The Necklace

Playwright Dianna Fuemana had just six hours to dream up this story - plus a few more to edit - which won Monday's Once Upon A Deadline competition as part of the New Zealand International Arts Festival.

The Aucklander beat five other Kiwi playwrights, as they scribbled their way around the city, taking in Te Papa, a coffee roastery, a food market, the airport, a radio newsroom and a school classroom on the way. Fuemana won $2000 - and peer respect - for her efforts.

TANGATA O LE MOANA: the story of the Pacific Peoples in New Zealand. This greeted Sina each morning when she pushed her cleaning cart out of the fourth-floor lifts at Te Papa.

This morning Sina was running late: it was eight-thirty. She'd just come from the airport where she'd been with her husband Solomona since 4am, waiting for the flight from Samoa. His Aunty Sala was fleeing the aftermath of the devastating tsunami. They watched updated reports on the big-screen TVs and listened to the mix of flight announcements. Solomona stood anxiously, moving his weight from one foot to the other, tears locked in, hope locked in, waiting for Aunty Sala to come through the gates. He was lost in these waiting thoughts - until a dog attached to a policeman sniffed at his nuts.

"Sir, can I check your pockets?" Solomona reached in and out, empty handed. The dog moved on. The speaker announced that the flight had been delayed. Until further notice, he said.

Sina charged up the dark hallways with her blue cleaning cart, rattling along. She passed her mate Pete, the security guy, who shook his head and smiled.

"Talofa Pete!"

"Talofa Sina, better hurry, we got some corporate fullas coming in early. Private viewing. No one bloody knew until 5 minutes ago."

Sina had two minutes to wipe the glass cases in the Pompeii exhibition. She would always read the first sign at the entrance of any new exhibition she was cleaning. This time she giggled to herself a little: 600 sheep had died because of the volcanic gases released by an earthquake in 74AD. She almost died the other morning due to a smelly fart Solomona had trapped her under the blanket with. Luckily she loved him a lot.

Solomona worked at a coffee- making factory sorting big bags of beans, funnily, cause he never brought the coffee home, thought it was a palangi thing. Why would you want to grind the beans and wait for the percolator when you can mix a spoon of instant coffee in an instant. He loved the smell though, reminded him of the cocoa he drank as a child in Samoa. Hadn't been back since he was thirteen. Solomona had just celebrated his 50th birthday. His boss, a flash guy, but a good bloke, gifted him a full sack of coffee beans. Solomona asked him if he could send it direct to his village, to his family. The boss thought that was a brilliant idea, he wondered if people in Samoa drank coffee and if there was a chance they could sell beans there. Solomona nodded his head, probably . . . Problem was, his Aunty Sala back in the village strung the beans together and sent them back as necklaces.

Sina always wore her coffee bean necklace and often rubbed it when she saw fine jewellery displayed at the museum. She loved the gold adornments worn by the wealthy women of Pompeii. She imagined what it was like to be born rich, with gold. She felt a presence permeate the room, which wasn't a strange thing for Sina. Ancient things had a way of tingling her senses and often meant something of importance needed her attention. She spun her bun around, and locked eyes on a concrete lady. Dragging her cloth along the glass she moved toward the woman to read her sign. She was a memorial statue made to exalt the family and glorify the deeds of her ancestors. Sina's chest heaved with pride, her lips pouted in the air, she gave the lady a wink. Maybe Samoans came from Pompeii?

"Sina, you've got a call in the office, seemed bloody urgent." Pete's voice snapped her out of her epiphany.

Sina quickly spun her bun around and headed to the call. Just before she got to the office a teenaged boy looking very guilty came towards her. "Sorry Mum."

"Sorry Mum? What the hell are you doing here son? Why aren't you on your gateway work experience?" Brad kicked his toes into the floor. His hands grabbed at the inside of his pockets and he dropped his head.

"I got fired Mum."

"How the bloody hell you get fired from work experience son?"

Brad, not knowing how to tell his mother what had happened, sucked in his shame. His eyes were planted on the floor. "Sexual misconduct."

Sina's eyes almost popped out of her head. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She knew she couldn't ring his ears, she was at work and people were watching.

"It's not fair Mum, all I was doing was playing with a couple of melons, next thing you know the supervisor's yelling at me, she told me I was fired."

Brad was Sina and Solomona's only child. He was a prefect at Wellington College and captain of the first fifteen. She knew her son. Mothers have this sense, but she could see in his coffee-bean coloured eyes that this was serious. Brad couldn't hold on to his tears any more. He felt so ashamed.

"Sorry Mum."

Sina flicked her face away for a few seconds, Brad looked at his mother's shining bun, before she turned back to him.

"Did you do anything wrong son?"

"No mum."

"OK, I'm going to believe in you, but only because we are going to that supermarket and you are going to tell the lady to give back your job."

Brad didn't argue, he knew if there was anyone that could get his job back, it was Mum. He wiped his tears away and gave Sina a half smile. She cupped his face in her hands.

"You are a good boy. Go wait in the cafe downstairs for me."

Sina slid her fingers over her hair and straightened her bun. She had to explain to her boss, who was an uptight woman, but a fair woman, what the situation was. Pete couldn't help overhearing the conversation with Brad. As Sina walked out of Te Papa, he gave her a smile.

"Who's going to stick up for your kids if you don't, ay?"

Sina smiled back.

Solomona was still at the airport with a crowd of Samoans waiting for their loved ones. The anxiety bit the air until, one by one, people started coming through the arrival lounge. They looked like zombies turning back into human form when they saw family. The first person he recognised was his cousin. He could tell by the look on Ali's face that Aunty Sala wasn't with him.

They drove in silence, not sure how to start the conversation. Solomona dropped Ali home, then drove, his mind blank, back toward the city with no destination.

Solomona found himself standing in the Pompeii exhibition, now looking for his wife through the sea of people, watching them, living life as if nothing had happened. He felt a presence call him from around a dark corner. He followed it, only to find the body casts of people and animals. He looked up and read the gold-coloured lettering: "You could hear the wails of women, the cries of children, the shouts of men . . . many raised their arms to the gods, others declared the gods were no longer and this was the last night on earth."

He thought of Aunty Sala and her coffee bean necklaces back in Samoa. Would she, like Sina, be wearing hers?

- © Fairfax NZ News