Baptism of Fire

by Christine Harris

  They came to the fork in the path: the right track leading to the village, and the left directly to the beach. ‘Let’s take five minutes and visit the beach,’ Hannah suggested.

  Hesitating, unconvinced, Joshua didn’t immediately answer, so Hannah played on his sympathies. ‘I sat with Uncle Henry for a long time last night. I’m tired.’

  It wasn’t a lie, one look at her face showed that. So without further discussion, they veered left and settled themselves on an unoccupied stretch of sand. The fishing fleet was on its way out and the water was dotted with outriggers.

  Hannah had no patience with fatalism, letting something happen because you considered it was inevitable. Some things were inevitable, but not all, and knowing the difference could be difficult. She thought about Merelita, who accepted whatever came along without question because she had been brought up that way. And Joshua? Being born into such a strictly religious family helped to shape his own outlook. Whatever God decreed had to be, with no room for negotiation. Hannah refused to accept that. Her mother, Catriona, had always told her God helps those who help themselves.

  Running her fingers through the sand, Hannah tried to keep her voice calm and rational when she finally spoke. ‘But are the Fijians always right? I mean, honestly, can you think of a time when they thought someone was going to die but didn’t?’

  Joshua leant back on his side and began tracing line patterns in the sand with his forefinger. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He looked at his cousin quizzically. ‘Luata’s husband.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘I know why she hasn’t been to do the washing. But I didn’t tell Mother. She has enough to worry about. Luata’s husband was speared during the fight. They cut the end off the spear and brought him back to the village …’ A wry gleam showed the boy had not lost his pleasure in shocking an audience. ‘Probably so they wouldn’t eat him. Anyway, he was sick and they thought he’d die. But he didn’t.’

  ‘Well, that’s good. Isn’t it?’

  He traced a circle, then added dots in the centre. ‘Yes, especially for Luata. It means she’ll live too. They strangle them you know.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The wives. If a husband dies, the wives are strangled by their next of kin so they can serve their husband in the next life.’

  Hannah’s jaw dropped. ‘But can’t someone stop them?’

  He looked at her, his eyes earnest. ‘They want to be strangled. They volunteer. My father has saved some of them. But sometimes they run back to the village and offer themselves up. He told me.’

  Hannah was speechless.

  ‘Old people too. They believe you come back in the next life in the same condition they died, so they want to go before they get too doddery.’

  A silence followed as Hannah considered what he’d said. Sometimes people didn’t ask enough questions. If they did, they might look at things a little differently. Sometimes she landed herself in trouble for asking the wrong questions at the wrong time, perhaps of the wrong person. But when she was asking questions, she was thinking for herself.

  ‘I knew the instant I saw the look in Father’s eyes when they helped him up the beach,’ said Joshua. ‘I just knew he was going to die. What are we going to do without him, Hannah?’

  She chose her words carefully. It was important. ‘I can’t tell you that he’s not going to die, Joshua. And you had good reason to think something was wrong when you saw the outrigger. But death?’ She swallowed with difficulty. ‘Just because you fear he’ll die, doesn’t mean he will. And just because you think the way he looked meant something tragic, doesn’t mean it did. People often say “We knew something was going to happen” or “he had a certain look”. I’ve heard it before, and so have you. But really, we say those things to appease ourselves. We invent special significance because it’s important to us.’

  His eyes followed the intricate patterns he drew in the sand, but she knew he was listening. ‘Often people we love slip away quietly without fuss, suddenly gone with no warning. And we can’t bear it,’ she said. ‘It’s like the sadness of an unmarked grave. We have to mark that moment in our minds. “It happened then … right then”. It’s neater and somehow more bearable if we’re left a personal message … a look, a touch, or a word. Sometimes, if there was no message for us, we make one up.’

  How often, late at night, had she searched her memories for a signal of some sort that her parents were going to leave her forever? She wished she had bid them a special farewell, or that they had imparted some message that would help her get along without them. But nothing like that had happened. On the morning of the accident, her mother had simply reminded Hannah to wash the dishes, and she in turn, had waved absent-mindedly, her interest engaged in a book. Later, when someone came to tell her the news, the dishes were still jumbled on the sink.

  Even so, there did seem something odd about Uncle Henry’s illness. She looked across at her young cousin’s hopeless expression. The young woman from the lonely bure was dead, and Uncle Henry was weakening by the hour. Having already lost a mother and a father, Hannah wasn’t about to let her uncle go without a struggle.

  Suddenly she leapt to her feet. ‘Come on! We have to find Merelita. She’s going to tell us everything she knows about vakadraunikau.’

  Startled, Joshua stared stupidly, seeming incapable of movement. Hannah reached out a hand, he took it and she tugged him to his feet.

  ‘If a spell can be made, it can be unmade. True?’ Hannah glared at him, willing him to agree.

  Hidden in a clearing some distance from the village, the three conspirators still whispered. You never knew who was listening, even here.

  ‘Hair in leaves.’ Merelita mimed the entwining of a corrupt partnership.

  Hannah listened with intense concentration to each detail. ‘Then what happens?’

  Goggle-eyed, Joshua swivelled his eyes from one girl to the other, saying nothing.

  ‘Dig. In ground.’

  ‘Can you undo the bad magic?’

  ‘You must find hair. But not wait more than four days.’

  Four days? It was already the third. Hannah watched her cousin anxiously.

  Joshua whispered, his pupils wide and dark. ‘What if it’s not vakadraunikau?’ He looked young and vulnerable.

  Hannah chewed her lower lip. Yes, what if Uncle Henry was simply ill, no sorcery? They had no way of knowing, but his condition was rapidly worsening. Doing something was better than doing nothing, and it could be true. The only possible solution was to find the leaf-hair compound, if it existed. ‘So they mix the hair and the leaves together and bury it in the ground. Where in the ground?’

  Making a digging motion with her hand, Merelita repeated her words. ‘Under.’

  ‘But where? In the village, at the beach?’

  Merelita shook her head. ‘No one see. Big secret. Chief angry with man do vakadraunikau. Not tell.’

  Hannah clasped her fingers and frowned. ‘How do we know who is doing this?’

  A blank stare was answer enough.

  All they had to do was find a compound which may or may not be hidden underground, but they didn’t know where; put there by an unidentified person or persons; and they had a day and a half left in which to do it.

  Hannah scanned the village bures, her eyes halting at the tallest.

  ‘Hannah … you can’t just barge in!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because Ratu Rabete is the Chief.’

  ‘Watch me.’

  He shook his head, ever so slightly.

  ‘It can’t do any harm, and it may just help. Come on. We’ve got to try.’

  All his protests dissolved under his cousin’s determination.

  Just as they reached their destination, a small group of men exited from the tiny doorway. Hannah and Joshua stood back and waited. A white man! Hannah stared in surprise. But no white man dressed native-style and wore his hair in such a tremendous bouffant. The man’s skin was
certainly pale, but there were faint brown blotches over his arms and chest. His features were not European but Fijian. His eyes were red-rimmed, the lashes unnaturally white. He was not of white descent: he was an albino. Hannah had never seen a man like this, but her father had told her that he’d seen an albino woman once, in the town.

  Ratu Rabete came out of the bure next, huddling down to get his bulk through the small door. He saw Hannah and Joshua but said nothing. The albino and Ratu Rabete talked, then leant forward and sniffed each other’s necks. Hannah’s eyes slid sideways to Joshua. With a restrained gesture, he mimed shaking a hand.

  The albino man departed, his group of followers close behind. Ratu Rabete stood, arms folded, and watched till his visitors disappeared between the bures. His expression was enigmatic. Had the visitor been friend or foe? Friend, she surmised, as the albino had left with his skull intact, and Ratu Rabete had permitted his neck to be sniffed.

  ‘A cava beka kon cakava tiko?’ The Chief spoke without looking at the two Stantons.

  Joshua replied in Fijian, then English for Hannah’s sake. ‘He wants to know what we are doing. I said my cousin wished to speak private words with him.’

  The Chief turned his liquid brown eyes in Hannah’s direction. Her chin rose just a fraction.

  Joshua interpreted once again. ‘He says you may speak because he is feeling … good today. His cousin brought him many expensive gifts.’

  Was that a hint? What could she offer him?

  ‘He says if your words are only between you and him, then you may enter his bure, but usually it is not for women,’ said Joshua.

  She entered in trepidation, her brain feverishly working out what to say.

  The inside of the house was much like the bure that Merelita had taken her to, except this one was much larger. A vast trunk, pots, lengths of cloth, a massive roll of sinnet, and a long musket leant against one wall. Ratu Rabete indicated that they should sit, and Hannah remembered to do so cross-legged.

  A long silence stretched into awkwardness. ‘He says you can begin now,’ said Joshua, his tone reflecting strain.

  Afterwards, Hannah wondered how she had come up with all she’d said. Desperation had given her words.

  ‘Tell the Chief that I had it in mind to give him a marvellous gift, a painting. It was going to be a very big painting, with many colours, and I hoped he would wear his best necklace of whales’ teeth to show how rich he was, and how poor the other minor chiefs were in comparison. It would have shown his wisdom and courage. Everyone in the village and beyond would have come to admire such a painting …’

  A cunning look came into Ratu Rabete’s eyes. He knew she wanted something. In one sense, time was wasting, but it would have been ill-mannered to launch straight into the point of a conversation: you sidled around it, teasing, touching on it, before finally easing into your real purpose.

  Hannah sighed loudly for effect. ‘But now I cannot do this painting and I must offer an apology to the Chief.’

  He played his own role perfectly and asked why, knowing all the while that she was waiting for him to do so.

  ‘There has been a thief at work …’

  Eyes hardening, Ratu Rabete sat a little straighter, his attention secured. He demanded to know who this thief was. Theft was not permitted among his people, he said.

  ‘Unfortunately, we don’t know who this person is. He is very clever, working in secret so no one can detect him.’

  Ratu Rabete interrupted. He could find this person if he wished. Nothing in the village remained secret for long. He was Chief. What happened among his people was not hidden from him. He wanted to know what had been stolen.

  ‘Something very important, that cannot be replaced … my uncle’s life.’

  A hint of surprise registered in those dark eyes.

  ‘Someone is, by magic, trying to drain away my uncle’s soul. He is getting weaker every day. You saw him only this morning, and this afternoon—he is worse.’

  Ratu Rabete did not immediately reply. He played with his toes like a child who was idly passing time. But there was nothing idle nor childlike in the look he shot at Hannah. He said that as Reverend Stanton was a missionary, he did not believe in vakadraunikau.

  She asked him if he thought it were possible that such things could be effective without the faith of the victim. Could vakadraunikau be stronger than a man’s mind?

  The Chief’s reply, when it came, showed a shrewd knowledge of people. He thought that not many things would be stronger than Reverend Stanton.

  Finally, the Chief told them to return early on the next morning, and he would see if anything could be done.

  Any delay was frustrating. The next day would be the fourth. But if they wanted Ratu Rabete’s help, they had to comply.

  Feeling as though all the sand in the world had collected in her eyes, Hannah strode along the path, with Joshua close behind. There had been little rest for anyone in the mission household the night before. Uncle Henry was extremely weak: he refused to eat, taking only paltry sips of liquid.

  Aunt Constance had insisted on remaining with him all night. Most of that time had been spent in entreating the Lord not to take her husband. Whether that husband would approve of forcing the Almighty’s hand like that, instead of simply asking for strength to accept what he had decreed, was debatable. But in Hannah’s opinion, after all these millenniums, the Lord clearly had plenty of company, why did he need to remove people so prematurely?

  Sounds of activity came from the village. No one seemed to sleep late here: not the animals, the people, nor the birds and, this morning, not even the wind. It tugged at the brim of Hannah’s straw hat and noisily flapped the palm fronds above them.

  At the village, the people had assembled in the open area between the bures, where war preparation had occurred not so long ago. This was a battle of a different kind.

  Ratu Rabete stood at the head of the crowd, sounding forth in loud tones. Mutely, they stared back. He saw the two Stantons and called them over with an impatient wave of his left hand. All eyes were on them. Hannah could see several faces that she recognised: thin Beni, Luata, Merelita, who smiled shyly; Ralula of turtle hunting fame; Enoke; and the Priest, who carried a large axe over his right shoulder.

  ‘The Chief says he has spoken to his people and no one knows anything. But one person refused to answer his questions so …’ Joshua made an impatient sound. ‘I don’t know how to say it … mmm … he will test the only suspect.’

  All sorts of images were conjured up by this remark, most of them unpleasant. She hoped the appearance of the axe was coincidental. ‘What do you mean test?’

  Joshua declined to answer as Ratu Rabete had resumed speaking. The Chief signalled Enoke to approach. Enoke replied in a deep voice. Hannah thought she would faint, the rushing sound in her ears a warning. She steadied herself, breathing deeply and slowly until the mist in her eyes cleared. Enoke speaking? Hannah shot a glance at Merelita. Did she know about this?

  Joshua’s words to her that very first day came flooding back. ‘He doesn’t speak either, only whistles to show what he wants. The villagers say the next time he speaks it will be to announcé the death of his nephew’s murderer.’

  The morning she had taken her first English class, the Chief had told her Enoke’s nephew was killed because he was a Christian. Enoke certainly had no affection for Uncle Henry, his baleful glares were sufficient evidence of that. Hannah searched for Merelita’s face but couldn’t see her. How would she feel if her intended husband was the one who was killing Uncle Henry?

  Ratu Rabete gave an order. Joshua explained what was happening. ‘He has called for the headdress for catching the souls of rogues.’ A gauze scarf was produced. Enoke came forward: disdainful, arrogant. In a way, Hannah admired his unbending pride.

  The Chief waved the headdress over Enoke’s head. Joshua whispered, ‘He should confess now.’

  Enoke said nothing. The crowd murmured, but Enoke still said nothi
ng. Ratu Rabete wafted the fine material once more, then folded it and walked away. ‘He’s captured Enoke’s soul in the headdress,’ said Joshua.

  ‘Come on.’ Hannah, Joshua, and the other onlookers followed the Chief, agog with curiosity. They spilled onto the beach where the wind whipped sand into faces, stung bare legs. The water was much higher than usual. A fleet of outriggers were propped on the sand, well clear of the fidgeting waves. No fishermen had ventured out today. Ratu Rabete strode to a large outrigger, which was actually two canoes with a platform over the top: an armchair was strapped to it. It was obviously his personal craft. He gave an order, holding out the precious bundle of gauze and soul. A man took it, nailed it to the outrigger, then a cluster of men surrounded the outrigger and strained to lift it.

  ‘Enoke must go out in the canoe. If he won’t confess he will sink and gradually die. If he confesses, the soul is released and he lives.’

  In this wind, he was likely to sink anyway. Grey clouds whipped across the sky, and eventually Enoke called out.

  The Chief held up his hand. Instantly, the men responded and placed the outrigger back on the sand.

  ‘Did he confess?’ Hannah could scarcely stand still.

  ‘Enoke swears he’s innocent. Ratu Rabete says that he doesn’t want to waste a good outrigger in this weather.’ Joshua turned a disappointed face to his cousin. ‘Enoke would have confessed by now if it was him. They always do. They’re afraid not to. Thieves may as well confess—there’s nowhere to hide, and they’re afraid they’ll lose their souls.’

  The gauze headdress was unhooked from the outrigger and Enoke’s soul returned. But what of Uncle Henry’s?

  Hannah felt her throat tighten, and she swallowed with difficulty. If Enoke was not the troublemaker, she had no idea who was. And neither did the Chief.

  ‘I think I’d like to go home now.’ Joshua’s voice was little more than a whisper.