Bulibasha

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It was Tobio who gave the name Bulibasha to Grandfather. I was twelve then and still obedient. My father Joshua had been shearing at a station near Matawai. He was on his way home when he saw Tobio weaving this way and that on the roadside, and he stopped the car to help this drunk Maori before he got run over. As he approached, however, Dad realised that Tobio wasn’t drunk at all. Tobio was dancing, a queer dance with slaps to the chest, stamping of feet, flicking of wrists and snapping of fingers. And Tobio wasn’t a Maori.

— Komm Zigany, Komm Zigany, spiel mir was vor —

‘Are you all right?’ Dad asked.

Tobio stopped in mid-click and mid-stamp. He grinned at Dad, revealing white teeth in a rich red mouth. He tossed his black curls. He had green eyes and wore a golden ring in his right ear. He was in his early twenties.

‘I dance to be happy,’ he said. He put his arms around Dad and burst into tears.

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