by John Harding
There remained only two possibilities. Perhaps a monkey had found it. Yes, that was probably it. Most likely a howler monkey. They were always playing jokes on people. The other possibility he didn’t even like to think about. That the dress had been taken by a human. Someone who had followed him here and knew he had broken the taboo.
There was nothing for it, Lintoa would just have to return home in his pubic leaf. He balled the bra in his fist. There was no point in putting it on. Dressed as a boy he had a chance that anyone who saw him would mistake him for someone else. The bra would give him away. Besides, it was late. The poto game would have finished hours ago. All the young people would be making fug-a-fug. All the men would have had too much kassa to notice him. And the women, well, at this time the women would be in their homes, waiting for their men to stagger home.
Kiroa stood in the doorway of the bukumatula house and stretched. She had almost fallen asleep while her latest boyfriend was making fug-a-fug. He had taken so long and had kept telling her how much he loved her. It was hard to get excited when someone did that. It had just left her feeling hungry, which of course meant she would have to return to her parents’ house, food in the bukumatula house being taboo. Still, at least she could get some sleep at home without being woken up for more fug-a-fug by that silly boy.
She stretched again and yawned, closing her eyes. When she opened them she saw a ghostly figure walking between the huts. He was tall and looked strong. His muscles bulged. She couldn’t help noticing his pubic leaf. ‘Oh, my,’ she said to herself. ‘Is be one long leaf string!’
She would have called out but that would have woken the pestering boy and half the village. So she contented herself with simply watching. For now she knew who it was, this muscular hero. That silly she-boy Lintoa. Who would have thought those stupid dresses could conceal a body like this? Who would have believed such a thing? How could any girl ever look at another boy again, when she had seen this? All her life Kiroa had despised boys. She had always thought it was because boys were such pathetic, wheedling creatures, so far beneath her. Now she knew she’d been wrong; it was just that before tonight, she had never seen the right one.
THIRTY-SIX
WILLIAM PUSHED BACK his chair from the mahogany table, stretched his arms and yawned. He was tired after a morning spent transcribing tapes of his interviews with amputees and cross-referencing witness statements. He got up and wandered out onto the veranda. The ocean was unusually calm, unlike his mind which was hyperactive with dates and injury assessments and locations. He needed something to take it off the work for a while. He cursed himself for not bringing a book, other than law books. He thought about borrowing one from Managua, or going to see Lucy but either course of action would mean he’d get no work done this afternoon. The thought of Lucy reminded him of the manuscript she’d given him and he went and found it under the mound of papers on the working, that is the non-sleeping, end of his table. He gathered up the bundle, returned to the veranda and sat down with his back against the wall of the hotel, selected a page at random and began to read:
As you might expect, in a matrilineal society women are more highly valued. It is through women that wealth and status are accrued. A woman passes her wealth to her children, a man leaves his property to his nearest blood relations, namely his sister’s children. During his lifetime it is his duty to supply these nephews and nieces (but not, of course, those who are the children of his brothers) with yams and any material things they might have need of. This takes precedence over providing for his wife’s children, since, by the natives’ lights, these are not his own. When a man is looking for a wife, the best partner is a woman who has no sisters but four or five brothers. Her children will be supplied with many yams and other things. On the other hand a girl who is one of five sisters and who has only one or perhaps no brother at all, means the children he moulds and comes to love will grow up in poverty.
Since females are the conduit of wealth it therefore follows that girl children are more prized than boys, for it is girls who will continue the family line and the accumulation of property. One result of this is that it is considered a great misfortune, a tragedy almost, for a woman to have no daughters. A woman will hang her head in shame as she confesses to you that she has five fine strapping sons but no girl child. Out of this has been born a desperate emotional longing among the island women for daughters. Here must lie the origin of the phenomenon of the so-called she-boys. It is the custom that if a woman produces a number of boy children but no girl, and reaches the stage where she believes she is incapable of giving birth again, then the last boy to be born is raised as a girl. His hair will not be cut and as soon as he is old enough to wear clothes he is put into a grass skirt. Instead of being raised to manly pursuits, the she-boy is educated as a girl and expected to wash clothes, clean the hut, sew, search for turtle eggs and tend the garden while others of his true sex learn to fish, to build huts and dig bamboo pits for bantam pigs. When the she-boys reach adolescence they, like real girls, are excluded from playing poto or entering the kassa house.
Because the natives generally marry young and take no steps to limit their families, there are few she-boys. Most women keep on having babies until they produce a girl. Even when this does not happen, if a daughterless woman has a sister who has a number of girls, it is common for her to adopt a niece. Only if this is not possible will she resort to making her youngest son into a girl.
There is of course no economic benefit to the mother of a she-boy. The motivation is purely emotional to satisfy the maternal longing that has over the centuries evolved from practical and social considerations.
She-boys are spoken to and of as girls and treated almost exactly as if they were female. The only exception to this is that they do not appear naked before girls when the latter go swimming because it is taboo for members of one sex to display their genitals to those of the other. Likewise the she-boys do not strip off before other boys; the fiction that they are girls is here maintained and, of course, it is taboo for girls to disrobe before boys. The she-boys have a specially segregated part of the shitting beach to themselves between those set aside for men and women, so that neither can see them naked, and this may be considered as symbolic of their in-between status.
Of course there is one occasion on which boys and girls see one another naked and that is during one-to-one sex. But there is a strict taboo against homosexuality and because of this the she-boys are condemned to celibacy while all their young peers are indulging themselves freely. As they are dressed as girls and considered girls, it is taboo for them to make love to other girls. But of course they cannot make love to boys like true girls since that too would constitute homosexuality.
There are at present three she-boy adolescents in the main village. When I asked them how they felt about not being able to make fug-a-fug I received differing reactions from each of them. Sussua, the quiet one, blushed and giggled. Tigua, always willing to talk, shrugged and said, ‘Miss Lucy, we is know from time we is be little girl this is not be for we yet. Is be something we is not concern we with.’ I couldn’t have said why at the time but this strong denial of any interest filled me with great sadness.
At this, Lintoa rolled his eyes and said, ‘Huh, you is speak for youself. Is be damn stupid custom. I is be flesh and blood like any other boy—’
At the word boy there was a sharp intake of breath from Tigua which earned him a scowl from Lintoa, who went on, ‘– like any other boy. I is tell you when I is become boy I is go make fug-a-fug all day and all night for one year. Is be no-one is be able for stop me.’
I expected some comment upon this from Tigua, some reference to what he might do in the future but he merely looked at the ground and said nothing. Later of course I realized why I had felt so saddened by his acceptance of celibacy: in his case it may be permanent, because it is as plain as a pikestaff that he adores Lintoa and, with the taboos against homosexuality, not to mention Lintoa’s fierce devotio
n to heterosexuality, how can Tigua’s passion ever be consummated?
I asked him how he managed now and said I presumed that in an atmosphere of so much sexual activity they must indulge in self-pleasure, which brought such strenuous denials and guilty looks that I felt like a Victorian school-marm. Masturbation is not taboo, but is seen as a perversion. With sexual intercourse so freely available why would someone want to play with themselves? It is regarded as something only someone soft in the head would want to do, is derided, rather than condemned, and never, ever, admitted to.
When a she-boy reaches maturity, that is adulthood, which is at around the age of eighteen, he is allowed to choose his sex. Nearly all decide to revert to their natural sex as is shown by the absence of any older she-boys in the village, although I understand that until shortly before my arrival here there existed a she-boy of some eighty years old, a man who continued to wear a grass skirt and took his place among the other old women of the village, sitting and gossiping around the fire with them and greatly revered for his knowledge of herbal remedies and ancient recipes.
I will have departed the island before the present crop of older she-boys reaches choosing age. Should I ever have cause to return in later years, which is more than likely if the present work attracts the attention I expect when it is published, it will be interesting to discover what choices were made. Somehow I cannot imagine Tigua in a pubic leaf; the very idea seems somewhat indecent. And yet, equally, I cannot imagine him without Lintoa as his constant companion. It is very difficult to foresee what will become of this funny little boy.
William’s cheeks were on fire as he lowered the manuscript. He was burning up with embarrassment and shame. How could he have been so stupid? So blind? How could he not have noticed what should have been so obvious to anyone with half a brain, that these three hefty girls were young men in drag?
And why hadn’t Lucy told him? Why had she permitted him to be hauled around the jungle by these three transvestites? Why hadn’t she corrected him when she heard him call them things like ‘My dear’?
She’d allowed him to make a laughing stock of himself. He’d thought he had her confidence, but this proved him wrong. And if he didn’t have it in this, where else might it be lacking? He went inside, pulled on his boots and hurried to the village. As luck would have it the first people he came across were Tigua and Lintoa who were sitting on a fallen tree trunk sewing grass skirts. Lintoa’s face wore its all-too-familiar scowl.
‘These stitches is be one big sow for get right,’ he muttered to Tigua, not even looking up at William. ‘My fingers is be too big for damn needle.’
‘You is just be damn hopeless for sew,’ replied the smaller she-boy. ‘You is not listen when you mamu is teach you, that is be truth of matter.’
William coughed. Both she-boys looked up. Lintoa’s face cracked open into a smile. ‘Ah, gwanga! I is be plenty pleased for see you. I is need good reason for stop this game.’ He tossed the grass skirt to one side and brushed pieces of loose grass from his pink dress.
‘You’re boys,’ said William. He couldn’t keep a certain note of anger out of his voice.
Their heads jerked up in surprise and they stared at him for a moment before replying.
‘Yes,’ said Lintoa.
‘No,’ said Tigua.
‘You’re she-boys,’ said William. ‘You’re boys who dress as girls.’
‘You is see,’ said Lintoa, turning to Tigua, ‘I is tell you. I is be mean for be boy. This man is come here from America. He is know nothing of stupid custom. But truth is be obvious. He is can see I is be boy.’
‘He is be here two weeks and is not see until now. Is call you “my dear” in jungle. Is offer for find me pink boots.’
William smarted at the memory of that day. The deference he had shown them. The delicacy with which he’d averted his eyes when they popped behind a tree to relieve themselves. How could Lucy have put him through that?
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were boys?’ he demanded.
‘You is not ask,’ said Tigua. She – he – gave William his cheekiest smile. ‘Besides, I is not be boy. I is be girl.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said William.
‘OK, so you is see boy wear cocktail dress like this? Boy is walk around in bra? Boy is have high-heel shoes? You is go tell me that?’
‘That doesn’t make you a girl!’
‘If is not make me girl I is not know what is make me,’ replied Tigua.
‘It’s what’s underneath the dress that counts. You have a – a – what do you call it—’ he was struggling to recall the manuscript, ‘a – a pwili.’
‘Is be small point,’ said Tigua.
‘Is be very small point in you case,’ said Lintoa. Tigua fetched him one round the ear. Lintoa took it good-naturedly.
‘I’d say it was the whole point,’ said William. ‘I’d say having a pwili made you a boy.’
‘You is be right,’ said Lintoa eagerly. ‘I is tell she that for years. You is hear that, Tigua? Gwanga is say just what I is always tell you.’
William left them arguing. There was no point in blaming them for his myopia. But Lucy was a different matter. He found her bathing in a small lagoon near her house. ‘Come on in, the water’s lovely!’ she called when she saw him. It was a tempting prospect. Through the clear water he could see she was naked. But he was too angry to accept the invitation.
‘Tigua and Lintoa are boys!’ he shouted from the pool side.
‘I know!’ she replied. The answer made him even angrier.
‘But why didn’t you tell me?’
She paddled slowly towards where he stood. She smiled cheekily at him. ‘You didn’t ask.’
‘You’ve made such a fool of me, letting me go off in the jungle with a couple of transvestites. The goddam mosquito bites have only just stopped hurting. And afterwards, you could have tipped me off then.’
‘I gave you my book. It’s not my fault you didn’t read it.’
William bit his lip. That much was true. ‘I feel such an idiot,’ he muttered.
‘Think you need an anatomy lesson,’ said Lucy splashing water up at him. ‘Why don’t you get your things off and jump in here and I’ll see what I can do.’
As William began to unbutton his shirt he had a sudden realization that he was allowing Lucy to buy off his anger. He felt he was being manipulated but he could not have said how or why. When he plunged into the water he could not help but shiver, for it was unexpectedly cold.
THIRTY-SEVEN
SINCE WILLIAM’S ARRIVAL on the island there had been an outbreak not only of magic but also of secrets. Now almost everybody had at least one. Managua had always had two, about Pilua’s fate and about the whereabouts of the pig. But now he had Lintoa’s as well, even though Lintoa had concealed from him part of the secret, namely the identity of the object of his affection. Purnu was concealing so many secrets it was difficult for him to open his mouth without letting one escape; he was learning to read; he was sleeping with Lamua; he had made spells to help Lamua find the pig; he had enlisted Lintoa to assist with the pig search and he was searching for Pilua for the gwanga. Lamua was sleeping with Purnu behind her husband’s back and was searching for information about the woman Pilua. Lucy was concealing the facts that she’d been inside the kassa house, that Lintoa had discovered and loved a mysterious white girl and that he had been out dressed – or rather undressed – as a boy. She had at least been unburdened of one secret, albeit one of omission, that she had not told William Hardt that the she-boys were not girls because his confusion over them had amused her. William knew about Lucy and the kassa hut and he was clandestinely teaching Purnu to read. Kiroa had not told a soul that she had seen Lintoa dressed as a boy. She hadn’t revealed to anyone that she’d fallen in love with him. Only Tigua had virtually no secrets. He would tell anyone who asked that he had seen a little black dress in Vogue which he knew was just him. Tigua’s solitary secret which he told nobody was th
at he loved Lintoa, but it was the one secret on the island that everybody knew.
Secrecy always breeds suspicion and the atmosphere on the island was alive with it.
Purnu was by nature suspicious; he thought he saw in others the corruption he knew to be in himself. So when he watched his daughter trailing along after the three she-boys, he immediately knew something was wrong. Normally Kiroa was at the centre of a crowd of boys, all of them after her to spend the night in the bukumatula house with them. She treated them with disdain. Those who professed love, she mocked. Her beauty ensured she could have any boy she wished and so, like a child who can have every toy it wants, she wanted none of them. And now, here she was hanging around with the she-boys. Purnu was an overly fond father, as widowers with daughters tend to be, and kept a close eye on Kiroa. He’d even followed her this morning to try to discover what was going on in her mind and had realized that, in spite of the taboo against same-sex love, she was besotted with Lintoa. He also noticed that the big she-boy, who usually wore a red dress, had lately changed it for a pink one and wondered why that should be. No matter, he still looked ridiculous. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The thing that really galled Purnu was that Lintoa obviously had no time for his daughter. Mostly he simply ignored her, but occasionally her constant attentions irritated him and Purnu watched in dismay as he shooed her away. To think his daughter, who could have her pick of all the boys, should be rejected by a she-boy! It beggared belief. And the most humiliating thing of all was, the more Lintoa pushed her away, the more she wanted him. For a girl like Kiroa, the new experience of not being able to get what she wanted was driving her wild.
There was only one answer to how all this had come to be, and Purnu guessed at whose door to lay the blame.
