The women shook dust from the sleeping and sitting mats, brought in fresh aretu grass to cover the floors, and rehearsed dances for the entertainment. The menservants gathered foodstuffs and piled firewood beside their huge earth oven. The pigs and chickens were herded into bamboo enclosures so they would not be underfoot.
At last, when the guest arrived in early afternoon, the entire household turned out to greet him. “Manava, my friend Matopahu!” called Pigs-run-out in welcome as he went to escort the visitor inside the compound. Tepua, standing far back with the womenservants, wondered at his unusually genial tone. With most people, the underchief displayed a distant or even sulky manner, but this time he looked genuinely delighted.
“Ia ora na,” replied the arriving guest to the underchief’s greeting. “May you live, may you prosper.”
Over the heads of the other women, Tepua stared with curiosity at the high chief’s brother.
The visitor was far younger than the headman, but the intent look in his eyes and the set of his mouth hinted at a dignity and wisdom beyond his years. He had a strong-featured face and a head covered by waves of black hair that gleamed beneath the band of his turban. Matopahu was a tall man, taller than the underchief, and he had with him a small band of warriors all nearly his own height.
Even among the group of handsome warriors, Matopahu stood out, drawing everyone’s attention. Tepua found it difficult to let her gaze wander from the young nobleman. His limbs were smooth, but when he walked, Tepua could see the strength in his arms and chest. About his shoulders Matopahu wore a cloak of richly painted tapa cloth. His legs were elegantly tattooed, though she could not see the details of the design.
The visitor called a greeting to everyone, then went inside the main house with the headman. The women and servants were dismissed. “First the men will talk and eat,” Hard-mallet explained. “The entertainment will come later.” She smiled shyly. “Not only singing and dancing. This Matopahu has been here before. After the lamps are out, you can be sure he will keep someone up late.”
“I think you would like to be that someone,” answered Tepua. She had come to like Hard-mallet and wished her friend the pleasure this noble stranger might bring. Yet Tepua was more than curious about Matopahu. He had a striking face and an impressive manner. She found herself wondering what sort of spirit might lie behind that face.
Tepua could see the excitement in her friend’s eyes as well. “What you say is true,” said Hard-mallet. “He has chosen me before and I did not regret it.”
“Then let me help you,” Tepua said, putting her affection for Hard-mallet ahead of any possible interest she might have in the visitor.’ ’Shall we make an offering to the gods and ask their favor?”
Hard-mallet laughed. “Yes. Quickly, then, before anyone sees us.” They raced back to the women’s house and gathered several pieces of ripe fruit. At the small wooden shrine behind the house, they set their offerings before the idols and chanted a quiet prayer.
8
THE welcoming celebration began at once, with feasting, then performances and dancing in front of the underchief’s main house. Pigs-run-out and his guest sat on stools in the place of honor while important people of the district sat on mats to each side.
Tepua and the other servants had to stay out of sight, except when they were summoned to entertain. From afar she watched a group of young men strutting through a spear dance, but she took no interest in their performance. She could only sit and wonder when she would be called to show off her pupil. Impatiently she balled her fist and stared at the ground.
As the afternoon passed she began to think that Pigs-runout had forgotten her. Perhaps he had stolen a glance at Small-foot’s progress and decided that she wasn’t ready to perform. Tepua felt a twinge of disappointment. It was true that the underchief’s daughter still had much to learn, but the girl had worked hard to prepare herself.
As darkness fell the servants lit torches and the entertainment continued. Musicians played and men chanted, though they were no match for the Arioi performers she had seen. Hard-mallet explained that these were merely local people and not seasoned players. “But our guest is having a good time anyway,” she whispered. Tepua could scarcely see Matopahu in the flickering firelight.
She forced herself to look away, uncomfortable with the intense and unexpected effect he had on her, even at a distance. Then she was startled to hear her name called. A servant beckoned. Tepua’s pulse began racing as she and her student came to stand before the headman and Matopahu. Small-foot stood in front, Tepua several steps behind. The drummers took up their beat.
Eager as ever, though far from graceful, the headman’s daughter began to wiggle her small hips. Tepua tried not to laugh, though the girl’s exaggerated motions were comical. The first lessons had helped, but Small-foot would need many more.
Tepua saw a frown growing on the headman’s face. Had he expected his daughter to be performing like an Arioi? she wondered. She kept her own dancing subdued to avoid drawing attention from Small-foot. For a moment she watched her pupil’s small tan back, the child’s smooth skin catching the light from a dozen palm-rib torches. Then Tepua looked at the headman and Matopahu.
She saw how Pigs-run-out’s scowl softened when he glanced at his guest. Once again she found herself curious what sort of person this visitor might be. She had heard only a few hints from Hard-mallet.
The pleased expression on Matopahu’s face confirmed what her friend had told her—he was truly enjoying himself. Occasionally he spoke to his host, gesturing with long-fingered hands. She noticed his powerful shoulders, sinewy forearms, and guessed that he was skilled in the usual pursuits of the chiefly class—archery, throwing the javelin, sailing for sport. This was no indolent nobleman, she thought, devoted to eating and other sedentary pleasures.
She caught herself casting too many looks at Matopahu and lowered her head, hoping he hadn’t noticed. He was not watching her, she saw, relieved. His attention was completely on Small-foot, for he nodded with appreciation each time the girl tried something new.
Despite her decision not to upstage her pupil, Tepua found herself starting one of her more exotic flourishes. Her hands and arms seemed to be moving of their own accord...
From Hard-mallet, Tepua had learned a few things about Matopahu. He was older than his brother, who was high chief over several districts. If, as some said, Matopahu had been deprived unfairly of that office, no sign of disappointment showed on his features. His face was clear of the lines that bitterness or pettiness could engrave. Yet a certain look about his eyes said that he was no stranger to pain.
The drumbeat quickened and Tepua watched Small-foot struggling to keep up. Tepua did not need to think about what her hips and legs and fingers were doing. Restrain yourself, came a warning voice in her head. Here you are nothing but a servant.
Her body, moving in the fast rhythm of the dance, grew more supple, her skin more sensitive, her senses more acute. Her breasts, rubbing against the flowered wreath she wore, began to tingle, and the side-to-side thrusting of her hips began to waken the pleasant feeling that dancing often produced.
It is the dance that is arousing me, not the closeness of that man, she thought fiercely, but something beyond her will seemed to take possession of her and she turned in place before Matopahu, displaying herself.
For an instant Matopahu’s gaze went to her and his brows rose, but his attention was drawn away again by a remark by Pigs-run-out. Feeling deflated, Tepua faced away and continued to dance, but some of the spirit had gone from her performance.
At last the headman clapped his hands and the drumming ceased. Small-foot, laughing and prancing, raced off to rejoin her mother. Tepua received no praise for either her dancing or her instruction. Pigs-run-out dismissed her with a curt wave. She could only slip into the shadows and wait for the entertainment to continue. When she looked toward the two men, she saw them in animated conversation.
Her frustration with the
headman flared into anger. She was already weary of being his servant, set to tending crops or pounding bark-cloth at his whim. And now he had brought her out like a bizarrely colored bird, to display her for his guest and then quickly put her aside.
What did you expect? she scolded herself. That you would be included in such noble company? You are but a brief amusement for these men. They would be far more excited by a cockfight.
She watched with little interest as the headman called Hard-mallet to him. But then, to her surprise, Hard-mallet made her way back to Tepua and whispered that the underchief wanted her. He had invited his daughter’s dancing teacher to come and sit beside his guest.
Tepua’s heartbeat quickened again. Matopahu had noticed her after all. But she realized, with a growing sense of shame, that she had betrayed her friendship with Hard-mallet. She had let her own desires take control of her during the dance.
What about the offering to the gods? she asked herself, shaking her head and frowning at poor Hard-mallet. Had they mistaken the purpose of her offering to the idol, turning the guest’s attention to the wrong woman? Whatever the reason, she could not refuse the headman’s invitation.
Slowly she got up and made her way around the edge of the audience. Feeling her dancing skirt brush against her legs as she walked, she took her place on the mat beside the guest. Uncomfortably she faced forward, not wishing to meet his gaze while the headman’s attention still focused on both of them. What did Pigs-run-out expect of her?
Or Matopahu himself? Though she was not looking at him, she could not help being intensely aware of his presence. Warmth seemed to radiate from his body, unless that was the flushing of her own skin. Her breasts throbbed beneath the flowered wreath, and the excitement woken by the dance stirred again.
She glanced sideways at his legs, at the hard, well-sculpted muscles of his calves and the elegant tattoo of an eel that twined up around each one. A desire crept over her to touch the glistening skin with her fingertips.
She could hear, almost feel, the resonance of his voice as he spoke to Pigs-run-out. His tone was not deep, but still powerful, and she knew he would not have to shout in order to make himself heard. The air about her seemed charged with his scent. The sweet oil he had rubbed on his limbs and the smell of the bark-cloth cloak mixed pleasantly with his own warm aroma.
She watched the next performance start and tried to let it distract her from his presence. This was to be the ponara, a game she had seen played by Tahitian women, though they had never invited her to join them.
A group of women wearing wreaths, and waistcloths painted with birds and flowers, formed two lines and faced each other. They laid their arms about each other’s shoulders so that they could dance in a line. One woman kicked a green, unripe breadfruit across the ground. It hurtled toward the opposing line, whose members tried to block it with their feet.
The breadfruit shot back and forth several times before it bounced past the legs of the first team. Laughing, they conceded the round to their opponents. For a penalty, the losers had to perform a song or a dance; then the breadfruit was put into play again.
Tepua stole a look at Pigs-run-out. The headman was absorbed in the ponara, cheering on the team that held the women of his family. She caught Matopahu also casting a quick glance at the headman.
The honored guest gave her a conspiratorial look from the corner of his eye. “Our host seems to be occupied,” he said softly. He shifted, moving closer to her, leaning down from his seat. Again she inhaled his scent, a sweet, clean maleness fresh from bathing. She noticed his appraising glance, his nostrils flaring delicately as he took in her own aroma.
“I have seen women from the atolls dance as you do,” he said, “but none with your ability. You are a foreigner, yet you have enough skill to teach our own dancers.”
Tepua bathed in the warm glow engendered by his praise. It was not just polite flattery. For a moment she was so absurdly happy that she wanted to leap up and dance again, just for him.
Yet she sobered as she felt a sting of wariness. How much does he know about me? I should be careful. “I am new to Tahiti,” she conceded. “I am trying to learn Maohi ways.”
“Where did you come from and how did you get here?” The questions were friendly, but she sensed a sharp curiosity behind them.
She did not want Matopahu or anyone else to know her true background now, and she hoped that people would forget everything she had said earlier about her family. Traders from the low islands sometimes visited Tahiti. If she were recognized, and news of her presence here reached home, her kin might send someone to bring her back to them—in disgrace. She chose her words with care.
“You would not know my little island. There was an accident at sea. I was lucky to find a capsized canoe adrift, and somehow I brought myself here.”
“Accident?” His eyes narrowed. “Then you came because the gods sent you, not of your own will. You must be homesick for your country.”
Tepua stiffened. Of course she was homesick for her atoll.
“You do not answer,” he said mildly. “Perhaps you find Tahiti to your liking.” He waved his hand at the expansive compound with its spacious houses. “My friend Pigs-runout surely lives better than any of your island chiefs. You could do worse than stay here.”
Tepua felt her temper simmering. Perhaps it was not the slight against her homeland but the discovery that this man, charming though he might be, shared the arrogance that Tepua found in many Tahitians. This island might have its abundance, its green-clad heights and cascading streams, but she missed the stark beauty of her atoll, its landscape of sand and coral and water. Her people were not as rich or plump as the Maohi, but they were still her people.
“I am satisfied with my place,” she said, trying to keep the edge from her voice. “For now.”
The answer seemed to startle him. “And later?” he asked after a pause.
A motion on Matopahu’s far side drew her attention. Pigs-run-out was heaving himself off the stool to go congratulate the winning ponara dancers.
Tepua decided that with the headman gone, she could be more candid. She lifted her chin. “Perhaps I will not pound bark-cloth forever.”
“You could teach young girls to dance. I would not say this to my host, but his daughter has little aptitude for the art. You have at least made her presentable.”
Tepua stared at him directly. Should she share her new dream with him? Something about this man drew her secrets from her. She did not know whether she resented this or welcomed it. She tried to put her wish into words that would not sound absurd.
“Sometimes ... when I dance, I feel it is not just me doing the dancing. I become something more.” She glanced up. “Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Does such a thing ever happen to you?” As soon as she finished, she wished she could take back her words. A little vertical line formed between his brows, as if her question had disturbed him.
“Not when I dance,” he said. “But there are other times ... yes.”
Tepua felt her eyes widen. He did understand! He did share something that was precious to her. She was seized by a hunger to know more, to share more, but she stanched her impulse to flood him with questions. If he wanted to tell her, he would.
“I have heard,” she continued, “that Oro sometimes inspires a dancer. I think that happened when I danced for the Arioi.” She took a breath, feeling her pulse beat at the base of her throat while something inside her screamed a warning in Bone-needle’s voice. Yet she forged ahead, feeling her own voice start to tremble with intensity. “It may be, as you say, that the gods sent me here, to Tahiti. If so, then perhaps they wish me to honor Oro—by joining the performers of the Arioi society.”
Matopahu’s brows rose. “One does not draw such a conclusion lightly. Tell me what you know of the Arioi.”
Tepua recalled what she had learned by questioning Hoihoi and Hard-mallet, but she knew how inadequate their explanations
must be. Under his stare, she became tongue-tied. He smiled again, putting her at ease, and she felt another rush of happiness.
“You need not answer,” he said. “The Arioi are important to us. They help keep peace in ways you may not understand yet. Young people of the best families are encouraged to join the society, so they will not breed trouble. They are kept busy trying to rise through the ranks.”
“Then that must please the chiefs—”
“Not as much as you might think, You see, the Arioi do not hesitate to make their views known—through their satires. If a chief is ridiculed by the Arioi, he soon mends his ways.”
Tepua paused, trying to take in all he had said. “Then you have given me another reason to admire these Arioi. They have the courage to stand up to overbearing chiefs.”
“Yes. That is sometimes very useful.”
Suddenly a thought came to her, and she spoke in a rush. “You say men of the high families are urged to join them. Does that mean you are a member?”
“For reasons of my own, I am not.”
She stared at him in silence, regretting her hasty words.
“But do not let that discourage you. The Arioi may be what you need. Certainly you seem out of place here, like a custard apple in a mango tree. You are the headman’s servant, but you have the stature and grace of a noblewoman. Tell me your background.”
Tepua met his eyes again. They were deep, liquid, a color too rich to be called brown. She knew that if she tried to lie to this man, she would merely show herself for a fool. Yet how to explain?
“I was a member of the chief’s court on my home island. I was sent away.”
“Intrigue?” he asked. He reached toward her and gently cupped her chin, raising her eyes to meet his. His touch made gooseflesh rise on her nape. “Jealousy among the ladies of the court?”
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