stirrups, surcingles, shoes, rasps, nails â and a big bin of apples they tipped out for the starving animals.
Patrick cast a practised eye over the six horses and chose three he thought would be suitable, shoeing them with an expert ease. Sean watched carefully while he worked and slowly became aware of a huge horse standing beside him, watching too, like he was sharing Seanâs interest. His mane was shaggy and dreadlocked. He had âTZ Nirmâ branded on his neck. The apples were making him fart, great gassy Braeburn billows that filled the shed where they were working and made Patrick laugh.
âI think he likes you,â he said. âHeâs getting all emotional.â
When they mounted the three horses and rode down the drive they heard hooves following and turned around. There was their flatulent friend, a determined look about him, clearly not about to be left behind. So they stopped and Patrick shod him too. As soon as Patrick was finished, the horse walked over and stood by Sean. Sean looked at him, took the saddle off the first horse, saddled his new friend and mounted. Sure enough, he trotted like a water-filled balloon, but it didnât really matter.
He had a comfortable amble that suited both of them, even if they did lag behind on their way back to the school.
Sean named him Bojangles, Bojay for short. Bojay and Hamu disliked each other on sight. Bojay resented Hamuâs freedom and every chance he got heâd try to stand on Hamu. On the other hand, Hamu resented Bojayâs ability to eat anything green. Once, when he thought nobody was looking, Sean found Hamu trying to eat grass, his doggy face twisted with the bitter taste and what looked like utter disbelief.
They spent a week getting used to each other, most of the time with Bojay learning not to throw Sean when he fired his sawn-off from the saddle. Finally, Sean couldnât put off his departure any longer. Heâd never been so torn about anything. He wanted to stay with his friends, but he was getting that early spring itch when the weather warms and the plants bud. He felt suffocated, and finally it was Jim who gave him the push he needed.
âBugger off,â he said. âBut send us a postcard if itâs any good where youâre going.â
Sean knew he wouldnât find anywhere better, but that wasnât why he was going and everyone seemed to know that. They made him gifts of a saddle-blanket, a tarpaulin with cord and rubber ties, and a tomahawk. Ralph came shyly up to him and handed him a book; Pablo Nerudaâs poems, stamped inside the front cover âProperty of Ngahere HS Libraryâ.
âYou can return it next time youâre passing through,â he said, laughing and pretending not to notice Seanâs watery eyes.
The night before Sean left they had a feast in the dining hall â no drink or dak, but speeches, songs, and plenty of tears. His resolve was seriously shaken and all the questions heâd been asking himself resurfaced: Was he going too soon? Did he have to leave at all? Was a dream a good enough reason? Cally helped him through that one.
âYes, you do have to go,â she told him. âBut donât worry. Iâll come and find you when Iâm older.â
He didnât doubt it. The next morning, when he kissed and hongiâd a line-up of about forty people, Cally and Hemi were at the end.
âDonât forget,â she said. âWeâll find you.â
6
RIDING THROUGH WHANGAREI gave the place a very different aspect. Sean thought heâd seen it all when heâd driven through with Mike, Puru and Kevin, but high up on Bojay, and moving at his unhurried walk, everything looked completely different. It wasnât just a better view of the old order breaking down. Sean saw the emergence of something entirely new, something very strange and scary too.
Thousands of dead bodies stunk in the spring warmth. Roadside verges
Patrick cast a practised eye over the six horses and chose three he thought would be suitable, shoeing them with an expert ease. Sean watched carefully while he worked and slowly became aware of a huge horse standing beside him, watching too, like he was sharing Seanâs interest. His mane was shaggy and dreadlocked. He had âTZ Nirmâ branded on his neck. The apples were making him fart, great gassy Braeburn billows that filled the shed where they were working and made Patrick laugh.
âI think he likes you,â he said. âHeâs getting all emotional.â
When they mounted the three horses and rode down the drive they heard hooves following and turned around. There was their flatulent friend, a determined look about him, clearly not about to be left behind. So they stopped and Patrick shod him too. As soon as Patrick was finished, the horse walked over and stood by Sean. Sean looked at him, took the saddle off the first horse, saddled his new friend and mounted. Sure enough, he trotted like a water-filled balloon, but it didnât really matter.
He had a comfortable amble that suited both of them, even if they did lag behind on their way back to the school.
Sean named him Bojangles, Bojay for short. Bojay and Hamu disliked each other on sight. Bojay resented Hamuâs freedom and every chance he got heâd try to stand on Hamu. On the other hand, Hamu resented Bojayâs ability to eat anything green. Once, when he thought nobody was looking, Sean found Hamu trying to eat grass, his doggy face twisted with the bitter taste and what looked like utter disbelief.
They spent a week getting used to each other, most of the time with Bojay learning not to throw Sean when he fired his sawn-off from the saddle. Finally, Sean couldnât put off his departure any longer. Heâd never been so torn about anything. He wanted to stay with his friends, but he was getting that early spring itch when the weather warms and the plants bud. He felt suffocated, and finally it was Jim who gave him the push he needed.
âBugger off,â he said. âBut send us a postcard if itâs any good where youâre going.â
Sean knew he wouldnât find anywhere better, but that wasnât why he was going and everyone seemed to know that. They made him gifts of a saddle-blanket, a tarpaulin with cord and rubber ties, and a tomahawk. Ralph came shyly up to him and handed him a book; Pablo Nerudaâs poems, stamped inside the front cover âProperty of Ngahere HS Libraryâ.
âYou can return it next time youâre passing through,â he said, laughing and pretending not to notice Seanâs watery eyes.
The night before Sean left they had a feast in the dining hall â no drink or dak, but speeches, songs, and plenty of tears. His resolve was seriously shaken and all the questions heâd been asking himself resurfaced: Was he going too soon? Did he have to leave at all? Was a dream a good enough reason? Cally helped him through that one.
âYes, you do have to go,â she told him. âBut donât worry. Iâll come and find you when Iâm older.â
He didnât doubt it. The next morning, when he kissed and hongiâd a line-up of about forty people, Cally and Hemi were at the end.
âDonât forget,â she said. âWeâll find you.â
6
RIDING THROUGH WHANGAREI gave the place a very different aspect. Sean thought heâd seen it all when heâd driven through with Mike, Puru and Kevin, but high up on Bojay, and moving at his unhurried walk, everything looked completely different. It wasnât just a better view of the old order breaking down. Sean saw the emergence of something entirely new, something very strange and scary too.
Thousands of dead bodies stunk in the spring warmth. Roadside verges
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