That night, in his sleep, Jason came to him bathed in an unholy light. He brought the sounds of haka—warriors slapping their bodies and shouting insults at unseen enemies. Jason was in the front line, beating himself. Then it all dissolved in a fog of nothingness.
Chapter 39
Ua Pou, Marquesas Islands
Thursday, July 9, 1989
A moon rose over the valley, peeking out between the clouds. After two days of intensive work, Jason’s body had been covered in the swirling designs of a tapu man. Jason knew a tapu person was sacred. He held the wisdom of the people and could not be approached. The uniniatiated who ventured into his presence to learn the mystery of life would die. Jason’s body now warned people to stay away. The only ones allowed close were the haka‘iki and the high priest. They would come prostrate, bringing food and tapa, and in return they would hear the will of the gods through Jason’s voice. After the final phase of the ritual Jason would be the atua, god incarnate on Earth.
When the planet Venus reached its summit, the village elders, in their ceremonial dress, formed a circle in the center of the me’ae. Musicians and dancers chanted and performed in front of the sacrificial altar overlooking the sacred valley. Two warriors—temple guards—brought a naked and kava-intoxicated Jason into the middle of the circle. The moment he saw the stone alter he tried to get away. The strong men held him tighter as the haka‘iki, wearing his chiefly regalia, led his naked daughters up to Jason. The haka‘iki tied his oldest daughter’s wrists to Jason’s, while the younger daughter aroused him. Jason resisted, squirming and kicking as much as he could with two huge guys holding him.
“You must,” said the haka‘iki.
The older girl, tied to Jason, kissed him and begged him with her eyes to fulfill her.
The haka‘iki and the elders squeezed in closer, encircling the couple. And the music swelled. When Jason was fully erect, the young girl slipped out of the way and the haka‘iki took hold of Jason’s penis and slipped it into his daughter’s vagina. Once Jason was inside her he couldn’t stop. The girl’s father and the other elders—relatives all—embraced the pair. They needed to experience this union too.
When Jason reached climax, they knew that their princess was impregnated. The elders moved back, and the girl collapsed in ecstasy. Jason was breathing hard, like he had run a race. The guards untied him from the girl and Jason immediately tried to escape. The men had anticipated this and seized Jason, forcing him back into the circle where the younger daughter waited. The Tuhuna O‘ono’s acolytes bound them together and wrapped them in white tapa—their finest native cloth. The attendants of the high priest then carried the couple through a phalanx of warriors, to the stone alter while the dancers and chanters called on the gods to join the ceremony.
As much as he tried, Jason couldn’t move. It took six strong men to lay him and the girl out on the stone and hold them down. The senior acolyte handed the Tuhuna O‘ono the ceremonial knife and the high priest approached the altar. As the Tuhuna O‘ono began the ritual, and the chanting grew quiet and reverent, a white bird flew into the temple and landed on the Tiki of Atanua, the wife of the Creator and the progenitor of the people. Immediately the Tuhuna O‘ono fell to his knees. He raised his arms and the warriors unwrapped the couple. The girl ran to her sister. She had been saved by a sign from the gods. But Jason was forced back down and pinned to the stone by the temple guards. He was on his back and his heart beat rapidly, uncontrolled.
The Tuhuna O‘ono raised his ceremonial knife again, and this time made a shallow cut from Jason’s neck to his navel. He waited for the blood red line to grow. Panic rushed into Jason’s mind as the pain pushed into his brain. Yet something kept thundering from the fringes of his mind, oneness, oneness, oneness! He had experienced oneness with the Creator, that which never changes, that which always exists as the individual expression of the Divine. He had experienced immortality at the bottom of Makaha Bay in Hawaii. And, he had experienced mystical union through Dr. Green. His life was not his; it was the life of the Creator living through him and as him. Nothing could alter that.
The tuhuna made a second cut, and a profound stillness came over him, something so powerful that his body calmed, and his mind became silent. He was in the Divine Presence, and the actions of mortal man had no effect on him. Jason seemed less dense, lighter, and pulsed with energy. The priest made another cut, and Jason began to disappear. The more they cut, the more ethereal he became, shifting from matter to energy. The other tuhunas began chanting wild desperate sounds, calling on their ancestors to help. The Hiva nation needed his heart, but it was not theirs to take. Before the ceremonial blade reached his heart, Jason had become pure energy and had disappeared.
Friday, July 10, 1989
The following day Jason found himself lying on the beach at Hakahau, the popular tourist port on the opposite side of the island from where the ritual had taken place. Hakahau was famous for the gigantic granite spires, the main attraction of the island, that rose up over the village like a primitive cathedral. Jason was naked and covered in tattoos. He was drowsy and confused. Had it been a horrible nightmare? After looking at his body, and all the tattoos, and the long red cut from his neck to his stomach that was fast disappearing, he knew it hadn’t been a dream. Now he had to confront his current situation. Where was Larry and the Matai‘i? How was he to find them? Where was he going to get clothes? How was he going to get along with his life after what had happened?
As Jason stirred, trying to get his bearings, a Canadian fellow nudged him with his foot, wanting him to move. Jason looked up at the Maple Leaf cap and scowling face and groaned. More tourists from the anchored yachts wandered over, wanting him to get off the beach. One man who spoke French shouted at a group of natives nearby to do something about this bum. Another person tossed Jason a light jacket to cover his body.
Jason got up, wrapped the jacket around his waist, and staggered over to where the natives were. The Hiva people didn’t mind his nakedness, but his tattoos terrified them. An old woman warned her people to stay away from him. Somehow their language was in his head and he asked them, “Have you some clothes?” A teenage boy wearing a Rolling Stones T-shirt—the one with the tongue falling out of Mick Jagger’s mouth—went up to Jason and said in English, “I have some clothes. I live right over there.
Chapter 40
Nuku Hiva, Marquesas Islands
Friday, July 10, 1989
It was the third day since Jason’s abduction, and David awoke hung over and depressed. He had a vague recollection of Jason in his mind. It was raining again, and Taiohae was a swamp. He saw no way to get to Hakamaii, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stay in these god-forsaken islands.
David really couldn’t blame the turn of events on Jason, but they did seem to follow the same pattern every time he hooked up with him. Jason was like the god Shiva, destroying the plans made by humans until they learned not to plan but to live in the moment. All of David’s depression was due to the fact that he was mourning the loss of his best friend. The hope of the past couple of days, with Ama’s assurances that Jason would show up, evaporated like rain puddles in the sun. Everything was futile. David’s willingness to abandon all rational thought, in the fantasy that he could rescue Jason, left him longing for an order he could understand. This was an upside-down world that he could not navigate. He accepted the fact that Jason was gone and checked out of his room. A taxi arrived, the only one on the island, and drove him to the airport.
The village was as hung over as David was. There were four more days of partying, dancing, and sporting contests leading up to Bastille Day. The craft booths would be in full swing by the afternoon, and all this gaiety further depressed David. It took over an hour to get to the airport in the rain. The flight that day to Papeete was filled so David bought a ticket for one departing the next day. He drove back to Taiohae and hung out at the wharf watching more people leave than arrive. He was beginning to believe that Larry wa
s right. Jason was already dead.
David had lunch at the Pension Moana Nui. The name made him nostalgic for Hawaii. He lingered over a glass of wine, looking out to the bay, when he spotted Mata‘i motoring in at top speed, towing her dinghy. David threw some money on the table and raced down to the wharf. By the time he got there, Melanie had already anchored the yacht and carelessly tied up Mata‘i Iti to the pier. When she saw David, she ran into his arms. She was frantic—Larry was deathly sick. He needed a doctor.
“Dad insisted we see these tikis in Taipivai.” She burst into tears.
After what he’d experienced with Larry on Hiva Oa, David could picture the whole thing: Larry’s arrogance, his belief that he was somehow connected to the Hiva people and yet be immune to their beliefs, the rightness of his mission—all that infuriated David.
“Did J.J. show up?” asked Melanie.
“No. I tried everything.”
“I’m sick and tired of being manipulated by Larry and all his bullshit,” she grumbled as they headed to the infirmary. “Even now I can’t feel sorry for him.”
David took Melanie’s hand. “Maybe this is your dad’s karma.”
“Dad was so gross.” She shuddered at the thought. “He said, ‘who wouldn’t want to die that way, having sex with a bunch of gorgeous little island girls? There’re a lot worse ways to go than fucking yourself to death.’”
David pulled her close and held on to her.
“He’s such an asshole, but I don’t want him to die.” She released herself from his hug, and they continued on toward the infirmary. “He browbeat this little kid for directions, and we found the overgrown trail where the boy said the me‘ae would be. We hiked about half a mile and came upon kapu sticks, just like in Hawaii. I didn’t want to go on, but Dad made me. It was the biggest me‘ae I’d ever seen, breathtaking, the size of a football field. We climbed onto the platform and went up to the altar.”
Melanie stopped, as if she was about to faint.
“I don’t have to know.”
“I need to tell someone. It was awful. I got sick. The altar was covered in blood.”
They were almost to the infirmary. “You don’t have to say any more.”
Melanie walked ahead of him and entered the infirmary. “Dad put his fingers in the blood,” she continued. “He thought he could tell if it was animal blood or human. It was just stupid, his stupid curiosity, wanting to know everything. He laughed. He rubbed it between his fingers, smelled it and announced it was a pig. We headed back and Dad was in a triumphant mood, the conqueror of superstition. When we got to the village, he was breathing hard. By the time we got to the boat he could barely climb onboard. I got him into his bunk, but he couldn’t move and now he’s struggling to breathe.”
They waited a few minutes in silence for the doctor. David understood Melanie’s rage. Was this nightmare ever going to end? The doctor came out with his little black bag, and the three of them headed back to the Mata‘i.
David and Melanie waited in the cockpit while the doctor examined Larry. It was not unusual for doctors to go out to people’s yachts to treat someone. When he was done, he kept his face neutral. “Where did he fall ill?”
“Taipivai. We’d hiked up to see the tikis.”
The doctor sighed, not sure how to tell Melanie and David this. “He’s dying and there’s nothing I can do.”
“Come on!” David didn’t believe the doctor. “This looks like some kind of respiratory problem. Certainly, you can do something.”
“I’ve seen this with a native before, never with a European. I’m sorry.”
Melanie rushed into Larry’s cabin, and David followed, leaving the doctor wondering how he was going to get to shore. Larry struggled to draw air into his lungs. David hated to see anyone suffer. He turned away, but Larry grabbed his hand, gasping, “Heal me, Dave.”
David held onto Larry’s hand for a moment and then laid it back on Larry’s torso. “I can’t. I’m not Jason.”
Melanie began to cry again and ran up to the cockpit with David on her heels. “He must be oxygen starved,” she said. “Help me get him to the infirmary.”
“I need to get back,” said the doctor insistently, looking at David. There was nothing more he could do. “You’ll need to get the harbor master to bring out a gurney.”
“Can you do that for us?” Melanie asked.
The doctor shrugged—maybe yes, maybe no. “But he’ll die anyway.”
David flopped down on the cockpit seat and put his head between his knees. The doctor could swim ashore for all he cared. His ticket to Papeete hung out of his pocket. He was in agony. “Why on earth would your dad think I could heal him?”
“I don’t know what to do, Dave.”
The doctor stood irritably by the boarding ladder, thumping his fingers on the stanchion.
“Please,” she implored David, “help me. I can’t do this alone.”
David reluctantly got up, brought the dinghy around and helped the doctor down the ladder. He kissed Melanie and took the doctor to shore.
Saturday, July 11, 1989
David sat alone in the cockpit of the Mata‘i, watching the sunset send shafts of light onto Taiohae Bay. He had not been successful in finding a launch or a gurney, so Larry was still on board. Melanie was with her father in the aft cabin. The Mata‘i wasn’t shipshape: there was no awning over the cockpit in case of rain; the dinghy was tied off and not onboard; and Mata‘i swung on just one anchor, not the way Larry liked. Melanie and David were in no mood to do anything on the boat. But who cared about all that crap anymore? David and Melanie had spent the whole day on the yacht hoping Larry would improve.
No one was hungry. David poured a glass of wine, but it tasted foul and he tossed it overboard. He still thought Jason could be alive, but in what state? David could commandeer Mata‘i and sail back to Hakamaii, given that Larry was in no condition to stop him now. Besides, David was still furious with the bastard for leaving Jason. Larry had brought all this on himself, so why should he feel guilty about wanting to find Jason? Larry had left! He wouldn’t be in Taiohae if he hadn’t fallen sick. No, the only right thing to do would be to sail back to Ua Pou. Would Melanie agree after all she’d been through? She could stay with the boat. He’d go ashore alone; Larry still had his guns.
Sunday, July 12, 1989
At sunup David was flaked out in the cockpit. It had been a horrible night, filled with guilt and self-recrimination, but David awoke ready for action. He would take the boat to Ua Pou. He looked into the aft cabin and Melanie was sleeping soundly. He couldn’t tell if Larry was asleep or dead. He pulled the dinghy around to the boarding ladder, got in and rowed a few yards before starting the outboard. David tied the Mata‘i Iti to the pier, climbed the steps to the jetty and noticed that a cruise ship and a trading steamer had arrived during the night.
At seven o’clock in the morning the town was alive and bustling. The islanders had set up their stalls for the tourists, and the merchants expecting cargo crowded the foot of the jetty as stevedores hauled carts of goods to the vendors who were waiting with their trucks. It was a different crowd from the festival crowd celebrating the fête. It was a mix of people—natives getting on with everyday life and tourists arriving to celebrate the last couple of days before the Bastille Day ceremonies. David made his way up the jetty to the market to grab a quick croissant and coffee. He found the market overrun with tourists. He bought half a dozen croissants and headed back to the dinghy.
David heard someone call his name. He looked around but didn’t see anybody he recognized. Then he heard his named shouted again. It sounded like Jason’s voice. Again, David didn’t recognize anybody. Then someone grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around.
“What is wrong with you? Don’t you know your own name?” Jason gave David a bear hug. David was speechless. Jason smelled like diesel fuel and old hemp. He wore dirty jeans, a chambray work shirt, and heavy boots. His hair was greasy and clung to
his neck and he had a four-day-old beard. David hugged him back and began to cry, it was such a relief to see him.
“Are we going to finish our voyage, or what? I see Mata‘i anchored off the jetty.”
David composed himself. “You asshole.”
David turned away, his face still streaked with tears. “I tried to find you in that fucking orgy.” He then turned back. “I saw you walking away with that dancer. I called your name, but you didn’t answer. Then Melanie was attacked, and Larry just fucking abandoned you. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Jason pulled David back and hugged him again. In that moment David felt something new, something powerful. It was what he had felt with Jason as a kid, only now it had matured. Something flowed between them that David had never felt. It wasn’t physical but filled him with a love so strong and pure that all his guilt and sorrow vanished. He was washed clean by the power in Jason’s embrace and felt the freedom that came with true forgiveness. David knew this feeling could not be the result of a tuhuna. It was the triumph of spiritual awareness over material belief, and that had nothing to do with a native ritual. David knew that Jason had entered a new dimension of consciousness. And he now understood his part in all of this. He was the witness, and he saw the power that his recognition brought. It was the reason they had been together their whole lives.
Jason released David. “You have nothing to regret, my friend.”
They looked at each other for a moment, and then David said, “I think Larry died last night.”
“Bollocks,” said Jason mimicking Larry. “Where’s Melanie?”
“She’s on the boat.”
“Then what are we doing ashore?” The two of them ran to the wharf.
As they sped out to the Mata‘i, David wanted to know what had happened at Hakamaii, but Jason wouldn’t talk about it. Instead, he wanted to know about Larry’s death.
The Atua Man Page 29