Kate followed his gaze but couldn’t see her grandmother, only the open door and a flutter of a curtain. Yet the expression on his face had changed. It had tightened like her grandmother’s did sometimes when she’d seen something which had shocked her, like when she’d found Tamati collapsed on the floor. But she couldn’t see any fear in this man’s eyes. They were bright and his mouth was open as if he were about to call out. But he didn’t say anything.
She looked away. It seemed rude to look at him while his expression was so vulnerable, so private — and she didn’t like to be rude.
‘Who’s singing?’ he asked at last.
‘Grandma Ngaire.’
‘And does she sing often?’
‘All the time!’ laughed Kate. ‘Mum always says she’s too happy by far.’ Then her laughter faded as she thought of her mother’s less happy temperament.
‘Right,’ he said faintly. ‘Right,’ again, this time a little stronger. ‘And your mother? What’s her name?’
‘Hope.’
‘Hope. Hm, that’s my sister’s name.’
She turned to him with a smile. ‘Is it?’
‘Yes. I loved her very much. She died during the war.’
The war. Kate had heard so much about the war and it bored her. Why grown ups were so interested in something that happened in history, she didn’t know.
‘I guess…’ he said. She waited for him to continue. ‘That your mum wouldn’t know about the war.’
She shrugged, not understanding the question.
‘I mean… she must have been born, when, in 1946?’
Again she shrugged. She didn’t know what year her mum was born. But at least she now understood the question. ‘Mum had her birthday last week. Grandma Ngaire put 20 candles on the cake!’ Kate laughed as she remembered her grandmother joining two cakes together to make a space big enough for the candles.
‘December 1946, then,’ confirmed the stranger. ‘Does she have blonde hair like you.’
‘Yes! How did you know?’
‘Just a guess.’
‘Grandpa Tamati teases us that we’re changelings because everyone else has dark hair.’ She frowned. She didn’t like to be teased. ‘But we’re not.’
‘Of course you’re not. There will be someone in your family with blonde hair because that’s how the science works.’
Kate was silent because she didn’t know what science was but she knew the man was trying to be kind. Suddenly Grandma Ngaire began singing a different song.
The stranger closed his eyes. ‘I think I know that song. It sounds sad. What’s it called?’
‘Pokarekare Ana.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ he said in such a low voice that it seemed to merge with the wind and low roar of the sea.
Kate continued in silence, putting the finishing touches to the marae, retrieving the small carvings from her pocket, and placing them at the entrance. She sat back on her haunches and admired her efforts. She could feel his eyes on her and waited for him to express his admiration.
‘I think…’ he began slowly.
She turned with a smile ready to accept the compliment on her handiwork in creating a home for her babies. Adults always said nice things about her creations.
‘Someone once told me that the words of that song were about longing,’ he continued.
Her smile dropped and she shrugged. He was still thinking about the song.
