In the Land of the Long White Cloud

hello.
Tana
was man,
wahine
woman. She learned that you did not say “thank you” but showed your gratitude through actions and that the Maori did not shake hands in greeting but rubbed noses instead. This ritual was called
hongi
, and Gwyneira practiced it with the giggling children. Lucas was appalled when she told him about it, and Gerald reproved her: “We should under no circumstances get too close to them. These people are primitive; they need to learn their boundaries.”
    “I think it’s always good when people can understand each other better,” Gwyneira disagreed. “Why should it be the primitives who learn the civilized language? It must be much easier the other way around.”

    Helen crouched next to the cow and attempted to cajole her. The animal seemed friendly, which wasn’t a given, if she had correctly understood Daphne on the ship. Apparently, you had to be careful with some dairy cows that they did not attack you while you milked them. Yet even a willing cow could not effect the milking herself. Helen was necessary—but could not make it happen. No matter how much she tugged and kneaded the udders, she never released more than one or two drops. It had looked so easy when Howard did it. But he had shown her only once; he was still in a bad mood after last night’s disaster. When he had returned from milking, the stove had turned the room into a smoky hell. Helen squatted before the iron monstrosity in tears, and, of course, she hadn’t managed to sweep yet either. In sullen silence, Howard had lit the stove and fireplace, cracked a few eggs in a skillet, and set the food on the table for Helen.
    “Starting tomorrow, you cook!” he declared as he did so, sounding as though he would accept no further excuses. Helen wondered what she should cook. There wasn’t anything in the house but milkand eggs the next day either. “And you have to bake bread. There’s grain in the cupboard there. Besides that, there’s beans, salt…you’ll figure something out. I know you’re tired, Helen, but you’re no good to me otherwise.”
    That night Helen repeated the experience of the night before. This time she wore her prettiest nightgown and lay between clean sheets, none of which made it any more bearable. Helen was sore and horribly ashamed, and Howard’s face, reflecting naked lust, made her fearful. But this time she at least knew that it would be over quickly. Afterward Howard fell right asleep.
    That morning he had gone out to inspect the flocks. He let Helen know he would not be back before evening. When he returned, he expected a warm house, a good meal, and a clean room.
    Helen could not even manage the milking. But now, as she once more tugged desperately on the udder, a furtive giggle sounded from the direction of the stable door. Then somebody whispered something. Helen would have been afraid of the voices had they not sounded so high-pitched and childlike. As it was, she simply stood up.
    “Come out; I see you,” she said.
    Fresh chuckling.
    Helen went to the door but saw only two little dark figures disappear quick as lightning through the half-open door.
    Well, they wouldn’t go far; they were much too curious for that.
    “I won’t hurt you!” Helen called. “What did you want, to steal some eggs?”
    “We not stealing, missy!” A wounded voice. Helen must have piqued someone’s honor. A small, chestnut-brown figure emerged from around the corner of the stable, dressed only in a short skirt. “We milk when Mr. O’Keefe away.”
    Aha! Helen had them to blame for the scene the day before.
    “But you didn’t milk her yesterday,” she said sternly. “Mr. O’Keefe was very angry.”
    “Yesterday
waiata-a-ringa
…”
    “Dance,” the second child elaborated, a boy dressed in a loincloth. “All people dancing. No time for cow.”
    Helen refrained from giving them a lesson on the need to milk cows daily without regard to festivals, seeing as she hadn’t known that until the day before herself.
    “But today you can help me,” she said instead. “You can show me how to do it.”
    “How to do what?” the girl asked.
    “How to milk. What you do with the cow,” Helen sighed.
    “You not know how to milk?” Fresh giggling.
    “What you then doing here?” inquired the young boy, grinning. “Stealing eggs?”
    Helen had to laugh. The kid was sly. But she couldn’t be upset with him. Helen thought both children were sweet.
    “I’m the new Mrs. O’Keefe,” she