“Liṃanṃan, that’s a fine fish, but look at these poor hands!” He turned his daughter’s palms up to inspect them. “The newcomer must have trusted you with his most attractive lure.” Lainjen cut the lure from his line and gave it to the irooj, who stood admiring it for some time.
“Keep it, please. It has never brought me luck. And here, this is for you.” Lainjen sliced open the belly of the fish, reached inside, and tore out the bloody heart of the tuna. He rinsed it in the water and offered it in the palm of his outstretched hand.
“From my hand to yours, and should it please you” — Lainjen extended his other hand to Liṃanṃan, who, disregarding her pain, grabbed firmly onto it — “from your hand to mine.”
Outwardly shocked at Lainjen’s boldness, the irooj looked at Liṃanṃan and then at his mother, who had turned to hear what he might say. His eyes went back and forth, evaluating the eyes of one, then another, and back again. And then, with a smile and as fast as the Chief himself would have acted, he snatched the heart, popped it into his mouth, and slowly chewed his tasty tribute.
At that, Taknam, who had been monitoring her son’s actions intently, trilled out a joyful, ululated scream that was joined by others from a host of sister islanders who had congregated at a respectful distance on the strand above. The whole hoard of them attacked Lainjen, and this was accompanied by ululated screaming and the erratic beating of aje. They covered him with head crowns and neck leis made of flowers that, somehow, they had hastily gathered and strung. Singing in a high pitch, the women formed several concentric circles around them all — even out into the water — that advanced them ashore. Their men came from the rear to haul Ḷainjin’s canoe shoreward while the women rotated around them, hand in hand, and continued to sing until the entire throng advanced to the irooj’s guesthouse above the strand. The men placed his proa upon logs under the thatched canopy next to the guesthouse.
There, Ḷainjin braced himself against an upright post in the doorway of the thatched house. His legs were tired and painful, having just walked farther than he had under the past several cycles. He felt a bit dizzy on the solid ground beneath him. The women charged him again, and he was covered with even more flowers by more women who had now arrived and crowded around him. Then, just as suddenly, they all flopped down close around. Feeling awkward above them, he slowly slid down the corner post at his back and sat amid a circle of friendly, inquisitive feet. He felt it was time for someone to speak, but he had no idea who that would be.
It was Taknaṃ. “They call him Pako. Which of you wants to be eaten first?”
A swarm of hands waved back and forth amid the squealing women. Those close by kicked his legs and feet and pulled at his hands and arms.
“Ḷōpako, you heard it from them,” continued Taknaṃ. “You have your pick! And these are just the ones who’ve already been chosen!”
There was more shrieking and laughing as women on their knees pointed at themselves, saying, “She lies; I have yet to be chosen. Take me!”
Another woman stuck her wrist in front of his mouth from behind him and shouted above the rest, “Eat me before I die of envy!”
Taknaṃ said, “I have many, many more with their skirts down, pretending to be collecting leaves in the pandanus patch but playing with young boys instead. Ḷōpako, take your pick!”
As he looked around, he saw many of the women on their knees, pointing at themselves, waving, or shaking their hips from side to side. Ḷainjin had had kaṃōḷo welcomes many times before but none quite this raucous. He was thinking either there must be a serious shortage of men or, more likely, they were all pretending and just wanted him to feel welcome.
“Now I would be amiss if I neglected to tell you all that my granddaughter Liṃanṃan wants me to announce that she has chosen this shark as her personal pet and will scratch out the eyes of any woman who touches him!”
One called out, “No experience! Pick me instead” amid more laughter. Another in the back shouted, “I’ll trade my eyes for him! Liṃanṃan, come and take them!” And one from the back said, “Who needs eyes when you’ve got a mast like that as a guide post?”
As more laughter ensued, Taknaṃ cautioned them. “Take it easy! Each of you will get your chance at him. Don’t scare him off!”
A woman shouted from the back, “I’m going to put a hole in his hull this very night!” Another shouted, amid the laughter, “I’ll keep him busy while you do that!”
Then Taknaṃ turned serious and told the story of how she had first met Pako, how she had called him Jebrọ, and what they had said to each other — as well as how he had predicted the storm and helped when they flipped turtle. She then concluded that, just as sure as she was standing there, he had saved her life and the lives of her grandchildren, adding that she would take him herself in gratitude if she wasn’t sure he’d be better off beating his mast on the sharkskin of an aje!
At that, the whole flock of them broke into uproarious laughter, and the irooj, by custom, had to turn his back and pretend he did not hear what his mother had just said. Liṃanṃan, who had been standing there holding his hand and laughing at their antics, turned with him.
That was when Taknaṃ took advantage of the moment and untied her son’s choker necklace. Telling Ḷainjin to bend his neck, she tied the choker around it, under the pile of flowers already there. Then she ended her speech with the following words: “When we met, you were a wild creature of the sea. With your courage, as natural to you as the stars are to the sky, you preserved those things most precious to our irooj, Ḷōpedpedin. And now, in return under his rule, I give you our humble atoll — gather anything here you choose to take. Go anywhere. Stay anywhere. Take anything. Stay if you like, or like a bird of the sea, fly away and come back at will. Bury me, or let me to sea; bury my son, or let him to sea! You are welcome here until your story’s end and as long as the last of these who witness my words live, so shall this promise be fulfilled.”
There was a climax of ululated screaming and drum beating, and then one of the women broke into song. They all stood and sang, and counterrotated around him in concentric circles as they sang. Then, all of a sudden, the crowd dispersed until there were only Ḷainjin, Liṃanṃan, and her family.
The women were so clamorous that the kaṃōḷo had truly exhausted Ḷainjin. He found it easier to fight than be honored. Truth be told, he would rather have faced the brunt of a second storm than the attention these ambitious women had rained down upon him. He had not been ready for that. Trapped by the past as he was, he was under no illusions. Their attention was seducing, yet captivating. He reminded himself how navigating the disquiet of this welcoming society had been more difficult than trading with cannibals.
Pedpedin, he noticed, had been observing him intently since their initial encounter. He had perhaps seen this exhaustion in his manner and addressed him, saying, “My mother spoke well and I was pleased with her words. In good time, I will surely offer you my daughter — from my hand to yours, as promised — but now, because you have been at sea for so long, you have become like a giant clam, strong of clutch but without legs. You are vulnerable, a little like the white lobster that has crawled from its old shell, but do not fear. You are under my protection. Tomorrow, we will walk a little and talk, and I will give you due warning about my stubborn daughter. In the meantime, take this house as your own, and I will send a lesser daughter to care for your immediate needs.”
They left Ḷainjin alone by his new house, and he immediately went inside to enjoy its privacy. The moment he entered the house, even in the dim light of the setting sun, he found himself astounded by the immaculate designs embedded in the interior thatch. All the stones on the floor were fresh and still sun-bleached white from the ocean-side shore. At the other end of the single sleeping room was an enclosed garden, open to the sky, with a thatch door leading out to the open-sided boathouse where his proa sat perched. At one end, by the door of the garden, was a well, and at the
other end, another small enclosure open to the sky, with giant clamshells for bathing water. After so many days at sea, it seemed more than a simple refuge to the seafarer. At that moment, it seemed more like one of the elaborately constructed sanctuaries he had seen in the high islands to the west. Pedpedin, like leaders there, must have learned to treat newcomers well. He probably did so because he realized that newcomers brought new things and had new skills to increase his wealth and give his workers a sense of progress.
Ḷainjin lay down on the fresh coral stones of the enclosed garden, stretched his back, and spread out his legs and arms. There above him drifted the aftermath. Dimly lit clouds were chasing after the storm that had challenged them and moved on. The sheer luxury of his circumstances compared to his cramped and perpetually rocking hull on the open sea overwhelmed him, and he was about to drift asleep when the door opened. In came a young, newly tattooed woman — a girl, really — giggling a bit and introducing herself as Liṃanṃan’s sister. Raising his torso up on his elbows, he could see she was a younger, cuter version of her older sister with the same intonation in her voice. She had brought him a sleeping mat that she unfurled, covering him with it from foot to waist, and then stooped flat-footed to lay upon his chest a finely woven pandanus-leaf kilt like the one her father wore, but of a different, more common design.
“Put this on,” she said. “Liṃanṃan told me I wasn’t to return without the ‘stinky one’ you have been wearing.” He stared up at her as she stooped with her knees together. She was turned away modestly with one elbow propped upon them, but her eyes looked down boldly, in a matter-of-fact way, straight into his.
“Go on, you can take it off under the mat if you’re shy, or you can stand up and show yourself like a man. Better yet, let me do it for you. I know how to handle these things,” she said, reaching under the mat for his waist.
Feeling challenged, he pulled away, stood, and began to untie his kilt.
“Okay then, ṃōṃaan ṃaj,” she said, as he turned his rear to her, wrapped himself in the new kilt, and dropped the old one.
She picked up his old, tattered kilt and, looking at him, put it to her nose and made a cute face. “I guess you couldn’t take a proper bath out there.” Then she stood looking him in the eyes as she held the kilt in front of him and grabbed him by the bicep. “Wōjej, what a muscle! I just challenged you into showing yourself to me before any of the other girls got that chance,” she boasted, squeezing his arm. “And you won’t mind if I brag about that!”
She was lying, as she had seen nothing and they both knew it. She released her grip, walked toward the garden door, and then turned at the last minute before she exited the garden. “Your chosen one, if I know her, will be modest and not talk to the other girls about you, but I can spread your stories from one end of the island to the other. And right now, there’s nothing these island girls would rather talk about than the incredible man shark and the North Star he follows! And don’t worry, I’ll leave them dying with anticipation!”
When she returned a short time later, he was still standing, admiring the new fiber kilt he had just wrapped around his waist. She gave him a coconut-leaf basket of grated coconut and flower petals for bathing.
“That was prepared by Liṃanṃan herself,” she said, and began drawing water from the well for his bath. “She has to sleep in Father’s house tonight and every night until he decides to bring her to you,” she continued, walking the jāpe of water from the well to the bath stall.
“Until then I’m supposed to guard you as a bird guards its egg! Those are her exact words!” she scoffed, as she paced back to the well to refill the jāpe.
“I can’t believe my luck.” She had come back from the well and stopped in front of him again. She held the heavy jāpe proudly. “I get to guard you from the mob of women out there who want to squeeze the coconut milk out of you,” she said teasingly. Then she proceeded to the bath stall again.
“You saw them out there — ‘Ḷōpako, eat me!’” she chirped from the bath stall, imitating a woman from the crowd as she poured the water into the giant shells. “No, me!’’ she mimicked, marching back out and stopping before him again. The jāpe, which was heavy even when empty, hung from her hand.
“So, I intend to sit on my egg all night!” She scrunched her nose curiously. “And if you’re too bashful for that, you’ll just have to take it up with her!”
“Tell her I said you’re not going to sit on me like I’m some sort of baby bird.”
Not giving up, she soon returned with more water and marched right up to his face. “Everybody knows, when a voyager comes ashore, that he is looking for the closest place to stick his mast. After all those days out there, you must be full to the brim and ready to overflow like this jāpe. The way Liṃanṃan sees it, better me to receive it than one from that mob she cannot control. After all, I am just her follower. She is the eldest so she gets the first pick of everything, but do not pity me. Being second has a big advantage. Father keeps his eyes on her every move but lets me run wild. I am the most-envied girl on the island. It is not as though I am saving myself for somebody like she is. I can play with as many boys as I want. I have had lots of them inside me, but only for an instant before kicking them out again. But like Grandma taught me, that just makes them tell more stories about me. The boys are all crazy for me out there.” She concluded her last trip to fill the shells in the bathhouse. “They’re probably talking about us right now! We might as well get started on a great story to tell them!”
“Then please tell her she has nothing to worry about. I have complete control. Don’t think I don’t find you very desirable because, believe me, if circumstances were different…”
Undissuaded but unwilling to hear more, she left him alone, explicating his virtue to only himself. He entered the shower stall. “Privacy at last!” he thought. After days of aloneness, the most challenging part of life on the island, he now realized, would be the nonstop human interaction, which he often found more exhausting than fighting the elements at sea. But then the luxury of bathing in freshwater would make it all worthwhile. He poured water from a coconut shell over his head. Then he piled some of the grated coconut into a ball in the middle of the inpel, squeezed the coconut milk onto his face and his recently trimmed locks, and rubbed the inpel across his neck. He methodically scrubbed his shoulders and arms and chest in the same way, the white liquid streaming down his sun-blackened body like mother’s milk. As he stooped over the gigantic clamshell to rinse himself, he felt the sharp coral stones beneath his feet. His long voyage had softened his callouses. The irooj was right. He must begin walking immediately to regain strength in his legs and feet. After rinsing, shaking his hair, and rubbing off most of the water, he retied the fine kilt around his waist and stepped out of the bath stall. Liṃanṃan’s sister had set out several coconut-oil shell lamps and had spread several other large pandanus mats about the house, which now had a warm, luxurious feel to it. She reentered the house, carrying an aromatic coconut-leaf basket full of freshly cooked food that she abruptly handed to him, still pouting, it seemed, over his unwillingness to accept her advances.
He thanked her, sat down in front of one the lamps, and examined the contents. She sat on the other side facing him. There were fish in the basket, but his hand went immediately to an item that was still warm. It was wrapped in a baked breadfruit leaf and smelled of a ground oven. The sticky delicacy inside had oozed out of the brittle leaf in places and had crisped on the hot stones of the oven. He tore at one of these and placed it in his mouth. It was mokwaṇ mixed with coconut milk and rebaked in the leaf. He ate the whole thing within a few ecstatic moments. Then, becoming talkative, he turned to her and said, “This sort of thing is what I crave after so many days of eating food raw.”
She watched him intently with the pleasure only a woman takes in watching her man eat the food she has prepared. “There are others,” she said, “but try this.”
“What’s that?
”
“Pọljej.”
He had not eaten that in many seasons. She sat there like a proud mother bird watching her chick take its fill from her day of fishing, and the obvious pride he saw in her eyes endeared her to him.
“Did you make this?” he asked.
She raised her eyebrows and wheezed affirmatively.
“Well, it’s very good, but I cannot eat as I used to. I’ve gone too many days without much to eat and am afraid my stomach has shrunk.”
She got up, brought his sleeping mat from the garden, and laid it out next to him.
He had already decided he would sleep on his canoe to protect his character from this beguiling guard of his. He most certainly would not let this little … minx make a mockery of his relationship with her sister. He wanted to rest there for just one comforting moment, so he lay down on the sleeping mat, put his hands under his head, and closed his eyes for an instant to recall the moment he loved about her the most — when she plunged backward into the sea and successfully turned the canoe upright. No matter what the night might bring, he would hold that vision in his mind … and then he slipped into a dreamless but comforting sleep.
For how long he had slept, inside as he was, there was no way to tell, but suddenly Liṃanṃan’s sister appeared in a panic and awakened him. “Get up! Get up!” Muddled, he managed to raise himself on one elbow and tried to wipe the blur from his eyes. “She’s coming! She is coming! Likōkkālọk is almost here! Pretend we’ve been doing it,” she said, pulling up the back of her skirts and snuggling her bare rear into his lap. He raised himself further to peer into the dimly lit room as he struggled to recall the significance of the name.
Finally, it came to him. Kōkkālọk was the woman he had been warned about. Still propped on his elbow, he asked the young woman snuggled before him, “What is your name?”
Bending her neck and turning her face up to his, she whispered, “Joḷọk.”
“Ḷōpako? Ḷōpako? You are not asleep, are you?” questioned a voice from outside. “Can I come inside? I have a gift for you.”
Man Shark Page 11
