The museum has "periodic discussions" concerning requests for their return, McLean said. But "we are not currently in discussions with anyone from New Zealand about the heads," he added.
Kopua thinks much of the outside interest in ta moko today probably stems from the feeling among many foreigners that they've lost contact with their own past, a mistake he urges Maori to avoid by proudly wearing their history on their skin.
"We're telling our own kids in the next generation: 'These are our ancestors. They're worth being proud of.' We also tell them: 'These are our struggles, and they're the same struggles of our ancestors. And we're fighting for them now.' "
When Kopua finished McLeod's tattoo, she seemed slightly stunned, almost as if she were emerging from a trance. Her arm was sore, but she said her spirit was soaring.
"I've had a lot go on in my life," she said, reluctant to go into details with an outsider. "I've just found a calling with my Maori-tanga, my Maoriness. It's a reawakening."
With her new tattoo covered in loosely wrapped cellophane to protect against infection, she wrapped her arms around Kopua, squeezing him like a long-lost brother. She whispered something in his ear and smiled.
With his beefy hand and soothing voice, and some guidance from the ancestors, he had set her on the right path.
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paul.watson@latimes.com
