Hawaii

by James Michener

  King Tamatoa, perceiving this miracle, fell to the platform in prayer, but Teroro, awakened from his indecision, grabbed a spear and with fury launched it at the god. It missed, but the shaft brushed the feathers and deflected the deity into the turbulent deep. Calmly, he turned to the prostrate king and said, "I have killed the god. You may do with me as you wish."

  "Go to your post," the king mumbled, stricken with fear. As Teroro moved forward upon the canoe whose burden of terror he had helped diminish, he felt his craft sweep into the storm with new vigor; the stays sang a sweeter song; and he could see from their smiles that his men were assured. But when he passed the gods' house and recalled how powerless he had been at the vital moment, he looked across to where Mato sat, stubbornly paddling to keep the canoe right with the storm, and he wanted to clasp the man in brotherhood, but only Mate's shoulders were free, and no man would dare touch another's shoulders, for they were reserved for the personal god to perch on when he inspired a man with courage; so Teroro merely whispered into the storm, "You were the brave one, Mato," and the sturdy paddler replied, "The canoe feels lighter."

  When Teroro recovered his post he found Tehani, the daughter of Oro, weeping. He knelt beside her and said, "You must try to forgive me, Tehani. I killed your father and now I have killed your god." He took her by the hands and swore: "I will never offend you again." The dazzling girl, storm upon her face, looked up. She was bereft of the very foundations of her being, and although she tried to speak she could say nothing; but from then on Teroro treated her with extra kindness.

  It was at this moment, when the captains of the canoe were most agitated, that Tane and Ta'aroa conspired to present them with an omen that erased from all hearts memories of what had just happened. The rain came heavily for about fifteen minutes, followed by strong winds that blew clouds scudding ahead in darkness until the clouds parted and the fine stars of heaven were momentarily

  revealed.

  Then it was that the wisdom of Tupuna in setting forth at dusk on the new day of the month became apparent, for there, rising in the eastern sky and with no bright moon in competition, sparkled the Seven Little Eyes. It was their first twilight appearance of the year, their reassuring return which proved that the world would continue for at least twelve more months. With what extraordinary joy the voyagers greeted the Little Eyes. From the grass house women came forth and filled their hearts with comfort. Those crew members who had to keep the canoe headed with the wind found new resilience in their tired muscles, and Teroro knew that he was on course.

  Then, the miracle vouchsafed, Tane drew the clouds once more across the heavens and the storm continued, but contentment beyond measure settled upon the canoe, for it was at last apparent that the company moved in accordance with divine laws. How sweet the roar of the wind that bore them on, how consoling the motion of the waves that carried them into the unknown; how appropriate the world, how well ordered and secure the heavens. On the canoe, that daring and insignificant bundle of wood lashed together by sennit and men's wills, all hearts were deep in peace, and the onwardness of their journey sang contentedly in all parts of the craft, so that when old Tupuna crawled back to his watching point abaft the gods' house, he called softly to Teroro ahead, "The king is content. The omen proves that Oro was caught by Ta'aroa and conveyed safely to Havaiki. All is well." And the canoe moved on.

  The most critical part of any twenty-four-hour period came in the half hour just before dawn, for unless the navigator could catch a glimpse of some known star and thus check course he would have to proceed through an entire day with only the unreliable sun to steer by; for while it was true that master astronomers like Teroro and Tupuna could follow each movement of the sun and take from it their heading, they could not use it to determine their latitude. For that they depended upon the stars; their sailing directions reminded them which stars culminated over which islands, and to pass the last moments of night without seeing any constellations was not only an omen of bad luck in the future, it was also proof of present difficulty, which, if it persisted for several days, might develop into catastrophe.

  For example, after their first fleeting glimpse of the Seven Little Eyes, Teroro and his uncle had waited anxiously for Three-in-a-Row, which other astronomers then living in distant deserts had already named Orion's Belt, for the sailing directions said that these stars hung over Nuku Hiva, their replenishment point. But Three-in-a-Row had not appeared during the night watch and Teroro had been unable to determine his latitude. Now the conspicuous stars were setting without having been seen, and the navigator was worried.

  He had, however, observed on earlier trips that it was a peculiarity of his ocean that in the last few minutes of morning twilight, some star, as if determined to aid mariners, pushed clouds aside and showed itself, and he thought there was still time for this to happen.

  "Three-in-a-Row will appear there," Tupuna announced confidently, but Teroro wondered if the night's strong wind might not have blown the canoe rather farther north than his uncle suspected.

  "Maybe they will be closer to that cloud," Teroro suggested. The difference of opinion was not to be resolved, for clouds continued to streak out of the west to meet the sun rising on the other side of the ocean. On this day dawn was neither inspiring nor refreshing, for the sun straggled reluctantly up behind many layers of cloud, half illuminated the ocean with dull gray and proved to the voyagers that they did not know where they were.

  Teroro and Tupuna, having accomplished all they could, fell into immediate sleep in the stormy daylight; and it was then that the fetter's wife, wizened, red-eyed old Teura, paid for her passage. She climbed out of the grass house, splattered sea water over her wrinkled face, rubbed her bleary eyes, threw her head back and started studying the omens. In nearly two thirds of a century of living with the gods, she had unraveled many of their tricky ways. Now she watched now Ta'aroa moved the waves, how the spume rose, how the tips fell away and in what manner they tumbled back into the troughs. She marked the color of the sea and the construction of the basic swells that underlay the more conspicuous waves.

  At midmorning she saw a land bird, possibly from Bora Bora itself, winging its way out to sea, and from its flight she was able to determine the bird's estimate of how long the storm would continue, and it confirmed her own. A bit of bark, washed out to sea days before from Havaiki, was of particular interest to the old woman, for it proved that the ocean had a northerly set, which was not apparent from the wind, which blew more toward the northeast.

  But most of all the rheumy-eyed old seer studied the sun, for although it was well masked behind layers of cloud, her practiced eye could mark its motion. "Star men like Tupuna and Teroro don't think much of the sun," she snorted, but when she placed her observations of its course beside the deductions she had made from earlier omens she concluded: "Those men don't know where they are! We're far to the north of our course!"

  But what Teura particularly appreciated were those unexpected messages from the gods which meant so much to the knowing. For example, an albatross, not large and of no possible importance as food, happened to fly past the canoe and she saw with gratification that he kept to the left, or Ta'aroa's side, and since the albatross was known to be a creature of that god's, this was a refreshing omen; but when the bird insisted upon returning to the canoe, also from the left side, and finally perched on the mast of Ta'aroa, the coincidence could no longer be termed an omen. It was a definite message that the god of the oceans had personally sent to an old woman who had long honored him, and Teura looked at the sea with new love, and sang:

  "O, Ta'aroa, god of the boundless deep,

  Ta'aroa of the mighty waves

  And the troughs that lead down to blackness,

  We place our canoe in your hands,

  In your hands we place our lives."

  Contentedly, the old woman gathered her many omens, and they were all good. The men of her canoe might be lost, and the stars remain hidden, and the sto
rm continue, but Ta'aroa was with them and all was well.

  In the late afternoon, Tupuna and Teroro, before resuming their duties, came aft to find out from Teura where they were, and she advised them that they rode much farther north than even Teroro had suspected.

  "No," the men reasoned. "We've been to Nuku Hiva. Directions don't call for a turn yet."

  "Head for the pit from which Three-in-a-Row climbs," she warned with stubborn finality, "or you'll miss Nuku Hiva."

  "You wait till the stars come out," Teroro challenged. "You'll see we're on course."

  Teura would not argue. For her any problem was simple: either the gods spoke or they didn't, and if they did, it was useless to explain to someone else how the message was delivered. "We are far to the north," she snapped. "Turn."

  "But how can we know? Teroro pleaded.

  "The gods said so," she muttered and went to bed.

  When she was gone, the two men reviewed her various omens, but the only one upon which they were willing to place much reliance was the albatross. "You can't have a much better omen than an albatross," Tupuna reasoned.

  "If Ta'aroa is with us," Teroro concluded, "we must be on the right course."

  From the grass house old Teura stuck out her head and snapped, "I've noticed that Ta'aroa stays with a canoe only as long as its men keep it on course. Turn."

  That night it could not be proved that Teura was either right or wrong, for no stars appeared, neither in the darkness of midnight nor in the anxious dawn, and Teroro steered solely by running directly before the wind, with only a small section of sail out, trusting that the storm was steady and not blowing in circles.

  On the third starless night, when the canoe could have been in real danger, Teroro reached a major decision. While consulting with Tupuna he said, "We've got to believe that the storm is blowing true."

  "Arrival of the albatross is best proof of that," Tupuna pointed out.

  "Then I think we'd better take full advantage of it."

  "You intend hoisting the sails to the peak?

  "Yes. If it is the gods who are sending us, we ought to go forward as fast as we can."

  When they presented their proposal to King Tamatoa, he showed his disturbance over the lack of stars and pointed out that the night crew's estimate of position did not jibe with that of the old woman, but he also appreciated the good sense of his brother's proposal. "I am much impressed by that albatross," Tamatoa reasoned. Teura confided one fact to me that she didn't tell you. When the bird came hack the second time to land on the mast of Ta'aroa, it landed with its left foot extended."

  The astronomers whistled, for this was a most propitious omen, since it confirmed the leftness of the bird's intentions and its peculiar inclination toward the mast of Ta'aroa. "I can only conclude," the king reasoned, "that Ta'aroa, for some reason of his own, has sent us this unusual storm. I agree with Teroro. Hoist the sails."

  So Teroro sent Mato and Pa up the masts, and in complete darkness, while the canoe was already speeding forward into deep swells, the two young chiefs lashed fast the sturdy matting sails and with shouts of accomplishment slid down and began to play out the sails until they trapped the wind and whipped the canoe forward. Through the rest of the night and into the third disappointing dawn the canoe raced ahead on a course no man knew, for King Tamatoa realized that there came a time on any voyage when a man and his canoe had to trust the gods and to run forward, satisfied that the sails had been well set and the course adhered to whenever possible; but when all precautions failed to disclose known marks, it was obligatory to ride the storm.

  At daylight, gnawed by uncertainty, the men went to sleep and old Teura came forth to gather omens. A white-bellied petrel wheeled in the sky but said nothing. Fishermen forward caught bonito, which helped conserve food but told nothing about position, and several fine squalls deposited calabashes full of sweet water trapped by the sails.

  At noon when Teura advised the king that things were going well, he shrewdly asked, "Any omens of position?"

  "None," she replied.

  "How is the ocean running?"

  "No signs of land, no islands ahead, the storm will blow for five more days." In such brief report she summed up two thousand years of study by her ancestors, and had she been required to explain why she knew that there was no land ahead, she would have been unable to do so. But there was none, and of this she was absolutely certain.

  "Has the albatross returned?" the king asked anxiously.

  "No omens," she repeated.

  It was now seven days since the storm had risen on the night of Bora Bora's revenge against Havaiki, and three complete days that the canoe had been at sea, but true to Teura's prediction and to the amazement of all, the gale continued, and when the evening watch took over, Teura and the king wondered if the sails should not be lowered, for there were not going to be any stars that night, either. But in the consultation Teroro said, "I am convinced we are going forward," and since there was no one with superior knowledge to contradict him, Tamatoa asked, "You are willing to keep the sails aloft tonight?"

  "We must," Teroro said. And through that starless night and into the starless dawn, he ran with the storm, insisting upon this because of his canoe's name. More than a century ago a wise man had named the predecessor of the predecessor of this canoe Wait-for-the-West-Wind because he had found that when Bora Borans went forth driven by the western hurricane, they went well. And until the stars had a chance to prove the contrary, Teroro was willing to abide by this ancient wisdom.

  He was somewhat shaken however on the fifth night when Tupuna crept up to the prow and whispered, "I have never known a storm from the west to blow so long. We are entering the ninth night. It surely must have veered."

  There was a long pause in the darkness and Teroro looked down at the slim body of his wife, curled against the mast. He wondered what she would say to this problem, but she was not like Marama; she had no ideas. So he wrestled with the alternatives alone and felt irritated when Tupuna pressed him: "Can you recall a constant wind of such duration?"

  "No," Teroro snapped, and the two men parted.

  But toward dawn of the fifth day, when it seemed probable that no stars would show, Tupuna became frightened: "We must drop the sails. We don't know where we are.

  He insisted upon a conference with the king and Teura, which produced three voices against Teroro, for it was obvious that the canoe was lost and that to persevere blindly without some confirmation from the stars would be folly. But Teroro could not accept this reasoning.

  "Of course we're lost," he confessed. "But Ta'aroa sent his bird to us in the storm, didn't he?"

  "Yes," they had to agree.

  "This isn't an ordinary storm," he argued. "This is an unheard-of gale sent to the canoe of Bora Bora. From the oldest days, what has been the name of our canoe?"

  "But we are lost!" the king reasoned.

  "We were lost from the moment we set forth," Teroro cried.

  "No!" Tamatoa cried, refusing to be enticed by his brother's rhetoric. "We were headed for Nuku Hiva. For fresh water and new supplies."

  "And to listen once more to the sailing chants," Tupuna added cautiously.

  "We must lie to," the king announced firmly. "Then, when we catch a glimpse of Three-in-a-Row, we will know where Nuku Hiva is."

  It was under this pressure that Teroro broached his bold plan. He spoke quietly and without gestures, saying, "I am not lost, brother, because I am riding with the desires of Ta'aroa. I am heading with a great storm, and I am content to ride that storm."

  "Do you know how to get to Nuku Hiva?"

  Teroro looked at each of his companions and replied, "If we are concerned only with Nuku Hiva, I am lost. If we are going to Nuku Hiva only to get additional food and water, I am lost. But in all sense, brother, do we need to go to Nuku Hiva?"

  He waited for these strong words to sink into the hearts of his seafaring companions, and he saw that he had used words they understood.
Before anyone could speak he added, "What is there for us in Nuku Hiva? To get water we have to fight with those who live there, and some of us will be killed. Do we need water? To get food we must take great risks, and if we are captured, we are cooked alive and eaten. Do we need food? Hasn't Ta'aroa sent us fresh fish in abundance? Have we not disciplined ourselves as men have never done before so that each eats only a shred each day? Brother Tamatoa, if the storm is with us, what extra things do we need?"

  Tamatoa resisted his brother's eloquence and asked, "Then you are lost. You can't take us to Nuku Hiva?"

  "I cannot take you to Nuku Hiva, but I can take you to the north."

  As if in support of his bold plan, a sudden force of wind ripped across the waves and spilled into the sails, whipping the canoe along in a burst of speed. Spray leaped, and dawn, still blotting out the stars and all certain knowledge, came upon the men of Bora Bora.

  "We are alone on the sea," Teroro said solemnly. "We are engaged in a special voyage, and if it takes us past Nuku Hiva, then I say good, for we are doubtless being sped by the gods on some great mission. Brother, I beg you, let us keep the sails aloft."

  The king would not present this dangerous request to the opinion of the group, for he knew that the old people, Tupuna and Teura, would insist upon caution, and he suspected that perhaps now was a time when caution was not required. Weighing all possibilities, he sided with his brother and said, "We should get some sleep."

  So for two more nights, the sixth and seventh of the voyage, the canoe sped on, safe in the mighty arms of Ta'aroa, and in those somber, critical days, all eyes were kept on the left mast, for it was obvious that not the man Teroro but the god Ta'aroa was in command of this canoe. And then, on the late afternoon of the seventh day, red-eyed Teura spotted an omen. On the left side of the canoe came five dolphins, a propitious number in itself, followed by an albatross of some size. The creatures of Ta'aroa had come to celebrate the deliverance of this canoe from the storm, but before Teura could alert her companions to this fine intelligence, an event of transcendent importance occurred. A shark appeared not far from the canoe and followed it lazily for a moment, trying to catch Teura's attention, and when she saw it her heart cried with joy, for this great blue beast of the sea had long been her personal god; and now, while the others were blind with their work, it swam along the left side of the canoe, its blue head above the waves.