council helpers. The people were wary, but when lines at Gonka’s stall ceased, all praised the wisdom of the Chief Elder.
Second, to kindle the ebbing spirits of the people, the Chief Elder announced the next feast lengthened to three days. More fish and wine were to line the tables, and pots and cloth would be given to winners of races. For the first time in a moon, the Chief Elder enjoyed smiles when he walked about.
Sonru, seeing the prize he lusted slip away, spoke more fiercely. The Chief Elder was weak, he said, a woman. The Chief Elder dripped honeyed words, yes, but a true guide would lash hard the foes of the people. Again Sonru drew nods, and the Chief Elder despaired.
The gods, however, must have wished he keep his post, for twice more they sent trouble. At the time the Chief Elder appreciated not the test of his mettle, and found both sleep and appetite ruined. But later he knew it was his acts in answer that at last proved Sonru’s words lies.
When for two days the fishers from the far shore did not come to market, unrest grew. Quickly people found that even council yam leaves could not put fish in their pots. The anger of the people returned.
The Chief Elder hurried to the far shore. Here the fishers explained no longer was it worth their while to walk so far for five stones a basket. The Chief Elder left without a word.
The next morning he returned with ten guards.
“By order of the council”, he told the fishers, “you will each moon bring sixty baskets of fish to the market. Any who fail in their share, unless hindered by storm, will be sent beyond the lagoon. These ten council helpers will remain to see you do your duty to the island.”
The fishers stood wide eyed before the man who had once praised the far shore as his second home.
The troubles of the Chief Elder ended where they had begun, with Gonka. The morning of the sixth day before the choosing, the reeds on Gonka’s stall did not lift. Instead his stout form was seen casting a net into the lagoon. All day confusion grew as people swarmed the market trading fish. Some fishers cared not who had council yam leaves, and some buyers gave an extra stone or two for a basket.
The Chief Elder, who had always known the worth of Gonka even if others did not, met Gonka before his hut next morning. Two guards stood behind the Chief Elder. Gonka, with a net in hand, moved to step past. The guards blocked him.
The Chief Elder beheld Gonka, whose face was lined with fatigue. Blisters also marred his hands. The Chief Elder almost pitied the plain fisher who had risen to stallmaster and was now fisher again.
“Gonka,” he said gently, “you will go nowhere but to your stall.”
“Why, to starve?”
“No, to trade fish—as the island wishes you to do.”
“Trade, Chief Elder? I can no longer trade. I can only offer fish for as much as the fishers offer me. On what am I to live?” Gonka spat.
One of the guards lifted his club, but the Chief Elder waved him still.
“Gonka, it is said in the council you close your stall so near the choosing to mock us in the eyes of the people. Many elders speak with rage. Some would have you sent out the lagoon.”
The eyes of Gonka glowed like coals, then they fell.
“I am no longer a young man. If I were, I would gut these sharks beside you. But now I cannot. Tell me, Chief Elder, how will I live from the stall. I do not lie about starving.”
“I know you do not. The council will own your stall and give you stones to toil there. You will be allowed enough to eat. But not enough, I am afraid, for five servants.”
Gonka sighed. “So you have robbed me of everything.”
Anger shoved aside the Chief Elder’s pity. “It is greed that has robbed you, Gonka. Curse that, and nothing else.”
The Chief Elder turned to the guards. “Take him to the fish stall. Send for me if he lags in his toil.”
The guards poked Gonka with their clubs and hurried him toward the market.
The day after the choosing, when all elders save Sonru learned they would again guide four seasons, it rained. The rain kept the wife to all men Chana from the market edge and instead at the door of her hut. No matter the weather, to her it was a toil day like any other. She fixed her eyes on the trail from the far shore and waited.
Her patience was rewarded when four fishers appeared. As they neared, she saw none of them talked. Moreover, their feet dragged, their shoulders sagged, and their faces were sour. This troubled her, for such men were not likely to buy her wares.
When she called, three of the fishers shrugged and shuffled on. One, though, remained. He was young and shifted on his feet.
Chana smiled. “Come inside, where it is dry and my mats are soft.”
“How much, Great Wife?” The young fisher reddened as he stammered the words.
She pointed to the string of fish he carried. He shook his head and reached for the pouch tied to his loincloth.
“No, not those,” hissed Chana.
“But Great Wife, I have many stones.”
“No, give me five fish.”
“I cannot, these I must bring to Gonka. But I will give you all my stones. I have thirty.”
The fisher thrust the pouch forward.
Chana knocked it from his hand.
“Not thirty, not twice thirty. I need fish.”
The fisher snatched up the pouch and cursed her. Then he plodded off after his companions.
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