“So, brother. You went off with that atoll vahine, and look what it cost you.” His sister’s stout fingers closed about his arm. “You are nothing but bones. Even a hungry motu savage would not bother with you now.”
The fisherman sighed. “My head—”
“It will heal. Now sit up and drink.”
Rimapoa gingerly tried to comply. He felt the polished coconut shell pressed to his lips and forced himself to take a swallow of the milk. Then he glanced around.
He did not recognize the hut where he lay, though he noticed that the mats were worn and thin. “Where?” He moved his arm weakly.
“Servants’ quarters. We are in the high chief’s compound, but I would not call you an honored guest.”
“I was—exiled—but I came back.”
“I have heard all about that,” she snapped. “You are fortunate, my wandering brother. The new high priest is not going to be harsh on you. The gods spared your life, he says, by letting you survive on that tiny motu. Provided that you leave Tahiti quickly, there will be no further punishment.”
“And where else can I go?” Rimapoa glanced up at Hoihoi’s broad, fleshy face.
Her eyes gleamed in a way he had not seen in many seasons. “It may surprise you, brother, to learn that I have found a husband. My tane lives on Eimeo and he is taking us back with him. We will have a house close to the lagoon. He says there is good fishing nearby.”
“Eimeo!” He could not help recalling the wondrous night he had spent with Tepua on the beach there. In misery, he slumped back onto the mat.’ ’That place would not be my choice.”
“You will see. There are plenty of women on Eimeo. Even a rascal like yourself might find one. But first you need some flesh on those bones!”
“Say nothing to me about women,” he replied with disgust.
“Good. Then you have forgotten your motu princess.”
“I do not even know what happened to her. After Ihetoa clubbed me—”
“Ihetoa is dead. And you may as well know this, brother. There is going to be a ceremony at the great marae. Tepua and Matopahu—”
“A marriage!” He sat up suddenly, though the pain made him groan anew.
“Not a marriage. And now that you are up, you can eat some of this poi I made for you.” She shoved a bowl at him, but he pushed it aside.
“What are they going to do at the marae?” he demanded.
“Ah, brother. I forgot that you were away so long on that island. Maybe you did not hear about Matopahu’s grand tour of the districts.”
“I would rather he took a tour of the ocean’s bed.”
She sighed. “When he came to visit Pigs-run-out, we all clustered around the compound trying to catch a glimpse of him. There was such a crowd that the headman’s fence was thrown down and he sent his guards to chase us away. But we all got to see Matopahu.”
“That useless nobleman went to visit Pigs-run-out many times,” the fisherman answered bitterly. “Nobody cared about him then.”
“Ah, but that was before he became so renowned. This time we knew the stories about him. Every woman of the district prayed he would call her to his mat.”
Rimapoa wanted to grab the bowl of poi and dump it over his sister’s head, but she seemed to sense his intent and pulled it out of range. “What does all this have to do with a ceremony?” he persisted.
“You will have to ask the new high priest to explain it. All I know is that Matopahu’s god deserted him, and that an evil one began to speak through his lips. The ceremony is to free him from whatever sins allowed that to happen. And to free her from the guilt of her visit to Fenua Ura.”
Rimapoa frowned. “So you know everything, sister,” he answered hoarsely. “But I still do not see why they are going to do this thing together.”
“One sin may be connected to the other. The high priest did not take me into his confidence.”
Rimapoa tightened his fist. “No. It can only mean this. They are going to marry.”
“I do not think so,” said Hoihoi, still holding the poi close to her.
“Explain!”
“I have talked with your motu princess. She says that her exalted kin are sending her gifts so that she can rise in the Arioi. Matopahu will not marry a woman who is forbidden to give him children.”
The fisherman glanced at Hoihoi’s grin and felt an unexpected surge of good feeling toward his sister. “This is no lie?”
“I think I know that woman, brother. If she is determined to be an Arioi, then she will let no man’s wishes get in her way.”
“I would also send her gifts, if I had any. To make sure she stays with the Arioi.”
“Your gift to her will be to get well—as quickly as you can—and leave for Eimeo. That is why she sent for me to take care of you.”
He smiled. “She did that?” He reached cautiously to touch the back of his head, but winced as he pressed on the tapa dressing. “Then maybe I am not sorry that I led Dietoa into her trap.”
“Are you ready to eat your poi?”
Rimapoa reached for the bowl. “I will not dump it on your head today, my dear sister.”
The morning of the ceremony dawned with mist hanging in the trees, but soon a brisk wind cleared the air. Tepua left the women’s Arioi compound, accompanied by Aitofa and Curling-leaf. She wore only a simple tapa wrap and carried a sprig from the sacred miro tree. Curling-leaf carried a trussed white fowl beneath her arm, its beak tied so that it would not interrupt the proceedings by squawking.
The miro twig, plucked earlier that morning, was still fresh and dewy. Tepua touched its heart-shaped leaves and fingered the rose-colored wood. The flowers were striking—a vivid sun yellow whose black center held a reddish sheen. It was an offering worthy of the gods, and she hoped it would please them.
A priest walked before the three, escorting them toward the marae where Eye-to-Heaven waited. As Tepua’s party neared the path to the temple, she saw another priest approaching, accompanied by Matopahu and a servant. She could not help noticing how well the chief’s brother looked, walking with his usual confident manner, his head thrown back and his shoulders straight. From this distance, she could not even see the scars left from his fight with the ghost-masquers.
It had puzzled her, at first, when the high priest suggested performing both ceremonies at once. He had not chosen to do this merely to save himself effort. The offenses were entangled with each other, Eye-to-heaven had said as he explained the ceremony of taraehara, the untying of hara. Now she and Matopahu must be untangled—from their sins and from each other.
She sighed, wishing the last part could somehow prove untrue. But Matopahu had asked her to leave the Arioi for him, something she could not do. And now, impossible as it seemed, the time for a final parting had come...
Overhead, dark branches rustled. At the border of sacred ground Tepua saw the fierce wooden figures glaring at her. She remembered all too well the furor raised when temple attendants thought that a woman had crossed that boundary. “We may enter,” said Aitofa, beside her. “See? Mats are spread so that our feet will not touch the sacred stones.”
Tepua thought she heard bitterness in Aitofa’s words. Yes, it was true that the gods’ wishes seemed to favor the men who proclaimed them. There were exceptions only for women of the highest rank. A chiefess might tread the bare stones, but Tepua was no chiefess.
She turned to Curling-leaf, whose humble birth prevented her from following into the temple enclosure. Tepua embraced her friend, then took the offering fowl she had carried. “I will stay here and listen,” promised Curling-leaf, wiping a joyful tear from her eye. “And offer my own prayers for your future.”
Tepua turned, reluctantly, finally treading the path of mats that led through a gap in the marae’s black stone wall. This temple was far more imposing than any she had seen on coral islands. Passing into the courtyard, she saw at close hand the sacred uprights and the wooden altars laden with offerings of fruit and flesh. She drew
in her breath, walking with caution lest she accidentally touch some sacred object.
The high priest, Eye-to-heaven, was draped in tapa bleached so white that it hurt the eyes to look at him. Beneath his tall headdress he did not look at all like the friendly priest she knew. Behind him, closer than she had ever seen it, loomed the stepped platform of rounded stones, layer piled on layer, the ahu of the temple. She trembled as she realized that on this high perch the gods and spirits would assemble to hear her plea.
Her hands were shaking as she held her two offerings, advancing slowly until the priest signaled her to stop. Then she knelt and waited for Eye-to-heaven to call on the gods. Despite the mat, she could sense the chill of the stones beneath her and the frightening power that they held. The warmth seemed to drain from her body.
The priest began his long chant. As she listened to the mystical words, she dared not move or even glance sideways. After a time she sensed a change without directly seeing it, a darkening of the air, a movement that touched her cheek. She tensed as she heard a flutter of wings. Birds—the shadows of the gods—were coming to alight on the ahu.
Then the priest whispered to her. It was time to recite the words of ritual she had learned. Her lips trembled and all she could manage was a whisper. “Here am I...” Louder! “Here am I, and here are my offerings.” Louder still!’ ’I bring the chicken and the miro sprig to atone for my sin. It was I who stole red feathers from Fenua Ura. Forgive me that transgression. ...”
Then, for a time, no words were spoken. From the signs around him, the priest would decide now if the gods had accepted her plea. She listened to the pulsing of her blood and struggled to keep herself upright. All around her, the spirits were whispering...
“These offerings are accepted for the marae,” the priest intoned at last. At once, the strange chill began to leave her. A band of sunlight broke through the trees and bathed her shoulders and back.
Matopahu came forward next, holding out his gifts. Tepua glanced at him as he knelt and bowed his head, saying the words of repentance. He spoke boldly, with no evident fear.
“... to atone for my sin of allowing pride and vanity to darken my spirit, so that a demon entered me and displaced the god of my prophecies ...”
She gazed at the rich gold of his skin and the expression of confidence on his face. For a moment she allowed herself to imagine that she had renounced the Arioi and agreed to his demands. She could still hear the words he had said after she pulled him from the fire. “You will be my wife now. There will be no more quarrels between us. And if Eye-to-heaven stands in my way, I will hoist him by his holy loincloth and toss him into the sea.”
She had refused him then. If he asked, she would refuse him again, despite her pain. But she was letting her thoughts drift, when she should be watching the ceremony...
Eye-to-heaven lifted his arms and cried, “Come hither!
May you live! Come again to the god’s light. But go first and be cleansed of your debasement.”
The high priest left the marae and strode toward the sea. After him came Tepua, Matopahu, and Aitofa. Leaving the shadowed stones behind brought Tepua only a mild relief. She would be free of her sins now, but she saw little joy coming in the days ahead.
Matopahu fell into step beside her and she did not have the heart to move away from him.
“Why do you look so downcast, atoll flower?” he whispered. “One would think from your expression that a burden is being placed on your shoulders, not lifted from them.”
“We should not talk now,” she answered.
The breeze blew in her face, carrying spray that tingled on her lips. She reached a black-sand cove that stood opposite a break in the reef. Eye-to-heaven waded out in the quietly rolling surf, letting his robe of white tapa trail in the sea. While Aitofa stayed on shore, Tepua and Matopahu followed the priest.
They knelt, side by side, on the soft sand while the sea caressed their necks and shoulders. Eye-to-heaven came first to Tepua, opening his arms above her and raising his voice over the sound of the breaking surf.
“Hearken, O gods, to thy worshipers! Cleanse the woman who has offended, that her sin of taking the sacred feathers be washed in the ocean, be lost in the murmuring sea. Restore her to harmony, that she may take up the noble life decreed for her, that she may dance and chant for the Arioi. Hearken to us, O gods.”
Then he stood over Matopahu.
“Cleanse the man who has offended, that his sin of harboring a false god be washed away. Restore him to harmony, that he may stand beside the chief once more as his loyal brother, that the voice within him may speak truth.”
At the priest’s signal, Tepua lay back into the sea, feeling the waves wash over her, around her, sweeping away the unhappiness, fear, and guilt.
“There is prayer in the moving ocean,” Eye-to-heaven chanted. “The sea is the great marae of the world.”
Tepua felt the truth of his words deep within herself. Men could build temples of stone, but one day those might fall. Only the sea would remain, fluid, unchanging, with a mystery to rival that of the gods.
“You are cleaned, purified, ready again to walk in the world,” the priest intoned, casting seawater over both of them. The ceremony was finished. Eye-to-heaven, wearing a satisfied look, walked slowly ashore.
But Tepua remained in the ocean, drawing strength and comfort from the surging water around her. She threw her head back, allowing the waves to play with her hair. She flung out her arms, letting them drift. A hand crept into hers. Matopahu’s.
“There is something we have yet to settle,” he said in a quiet voice.
“I think not, my valiant nobleman. I made my plans clear to you and now I cannot change them. Eye-to-heaven has just promised my service to Oro!”
“Yes, I heard that,” he answered. “But suppose I make no demands you cannot meet?”
She turned toward him as he drifted near her in the surf, his eyebrows raised expectantly. “I remember what you told me,” she said. “That a man of your line must have children. That no woman in Tahiti would refuse the chance to bear them.” She blinked, unwilling to let him see her tears.
“I would like to pretend I did not say that, Tepua. It is true that I want sons. But I have learned that sometimes a man must wait for the things he wants most.” He pulled her closer. “Stay with the Arioi, if that is your wish,” he said softly. “But do not let that keep us apart. We will have children, but later, when you have fulfilled your obligations to Oro.”
She studied him, slowly taking in what he had said. “But you must have sons—”
He laughed. “If I get impatient, I can always foster a boy from one of my relatives. That is a common practice among us.”
Staring at his intent features as he waited for her to speak, she felt a tingle of confusion, surprise, and delight. But before she could think how to answer him, she felt Matopahu’s hand stiffen, then grab her wrist. “Look!” he said, pointing to a dark fin cutting through the waves. Then another shark appeared. “Two of them!” He pulled on her arm, wordlessly urging her to retreat. From shore came other shouts of warning.
She held her ground for a moment, squinting, trying to make out the shape of the fins. Not mako, or tiger or white. They looked eerily familiar. “Great blues!” Tepua cried aloud. “They came to me once before. Do not be afraid.”
“But—such sharks come only to bless the highest chiefs!”
“Perhaps, in the eyes of the gods, we are as important as high chiefs. We must welcome them and show we are worthy.” She lifted her head and took a step forward, though she felt her pulse beating ever faster as the sharks approached.
Matopahu hesitated. “Woman, are you certain? I have never refused to face an enemy. But these—”
“They are no enemies. Now that we are freed from our sins, the gods will not let us be harmed.” When she insisted on remaining, he sighed and put his arm about her. Together they waded farther out into the waves.
Together, s
ide by side, the great blues approached. Sunlight struck a brilliant deep ocean blue from their backs. As they turned, the color flashed into silver with a shimmer of yellow green. The long upper fin of their tails made lazy sweeps through the water.
The motion of their tails slowed. One great fish glided forward to Matopahu, the other to Tepua. She felt his hand grow rigid in hers. “This is how they greet us,” she whispered.
She felt a pointed snout nudge her—gently. The shark tilted its head and grazed up at her with an eye of deep black. Carefully she lowered her hand until her fingertips rested for a moment on the shark’s grainy snout.
Then the swirl of water caressed her skin as the great blue swam past. Beside her, Matopahu was staring down in awe at the back of the second blue. Slowly he dipped his hand in the water and touched the shark above the gills. With patient dignity, it accepted the touch.
“You are right, Tepua. This is a blessing,” Matopahu breathed. “Only the greatest chief’s are so honored.”
The great blues swam around the couple, brushing by them so gently that the rough sharkskin did not make the smallest scrape. Then the huge fish withdrew a short distance out into the lagoon.
“Perhaps this is an omen of what the gods have in store for us,” Tepua said.
Gently Matopahu drew her against his chest, cradling her in his arms as the wash of surf rocked them. “I am content with what we have now,” he murmured, smoothing her hair back from her face. She threw her arms about his neck and pressed her nose to his.
“Look at the sharks,” he whispered.
The great blues were playing, swimming together and brushing against each other as they circled.
“They are courting. One is tane, the other, vahine ,” said Tepua with a laugh.
“Then that is how we must be,” said Matopahu.
Yes, that is how we must be.
Glossary
aahi: albacore tuna. Tahitians had specific names for albacore of different sizes, such as aahi perepererau for young ones, aahi araroa for the very largest, etc.
Daughter of the Reef Page 35
