Show Me The Sky

by Nicholas Hogg

  Blessed by all, the canoe is provisioned and ready to sail, and we await favourable conditions.

  Still my father is missing.

  8 June 1835

  Dawn this morning my father shook me from sleep. I had been dreaming I was again a boy in his arms, and at first thought his hand on my shoulder was imagined.

  Then he said, ‘Naqarase, come.’

  The sun was still a promise in the eastern sky. Neither the reverends nor Mrs Collins and her children stirred as we crept from the house. I trailed my father through the soft light, along a path that led beyond the village, rising above the shoreline. When I asked where we were going he did not answer. We walked far from the houses, above the craggy cliff tops, past the nests of screeching gulls and down to a small, forbidden cove, a taboo place that rests the spirits of the dead. Then we sat, I still awaiting my father to speak.

  When the sun rose, the sea lapped against the shore like liquid gold. We could see fish riding down the tide.

  Then my father turned to me, ‘This is a world no book can hold,’ he said. ‘What is on paper that is better? What kind of god would need to write this down? Only the people who do not know God need to read about Him.’

  I tried to say something about one true God but he shook his head. I spoke to his turned back. I was somehow ashamed, saddened to tell him that God had sent me on a mission I could not refuse.

  ‘And what is that mission? To lay waste to all of Fiji? To make space for the British? In my short life the sandalwood tree has gone, chopped down and carried across the seas. Now they come for whales and the sea slug, soon these will be no more than a tale to tell our children. And what do we have in return? Tobacco and guns. A book that tells me to wear clothes, to not fish on Sunday. A book that says only it can show me the sky.’

  I had no answer that he would understand. My father had not the love for the Lord that I have. He knew not of the Almighty and His grand design.

  ‘Stay,’ he said.

  I did not have to reply because he knew the answer. He did not ask again. He did not cry, nor get angry. Instead he walked to the edge of the cove, picked up two, fist-size rocks from on top of the taboo boulder, and waded into the mouth of the inlet until the sea was about his waist.

  And he sang, an ancient song I did not understand, the words and their meaning lost long before my birth. He sang as though the rhythm of the waves kept his beat. He sang to the sun as though it were listening. When he stopped, and raised the stones above his head in the fashion of bringing them down upon his skull, I almost ran into the sea to save him from himself.

  But he clacked each stone against the other, a metronome for the tide as each wave broke on the sand, the sound echoing through the cove.

  Then, like a family would gather around their father, or subjects before their God, giant turtles circled. When they breached the surface, they lifted their prehistoric heads from the sea, as though in reverence to him who had called them from the deep.

  20 June 1835

  Two days ago we touched ashore at Rewa. Though the sea journey was more tiresome than troublesome, a Fijian canoe is far from the luxury of the Caroline. On several instances, when larger waves broke over the bows and threatened to swamp the bailers, the helmsman tossed whale’s teeth into the water to abate the swell. The Rev. Thomas had shaken his head, snickered ‘Preposterous’, and offered a prayer that he said ‘would actually be heard and not sunk to the depths’.

  We approached the village by paddling up the Rewa River, the biggest in all of Fiji, tumbling down from the Nakauvadra Range and snaking a maze of narrow tributaries through a delta of mangroves and villages.

  News of our arrival had preceded us, and the banks thronged with locals shouting and waving – a most cheering sight.

  On shore we were greeted by several principal men of King Tanoa, who merrily bid us welcome and escorted us to the fort. The king, an old man without the glowing countenance or physical prowess of King Nayau of Lakemba, saw it fit that a mission be granted upon his shores.

  The Rev. Thomas, fast becoming a capable speaker of Fijian, has been more than involved in the construction of our residence, though he did cause some debate among the carpenters on his choice of location, not understanding – or not wanting to – that a hill is a poor position for a house, as all supplies and fresh water will have to be carried up to his kitchen.

  21 June 1835

  Again the Rev. Thomas used the story of Noah to excite his congregation, reciting much of it in Fijian. A gathering of nearly two hundred were suitably moved, with several scores pledging their souls.

  I believe the rev. has been most charged in his autonomy of the mission, and also the importance that has been bestowed upon him by the king and his subjects. Already he has a small group of followers that gather about him like a flock of sheep would a shepherd.

  23 June 1835

  Even before our arrival, Bithi, the second brother of the king, had been sick for several days, and this morning, the Rev. Thomas was summoned to pray over his dying body.

  The king, hoping that a last-minute conversion of his brother would grant a pardon from death, begged his brother to give his soul to ‘the God of the white man’. Luckily for the reverend, Bithi would not swear allegiance to Jehovah. He reasoned that those he loved before the coming of the white man had died without knowing God and would be in a different heaven. Therefore, if he now became Christian he would be a Fijian without friends in the afterlife.

  I say luckily, as Bithi soon took his final breath in the arms of his brother, a fate I doubt would have been different even with a last-minute conversion, thus saving the reverend from a circus test of his ‘powers’.

  24 June 1835

  All night the wives have wailed for the death of their husband. His body has been bathed, dressed and decorated as though he is about to stand before a great assembly. His skin has been daubed with soot, and white cloth bound around his temple. A club is fixed in his fist so that he may hold the rank of a chief and warrior even in death. Friends and chiefs of various tribes along the Rewa River have visited to present the gift of whales’ teeth and pay their respects. His wives, who have volunteered their death so they too may travel with their husband to the underworld, begged at the feet of King Tanoa to be strangled.

  I implored the Rev. Thomas to intercede, to save these women from what ignorance and tradition has taught them. To my utter surprise, the reverend refused, insisting that those who have ‘heard the words of God and remained deaf, are doomed to follow Satan into his fiery depths’.

  He then observed the ceremony of immolation as though sitting at a theatre, but with neither grief nor anger aroused upon his face as the murderous cord was in turn fastened about each wretched wife and pulled tight until she was left a breathless corpse.

  27 June 1835

  Now the wives lie beneath the earth, for ever beside the husband they followed to the grave, I have gathered enough Christian forgiveness to be civil to Rev. Thomas, a man with enough authority to have at least attempted the halting of this senseless murder.

  Prepared to reconcile our differences over the affair, I was stunned by his reaction when I merely questioned his impotence before the death ceremony. He instantly turned to rage, stating in no uncertain terms that although we were on the soil of my country, I still owed a debt to England and the Mission Society, and that ultimately, I was still an employee expected to follow instructions.

  1 July 1835

  Since the row I have attended the needs of the Rev. Thomas with solemn respect and obedience. I should understand that he acts in the name of God, and if I too wish to consider myself one of his acolytes, I must follow his instructions without question.

  Again he has declared that he should tutor the maidens, while I the men. A small schoolhouse is under construction farther up the hill, a site backing on to thick bush, and again his choosing.

  2 July 1835

  Unlike King Nayau of Lakemba, King Tanoa
bows to none other than himself, and therefore a conversion to Christianity is but his choice alone. Whilst he listens with great keenness to the tales of Jesus Christ and his miracles, he only hears them as fables, not fact.

  He also wishes to know of England, but prefers this discourse with the reverend, as I, who could be called upon to vouch for his words, am still one of his subjects, and must not upstage his majesty by boasting of my travels.

  5 July 1835

  The schoolhouse is complete. My first class proved too numerous to seat, with men crowded at the windows in wont of instruction. It is with great joy that I help my brothers begin to read and write, for I had quite forgotten the wonder and simplicity of attaching sound to symbol. That one can look at a printed page, and hear words, the very essence of another being, or God Himself, has been nothing short of the revelation it deserves.

  Later in the afternoon, I took a walk along the bank of the estuary and came across a huddle of boys gathered around something on the shore. Due to the zeal of their faces, I thought some oddity of the deep had been washed up, when in fact their attention was held by a single letter A scratched into the sand.

  9 July 1835

  Naraqino, the youngest brother of King Tanoa, has returned to Rewa after a royal visit of the outlying islands. He had already heard news of our arrival from some Lakembans at Kandavu, and wished immediately to meet the rev. and myself.

  In the hope that his reputation of warrior and thug had been exaggerated, I refrained from describing him to the rev. prior to our meeting. But before Naraqino had even opened his mouth, it was apparent to us both that he had not the gravity or wisdom of his elder brother. Naraqino is a man constantly armed with a club or mace – protection most necessary, as I understand he has many enemies sworn to revenge. His face bears the scars of battle like a mottled coconut, with a recent gash the work of his deceased brother Bithi, who struck out at Naraqino in the dead of night, fearing his sibling had come to murder him in his bed. Naraqino, overpowered by Bithi, swore he was in the hut as a bodyguard, insisting he had heard whispers of an assassination and merely wished to protect his brother – second in line to the throne, the one son between himself and all of Fiji.

  The ‘conversation’ between Naraqino, his cackling cohorts, the rev. and myself, could hardly be called as such. Naraqino either mocked my clothes or manner – at one point taking my jacket and walking about the hut in a stiff and grotesque mimic of a white man – or challenged the rev. to prove his God was greater with some instant miracle.

  The Rev. Thomas, offended and angered by Naraqino, realised he was not a man to debate, and sought the counsel of the king. Hearing of his brother’s disrespect brought an immediate apology, but no action. Judging by the increased number of men stationed at the fort, I wonder how much command King Tanoa has over his errant sibling.

  10 July 1835

  Wisely choosing the arrival of Naraqino as time for a tour upriver, the rev. and I will journey by canoe and preach to the smaller villages towards the interior.

  Our presence antagonises the followers of Naraqino, and a trip away for several days may give chance for them to accept our being in Rewa.

  12 July 1835

  Rev. Thomas preached to a subdued village this afternoon, and was greatly dismayed to hear that he was not the first white man to stand upon their soil. The nervous reception of our party stemmed from the actions of those who had been before us, the infamous Swede, Charles Savage, and his fellow escaped convicts. The chief told us that Bau and Rewa had existed in peace until the arrival of Savage and his men, who had washed up upon their shores after fleeing gaol in New South Wales. They landed with more muskets than men, and often slaughtered at will, wiping out the entire population of Kasavu for no other reason than target practice. Ultimately the vagabonds quarrelled with each other and butchered themselves, though Savage was killed and eaten at Wailea for refusing to part with his clothes. Sail needles were fashioned from his bones. But not before he had shared his guns with various chiefs, waging war between the villages as though it were a game to appease his boredom.

  The rev. attempted to show the congregation that the Lord knew of their suffering, and declared that no murderer escapes the wrath of God: ‘On the day this man stood to be judged, know that the flames in Hell burned higher with one more wicked soul upon the fire.’

  But it was not a day for conversions, and we did not sleep the night, as our crew feared that those who had lost family to the men of Savage might seek retribution by way of the reverend.

  13 July 1835

  Paddling back to Rewa we passed several abandoned villages. Never have I seen such a miserable scene, the leafless frames of the homes like rotting skeletons. The men told us that these were places the convicts had lived, and the people had welcomed the escapees into their homes, thinking it better to sleep with the enemy than have him knocking down their doors. Whilst Savage and his men had waged war on those beyond the borders of the village, their foreign maladies had killed those within. When the population of one parish had diminished they moved on, murdering foes with musket balls, and allies with disease.

  I thank the Lord He has allowed us to bring the message of love and salvation to these slighted people.

  14 July 1835

  We return to Rewa and the glad tidings that Naraqino has crossed the river back to his residence in Bau.

  15 July 1835

  Fair weather enabled the rev. to preach outside this morning, as a canopy of cloud meant it was cool enough to praise the Lord directly beneath Heaven. His lungs filled with breeze fresh from the Pacific, the rev. was in mid-sermon when several rocks, flung from the cover of bushes higher up the hillside, rained about his person. The congregation gave chase, but the stone- throwers fled deep into the trees. Though the identities of the culprits are unknown, many suspect followers of Naraqino.

  Praise be that no rocks struck the rev. or those gathered to hear the words of God.

  18 July 1835

  While no more missiles have disturbed the daily service, the numbers attending have dramatically dropped – more fearful of the immediate menaces of Naraqino than an eternity of damnation.

  19 July 1835

  In a stroll along the beach this morning I was surprised to discover a crudely drawn diagram of a woman carved in the sand, with her reproductive parts clearly labelled – though spelled incorrectly. While I have focused on building the basics of grammar, it appears the rev. has begun with the vocabulary of our bodies. I have sought his advice before on my curriculum, and also asked if it would not be a valuable lesson if I were to observe his methods. His forthright reply was that any male observer on his female class would be a distraction, and that I was now a schoolmaster capable enough of supervising my own instruction.

  21 July 1835

  Last night the rev. drank so much port that I had to undress him and put him to bed myself. Whether he will recall this episode in the morning is doubtful.

  The Society permits all reverends a provision of fortified wine to temper both the physical and mental trials of missionary life, but I have long feared that this prescription does more harm than good – particularly with the Rev. Thomas.

  Once he was fast asleep, snoring quite like a fat sow, I inspected his cask in the hope of calculating how much he had consumed. But I could not measure the amount imbibed, as there was not a drop left!

  After I blew out the candle to retire to my own quarters, I heard the rustle of an intruder beyond the reed fence. I waited fast against the wall beside the window waiting to pounce. Once the rascal climbed into the room I sprang, clutching him about the neck and pulling us both to the floor. Only the him was a her! When I demanded, ‘Who are you?’ she shrieked and swore the rev. had told her to come. ‘Lies,’ I declared. But before I had chance for further interrogation she bit my finger clean to the bone and escaped, stealing back into the night from where she had come.

  It is morning now, and when the rev. wakes, sore head or
not, I shall tell him of this breach of his room and the fortune of my presence to keep him safe from harm.

  22 July 1835

  I decided not to enlighten the rev. on the intruder, as such an incident involving a female attacker could be misconstrued as an act of impropriety. The rev. is a shining example of duty to God, the holiness of celibacy. This image must not be shamed by misunderstanding or malicious gossip.

  24 July 1835

  This sabbath the rev. made his most concerted effort yet to convert King Tanoa. Services have been thinly attended since the stone-throwing ambush, and rumour has it that Naraqino and his thugs have been fording the river and crossing into Rewa to threaten the Christians. Unless King Tanoa converts, and takes action upon his pagan brother, the intimidation of Naraqino could drive us from the island.

  The Rev. thus gave his most animated recount of the crucifixion yet, warning that those ‘who turn from God turn to Satan, trust themselves to flame and pain for all eternity’. The fearful sermon shook all but the king, who sat resolutely in his heathenism, steadily diminishing a pile of bananas that had been peeled by his wives. When the rev. called forth ‘those souls wishing to pledge themselves to the one true God’, the king stood, turned his back and returned to his hut.

  Today not one of the congregation swore their allegiance to Jehovah.

  25 July 1835

  King Tanoa summoned the rev. and myself to his quarters, and confessed that he believed the God of the white man was probably true, and that our ships and guns were testament to His superior powers. But for such a leader as himself to ‘sleep beneath the fin of a white man like a whale calf would its mother’, is untenable. ‘It would be message to my subjects that I had rolled over and died at your feet.’

  I did not speak, but I wanted to tell him that the moment Dutch explorer Abel Tasman sighted the shores of Vanua Levu and Tavenui, Fiji had been for ever changed. No longer were we hidden from the rest of the world. No longer did the sun rise in Tonga and set in Fiji.