She was not sure which was more amusing—the cleverness of the fastening or the gentle tickling of his fingers as he worked. Then he lifted his fingers to her neck. One fastening had been left open. He started to do it, then paused.
His fingertips lingered on her skin, then slowly glided up the sides of her neck. Little shivers ran down to her shoulders. As she looked in his face the color of his eyes seemed to change. They had been light and playful, but now the color shifted, like the azure hue of the lagoon, growing more intense as one gazed into greater depths....
In Kiore's face she saw a kind of beauty unlike any she had ever known. She wanted to tell him so in all the liquid poetry of her language. But she held back, knowing that he would hear only wordless babbling.
There was another way to speak, the language of hands. As she looked into his eyes she put her palms to his cheeks. Gently she drew them together across his face. She felt the brush of his blond lashes and the soft skin beneath his eyes. At last her thumbs rested together on his upper lip, her fingers meeting across the bridge of his nose.
Then she took her hands away, showing how they met at an angle, hoping he would understand. Your face is like the edge of a great rock that fronts the sea. It looks as if it can withstand anything.
She felt her stomach give a jump when she realized that he was pleased. A warmth like a sunbeam shone in the blue-green depths of his eyes.
Then he put his hands gently to her face, but instead of starting at the sides, as she had done, he laid his fingers together where the bridge of her nose dished in slightly. His fingers were rough with calluses, yet he moved them with care and tenderness. He paused to stroke her eyelashes and he did not have to speak to make her feel that they were as long and black as tropic bird feathers. He traced the arch of her brow, then let his fingertips travel over the flare of her nostrils.
Speech might lie, but touch could not. He, too, had found beauty in a face that was new to him. She trembled inside at the way he paused for a moment on the plane of her cheekbones.
Finally, he slid his hands behind her neck and began to draw her face toward his. She leaned toward him, eager to feel the warm silkiness of her nose sliding against his. But he hesitated, as if afraid that the gesture was not permitted.
Tepua had seen every woman on the beach vie to give him an embrace. "It is not tapu," she said. Kiore smiled and seemed to forget his caution. He bent closer...but something went wrong. Instead of pressing nose against nose, he touched lip against lip!
So strange was the sensation that Tepua gave a muffled cry, pulling away from him. He let her go just as the guards came running, their long spears ready to strike. "It is nothing," she shouted to the men while she struggled to regain her composure. She waved the guards back, then touched her finger to her mouth, remembering the hot, moist pressure that had startled her. What an odd way of showing affection!
"Not good?" Kiore asked her, raising pale, bushy brows. If the guards' appearance had frightened him, he seemed only mildly frustrated now. In the glitter of his eyes she thought she even detected a certain amusement.
"You surprised me," she answered. She felt her face warming under his stare. In truth, the touching of lips had not been unpleasant. "Come," she said, "let us keep walking."
The garment remained on her shoulders, and she made no attempt to take it off. In fact, she was unsure how to unfasten it. The cloth pressed softly against her breasts, producing a faint tingle as she led him farther inland. Kiore strode beside her, but his earlier playful mood seemed dampened.
"Do you see that clump of trees ahead?" she asked in a mischievous tone. "When we get there, the guards will not be able to see us." She did not know if he understood. But when they reached the shadows and she felt well hidden, she turned and faced him, putting her hand lightly against his arm.
A momentary doubt stopped her. Then she remembered her resolve—to learn his customs as well as teach him her own. A smile played on his lips. "Tepua-mua," he whispered. "Tepua-mua-ariki." Then he spoke in his own language, words she could not grasp. Yet they made her want to step closer still. She brought her mouth to his and tried to repeat the foreign kiss.
Now it was Kiore's turn to act surprised. He threw his head back and shouted with delight. Then he put his arms about her, lifted her off the ground, and whirled her once around. "The guards!" she warned.
A moment later she and Kiore were standing chastely apart. "Now I will show you the taro pits," she said in a controlled voice as she glanced toward Paruru's oncoming men. "It is not easy to make vegetables grow on these islands. Coconuts and fara take care of themselves, but taro needs hard work. I want you to remember that when you enjoy the good food from our ovens."
When they returned to her house, Tepua was still wearing Kiore's garment."I will give you another," she told him as they stood outside. She sent a servant to bring the best tiputa from her stores. Proudly she held out the rectangle of finely plaited matting, and showed Kiore how to put his head through the hole in the center. The matting hung down in front and back and over his shoulders, though his arms, with their fine cloth covering, made an odd contrast sticking out.
Kiore seemed pleased with the gift, turning around so that everyone could see it. A large crowd of children had gathered; they began capering with their arms stuck out to imitate his. Tepua watched with a sense of happiness she had not felt for many days.
It was with reluctance that she sent her visitor back to his guesthouse. She knew he could not learn any more this day. He had to go back to make marks in his "puk" so that he could remember what she had taught him.
Maukiri, who had been watching with great amusement, came forward and studied Tepua's new garb. "I am glad to see this," her cousin said with a sly grin as she stroked the cloth on Tepua's arm. "Now you will not chide me about spending my time with foreigners."
"Chide you?" Tepua had almost forgotten her earlier displeasure with Maukiri, but now her anger threatened to flare again. "I think you are mistaken about my interest. I am teaching Kiore our customs and he is teaching me his. Do not make too much of that."
Maukiri's grin grew wider. "Good. Then you will not mind showing me how to wear this." Her fingers ran past the round bits of shell that held the garment closed.
Tepua laughed at her cousin's boldness. It was impossible to stay angry at her for long. "Come with me, away from here," Tepua offered, "and then I will show you."
"Away?"
She turned, gazing at the crowd of onlookers."I am tired of being a spectacle!" Tepua lowered her voice. "Let us go to Ata-ruru."
"But you are chief now. Do you think we two can still go off by ourselves, in that leaky vaka!'
"I am chief, and that is what I wish." She bent to whisper in Maukiri's ear. "I will even open my own coconuts when we get there."
Maukiri's eyes sparkled. "If that is your wish, ariki, then I will go with you."
Tepua had some difficulty persuading the guards to stay home. Finally they seemed to relent, but while she was paddling, Tepua glanced back and saw war canoes following far behind. She scowled, hoping that they would not come closer.
"You are slowing down, cousin," said Maukiri, who dropped all pretense of servility when they were alone.
Tepua tried to paddle harder. She did not wish to admit that the sun beating down on Kiore's garment made her feel like a pig baking in an umu. When Maukiri paused for a rest, Tepua tried to open the fastenings, but the holes had closed up and the shells would no longer fit through.
"You want to take it off?" asked Maukiri from behind. "Turn around so I can help you."
"There is no need, cousin."
They paddled awhile longer, until Tepua's back ran with sweat. Still she refused Maukiri's aid. At last they made their way past the coral heads and landed on the beach of Ata-ruru.
Tepua's throat was dry and her tongue parched. She found a pair of drinking nuts and handed one to Maukiri. When their thirst was satisfied, Maukiri offered once more t
o help with the fastenings. Seated before Tepua, she twisted and pulled, but quickly lost patience.
Then Maukiri picked up the shell-bladed knife that was used for puncturing coconuts. "I know an easy way to do this," she said. "Remember the tale of Maui-the-elder and the string figures?"
Tepua, in her discomfort, recalled the tale of that wandering hero. He was once challenged by an expert in the string art to name the figures as they were made. Maui succeeded time and again, until he saw a design that he could not recognize. The sly Maui avoided defeat by slicing through the cords with his knife, destroying the pattern.
Now Maukiri cut away the topmost shell and let it drop to the ground. She cut away the second, allowing a hint of breeze to reach Tepua's throat. "I think you are enjoying this, cousin," Tepua said in an accusing tone. "You want to destroy this fine thing that Kiore gave me."
Maukiri stopped her work and stood back. "Do you have another way?"
Tepua looked down and noticed that the third hole had opened slightly. "I think there is a trick here, and a simple one at that." She took the disk between her fingers, twisted it one way and then another until she found she could slide its edge through the hole. The motion did not come easily to her fingers, but now she knew it could be done.
When the garment finally came off, Maukiri immediately snatched it up and thrust her arms through—the wrong way, of course. Now Tepua knew how ridiculous she had looked on her first try. She sat beneath a coconut tree and laughed until her eyes were wet.
"Enough play, cousin," Maukiri said finally, tossing the garment onto a bush while she joined Tepua in the shade. "Now you can tell me about this Kiore."
Tepua glanced at Maukiri. "Perhaps you know him better than I do. At least, in one way."
"Cousin, I was with the red-haired foreigner, Nika. We could not speak a word to each other. I want to know what land these men come from, what their women are like—"
"Tell me first who was with Kiore." At once Tepua wished she had not let out the question. Maukiri would draw the wrong conclusion.
"In the darkness I could not see. But since you won't tell me about your sailor, I will tell you about mine."
Tepua feigned a lack of interest. "I think we are misled by the strange clothing of these outsiders. They are not so different from other men."
Maukiri's eyes brightened and she leaned back, gazing into the distance. "Ah, Tepua. I am sure that Kiore will be glad to teach you otherwise. These outsiders do something that no man of our island has ever thought of. They press their lips here and there, very gently...." She gave her hips a little wriggle of delight.
Tepua felt a breath of hot air across her skin, but thought it must be the wind. She tried to force the memory from her mind—the memory of Kiore's mouth against hers—but she could not get rid of it. Her imagination filled in what Maukiri was hinting at, lips moving softly to her neck, her shoulders, her breasts....
"Enough talk of hanihani," Tepua protested. "You asked where the outsiders come from, and now I will tell you. Their island is called Piritania, and it is even larger than Tahiti. In a day and a night you cannot sail from one end of it to the other." Maukiri turned to stare at her in disbelief. "Yes, that is what he told me. And his high chief is named Kinga Kiore."
"How can that be?" asked Maukiri. "How can your foreigner bear the name of his chief?"
Tepua scowled. In all the lands she knew, the high chief's name was reserved for his own use. "Let us view this as a warning," she said. "These men do in their land what is forbidden in ours. They take what names they wish. Who knows what else is permitted them? I must teach Kiore our customs quickly and hope that he passes them on to Nika. Or perhaps I should let you teach Nika."
"If he will listen," Maukiri answered.
"He is young," said Tepua, "and wary of places that are strange to him. Kiore told me that this was Nika's first sea voyage, and that he did not find it to his liking."
"Now that he is on land again, perhaps he will be happy."
"I would like him to be," said Tepua thoughtfully. "It is my duty to keep these men out of trouble.
Maukiri's eyebrows raised. "Perhaps I can help."
"If you wish to spend time with Nika, you may."
"Noble chief, I did not expect you to give me such pleasant orders. Of course, I will obey." Maukiri lay back once more and looked dreamily up at the palm trees.
EIGHT
When Tepua returned with Maukiri, she found the preparations for the feast almost completed. The sun was still high, but a breeze offered some relief from the midday heat. Tepua hurried to her screened bathing area, where servants poured well water over her to rinse off the salt of the lagoon, then rubbed her with scented oil. While the young woman helped her don festive clothing, Tepua heard drums start to patter.
She moved her feet impatiently, in time to the rhythm, while attendants wrapped a mat skirt around her waist and tied it with the red sash that only chief's wore. Quickly her women brought the rest of her attire—the fringed cape, the ornaments, and the headpiece.
Her necklace was of pearl-shell disks, the gift from Kohekapu. Her headdress was a circlet of soft black feathers woven into a fara leaf band. At the front of the circlet, fiery red tropic bird feathers stood up, forming a high crown.
At last she was ready. A servant held out a shell, blackened inside and filled with water, so that Tepua could see her reflection. "Well done!" she said. "Maitaki!"
The regal headdress had also come from her father, and was too large for her, but she kept her head steady and hoped that the circlet would not slide down over her eyes. What a sight that would be for the crowd!
She walked slowly toward the gathering at the assembly ground, acknowledging the many cries of "Maeva ariki." When she reached the place of honor, she saw Kiore and Nika making their way toward her.
Kiore wore the tiputa she had given him. He looked freshly washed, his hair still damp, his face free of whiskers. He made a strange yet pleasing appearance as he approached.
Nika, on the other hand, offered little to please her eye. She found his coarse features and ruddy coloring unappealing. And worse, he made no effort to adapt to his surroundings. He still wore his foreign garb, including his round, battered headpiece. His one concession to local custom was the single large pearl shell that dangled across his chest. The shell was magnificent, an ornament fit for a chief. She could not guess what marvel he had given in exchange for it.
Kiore and Nika were seated on low stools beside Tepua, and then she took her higher stool. Nearby sat her closest kin and all the important men and women of Ahiku Clan—all but Kohekapu, who remained in the care of healers. Tepua nodded at Ehi, Maukiri, and several others. She regretted, however, the absence of Umia. She had sent a messenger to his uncle's islet far down the lagoon, but Umia had refused her invitation. If she wished to make peace with him, she knew now, she would have to visit Varoa Clan.
Tepua tried to direct her thoughts to the entertainment ahead of her. The crowd almost completely surrounded a large clearing, leaving only a small gap for the performers. Everyone grew quiet as the drumming announced the start of festivities. Beyond the clearing she saw fiercely dressed men gathering, hefting their double-ended spears.
Kiore seemed uneasy at the sight of the armed warriors. Quickly she tried to explain. "What you will see now is not real fighting. It is a display—to show the skill of our warriors. Do not fear." She mimed a demonstration of a man being felled and then rising.
"Those men?" He gestured in his foreign way, aiming an extended forefinger. She had been trying to teach him the proper way to point, with all fingers extended, but she did not correct him this time.
"Yes," she said. "First we show spear fighting. After that we eat, and then we dance."
"Dancing. Ah." Kiore spoke to Nika, who replied with a smile.
"What does your friend say?" asked Tepua.
"He asks—do women dance?"
"Certainly."
Nika
seemed pleased by that answer. Then she heard footsteps. Holding their spears high so that everyone could see the sharp points at both ends, eight men ran into the clearing. Their skins gleamed with sweat and coconut oil; their shadows were dark against the sandy ground.
The men split into two parties, each group taking the opposite end of the field. They were garbed in the warrior's maro, a loincloth of finely plaited matting that was tied with a cord winding six times around the waist. In addition each man wore half a split palm frond wrapped about his hips to form a fierce-looking kilt. Another split frond tied about the head made a spiked headdress. The crowd grew so quiet that Tepua could hear the stiff leaves of the costumes rattle.
She glanced at her guests for their reactions. Nika was staring with rapt attention while Kiore shifted restlessly on his seat. She hoped that the men had understood her explanation.
With a guttural yell, the attackers rushed the defenders. Feet pounded, coconut fronds shook. On one side, the squatting men waited until almost too late as the enemy advanced. Only when the attacking spear points came within an arm's length of their chests did the defenders leap up and cross spears with their opponents. The crack of wood striking wood resounded across the assembly ground.
The conflict rolled back and forth as each side shouted the traditional taunts and replies. The battle kilts fanned in a spread of sharply tipped leaves as the warriors jumped and whirled. Pieces of war dress broke off and were trampled underfoot.
At last the battle ended when the attackers fell, groaning as if mortally wounded. That is how we should deal with the Pu-tahi, Tepua thought while the onlookers pounded their thighs in approval. Alas, there was a vast difference between drills and real fighting. The Pu-tahi had proved that they could defeat her warriors, but Kiore and Nika need not learn that now. The display had clearly impressed them— especially Nika—and she did not wish to ruin the effect. The younger sailor was moving his arms as if he were thrusting a spear of his own.
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