Open Writing

There was this bloke I met once, down Gisborne way. Maori fella, big guy; played fullback for East Coast Rugby. Pretty good too. Should have been picked for the All Blacks, I reckon, but the selectors were a bunch of twerps…Well, aren’t they always?

Anyway, like I was saying, this bloke did a bit of shearing in his spare time, all over the Coast. Anywhere he could pick up a few days work. Reckoned it was better than farming, things being the way they were back then, and he didn’t get on too well with his old man who was a bit traditional-like, and heavily into the Gospel, preaching and all that.

Met the old man myself, and I can’t say as I blame the big guy for wanting to get away now and again. His dad was a nice enough bloke to talk to, and a real good fisherman, but that praying all over the place definitely got on my wick so I was right keen to move on with Hemi when he said his next boss was looking for a shed-hand and did I want to go?

Now, I’d been on a farm once or twice as a kid and I reckoned I could handle anything they threw at me so I was a bit upset when Hemi told the guy he was bringing a city slicker over with him and was that okay? I called him on it but Hemi just laughed and said sometimes a warning wasn’t such a bad thing and it’d take the edge off the ribbing I was bound to get when the rest of them got a gander at my poncey togs. I tell you, mate, that was a shock to the old system. I mean, I’d taken my oldest gear, nothing too flash, and I had no idea what he was on about. ‘Course I know now. Had a bloke or two come to the farm just recently looking like I did back then, and I felt right sorry for them, boor buggers. Still, they wasn’t to know and neither was I. Soon found out, though.

Well, Hemi threw his gear in a beer carton and I grabbed my backpack, and off we went. I was a bit worried about Hemi’s ute but he reckoned we’d be alright…Hadn’t ever seen a cop on the Kaitaha road, and even if we did, he’d just off-road for a bit and lose him, not to worry.

Actually, that wasnn’t what bothered me but I let it go. They’ve a different way of doing things down there, and what-the-hell, it was Hemi’s truck and I wasn’t driving it, after all…Turned out I was wrong about that, too, but by then I’d learned a few things so the state of the ute didn’t bother me nearly so much, which was just as well as things turned out.

Now, like I told you, Hemi was a big bloke. I mean, really big. Built like a tank in fact, and as you’d imagine, he really liked his food. Lots of food. Most of all, he loved pork; fat, lean, roast, fried, boiled, hot, or cold PORK! Lots of Pork… Preferably at every meal. The big guy was unbelievable. He had a major love affair going with “the pig” and, given a choice, he wanted his pig like he wanted his women, sweet and wild.

Very sweet…Very wild…

So there’s Hemi and I rattling along the back road to Kaitaha, sweat pouring off us from the heat in the cab ‘cos the heater won’t turn off, gabbing our heads off about sheep and shearing and how I really need a pair of sacking moccasins for the shed which Hemi will make me this arvo, and there, slap bang in the middle of the road, dead to the world in the hot sun, is this wild pig. Swear to God, snoring his head off, flako.

First off, a’course, we thought he’d karked it. Well you would, wouldn’t you? But then he twitched a fly off his flank and we both froze.

‘Whadda we do now,’ I whispered. ‘Wait for it to wake up?’

‘Not bloody likely!’ hissed Hemi. ‘That’s the sweetest little meal I’ve ever had put on my plate, and I’m damned if I’m gonna pass that up. I’m a soft touch, I know, but, fair go, mate, that’s pork.’

‘Well, whad’ll we do, then?’ I muttered.

‘Buggered if I know! Bet on it, I’ll think of something.’

So I waited a bit ‘til he did. Nothing happened, so I waited a bit more…And, stone the crows, so did that bloody pig. Never stirred.

‘Maybe it’s sick,’ I said, hopeful-like, not sure what I was getting myself into.

‘Nah! He’s alright. Wish I had my rifle with me, this is gonna be tricky…I’m gonna have to jump him pretty quick. Tell you what, you lean over a bit and get ready to steer so I can lean out the window. Reckon if I give it enough gas I c’n grab him as we shoot past. You’ll have to watch that loose metal though. Don’t want ‘er slidin’ all over the place. Could get a bit rough. Right, that’s the plan. Yer ready?’

Frankly I didn’t think I’d ever be ready but I wasn’t game to say so, so off we went. Man, you should’ve seen that ute go! Slipped ‘n skidded all over the place with the pig doing pretty much the same thing, and Hemi bellowing his head off the whole time. I couldn’t understand a word but Hemi said later I wasn’t s’posed to. He was just trying to confuse the pig.

Worked pretty well on both of us as it happened, which added to the thrill of the chase no end. We ran that pig damn near into the ground; up the road, down the road, into the scrub, out of the scrub, back up the road, with the engine screaming and smoke pouring out of the motor like a bonfire at Guy Fawkes. Bounced around a hell of a lot as well. Took a week for the bruises to fade, but Hemi never lifted his foot once. He really wanted that pig.

Then, just when I thought my arms were ruined for good, the pig made a wrong turn and ran head-first into a tree with us about two yards behind. I hit the brakes with both feet and Hemi went out of that door like a scalded cat straight onto the pig.

Needn’t have bothered really. The pig was already dead.

Took us a long time to get up to the farm after that, what with the door off and all. A bit flagged out, I guess; but the pain was worth it. Gave us a great reputation, that pig!

Reckon it gave me a great story as well, come to think. Ought to write it down some day. For the grand-kids, you know. Haven’t thought about it in years…

Well, thanks for the dinner, missus. That was a great bit of pork. Roasted real well. Young and sweet.

My mate, Hemi, would have loved it.