Volume 2, Chapter 1

It is December 2017 and Inka Makkonen has not been back to the University of South Auckland since the middle of the year. She only taught for one semester since arriving as the new Professor of Gender Studies at the beginning of the year. Late in the semester she suffered a serious assault leading to her face being scarred. Subsequently she was recruited into the SIS, the New Zealand Security Intelligence Services. The Chancellor of the University had arranged for her to have a semester’s secondment to the Victoria University of Wellington on a research project. She had plastic surgery in Wellington, more than was strictly needed to deal with the scar. She also went through various training modules for the SIS at their headquarters in Pipitea Street. She is on hand to attend a farewell afternoon tea for a colleague in the School of Arts, McDuff, but has arrived a bit late.

“Thank you everyone for your kind words. And thank you for your thoughtful presents. I will particularly treasure this volume of “The Diary of a Nobody” ...

Laughter. No such volume is amongst the presents. Inka surveys the scene. While the occasion is dubbed ‘an afternoon tea’ and some staff have brought their own mugs for tea and coffee, there is also wine on offer to wash down the savouries, pastries, and fruit slices from a platter. Inka has accepted a glass of white wine.

I wonder why he is retiring so early. Surely he can’t be older than late 50’s. Maybe he has another job to go to. He is trying to be amusing but it sounds a little forced. Ah, good. He has finished and the formalities are complete. There is Aroha. I shall go over to speak to her. I wonder how she is doing now she is no longer Acting Dean of Arts.

“Hello, Aroha. I didn’t expect to see McDuff go so soon.”

“Life is full of surprises. The new Dean is just over there. Let me introduce you to him.”

“Andrew, this is Inka Makkonen, Professor of Gender Studies.”

“I am very pleased to meet you. You have been away this semester, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have been down at the Victoria University of Wellington, but am back now.”

“Excellent. We must get together sometime and have a chat about the future direction of Gender Studies. I am just getting to know my way around the school, getting my feet under the table, you know.”

Someone else wants to speak with the Dean so Aroha shepherds me away and we find a quiet corner.

“Tell me about the Dean! I haven’t really been paying attention.”

“I think you know his name is Andrew McCray. He is English, as you can probably tell, and has come from the University of Nottingham. His original background is in classics, not the most relevant kaupapa for here and now, but he has been mostly involved in administration of late. He does have some research interests in the history of the Pacific.”

“Is he good to work with?”

“Early days. I’m probably not the best one to ask.”

“Did you apply?”

“Yes, but not with high hopes. I have to run. Let’s catch up soon.”

There is a small group around McDuff. For some reason a young man I didn’t recognize, with an English accent, is holding forth about the ambiguity of language,

“If you say ‘hose', then some will think of the hosiery section of a department store, you know, panty hose, or possibly men’s socks. The minds of others will be in a hardware store, thinking of watering gardens or possibly even putting out fires. But round the corner there will be hoes, with an ‘e’, amongst the garden implements.

A kiwi young male, not impressed by this lecture, pointed out with mock seriousness that it could refer to the plural of ‘ho’ abbreviation of ‘whore’.

They all seem to look at me. Do they expect the Professor of Gender Studies to make a fuss about this?

“Oh that explains me being called a ‘ho(e)’. I thought it must be the female equivalent of a rake.”

That seems to shut down the conversation and so I have a moment with McDuff.

“I didn’t expect you to disappear so soon.”

“Oh well. Time to move on.”

“Are you moving away?”

“No. Still in the same place.”

“Give me your phone number. I owe you a drink.”

People are drifting away and I need to get back home. So I say goodbye. Home is the rented house in walking distance from the University that I share with Aroha’s son, Mikaere. I remained the official tenant when I was in Wellington and Mikaere, who had been my housemate, stayed on. When he first arrived, the plan was for him to stay with me while he studied for a ten week IT course, though he changed that to a beauty technician course. Even though he became disillusioned with that choice of career he found himself readily employable. He then proceeded to start a diploma in accounting through UNITEC, which I learned is a polytechnic, a more vocationally oriented form of tertiary institution than a university. It was a one year course but Mikaere decided to study part time while working and complete it over two years. He has already completed the first semester.

Mikaere was working when I arrived back from Wellington earlier in the day so I am going to see him for the first time in several months. Here is the house. It’s rather dreary look is very familiar and surprisingly comforting. I let myself in even though I realise I am now entering what has been Mikaere’s territory. And here he is!

“Oh Inka, welcome home! I’ve missed you.” We hug. “And meet my friend, Alessandro.” Mikaere has a look of pride mixed with anxiety, so clearly this is the new partner I had heard about. “Alessandro, get Inka a drink while I am busy in the kitchen.”

Alessandro is a little shorter and slighter than Mikaere and is very elegant with an erect bearing. He is wearing a tailored burgundy velvet jacket that has a kind of retro look referencing some period I don’t precisely remember. He is relaxed and charming and offers me a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

“Were you born in New Zealand?” I ask.

“No, in Italy, in Napoli, but my family moved to New Zealand when I was 7. My parents are chefs and run a small restaurant in Epsom. The family has a short holiday in Italy every few years.”

“Do you speak Italian?”

“Yes, well enough. My accent is better than my vocabulary.”

We chat for a while and he takes an interest in my homeland, Finland, whether out of politeness or genuinely I am not quite sure. Mikaere calls us in for dinner. We chat in an amiable fashion and then Mikaere suddenly stares at me. “You look different, Inka darling.” I think Alessandro’s influence may have modified his speech patterns and hence the ‘darling’.

I have my answer prepared. “Yes, while I was having my scar fixed I allowed a couple of trainee plastic surgeons to practice on other parts of my face. They have adjusted my cheek bones and changed the apparent shape of my eyes.” This is not a very credible explanation for rather complex surgery but it is the explanation that has been agreed. I am explaining this more fully to Mikaere than I would to others for he clearly has noticed some specific changes and he knows it isn’t the effect of makeup.

“Mikaere practiced his make-up skills on me,” I say to Alessandro in a light-hearted but confidential tone, “so he knows my face better than most around here.” I take it Mikaere has told Alessandro something about the events that left me with a scar, for he makes no effort to offer any explanation now. I wonder what he did say. Perhaps: two thugs broke in here and tried to intimidate me. I hope Mikaere acknowledged that he was part of the rescue party?

After dinner, Mikaere says he is going to stay the night at Alessandro’s. That is thoughtful even though unnecessary. Now they have left, I relax and unwind. It is good to be back in the old house. Tomorrow, I will make an early start for the University as I am looking forward to catching up with everyone.