“Dad would never make some sort of a pagan shrine. That was so weird. And the falls, Jason, they were mind blowing. Where did all that water go?”
“Do you think native superstitions have any power? I mean, do you think someone with a Western mindset can be harmed by evil spirits or angry ancestors if he doesn’t believe in them?” David asked.
“No.” Jason said decisively. “We’re too rational, scientific. On the other hand, look what happened to the men who opened Tutankhamen’s tomb; they all died horrible deaths.”
“Evil is evil,” Melanie said. “It’s not supernatural, it’s just a fact of life. Evil people exist just as do evil circumstances. I wouldn’t put a spiritual connotation to it. People have been praying to get rid of evil since the beginning of time and it hasn’t worked. It’s just something we live with.”
Melanie took the cloth back from Jason, dipped it into a bucket of water, and wrung it out.
“Do you think there’s a way to keep evil from affecting you? Do you think building that little shrine at the mouth of the gorge was foolish?” David said.
“I wouldn’t have done it. But Dad thought it was necessary and we went along with him.”
“What if rocks had fallen after you’d built the shrine?” Jason asked.
“You could say the shrine was useless, or you could say you didn’t do it right. Basically, this kind of debate is stupid. No one can prove that the so-called spirit world or psychic world has any effect on our world, or if it even exists,” Melanie replied.
“I guess what happened to me at the temple was a psychotic incident, nothing to do with spirits or island curses?”
“Or someone drugged you,” Melanie said. “Do know what Tuhuna O’ono means?”
“No.”
“I took notes while you were delirious, and that’s something you said.”
“Yeah, you did.” David said. “So, what you’re saying, Jason, is that your illness was psychotic episode, or you were drugged, or was it an island curse?” Turning to Melanie; “Did you feel strange in the gorge and up at the falls?”
“I did. But all kinds of things spook me. It doesn’t mean that I believe in evil spirits or angry ancestors. I didn’t like walking through that gorge because rocks could have fallen on us. If they had, I wouldn’t have thought it was caused by the spirit world. It would’ve been gravity, and if I’d been hit on the head it would’ve been my bad luck.”
“So, life is just a matter of luck?” Jason said.
“You can be careful and take precautions,” Melanie told him.
“Like building a shrine?” David smiled.
“Let me ask you this,” Jason said. “Do you think there is just one set of laws for all that exists?”
“Not at all. There are all sorts of laws for all kinds of disciplines,” David replied.
“I mean, is there one supreme law? Something that’s not affected by any other law?”
“Are you trying to bring God into this?” David said.
“I’m just wondering if there is such a thing as grace, and if it can lift someone out of all these other states of existence. Is anything omnipotent?”
“You are dragging God into this,” Melanie said.
Jason took the washcloth and laid it over his face.
David said, “If Larry expected you to be a talisman and make this a pleasant trip, it hasn’t worked.”
“I guess it’s my fault I got sick,” Jason mumbled through the washcloth. “Melanie, can you massage my temples again?”
Melanie took the cloth back from Jason and slapped him playfully on the chest with it. “You like all the attention, don’t you? The cool water on your forehead, the head massage, that’s all you’ve been after the whole time!”
Jason sat up laughing. “Let me massage your neck.”
Melanie laid back and put her head in his lap. He wrung out the cloth, folded it, and draped it over her forehead.
David had not noticed the affection growing between the two. How had he missed the clues? The tamure dancing at Takaroa? Walking back from the waterfall at Hana Vave hand in hand? Maybe Jason was like this with all the girls. Maybe the nonchalant detached attitude with women was his secret.
David got up to go below but Melanie grabbed his hand. “Don’t go. We haven’t finished our conversation,” she said. David sat down next to Melanie’s feet. She raised her legs and motioned for him to move closer, and when he did, she put her legs on his lap.
“So why do you think your dad treats J.J. so poorly?” David said.
“Don’t know. My mom taught me to live by the golden rule; treat others the way you want to be treated. The jury’s still out on my dad.”
“Will that protect you from evil?”
“If I treat everyone with love and respect, more likely than not that is what I’ll get back.”
Jason piped in. “What if we exist within another parameter but are unaware of its existence or laws?” Melanie and David weren’t with Jason on this one.
“Don’t be so dismissive,” he continued. “I’m serious. What if our world of conflict is imposed upon us by our beliefs? What if there’s another dimension within this world that includes all life, but only a few people are aware of it? And in that dimension, what if there were no opposites? All who lived there lived in total harmony. Would you want to find that dimension?”
“You’re talking in hypotheticals. If there were such a place, that was completely harmonious, of course I’d like to live there,” Melanie said.
“It does exist, Melanie,” Jason said, “All the great spiritual lights have described it.”
Melanie sat up and looked at Jason and then David. “I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in Jehovah any more than I believe in Zeus or Athena. The world is random. Shit happens. We have to learn how to deal with it and not always try to change it. I’ve read some of Dr. Green’s books. Dad sent me a whole library of them. Perhaps there is a Christ consciousness. Perhaps all life is spiritual on some level. There are many unexplained things in this world, but for me, it’s all about how people treat each other. Can you forgive?”
Melanie kissed both of them—Jason on the lips, David on both cheeks—and disappeared into the aft cabin.
Larry returned to the boat late that afternoon with fish, taro root, heart of palm, and breadfruit poi. He didn’t disturb his crew, who were napping, and set about cooking one of his gourmet meals. Larry put a fresh cloth on the table in the cockpit and arranged a centerpiece from protea blossoms from shore and pieces of coral. When dinner was ready, he called his crew on deck. They were impressed with his meal and the beauty of his table. They also appreciated his good mood.
Larry had a whole new plan and was excited. There was a rarely performed ceremony happening in nine days on Ua Pou. “One of the most insane rites of passage in the world,” he told his crew. “And one that might lead to the renaissance of the Hiva culture. They want me to film it.”
“That sounds great,” Melanie encouraged.
“Does that mean we have to leave soon?” David asked. “It’d be nice to be in one place for a while.”
“Jacques, the man who lives here, is a hermit,” Larry answered.
“I have to see him again, so at least another day. He was part of the independence movement I got involved with in the mid-sixties, and I’m the first person he’s talked to in five years. It took me all morning just to get him to come out of his hiding place.”
“What did he do?” Melanie glanced over at Jason, who looked under the weather again. In truth, Jason had begun to feel like something was coming over him, the way it had at Atuona. But he avoided Melanie’s inquisitive gaze and said nothing.
“He wanted to help the Marquesans restore their culture,” Larry continued. “We thought we could do this through tourism. He thought of Melville’s novels and his descriptions of the cannibal people, and Tommo falling in love with Fayaway, where the sex was innocent and yet there was danger from the ferocious islander
s. We thought that we could attract a certain type of tourist who’d delight in this kind of adventure. I know it sounds bizarre today, but we thought we could sell it. He researched all the Hiva music and dance and we made a business plan based on his discoveries. He thought the original culture could recover from their spiritual genocide. Obviously, the French didn’t. The colonialists still had the attitude that these people were savages who needed to be subdued. Otherwise their primitive ways would destroy the civilization that was given to them for their salvation.”
After a moment of bemused silence, Melanie and David howled with laughter. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Melanie said.
“Not great marketing,” David added. “Come to our islands and get eaten by cannibals.”
“No, no, no. That was his problem; he saw things differently from most people. He was brilliant. But now, who knows? He left his research with the elders of Hakamaii and I guess in the past few years they’ve restored one of the most incredible rites of passage in the world. Nobody has filmed it. Hell, very few outside the island have ever seen it! This will be the highlight of our trip. He wants me to document the whole thing.”
Wednesday, June 28, 1989
Larry spent another day at Hanamenu gathering every piece of information he could from his hermit friend Jacques, and Jacques gave him an introduction letter for the ruler at Hakamaii, where the ritual was to be performed.
“They have the ceremony every year when Venus is overhead as the sun sets. That’s in eight days. It’ll give us enough time for me to show you Ua Huka,” Larry told his crew as they gathered around the cockpit table for another gourmet dinner that night. “I think this is why we’re here.”
Chapter 35
Ua Pou, Marquesas Islands
Tuesday July 6, 1989
After sailing from Hiva Oa to Ua Huka, where Larry and his crew had spent a few days of pure sightseeing, the Mata‘i made the one day crossing to the island of Ua Pou. It was mid-afternoon when they sailed into Hakamaii, a small native settlement on the southwest side of the island and found that it had no safe harbor. The treacherous anchorage was open to the sea. A jagged rock took up one side of the cove, and there was no beach, just basketball-sized boulders lining the shore. A concrete boat ramp was the only place to land, and a row of canoe sheds stood on either side of the ramp. The anchorage was deep, and the sea surged up the boulder shore with great force. To be safe, Larry had to anchor his boat more than fifty yards from the “beach.” Once the Mata‘i was anchored, two teenage boys wearing traditional loincloths, their bodies sparsely tattooed, launched their canoes. Each boy stood in his canoes and paddled out to Mata‘i. They ferried Larry and his crew to shore, expertly riding the surge up the boat ramp, timing their landing so that their passengers stepped out onto dry concrete when the water receded.
Larry clung to his ever-present satchel. As usual, Larry wore his long sleeve Tahitian print shirt, pith helmet and shorts. He made sure he had his introduction letter to the haka‘iki, or chief. He checked his video equipment in his bag. The younger crew brought with them their cameras, recorders, and sketch pads. It was very hot and still, and the kids wore only their bathing suits; Melanie’s was a small bikini.
On shore, Larry and his crew were greeted by two fully tattooed men, also wearing traditional loincloths. They escorted the crew of the Mata‘i inland, past the canoe sheds, across the grassy commons, with a tohua, a sacred dance space, at its center. The sides of the valley were steep and close, and they pinched into a gorge not far from shore. A rutted dirt road came through the gorge into the settlement. This was the first place Mata‘i had anchored that had no church, and the attitude was different, aboriginal. No one wore Western dress. The children were naked and the women bare breasted. Very few Westerners visited this valley.
It didn’t take long for Larry and his crew to reach the haka‘iki’s home. The wood-framed house stood on a tall paepae overlooking the village and had a large, thatched roof lanai in front. Four tattooed bodyguards made Larry and his crew wait outside the residence while the chief’s tuhunas, or priests, chanted a welcome to the aoes, or foreigners. When the chant finished the haka‘iki came out and greeted each of the visitors by pressing his forehead to theirs and exchanging breath. Larry gave the chief the message from Jacques at Hanamenu, and the haka‘iki invited the aoes into his house.
Larry and his crew sat on finely woven mats on the darkly polished wooden floor. Also, in the room were the elders from the settlement. A haka‘iki servant ladled kava from a large bowl into the guest’s cups. Kava was a native intoxicant made from the root of the ti plant. Melanie took a sip of the brown liquid and didn’t like the taste. The others politely sipped the drink. Larry and the elders talked in French, while Melanie recorded everything on her Walkman and noted her impressions, like a good reporter, on her steno pad. David busied himself sketching and tried to understand the French being spoken. Jason meditated without closing his eyes and looking obvious. He wanted to sense if there was some underlying atmosphere that the island shamans had created, like what had happened to him on Hiva Oa, that might affect him and what they were doing there. He felt nothing out of the ordinary. The elders, high priest, and keepers of the sacred rituals felt the atmosphere of Jason’s meditation. The most sensitive of the priests even saw an aura around him.
As the afternoon wore on, the people from the yacht drank more kava and ate the haka‘iki’s food. Two young women watched the aoe from behind a fretted screen. When Jason laid eyes upon them, their exotic beauty entranced him. David had a strange sensation come over him, too, one that he tried to dismiss. It felt evil and disturbed his sketching. He poked Jason to indicate he should stop looking at the girls.
“Those are my daughters,” said the haka‘iki in broken English, interrupting the story he was telling Larry. “They are in seclusion until the ceremony tonight.”
“They’re beautiful,” Jason murmured. His voice seemed distant as he took another sip of kava. David prodded him to pay attention. Jason turned his gaze to the haka‘iki. The chief had been fixated on Jason since he entered the room. He not only examined every part of Jason physically, but probed him mentally and psychically too. The elders had been doing the same thing and watched Jason slide from a self-assured introspection into the shadowy mental condition being created in preparation for the ritual.
At that moment, the haka‘iki brought the young people into the conversation. Larry translated the French and relayed that the ancient ceremony they were going to witness that night had almost been lost because of the oppression of the Catholic Church and the French military. “The priests saw everything in terms of sex. They banned dancing because it was lewd. They thought our dress was vulgar. They forbade men and women to bathe together in public. They believed tattooing was the work of the devil, and they outlawed drinking kava because it was an aphrodisiac.”
David looked at Jason, grinning, and flashed the shaka sign. He pushed aside his Baptist conditioning and embraced the atmosphere of the coming ritual.
“But Hakamaii was spared the plague of the Christians,” Larry went on, doing his best to keep up with the chief. “We were remote enough to keep the priests at bay. But without a church we were not allowed to mingle with the other communities and our village nearly died. Twenty-three years ago, Larry’s friend Jacques, saved us. He brought new people to the valley and fragments of our old chants. Our population began to grow, and people came to see our ceremonies. Now we are famous—or infamous; the old rituals are not accepted by all.”
Outside, at dusk, a bonfire was lit in the commons and the villagers began their feast. The crowd swirled around the tohua. People gorged on food—sweet succulent meats swimming in exotic syrups—as they searched for a place to sit and watch the ceremony. The haka‘iki’s men walked through the crowd ladling kava into the coconut bowls of the spectators. Torches gave off the only light, and young people, many who had traveled from other Hiva islands, po
ured through the gorge to join this most sacred festival. Everyone was adorned with flowers and greenery. And Larry filmed everything.
David stood watching the crowd and he couldn’t help feeling that what he saw was sinful. It was indulgent, hedonistic, and he grew uncomfortable with the vibe. Jason roamed around like he was at a cocktail party, looking very detached, like he was in a dream. The haka‘iki’s men gestured for David and Melanie to join the circle forming around the tohua. All of the Hiva boys wanted to touch Melanie’s white skin and she was forced to shove intoxicated young men off of her. She dropped her camera in her small, crossbody bag and found a seat next to David.
“I wish I’d put my T-shirt and shorts in here,” she said, placing her satchel between them. Jason staggered over to his shipmates and sat down next to Melanie. He had a full bowl of kava in his hands and a glazed look on his face. He was overly friendly, talking to the nearby native girls, who had no idea what he was saying, but laughed and talked back to him like they were old friends speaking the same language. Melanie turned away from Jason and held on to David.
“What’s gotten into Jason?” she asked.
A troupe of drummers strode onto the tohua and beat out a fast, ancient rhythm, grabbing everybody’s attention. Then twenty female dancers surged into the sacred circle. Bare breasted and wearing feathered crowns, they kicked up dust as they danced around the tohua, moving around the clusters of excited natives, enticing them with their sexuality. Grass skirts undulated as they followed the beat with their hips. The ‘upa‘upa—the fast gyrating of hips and abdomen—exploded in front of the spectators.
The rhythm changed and the women moved to one side as a line of male dancers entered the circle. The leader was covered in vines and thrust a spear out in front of him. He wove through the other dancers as if hunting, leading his men around the circle toward the women. In the line of men were two dancers who carried a boy tied to a pole as if he were a pig. As the hunters moved through the crowd, the women ran in mock terror until one girl, exceptionally beautiful, stepped in front of the leader and held up her arms. The drumming stopped and for a moment everything was still as the hunter and the girl stared at each other. Then she began a slow, seductive hip movement and lowered her arms in a beckoning fashion. The drummers picked up her rhythm and the hunter dropped his spear in surrender. The passion grew as the rest of the women who had fled returned and found men to seduce.
The Atua Man Page 26