In the Land of the Long White Cloud

confirm their love only according to her rituals. He wanted to acknowledge it according to his, as well.
    Paul Warden tried to remember what little he knew of wedding vows.
    “I, Paul, take you, Marama, before God and man…and the ancestors…to be my lawfully wedded wife…”

    From this moment on, Paul was a happy man. He lived with Marama as though they were a Maori couple. He hunted and fished while she cooked and attempted to cultivate a garden. She had brought some seeds—there had been a reason that her heavily laden mule could not keep up with his horse—and Marama was as happy as a child when the seeds sprouted. In the evening, she entertained Paul with stories and songs. She told him about her ancestors who had come long, long ago in the
uruao
canoe to Aotearoa from Polynesia. Every Maori, she explained to Paul, was full of pride for the canoe on which his ancestors had come. At official events they used the name of this canoe as a part of their own names. Naturally, everyone knew the story of the discovery of the New Country. “We came from a land called Hawaiki,” Marama explained, and her story sounded like a song. “At the time there was a man named Kupe who loved a woman named Kura-maro-tini. But he couldn’t marry her because she had already lain with his cousin Hoturapa in the sleeping lodge.”
    Paul learned that Kupe drowned Hoturapa, and for that reason he had to flee his country. And how Kura-maro-tini, who had fled with him, saw a beautiful white cloud sitting on the sea, which revealed itself to be the country Aotearoa. Marama sang of dangerous fights with krakens and ghosts when they seized the land and of Kupe’s return to Hawaiki.
    “He told the people there of Aotearoa, but he never went back. He never went back.”
    “And Kura-maro-tini?” Paul asked. “Did Kupe just leave her?”
    Marama nodded sadly.
    “Yes. She remained alone…but she had two daughters. That might have comforted her. But Kupe was certainly not a nice fellow!”
    With these last words, she sounded so much like Mrs. O’Keefe’s little model student that Paul had to laugh. He pulled the girl into his arms.
    “I will never leave you, Marama. Even if I haven’t always been such a nice fellow.”

    Tonga learned about Paul and Marama from a boy fleeing from Lionel Station and John Sideblossom’s hard regime. He had heard about Tonga’s “uprising” against the Wardens and was eager to join the would-be guerillas in their fight against the
pakeha
.
    “There’s another one living over there in the highlands,” he reported excitedly. “With a Maori wife. I mean, they were nice. The man is hospitable. He would share his food with us when we wandered by. And the girl is a singer.
Tohunga!
But I say: all
pakeha
are rotten. And they shouldn’t have our women!”
    Tonga nodded. “You are right,” he said seriously. “No
pakeha
should defile our women. And you will be my guide and precede the Chieftain’s Ax to avenge this wrong.”
    The boy beamed. First thing the next day, he led Tonga into the highlands.

    Tonga and his guide encountered Paul in front of his house. The young man had been gathering wood and helping Marama to clear out a cooking pit. This was not common practice in her village, but they had both heard of this Maori custom and now wanted to try itfor themselves. Marama happily gathered stones while Paul stuck his spade in the soil, still soft from the last rain.
    Tonga stepped from behind the rocks that Marama believed pleased the gods.
    “Whose grave are you digging, Warden? Have you shot another man?”
    Paul spun around and held his spade out in front of him. Marama let out a quiet whimper of fear. She looked beautiful; once again she was wearing only her skirt and had her hair tied back with an embroidered headband. Her skin glistened from the work, and she had just been laughing. Paul stepped in front of her. He knew it was childish, but he didn’t want anyone to see her so lightly dressed—even though he knew the Maori would find nothing offensive about it.
    “What do you want, Tonga? You’re scaring my wife. Get out of here; this isn’t your land!”
    “More mine than yours,
pakeha
! But if you want to know the truth—your Kiward Station won’t belong to you much longer either. Your governor has decided in my favor. If you can’t buy my share, then we’ll have to split the land,” Tonga declared, leaning casually on the Chieftain’s Ax, which he had brought with him