The Bone Tree: Airana Ngarewa’s coming-of-age novel on growing up in Taranaki

Author Airana Ngarewa outside the Patea Māori Club, where his debut novel, The Bone Tree, was launched.

Airana Ngarewa (Ngāti Ruanui, Ngā Rauru, Ngāruahine) last week launched his debut novel The Bone Tree at the Pātea Māori Club in Taranaki. A coming-of-age story about two boys who lose their parents, and must find a way to survive, together alone. In an edited extract, Kauri fears for his little brother, Black, home alone.

A car passed me on the way home, going the opposite direction. A white hatchback. Brand new except a splash of dirt kicked up by its tyres. The men inside didn’t turn their heads as they rolled on by. Between this and the state of their whip, I knew they weren’t from ‘round here.

I walked a little while, wondered who the men in the hatchback were and, as a thought came upon me, I boosted it, running as fast as I could home. Those fellas were probably CYPS – all the way out here hunting down the kid. I pumped my legs and searched my head for any memory of a little passenger in the back seat but couldn’t be sure.

If CYPS found him, they would’ve taken him. No doubt in my mind. Those motherf***ers played no games. Would soon as uplift a kid as see him, barefoot, tracking through the grass and the gorse, playing by himself outside.

Sweat dripped down my face and in my eyes, blinding me, and the book tossed backwards and forwards in one hand and the paper bag in the other, the kai inside being smashed to s***. I cussed out CYPS for being CYPS and Tears for dragging me back into the city and the old man for leaving us alone and myself most of all for f***ing up again. How could I have left the kid on his lonesome? What did I think was gonna happen?

I turned down the track, almost wiping myself out as I took the corner, and slowed to a jog, scared out of my mind to see if Black was gone. Poor thing would drown in the system. Be eaten alive. The kids in there, those children of the state, their hearts have been made hard from constant wanting and their bodies have been made tough from every flavour of violence they’d suffered. And survived.

A hundred metres from the porch, I slowed to a walk, my eyes wide and my breath heavy and my legs weak. The door swung open but, blind from the sweat in my eyes, I couldn’t see inside. A shadow limped through the doorway. I stopped where I stood, clearing my vision with the sleeve of my shirt, and the shadow limped on, stepping down from the porch. I asked myself if he were real or a vision of the old man here to haunt me and the shadow answered – my vision clearing – it was little ol’ Black. I had only a second’s worth of relief before I saw Black’s foot was munted. His face twisted with pain.

My heart broke. And I wondered if the old man had ever felt ashamed. The kid stumbled forward and I went to hug him and he shook his head at me. His eyes were red with anger and he was looking at me as I’d so often looked at Dad. “You said you wouldn’t leave again, Kauri.” His voice was hoarse.

I passed the paper bag and he caught it and I hid the book behind my back.

The Bone Tree, set in Taranaki, about two boys growing up together, alone.

“Could’ve woken me,” he said. “Taken me with you.”

I nodded and continued towards the porch, stepping and skipping ditch and puddle, the damp soil mushing beneath my feet.

“You piss me off sometimes, Kau.”

“Language.”

“Piss isn’t a swear word.”

“It is to me.”

“Whatever.”

I looked the kid up and down, shaking my head at him and he did the same in turn.

“What’s up with your foot anyway?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Bro, you gonna tell me or what?”

‘”It’s nothing.”

“Nothing, my ass.”

“I just hurt it.”

“Again – or the same cut from the glass?”

“Well, you went to the city without me so ... I went to the river without you.”

“It just rained,” I growled, the blood boiling in my throat. I tasted the old man’s anger on my tongue and wondered if this is how it was with him too. If his blowing up started in some sick way with him trying to keep us safe – both me and the old lady.

“What else was I gonna do – sit in the house all day by myself?”

I ran my hands down my face, calming myself down – knowing my blowing up would hurt more than it helped.

“When I got back, it just started hurting.”

“You get mud in it?” That’s what Mum would’ve asked.

“Nah. I think it’s just from all the jumping.”

“You sure?”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. You broke the rules first. You went to the corner dairy without me.”

Mum taught us never to go in the water after it rained. It carries all kinds of crap – literal crap and fertiliser and effluent – from the farms and dumps it in the tide. Swallow enough of that stuff and you’re as good as gone. No clue what happens when it gets in cuts. I guess we were about to find out.

The Bone Tree, by Airana Ngarewa (Moa Press, $37.99), is out now.