Page 93 of Just Say (Hell) No
Grant had never been what you’d call a “player’s coach.” Marko hadn’t needed that, but there were some of the boys who’d… done better somewhere else. Marko’d seen the difference it could make when he’d played for the All Blacks, and he was seeing the difference now, at the Blues with Fizzo. Eye-opening, you could call it.
He took Nyree’s hand, waited for that pronouncement, and tried to send her the message.He’s not your judge, and neither am I. Your talent knows best.
He didn’t have to wait long. Grant took another look at the new painting, then turned around, rocked on his heels, and said, “Very nice. It’s better than all that modern rubbish, at least. You can tell what it is, for one. Girls would like it, I’m sure.”
“Thanks,” Nyree said, her face and voice both tight.
“Her teachers always said she had so much talent,” Miriama said. “Ever since she took her first serious art class, in high school. Remember that, Grant? That first one. How he said, ‘If she keeps at it, she’ll go far’?”
“I never said she didn’t have talent,” Grant said. “Just that talent doesn’t pay the bills. Don’t coddle her, Miriama. I told you. United front. Tell her you want to see her settled in something that pays. The girl’s twenty-seven. Time to get serious about her future. It doesn’t mean she can’t have a hobby.”
“I have a job,” Nyree said. “I have two, in fact. Three, because I’ve been selling my work.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Marko said, and could see her thinking,What?He went on to tell her what. “Do you take his money? Do you take your mum’s? Do you take mine?”
“Well, yeh, I take yours,” she said. “To stay with Ella.”
He said, “You know what I mean. Henry Ford.”
“Uh… Henry Ford what? The inventor?”
“Yeh. And the bloke who said, ‘The whole secret of a successful life is to find out what is one’s destiny to do, and then do it.’ That’s what you’re doing.”
“Sounds good,” Grant said, “until the rent’s due.”
Nyree must have decided she was twenty-seven, not seventeen, because she was standing tall at last. Facing front. And telling her stepfather, “I’m paying my rent. I’ve always paid my rent. And, all right, take any All Black out there. Take… take Drew Callahan. He was a schoolboy once, wasn’t he? Spending too much time on rugby, wondering if it was worth it and doing it anyway, because it was his passion, and his destiny. Because it burned in him, and he had to try. Maybe he’d fail, like all those other blokes who tried and didn’t do it, but he didn’t fail, did he? He became an All Black, and then he becamecaptainof the All Blacks. He led the team to two Rugby World Cups, and hewonthem. Or the team won them, but you know and I know that he all but dragged them on his back to that first win. He followed his destiny, and it led him somewhere special, someplace that I’m guessing nobody will ever go again. Can I do that? Who knows? All I’m asking is for the… thespaceto do what he did. The space to try my hardest, and not to be afraid to say that’s what I’m doing. I’m not asking for your money. I’m not even asking for your approval. Just not to be ridiculed, that’s all. But you need to give me that. Youneedto, or I’m not coming home again.”
The threat lay there where she’d thrown it. Solid. Heavy. Real.
The Tower hadn’t been his card. It had been Nyree’s. She was burning it down, but there was still no surrender about it.
Did Grant back down? Of course not. “And what about all the fellas who didn’t make it?” he asked. “What about them, eh, when they go back to the freezing works, not a bit better off for all that effort? You don’t see what I see. You don’t know about all the ones I turn away. The ones who try, but it isn’t enough. Half a life wasted, and no catching up.”
“Maybe so,” she said. “Maybe that’ll be me. But I know something else, too.I te ra e hana nei ka herena e au ki te tenga o toku korokoro.”
Grant looked at his wife. “Bloody Maori proverbs.”
“’While the sun glows,’” her mum said, “‘I shall tie it to the front of my throat.’ When you have something good going for you, you hold onto it and make the most of it. If that’s her dream—well, I reckon it is, darling. Same as when she went to University. We have to face it. She isn’t going to become a solicitor, or even an estate agent. She’s not going to make any money.”
“Or she is,” Marko said. The anger was gone, now, replaced with something else. Pride. “Some fellasdobecome All Blacks, and some artists keep painting, even if they have to do it in a garage. Some people have gifts like they’ve been touched by magic, some people have nothing but grunt, and some have both. You know and I know who comes out best in the end. The ones who have both. When has Nyree stopped painting? When has she stopped trying? Someday, I reckon, maybe even someday soon, she’ll have her work in a gallery, and every piece will have a sticker on it saying it’s sold. It could even be in a museum. It could pay off after all. Not everybody gets to the All Blacks, you’re right about that. But nobody ever got there by giving up.”
Marko wasn’t thinking about Grant Armstrong. He wasn’t thinking about Ella, and he wasn’t thinking about Nyree. He wasn’t even thinking about winning, even though they had less than three minutes to go in the match, the Highlanders were about to get the ball inside the Blues 22, the score was 14 to 17, and the Blues didn’t have the 17.
He was thinking about the lineout, and that was all. Holding his body without tension, but all of him absolutely focused on the ball in George Masaga’s hands as the big Highlanders hooker stood, perfectly focused himself and beard bristling, his toes on the touchline, and prepared to throw the ball into the lineout.
Marko read his motion, his intent, as he’d done so many hundreds of times before from the other side. “At the back!” he shouted, at the same moment he lifted Iain McCormick into the air. He didn’t look to see whether the big lock stole it from the Highlanders. His job, along with Hugh’s, was to lift, so he lifted.
Iain came down with it, Hugh shouted, ‘Maul!,’ and it was on. Iain with his back turned to the Highlanders, his long legs churning, and the rest of the forwards pushing him on with Hugh at the rear of the pack with the ball, directing traffic, while Chris Eaton, the little general of a No. 9, danced around just beyond in the support position and shouted encouragement. “On your feet! Hang on! No penalties! No penalties!”
The Highlanders stopped the momentum, and Marko prepared for what would come next. For Hugh to get the ball and pass it on to Chris.
You couldn’t give the ball away, not back here, not with a couple minutes to go. Hand to hand, one forward to another, working for territory the hard way. Marko at the breakdown again, over and over, slamming his body in there, and then getting the ball from Chris. Working as hard with the ball as he had without it, keeping his legs driving, shoving the other bloke out of the way, because he wanted it more. Going down with it, letting it go as you had to do, then popping back up and driving into Casey Harding, the Highlanders skipper, who was doing his best to rip it out.
Pity for him that Marko knew every one of Hardy’s techniques.Not today, mate,he thought as he countered them.Not happening.
A rush from the Highlanders, then, and the ball going to Will Tawera, the No. 10, who kicked it away, because that was the only choice back here, two minutes or not. A box kick, keeping it close, and Jerry Kaso, the Highlanders fullback, taking it in the air and passing it to Angus Hamilton, the halfback. Angus putting his head down and taking off, counting on his speed to do what his size couldn’t.
Marko had him. He knew every one of Angus’s juking moves, and he adjusted for them, squared his shoulders, and laid him out. The ball popped out, and Hugh came up with it.
