Page 42 of The Player in New Zealand
The chain finally broke when the couple was declared husband and wife, and we all stood up to clap. Immediately I missed the warmth of Tane’s hand, but it soon moved to the small of my back as he led me out of the hall.
Next were the photographs, where Tane and his family were stolen away for a huge family photo. I wandered around with a glass of champagne, admiring pictures of the bride and groom. There were family photos—the bride with her parents, a slim pale woman with curly gray hair and a wiry bald man covered with traditional tattoos—and photos of the couple together with a border collie.
“Claire.” Nina came up behind me and tugged on my elbow. “Come with me.”
I followed her, threading through the crowd that was building by the dance floor. “Where are we going?”
Her hand slipped down to mine to keep us together. “It’s time for the haka.”
“What’s the haka?”
The crowd grew unnaturally still, and that was when the shouting started. Nina was still weaving us through to the far edge, trying to find a place where we could see.
The single voice, harsh and strained, echoed off the vaulted ceilings of the ballroom, building to a crescendo. The words were in Maori, and the echoing call came just as we reached the edge of the crowd.
A dozen men, Maori and white, many of them from the wedding party, stood huddled together. Suit jackets were discarded, sleeves rolled up. My eyes snapped to Tane, the tallest of the group.
At the collective shout, the men started to spread out, a low growl resounding. There was more shouting—raw, primal screams—and the group faced the bride and groom, who stood together, watching.
Tane was near us, the edge of the group, and I could see his profile—it was the only thing I could focus on. How could I look away?
His eyes were wide, cheeks puffed out. Tane distorted his face into something fearsome. Tongue out, eyes wide, his feet were planted firmly, his weight sunk low. He, and the men on the edges of my vision, bounced lightly.
“This,” Nina whispered to me, “is the haka. This is our shout to the gods, our war cry, our way to remember our culture.”
There was a call from the back, and as one, the men slapped their thighs. They shouted, stamped their feet, slapped their chests, moved together.
Nina let go of my hand, and I turned my head, catching sight of the bride and groom. They had both joined in, the haunting calls and the rhythm of the slapping forming a song. The bride, tears streaming down her face, black hair pulled back into an intricate design and lace over her tattoo-covered shoulders, shouted and slapped alongside her new husband.
My vision went blurry and I quickly wiped tears from my eyes. It was just somoving.
And quietly, it was over. No applause, no fanfare, just the newlyweds slipping from one person to another, clasping hands and exchanging hongi.
Tane pressed his nose and forehead to the bride’s and then the groom’s, and made his way to us. He and Nina did the hongi together, and then hugged. His shirt was damp with sweat, and he was still breathing hard.
“Claire,” he said, offering his hand to me. I slid my palm against his, our thumbs intertwining. Instead of letting him guide me, this time I cupped the back of his neck with my hand, guiding us both as we pressed our forehead and nose together.
We took a breath, and Tane brushed his lips against mine before pulling back.
After the haka, we ate. We sat with some of Tane’s cousins, around his age, with spouses or partners. After introductions were made, Tane mentioned I’d been on my own in Auckland today.
“Do anything good?” his cousin Ari asked. He had glasses and dark curly hair and was dressed in a suit a size too big for him.
“Tane had suggested the Domain, since I only had a day. I walked around the botanical gardens and toured the Auckland War Memorial Museum.”
“Yeah, good call,” said Ari’s girlfriend, Jill. “Ari’s played a few pickup games there, and we went to a concert in the Wintergardens once, didn’t we?”
The conversation shifted around as they reminisced and shared stories while I listened. Even though he was absorbed with his family, Tane kept touching me. A squeeze on my thigh, a hand on my back between courses. It was like he’d given himself permission, was really playing the game. Like I actually was his girlfriend.
A silly thing to think about, obviously. This was fake. I was his employee. And in a few months, I wouldn’t even be that anymore. I’d be somewhere else, and then it’d be time to go home to Boston.
Jill leaned over to me. It was after the main course and we were waiting for the dancing to start, Tane talking to his neighbor about the latest political scandal of which I had no knowledge.
“You have an audience,” Jill said. When I looked at her, she flicked her eyes to her right. “That’s Tane’s mum and sister, right?”
I took a sip from my glass, trying to look inconspicuous. Yes, Jill was right: Nina and Emily were staring at us from the next table over.
When I made eye contact with Nina, she and her mother both turned back to each other.
