Shark Adventure

by Anthony McGowan

  Frazer twisted round to look into the eyes of the man holding him.

  ‘Please,’ he said, as much with his eyes as his mouth, trying to appeal to some flicker of humanity in the soul of Tipua. All he got for his trouble was a cuff across the head.

  It was all Frazer needed. With only one hand holding him, he twisted easily out and to the side, held Tipua’s wrist with his left hand and drove his right hand into his elbow. There was only one way for Tipua to go, and he collapsed on to one knee. Frazer knew that the correct aikido move would be to throw him all the way down and then back away.

  But he needed to do more than just put Tipua on the floor. Saying a silent ‘sorry’ to the sensei who had trained him, he drove his hand into the elbow and pulled back on the wrist. There was a crunch and a scream of agony from the Polynesian. Frazer had dislocated his elbow, and the pain, he knew, would be exquisite and disabling.

  He ran to Bluey and stood over his prone form.

  ‘You … run … go …’ he heard Bluey rasp.

  ‘Ain’t going nowhere, mate,’ Frazer replied in a truly terrible Aussie accent. It got, he thought, a laugh out of Bluey. Or possibly a sob. ‘The Trackers do not leave a comrade when he’s down.’

  Huru Huru walked slowly over to where Tipua rolled on the floor, weeping. He spat on him, kicked sand in his face and issued some Polynesian curse. Then he looked at Frazer and shrugged.

  ‘Can’t get the staff,’ he said. ‘Even when you share a mother. I’m sorry, my boy, but I am going to have to kill you now. It will be quick, you have earned that.’

  Then he raised the machete and the war club, and moved his bulk back towards Frazer and Bluey.

  Frazer adopted his loose and easy aikido stance.

  ‘It’s not my day to die,’ he said, but it was empty bravado. His heart truly quaked and his soul trembled. For a tiny fraction of a second the life ahead of him appeared, like a supernova: a flash of energy and light. The things he would achieve, the good he would do, the fun he would have. He saw a blizzard of images, surfing, climbing, flying, diving, saving animals, all with Amazon in tow.

  Amazon, where was she?

  It didn’t matter. She couldn’t help.

  And he didn’t want her to see how this must end.

  Huru Huru paused a moment. Perhaps he was thinking about how this boy had broken Tipua’s elbow. But then he licked his lips and came on, swinging the machete before him, as if he were hacking his way through the jungle.

  ‘I see that you have matched yourself against a child and a sick man: it is lucky for you that the little girl is not here also, or it would be you lying in the sand, Huru Huru.’

  The chief turned towards the voice, slowly, like a mill wheel drawn by oxen. He was not smiling now, although the figure facing him was.

  Joy and hope suddenly flooded into Frazer’s heart.

  ‘Matahi … how did you …?’ Frazer had been going to ask how he’d got there – the last thing he’d known Matahi had been on the ship, still ill. But the water dripping from the tall man’s body told him exactly how he had reached them: he had swum through the shark-infested waters.

  ‘So,’ rumbled Huru Huru, talking to the crowd, ‘the vagabond returns. The scum who would not even stay for the funeral of his own father, our beloved former chief, Tuvali.’

  ‘You know very well that if I had stayed then I would have met with the same fate as my father. But now I am back. I am here to take you to stand trial in the French court in Tahiti. You shall know justice then for all of your crimes.’

  Huru Huru laughed now, that same forced, ogreish laugh as before.

  ‘So speaks the coward Matahi. A real man would request trial by combat. But, no, Matahi the mouse would take me to the French court, like a woman.’

  ‘I was hoping that you would say something like this, Huru Huru. Had I merely killed you without giving you the chance to stand trial, then I would have been as bad as you. But now you have walked openly into the arms of your fate. Yes, Huru Huru, I challenge you to combat. Choose the time, choose the place, choose the weapons.’

  Huru Huru’s face became serious, but it seemed to Frazer like a sham.

  ‘I choose now. I choose here. And, for my weapons, I CHOOSE THESE!’

  Huru Huru brandished the machete in his left hand and the war club in his right, and charged at the unarmed Matahi, yelling out his blood-curdling war cry. Truly in that moment, with his tattoos and his face contorted with rage, Huru Huru looked like a demon summoned up from the depths of hell.

  Matahi, it seemed, knew his opponent well. He was not remotely taken by surprise, but merely sidestepped the onward rush of the chief, who blundered into the circle of watchers, sending a dozen men, women and children flying.

  It reminded Frazer of the time he’d watched elephant seals fighting on a beach in northern California, squashing any pups that got in their way.

  Huru Huru growled. That is the only word for it. An animal sound, full of the wrath of ages. And then he gathered himself, and Frazer could see how he chained his rage, harnessed it, focused it. Yes, this was no animal, but a clever and evil human being, full of cunning and intelligence.

  He began to circle round Matahi, the two men’s eyes fixed on each other.

  Huru Huru feinted with the club, and then slashed down with the machete, missing Matahi’s shoulder by millimetres.

  With the bigger man slightly off balance, Matahi took the chance to launch an attack. He aimed two quick kicks at the chief’s knees, trying to bring him down, and then threw a hard punch that thudded into the side of Huru Huru’s head.

  Neither the kicks nor the punches appeared to have any effect.

  It struck Frazer that Matahi was still weak from his injury and the infection that had followed – he could see the scabs and rawness from the rasping teeth and suckers of the squid all over the man’s back and leg. He was not ready for this fight, and yet he had come …

  ‘This is all you have?’ Huru Huru bellowed. ‘You must have been living with the women on Tahiti, for life away from our island has made you soft, like a girl. You are not even fit to be buried like a man: when I have killed you, I will just throw you to the dogs, who will feast on your soft heart.’

  As it was intended to do, this goaded Matahi into a rash attack. Frazer, putting himself into the mind of Matahi, could see what he was trying. A feint with the left, expecting that Huru Huru would sway away from it, giving Matahi the chance to drive his right fist into his mouth.

  But Huru Huru had fought many battles in his time, and was wise to such tricks. He ignored the feint, knowing that he could ride any punch, and then he simply swung his war club in a low arc, where it smacked into the side of Matahi’s leg.

  There was no way to resist the might of the blow – in fact, if Matahi had tried, his leg would have snapped in two. So he allowed the blow to sweep him off his feet. Huru Huru could have finished him off, but he chose instead to turn and roar his triumph, like a professional wrestler trying to get the crowd worked up.

  And then he returned. He dropped the machete and held the war club in both hands: he was going to finish this in the old way.

  Frazer had been transfixed by the battle. Now he knew he had to do something to help Matahi. He looked around for a weapon to throw to his friend, but saw nothing. Then he decided that he had to use himself as a weapon, and prepared to throw himself at Huru Huru to buy Matahi the time to get up.

  He never got the chance.

  When Frazer left the hut to help Oti, Amazon had rushed to Bluey’s side. She spoke urgently to him, explaining her plan.

  ‘Mad …’ he’d mumbled, as she helped
him up. But the force of her determination won him over, and he dragged himself slowly across the beach towards the grim and chaotic scene in front of the village. Amazon sped in the opposite direction.

  But now she was back.

  She was holding the spotted red scarf that her mother had given her before she had disappeared. It was her most cherished possession. But, as a weapon, it really didn’t stack up. Then again it didn’t need to: it’s not the gun that kills you, but the bullet.

  She darted in from the crowd, completely unseen by Huru Huru. And then, when she was a metre away, she leapt up and slapped the neckerchief against Huru Huru’s neck.

  He stopped and stared at her, and then put his hand to the place that she’d struck. There was something there. Something about the size of a lady’s brooch. And it was as beautiful as a brooch as well, a blue and white enamelled broach. Huru Huru touched it. It was moist. He pulled. It resisted, as if clinging to the skin of his throat. And then it peeled away and he looked at it, a puzzled expression on his face.

  What he was looking at, of course, was a certain small blue mollusc, the favourite food of which was the fearsome collectivist organism, with a passing resemblance to a jellyfish.

  Amazon had gone back to the place where Bluey had been stung, and then found the dead Portuguese man-of-war and its beautiful but deadly predator in the pool. The sea slug had been munching its way through the tentacles, absorbing the stinging cells, and concentrating them into a weapon of truly awesome power.

  Huru Huru hurled the blue mollusc away towards the sea, but the damage had been done. The stinging cells, those little harpoons, had fired and delivered their agonizing cargo of poison into both his neck and his hand. He fell to his knees, foaming and frothing at the mouth.

  Huru Huru tried to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse croaking. ‘Help me …’ And then the croak gave way to a juddering, silent scream, as the chief writhed and squirmed grotesquely on the ground.

  Matahi was on his feet again by now. He limped over to Huru Huru.

  Frazer looked in wonder at Amazon.

  ‘Remind me never to get on your bad side,’ he said.

  ‘You already are,’ she replied, with a pert smile.

  Then they ran to Bluey and helped him up. The three of them, arm in arm, then became spectators for the next act in the drama.

  Matahi was speaking to the crowd in his own language. It wasn’t hard to work out what he was saying. He was the true chief, the son of the beloved Tuvali, and he was come to reclaim what was rightfully his.

  And then he glanced at the Trackers and switched to English, as he addressed his fallen rival, who still squirmed on the floor in silent agony.

  ‘Huru Huru, for what you have done, you deserve to perish. I could let you die here in torment, or I could put an end to it, and you.’

  He picked up the vicious war club and weighed it in his hands, as if appreciating its heft and balance. Huru looked up at him with bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Mercy,’ he may have said, or perhaps it was some other Polynesian word, a hex or a promise.

  Amazon made as if to go towards Matahi. She was going to tell him that he must be humane, that he should not stoop to the same level as Huru Huru, but Bluey put a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘He knows what he’s doing,’ he said.

  And then Matahi looked at Moipu and Tipua.

  ‘Take him. Wash the sting in seawater. Then take a canoe to the big ship and leave this island forever. Your friend Chung will take care of you. Or perhaps just throw you to the sharks. I do not care.’

  The two men looked sickeningly grateful to have escaped with their lives. They did as they were bidden and, ten minutes later, they were paddling a large twin-hulled canoe towards the gap in the reef, with Huru Huru lying on the platform between the two hulls, as the villagers hurled abuse (as well as some rather unpleasant material gathered from the pigpen) in their direction.

  ‘I think,’ said Bluey to Matahi, ‘that you owe us an explanation.’

  The noble Polynesian smiled and nodded.

  ‘All good stories must be accompanied by a feast.’

  ‘Now you’re talking!’ said Frazer.

  ‘Not quite yet,’ said Bluey, who had dragged himself up on to his feet. ‘We’ve still got our mission. Chung is still on the loose and he wants those turtles.’

  Matahi grasped his arm. ‘You are right, my friend. But now that my people have been freed from the tyranny of Huru Huru, Chung has no allies on this island. During my time on the ship I learned much about this man. He sails the seas finding rare animals to sell to America. Parrots, Komodo dragons and turtles. But he is a wicked businessman and not a warrior. He has many of our pearls, and will not have to pay for them now that Huru Huru is no more. I believe that he will go to another place where his evil is not so well known.

  ‘My people were crushed, but now they are free, and they will help you with your great task. I will set men to watch the beaches, and together we will carry the little ones into the water, if there is a need. Tomorrow there is much work to do, but now it is our way to celebrate a victory, and I promise you a Polynesian feast is not something that you will ever forget.’

  The feast was, indeed, mighty. It was eaten on the beach, around a huge fire of driftwood, with the setting sun as a backdrop. For, amazingly, the clouds had lifted, and for only the second time on their Polynesian adventure, the world looked to Amazon as she felt it was supposed to: beautiful blues and greens, melting into the gold.

  And, once the sun had set, out came the astounding stars, and then a moon so bright it almost hurt the eyes to stare at it. Even the no-nos were kept at bay by the smoke from the fire.

  They were served fish and pork that had been wrapped in banana leaves and baked under the ground in an earth oven. There were great piles of gaudily coloured fruit, and bowls of the thick porridge called poi, made from mashed-up taro roots.

  Bluey, fortified by the allergy medication, was feeling much better, and he and Frazer tucked into everything with great gusto.

  At last Amazon and Frazer found themselves in the midst of Polynesian culture at its vibrant, noisy, exuberant best. The men and women took it in turns to dance, while the children copied their steps, and fell over their feet. The men’s dancing was full of martial vigour, with comical facial grimaces and lunges with imaginary spears. The women dancers were more elegant, forming lines of swaying hips and undulating arms.

  The singing was extraordinary, by turns low and percussive and high and melodic. Among many unfamiliar but haunting melodies, Amazon recognized some old hymns that she had sung at school, but they were warped and twisted and taken into new and thrilling directions.

  Matahi translated the words of the songs for them. Some were tales of tragic love. Others were stories of the old gods, filled with drama and darkness. Another told of the great sea voyages from a thousand years ago, setting out into the unknown and finding new lands at the rim of the world.

  The men of the village passed round wooden bowls of kava.

  Matahi offered it to Bluey, who took a long drink. Then it was Frazer’s turn.

  ‘Just a sip,’ said Bluey, ‘so you can tell people you’ve tried it.’

  ‘What is this stuff?’ Frazer asked, sniffing it suspiciously.

  ‘It’s made from the root of the kava plant, a member of the pepper family. The women chew it up and spit out the pulp. That gets mixed with water, left to stew for a while, then you drink it. It makes your tongue go numb, and then you fall asleep.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Frazer. ‘But I think I’ll give it a miss.’

  It was time, at last, for Matahi’s stor
y. The whole village gathered round to listen, even though most of them would only understand fragments and scraps.

  ‘My father, Tuvali, was a great man. He sailed all over the Pacific, sometimes with your fathers, who called him by the name Omo. This you know. What you do not know is that his father, Oto, was the chief of this village. Oto was a strong man and a fierce warrior, and Tuvali argued with him, and left the island. Finally he heard word that his father was dying and came home. He was reconciled with his father, and was at his side as he died. Then for many years my father was the chief. But he was a different sort of chief to Oto. He was a kind man, as well as a strong one. He said that the men and women of the village must make decisions together. He said that all people were equal, that there should not be chiefs and lesser men.

  ‘And my father taught the village the way of farming the black pearls, which he had learned of in his wanderings. It was a way of earning the village money without harming the ocean or the land. The money would buy things for the village. Clean water and sanitation. Materials for the huts. He wanted to build a school for the children. In fact, the school building was begun – it is now the house of Huru Huru, that you have seen.

  ‘But not all of the people of the village agreed with my father. Huru Huru said that my father was a coward. He even sometimes said that my father was not the same Tuvali who had left the village, but an impostor.

  ‘My father should have banished Huru Huru, but it was not his way. He tried to make Huru Huru understand that he was wrong. And Huru Huru pretended to change. But all the time he was plotting with his brothers Moipu and Tipua. They even pretended to be my friend. And as my mother was dead and I had no brothers or sisters that made my heart glad.

  ‘And then, one black night, they came into my father’s hut – the same hut where you are now staying – and they slew Tuvali as he slept. Huru Huru stove in his skull with his war club. I saw this with my own eyes. I awoke just as the blow was struck. I tried to fight them, but I was only a boy of sixteen, and they were too strong for me. I would also have been killed, but I managed to flee. I took a canoe from the beach and sailed away, my eyes blinded by my tears.