Short story: Paradise Duck, by Toni Pivac-Hohaia

2026-03-20 - 17:04

You have one friend request. She clicks on the box that has popped up. A small and unlikely beacon. Sean Rewiti. Accept request? Not now? Rewiti ... Rewiti ... the name sounds familiar. She knows a few Rewitis, which one is this? She can’t quite place the name. The profile photo does little to help. A Māori boy, with blue eyes and a dimple in his left cheek. Surely, she would remember a face like that. There’s nothing sexier than a Māori boy with blue eyes. And that dimple? Get outta here. Friend request accepted. Outside, the sun labours in its climb, slowly igniting the land with its glow. Birds twitter in the bush, invisible to the eye, more than evident to the ear. A pair of birds make their descent, landing in a companionable flutter. They waddle to the pond, ablaze in the sunrise. They connect with the water, wrinkling the surface with their presence. The ripples grow outwards and merge, becoming one, then fade ... Hey. A conversation box appears in the corner of her screen. She squints, deciphering the name. Sean Rewiti. The cute Māori guy with the killer dimple. Hey, she types. She still can’t pick how she knows this guy. But she wants to find out. Easy fix. I don’t mean to be rude, she types, but where do I know you from? Haha, he replies coyly, thing is, we don’t actually know each other. Was just making friends. 🙂 He uses a smiley face. She smiles to herself. This guy’s cute, if he wants to make friends, who am I to turn him down? Oh, kei te pai, she replies, I like to make friends. The duck duo swim in lazy circles, their kicking feet imperceptible beneath the glossy surface. No one would ever guess how hard they were working to stay above the water. They just glide in silence; their intimacy doesn’t require words. “Why are you smiling like that, Mum? Did you win the Lotto or something?” her daughter asks her. She must look like an idiot. She feels like a smitten schoolgirl. She tries to adjust her features and gives her girl a peck on the cheek. “I’m just happy, sweetheart,” she says. “Now that’s not a crime, is it?” Her daughter looks back at her, her head tilting to the side, her forehead furrowing into a sceptical frown. “Nah, Mum, it’s not,” she says. “It’s just not normal, that’s all.” Not normal? She thinks to herself as her daughter walks away. It’s not normal for me to look happy? Her smile falters, her brow puckering. Doubt begins to creep closer. Hey, so do you want to meet up? he types. She hesitates, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Her heart flutters in a flurry of anticipation. She turns her head, her eyes landing on a photo of her and her daughter. In the picture, they are smiling, her arm thrown casually around the little girl, whose eyes are shining up at her mother. It’s just the two of them. You know I have a daughter, eh? she replies, stalling her need to respond. Do you have a habit of answering a question with a question? he types back quickly. Do you? she returns. Haha, touché. And yes, I do remember you telling me you have a daughter. She’s 14, right? Yeah, she is. I can’t believe I’ve waited this long to ask, but how old are you? I’m 25, he types. She flinches, almost recoiling at his answer. Of course, she thinks, just when I start to get my hopes up. She should log off and walk away right now. But her fingertips betray her and drift back to the keys. I don’t think it would be a good idea to meet up, she replies. Aw come on now, don’t be like that. We get on so well on here. Don’t you think we get on well? She should tell him no. It’s a bad idea. She relents. Yeah, we do get on well. But do you know how old I am? I don’t know about the age difference ... I don’t care, he states simply. It’d be too easy to let him persuade her. She mustn’t let him know her real age. Her treacherous fingers persist. I’m 39, she types. I don’t care, he replies. That’s one year off 40, she adds. I don’t care. The words pop up on the screen. That’s a 14-year age gap. She punches the enter key. I don’t care. He drives it home. Outside, the sky is a smudge of pinks and yellows, the sun puddling on the horizon. Cows bellow mournfully in the distance, surrounded by companions but sorrowful in their loneliness. The two ducks patter off to their nest in the reeds, their feathers touching, almost caressing, united in love. “Do you know about the paradise duck?” he says, face to face. She shakes her head. “No.” He reaches out to twine his fingers in hers. “They mate for life,” he says. “They only have eyes for each other, forever. Hunters know that if they shoot one paradise duck, they have to wait because its partner will come. They must kill the other, out of mercy, because if they don’t, it’ll mourn itself to death.” “Oh,” she says. She’s distracted by the heat of his hand in hers, his thumb stroking hers. “You are my paradise duck,” he says softly. He strums her knuckles with the fingers of his other hand. A shudder passes through her. Her heart swells with bliss. The abnormal smile returns. “Are you taking the mickey out of me? I hope you’re not implying anything about the way I walk?” she says. “Shut up,” he says. “You’re an egg. You know what I mean.” “Not really,” she says. “Tell me.” “You’re the one for me,” he tells her. The drake sets out in search of sustenance. Around him, nature plagues fauna with disloyalty, polygamy. He is unaware of his idyllic lifestyle of commitment and faithfulness. He knows no other way. His mate rests peacefully on her throne, her essence incubating a brand-new entity. She awaits his return. “So, do you have kids?” She jokes. He has just asked about her daughter. “Yeah,” he replies, his eyes flicking away briefly. “Three.” She sits up slowly. Why has he not mentioned this before? “I don’t see much of them.” He continues, attempting to mollify. “Their mother and I split up a long time ago.” “Does it bother you? Not seeing your kids?” she asks. He shrugs. “Sometimes. But I’d rather be lonely than be with someone I didn’t love.” Lonely. She knows all about that. She looks at him. She is inexplicably bothered by his blasé response. She doesn’t think he knows what true loneliness is. “You’re well and truly over her then?” she says. “Well and truly,” he echoes. “I love you,” he says. “You know that, right?” “I know that,” she replies with a smile. “I love you too.” Her daughter is frowning at her. Again. “I knew there was a reason you’ve been acting funny, Mum,” she says. “You know me well, my darling,” she replies. “Are you sure about him, Mum?” “I’m sure, sweetheart,” she says, smiling. “All right then, let’s go so I can meet this amazing man,” her daughter says with a smile as she takes her by the hand. Minutes roll past, the waiter brings out a carafe of water. Half an hour ticks by, and the waiter offers them the starter menu again. She turns him down, politely, telling him they will wait for their other guest. Her foot taps impatiently on the tiles, concealed by the fall of the tablecloth. An hour goes by; her daughter is hungry. They order their meals. And eat. It takes them another hour. He doesn’t show. Hey, she types, where were you today? There is no reply. May dawns and the hunters set out at daybreak. Birds are chirruping with abandon, flitting from branch to branch. Sunlight licks the pond’s surface, and a light breeze creases the water. Hey, I haven’t heard from you in a while, I hope everything’s ok, she types. The hunter blows on his whistle, emitting an artificial quack. The drake sets off again, to gather food for his love, rising to the sky with a whisper of wings. Hey, she types, I’m starting to get worried ... Hi, he replies. Where have you been? she asks. I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you, he begins. Well, it’s not hard, she types, I’ve been messaging you. You see, he continues, ignoring her, I’ve kind of been talking to my ex. I think we’re gonna try and work it out. For the kids. Oh, she types. She lifts her hands from the keyboard. And drops them onto her knees, each clasping the other tightly. A bang sounds out of the stillness of the morning. A solitary duck drops to the ground, his neck twisting back the way he’d come. Sitting on her nest, a paradise duck starts, without knowing why, then settles again in wait for her love to return. Taken with kind permission from the recently published anthology of Māori writing, Huia Short Stories 16 (Huia, $25), available from selected bookstores nationwide. It includes new fiction from writers including Atakohu Middleton, Darryn Josephs and Shelley Burne-Field, and new poetry from writers including Jessica Hinerangi Thompson-Carr, Te Aomihia Kaipara, and Marama Salsano.