Dreamboat Dad Read Online Free Page B

then back at him and say, how many times do I have to tell you, I
never give the past a thought? It's behind us.
    Henry would say, oh, yes you do. Just that he's dead. But if he was
alive?
    If he walked into this house, Henry, I'd tell him to get out. He's dead,
like I wish the subject was. How long you going to hold a grudge? And
didn't you sleep with anyone when you were away?
    He'd say, you were a married woman. How could you do this?
    She'd say, why don't we cut the talk and you just hit me?
    And Henry would march up to her, teeth gritted, fists bunched. You
humiliated me. I'm a respected man and you humiliated me.
    I've said sorry over and over. Just do it, Henry. But not in front of the
kids. Please?
    His finger would prod her chest — hard. You did your slut thing
while your own kid was back here being looked after by your parents. Did
you think about my daughter?
    Kids, go to bed.
    Mata would beg her father, please, Dad? Please don't hurt Mum. I
love you, Dad.
    Go to bed, I said.
    We'd hear him yelling. The thump of her being struck, slammed
against the wall. We'd hear Mata and Wiki's names yelled at him. But
never mine. I wanted to hear my name spoken, to feel I existed too as
someone who breathed and talked. But Mum never spoke my name to
Henry and nor did he utter it. I got guilty that when he beat Mum it was
my fault. I'd cry in private, as a boy crying in front of anyone is shameful.
Weeping with guilt that my very existence was a permanent reason for
harm done to my mother.
    But mostly, once I learned to see it more objectively, Henry was a
passive man who truly loved his daughters. He was very popular in the
village, people looked up to him. I wondered why he didn't toss me and
Mum out, get another wife, rid of me.
    I heard him say to Mum, there is not a day in my life I am not reminded
of what you did with that Yank piece of shit, and his damn kid living with
us.
    I wanted to rush out and say, my father is not a piece of shit — you are.
Where will Mum and I live — in a cave?
    I heard Mum tell Mata, because she was older, that Henry tortured
himself about what happened. Mata said tell me about it. Us while he's
at it. I'm sick of it, Mum. You didn't murder anyone. You gave life to my
brother.
    A brother who liked hearing that. Loved her too.
    He did a lot of work for the village, at no charge. He said responsibility
was thrust upon him by the elders and he must live up to it. I wondered
if they minded him hitting my mother several times a year. Guess they
didn't, probably hit their own wives. A lot of men did. Did the villagers
know Henry never spoke a word to me? Probably wouldn't care, he was
their favourite son.
    Henry was in a constant battle with the town council and with the
government for taking Waiwera land and, to add salt to the wound, taking
most of the entry fee charged to tourists. He called it arrogance of white
people.
    At the hotel he fought with trouble-maker patrons. They said he'd
never lost a fight, but never did he pick them. Which made me proud,
even though he didn't like me. Something about an undefeated man that
stirs a boy, even if man and boy don't talk.
    Mum and Henry didn't talk a lot either. Though Mata said obviously
with Wiki being born they must do the other. Only meant something
when I found out what the other was. And then I felt like throwing up.
Manu's birth when I was nine felt like a generation between us. Soon I
was old enough to imagine the act that created him and I was disgusted.
How could my mum let Henry? Or did he force himself on her?
    But my life was a joy compared with my best pal Chud's. Which was
what my mother kept reminding me of: there are others worse off no
matter what your situation is.

CHAPTER SIX
    FROM MERITA'S VERANDAH I CALL out to the few local humans below: Shamed warriors who have been captured and enslaved, I own you!
    Slaves! Former warriors who took capture rather than honourable death, so shall
you bury our sewage, do the heavy tasks. I