“How do I know that?” asked her brother bitterly.
“Do not answer spitefully, my young husband,” chided Hoatu. “I understand something of Tahitian customs. The Arioi would not have taken her in if they had not seen her in a state of nevaneva.”
Tepua turned to Rongonui. “You have said, noble brother, that I was the only one lost in that storm. Does that not tell you something? The gods wanted me to leave my home island and come here. If you try to take me away, how do you think they will answer?”
He beat his fist against the leg of the stool. “You are my sister and Kohekapu’s daughter. Yet you wish to serve as a lowly chest-slapper in the Arioi! This is the disgrace that everyone will know about. Even if we hide your defilement from our father, he will hear this.”
His hand shot out, grasping her wrist. She gave an angry cry as he brought the back of her hand closer to the light, showing the altered tattoo. “And this is the final proof of your debasement,” he shouted. “You have defaced our emblem, the mark of our ancestors. How can I tolerate such an insult?”
“Is it true, sister?” asked Hoatu.
Tepua pulled her hand free. “It was the only way I knew to keep the wrong people from finding me. I would have been carried home in a trader’s boat, like a fat sow, and bartered to my father.”
“As you deserve—” Rongonui began.
Hoatu interrupted, “Enough, husband! I know it was no easy decision for Tepua to make. And now she can again wear the emblem of her family. I would like her to do that. But this question of being an Arioi chest-slapper ..."She gave Tepua a penetrating look.
“I will not remain so for long. I will advance to Pointed-thorn, and then higher.” She paused, thinking for a moment of Feet-out-of-water and the promises he had made to her. No, she need say nothing of that. “If you wish me to rise quickly, to the most honored ranks of the Arioi, here is what you can do. You can ask Kohekapu to send me gifts of pearl shells and fishhooks, so that I can arrange my advancement feasts. That is the way to end this quarrel with honor.”
“Well-spoken, sister of my husband,” said Hoatu. “I see no other way out. I am not willing to bring the gods’ wrath down on us to satisfy Rongonui.”
“I will make no such request of my father,” said Rongonui petulantly.
“Then I will,” said Hoatu. “Furthermore, I, too, will send gifts, Tepua. I would find it an honor to be kin to a high-ranking Arioi. I would prefer, of course, that you married one of our island chiefs, but I see now that it cannot be.”
“You are kind and wise, noble chiefess,” said Tepua. Far more so than Rongonui can ever be. Her eyes stung, threatening tears. She had no chance for a reconciliation with the rest of her family, she thought. Hoatu’s sympathy and assistance were the most she could hope for.
And there was Matopahu. What would happen if he learned who was ultimately responsible for the play? She sighed, giving up the battle against her tears as one spilled over and slid down her cheek.
She turned her face, hiding her pain. She wanted to run out now, to race along the beach in the moonlight and forget how cruelly her brother had treated her.
But custom required her to stay with Hoatu and sullen Rongonui, talking lightly of the evening’s entertainments, until the chiefess began to yawn. At last Tepua gave Hoatu a parting embrace, and endured one from her brother. Then she walked out into the quiet night.
As Tepua left the high chief’s compound she paused before taking the path toward Aitofa’s. Turning toward the point, she could just make out the high stones of the marae gleaming in moonlight. The sight made her shiver, yet she did not turn away.
For too long, she knew, she had been avoiding Eye-to-heaven. By declaring her unfit for Matopahu’s company, he had so angered her that she had never gone to see him about her atonement ceremony. Instead she had put it off, plunging herself into the Arioi work, making amends for her sin through offerings at the women’s shrine. But now so much had changed...
Tepua recited her prayer against night-walking spirits as she took the dark path toward the marae. She knew the way to the high priest’s dwelling. Carefully skirting the sacred boundaries, she came up behind the house and saw a glimmer of light filtering through the walls. She called softly to Eye-to-heaven.
The pattern of light shifted and she dared to peer through the wall. Eye-to-heaven, seated on a stool, was talking to another priest. Tepua waited until the other man left, then called again. This time, the high priest heard her and came to the wall.
“Tepua-mua!” he whispered. “I am so pleased to see you. But you must not come inside. Stay there and I will walk with you.”
He came out, embraced her warmly, then led her to a place where they could sit and look out at the full moon reflected on the water. His white robes seemed to give off a pale light of their own. “Matopahu has changed very much since we were all together,” he said sadly. “That is not what you came to see me about, is it?”
She wanted to confide in him, but she could not forget how he had kept Matopahu from her. She tried to keep any resentment out of her voice as she said, “Matopahu is part of the reason. I have heard much about his recent exploits, though I tried not to listen.”
Eye-to-heaven shook his head sorrowfully. “When I traveled with him about the island, he became more arrogant every day. Wherever we went, the orators made speeches exaggerating his virtues, and I think he began to believe them.”
“And what of his pronouncements? I heard such tales.”
“Yes,” the priest agreed. “I know now that an evil spirit has replaced his wise oracle. For a long time, I tried to make myself believe otherwise. The people also suspect but do not seem to mind. They act as if it is an honor to satisfy the desires of this demon.”
Her eyes widened. “Surely you can drive the spirit away.”
“Not without Matopahu’s help. He must be willing to make an atonement. Sometimes it is not easy to bring oneself to the proper state of mind.” He turned to stare at Tepua. His face was shadowed, but the moonlight let her see his raised eyebrows.
She felt her cheeks burning. “Yes. It is true. I also must make my atonement. I feel now that I am ready.”
“Good. You have suffered long enough, and Aitofa tells me you have served the Arioi well. As soon as these festivities are over, I will arrange the ceremony that will cleanse you.”
“And Matopahu?”
“His case is not so easy.”
“Perhaps the comedy—”
“Yes,” said the priest with a sigh. “I heard about that performance, but I cannot tell you how he took it. The satire may help him regain his old self.”
“If I could talk with him—”
“Let me try first,” said the priest. “You see, I feel some responsibility for his woes. When I told him to stay away from you, I did not realize how harsh a demand I made on him. I think this anguish weakened him. To forget you, he indulged his basest impulses, and that made it easy for the evil spirit to push aside his old god.”
“And has he forgotten me?” She heard her pulse beating as she waited for an answer.
The priest touched her hand. “Tepua, you are always in his thoughts. I am certain of that.”
Certain? The priest’s words made her dizzy. “If I had known this sooner—” No. It did not matter what had caused Matopahu’s foolishness. She still would have wanted to expose it.
“I will speak with him tomorrow,” said Eye-to-heaven, “and see if he has come to his senses about his ambitions. Until I have settled this, I ask you not to see him.” The priest paused. “There is another problem as well. I do not wish to worry you needlessly, but I feel you should know.”
Tepua stirred uncomfortably. Too much had already happened tonight, but if this new development threatened Matopahu ...
“I am concerned about Ihetoa,” said Eye-to-heaven.
“I thought he was gone.”
“He should be where we sent him, at a shrine far from here, making hi
s own amends. But he had hopes of eventually regaining his old office. Now, I fear, he has grown anxious about his future. I think he realizes that the people will never accept him back as their high priest. At least, that is what Ihetoa himself muttered to one of his fellow underpriests some days ago. And now our troublesome friend has vanished.”
“Where would he go?”
Moonlight touched the lines on Eye-to-heaven’s round face, turning his pleasant expression solemn. “That is what I cannot learn. And why I must warn Matopahu.”
20
RIMAPOA stirred on his hard, gritty bed, wishing he could stay asleep. With a groan of despair, he crawled out from under the small, leafy shrub that served as his shelter. He looked around at his coral-strewn shore and saw that nothing had changed.
Behind him he heard the relentless pounding of waves against the nearby reef. White sand glistened under the morning sun, but he found no joy in its beauty. He could think only of finding something to eat.
Not a single coconut tree stood on this tiny island of his exile. The high priest’s men had left him in a place where only a few shrubs grew, so that he could not build even the flimsiest of water craft. He had long ago given up the idea of escape.
The search for food had become his sole preoccupation. On many days—he had lost track of how many—he had found nothing. Now, fighting the weakness of his body, he stood up to scan the shore.
To his delight, he saw a small, white crab dancing back and forth near the water’s edge. Salivating for the tiny morsel, he picked up a piece of broken coral—his only source of tools or weapons here. Cautiously he stalked his prey, aware how fast the crab could scuttle out of sight. Not daring to step any closer, he threw...
The missile landed just short of its mark, startling the crab back into its sandy hole. Rimapoa howled his anger, then stood still for a moment while he mustered his strength. Just offshore, in the shallows that surrounded his tiny motu, he saw a flash of red fin, but he did not go after it. Lacking hook, net, or spear, he had little chance of catching anything that could swim away from him.
He had found shellfish when he first arrived, but now those were all gone. Sometimes, under moonlight, he had managed to catch a sluggish fish in his hands. He had even put together an octopus lure, tying glossy cowrie shells about a twig and lowering it over the edge of the reef on a line of twisted bark. The lure had worked—once—providing him with an octopus that he greedily devoured raw. But then his fragile lashings had fallen apart. None of the shrubs here had bark that could be rolled into proper cord.
Right now his thirst troubled him more than his hunger. Seeing nothing else of interest on the shore, he turned inland to his water supply.
A few natural cisterns in the rock caught rainwater whenever there was a storm. He had been trying to deepen the holes, but the process of scraping coral against coral went slowly and took too much of his strength. He knew a time would come when the basins dried up.
With a sigh, he bent down to sip from the dank hole. The water level was as low as he had seen it. He turned to study the sky, but saw no clouds.
Rimapoa had never imagined that he would die of thirst. He had always expected the sea to claim him. Perhaps, when the moment neared, he would have enough strength left to heave himself into the water. Better to be devoured by sharks, he thought, than to be carved up slowly by crabs while he still lived.
He returned to his sheltering bush, where he had piled slender sticks in the hope that he might weave them into a trap for fish. Without cordage, he had been unable to hold the contrivance together. But yesterday he had found some tough strands of kelp washed up on the windward side of his island. Now he thought he might be able to tie the sticks together into a mesh.
His fingers felt clumsy as he leaned over the work. Things kept slipping away from him. If he could only fill his belly once in a while, he might have the strength... And then, as he was about to abandon his attempt, he noticed a man-of-war bird standing but an arm’s length from him, its attention on the surf.
He could not miss such an easy target. He picked up a stone. The long-tailed bird seemed not to notice. Shadow of the gods.
No! He could not do it. He pressed his face into his hands and sprawled on his hollow belly. ...
Later, when he heard a voice shouting over the roar of the surf, he knew he was still dreaming. He rolled over, trying to find shade. He heard the voice again, and finally opened his eyes. Now he was certainly awake, and he still heard it!
He stood up, raced to the lee of the island, and saw a small three-man outrigger approaching shore. One of the paddlers waved at him. Rimapoa rubbed his eyes, then began to whisper praises and promises to his god. “A dozen albacore!” he muttered. “White-bellies or larger. Give me the freedom to catch them, and they are yours!”
“You are looking thin, fisherman,” called the steersman of the canoe. His own proud belly hung heavily over his spray-soaked loincloth. The man looked familiar, but Rimapoa could not place him. Perhaps he had seen him at the fishermen’s house. Then Rimapoa’s mouth fell open in disbelief.
“Ihetoa!” Without his headdress and fancy cape, the high priest’s grandeur was gone. Rimapoa sensed that Ihetoa had lost more than his fine clothing.
“Let us talk,” said Ihetoa, wading across the submerged reef and onto the island. He turned his back on the two crewmen left behind in the canoe.
Rimapoa came closer, moving slowly to conserve his strength. He could not grasp what this was about.
“I am willing to take you back to Tahiti,” said Ihetoa.
The fisherman gaped.
“But only if you agree to help me. My enemies there have pushed me out of my marae. They are trying to keep me from my proper place. I need you to help me destroy them.”
Rimapoa licked his dry lips. He wanted to go to his pool for a drink, but now his gaze was fastened on the high priest’s haggard face.
“That motu woman who clawed you is one,” said Ihetoa. “As soon as you were gone, she took up with the high chief’s brother. The two of them accused me—”
“Tepua?” the fisherman rasped. “With a strutting nobleman?” He felt weak and light-headed. The ground seemed to tilt beneath his feet.
“Be careful, fisherman,” said the priest, grabbing Rimapoa’s arm to keep him from falling. “Now listen to what I tell you. All the opu-nui saw those two together. What is more, the motu woman expects to advance in the Arioi. I have heard that she is planning her feast—”
“Feast! Then—” Rimapoa could barely speak. She had told him she wanted red feathers to barter for that feast, but then she had refused to take them. Now she was going through with her advancement after all! He groaned and sank to his knees, for he could draw only one conclusion. She must have planned this betrayal from the start—with her highborn friends. She had let him gather the feathers just so she could have them taken from him. So that she could have them all.
“Then that is why I am here—parched—starving,” wailed the fisherman. “While she is in Tahiti rutting with that pig of a nobleman.” Picking up a sharp piece of coral, he began to gash his forehead.
Ihetoa put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Yes,” he said glibly. “Matopahu and the woman are the source of all your woes. And now that you know this, you will help me take revenge on them both. I need you to lure her from the Arioi women’s compound. It must be done in secret. I want her simply to vanish, along with Matopahu, leaving not even a bone or patch of blood behind. Then all will be as before, and all the harm undone.”
Rimapoa looked up but could not answer. He was breathing quickly, as if he had just been running along a beach.
“Come with me to the canoe and refresh yourself,” said Ihetoa gently. “I saved some coconuts for you. And fe’i, baked yesterday. Your last meal here will be a good one.”
Inside the novices’ house at Aitofa’s compound, Tepua yawned and turned over.
“Our motu princess is finally getting up,” cam
e Pecking-bird’s shrill voice.
Tepua yawned again and opened one eye. She saw the other young women coming back from their baths.
“Now,” said Pecking-bird, “that we know how highborn she is, I imagine she will expect us to become her servants.”
Tepua sat up and glared at Pecking-bird. She groped for a suitable retort, and remembered Pecking-bird’s playlet.
Crossing her arms, she spoke in a deep voice. “Fishermen, what is taking you so long? I am hungry and you are slow.” This imitation of Pecking-bird’s own performance set the whole houseful of novices laughing. “Are you not afraid of your high chief?” Tepua continued, improvising some additional lines. “I am fierce. I am a motu man. If you do not obey me, I will cook you all for my dinner.”
Pecking-bird’s face reddened and she stormed from the house. The other novices, still laughing, clustered about Tepua. “It does not matter to me,” said Curling-leaf, “if you are of high birth or low. You have always been my friend.”
“I am the same person I was yesterday,” said Tepua. “My ancestry means little. My family is far away, and has no influence here. We are all novices together, and we must help each other any way we can.”
“In that case,” said Curling-leaf with a sly grin, “I think we should help you take your bath. Look. You still have paint smears on your face.”
For a moment the others held back. But when Curling-leaf took Tepua’s arm, they joined in, half dragging, half carrying her to the stream, all the while laughing and joking. They threw her in the bathing pool, then began scrubbing at her face and arms.
Tepua came up spitting bubbles. She knew she deserved this treatment. Too often, without thinking, she had held herself aloof from the others. Now that her background had come out, and she had scorned the idea of accepting special treatment, perhaps she could finally feel that she was a true member of the group.
“Enough!” she cried. “I have lost all my paint, and some of my skin as well!”
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