The Samoan Pyramid

by Maya Lynch

  Anyway, so I go over to where the guy’s sitting out there in the back. He’s ranting and cursing to himself. “How’s it going old man?” I ask him. He looks up, he’s got this round face and it’s sun-burned all over and covered in wrinkles. He has this pop of hair at the front, like that Tintin cartoon you know? And these crazy dark eyes, set deep in his face. And when he smiles at me, it’s just this nasty grin, full of pain. I’m standing there totally shocked.’

  Noah was a great story teller, but an even better listener. He had this uncanny ability to make you feel that he wanted to hear whatever it was you had to say. And so the old man had opened up to him.

  ‘He was a real straight. A buttoned-down corporate kind of a guy.’ Noah continued. ‘So I bought him a beer and Warren wasn’t happy about that, but anyway, the old guy starts talking a bit, tells me he’s a scientist. He’s been working in the jungle, surveying this piece of land over by the waterfalls at Afa Aau. Marked out an area of about 20 hectares into a grid, right? And he tells me that he’s been working that same piece of jungle all summer long in the blazing heat. And the whole time we were talking he keeps rearranging things on the table. He’d move the napkins and line them up at ninety degrees to the edge of the table, take his lighter and place it on top of his tobacco tin and line it up right along the edge of the tin. Then he’d move that alongside the napkins. He had to get everything arranged just right. He was a pretty intense dude. Methodical. Exact. Everything had to be perfect.

  So in the end I ask him straight out, I say: “Hey, you seem kinda wound up about something. What’s on your mind?” And the old guy puts his head in his hands. His skin was thin, like wax paper, I could see the veins on the back of his hands. He sits like that, staring down at the table and he glances at me. You know what he says? Maya, I swear, he just goes ‘I’m scared.’ That’s what he said. He said he was scared.’

  ‘Scared about what?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, he tells me that morning he’d gone to work as normal, but when he got to the edge of the jungle he’d felt this terrible fear, you know? He said it was just… primal. Scared him so much that he’d just turned on his heels and ran as fast as he could out of there. He’d ended up here and hadn’t known what to do, so he just sat down and started drinking.’

  ‘Heatstroke?’

  Noah shrugged. ‘I dunno man. I guess anyone could get spooked by the darkness in there.’ He took a swig of beer. ‘Anyway listen, point is: The guy told me about what’s in there if you trek deep enough. He was working for the Peace Corps, he’d been told to map the land over by the waterfalls. He says that he’d been finding this crazy stuff in the jungle: ancient ruins, old cobbled roads, raised walkways and causeways, high stone walls. And not just one or two, but hundreds of them, stretching for miles into jungle.’ Noah spread his arms and turned his palms to the ceiling. ‘There’s an abandoned city out in the jungle. This guy says it was the size of Manhattan. An “ancient metropolis” he called it.’ Noah paused and took another thirsty gulp of his beer, placed the bottle back on the table and looked me straight in the eye. ‘There’s an abandoned city out in the jungle and nobody can really explain why,’ he said, a wide smile covering his face. He slumped back in his seat, still looking at me. I felt somehow as though I was being tested. We sat in silence for a moment as I allowed this new information to sink in, my brain was spinning, trying to compute the implications. Not just a pyramid, a city? Could that possibly be true?

  Noah was holding his empty beer and working at the label with his thumbnail.‘Anyway, the old guy was furious,’ he continued. ‘’Cause he’d been told that he wasn’t allowed to excavate. He’d found all these amazing ruins in the jungle, but the government or whoever it is that makes those decisions, y’know The Man, said no.’ Noah made a dismissive gesture. ‘They told him he wasn’t allowed to touch it. So he was pissed.’ Noah reached into his shirt pocket and carefully took out an old-looking piece of folded paper. ‘I had to go home to get this. We talked for hours, me and that guy. He drew me this.’

  Noah unfolded the square of paper and laid the page down on the table between us. It looked like it was one of the blank pages that had been torn from the back of a paperback. On it was a rough hand-drawn map, done in Biro. ‘Here,’ said Noah, his fingers tracing the lines on the paper. ‘This is the waterfall I was telling you about, right here. And these two lines, these are rivers. According to the old man, the city is here,’ he said pointing, ‘right between the two rivers.’

  ‘And the pyramid? Did he see the pyramid?’ I asked.

  Noah moved his finger slowly across the old map, tracing the marks of the causeways and roads. ‘Here,’ he said, pointing to a square at the top of the map, ‘that’s Pulemelei. That’s your pyramid.’

  ‘What about the old man? What happened to him?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know, he was only around for a while after I first met him in the bar. A few weeks, I guess. One day I just stopped seeing him, then I never saw him again.’ With that Noah picked up the map, folded it gently and placed it safely into his shirt pocket.

  We had talked for two hours and the lunch crowd was beginning to arrive. I paid the bill and then made my way back to my little hut on the beach.

  As the rest of the afternoon passed and my initial excitement died down, I was forced to weigh up Noah’s advice. My mind was spinning with the implications. How did I know that he was pointing me in the right direction? Could he be mistaken, mislead or even just lying to me? Was he having some fun, relaying an old story with embellished details that he’d come to believe himself after telling and re-telling over the years? All of these seemed possible. But he didn’t seem to impart the tale lightly. Eventually I realised that I had no option but to believe him. It was a lead, the only lead I had and I was running out of time. I was leaving the day after tomorrow.

  It had been a scorching day. Even here at the beach there was no wind. No soft breeze to cool me down and offer relief. I had two options; stay here in my little fale by the sea and bake, or jump in the Honda and get out on the road. I opted for the latter. At least in the car I’d have air-con. I grabbed my bag and headed up the beach to the coast road. The sand scolded my feet as I made my way to the car.

  8

  Christianity is Stupid

  I opened the car door and a blast of hot air hit me like opening an oven. Inside, the black pleather seats were so hot from the sun that I had to sit on top of my backpack to keep them from burning my legs. I turned on the engine and turned up the air-con. I remembered the mix CD that my brother had insisted on making for me when he heard that I was going to Samoa. After a minute or two of rummaging, I located it and slipped it into the car stereo.

  This was it. My first tentative steps in the right direction. I was going to find the pyramid, this was the best chance I had. Last roll of the dice. I took a breath, squeezed on the accelerator and headed off on the coast road. I travelled five miles before I realised that I was heading in the wrong direction.

  Course corrected, I drove and enjoyed the music. The CD served up some Queen; Now I’m here, now I’m there, a reference, no doubt, to my nomadic ways. Next was Aker Bilk’s Strangers on the Shore which I thought was a nice touch. And then an old favourite, Christianity is Stupid by the alt rock band Negativeland. A slow driving tune with wailing guitars and a shrill voice that shouts through a loudhailer ‘Christianity is stupid. Christianity is stupid. Give up! Give up!’ over and over. Nice. While I appreciated my brother’s twisted sense of humour, I wasn’t sure I wanted to drive through the sleepy christian hamlets of Savai’i with this particular experimental rock classic blasting at full bore out of the car windows. As we’ve covered, they take their christianity pretty seriously in Samoa, and taking the piss isn’t best advised. I reached out to press pause on the CD player. Being unfamiliar with the controls, however, I ended up repeatedly pressing something that at first made the volume quiet and then somehow much louder. So now Christianity is Stupid was r
eally booming. Starting to panic, my attention split between this burgeoning crisis and the foreign roads, I glanced across the dashboard to see if I could decipher the configuration of buttons on the stereo. This is when possibly the most inconveniently timed burst of afternoon sunlight in history emerged from behind some clouds and blinded me completely. Before I had time to gather myself, I felt my front left tyre leave the tarmac and within half a second the nose of the car followed it into a ditch, dust churning up everywhere.

  My arms stiffened and I slammed on the brakes, pushing myself back into my seat. The brakes gripped, locked, and the car went into a skid, my panicked feet holding down the clutch, brake and accelerator at the same time. Both the car and I screamed in despair until we reached a stop. The engine roared alarmingly and then stalled. Christianity is Stupid still boomed around the little Honda. I could smell the cloud of acrid rubber smoke from the tyres. I fumbled with the door. The music stopped and the cd player, apparently unprompted, quietly ejected the disc.

  I got out of the car, plumes of tyre smoke and churned up dust were drifting upwards into the bright sky. Shaking, I turned to face the volcano at the centre of the island.

  ‘I know you’re in there!’ I shouted at the top of my lungs. ‘I know you’re in there!’

  As the adrenaline ebbed out of my system, I collapsed into manic laughter. Puelemelei was turning me into a crazy person.

  After taking a minute to check the car, shaken, but thankfully unharmed and undeterred, I drove on the coast road for a few hours, stopping every now and then in tiny dusty villages to ask if anyone knew where I could find the pyramid at Pulemelei. I received the predictable answer time and again, a particular silent look that I came to affectionally refer to as the ‘fuck-off eyes.’

  I stopped in the village of Sapapali'i and parked the car next to a towering monument, an obelisk made of basalt boulders and coral stones. I got out of the car and read the inscription.

  ‘John Williams, pioneer missionary of the London Missionary Society in the Pacific, landed in Samoa August 24th 1830. Martyred in Erromango and buried near this spot. This stone commemorates the first 100 years of Christianity in Samoa 1930.’

  ‘Martyred,’ I thought to myself.

  Just then, I noticed a van speeding down the road towards me. Oh god, what now? I wondered. Who had I pissed off with my incessant questioning this time? I prepared to play the dumb tourist and hope for the best. The van came to a sudden stop in front of me, cutting across my path. The windows reflected the image of the ocean behind me. The revving of the engine the only sound in the thick silence. I braced myself for trouble.

  The drivers-side window wound down.

  ‘Hey Maya! Where have you been?’ Tina said.

  ‘Tina! Thank God! I just crashed the car!’

  ‘Get in, we’re going for a swim!’ she said. I peeked my head in through the van window, Jess, Mani, the whole crew were crammed into the back.

  I looked down the coast road, at the heat waves bouncing off the tarmac. I looked into the centre of the island at the volcano goading me. Then I looked back at the little Honda, covered in dust from the near-miss.

  ‘Alright, I’ll turn around and follow you,’ I said.

  I jumped in the car as Tina sped off in her van and pulled out to follow her down the coast road.

  9

  The Blue Lake

  A few minutes later we turned off the coast road and down a long dirt track. I steered the Honda carefully behind Tina, my wheels thumping over the potholes. After a few bone-shaking minutes I followed the van up onto a wide grassy verge, pulled in next to Tina's van and turned off the engine.

  Everyone piled out of the van, excited. I joined the crew and together we headed, single file, down a narrow path that snaked along the side of a river until we came to a clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a beautiful lake, hemmed in by tall cliffs on three sides. The water was the deepest inky blue that I had ever seen with my own eyes. I was beyond grateful to find myself at this oasis, I desperately needed to cool down and clear my head. The whole island sweltered in a pounding heat, the air was so thick and warm that it was hard even to catch a breath, but here, next to the cool, cerulean water of the lake, the air was cool, clear and fresh. For what seemed like the first time in forever I could breathe, I could think.

  We all hurriedly stripped down to our underwear and rushed into the freezing cold blue water of the lake. With that cold blast of deep blue water, a terrible realisation rushed in. I knew that after days of searching and countless dead ends, that this was me finally giving up. I was going to hang out with the guys, have a good time, and then I’d be off the island the day after tomorrow. Despite what Noah had shown me, I had run out of time. I wasn’t going to see the pyramid. Mission failed. I was devastated. I put my head under the water and held it there for as long as I could stand it, hoping my thoughts would clear. When I lifted my head back out Jess was swimming next to me.

  'Do you see that guy?' she said, gesturing towards the side of the lake with her chin. I looked over and saw that there was a young man, maybe about 30 years old just staring at us from the bushes. ‘Check out McRapey!’ she said her with her fake American accent.

  I laughed and splashed her in the face.

  ‘Aggh, not in my eyes, you douche!’ she pushed me under the water.

  A while later, I was still treading water with Jess, taking in the beauty of my surroundings. The blue lake is surrounded on three sides by steep cliffs. In the wettest months rain water from high up in the mountains runs down a deep river valley and thunders over these cliffs in a waterfall, cascading into the lake below. There was no waterfall on this day, but yet as I watched, cool water still managed to force its way through the tiny lava tubes in the rock and out through the pores of the cliff face. The water coming not over the cliffs, but from within the cliffs themselves. A synapse deep in my brain fired and made the connection. ‘Wait, wait.’ I said. ‘The water seeps through the cliffs. That’s an aquifer!’

  ‘What’s that?’ Jess asked, slightly startled by my sudden outburst.

  ‘An aquifer! It’s basically water running through rock, right?’ I gestured towards the cliffs. ‘See here? The water comes up from under the earth through the rocks in the cliff face and feeds the lake.’

  ‘Okay, so… why’s that important?’

  ‘Okay let me put it his way: In Egypt, do you know what is only ever built above an aquifer?’

  ‘Um, no? What?’

  ‘A Pyramid, Jess! A Pyramid! Every single one of them is built on top of an aquifer!’ I laughed.

  The waterfall, just like Noah had described. The aquifer, just like in Egypt. Jesus, I thought, I’ve ended up here completely by accident! I scrambled out of the water.

  ‘Maya, where are you going?’

  ‘I think I’ve found it,’ I called over my shoulder. ‘I think I’ve found the fucker!’ I grabbed my clothes and sprinted as best I could, scrambling over the rocks while trying to pull my t-shirt on over my head. I went stumbling through the vines and the mud at speed. I had remembered seeing a hut in a clearing somewhere down the track as we came past. Now I was hoping that I’d find someone there.

  As I neared the top of the narrow path the hut came into view. It was a typical Samoan construction of wooden poles and sticks wrapped with an old billboard skin. Samoan houses have always been made from the materials available - traditionally tree trunks and palm leaves. Now, in the 21st century, enterprising builders continue to re-cycle resources from the environment, so Samoan houses are often wrapped with billboards and other modern leftovers.

  I hadn’t had time to consider what I’d say if I found anyone, and yet as I came crashing down the path from the lake there they were, three men, startled by my sudden appearance.

  'Hey!..Hi…Tālofa!’ I said. I was struggling to catch my breath.

  We looked at each other. One of the men was lying on his back, while the two others hunched over him. It was a
s weird a scene as I’ve ever happened into. The possibilities screeched round in my head like a colony of bats.

  ‘Tatao,’ said one of the men, by way of explanation, holding up a long, thin stick with pins through the end. The pins dripped with ink and blood. I realised it was my turn to speak, but everything I wanted to say would have seemed like utter madness to these three guys who until a moment ago were absorbed in a tattoo session but were now being confronted by a panting foreigner in wet underwear.

  ‘Oh Tattoo! Nice…’ I started tentatively. They stared at me, obviously hoping I was either about to leave or get to the point. ‘Is there a..? Do you know if..?’ I struggled to find the right way to phrase my question. I pictured all three of the guys giving me the fuck off eyes as I backed away. I was sure that I was closer than ever, I didn’t want to blow it. Ask! A voice in my head said. Ask! ‘Have you ever heard anything about Pu-I mean, have you ever heard about there being a pyramid over there?’ I gestured towards the lake.

  For the longest moment, nobody said a thing.

  Then a woman’s voice broke the silence, from inside the hut at the back of the clearing. I couldn’t make out anything she was saying, but from her tone I could tell she was asking about my sudden interruption.

  ‘Palangi!’ the tattooist shouted back. The one word that can explain any variety of bizarre behaviour. 'Palangi' means 'Foreigner', 'European', 'Whitey'. It comes from the Malay word 'Farang' which means ‘trader'. It’s where the Ferengi from Star Trek get their name. The tattooist continued to speak, not taking his eyes off me. I imagined what he must be saying: ‘It’s nothing! This half-naked Palangi just came running along from the lake! She’s jabbering about something and her underwear seems to be wet! I think maybe she’s taken something!’