Kōtuku Titihuia Nuttall
Mākutu
I killed a dog once. He belonged to the flatmate of a girl I was in love with, Marama. We spent the later part of an evening, drunk on red wine, talking on her bed and waiting for her boyfriend to show up. I was learning how people could be the same, same, same, but different. She was talking about things that had happened to her that complicated her feelings, her sexuality, her mana. I laid an arm over her, and she pushed a leg underneath mine. The room was autumnal, full of dried flowers and browns and oranges. Marama carefully curated all the objects in her room, even when it was messy, all the treasures keeping their places atop mid-century furniture. We kiss and it is the softest kind of kiss I have ever had.
We are confessing our feelings for each other when her boyfriend arrives. Marama gets up to cuddle him. Our position seems innocent to him, just gals being pals. His name is Andrew and he’s Pākehā and very boring but she loves him in a young and funny way, her first real boyfriend. He wants to meet up with a mate at the tavern down the road to play pool. Marama is excited by the idea, and I am drunk enough to go along with the plan happily. We have a few more drinks in her bedroom, and the flatmate’s dog wanders in for some attention. He’s a rangy old thing, but friendly enough. I have already met him a few times and pat him happily. We are scattered across the floor, drinking and laughing.
‘I’m going out for a smoke.’ Marama stands and pulls Andrew up.
‘Should we leave after?’
‘Yeah, whenever you’re done, I’m keen to head out.’ They leave and I hear the click of the front door shutting. I look over at the dog. I keep patting the him, cross-legged on the ground – speaking to him in a cooing voice, the inane chatter reserved for animals and babies.
It happens with no warning. I don’t know what I did, if I made eye contact with him or touched him wrong, but he swings his big bony head around and nips my brow bone. There is heat and a flash of red. I push him off me and he scurries out of the room. My body feels cold and I can’t see out of my left eye. I raise a hand to the wound and feel the wetness. There are drops hitting my body and the carpet. Like pat pat pat pat pat. They won’t stop. There is a lot of blood and I am still drunk and not sure what to do. I know if Marama sees she will freak out, feel guilty, blame herself. I start standing up and the blood is going everywhere – I watch it drip onto the bed frame, the carpet, the vintage 70s Japanese Playboy beside the bed, Marama’s ochre sheets. I turn to the mirror, half of my face is bright red. It looks like I’ve suffered a grievous injury, but the dog only bit me with a couple of teeth, a bite that wouldn’t have been so bad anywhere else. I don’t want the dog to get in trouble. If anyone finds out he bit me he’ll be put down, and I don’t want him to die at my hands.
‘Are you ready to go?’ Marama has returned and is pulling on her jacket. I turn my face away from her. Her vision isn’t the best, thank god, and the room is dark.
‘I just need a moment; I have to use the bathroom. You should go ahead, Adam is going to come meet me, I was about to call him.’ Adam is my boyfriend, who is not about to come meet me, but I don’t know what else to say.
‘Are you sure? We don’t mind waiting.’ Marama has already taken on the airy voice she uses around Andrew, but then he interjects.
‘Oh, I’m actually really keen to meet up with Ian. He said he won’t be there long, so we should go now.’ He’s a dick, but I’m thankful as he starts grabbing her and dragging her towards the door.
‘Yeah, no worries – Adam will be here soon.’ I try to keep my voice as even as possible.
‘See you in a bit, lovely.’ Marama turns out of the bedroom door. I hear the door click again and wait a moment. There is blood everywhere, but I don’t know how to clean it right now. I concentrate on finding all my stuff with only my good eye. Phone, keys, wallet, jacket. My hands are cold and shaking as I tie up my boots. I just have to leave, have to leave, have to leave. I get up and close the bedroom door behind me. The dog is waiting in the hallway, its blue eyes watching me reach for the front doorknob. I keep my eyes on it as I back outside and shut the door in its face.
Then I’m running home, in the opposite direction to Marama and the tavern. My face is so cold, and I still feel the warm pat pat pat of blood against my neck and shirt. The sky is dark and mostly clear, there are a few wispy clouds and the moon is almost gone. She is down to her last sliver of light, like someone took a small, sharp knife and sliced through the fabric of the night sky.
When I get home, Adam is awake. He screams when I open the door, thinking I have been beaten on the way home or something. He pulls me to the bathroom to clean it all up. Behind all the blood is a small nick across my brow. It doesn’t look so bad. Adam rubs my back while I explain what happened. I love him very, very much, and am glad to eventually crawl into bed with him and try to sleep.
When I wake, I am groggy and disconcerted. My face feels stiff and achy. Adam starts when he sees my eye.
‘Is it worse than yesterday?’ His eyes widen and he nods.
‘I’m sorry baby, it looks sore.’ I groan and get out of bed to see for myself. The whole upper left side of my face is swollen. The skin around my eye has puffed up, and my eye is mostly covered. The cut has started too bruise too, almost black around the cut.
‘I knew I should have taken you to the hospital.’ Adam sighs, getting up to stand beside me.
‘I didn’t want to go; they would’ve asked what happened. It’s not that bad anyway. It’s just the bruising that looks bad.’ As I say it, I know Adam is not convinced, but he lets it go.
‘I need to get back into bed, I’m pretty tired.’ I crawl back under the duvet.
‘You were out late,’ Adam says, leaving to make some coffee. ‘That and you were mauled,’ he adds.
*
Later in the afternoon I get a call from Marama, asking what happened last night, and why there’s blood all over her stuff.
‘Don’t get me wrong, I actually kind of like it. I like knowing it’s your blood.’ I laugh into the phone; this is her reaction to waking up in a blood-spattered room.
‘The dog bit me and I ran away because I was scared of getting him in trouble. I look super ugly now though.’
‘Oh my god! Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine, Adam helped me out when I got home. Please don’t worry about it!’
Marama is silent on the other end for a moment.
Then we talk for a little while, last night’s confessions forgotten, or put away until the next time we are drunk and alone. We say goodbye, promise to meet again soon, and hang up.
*
The bruising gets worse, and for three or four days I am sore and tired. At the end of the week Adam and I are eating dinner and I say,
‘I think I’ve been in shock.’ He just looks at me and says,
‘Of course. I’ve been trying to get you to the doctor. You probably needed stitches, and definitely needed it cleaned with antiseptic.’
I frown into my pasta.
‘Yeah, I guess so.’ My phone buzzes on the laminate table. It’s a message from Marama. I haven’t heard from her for a minute. She is asking if I want to come to a party on Saturday. I would love to see her at a party on Saturday. I reply quickly, anxiety knotting my stomach as I do so.
The party is at a place called The Pit. Marama picks Adam and me up in Andrew’s car. None of us have been to this place before. It’s in the industrial part of town, across the river, and full of bogans. We wander in together but lose Andrew quickly. The house is constructed strangely – a two-storey living area with multiple staircases leading off in different directions. Adam leaves us for a laden potluck table. Marama and I grab drinks and catch up. She’s talking about her love life, and I am mostly just watching her. She has a kind of beauty everyone notices. Anytime I introduce her to anyone they have to say something as soon as she leaves. She’s stunning.
‘Andrew is talking about buying a house in the country. They’re so much cheaper!’ She seems excited. ‘He’s gonna keep saving and then we can buy a place and move out together. He’s looking at places by the caves.’ The caves are about two hours away, and Marama can’t drive. Andrew would have control of her life.
‘We can both work in town and then commute home together. He is going to plant me a garden! He says I can get my learners eventually, so he doesn’t have to do all the driving.’ Even when excited, she has a soft and slow voice, like she believes in his plans. Just a week ago we were in bed together, talking about our feelings – the things we innately understood about each other. Things we didn’t even need to say. And now we are here, and she is not looking at me properly.
‘Do you really think you’ll do it?’
‘Well, Andrew is already saving. Whenever I’m away from him, I just wish he was there.’ I haven’t enjoyed listening to her talk about her plans with Andrew. I also feel like she should have known I didn’t want to hear about it. I take her free hand and run my fingers over her knuckles.
‘I want to want to kiss you again.’ Her expression changes from dreamy detachment. She is not upset, but looks uncomfortable.
‘I’m really serious about Andrew.’ As she’s talking, I slip my hand up her wrist.
‘You didn’t seem so sure about him the last time I saw you.’ But she has a determined look in her eyes.
‘It’s happening. We’re moving away. Next year. And we’re going to be together, just us.’ I pull her closer. Her body is pliant and soft. I lean over and kiss her, and she kisses me back for a moment.
And then she pulls away, puts her beer down on the table and looks at me for real.
‘I think I’m over this party – I’m going to find Andrew and then we’ll probably leave. I’ll see you soon though?’
‘I’m sure I’ll see you real soon.’ I try to keep a straight face. Blood rushes through my ears and head. I watch her start down the stairs.
‘Pō mārie,’ she says, her hand on the bannister. I won’t meet her eyes.
‘Pō mārie, Marama.’ And then she’s gone.
I turn my back to the stairs. Adam is out smoking on the deck with some school friends. The anger I’m feeling feels out of proportion, but I don’t know what to do. I want to leave the party, but I’m worried Marama won’t be gone yet. I hang around the counter island and finish my beer. Looking at the the stairs, I think about Marama’s long fingers, gripping the bannister.
After a safe amount of time I open another beer. With a last look at Adam I send him a text that I’m Ubering home, so that he can stay at the party longer. He doesn’t really check his phone anyway, so I won’t hear from him until later. The party is full, but I still try to leave as inconspicuously as possible, worried Marama is still hanging around. The night air is chilly, and I’m critically underdressed, but I still head towards the bridge. Sometimes the city feels safer at night than during the day – it’s empty.
I don’t pass anyone as I head towards the river. I scramble down the gravel path, past the brush. The main bridge towers over me. The lights are busted. The moon, too, is nowhere to be seen. The sky is dark but for pinpricks of starlight. I walk across the smooth river stones towards the water. The river is strong, and moves in thick, writhing braids. The surface is black, lined with silver. I cannot see through it, but I can imagine the long dark weeds the fish hide in. I can imagine being dragged down by this weed, fed to the river. The river is the lifeblood of the city, she eats people with ease – taking advantage of the sick, young, foolish, pulling them under and away in seconds.
‘Fuck!’ I slip on some of the wet rocks, onto my ass and into the mud. The beer bottle shatters in my hand as it hits a stone.
‘Ah! Aūe!’ Looking down I see my hand is split and bleeding profusely. I raise it to my face in the dark. This is all fucked.
I pick up the stone that broke the beer bottle. I hate this town. My body is cold and wet. My body is dirty. I should have never come here. Marama belongs here. She leaves now and then, but always comes back. Her ancestors are buried upon the mountain that watches over the city. She can go live in the country for all I care, become a housewife in a small town far away.
My people are from lakes and oceans further south, I am cold and still like the waters of Taupō, the snow on Taranaki or Tongariro. Marama is on her own path, pulling people in, making them love her, pulling them under. I am grasping the rock so hard my fingers go numb. The air is still except for me and the river. I close my eyes, breath my breath, and wait. The sounds of the city drift over, the water rushes on.
‘AHHHHHHH!’ I scream at the river, and throw the rock in my hand. Marama was never for me. I never dedicated myself to her, nor her to me. I throw the stone out of anger and pettiness. Over the rush of water, I hear a faint splash.
My hand takes weeks to heal. I let Adam take me to the doctor this time. I let him love me the best he can. Most of the time I am at work or at home and try to avoid Marama, but eventually I see her at a friend’s house a month later. She is attached to Andrew at the hip. She’s reserved and quiet, and he does most of the talking. I can’t stand seeing them together, watching this dullened version of Marama with no voice. I leave to sit on the patio. She follows me, I hear her open and close the door, feel her sit down beside me. She lights a cigarette, tries to make small talk.
‘The dog died.’ She exhales and points at my face. I look at her in the moonlight. She is looking through me with her mythical beauty. I touch the raised ridge of skin on my brow, don’t reply. Then I’m standing, walking back into the house, and closing the front door behind me.
Kōtuku Titihuia Nuttall (Te Āti Awa, Ngāti Tūwharetoa, W̱SÁNEĆ First Nation) is a takatāpui multimedia artist and writer. Her work concerns the body, inter-generational trauma, and indigenous alienation/dispossession/reclamation.