Sister of the Sun

by Coleman, Clare;

  "You wish to learn?" she asked the younger sailor. His eyebrows rose with interest. "I will ask Paruru to teach you," she promised, glad that she had found a way to please him.

  When the applause died down, soot-smeared cooks appeared at the edge of the assembly ground. "Let us feast!" shouted Tepua, rising. At her signal the crowd dispersed, boys and men heading to one side, girls and women to the other. Paruru came forward to guide the visitors to their places of honor among the men.

  Paruru noted how Kiore's gaze lingered on Tepua as she left to join the women's feast. He did not blame the foreigner. In her cape and feathered crown she was a lovely sight. But Paruru knit his brows when he recalled the reports he had heard from her guards. There was too much friendliness between this pair.

  Paruru refused to believe what some people whispered— that Tepua might take the outsider as her lover. If she took any man, it should be the one who had brought her back from Tahiti and had protected her ever since.

  "Come this way," the kaito-nui said, guiding the visitors through the throng. The two seemed puzzled by the arrangements. "Men eat with men, women with women," Paruru told them. "Is it not that way in your land?"

  He and Nika had been learning to communicate, with words of each man's language and with signs. But Nika's reply so shocked Paruru that he believed he had misunderstood. Men and women sharing the same food! No, that defied all good sense, and mocked the teachings of the gods.

  He led the guests to their places, each well separated from the next. Bowls of seawater and coconut sauce lay beside little mats that had been quickly woven from fara leaves. The servers began to distribute the portions—leaf-wrapped parrot fish and cod, baked taro and greens, and large helpings of the atoll's mainstay—meat of the pahua or giant clam.

  Paruru had watched with dismay how the foreigners dealt with the food brought to their vaka. Now he endeavored to give them a quick lesson in manners. "First we wash," he said, ordering a server to pour well water over each man's hands. "Now watch how I use my fingers. Before eating, I offer a morsel to the spirits....."

  Kiore made an attempt to follow Paruru's lead while Nika grabbed carelessly at the food, dropping pieces in his lap. The kaito-nui had expected no more. Nika was like one of the wild birds that some men tried to tame. He was strong and arrogant, unwilling to submit to rules made by others.

  Yet Paruru sensed that the younger man might ultimately provide him the knowledge he sought. Of the two sailors, Nika took a stronger interest in weapons and fighting, and he seemed to enjoy Paruru's company. With patience, the warrior thought he might bring Nika under his influence. When Nika finally understood the need to protect the atoll against raiders, Paruru would ask him for the secret of the weapon.

  With these hopes, the kaito-nui unleashed his own hearty appetite. From time to time he glanced at the two sailors, who were seizing whole small fish, digging their fingers into chunks of bonito, eating steamed oysters from their shells. The only dish they left untouched was the raw meat of pahua.

  Paruru urged the foreigners to try it. He showed them how to dip the meat in seawater, then in fermented coconut sauce to enhance the delicate flavor. He was pleased to see that Nika made the first attempt to follow his lead, warily taking a bite, pausing to savor the taste, then licking his lips. When Nika reached for his second piece, Kiore seemed to view this as a challenge. Slowly, and with determination, the light-haired sailor began to chew. A few people around him exchanged approving looks. "The food of our land is good," they murmured.

  After the leavings of the feast had been cleaned up, and everyone had rested, the drums started up again. Hastily the audience assembled around the clearing. Paruru led the guests back to their places by Tepua and took a seat beside them. "The dancing begins," he announced with pleasure.

  Both guests leaned forward to watch a group of lithe young women, arms outstretched, chins held high, race onto the assembly ground. Wearing skirts of swaying fiber strands and necklaces of flowers, they began to roll their hips to a slow drumbeat. Paruru was less interested in the dancers than in how the foreigners would react to them. He noticed that Nika's attention remained fixed on the performers, but Kiore's kept straying to Tepua. And worse—she kept glancing back at him!

  In disgust, Paruru turned away. How was it possible that she preferred this overdressed buffoon to her own kaito-nui? The drummers picked up their pace, but he scarcely noticed the change. He paid little heed as one group of dancers departed and another came on.

  Then a hand on his shoulder jolted him from his daze. He looked up at his warrior Two-eels and suddenly remembered about his own performance. Hastily he made his way through the crowd to the place where he had left his costume.

  Two-eels helped him, settling the coconut-frond headdress into place, then rubbing Paruru's chest and back with oil. Finally Two-eels tied on the warrior's kilt, stiff, narrow leaves fanning out from Paruru's waist. As he hurried back to the clearing Paruru heard the drumming take up a fiercer rhythm.

  He felt his pride and confidence returning as he strutted to the center of the open area, flourishing a spear in each hand, rolling his eyes, showing his teeth in a snarling grimace. Not only was Paruru the kaito-nui. He was the best male dancer on the atoll.

  With a stamp, he halted and began to chant in a strong, clear voice. A chorus of warriors answered him back.

  "What wood, O gods, is the best for a spear?" he sang out. "Is it the wood of the coconut?"

  "No, a spear made from coconut will split," answered the chorus.

  "Is it the white wood of the fara?"

  "No, a spear made from white fara will rot."

  Paruru drew himself up and raised his arms high for the final refrain. "Then here is the hard red heartwood of the fara. From this I will make my spear. A spear to thrust with delight!"

  Everyone joined in on the last chorus. "A spear straight and strong. A double-pointed spear. A weapon to thrust with delight!"

  A roar of approval came from the onlookers as the drumbeat switched to the pace of the warrior's dance, the hipa. Paruru now stood directly in front of Tepua, and he saw from her widened eyes that he had gained her attention. He took up his difficult dancing position, his arms extended to balance the two spears that lay across them. His palms were down, his hands opening and closing with the same rhythm as his step.

  Paruru kicked out with his right foot as his left came down flat with a heavy thump. He repeated the step, moving to his right in a slow circle, all the while keeping the spears in place across his forearms.

  At last, as he completed his circuit, his gaze met Tepua's. He watched her lips part and the look of understanding come in her eyes. Now Paruru did not care if the whole crowd saw it. He was dancing only for her. Just as the tropic bird wooed its mate, he was showing off his strength and agility. He was strutting for the eyes of the ariki, for the eyes of the woman he wanted to please.

  The intensity of Paruru's performance surrounded Tepua, making her breathless. His body gleamed like the polished red wood of his weapons. Every move was controlled, perfect, as he went around several times in one direction, then in the other. His black eyes kept seeking her. She understood their message. Her body and spirit cried out to respond.

  But she caught herself. She had told the elders that there would be no man for her here. Not Paruru. Not anyone else. She pressed her lips together and tried not to meet his gaze....

  At the end of his performance, the kaito-nui wiped sweat from his brow as he received the adulation of the crowd. Then, as was customary, he issued a challenge. "Who will try it?" he called. Several young men came forward to show their own renditions of the dance. The crowd cheered each in turn, but no one could match Paruru's grace and power.

  Tepua noticed Kiore eyeing the contest with growing interest. Soon her guest turned to her and said, "I try." She was startled by his offer.

  "Sailors dance," he insisted. "I show."

  She glanced uncertainly at the people around her
, wondering how they would react to the foreigner's offer. "Send him out," called Ehi, who was seated close enough to have heard Kiore's request.

  "Yes, let him dance," came other voices.

  "No drums," Kiore said. This puzzled Tepua further, but she ordered the drummers silent. Then Nika reached into his garments and drew out a little tube that was the thickness of his finger.

  Tepua leaned closer and saw what resembled a smaller version of the nose flutes played in Tahiti. Instead of blowing from a nostril, Nika placed the instrument at his lips, producing notes that were surprisingly loud and shrill. Then he paused, waiting for his companion to step to the fore.

  Kiore stood up and began to remove his tiputa, pulling it over his head. Underneath, Tepua suddenly realized, he was bare-chested! From every quarter came a hissing of indrawn breath.

  Kiore seemed to grasp that people were curious about the body that he usually kept covered. Tepua glimpsed his flush of embarrassment as he threw the tiputa aside. Glancing once at the curious faces, Kiore squared his well-muscled shoulders and strode forward to stand before the crowd.

  Tepua recalled tales that were repeated about foreigners. It was true, she saw, that his skin was pale where screened from sun by clothing. His arms were thick and corded, his waist surprisingly slender.

  As for thick pelts, the reports were obviously false. On his broad chest she saw only wispy swirls. He bore no tattoos, but the curling patterns of light-colored hair down ' his chest almost made up the lack.

  Now Paruru came forward carrying the spears, and made a sign for Kiore to hold out his arms. But the sailor waved him away. "Different dance," he said. He called to his companion, who began playing his flute again.

  The melody was lively, but totally unlike anything Tepua had heard before. Kiore launched into a step that left everyone breathless. He folded his arms across his chest, then crouched and began to kick his legs out from that difficult position.

  Seeing such an outlandish display, the onlookers grinned. Meanwhile Paruru glanced about in bewilderment He had issued a challenge, but the foreigner had cheated him by starting his own performance. Tepua felt a momentary sympathy for the warrior as she watched him retreat from the center of the clearing. Poor Paruru! In an instant he had been forgotten.

  From behind her, she heard cries of people who wanted to try the sailor's step. A few came forward, then more, children and even elders joining in behind Kiore. They quickly discovered that the foreign dance was not easy. People tripped over their own ankles and went sprawling. They accidentally kicked each other, backed into each other, and fell down.

  Tepua watched Ehi, mat skirt flying, breasts and rump bouncing, necklace threatening to fly off. She laughed until her sides ached. Then Kiore left the field and came before her. "You try?" he asked. "Different one."

  His suggestion, she realized, had not gone unnoticed. Many faces turned to watch as Tepua hesitated. But she was ariki, one who must excel in all things. As a girl, she had won renown for dancing. How could she refuse him?

  She put aside her cape and headdress, and heard a murmur of approval from the onlookers. She let Kiore take her left hand in his right, and they walked into a clear space that the crowd made for them. The new step was far easier, involving a heel-and-toe movement, but no deep bending of the knees. Soon they were bouncing together to Nika's piping. Kiore called "Come dance," to the onlookers, holding out his free hand, and Maukiri eagerly clasped it. Then a bold little girl took Maukiri's free hand and the line began to grow.

  What a strange and exciting rhythm the little flute produced! Nika, usually so dour, beamed with pleasure as he played. But Kiore was the one who held her attention— his fingers warm against hers, the musky scent of his body, the glow in his eyes when the late rays of afternoon sunlight caught them. The dance went on and on, the line growing, then spiraling inward so that others could find places. At last almost everyone in the crowd joined the merriment.

  Breathless from exertion and laughter, Kiore finally stopped. He bent over, resting his hands on his thighs while he gulped air. The others quit soon, breaking up into small groups and drifting away. Night was coming on. Some revelers headed home while others lingered, talking and joking.

  Tepua watched as a group of stout and matronly women—grandmothers every one—crowded toward Kiore. She stepped aside to leave him with his admirers. "Look at those thick arms," shouted one. "How the muscles show beneath the skin!"

  "Feel that thigh!"

  "His shoulder!"

  She saw Kiore straighten up, startled. He began to look alarmed as more women grabbed at him, putting their hands on his calves and feeling the corded muscles of his forearms. He yelped when someone evidently poked at a sensitive place.

  Tepua stepped closer. With a sharp clap she ordered the women to let him go. They dispersed, grumbling among themselves, complaining of weakling husbands and lazy sons at home. Kiore, with an odd grin, turned to face Tepua. "The big ladies ..."he began, but then seemed lost for words.

  "They are old," Tepua said with a laugh. "Sometimes we let them do as they please. It is not much fun for them looking after grandchildren all day. Do the grandmothers of your land enjoy seeing strong, young men?''

  "Strong?" He seemed to ponder her question. Then he puffed out his chest and strutted around a bit. "Yes. Crowds go. To watch ..."

  "Then that is a way our people are like yours." When a look of amusement showed in his eyes, she had an urge to embrace him, but with so many people watching she did not dare. Worse yet, she noticed Paruru gazing toward her unhappily. Going up to her kaito-nui, she spoke a few friendly words, trying to ease his glum expression.

  How strangely things had turned out. Both Kiore and Paruru were competing for her favor—and with everyone watching! She resolved to discourage both men without making them angry. She wanted Paruru and Kiore to be friends. Somehow she must end this foolish rivalry.

  "Come," she called to the attendants who stood behind her. These young women, too, had been dancing; their faces gleamed with perspiration. "I am ready to go home."

  The attendants followed her with evident reluctance. Later, Tepua knew, they would slip away to meet their lovers and dance again on the moonlit shore.

  With a twinge of regret she recalled the nights of her own youth—when she had been forced to remain inside with her chaperon while the sounds of music and laughter drifted to her from the beach. Now it must be the same again. She had made her decision. If she took a lover, it would mean one more entanglement here, one more reason to stay.

  She followed the path along the shore, hearing the drumbeat begin again. Tightening her fist, she tried not to envy the others.

  NINE

  In the days that followed, Tepua was gratified to see how well people took to the foreigners. All the important families wanted them as guests; each day the sailors received new invitations.

  Sometimes Tepua attended these small gatherings, watching with keen attention whenever the newcomers offered to entertain their hosts. In their early visits, the men showed only the chants and dance steps of their fellow sailors. Later they began to act out scenes from life in their own land.

  In one instance, Kiore played the part of an animal that was big enough for a man to ride on. Nika, straddling his back, wielded an imaginary stick. Kiore made sounds through his nostrils, shook his head wildly, and finally tossed Nika to the ground. This performance proved so popular that every child on the island wanted to try it.

  Almost every day, Tepua spent time with Kiore, gradually teaching him her language, and learning words of his. She also kept up her visits to Kohekapu, whose condition seemed little changed despite all the effort of healers.

  Suddenly her routine was interrupted by a message from Cone-shell. He invited Tepua to visit him, promising a grand welcome. She talked to the priests and elders to ask their opinions.

  "Kohekapu will be the same when you get back," said one. "He will not complain if you leave for a few days."r />
  "The foreigners are no trouble," said another. "Paruru's men can look after them.''

  Tepua was less than eager to see Cone-shell, expecting him to renew his demands for the foreign goods. Nor did she care to give up Kiore's engaging company. But the prospect of seeing Umia again drew her to accept Cone-shell's offer. She decided to visit Heka first, to see what advice Piho's chiefess might give.

  "Come,'' said Heka to Tepua as they stood on the lagoon side of Heka's islet and gazed at the calm, blue-gray water. "The tide is out and the air is cool. A good morning for walking on the reef."

  "It is a good time for walking," Tepua agreed, wishing she could put aside her worries about the chiefhood. She glanced up at white clouds hiding the sun and patches of sky showing through. The faint breeze was refreshing. Some exercise might help clear her thoughts.

  Heka's servants brought sandals made of the white inner bark of hibiscus. Tepua generally had no use for such comforts; the soles of her feet had been toughened by years of walking over rough terrain. But she knew how a chief must act. She stepped into the ropy, thick-soled sandals and strode down toward the water.

  "Where we are going," said Heka in a low voice, "there will be no chance for anyone to overhear." Heka's well-fleshed legs did not seem to slow her down as she splashed through the shallows, following the shoreline. Tepua walked beside her, enjoying the feel of cool water. The air smelled moist and briny.

  Followed by servants, the two women rounded a point of land. Here woody mikimiki grew almost to the water's edge; the shore was covered with white, fist-size chunks of smoothed coral. Tepua felt the breeze stiffen as she came around the bend.

  They had reached the extremity of the islet, and now Tepua had a clear view seaward. As the wind ruffled her hair she watched breakers crashing against the distant reef, rising in columns of foam. Above the wave tops, birds swooped and cried.