The Adventures of Vela

by Albert Wendt

  and blood but my father’s flaw was real

  I shut my eyes (and heart) to history

  My son was to never see Ao’s healing light

  or know the shaping of his real parents:

  That very night I abandoned him in the Whirlpools

  at Pulotu’s entrance (where my father was to

  find him and thrilled at last to find someone

  of his kind raise him as his only heir

  with unshamed pride and love without

  bothering to check his ancestry)

  Auva’a strangled the willing midwife — an

  honour to die for your atua he blessed her —

  buried her in the Temple chamber and

  strode out to the assembled ali’i

  and proclaimed my sacred miscarriage

  and the Clot-of-Blood was now

  being nursed in the fecund soils of

  the Atu’olo and would one dazzling day

  hatch as our atua’s Heir Invincible

  Beauty just as our atua Herself had

  been born out of the Clot-of-Blood

  which had been hidden by Her mother

  With my secret agreement Auva’a self-destructed

  a week later of a supposed stroke and left

  only Tagatalua and me to remember

  (but never to divulge) the unexpected

  consequences of our ‘natural enterprise’

  to complete the ideal aiga

  Why did I disown my own flesh and blood?

  As the atua of a religion that preaches per-

  fection I can’t be seen to give birth to imperfection

  I’ve been accused but never openly of being

  shitscared that my eel-tailed son was proof

  I was still part-beast like my father

  Choose your own interpretation but Auva’a

  and I put our country and religion above

  our personal interests and feelings

  Hooked to maternal love and human senti-

  mentality Tagatalua couldn’t and with-

  drew like a hermit crab into a shell

  of self-pitying silence out of which I couldn’t

  entice her with a love that withered

  as she withered in body and died finally in

  me as she became mere accusing immortal

  breath in the haggard husk of her body

  growing and I found life again in other lovers

  Lord Tagaloaalagi whose irony had trapped

  her in the tragic riddle took pity and

  gathered her into His vast Maota where

  to this day she breathes in some neglected

  corner like a wisp of tiputa draped

  over a living silence aging eternally

  11

  (((A Breather)))

  Let’s take a breather

  from Nafanua’s overwhelming life as

  recorded by Vela and see what was happening

  to him: chronicles usually omit the lives of their chroniclers

  but as you know the chronicler is the chronicle

  the teller is the tale

  As a way into that

  let’s look at a song composed by an enemy

  whose identity hasn’t been transmitted to us:

  (1) Ta’ifau

  Stop your yelping swallow your empty bark

  You try to pretend you’re aristocratic

  but you can’t hide your nobody origins:

  your large yaw scars shine like the eyes

  of a hungry dog (Your title is most apt)

  and your fleas are more numerous than the stars

  Without your Lady’s patronage you’re just

  an ugly starving cur no woman’ll

  want to heal and bless (Anyway

  you don’t know cock from cunt

  and prefer the unholy shithole —

  and the male one at that

  But then dogs are the only creatures

  which eat their own spew

  and hunger after forbidden places

  where stench reigns richly complex)

  Stop your incessant talking swallow your hollow brag

  You were brought as a slave in war

  now you’re the Royal Dog royal titsucker

  sweateater preener drowning in self-love

  You love yourself so much you’re blind to us

  and the way we really see you

  Why don’t you slink back to where

  you originally sly-slinked from

  Our Lady’s got you by the balls

  and you sing whatever tunes She demands

  The taulaaitu fool you with their flattery

  but wait for you to fall so they can

  devour your pubic hairs toenails poetry and all

  A solomaker goes acutely wrong when

  he eats his own vomit because he believes

  it the tastiest food of all

  Chorus:

  Stop your yelping swallow your empty bark

  Stop your incessant talking swallow your hollow brag

  You’re no longer a true songmaker

  but a fat flatterer of the Royal Arse

  Here’s a song composed by someone

  who loved him secretly —

  male or female? we’ll never know:

  (2) E Te Le Iloa

  You don’t know the love I carry

  even into the dreams of my sleep

  You don’t know the pain that it is

  Constantly I debate whether to reveal

  it to you but desist ashamed you’re

  too ali’i for this humble commoner

  Ali’i of Solo you don’t know the love

  this unworthy person bears for you

  I’ve watched you at night with your lovers —

  How fortunate they are to feel the heat

  of your flesh and word and the rhythm

  of your feeding blood (Yet I hate

  them when I’m alone knowing

  they’re using you to get status

  and favours from the Lady you serve)

  Last week when you’d walked past

  on the morning malae I knelt

  and licked your footsteps stamped

  into the breathing dew but they melted

  under the heat of my clumsy tongue

  and the water couldn’t quench my thirst

  How your footsteps would fit my heart

  Chorus:

  Ali’i of Song I love you so much

  I want to kill you and eat you

  so you’ll be part of my blood solely

  and forever even when you journey to Pulotu

  But you don’t know the love I carry

  even into the dreams of my sleep

  You don’t know the pain that it is

  As Nafanua’s Royal Dog and higher still one

  of Her Ali’i Paia Vela’s feet never

  touched the common ground (literally):

  to protect his sacredness

  the ground had to be first covered

  with siapo and sprinkled with

  fresh coconut milk

  And whenever he accompanied

  the Lady Invisible (to mortals

  that is) and Auva’a Taulaaitu Most Paia

  all humans were forbidden

  from looking up at him

  and his food specially prepared blessed

  and served by special taulaaitu

  who pre-tasted it for poison

  After years of such sacred

  treatment and power

  wouldn’t you corrupt into

  ‘fat flatterer of the Royal Arse’ and not

  perceive the common ground and a humble

  secret lover (cannibalistically

  deep though her/his love may be)?

  As Dr Falani my crazy neighbour has said

  Arselicking and titsucking turn

  you eventually into an arsetit Absolute

  power buggers you up arsetitly />
  During this affluent Period

  Vela ‘invented’ a science called ‘Feetistry’

  (which shows he’d become

  an intolerable arsetit)

  12

  Uiga-o-Vae

  My wise teacher Mulialofa used

  to say Feet types (and a reading of their

  shapes) reveal what their owners are

  For a lifetime I’ve read the feet

  of pilgrims from all the corners of earth

  and have formulated principles of a science

  (or is it an art a philosophy?) I’ve called Feetistry:

  One: commoners have big feet

  with soles thickened and cracked

  by hard labour and neglect

  Two: aristocrats’ feet are delicately moderate

  (and subtly round) sensitive to rough surfaces

  lingering caresses kisses and licks

  Three: long thin toes mean a long life

  spent on artistic and philosophical pursuits

  Four: long thin toes curved upwards mean

  a long life of spiritual searching

  Long thin toes curved downwards mean

  a long life focused on the earth-deep

  emotions of the moa and heart

  Five: short thick toes (characteristic of

  commoners and the labouring class)

  accompanied by a fat big toe mean

  a short life to be misspent on food gluttony

  and complaining behind your ali’is’ backs

  Six: short thick toes curved downwards mean

  a short brutal life of sexual satyriasis

  (and perhaps incest) climaxing in heart attack

  Seven: short thin toes with a stunted big toe

  mean no future or one rife with poverty

  Eight: this shape of sole

  means a blossoming obesity

  (beautiful feature of our

  divine aristocratic class)

  and a future of leisure and art

  Nine: this shape of sole

  means the threatened undernourishment of

  a once prosperous aristocrat who’s mis-

  spending his life on kava women

  and obscene song

  Ten: this shape of sole if it’s

  a woman means she’s rampantly

  promiscuous and greedy for class

  For a man means generosity opennness

  and genuine concern for everyone

  Eleven: this shape of sole for a man

  or woman means a life built around

  an ever-demanding phallus or a brain

  too big for the body — please note

  the cloven heel reminiscent of the clever pig

  Twelve: this shape of sole reveals

  mixed ancestry of human and animal

  (possibly pig) and a future centred

  on the perfect navel’s philosophy

  of balance and moderate demand

  Thirteen: this shape of sole means

  a determined achiever with firm toe

  grips rooted always in our earth

  to propel him forward rapidly

  against all odds

  Fourteen: this shape of sole for a woman

  means a frightening future

  full of night fears and aitu For a man

  means a future of frightening

  others as a fearless warrior

  Fifteen: this shape of sole means mixed

  ancestry of human (top-half male) and atua

  (bottom-half female) — note the perfectly circled

  heel symbol of Tagaloa’s

  perfect universe

  Sixteen: this shape of sole means mixed

  ancestry of human (first half possibly

  pederast) and atua (second half possibly

  lesbian) who mated standing up

  possibly to overcome their true natures

  Seventeen: this shape of sole for a woman

  means miserliness and no alofa for relatives

  and others — a secret eater

  For a man means admirable vanity

  keeping in good fit physical shape

  Eighteen: this shape of sole is that

  of a generous and jovial nature

  but with sloppy personal habits and

  the ugly tendency to spit

  often and everywhere

  Nineteen: this shape of sole means

  a staunch fearless heart and liver

  but of little brains and the inclination

  to squat back be lazy

  and evacuate often and in huge heaps

  Twenty: this shape of sole for a woman

  means patience the tendency to nag but

  with attention always to fine detail For a man

  means a cowardly complaining nature

  The v-shaped heel reveals suicidal tendencies

  Using the principles I’ve outlined

  I’ve ‘read’ the feet of four people I know well

  But as a true scientist-taulaaitu-artist

  and humble poet I’ve tried to maintain

  my objectivity:

  One: this shape of sole is Auva’a’s

  and proves his exceptional intelligence

  and wisdom potency and virility

  (His harem numbers 20 wives and concubines

  —and he’s in his lucid eighties!)

  The long sole lines and circled heel show

  his undoubted powers of spirituality

  prophecy and his adherence to the Va-

  view of Reality (However the imperfect over-

  all shape of sole is true to his manipulative nature)

  Two: this shape of sole is Our Lady’s

  symmetrical and perfect in shape

  The fern-shape on the heel is Her perfect

  Spirituality and Va-view of Reality

  The fan-shaped lines under the toes

  reveal unmatchable courage but also

  the tendency to boast about achievements

  and feats — not a flaw if you’re

  an atua mind you The faint but definite

  aura line is undeniable proof of divinity

  Three: this Shape of Sole is our Great Creator’s —

  doubly-divine (note the double aura lines)

  Totally atua for all His creations

  to see into it whatever they want

  whatever they need

  Six toes? Cloven heel? Again He’s granted

  us freewill to interpret even those

  whatever way we wish (Thank you

  Supreme Father in Heaven for your

  Gift of Freewill and forgive us if we misread your Sole)

  Four (but a footnote): this shape of sole

  is your humble servant’s: thin upturned

  toes show sensitivity spirituality and

  artistic gifts The symmetry proves

  well-balanced appetites and mind

  The long lines around the inner sole convince

  of the wise Va-view of life (and

  a hatred of violence and brute force)

  The two inner circles prove your humble servant’s

  ability to control the senses and enjoy

  even long periods of celibacy during

  which he composes his most-inspired solo

  The delicately dainty small toe speaks

  of modesty reticence (and love of

  the small and common people)

  The faint aura line around the heel

  could mean possible future deification

  or at least an extremely long and

  prosperous life devoted (wholly) to serving

  (unstintingly) Our Lady and Our Supreme Creator

  13

  Grave by the Sea

  (1)

  Here by the placid midday sea I sit in

  the pandanus shade

  and let the insistent waves

  roll-in roll-out roll-in through my eyes

  washing clean
the cave of my head

  Quick rain had run-in

  and off to the west and the black river stones

  of the grave shine like the retina of the eye

  in whose gaze the floating world is

  reflected and ciphered

  Only Nafanua knows

  who’s buried here: every morning

  She places on it a white pua

  the La feeds on

  as It rises

  Around the grave

  scarlet ti plants gleam like the bleed-

  ing of new wounds The suspicious

  pandanus trees above it watch me

  to protect Nafanua’s secret

  (She knows

  I’m hooked

  to her stories and truths —

  and now to

  this grave’s mystery of weeping stone)

  Once Her miserable captive

  now Her most honoured confidante

  chronicler Royal Dog

  (and the envious say Tit-

  sucking sychophant)

  Still a captive but now to

  my ravenous gift and vanity: a chronicler

  can’t be without chronicles to record

  and to be a great chronicler needs great

  chronicles and Nafanua’s are just that

  And She feeds my gift

  with mystery after mystery — enough but

  not quite enough to satiate

  my craving (now an illness I sacrifice

  all else to — even sex)

  In turn I feed Her vanity — without me