10) Pōtiki
The Pūrerehua Player
10
Pōtiki goes back to the kūmara garden, where Nan inspects the cracked soil. “It’s so dry. If we don’t get rain soon, this year's harvest won’t be very good. Would you mind climbing Mata-i-rangi to check the clouds for me?”
Pōtiki asks, “Can it be my new job?”
Nan replies, “You never know.”
Pōtiki runs up the hill with all his might. When he returns, he immediately lies down amongst the kūmara, exhausted from the climb.
“Well, Moko?”
“They just look like clouds to me, Nan.”
“That’s a good start. What shape were they?”
“Cloud shaped?”
“Are any of them darker than the others?”
“Not really.”
“I am worried we might be in for a drought.” With care, she pulls out a mysterious box with carved patterns on it. She opens the latch, producing a flat piece of wood attached to a woven string. “This is a pūrerehua. Sometimes, with a bit of luck, it can help to call nearby rain clouds.”
“Wow, really!? Can I try it?”
“I can show you how to make your own another day. But this one has quite a lot of the old mauri woven into the string. It can be dangerous.”
The old woman holds the mysterious instrument carefully in her hands and takes slow, deep breaths. In low tones, she recites karakia. With every word, her back grows straighter, her feet fix to the ground, planting herself like a tree. She let the wooden blade drop, holding the other end of the string in both hands. Her karakia changes tempo, wooden blade spinning in place.
In a wide arc, she swings the pūrerehua above her head. The sound vibrates around them with every circle. After a moment, a light sun shower falls. Visibly tired, Nan looks smaller, like an unwatered flower.
“It’s okay, Moko, your Nan just needs a bit of kai and a wee sleep. This small shower will be around til morning. As our fire keeper, you will need to protect our fires and store the embers until the rain stops.” Nan says.
“You mean I don’t have to watch the fires tonight?”
“Kao, Moko, it would be a waste to keep the cooking fires going in the rain.”
“Yes! Thanks Nan! Here, let me help you back to the whare.”
“Such a kind boy.” He puts her arm around his shoulder and supports her along the short walk back to their home. “Put the pūrerehua in its box for me, Moko.” Nan says as an afterthought.
Pōtiki takes the magical instrument from her hands, the familiar warmth from the ancient magic.