Paruru recalled the moment at Tepua's welcoming feast, not long after the men had first arrived. Nika had shown himself more willing than his friend to try the islanders' foods. With a sigh, the warrior put the mouthpiece again to his lips. Now he sucked very gently.
The smoke merely tickled his palate. Slowly he exhaled. "No coughing!" the warrior exclaimed. At Nika's urging he took a second puff. The sweet taste lingered in Paruru's mouth, yet he did not find it pleasant. He was relieved when the sailor took back the "pipa" for his own use.
"Now can we heal the thunder-maker?" Paruru asked. It had taken him several trips to gather the things that Nika wanted. He had brought a supply of fresh water in coconut bottles, the foreign knife that Nika used for woodworking, and many small tools made by island craftsmen.
One unexpected item was a half coconut that held a special balm used by healers. This liquid unguent was made by heating the fat from a coconut crab. Nika had come across it a long time earlier when the tahunga had rubbed it onto his sunburned skin. The greasy balm performed wonders when applied to people, but Paruru could not imagine how it would help the weapon.
Nika finally put aside his "pipa" and took the weapon across his lap. He flipped it over, with the bird's head down, then inserted the tip of his knife into a groove cut across a tiny disk. He tried to twist the knife, muttering and grimacing as he strained.
Paruru's jaw dropped in astonishment at the way the foreigner had begun his work—without calling on the gods for aid. Nika knew better. "Where is your chant?" Paruru asked. "How can you hope to succeed without one?"
"A chant for this work?'' Nika laughed, putting down the knife. "The spirits who watch over it live far from here. But if it pleases you ..." His voice rose in a brief song, all in his native tongue. The rhythm was lively, and to Paruru seemed ill-suited to his purpose. Was it possible, Paruru asked himself, that the "pipa" provided the true way of invoking foreign spirits for this task? He recalled how the pale smoke had risen from Nika's mouth and floated skyward....
Once more the sailor attacked the weapon with his knife. This time Paruru heard a creak and saw the grooved disk begin to turn slowly. Nika performed the same trick with another groove. Then, with a clang, a flat piece of the thunder-club fell away into his hand. Paruru leaped forward in alarm. "Aue!" cried the warrior. "Now it is certainly ruined."
"No," said Nika as he flipped over the weapon and looked at the opening he had made in its side. "This is how I heal it." He poked his knife within and began twisting again, until he broke out a collection of smaller pieces that were covered with scale.
Paruru cried out once more in protest. One did not heal a man by prying apart his bones."An old sailor told me a way to clean this," Nika said. "I will let you do the hard work." He washed the assembly in fresh water, then dropped it into a bowl that held watery sand. He told Paruru to stir the parts around until the sand scoured the scale away.
Meanwhile Nika busied himself with the other pieces, the long tube, the bird's head, the bowl, cleaning these with coral rasps and with sharkskin. The work went slowly, requiring many repetitions. Paruru's hand grew weary from his own task, but he refused to quit.
Under the sailor's skillful fingers, the scale vanished and a shiny surface began to appear on the larger parts of the weapon. He washed the sand from the complex piece that Paruru had been scouring and spent some time filing away the last remnants of stain. His final step was to rub the healer's balm onto each cleaned item.
The afternoon was almost gone before Nika began to reassemble the weapon. One by one he fitted the pieces back into place."The bones are knit together again!'' Paruru said with admiration. But Nika was not done. He worked awhile longer with the thinnest rasps and drills.
Finally, he swung the weapon, aimed the tube skyward, and moved his hand toward the center. Paruru drew in his breath as he carefully watched the movement of Nika's fingers.
First Nika pulled back the bird's head on top, pulling it much farther back than Paruru had done. When he let go, it stayed where he had left it. Then he hooked his forefinger about the tooth below. Paruru braced himself for a blast.... The beak fell forward with a snap and sparks flared where it hit. There was no thunder.
"Good," said Nika. "Very good."
"But no noise!"
The sailor gave a laugh that seemed edged with scorn."It is cleaned and rubbed with oil. That is enough for now."
"Then what else is needed...to make thunder?"
He noticed, to his dismay, that Nika's expression turned wary. "Are your enemies here? Is it time to defend the land?"
"They are not here yet," Paruru admitted. "But you have heard about their visit and their plans. I cannot trust them. If they come with their chief, I must be ready for treachery."
"If the weapon is to be used, I will do it," said Nika firmly."To make it work takes skills you do not have. If not done properly ..."He made a booming noise, spread out his hands, then fell over in mock death.
"I am glad that you will handle it, my brother," said Paruru, concealing his annoyance. "Even so, we must gather everything you will need. We must do it now. The priests have agreed to move the goods from the ariki's storehouse, to hide them so that Cone-shell cannot claim a share. For a short while there will be no tapu on touching those things. My men will carry them to their new place. I can arrange it so that certain things are diverted."
"I do not like this plan of hiding things," said Nika. "I should know where the goods are kept."
Paruru frowned. "The moving must be done," he said. "I will know where the goods are stored, and a brother need not keep secrets from a brother. But we must make our plans now. There will be no better chance to take what you need. I can risk the anger of the priests, but not the wrath of the gods."
Nika sighed. With reluctance he began to describe what was required. "And keep those things dry," he added finally. "The container of black sand. The weapon. Everything. Water ruins them."
"I will keep them dry," Paruru promised. And soon you will teach me the rest of what I want to know. He wrapped the weapon in its mat again, then began collecting the supplies he had brought. "You go back now," he told Nika. "While I stay here awhile. It is better that we are not seen together after this work."
"I am going,'' said Nika. He snatched up the ''pipa'' and "tapako." "And taking these. Maybe Maukiri will enjoy them more than you do.''
Paruru smiled. Then his thoughts grew serious again. "Nika. Remember this. Tell no one about the weapon. Not Kiore. Not Maukiri. If Tepua finds out, she will take it away from us. Then we will have nothing to protect ourselves against the man-eaters."
"I know when to keep quiet," said Nika. But Paruru puzzled over the look on the sailor's face long after the man was gone.
SEVENTEEN
Knowing that the Pu-tahi chief was not due for ten days, Tepua asked for a rest from her duties. Faka-ora agreed and sent her off on her pahi. With Umia's help, the priest assured her, the elders could handle all small matters while she was away.
The day was bright and the wind steady as Tepua's party neared Piho's islet. She sat beneath feather pennants and watched the approaching greenery of the palm-studded shore. When she landed, Heka came to meet her, head crowned in flowers, a sly sparkle in her eye. It was no secret to Tepua that Heka had conspired with Maukiri to arrange this outing.
Everyone had been told that there was to be a women's ceremony at a shrine in the center of the island. It was a place that no man wished to approach. Tepua's guards seemed relieved when she ordered them to remain at the lagoon-side beach. They would patrol the shore, keeping a lookout for troublemakers from Varoa Clan.
About the necks of Tepua and Maukiri, Heka put wreaths of morning glory interwoven with herbs. Then she embraced the women heartily. "This should be great fun," Heka proclaimed. "No priests, no men and no food tapus. We can eat and dance and sing all we like." Tepua nodded, feeling an unexpected regret. The gathering of women was to be as Heka described, but Tepu
a would not be part of it.
Soon she was marching inland with the others, over vines and fallen leaves, chanting the words that she knew well. But as the trail forked in a sunlit clearing, Tepua and Heka stood aside while the others went on. "Follow this path to the seaward beach," Heka whispered as she gave Tepua a last motherly embrace. "I will ask the spirits to watch over you."
"You are good to me, Heka. You and Maukiri, the sly little fish."
Heka sent her off with flapping motions of her hands. "Go. Your man has the canoe. He knows where to take you."
Filled with anticipation, Tepua hurried over the sandy path. Shortly she came out above the seaward shore, on a slope covered by smoothed coral rubble. Hidden beneath mikimiki bushes sat the canoe Heka had promised. Tepua glanced inside the vaka and saw that it was stocked with paddles, a sail, baskets of food, drinking nuts, and even two pairs of hibiscus-rope sandals for reef walking.
"What are you doing—stealing my canoe?" growled a voice from behind the shrubbery. Tepua leaped up in surprise.
"With you in it!" she shouted back. As Kiore crawled out from his hiding place, his blond hair windblown and his face aglow with mirth, she clapped her hands in delight. Before he could stand up she leaped onto his back, and they mock-wrestled for a few moments.
"Ouch! The stones!" he cried.
"I am a motu woman," she answered. "A bed of stones feels good to me." As she pressed herself against his bare back a delicious warmth began to fill her. "But you need something softer!" Tepua pulled free and jumped up before he could stop her.
"You are right,'' he said."And I know where to find it.'' He pointed seaward to the tiny islet that she knew was their destination. Then he asked her to help him carry the boat.
Taking a good look at Kiore, she realized that he had finally shed the last of his foreign garb. Now he wore a gray-white maro between his legs, with a long string that wound around his waist. The skin of his upper body and powerful legs, once pale, had turned a rich, dark color. He was an island man at last, she thought, except for his foreign eyes and hair and face. But she had grown fond of that face.
"Pull harder," he said as they struggled with the canoe. The beach here was steeper than on the lagoon side of the islet. The slope ended in a broad stretch of blackened and eroded coral, awash in places, bristling with jagged edges in others. Wearing the rope-soled sandals, Tepua and Kiore carried the outrigger canoe along a shallow depression in the reef.
The open sea lay beyond distant breakers; the water here was rougher than that of the inner lagoon. With the bow of the vaka pointed into the surf, they waited for a wave. As it broke and surged back out along the channel, Tepua shouted and helped Kiore launch the canoe into the ebbing water. With a last shove, the two scrambled aboard, took up paddles, and stroked hard to get out before another wave could cast them back against the shore.
Tepua paddled until she grew warm from the effort. "We are off!" she shouted in triumph, pleased that they had managed the difficult maneuver. Launching from the calm and sandy lagoon side would have been easier, but not possible today with her guards patrolling the beach.
She looked across the outermost waters of the atoll, where the water was deep blue and tipped with whitecaps. Near the line of breakers she saw a speck of land. As she stroked toward it she chanted: "Here is the canoe, dipping its nose into the sea. Here is the canoe, pointing high, pointing low, drinking deeply of the sea."
"What is that?" Kiore called from the stern.
"A song for our voyaging canoes," she explained. "It is called "The Road of the Winds.'"
"Then let me hear more!"
Dipping her paddle, Tepua sang again. "Here is the canoe, driving through spray, cleaving the sea. Hold fast the sennit, hold fast the sennit...."
"Let me hear one of your own sailing chants," she asked when she was done. She recalled hearing these long ago, when the words meant nothing to her. Now she understood some of his language. He changed a few words to help her understand the rest.
"When I was a roving sailor,
I searched the lands for rarest treasure.
Ay, ay, pull on the lines!
I would not leave my life at sea,
Until that girl caught up with me.
Ay, ay, pull on the lines!"
"She is a woman of your own country," Tepua said when he was done.
"Who?"
"The girl in the song."
"It is only a song," he answered. "Every sailor dreams of finding someone." Then he changed the words and sang again:
"I would not leave my life at sea.
Until Tepua caught up with me.
Ay, ay, pull on the lines!"
He sang on, with a new verse each time, as they continued to paddle, leaving the island shore and approaching the outermost reef. Now she could see clearly the speck of land that she had been watching. It was a small motu, with a handful of palm trees showing against the white and blue of the sky.
The sun peeked out from behind a cloud, turning the water a clear aquamarine that grew more transparent as they neared the islet. The color shifted as they crossed a wide shoal, until at last it was the brilliant white gold of the sand beneath. With a soft scrape, the canoe grounded on the beach.
Kiore jumped out into ankle-deep water. "Now it is time to carry the ariki ashore," he announced, as if he were one of her servants. As soon as she slid her legs around, he gave a cry of mirth and lifted her roughly, then rushed with her onto the beach, bouncing at every step.
"That is how you carry a heavy fish!" she shouted merrily. "And meanwhile, my clever fisherman, your canoe is slipping away."
"Canoe?" He tumbled her into the sand, then splashed back into the shallows to catch the drifting boat. She watched him struggle for a moment before helping him drag the vessel ashore.
"And now you have work to do, my man of the sea." Beneath the trees she had spotted a thatched shelter. "Help me unload the supplies and take them to the hut."
He turned to the shelter, which stood in the shade of a stout tamanu tree. "I will carry only one thing now," he answered, lifting her again, this time more gently. As they approached the shelter, Tepua saw that the ground around it had been swept clean. Someone had left fresh mats inside.
A moment later Kiore put her down, lay beside her and took her into his arms. She quickly forgot about the mats and the shelter and the motu. This was a pleasant place that Heka had sent her to, but with Kiore she would have been happy anywhere....
After a time Tepua stirred. She felt a soft breeze on her face as she looked up at the fluttering thatch roof. Kiore was dozing peacefully. The booming of the surf and a few cries of seabirds were the only sounds.
"I'm hungry," she said, slapping him on the chest. She went out to see what Heka had sent in the food baskets.
"This is yours," she told him, when she heard Kiore come up behind her. She handed him his basket then went to sit alone.
"You do not eat with me?" he asked in a hurt tone.
"You know our customs by now," she answered. She found a place on a fallen log, then took out the first leaf-wrapped packet.
Kiore crouched in front of her. "In my land, a man and his woman sit together and eat."
"I am not in your land, and I am not your woman," she answered with a toss of her head.
"Then whose woman are you?"
"There is a man in Tahiti," she replied in a serious tone.
"You have forgotten him by now."
"Perhaps he has forgotten me!"
"Then he does not matter. Come. Sit beside me. We are here, alone. No one will see us."
"The gods will see."
He turned suddenly, as if expecting to find a ghost staring over his shoulder. "Ah, you are a strange people," he said, shaking his head. He took his basket and walked a few steps away.
"Since you sailors arrived, tapu has been broken too often," she chided.
"Then I eat alone," he answered, taking a seat on the sand and facing the water.
"So long as hanihani is allowed, I will be content."
"What we do together is not tapu. It is only foolish. But sometimes it is good to be foolish and happy." She tore open the bundle of hibiscus leaves and found a juicy piece of steamed fish inside. Silently, and with relish, she began to eat.
The tide had dropped, leaving a margin of wet sand. The food baskets and supplies had been put away. Now Tepua sat with Kiore, her heels just touching the water.
He picked up a dried coconut frond, stripped the leaves from it until only the center rib remained. He dragged the point in the wet sand, making a line.
"What are you doing?" Tepua asked. "Making pictures in the sand?" He had played this game with her several times, confusing her with his tangles of lines. In Tahiti she had watched women paint patterns on their bark-cloth wraps, but Kiore's drawings did not resemble any she had ever seen.
Kiore leaned to one side and began a detailed figure. "What it this?" he asked her after he had worked awhile.
Tepua frowned and moved closer to the picture. "Scratches in the sand."
"Is that all?"
She stared hard. At the bottom was something that looked like the outline of a fish. Above that, she saw the shape of a man leaning out of a canoe.... "He is catching a parrot fish," she answered suddenly.
Kiore's mouth fell open and he bent to stare closer at his marks. "You know what kind of fish I drew? That is more than I know."
"Draw a pig," she asked. He had tried this once before, producing something that did not look at all like the animal. This time he did better, except for the tail. "Too thin and curly," she said, bending over to smooth away that part of his work.
He laughed when she pointed out his mistake. "You are right. Your pigs are different. I keep thinking of the ones from my own land." He let her add in the woolly, dangling tail.
"Try some other animal," she suggested. "One that we do not have here."
In response, he traced out the shape of something that looked like a dog, except that the ears were wrong. No dogs lived on her atoll now, but she had seen many in Tahiti.
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