The Adventures of Vela

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