flowers, saying, “Here. It’s your fault. Your female side was too strong.” Then he pulled on his boots and stomped out of the house.

“Never mind, girl,” she said to baby Kahu. “Your birth cord is here. No matter where you may go, you will always return. You will never be lost to us.” Then I marveled at her wisdom and Rehua’s in naming the child in our genealogy and the joining of her to our lands.

When a child is growing up somewhere else, you can’t see the small signs that mark her out as different, someone with a destiny. As I have said before, we were all looking somewhere else.

“Will we be ready?” he asked. “Will we have prepared the people to cope with the new challenges and the new technology? And will they still be Maori?” I could tell that the last question was weighing heavily on his mind. In this respect we both recognized that the answer lay in Koro Apirana’s persistence with the school sessions, for he was one of the very few who could pass on the sacred knowledge. Our Koro was like an old whale stranded in an alien present, but that was how it was supposed to be, because he also had his role in the pattern of things, in the tides of the future.

“E nga rangatira,” Kahu began, “e nga iwi”—she looked at Koro Apirana’s empty seat—“tena koutou, tena koutou, tena koutou katoa.” There were stars in her eyes, like sparkling tears. “Distinguished guests, members of the audience, my speech is a speech of love for my grandfather, Koro Apirana.”

Nanny Flowers gave a sob, and tears began to flow down her cheeks.

“Which of the boys?” he gasped in grief. “Which of the—”

Nanny Flowers was pointing out to sea. Her face was filled with emotion as she cried out to Kahu. The old man understood. He raised his arms as if to claw down the sky upon him.

“You’re right, dear, you’re right.”

“I’m always right, you old paka, and—”

Suddenly Kahu gave a long sigh. Her eyebrows began to knit as if she was thinking of something.

“You two are always arguing,” she breathed.

“I fell off the whale. If I were a boy, I would have held on tight. I’m sorry, Paka, I’m not a boy.”

The old man cradled Kahu in his arms, partly because of emotion and partly because he didn’t want those big ears out there to hear their big chief crying.

“You’re the best great-grandchild in the whole wide world,” he said. “Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter.”

“Really, Paka?” Kahu gasped.