“May Oro be pleased! Everyone dance!” came the deep bellow of the head Arioi.
By now night had fallen and the area was lit by bonfires and torches. With excited cries the young men and women in the audience leaped to their feet while their elders drew to the side. Tepua felt her heart jumping. This dance was almost the same as one she knew. At home she had been the best, making up for her slender form with suppleness and speed.
But right now she did not want a partner. She glanced around, wondering if she dared step out into the crowd of dancers on her own. Then she saw other women, swaying in clusters, paying no heed to the men. “Go,” said Hoihoi, giving her a push. “Show us how they do it on your coral island.”
The drumming was too powerful to resist. She went to the darkest part of the clearing, raised her arms, and began to move with the beat. Men turned to stare at her, some with scowls. Because I am a stranger?
She redoubled the speed of her dance, the rotation and swaying of her hips, the sinuous movement of her arms. No longer shy, she stepped forward into the light. She saw men and women watching, their eyes widening at her skill.
“Motu woman!” A brawny male dancer sneered.
Undaunted, Tepua turned in another direction. Anger lent vigor to her dance as she realized how many others were watching her now. In the place of honor, where torches flared, she saw the headman seated with other people of rank. When she noticed how their eyes glistened as they studied her, she tossed her head and danced harder.
“She is in the god’s frenzy,” came shouts from the crowd. “In the grip of nevaneva. The Arioi should see this.”
“But no man will dance with her!” others replied.
No partner? Tepua knew how to answer these scoffers. She had seen Rimapoa waiting eagerly for his chance. Now she moved toward him, inviting him to join her.
With a cry of delight, the fisherman leaped into place and took up the male part of the dance. Gales of laughter broke out in the crowd. “Here is a treat! The scrawny cock fowl joins the starved chicken!”
But the laughter soon died as Tepua’s flowing hands and artful movements began to draw murmurs of appreciation. And Rimapoa, though lacking the grace and control of an Arioi, displayed his wiry strength and endurance. He balanced on his toes, clapping his knees together and apart so fast that they were just a blur in Tepua’s eyes. He jerked his hips so lustily that his loincloth threatened to fly up.
“They do well together,” someone said. “Oro should be pleased.”
Now Tepua no longer watched her partner as the mounting frenzy of the dance enveloped her. Her body grew weightless and her arms seemed to move of their own accord. The lights and shadows flew past her, merging into haze.
Had the god brought her to this pitch of excitement? She only knew that now she could not stop. Her skin felt charged with heat. The music became part of her, echoing through her veins. . . .
And then, suddenly, she felt tired and dizzy. The music tried to hold her, but she could not keep up with it. She felt herself falling, saw Rimapoa’s worried face peering down at her. “You did well, motu flower,” he kept saying as he helped Tepua up. “You are the best dancer I have ever seen.”
Her legs felt numb. She leaned against the fisherman and managed to hobble a few steps, then a few more. “We will take you home now,” he said gently, with just a hint of disappointment in his voice. Hoihoi had arrived to help as well. Tepua closed her eyes, refusing to look at the crowd. They had seen her in her glory. They had also seen her fail.
“Look how thin you are,” chided Hoihoi. “You need to eat more if you want to dance all night.”
Tepua tried to straighten up. She knew that the long voyage had weakened her. She had not fully recovered. How could she have expected to sustain her impossible pace? But as she walked slowly along the path, with the music still pounding in her ears, Tepua found herself wishing she could run back.
She was dancing again in her imagination, dancing with the Arioi, dancing for Oro-of-the-laid-down-spear.
7
THE next morning, Tepua thought she would never want to get up. Still feeling exhausted from her dance, she drifted in and out of sleep. Much earlier she had heard cocks crowing. Now, when she opened her eyes, she saw streaks of sunlight crossing the floor.
What had happened during the dancing? she asked herself. Had she truly been touched by the god? Suddenly she sat up, wanting to ask Hoihoi a host of questions, but the fisherman’s sister was gone and the house empty.
Tepua put on her wrap and hurried to the stream, where she found Hoihoi sitting on the bank with her large feet dangling in the water. “Ah,” said the fisherman’s sister dreamily. “You should have stayed longer last night. After I took you home, I went back to try my own dancing. What a man I found!”
“Tell me about the Arioi,” Tepua asked brusquely, unwilling to listen to her chatter.
Hoihoi laughed. “You heard their chants and watched them perform. When they return, you will see more.”
“Who are they? I know nothing about them.”
“They are sons and daughters from the highest families.”
Tepua frowned. “Only highborn people?”
Hoihoi splashed her feet playfully. “No. A commoner can become one of them, though it is not easy. If you are interested—”
“I did not say that,” Tepua answered cautiously. She tossed aside her wrap and waded out into the pool made by a half circle of black rocks. The steady flow of water helped ease the stiffness in her legs and back.
Hoihoi watched from the bank. “Then let me tell you about this Papara man I found...”
The talk was soon interrupted by deep voices and the rustling of footsteps in dry leaves beyond the stream. Tepua turned and saw two warriors, each carrying a long spear, staring at her. Hastily she covered herself as she came out of the water. The intruders gave her a disturbing chill. She had seen one of them before—standing guard at the headman’s compound.
“What do you mean, bothering us at our baths?” Hoihoi demanded.
“Headman’s business,” came a curt response. “The visitor—the atoll woman—must come with us.”
Tepua turned with a start. Enjoying the pleasant surroundings, she had allowed herself to relax. Now hair prickled at the nape of her neck as she drew her wrap about her and tucked it in firmly. What could the headman want?
Nervously she turned toward Hoihoi, hoping for an answer. “If Pigs-run-out calls you, you must go,” Hoihoi said in an angry whisper. “But I will send my brother after you. If the headman asks what you are doing in his district, then Rimapoa will answer.”
“And what can he say?” Tepua glanced again at the impatient guards and felt herself starting to perspire.
“That we honor the Maohi customs,” said Hoihoi. “That we have taken you in as our guest.”
Guest. It pleased Tepua to hear that word. She recalled, not long ago, how Hoihoi had scorned the fisherman for trying to help her. At least Tepua had two friends now, though she doubted they could influence the headman.
While Hoihoi hurried off to find Rimapoa, Tepua followed the guards. With only a few grunts for conversation, they took her on the same path she had followed days earlier, finally nearing a fenced compound close to the beach. Just as they reached the pebbled path she heard footsteps and a familiar voice behind her. The underchief’s men turned, and when they saw Rimapoa, they waved their spears at him. “Go home to your bigmouthed sister,” one guard called.
At the compound, they marched through the gate without a glance at the man on watch. Behind them Rimapoa began arguing loudly, but the guard refused to let him pass. Tepua stiffened as she heard his anguished voice.
“Let me speak to him,” she said to the guards. As she turned to the fisherman she felt the point of a spear against her back. Her lips trembled, but she managed to get out a few words. “Rimapoa, go home. There is nothing ... you can do for me here.”
“If the headman takes from me what
I value the most,” he said harshly, “I will show my feelings.” In his hand he carried something she had seen before, a shark’s tooth lashed onto a short stick. This implement was similar to those from her own island, and the fact that he carried it made her trembling worse. To show grief, a person used it to strike himself...
“You do not need that,” Tepua hissed. “Nothing has happened to me. I have not even heard yet what the headman wants.” Her throat tightened and tears burned at the corners of her eyes. She felt the guard’s hand on her shoulder.
“I will wait for you, then,” the fisherman said gruffly. “If you do not come back soon ...”
Tepua turned away, trying to hold her head up and walk in the manner that had been drilled into her. She was a daughter of a chief, after all. She could trace her ancestry to the great creator god, Tangaroa. Why should she be frightened of a mere underchief?
Within the bamboo fence lay a neat cluster of thatched houses. Pigs, dogs, and children roamed freely under the breadfruit trees while servants scurried about keeping the grounds spotless. Tepua heard the clattering of tapa mallets and turned to see a row of women hammering out bark-cloth on a long beam. They stopped to glance at her, their gazes lingering. The men called for Tepua to hurry.
Then she entered the wide doorway and saw Pigs-run-out sitting on an elegant four-legged stool. The underchief was not garbed in the finery she had seen the previous night. Instead, he wore a simple turban of yellow bark-cloth and a white, printed cape.
“May you prosper, noble chief,” Tepua said when she knelt before him.
He held a polished coconut shell in his pudgy hand and took a sip from it before speaking. Then, with an arrogant sniff, he acknowledged her greeting. “You are a foreigner,” he said in a harsh tone. “A woman from the pearl-shell islands. Tell me your name and how you got here.”
For a moment Tepua’s tongue refused to budge. “I—I am called Tepua-mua. I was washed ashore.”
The chief leaned forward. “Your canoe sank?”
It pained her to remember. “I fell overboard. Then I found a smaller boat. The currents carried me, and I paddled—”
“You came a long way,” he said. “But now what is your intention? Do you ask permission to live in my district?”
She struggled with his question. Was this a trap? How did he want her to answer? His knit brows and piercing gaze gave her no hint. “I—would be pleased to stay.”
The underchief narrowed his eyes. “You do not wish to go back to your family?”
How could she reply truthfully? “I would like to learn Maohi ways. And remain in Tahiti.”
He smiled coldly. “Then that is all I need ask you for now. The rest I have seen for myself.”
Tepua felt her face grow hot. Last night she had noticed him watching her, but his expression had remained distant. Even now she felt that he was examining her as he might study an unusual fish. He still had not said whether she could stay.
“Look,” the headman continued. “This is my youngest daughter—Small-foot.” From the corner, a figure crept out. It was a slender girl, who eyed her shyly, then scampered back to her hiding place. “She is very pretty, is she not?”
Tepua whispered her agreement.
“She will grow up to be as beautiful as her mother,” declared the headman. “Yes. And she will be the best dancer on the island as well. That is why I am granting your request.”
“Dancer?” Tepua felt bewilderment as well as relief.
“You will teach her. Do not be modest about your skills. Everyone watched you last night. And I am a generous man. I do not ask exactly where you came from, or what enemies might pursue you. I take you into my household and grant you my protection.” He turned to one of his attendants. “Let Hard-mallet take charge of this new one,” the headman said. “And be sure the dancing lessons start at once. I am expecting important company in a few days.” He waved Tepua and the others away.
Tepua did not know what to make of this new situation. The headman had offered her protection, but what would he want in exchange? Surely more than just lessons for his daughter. And what of her own hopes? If a chance did come for her to join the Arioi, would she be free to take it?
With dismay, she realized that now she must leave Hoihoi and her brother. How she would miss Hoihoi’s coarse humor! And what of Rimapoa? If she remained with him much longer, she might well do what had once seemed impossible.
She frowned, knowing that the fisherman would not take this separation well. Coming out into the shaded yard that surrounded the houses, she glanced around but did not see him. She darted toward the bamboo fence and peered between the gaps. There he stood, scowling, scuffling his feet on the ground. “Rimapoa!” she called.
His woeful expression did not ease as he came up to her. “What does that scoundrel want?” he whispered.
She explained hastily, and the fisherman’s reaction was exactly what she had feared. With a groan of despair he swung the shark’s-tooth flail at his forehead, striking until blood began to flow. “Is this how he rewards me,” he cried, “for all those plump fish I brought him?”
“This is neither reward nor punishment!” she answered, thrusting her hand between the poles to stop his frenzy. “It means nothing to the headman that I have my own wishes, or that you care about me.”
“Then I will make it mean something to him.” He shook free of her and gashed himself again.
“No!” Tepua caught his hand between hers, cradling it. His anguish seemed to ease for a moment. “Listen,” she said quickly, for she heard footsteps coming. “I am not caged here.” For proof she shook one of the bamboo staves of the fence, showing how loosely it was set into the ground. “He does not hold me prisoner.”
“Then you will come to me?”
“When I can. Now go home and put the shark’s tooth away.”
Gradually his scowl began to soften. He thrust his other hand between the poles and pressed her fingers. “Yes,” he said. “I know you will come. You will not forget Rimapoa.” With a wary glance toward the approaching guards, he scurried off, looking back at her after almost every step.
Tepua sighed, admitting to herself that she was relieved to see him go. His display had embarrassed her, and she hoped it had not drawn much attention. Yes, she cared for him, in a way she had never cared about a man. Often, while working, she would recall something he had told her, or remember a certain roguish look in his eye.
Now she would be living among a different class of people. How could she expect the women of the underchief’s household to understand the bond between herself and the fisherman?
Drawing in her breath, she lifted her head and turned to face the underchief’s compound. This was to be her new home now. She must adapt to it, as she had to Rimapoa’s hut. Perhaps she would even find a friend.
Returning to the yard, she saw a short and attractive young woman, with a broad face and small mouth, approaching her. “I am called Hard-mallet,” said the other pleasantly. “They say I am to show you around. As a stranger among us you will have a few things to learn.”
Tepua nodded, following Hard-mallet to where the other women sat hammering bark-cloth on a long wooden beam. “The chief gives many gifts of cloth,” Hard-mallet explained. “That is why he keeps us so busy with this work. You will be expected to do your part.”
Tepua protested. “He told me I am to be his daughter’s teacher.”
“That is but one small part of your duties.”
“And what are the rest? Must I share his sleeping mat as well?”
Hard-mallet grimaced with distaste and looked away. “I do—sometimes,” she said softly. “The best I can say for him is that he is quick about it.”
Tepua stamped her foot in anger. Suddenly she remembered a servingwoman her father often called for his pleasure. The arrangement had seemed so natural that she had never asked herself how the woman felt about it. So now I must see life from the other side...
“Do not fre
t, slender one,” said Hard-mallet. “I know the headman’s tastes. He likes women who eat well. You are pretty, but not ...” She held her hands out to suggest a bulk that Tepua did not possess.
“Then I will stay the way I am.”
A brief grin lit up Hard-mallet’s broad face. “We have talked enough for now. Come. Join us. We chant to the hammer’s sound as we work, and the time passes pleasantly.”
In this way, Tepua was introduced to the first of her duties. She learned later that she was also expected to help prepare the women’s meals, keep the houses and grounds tidy, and tend vegetable gardens that lay outside the fence.
Only in the evenings did she have time to spend with her young pupil. Then Tepua would take Small-foot into a corner of the women’s house while a drummer sat just outside. They would practice the simplest hip movements until the girl yawned and begged for sleep.
During the first few days in the headman’s household, Tepua saw Rimapoa several times, but always from a distance. He would gaze over the fence, call to her, and wave mournfully. Tepua always waved back with more enthusiasm than she felt.
She had promised to go to him, yet a reason always came to hold her back. It was true that she wanted to see both Hoihoi and the fisherman. But if she went to him when he was alone, he would surely think she had come for hanihani. As much as she liked him, she was not ready for that. Each day she found some excuse not to leave.
She consoled herself with Hard-mallet’s growing friendship. Often they worked side by side. When their turn came to uncover the women’s fire pit and take out the cooked food, Tepua taught her a chant of celebration from her own island.
Oho! Taku manu e pekepeke
Taku manu e peke...
Hard-mallet gamely tried to repeat it, though she stumbled over the sounds that were strange to her. Tepua encouraged her to keep going, laughing and clapping as they chanted together. “I will make you into a coral islander,” Tepua promised.’ ’And then I will not feel so far from home.”
Just as she was getting used to her new routine, a sudden flurry of activity within the compound drove all stray thoughts from her mind. A visitor was coming—a nobleman she had heard about—the brother of the high chief. Starting at dawn, everyone worked to get ready.
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