TEETH - The Epic Novel With Bite (The South Pacific Trilogy)

by Timothy James Dean

  “Ok,” Johnny nodded.

  “Now,” Mula said, “your yarn, it prove true. This a big day! Tonight we gonna make one big singsing. We gonna eat, we gonna dance! Our enemy Bumay die-finish! Many Mambu die-finish! I say thankya—all Uhuli say thankya!” Mula looked at the prisoner.

  “You, Jap—you my enemy,” Mula said, “But you kill a lotta Mambu! For that, we not gonna kill you, awlright? Now you a friend of the Uhuli.” Mula grinned at the man and the prisoner gave him a genuine smile and nodded.

  “Tonight we dance. Tomorrow, you go your way along the rivva. Me—I’m bloody happy!”

  Mula leapt to his feet and performed an impromptu dance, singing at the top of his lungs. From outside the door, warriors joined in. The chief grabbed a battle-axe and shook it in the air. The boy, Luke, a finger in his mouth, gazed wide-eyed at his father. Miriam looked on smiling, the baby asleep on her shoulder.

  After breakfast Johnny told Mula they needed to wash both themselves and their clothes. Mula said he’d show them where. Johnny, Footy and the prisoner gathered all the dirty things, including their grubby towels and the bar of soap. Mula escorted them to the riverbank. Miriam and other villagers came to watch.

  “Hold on,” Footy said uneasily as he stared at the opaque, muddy water.

  “What about the Father—or any croc?” Johnny asked.

  “We washwash in the rivva all-a-time, mate,” Mula told him. “We look for pookpook—but...” he shrugged and grinned, “…most times, no croc.”

  “How about someplace else,” Johnny said, “somewhere with clean water? Back in the forest maybe?”

  “I know a spot,” Mula nodded. “Masta Billy, he washwash like us, inna rivva. But Missis Sarah, she no like it. She like the place I gonna take you.”

  Mula spoke to the villagers and it became clear there was an outing in the making. He posted guards around the village, and led off. Johnny had not tied the prisoner’s hands this morning. They walked in a crowd of Uhuli warriors, Miriam and the other women, and a gaggle of children. There were fifty or more who streamed through the gardens and into the jungle.

  After about an hour, they broke onto a grassy bank where a brook gurgled over smooth rocks. Tiny orange and pink butterflies flew everywhere, and a flock of neon green parrots chattered in the trees. Dragonflies darted across the stream, touching their tails. The prisoner, Johnny noticed, watched them with a look of delight.

  Miriam and the women encouraged the travelers to hand over the things they brought in a pack. Johnny and Footy stripped down to their underpants and the Japanese took off his shirt. These items were passed to the women as well. The prisoner kept his pants on, as he had nothing beneath. The women soaped each item, beat it on the rocks, then wrung it and spread it to dry.

  The men eased into the wonderfully chilly water. They waded upstream to a deeper pool and sank down, out of the steamy heat into silent bliss. The current washed away the sweat and grime, and the men came up gasping. Standing, they scooped water in their hands and drank.

  Johnny called for the soap and little Luke came running with it, chased by his friends. Johnny lathered his hair and body, then passed the bar to Footy, who did the same, and it was the prisoner’s turn.

  The Uhuli watched the show, pointing and laughing. The children scampered and splashed around the foreigners, but few of the adults showed an inclination to come in. Johnny called to Mula to join them, but the chief just grinned and crossed his arms.

  “I already washwash this moon,” he replied.

  Eventually the trio hobbled out and sat in the sun. Vapor steamed from their clothing. A few warriors remained watching the forest, while most lay down and dozed in the shade, Mula among them. It struck Johnny that, except for their own presence, this could have been a scene from a thousand years ago.

  Eventually the crowd meandered back to the mission. Mula said he had things to do, and left with Miriam and the children. The prisoner sat at the kitchen table while Johnny and Footy emptied their packs and reorganized. Johnny checked his first aid kit. The supplies were dry in watertight cans. After that, Footy stretched on the couch and napped. The Japanese lay on the floor, head on his hands, and did the same.

  Johnny had noticed there were photos on the living room wall. Now with daylight at its brightest, he took a closer look. The frames were thick with dust and fingerprints, and the photographs were faded and damaged by mildew. In the first one, Johnny made out a young couple in white, she in a wedding dress and he in shorts and a shirt. The missionaries—Billy and Sarah.

  He moved to the next frame. There was the same man in a patterned shirt, his arm around a gray-haired couple, two young women beside them. Family portrait. The following photo featured Sarah as a teenager, with long fair hair and kind eyes. She’s pretty. The young woman held hands with an aboriginal girl who smiled shyly.

  The final photograph showed a group of young men and women in front of a building that looked like a school. Johnny studied the rows and picked out the missionary couple. Written in ink across the bottom was: “Bible School, December 1938.”

  Why would Billy and Sarah leave their homes and come to this place? Why pick New Guinea? The soldiers Johnny had known couldn’t wait to get out of here. Why the Uhuli village?

  All at once, Johnny got a strong sense of the Australians in this very room. He imagined them sharing a meal at the kitchen table, the place clean and tidy, curtains on the windows. Here the two had lived, with music from the radio and news from Aus to ease their homesickness. The couple had spent months, even years, in this place, helping one another face the alien world that waited on the other side of the door.

  Then Johnny thought about their bad end, when the man lay shot and dying. Did he know his wife was being raped? Had he wished then that they had never heard of New Guinea? Did he believe God had deserted them—or did he see himself as a martyr, rushing to his reward?

  Once more Johnny found his thoughts going to Gwyn. What would she say? He wished she was here. He’d have more to talk about than going to Japan. But wishing that was like wishing his parents were alive. Pointless and stupid, the soldier observed. He slipped into his hammock and drifted off for an hour.

  When Mula returned sometime later, he found his guests seated at the table. Johnny and Footy were cleaning their firearms and had them disassembled and spread out.

  The chief made an impressive entrance. On his hair perched a spectacular headdress of springy bark decorations, so tall he had to duck to enter the room. His forehead featured a white cross with rays of red around it. In the tip of his nose was a fresh and magnificent hawk plume. Bold lines of white and yellow were drawn across his face, and others outlined his prominent pectoral muscles. His chest had been plucked of hair, and his whole skin glistened with pig fat. He wore a laplap of brilliant yellow cloth tied around his waist, and he turned to display his back, painted in crocodile scales.

  Johnny was drawn in particular to the necklace of big conical teeth Mula wore around his neck. The chief sat down and Johnny examined it.

  “Pookpook teeth,” Mula explained. “I killed the crocs meself. You blokes wanna see the place for the singsing?” He and his guests strolled through the village. Everywhere, Uhuli were painting one another and putting on their bilas, their tribal decorations.

  Mula led to the clearing between the houses, almost as spacious as the one in Bumay’s village. To the side was a pit about ten feet long and four feet wide, the dirt piled beside it. The men walked over and looked in on a row of hog carcasses. These were packed all round with kaukau and leaf-wrapped vegetables.

  “This the mumu,” Mula grinned. Five pigs had been slaughtered that day, a significant event in village life. Early in the afternoon, a great fire had been built in the pit. As it burned, special stones were laid on. When the wood was gone, the rocks radiated heat. On these, a layer of banana leaves was arranged, and then the butchered pigs and all the rest placed on top.

  As they watched, men worked hol
low bamboo tubes through the food packages and wedged them between stones. Women covered everything with another blanket of banana leaves. The watchers stood back while men scraped the dirt over and made a mound.

  Other men came with bamboo containers of clear water from the stream, and poured this into the hollow standing poles. There was a hiss within the earth as the water splashed onto the superheated rocks. It was the steam, Mula explained, that would do the cooking.

  “You wait,” he grinned. “The Uhuli mumu the best you evva tasted!” He glanced at the sunset.

  “Time for the news.”

  “Right!” Johnny said. He’d almost forgotten. The men returned to the Mission office, and this time it was Footy who climbed on the bicycle-generator. A song Johnny had never heard filled the room, although the women’s voices were familiar. It ended, and a cheerful Aussie spoke.

  “That’s the latest from the Yank Andrew Sisters,” he said. “It’s called ‘Along the Navajo Trail.’” He pronounced it “Nava-joe,” and Johnny grinned.

  “And now, time for the news.” There came the clacking of a machine, and the serious voice from yesterday spoke.

  “Good evening. It’s six o’clock. This is the World News from Sydney, New South Wales. It is Tuesday, August the 7th, 1945.

  “American President Harry Truman has announced the first atomic bomb has been dropped by a United States aircraft on the Japanese City of Hiroshima.” The prisoner sucked in his breath.

  “What?” Footy said.

  “Shhh!” Johnny responded and every ear strained to hear.

  “President Truman announced the news from the mid-Atlantic, aboard the USS Augusta. The American leader is returning to the United States following the Potsdam Conference.

  “President Truman said the atomic bomb was more than two thousand times more powerful than the largest bomb ever used to date.

  “An assessment of the damage caused to the City of Hiroshima has been impossible, due to the huge cloud of impenetrable dust over the target.

  “The atom bomb was dropped from an American B-29 Superfortress, known as Enola Gay, at 8:15 a.m. local time. The plane's crew reported a column of smoke rising and intense fires springing up.

  “President Truman said the atomic bomb heralded the, quote, ‘harnessing of the basic power of the universe,’ end-quote. The President went on to say that this marked a victory over the Germans in the race to be first to develop a weapon using atomic energy.

  “President Truman then warned the Japanese that the Allies will now completely destroy their ability to make war. Quote, ‘This is the last chance for Japan to avoid utter destruction,’ end-quote.

  “President Truman said, and I quote, ‘If they do not now accept our terms, they may expect a rain of ruin from the air the like of which has never been seen on Earth. Behind this air attack will follow, by sea and land, forces in such number and power as they have not yet seen, but with fighting skill of which they are already aware.’ End-quote.

  “In other news…” the announcer continued with lesser action of the day. Johnny urgently reached over and lowered the volume.

  “Have you ever heard of an ‘atom bomb?’” he asked Footy.

  “No mate,” Footy said. “What is it? It must be a bloody big bomb.”

  “Can one bomb destroy a whole city?” the Japanese broke in, startling the other men. “Is this a trick?”

  “This is no bloody trick!” Footy shouted. “This is real, mate!”

  “You heard what they said,” Johnny joined in. “President Truman said it! It’s true.” Something occurred to him.

  “Is that where you’re from?” he asked. “What was the city?”

  “I am not from Hiroshima,” the Japanese said shortly.

  “Is it possible one bomb can wipe out a city?” Johnny echoed the prisoner’s question. No one had an answer. Mula’s eyes were going from face to face. He was especially impressed that the white men were so shocked.

  “Mula, we’ve got to leave!” Johnny said. “First thing tomorrow! You heard what they said—the invasion of Japan is coming. I’ve got to be there!”

  “Shore, mate,” Mula said. “You’re free ta go. This big news—this Adam bomb?”

  “Atom, atom,” Footy corrected him. “And it’s bloody big news.”

  “Who is this ‘Atom’?” Mula asked.

  “It’s not a person—it’s a tiny thing,” Johnny said, “so small you can’t see it. That’s what I’ve heard.”

  “And this tiny thing makes a big bomb?” Mula asked.

  “I don’t know,” Johnny told him. “I never heard about this.” He looked at the Japanese. “But it’s the end for Japan.”

  “Why so important for you to be there, for the end of Japan?” the prisoner asked Johnny, his voice raw with emotion. “Why?” Johnny didn’t answer. He stared hard at the captive until the man lowered his gaze. In the silence, they heard the announcer:

  “This has been the news.” The other fellow with the lighthearted voice came on.

  “The very best news! They’ve turned up the heat on the Japs! And now we continue with our musical entertainment of the evening. Sit back, relax, and hoist a cold one to the blessed Yanks!” The strains of a big band gushed from the speaker. Mula turned the radio off and Footy dismounted the bike.

  “What does it mean?” the pilot asked in wonder.

  “Beats me.” Johnny shook his head.

  “Well mate, nothin’ we can do about any bloody big atta-bomb,” Mula said. “We gotta singsing! This a cel-bration over them sons-a-satan Mambu.

  “You blokes come along now. You the guests of honna!”

  CHAPTER 13

  At Mula’s urging, Johnny and Footy left their rifles behind. His warriors would guard the mission. They did keep their pistols and knifes on their belts.

  The prisoner spoke to Johnny: he did not want to go to the singsing. He looked so distraught, Johnny felt sorry for him and spoke to Mula. They agreed the captive could be left with the warriors in the church. Mula, Johnny and Footy departed for the party.

  Night had come and torches lit the village. Mula carried his longbow and a prize man-killing arrow. His guests admired the hardwood head, fully thirty inches long and bound into the shaft. The point bristled with barbs and was adorned with rings of bright paint and tassels of thread. The chief carried a huge battleaxe with a head of polished green stone.

  As they went, more and more villagers in their best bilas joined them. It was a large group that streamed into the central clearing. Bonfires burned around the perimeter and cast yellow light over hundreds of Uhuli. The chief led his guests to the cooking pit. There they encountered Miriam. She, too, was dolled up. Her skin shone, and intricate designs were painted on her breasts, back and legs. She wore a flouncing grass skirt, multiple strands of bright beads around her neck, and flowers woven through her hair. Baby Billy slept in a bilum on her back and Luke, the older boy, was painted as well. He had the yellow and white lines on his cheeks and chest, just like his dad, and he clutched a small spear.

  Mula and his men shouted greetings to each another over the crowd. The people fell silent as their leader walked into the firelight. He launched into a speech in Uhuli that carried to everyone. At times, he made the people roar with laughter. Alternately, he was solemn and the crowd hung on his words. He made frequent gestures towards Johnny and Footy.

  He called, and men with hourglass-shaped drums came forward, beating on the skin heads. The unmarried younger women formed lines facing one another. Spirals of paint focused attention on their pert breasts, and they had enhanced the much-desired appearance of broad hips by layering on grass skirts. With wide smiles, the teenagers sang, swaying and clapping their hands. The lines gyrated through one another, turned and crossed again.

  The boys took their place, Luke with them. The drums beat faster and the little men shouted and waved their spears. They were followed by the younger girls, their waists encircled by strings of flowers, blossoms
in their hair. Then the married women, including Miriam, gathered. They danced in a circle, following one another, each holding the waist of the woman in front.

  It was the teenage warriors’ turn. Each wore a white feather in the end of his nose. Mula explained that at the time the boys’ voices changed, he and the mature warriors held the ceremonies that transformed them into men. It was at this time that their noses were pierced. A boy was made to bite into a chunk of pork. At all cost, he was not to cry out or show fear as the awl went in. Immediately, the stork feather was inserted into the bloody tip to keep the wound open until it healed.

  Each man-boy would wear the white feather until he either attacked an enemy in battle, or killed a crocodile. That was how he earned his hawk feather. They were only for full warriors who had proven themselves. Mula had earned his “two Christmas after I became a man.” That would have been when he was fourteen or fifteen, near as Johnny could figure.

  Then, accompanied by the men of his clan, Mula had gone by dugout to a tributary where a river crocodile lived. This had been carefully selected for him. It was bigger than he was, but not by much. Some men paddled, while others held up flaming torches.

  When they saw the red reflection of the pookpook’s eyes, they glided in, and Mula flung himself on the crocodile’s back. It was serious business. Some boys were mangled, even killed, during their ordeal. Mula wrapped his legs around the croc and pinched its jaws together with his fists so it could not bite him.

  Only then could his father and uncles help. They jumped in and dragged the furiously twisting reptile onto the bank. There, Mula slit its throat. That earned him his first hawk feather. The chief held up his necklace and pointed to the four teeth from that first kill.

  Another Christmas, he said, and a raiding party brought back a captive Mambu. The Uhuli warriors rounded up Mula and the other young men and suggested everyone fire an arrow into the hated cannibal. That way, each would get credit for the kill. Some moons later, Mula killed his first Mambu in battle and harvested his head. That had been his favorite skull, he said, “til Masta Billy show me the erra of my ways.”