“What does she offer?” asked the younger fisherman—the one with odd features—as he suddenly showed an interest in the conversation.
“Pearl shells, of course. What else do those motu people have?” Hoihoi laughed as if she had made a great joke, her plump breasts heaving beneath her wrap.
“Then the journey is for me,” said the second man with new enthusiasm. He stood up and addressed Tepua while his gaze took in her face and then made a slow excursion downward. Suddenly her cheeks felt hot. At home no man of his class would have dared stare at her so. She forced herself to endure his inspection silently.
He was young, not much older than Tepua, far stockier than Rimapoa. As for his face, she thought that his jaw had been broken and had not healed properly. She felt a stir of pity, thinking that he might have been handsome before the injury.
“People call me Tangled-net,” he said, “because my net got snagged on the reef and I lost it. But if I had some pearl-shell hooks, I would not be wasting my time here. I would be out in my boat.” He kicked with his bare toes at the pile of gaming stones.
“I want to leave at once,” said Tepua, trying to ignore the weariness that still clung to her. She knew she needed rest and food before undertaking another sea voyage, but was too impatient to wait.
“At once?” asked Tangled-net with a laugh. “I must prepare a few things. Make an offering to the gods, of course, and see to my boat. After that, if you help me gather supplies, we can leave tomorrow at first light.”
Something about his manner troubled her, but she quickly agreed to his plan. She could not stand waiting two more nights to see the headman.
“Then I will come looking for you later,” he said. “In the afternoon—at Rimapoa’s house. Meanwhile, try to fill your belly. We will have little to eat on the way.”
When the women returned home, Tepua helped Hoihoi collect breadfruits from a tree near the house. The globular fruits grew in small clusters, two or three to a bunch, hanging amid the splendor of broad, glossy leaves. Hoihoi used a long forked stick to loosen one at a time, and Tepua’s job was to catch it before it hit the ground. As she worked, her hands grew sticky with sap that oozed from the yellow-green rinds.
The two carried their harvest to an open-walled shed behind the house of a neighbor, where a fire was burning in a shallow pit oven—a round hole dug in the ground and filled loosely with rocks. The other Tahitian women stared at Tepua while Hoihoi gave a brief explanation. “Rimapoa found her on the beach, nearly drowned. And now she is ready to sail home again!”
The women were short and plump, though none matched Hoihoi’s bulk. When they spoke, they used their eyes and hands as much as their voices. They stared at Tepua as if she were an exotic deep-sea creature. “What do you think of our island?” they kept asking.
When the fires burned out, the women wrapped sliced breadfruit in leaves and placed the packets between the heated rocks within the pit. They covered the food with more leaves and with earth, then sat talking while the food baked. Tepua could not keep her eyes open. She sprawled in the shade and fell asleep.
She woke to a tantalizing aroma. Hoihoi had brought her a steaming packet of food. “Do as Tangled-net told you,” she said. “Fill your belly while you can.”
Breadfruit! With curiosity, Tepua took a small bite. It had a faint sweetness, a mild flavor, and was slightly firm to the tooth. After seasoning it with a rich coconut sauce, she ate as much as she could, then dozed again along with the other women. She was startled from sleep by a deep voice.
“So this is where you hid yourself. I was looking in the wrong place.”
She saw Tangled-net standing over her, grinning. The sight of his misshapen face gave her a start, until she remembered who he was. Then, flushing again in the presence of his frank stare, she sat up slowly and brushed sand from her wrap.
Nearby, Hoihoi was rubbing her eyes sleepily. The shadows had lengthened and Tepua saw that the day was almost gone. “Let me warn you, my friend Tangled-net,” Hoihoi said to the fisherman. “Do not try any tricks with this girl. Tepua is my brother’s guest. You will take her home as you agreed, or answer to both of us.”
A brief look of worry came over the young man’s features. “Your brother does not frighten me,” he said, with a nervous laugh. “But nobody wants to be Hoihoi’s enemy. You can trust me to take her off your hands.”
Tepua stiffened. Evidently Tangled-net saw what Hoihoi wanted—to get rid of the stranger before she caused trouble for Rimapoa. Even so, Hoihoi had helped her, and Tepua could offer nothing in return. “I will send gifts back to you,” the young woman promised, feeling awkward as she spoke. “And to your brother.” Hoihoi only grunted and folded her arms.
Tangled-net walked away, beckoning Tepua after him. For an instant she wanted to stay with Hoihoi. And hide behind her as you did behind Bone-needle. You will never get home that way. With a sense of loss she finally left Hoihoi.
Excitement quickened Tepua’s pulse as she hurried after Tangled-net. She became acutely aware of the gritty beach sand beneath her feet and how the rhythm of the sea beat in her ears like a booming temple drum. As she caught up with the fisherman a startling thought made the hair of her nape stand on end. She had never, in her memory, been alone with a man.
It was true. Chaperons and guardians had always watched over her. Bone-needle had been with her constantly since early childhood. On long, lazy afternoons how Tepua had envied the other girls their freedom to go off with young men. She had remained on the beach, close enough to hear the soft laughter and cries from behind the bushes.
Now she watched the fisherman striding ahead of her, his brown back supple and the muscles in his buttocks bunching to either side of his loincloth. His face might be marred, but otherwise he was attractive.
Tepua had been sheltered far too long. What would it be like to touch him, she wondered, or to feel him touch her? She was obliged to preserve her maidenhood, of course, but what harm would come from sitting alone with him, breathing his scent, listening to his voice?
Tangled-net stopped, glanced back, appraising her in turn, though he had already inspected her thoroughly. Was he now trying to guess her thoughts? The way his hips thrust slightly forward against the low-slung band of his maro made her suspect that he knew exactly what she was thinking. She bit her lip, trying to keep the unwanted emotions at bay.
He led her seaward into a palm grove that was screened by surrounding foliage from sight of any dwelling. Odd little shivers ran up and down Tepua’s back. Everything was quiet here except for the sound of Tangled-net’s feet on fallen coconut fronds.
She had never imagined that a coconut grove could be so large or lush. The undergrowth surged up and into the trees like a restless sea. Vines wound everywhere and were full of blooms whose strong perfume made her dizzy. Tall, slender boles of the trees arched upward, crowns swaying with the breeze of late afternoon.
It was all so intensely green, the air moist and heavy. Sweat trickled down her face, her neck, her back, between her breasts. She looked for Tangled-net and found him waiting for her a short distance deeper into the grove.
“Whose trees are these?” Tepua asked as she caught up with him. At home, coconut trees were so precious that each was closely guarded by its owner. Even on bountiful Tahiti she imagined that someone had a claim on these.
“What does it matter?” he answered brusquely. “The nuts belong to those who need them.” He carried a brownish-green drinking nut to a stake that stood in the ground beside a pile of broken husks. With a few quick blows he stripped away most of the husk, leaving a narrow fibrous strip attached to the shell of the nut within. “You can help me,” he said, pointing to another stake.
Tepua had never bent her back in such labor. This was a job for servants, but now she had to do it. She slammed a husk down onto the stake and managed only to get the wooden point jammed inside. With an effort, she wrenched the coconut free of the stick. Wiping away the sweat that stun
g her eyes, she tried again.
“Do it like this,” Tangled-net said. Before she could object, he came up behind her and began guiding her hands. She felt the heat of his body, his skin sticky with perspiration.
His chest muscles moved against her back as he showed her how to aim the point of the stake. The knotted rough cloth of his maro pressed into her through the light tapa wrap. She found it difficult to focus on the work and was relieved when he stepped away from her.
Taking up another coconut, Tepua tried to follow the lesson. Tangled-net had made the task look so easy! Finally, after a dozen blows, she managed to free the pale, veined shell within. She was out of breath, but pleased with herself.
She continued working until Tangled-net told her she could stop. Then he showed her how to twist the strips of husk remaining on the coconuts, tying them into pairs. He helped her sling the pairs over a stout pole.
Tepua had never before been a thief. Now, as she carried her end of the pole, she felt an unexpected tingle. She had almost forgotten her exhaustion, her coral cuts, her doubts about the young man’s ability or willingness to bring her home. The excitement of the moment blotted out all else.
What an escapade for someone who had always been protected by chaperons! Tangled-net glanced back, and his eyes held a joyful look of mischief. His expression warmed her. She realized that his face was not really ugly, just unusual.
At last they approached the narrow, black sand beach. Across the lagoon, she saw the sun sinking toward the distant breakers on the reef. “Here is my boat,” he said, pointing to a weathered and patched sailing outrigger canoe, smaller than the one she had paddled. “It will get us there.”
Tepua had watched such canoes set out on long voyages, so she did not question its seaworthiness. But she remembered the conversation she had overheard between Hoihoi and Rimapoa. “How will you choose our course?” she asked. “I cannot tell you which stars to follow.”
“Would I offer to take you if I could not find the way?” The fisherman sounded exasperated. “We will go east, so we must put the setting stars at our stern,” he explained, as if she were a child. “Tonight, I will show you which ones to choose. We can watch them from a shelter on the hill.” He pointed behind him. “But first, we need to load the canoe. Now, before dark sets in.”
They gathered another load of coconuts, and by then the daylight was growing dim. “This is not a good night for staying out,” said Tangled-net. “It is a time when our spirits walk. Maybe on your island they come out on a different night.”
Tepua felt a shiver. Her atoll had its share of ghosts, and she knew well what harm an evil one could do. She tried to remember the last moon she had seen...
Tangled-net’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “This is also a favorite night of thieves,” he said with glee. “But I think you will be happier under a roof.” He startled Tepua by grabbing her hand, and this time he had no excuse.
He had a powerful grip and calluses on his palms. She felt something shoot through her that was not exactly fright or desire, but a mixture of the two. It made her pull back, yet his hand remained, clutching hers.
“What is the matter?” he asked.
Tepua’s pulse was racing and her breathing fast. She had hoped that she could avoid telling him, but now she dared not delay. “There is something that Hoihoi did not explain,’ ’ she said, trying to speak firmly. “It is important that you understand this. I am a chief’s daughter, and unwed. You must not touch me—not even my hand.”
“Oh?” She heard the disappointment in his voice, felt the sudden jerk as he released her. She couldn’t see his face, but she sensed that glow of friendliness in his eyes fading. She thought she had made another blunder, flaunting her high status before a lowly fisherman. Yet what else could she have done to prevent misunderstanding?
For an instant she wanted to turn around and run back to Rimapoa’s hut. She bit her lip. If she did that, she would remain stranded here for days. Even if she waited, she could not be sure that the headman would help her. No, she must press on and try later to soothe Tangled-net’s hurt feelings.
He said nothing more until an outline of a sagging thatched roof showed against the darkening sky. “Here,” he said, vanishing into the shadows within. The tiny shelter had no walls, only a tattered mat that hung on one side and swayed in the wind. Already feeling the coolness of the night breeze, Tepua sat on the grass-strewn floor.
The shelter stood by itself, far from any other dwelling, for nearby only a few faint lights glimmered. Glancing higher, she saw the first bright stars.
Tangled-net crouched beside her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his body. One part of her wanted to press against him for protection from the chill. Another part wanted to run. “Do you see?” he asked, pointing his arm above the horizon. “That one is a western star. It will follow the sun to his bed.”
“That may be the one I watched,” she answered, recalling her exhausting nights on the sea. She was trembling now, possibly because of the memories ... or the wind that made the whole shelter sway overhead, its lashings and poles creaking.
“Here is my plan. We will reach the swarm of atolls in daylight. There are so many that I can surely hit one of them. Then you will recognize where you are and guide me to the one that is your home.”
“Yes. I think I can do that. But now it is late, and I would like to go to a warmer place to spend the night.” She stood up, waiting for him to lead her to the house where his family lived.
His hand reached up to grip her forearm. The pressure was harsh, unyielding, almost painful. “I told you that ghosts walk tonight. We are safe here. They will not come in under a roof.”
“The spirits do not worry me,” she answered, trying to pull free.’ ’As we go I will recite a charm that the high priest taught me. Even ghosts respect a chief’s daughter.”
Tangled-net’s grip became fiercer. She felt herself losing her balance and cried out in protest. Now she could not keep from falling...
He pulled her down against him, and she tried to fight him off with her free hand. She beat her fist against his firm flesh, striking high and low, but he did not ease his grip. She felt his other hand on her as well, moving her, turning her. Then she was sprawled on her back, with her head against the hard ground and the pressure of his weight on top of her.
“Don’t you understand?” she cried. “I am ta...pu. Sacred to the gods ...”
“Your gods are far from here,” he growled as his hands roughly pushed her wrap up to bare her thighs. “And so are your priests.” She heard the cloth rip—a sound that set her teeth on edge—and felt him shift his weight. He had her knees pinned painfully to the ground, and his arm lay heavily across her neck.
For a moment she refused to believe what was happening. She had lived too long under her father’s protection. She had learned to trust men, without thinking that they held themselves back out of fear—not only of the chief’s wrath but of the gods’ revenge.
She heard Bone-needle’s voice shrieking at her, but the warning had come too late. “This is my death,” Tepua said, gasping for air. “And yours as well.”
“Quit your babbling, atoll woman. Now you must learn our customs. In Tahiti, we do not go hungry when there is food before us.”
Outrage drove her into a frenzy of kicking and wild swings, but her blows missed their target. He laughed harshly as he caught first one wrist and then the other, imprisoning both in a single rough-skinned hand. As she strained against his force she stared up into the shadow of his face. Where were the gods with their revenge? How soon before they crippled him with pain?
She lay on her back, her eyes burning, her chest heaving, trying to find an answer. Was it true, as some said, that the gods could not protect her so far from home? She felt Tangled-net’s free hand slide down her belly and over the hair that covered her womanhood. His fist forced her legs apart and his finger probed...
No! She writhed as she had seen eels
struggle on a fisherman’s spear. She spat and screamed and threatened him with all the punishments she had heard from the priests.
“You are unbroken,” his voice said softly in her ear. His finger had withdrawn, but something else much larger pushed between her legs. His hand and then his knee forced her thighs apart.
“Your manhood will die,” she hissed. “It will shrivel and wither when it touches me. Stop now and you will be spared.”
“I have already touched you, chief’s daughter, and my manhood only grows stiffer.” His nose and lips brushed her cheek. She thrust her head aside. “In the dark, you cannot see my face,” he said. “If I am ugly, what does it matter?”
She felt his fingers opening her for that strong, hard spear. He was pressing, stretching her painfully. She felt helpless, numb. Then fury took the place of fear.
She had fought the sea; why could she not fight this man? As he made a harder thrust she felt his grip on her wrists weaken. With a sudden jerk she loosed one of her hands. Finding his sweaty face by touch, she jabbed with two fingers at his eyes.
His howl was followed by a fierce blow at her arms. She reached up for another attack on his face, but he would not stay still. Then, with a cry of victory, he rammed himself into her. Her voice could not find breath. All she knew was the agony of torn flesh between her legs. She tried to scream, but her fury was so great that the sound gagged in her throat.
A moment later a spasm rocked his body. He pulled himself free and rolled off her, but did not relax his grip on her arm. “It will be better for you the second time,” he said quietly. “Better for me also.” In answer, she kicked him in the belly. It was over. Pain meant nothing to her now. All she could think about was revenge.
While he struggled to catch his breath she crawled away from him, colliding with one of the flimsy poles that held up the roof. Overhead, thatch crackled as the whole structure threatened to topple. “Where are you going, motu woman,” he gasped. “Did you forget ... what I said about spirits?”
Daughter of the Reef Page 6