‘You can tell,’ said Caithness loftily.

‘No, you can’t. You just kid yourself you can.’

‘Oh, do shut up.’

‘OK, OK. Look, there’s Rangi. What’s he think of it all?’

‘Ask him.’

‘Hullo! Rangi!’

He turned, waved at the Swan and pointed to himself.

‘So are we,’ Angus shouted. ‘Join us.’

They caught up with him and all entered the bar together.

‘Look, there’s a table for six. Come on.’

They slipped into the seats. ‘I’ll get the beer,’ Ross offered. ‘Everybody want one?’

‘Not for me,’ said Rangi.

‘Oh! Why not?’

‘Because I do better without. Tomato juice. A double and nothing stronger with it.’

Menteith said: ‘I’ll have that too.’

‘Two double tomatoes. Four beers,’ Ross repeated and went to the bar.

‘Rangi,’ Lennox said, ‘we’ve been arguing.’

‘Oh? What about?’

Lennox looked at his mates. ‘I don’t know exactly. About the play.’

‘Yes?’

Menteith said: ‘We were trying to get to the bottom of its power. On the face of it, it’s simply what a magical hand can do with a dose of blood-and-thunder. But that doesn’t explain the atmosphere it churns up. Or does it?’

‘Suppose – ‘ Caithness began. ‘You won’t mind, Rangi, will you?’

‘I’ve not the faintest idea what you’re going to ask, but I don’t suppose I will.’

‘Well, suppose we were to offer a performance of the play on your – what do you call it – ?’

‘The marai?’

‘Yes. How would you react?’

‘To the invitation or to the performance?’

‘Well – to the performance, I suppose. Both, really.’

‘It would depend upon the elders. If they were sticklers, really orthodox people, you would be given formal greetings, the challenge and the presentation of the weapon. It is possible…’ He stopped.

‘Yes?’

‘It would have been possible, I believe, that the tahunga – that’s what you’d call a wise man – would have been asked, because of the nature of the play, to lay a tapu on the performance. He would do this. And then you would go away and dress and the performance would take place.’

‘You don’t mind about using – well, you know – eyes, tongue and everything in the play?’

‘I am not entirely orthodox. And we take the play seriously. My great-grandfather was a cannibal,’ said Rangi in his exquisite voice. ‘He believed he absorbed the attributes of his victims.’

A complete silence fell upon the table. Perhaps because they had been rather a noisy party before, their silence affected other patrons and Rangi’s declaration, quite loudly made, was generally heard. The silence lasted only for a second or two.

‘Four beers and two tomato juices,’ said Ross, returning with the drinks. He laid the tray on the table.

CHAPTER 3
Third Week