Sister of the Sun

by Coleman, Clare;

  The canoes glided up to the narrow beach, but the foreigners, with their deeper keel, stayed offshore. The outsiders threw out their hooked anchor, then lashed several short uprights in place to rig their hanging beds.

  Kiore climbed into his and lay there swinging slowly, his arm dangling down. Nika brought out his little flute and began to play a mournful tune. For a time Paruru heard only the strange, sad music, and the cries of the birds that flew overhead. He noticed that someone ashore was building a cook fire while other men waded into the lagoon to spear the abundant fish.

  The foreigners ignored these activities. Perhaps they intended to eat from what they had aboard. But why deplete their supplies, he wondered, when good food could be found here?

  Paruru had offered to help these sailors survive. Now he felt he must prove himself. Gritting his teeth against the pain of salt water on his wounds, he flung himself into the lagoon and quickly reached the shallows. He strode ashore, curious to see what he could find.

  He improvised a fish spear from a mikimiki branch and quickly caught more than he thought the sailors could eat. Using coconut husks and fallen wood, he built a small fire, setting the fish to cook on skewers. He broke open several coconuts, cut the meat out in chunks, and laid it on leaves. "Come eat!" he called to the sailors.

  At first they merely scowled at him, but when he held up a chunk of roasted fish, he saw Nika lick his lips. Finally, the sailors stripped off most of their garments and swam ashore. "This island has good food," Paruru said proudly as he glanced down at the meal he had provided.

  The men said nothing, but took their portions and began to eat. Paruru carried his own aside. Was this the way it would always be? he asked himself. Would these men ever again accept him as their friend? He ate quickly, disposed of his bones and other leavings, then went to take a walk on the tiny seaward shore. Glancing toward the southeast, with the setting sun warming his cheek, he fancied that he could still see his home atoll far in the distance.

  Home? No. He must not think of it anymore.

  Paruru blinked, then stared once again at the horizon. Impossible. Yet something was definitely there. As he watched, the speck grew larger, until he recognized it as a sail. A canoe was coming swiftly, heading directly toward him.

  Tepua watched from the deck of her pahi as the silhouettes of palm trees grew larger against the pale orange sky. She felt an ache inside that she thought she might have to carry forever. Yet if she could have a few last words with Kiore, feel his arms about her one more time, then perhaps she could accept what she had done.

  She glanced up at the billowing mat-sail. The winds had been good to her. Despite her late start she would reach her destination by sunset. Then she would have her chance—to make some small amends to Kiore for how she had treated him.

  The leader of the flotilla had told her that he planned to stop for the night at this tiny atoll. What if he had changed course? As her canoe approached the pass she felt a cold surge of fear. If the sailors had not stopped here, then she would never see Kiore again....

  The island appeared deserted. Bracing herself against the pitching of the deck, Tepua stood for a better look. "What is out there?" Maukiri asked, coming up beside her. "Aue!"

  Tepua followed her cousin's arm and suddenly cried with delight. Paruru, looking dumbfounded, was standing on a coral boulder at the edge of the channel. Evidently he recognized her, for he left his perch to pluck a small palm frond, then came back to wave it in welcome.

  When her men brought her pahi into the tiny lagoon, the warriors ashore scrambled into the water. "Maeva ariki!" they cried, raising their spears to greet her as she stood on the deck. She acknowledged them, but her attention turned to the two men seated by a fire near the end of the islet.

  Kiore stood up, staring at her in evident .disbelief. Nika shouted to Maukiri and flung himself into the lagoon with a huge splash.

  Tepua waited a moment longer as her canoe glided in. Then she jumped down to wade ashore through the shallows. Kiore's mouth still hung open as she approached him. Sorrow and longing warred in his eyes and in new lines that had appeared on his forehead. She wanted to smooth away the tracks of grief.

  "Please listen," she said softly as she leaned toward him, pressed her mouth to his. His lips were warm, but unresponsive. His arms hung woodenly by his side.

  She felt her hopes sink. Was he already gone from her, in spirit if not in body? "Oh, Kiore," she whispered. "How it hurts to want you, but not be able to have you!"

  He stared at her in bewilderment. His eyes searched hers, and as they did, his sorrow seemed to ease. "That is the truth," she said. "I will not hide it any longer."

  She felt his hand take hers, in the way a friend would touch as well as a lover. "Walk with me," she said.

  Tepua led him to a place on the seaward side of the islet. The sun was setting, huge and red above the water. Close to shore, waves broke on the reef, erupting in plumes of spray.

  "Tepua, you do not have to explain," Kiore said when they had seated themselves in a sheltered place. "I understand why Nika and I must go."

  She gazed into his eyes, their color strangely muted by the redness of the light. She answered softly. "I have thought about this awhile. All the trouble that you and Nika caused came from ignorance, not from bad intentions. I did not send you away as a punishment."

  "For the sake of friendship with the Pu-tahi—" His voice held the sound of resignation, not bitterness.

  "Yes."

  "Are they satisfied now? Do you have what you want from them?" Despite the pain this had caused him, he seemed earnestly to hope for her success.

  "Everything is settled," she said. "We have finally ended our fighting. There will be peace now between my people and those who used to raid our shores."

  "That is good to hear," he replied, and an odd faraway look came into his eyes. "I have always thought fighting a poor way to settle arguments." He glanced ruefully down at the healing wounds on his arms, reminders of his bout with the Pu-tahi. "I often wished I could find another way." He lifted her hand, pressed her fingers gently.

  "You are doing something important," he said. "Perhaps I was too shortsighted to see it before." He gave a short laugh. "If you keep this peace, you will accomplish what my people, with all their power, cannot."

  "Yes—'' She leaned closer, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

  "I know," he said, stroking her hair gently. "The cost for us is high."

  "I did not wish to send you away in anger."

  "And I did not wish to be sent." Kiore turned his head, kissed her, and said, "I only wish we had met in a time and place where your people and mine did not find it so easy to harm each other."

  "I hope that someday there can be peace between your people and mine."

  "Then may the gods speed that day," said Kiore, pulling her closer. For a while they held each other in silence.

  At last she asked, "Where will you go after this?"

  "Not to Cloud Island. I cannot say if the islanders would welcome me or plunge their spears into my gut. We are heading far to the northwest, to a port where honest traders call."

  "Will you take Paruru to your homeland?"

  "If he washes. Or he may find a place on one of the islands we pass."

  "I wish no harm to come to him. We are all angry at Paruru, but his exile is punishment enough." Gently she began stroking the small of Kiore's back.

  "Do not fret, Tepua. We three need each other to survive. We will put aside our differences, at least long enough to reach our destination."

  "Then I am satisfied. I have asked the high priest to petition the gods, to pray that they help you safely over the water."

  "I have also prayed to my own god," he said as he put his arm about her waist. They clung together awhile longer, until the light began to fade. "Come. We cannot stay here. The night air is cool."

  Returning, they learned that Maukiri and Nika had found a nest for themselves in the forest. Te
pua's men ferried her and Kiore out to the foreign boat. She stepped aboard. In the darkness she could just make out the shape of the hanging bed.

  "Climb in!" he invited.

  She put her hand on the long expanse of cloth and felt it swing away from her. "Aue! It will fall!"

  "No. Try it."

  At last he persuaded Tepua to get in. The sensation of swinging made her giddy. When he joined her, she heard the creaks of cords and spars, and expected the whole contrivance to come crashing down.

  "See. It is warm and pleasant inside."

  He was right. The cloth made a cozy shelter from the wind. She began to enjoy the gentle swaying. And yet ...

  Kiore seemed to sense her thoughts as he wrapped his arms around her. "I am sure we can manage," he whispered.

  "You have tried it before?"

  "No, Tepua." He began nuzzling at her ear. "There are many things I never tried before I came to your atoll. This is one."

  After that they had no need for talk.

  The night had been far too short, and now it was gone. Tepua, drained from the grief of parting, sat on the deck of the pahi that was carrying her back to her atoll. In the morning light she watched the rise and fall of water, the surging whitecaps, the swooping terns. Somewhere far behind her Kiore was sailing in the opposite direction.

  "Tepua, you need rest. We both do," said Maukiri, whose face was also wet with tears.

  "There will be time for resting," said Tepua. "As long as I want. Umia will be chief soon." She looked out, watching for the first signs of land.

  "That is so?" asked Maukiri with surprise.

  "Faka-ora has been studying the signs. He told me that Umia's time has almost arrived. I will be released from my obligations."

  "Then you should be glad. That is what you wanted."

  Tepua blinked, and her own tears came again. Yes. She had carried out her duties. The gods should be pleased....

  "What will you do after this?" Maukiri's face was contorted with sorrow, and Tepua did not think this came only from the loss of her sailor.

  "I will go back to Tahiti, of course. But this time I will not go alone." She stared at her cousin, watching her sadness ease a bit. "If I cannot stay here with my kin, why not bring part of my family with me?" She put her arm about Maukiri's shoulder.

  "Tahiti!" Maukiri's mouth fell open in delight. "Yes, cousin!"

  "You will find someone there. Someone to make you forget Nika."

  Maukiri rubbed a glistening streak from her own face. "Perhaps—"

  "You will forget him, cousin."

  "And will you forget Kiore?"

  Tepua had no answer. He would always be with her, she thought. But Maukiri was young, and light with her affections.

  "You have told me so little about Tahiti," her cousin whispered.

  "We will have time to talk along the way."

  "But I want to know about the men. You said only that they were like ours."

  Tepua sighed. "They are tall, well shaped, eager to please. You will be happy."

  "I am not sure," said Maukiri. "You told me that outsiders have never been to Tahiti. The men there know nothing of foreign ways."

  "And what do they need to know?'' Tepua caught herself as she saw her cousin's sly grin. Was she hinting that the men of Tahiti might need lessons in hanihani"!

  Tepua peered at her cousin, her brows rising. She tried to imagine the impulsive Maukiri set loose among the stuffier Tahitian nobility. The prospect lightened her spirits. "Perhaps they have a few things to learn," she said cautiously.

  Maukiri parted her lips, wiggled the tip of her tongue, and cried, "I am willing to teach them!"

  Tepua laughed, but then a shout from the canoe-master made her solemn once more. Land had been sighted. Ahead lay the atoll of her birth. She peered out over the sunlit water, wanting to remember every detail of this last voyage home.

  She tried to console herself. In the end, she had been the strong chief that her people needed, worthy of her ancestress, Tapahi-roro-ariki. Outsiders might come again, but now her people would be prepared. They would have allies, if needed, to stand beside them.

  And they would have her brother, the high chief chosen by the gods. She had given Umia the confidence he needed to carry forward Kohekapu's rule. Umia would father the next chief. The wisdom of the ancestors would live on.

  HISTORICAL NOTE

  Tepua's atoll belongs to the group known today as the Tuamotu Archipelago of French Polynesia. Early navigators called them the Dangerous Islands because of their treacherous currents and underwater reefs. They lie in the central Pacific, below the equator, almost due south of Hawaii.

  The Tuamotu islands are so numerous that some were discovered by the earliest European explorers. Several incidents of shipwrecks have been documented, and there were undoubtedly others, but history can tell us little about the fates of the stranded sailors.

  Though these atolls were often sighted from ships, many remained isolated for centuries. Much of the early culture of some islands survived into the twentieth century. In the 1920s and 1930s, expeditions sent by the Bishop Museum of Hawaii collected a wealth of Tuamotuan material. Even today, one can still find people of these islands who remember the genealogies of their ancestors, all the way back to the gods and heroes of ancient times.

  GLOSSARY

  ari'i/ariki: a chief, or a person of the ruling class.

  Arioi society: A cult devoted to worship of Oro in his peaceful aspect of

  Oro-of-the-laid-down-spear. In this role he also served as a fertility god.

  aroha: compassion, deep sympathy, atoll: a ring of coral islands that surrounds or partially surrounds a lagoon. The islands are typically low and flat.

  aue: a cry of delight, surprise, or dismay.

  ava/kava: a relative of black pepper. The roots and stems were used to make an intoxicating, nonalcoholic, drink. (Still popular today in the Fiji Islands and elsewhere.) Piper methysticum.

  breadfruit: the staple food of ancient Tahiti. A single tree can produce hundreds of pounds of fruit. When eaten baked, it resembles the flavor and texture of yam or squash.

  fat: the art of making string figures, popular throughout Polynesia; "cat's cradle." fara: pandanus or screwpine. A principal source of food (seeds and fruit)

  for many atoll people. The leaves are an excellent source of thatch for roofs. Pandanus tectorius.

  hanihani: to caress, fondle, stimulate, high island: an island of volcanic origin, such as Tahiti or Hawaii. These islands have mountainous interiors.

  kahaia: small atoll tree of the coffee family. Guettarda speciosa.

  kaito-nui: mighty warrior.

  kokuru: shrub of atoll shores, having narrow leaves and yellow flowers. The wood is very hard, useful for fishhooks and spears. Suriana maritima.

  mana: sacred power, which was considered capable of transmission by touch. Humans as well as objects possessed mana to varying degrees.

  marae: an open-air place of worship, usually a rectangular courtyard bounded by low stone walls, with a stone platform at one end. On atolls, the building material was coral.

  maro: a narrow piece of cloth worn by men about the hips, made of bark-cloth or finely plaited matting.

  maro kura: sacred red cloth wound about the loins of a chief at investment, and worn on a few other special occasions.

  maeva ariki: salutation: "Exalted be the chief!"

  Maui: one of several legendary heroes by that name.

  mikimiki: small tree of the loosestrife family, common to atoll shores.

  Flowers are white. The hard wood was used for spears and fishhooks.

  Pemphis acidula.

  motu: a low island created by the exposed part of a coral reef.

  Oro: Polynesian god, patron of the Arioi in his peacekeeping aspect known as Oro-of-the-laid-down-spear. One of the major gods of Tahiti at the time of European contact.

  pahi: a vessel built by connecting two canoe hulls side by side with pole
s, usually with a platform mounted above the hulls. This type of craft was used on long voyages or for carrying large numbers of people.

  pahua: large tridacna clam, a mainstay of the Tuamotu diet.

  pukatea: atoll tree that can reach heights of sixty feet. Considered sacred by some atoll dwellers. Pisonia grandis.

  ringoringo: a spirit that was thought to give a warning cry at the approach of trouble.

  sennit: cord made from softened fibers of the coconut husk.

  tahunga: a healer, a specialist in some art or skill. lamanu: a large tree of the mangosteen family. Calophyllum inophyllum.

  Tangaroa: generally viewed as the god who created all else. Considered too far removed from human affairs to be addressed directly in worship.

  tapa: bark cloth, made by pounding the softened inner bark of the paper mulberry, breadfruit, or hibiscus tree. (These are all high-island trees.) Cloth was often dyed or painted, the best colors being scarlet and yellow. Rolls of tapa were prized as gifts, not only for their utility and beauty but because of the amount of labor they represented. Tapahi-roro-ariki: legendary atoll woman chief, (lit. "Brains-cleaving-chief.")

  tapu: sacred, forbidden. Something that is restricted. tiputa: a garment of woven leaf or of bark-cloth. It is much like a hoodless poncho, a rectangle of cloth with a hole in the center for the head, taro: a cultivated plant of the atolls. The root, when baked, is somewhat like a potato. The cooked leaves resemble mild spinach. Tepua-mua: lit. "foremost flower." umu: shallow pit used for cooking. Stones within are first heated by fire. The food is then placed between the stones and covered to bake. vahine: woman, wife, lover.

  vaka: one-hulled canoe with an outrigger float mounted parallel to the hull viavia: a coconut in its prime for drinking. The outer husk is still partly green and the meat within is soft. (Not available in supermarkets!)

  SELECTED READING

  Brooks, Candace Carleton, Manihi: Life on an Atoll, Ph. D. thesis, Stanford University, 1968.