by Albert Wendt
as I armed myself I felt acutely alive
now that I was again dancing
at the edge of death risking all
defying the odds and my creators
Centuries of fat peace and flabby comfort
melted away from me as I ran and hid
and ran through the consecutive heavens
upwards to Tagaloa’s palatial Maota
where they least expected my attack
while they were hunting me at Falealupo:
A simple and decisive tactic characteristic
of a war talent Tagaloa and His Gang
after years of prosperity had forgotten I possessed
(They’d also forgotten I’d never lost
a war not even to atua in-
cluding mock wars with my Dad)
Tagaloa’s Maota (Fale’ula) had one defence:
fear of Him who is our Supreme Creator
Judge and Defender — a principle built
into the veins of all atua creatures
and matter Not that nobody had ever
thought of ousting Him but those
who’d been tempted by treason had never
actioned it: Tagaloa was everywhere
and knew our every thought So while
I headed recklessly towards Him I believed
He was already reading my thoughts
but was gambling He’d deliberately allow
me in to His trap and in His male arrogance
consider me easy opponent being a woman:
I mean who does the upstart bitch think
She is attacking me? She must be crazy
and suicidal! He’d also hesitate from
de-atua-ing me because He’d always liked me
To whining arselicking atua who sought aid
from Him He’d say Be like Nafa go out
and build your own religions and empires
(I wish I had a son like Her)
One time He’d suggested we become lovers
but I’d pleaded the unclean monthlies
For a moment the scene swallowed my moa:
in the mellow golden glow of early morning
Malae-o-Toto’a was a dazzling lagoon in
which Tagaloa’s Maota was reflected in
all Its splendour — the holy myth of
paradise we’re raised to yearn for
The compound looked deserted then I saw
a figure asleep at the far end of the fale
on mats siapo-covered head on an ali
Though I was soaked with cold night dew
I sweated profusely as I crawled across
the malae into the heart of His invincibility
Nothing moved my breath was siapo being ripped
The sleeper sat up suddenly (I froze) He yawned
and leant with his back to me against
the fale post Siapo-wrapped I couldn’t tell
who it was Now! I uncurled to hurl my spear
Welcome your Ladyship He said over
His unruffled shoulder Welcome to my
humble home I hesitated — and lost
the initiative bowed my head and shuffled
in to take the post directly opposite Him
but kept my spear beside me
and watched His every move
As was the custom He recited my genealogy
poetically (and exaggerated) and said
Please forgive me but I’d only just now
dreamt of your unexpected arrival otherwise
I’d have prepared a welcome worthy
of your status boldness and strength
After I’d thanked Him for his noble
welcome He smiled and said Brilliant move
your Highness (I looked suitably puzzled)
Your surprise arrival? He laughed But
then I’d forgotten you were — and still
are — the greatest warrior in the world
(The wily bugger was always a real charmer)
Even before I was created He’d decided that
youth was too demanding old age was too
wracked with aches and pains and that being
forty was the best stage physically to be
So in appearance that’s what He’d remained at
A very handsome man at that: trim and
tightly muscled no visible wrinkles or
aging skin graying at the wavy temples
always the best groomed in the land
In every way the ideal Samoan male
we want our children to be
But then being Our Supreme Atua He was
the Ideal in everything — an Ideal He
wanted us all to try to be (knowing we’d
never quite measure up to Him) That’s what
I call real vanity because He had the power
to make us believe in that unattainable Ideal
What do we do now Nafa? He asked
You’re just a frustrated mother
foolishly protecting a useless orphan — why?
(It’s not out of a sense of defending the defenceless!)
The whirlpool of guilt about abandoning
my real son started sucking me down
If he’s useless why destroy him? I said
What if he remembers and uses his powers
against us? He countered The possibility is
he’ll help me Can’t you trust me? I replied
Can you trust yourself with his powers
not to try to unseat me? He asked
Is that all we atua want: power and
more power? I said What else is there: we
have everything else and even sex gets
boring in our eternity variety and experiments
See right now like you my juices are running
fullspeed knowing you’re trying to fuck with me!
I glared defiantly at Him How dare you
attack me! He continued I’m in everything
and everyone To destroy me you’ll have
to erase everything including yourself and
the whole world and reality as I’ve created them
You’re crazy if you think you can do that
I can try to go on trying to kill every
manifestation of you I pushed at His vanity
There’ll be nothing then but the original Nothing He said
You’re wrong I said There are other worlds
and realities: Maifea? is proof of that —
that’s really why you want him dead
He really panicked then sweat poured
out of His sacred beauty like frightened piss
Look around you bitch! He muttered
At each fale post materializing out of vapour
was a live replica of Him I’m everywhere
and you can’t kill me bastard bitch of the Eel!
I exploded out of my whirlpool of guilt
to be eel beast Eater of Darkness again
my tail the hurtling spear that stitched
Him through His vain heart to the post
behind Him His blood spurting out
and down His belly like Maifea’s? playful hands
He’d never had to defend Himself so all His selves
in the fale were no match for my swift
and expert club that turned each fale post
into an executioner’s block
and the pebble floor into a thirsty beast
which sucked down my victim’s blood
I ran out and occupied Malae-o-Toto’a’s eye
with my back to the blinding La
Tagaloa kept replicating and driving His replicants
at me: the killing was easy too easy
Then I clicked to His plan — He was buying
time for His armies to return
You can’t win! He laughed but retreated
towards His compound — why? Tulī
His messenger bird had to be sent
to His armies
At once I cut Him off and into His compound fale
I ran calling Tulī! Tulī! Tulī! in
perfect imitation of His bird
Being preening egotists Tulī can’t resist
their own call — so down it flapped from
its hiding place in the kitchen rafters
I grabbed its twig-thin legs and
as it screeched took it out swinging
it head down as if to bash its head in
Strange but understandable how Our Supreme
Atua — over an eternity of being used by
everyone and not loved for Himself but
His power — had come to confine His trust
and affection to an inedible pet and
an ugly vainglorious bird at that
Had unlimited power and self-love reduced
Our Creator’s ultra-ego to the miserable size
shape and screech of that sycophantic bird?
As I marched out to Him with His ego
tulī-ing in my hand I thought
Poor bugger’s gone nuts in His loneliness
cut off from His roots in common earth
and His people’s blood shaped by Him
out of the barren mournful emptiness
He stopped replicating as soon as He saw
His frantic bird You hurt him and
I’ll-I’ll …! He threatened You’ll what? I replied
He looked as if He was ready to bawl
You’ll what? I repeated He gazed at the ground
It’s only a useless bird! I echoed His judge-
ment of Maifea? Why are you protecting it?
All right He mumbled Louder! I demanded
All right — I won’t harm Maifea? He called
A fair swap of useless sons! I laughed
Tulī kept pecking at my fingers I rapped it
on the head and it stopped Release him
then! Tagaloa called Only after I know
Maifea? is safe I said and backed across
the malae through air vibrating with His anger
I tied a sinnet leash to Tulī’s leg and my wrist
perched him on my shoulder You’re dead!
You’re dead! Tulī screeched I tied sinnet
around its protesting beak and into sullen
silence it withdrew as I ran down through
the heavens still empty of their atua
I heard Tagaloa’s troops hunting through the bush
I untied Tulī’s loquacious beak
and started my run through the crouching tide
of tree and undergrowth No don’t touch
Her! Tulī ordered the warriors who rushed
out to me You must return home — Tagaloa’s orders
Tulī was my safety canoe through
the seething evening tide that lapped
around me but dared not drown me
I was puffed up like a balloon fish
with my own triumph and taunted
the enemy with a smile and a wink
So the panic when it hit me was like
a balloonfish bursting: my people’s camps
were deserted Cold! Up the mountainside
I clambered oblivious to the rocks
that tore open my hands and legs every
time I stumbled slipped and slid
Through the river-roar of my frantic heart
the sound of wailing came and faster
I ran up and deeper into the whirlpool of guilt
Stopped as if the muscled day itself had
hugged me: Around the Cave mouth
and tiered down towards me through
the dark staring trees my people sat with
heads bowed our women lacerating their foreheads
with stones Maifea?? Maifea?? I asked
Their surging wailing was the whirlpool
around me as I stumbled up towards
the wooden platform at the Cave’s mouth
His body was draped in fine mats and greenery
(Beside it sat Auva’a and Tupa’i) Up into
the bright immensity of Ao he smiled
and smiled and smiled Maifea?
Maifea? I cried as the whirlpool invaded
my moa and surged through the arrogant house
I’d become tearing it asunder
My sons! My sons! My sons!
Maifea? and my eel-tailed son laughed
as they balanced on the raging tongue
of the whirlpool’s last wave and surfed
in to drown me with their grace
(3)
Here by the whispering sea how do you
console a grieving mother (and
your atua whom you love — yes you’ll
admit that) when you’ve not
borne sons and lost them?
Words your crappy poetry are
just fake poultices for wounds
you don’t understand
so you fidget and don’t look
at Her as the tide rises
and the waves roll-in
roll-out roll-in counting
one two three four the day dying
You’re sorry you conned Her into
divulging the secrets of this grave:
posterity art is no justification
for memories like sauali’i
to haunt Her again
But your gift is even now
setting it all down in verse:
How am I going
to shape Her latest confession
into art history the Greatness She
wants to be? Omit this
rephrase that find the original shape
image colour taste smell feeling
for this that CRAP! Seeing
your compulsive gift’s getting away
again from your genuine
concern for Her
She’s a person
with feelings and you love Her —
bugger the art the remembering
for future generations and your
lust to be the greatest chronicler …
(4)
Yes atua can also suffer breakdowns —
I did and guess who from the shattered
pieces reassembled the new House that
I am? I ask (He pretends to
be guessing) Vela sometimes you’re
a real dumb arsehole — and wet
Months later when I could again tie
all the puzzling pieces together with
the relationships that define them (in the Va)
and give them meaning which in turn
returned weaving to me
and the pain I’d been through
Well when that happened I discovered
Tagaloa had lived in my Temple to
heal me — He’d not done that for anyone else
We’re even now He said (there
were tears in His eyes) I didn’t kill
your son but I was responsible for it
Nafa I hope you’re strong enough to
take this: it was your taulaaitu Auva’a
who killed Maifea? He did so to protect
you and your religion from my wrath
(In my guts the whirlpool was starting
again — as butterflies but he cupped
His healing hands around my head
and stilled it) I was responsible
for Maifea’s? death because
I’d ordered you and Maifea? dead
Auva’a’s been punished and I hope
one day you’ll learn to forgive me
He avoided looking at me as He rose
to leave stopped and said And thank
you for rescuing me from the sickness
I’d become It’s good to be rooted
in earth and people again Both
Maifea? and Tulī were useful in their uselessness
Tupa’i later told me that in my rage on
finding Maifea? dead I’d bitten off Tulī’s head
ripped its body apart and had sent
the pieces back to Tagaloa who’d buried
His bird in His Maota and declared
no one was to mention Tulī to Him again
Nafanua and Her queendom were to be
left alone He’d ordered the other atua
and when He heard I’d gone to pieces
He’d packed His cures and come to heal me
against His taulaaitu’s advice
and to the jealous envy of His Gang
To this day Vela Tagaloa has treated me
a favoured friend He had Maifea? buried
here where the sea had given him to us
and tapued it a sacred place that awaits
the canoes of Maifea’s? atua loaded
with miracles in our dreams yet unconceived
(5)
The waves roll-in roll-out roll-in
and we expectantly await
Maifea’s? miracle-making kind
on the next full tide to wake him
from this grave this landing site
The waves roll-in roll-out
roll-in as the stone grave glows
darkly sucking in the grief
and the dying light
And Nafanua weeps
Book Three:
Travel
14
Nei
Aside Three: Now It’s Winter
Now it’s winter in Aotearoa and for seven months (lucky seven)
I’ve escaped Vela’s insistence for a new novel wife and
children friends as generous as hymnals food films
long walks and gifted kiwi beer (Vela’s never been pissed!)
Now it’s winter in Judy’s house Liverpool Street Epsom
with rolls of Tokelau mats and the photo of the old woodcarver
adze poised to strike who saves pure water in jettisoned bottles