Sister of the Sun

by Coleman, Clare;

  And now, here she was again, isolated by her high rank while others were free to celebrate under the lovers' moon. But this time there was a difference. She had no chaperon. No old woman was sitting here, telling her what to do....

  The drumming grew louder. The hard tok, tok of the slit-log drum sounded a frenzied rhythm. The deeper boom of the skinhead-drum beat with the pulsing of her blood. Her feet were already moving to the music.

  She knotted her fist. How could she stay inside while everyone else was dancing? She untied her red sash and flung off her fine skirt. Then she went to the servants' end of the house, where she found a coarsely made garment and wrapped it about her hips. Someone had discarded a wreath of beach vines. That would be good enough for her hair.

  There was little she could do to disguise her face, or her height. She would have to keep to the shadows if she did not wish to be recognized. The air inside her house suddenly seemed heavy with fumes from the burning copra. She could not wait to get into the fresh air under the stars.

  "I am going for a walk," she told the guards outside. The men were so busy gazing longingly down the beach that they merely grunted their assent. She hurried past them, hearing the drums grow louder, feeling her feet picking up the steps of the dance.

  She did not seek a partner, but kept to the edge of the crowd, stopping under the shadow of an overhanging ironwood tree. The drummers were so close now that she could feel each beat as if her own skin were being struck.

  Her hips began swaying of their own accord, keeping time to the wild beat, while her arms and hands made graceful figures in the air. She breathed deeply, catching scents of flowers and perfumed oil from the other dancers. And behind the sweetness lay other scents—musky hints of growing desire.

  Tepua watched the other dancers, many close to her own age. In the light of the low crescent moon she saw faces aglow with excitement. Perspiration gleamed on backs and thighs and chests. Now and again an exhausted dancer would stagger to a halt, then extend a hand to his or her partner. Then the couple would hurry off to find a quiet nest for themselves.

  Tepua was content, for now, just to abandon herself to the music. In Tahiti she had grown used to dancing every day, practicing her skills for the Arioi performances. Long before that she had danced among her own people—but never with a partner, and never out of sight of her chaperons.

  She knew that she might find Kiore here. The sailor was back from the islet he had visited during the time of mourning. On his return yesterday she had greeted him coolly and sent him off with White-sea. She had not cared to hear him talk excitedly of canoe-masters' lore.

  Now she kept looking here and there among the dancers, expecting to see him. The words he had said once—that he wanted no woman but Tepua—meant nothing now. She could not blame him for seeking other company.

  The drumming continued as Tepua advanced slowly along the beach. The dancers were fewer here, all moving with the grace of long practice. Even from a distance she thought she would recognize Kiore. Perhaps he had already found his companion for the night.

  At last she was alone, far from the crowd, dancing on wet sand by the water's edge. Alone? No. Someone was watching her from the shadows! She stopped, picked up a clamshell, and tossed it at the figure that leaned motionless against a palm tree.

  "Aue!" came the cry. "You have good aim."

  Recognizing Kiore's voice, she laughed and picked up another shell. "On my island," she said, "we dance under the lovers' moon. We do not stand and watch."

  "Then I will dance," he said, coming out into the pale light.

  Tepua felt a new pitch of excitement as she started again. Before this, she had not really felt part of the festivities. She had been like Kiore, watching, envying the others. Now, with the sailor so close to her, her body seemed to be moving only for him. Her limbs felt weightless. Her hips swung as easily as leaves in the wind.

  Kiore began in his own strange way, yet she found his steps appealing. She saw grace in his movements, foreign though they were. His chest glistened with sweat as he kept up his pace.

  Out in the open, she knew she was far too conspicuous. Yet, for a time, she kept on. Her breathing came faster. Kiore's steps grew wilder. The drumbeat possessed her and would not let go.

  At last, panting for breath, she halted and reached for his hand as she had seen other girls do. She tugged at him to follow, leading him away from the music. "Do not mistake me for the chief," she told him quietly. "Tepua is asleep in her house."

  He turned to study her, lifting his hand to gently brush her cheek. "Then what do I call you? You must have a name."

  She thought of the vines running down toward the water. "Beach-pea."

  He laughed and pressed his nose to hers. The feeling was delicious, but she pulled away. "We must go somewhere else." She had not thought ahead this far. Under the trees lay many outrigger canoes; there was no reason she could not borrow one. With Kiore's eager help, she dragged a vaka over the sand.

  The wind had dropped. The surface of the lagoon was perfectly still, moonlight reaching the shallow bottom. She could scarcely see where air ended and water began.

  Leaving shore, Tepua glimpsed fish that did not stir as the canoe floated over them. The undersea gardens of coral seemed close enough to touch. Behind her she heard the rhythmic dip and stroke of Kiore's paddle.

  She hesitated before telling him which way she was heading. Never had Tepua gone to Ata-ruru with anyone but Maukiri. She had an unspoken agreement with her cousin that this special islet was theirs alone. But what better place to take Kiore? Tepua thought of soft sand beneath the palms, of shrubs that offered shelter from the breeze.

  They crossed the lagoon slowly, as if in a dream. She fell silent awhile, hearing only the sound of paddles stroking and water parting before the bow. She watched the glimmer of tiny ripples, then turned her gaze upward.

  Overhead, star clusters glittered. Tepua called out their names, and sometimes Kiore told her the names his own people used. For a while Tepua put aside her paddle and moved back in the canoe until she could lean against the warmth of Kiore's chest. They whispered stories to each other, tales heard long ago.

  The night was vast and timeless. Tepua felt no need to hurry. The sky and water belonged only to her and Kiore. The islet ahead was also theirs; it would wait as long as they wanted.

  Dipping and stroking and resting as they chose, they crossed the placid water. At last, under the setting moon, she found the secret channels that led to the islet's beach. The canoe came in to shore, and suddenly Tepua emerged from her reverie. She felt awake now and filled with desire. As soon as the canoe was beached, she raced off, heading for the trees. "This way!" she called to him.

  She picked up several large palm fronds and made a simple bed on the sand. Then she flung her skirt aside, lay down, and waited for him to join her. He seemed startled by her sudden directness, and for a moment he hesitated. Then he tumbled down beside her.

  "How many layers?" she asked him playfully, tugging at the garment that coveted him from his waist to his legs.

  "Only one," he promised. And finally, there were none.

  For a time it was enough just to hold each other. "We are alike," she said softly, "in a way I did not see until I found you tonight. We are both strangers here. This is not your home, nor is it mine any longer."

  He sighed, and pressed her face against the heat of his chest. "Home," he replied. "It is very far."

  Tepua recalled some wonders of his land that he had talked about. Water that turned to stone when the weather was cold. Ovens that burned inside a house but did not fill the room with smoke. "Do you long most for the strange things and foods of your country?" she asked. "Or for the company of your kin?"

  "So many things. But you make me forget." He held her to him, gently caressing her shoulders and back. He brought her face up to his. His lips touched her forehead, her cheek, her mouth. His darting tongue began to trace a path down her neck, eventually circ
ling her breasts. Then the circles grew smaller, ever smaller, until Tepua was wriggling with delight.

  "Let me try that!" she said, rolling out from under him. He seemed surprised when she fell on him and began to apply her tongue. She started at his neck, tasting the salty tang of his skin. Slowly she worked her way down. When she reached a nipple, he cried out, a soft moan of pleasure.

  He reached up and gently, softly, massaged her breasts with his fingertips until she could not stay still for the sweetness that coursed through her. She pulled away for a moment, catching her breath. Then she lowered her mouth to his and they began to explore the foreign way of kissing.

  Now Tepua felt like a newly launched canoe, traveling a heated sea. She pitched and rolled on top of him, reveling in the warmth and power that buoyed her. A strong current pulled her onward as she bounded from crest to crest, heedless of where she was heading. But so far—so long a journey. She was ready to cry out from need, when at last she felt his tip thrust inside her. Aue! she cried as the canoe sped forward into unknown waters.

  The waves lifted her and set her down, lifted her and set her down. Slowly and shallowly and gently it began, a small pleasure whispering to her at every surge. Then the waves grew higher, the troughs deeper, until she knew nothing but the music of the ocean, the singing of the deep....

  She realized that she was shouting, crying, shuddering with great spasms. Kiore began writhing so beneath her that she thought she would surely fall off. And then he cried out, too, his head tossing, his hands gripping her fiercely.

  Still in the throes of her own release, she reached out and began rubbing his chest and arms with the palm of her hand, making him jerk and sigh and moan until he lay still. He relaxed, breathing with great contented heaves as she nestled her head against his chest.

  "Tell me," she said later as they lay curled together, his chest pressing warmly against her back. "What is it like with your women. What are their ways of making love?"

  "The women are not like you," he answered. "I think they know little of love. Maybe someday you will come teach them."

  She answered playfully, "If I come to your country, how many layers of clothing will I have to wear?"

  "I have not counted them," he replied with a laugh. "In the cold season, we need every one. But even in the hot season we cover ourselves."

  "Why is that?" She remembered how uncomfortable she had been on a hot day wearing the one garment he had given her. Yet there were reasons for enduring worse discomforts. "I have heard of high-islanders," she said, "who wrap themselves around and around in bark-cloth, to show off their wealth."

  "It is not so different with us," he answered. "But there is also another reason. Do you remember Atama and Eva?" Some time ago Kiore had told her the names of the first man and woman that his god had made. Now he spoke of their early life in a place of fruit trees and flowers. From his description she thought their land had been much like Tahiti. But unlike the Tahitians, this couple knew nothing of love.

  "Because of an evil spirit in the garden," he said, "the two learned unhappiness." The demon had tricked the young people into breaking a tapu. As part of their punishment, they had come to feel shame at exposing their bodies.

  But this was not the worst part of their punishment. Kiore said that his god, the creator of his race, made strict rules about hanihani. Tepua was astonished when she heard them.

  "How can you tell the young men and women not to enjoy themselves after dancing on the beach?" she asked. "And how can the trees bear and the earth flower if we do not freely show affection for each other?"

  Kiore confessed that sometimes he thought the priests of his god might be mistaken. "I was taught," he whispered, "that my one god is everywhere, and that yours are not anywhere at all. It is a sin that I say this, but I wish to believe that here your gods do rule."

  "Without them we would have no life, so they must be here. Tell me. Does this single god of yours take charge of everything—the wind, the seas, the crops? It seems too much for one."

  "The one god knows if a tiny bird falls from its perch."

  Tepua frowned. "We have high gods, like Tangaroa, who would not notice if a flock of birds fell into the sea. Tangaroa is too great to care about our ordinary problems. We depend on the spirits of our ancestors. They have the most to lose if they do not help us—they will be forgotten!"

  Kiore laughed when she said that. "You are wise, Tepua. You do not think as I do, but you are very wise."

  After a time they got up and strolled along the small, sandy beach. The moon had set and the stars shone brilliantly against an inky black. Maui's great fishhook gleamed overhead. "See how the fish go for his bait," Tepua said, pointing to the long, milky streamers that crossed the sky.

  Some stars she recognized as guides used by canoe-masters in sailing between islands. Perhaps Kiore already knew the ones that could lead him home. She did not ask what he had learned on his recent travels or how he would use that knowledge. Tonight she wanted to think that there was no world beyond Ata-ruru.

  Under starlight Tepua could just make out the tiny white crabs that prowled the beach. As she approached one it scuttled away across the sand. "Here is a game we can play," she suggested. "I chase a crab, and you have to catch it before it reaches its hole. If you win, we change places."

  It was a game that young children played, but it suited their mood. Kiore tumbled happily onto the sand, never quite catching his prey. At last they changed places, Kiore startling a crab so that she could run after it. The little thing led her on a zigzag chase, down to the water and back up to the trees, until finally she lost it.

  Tepua fell down, breathless from laughing, and lay with her face to the glowing sky. "It would be fine if there were no other place than this,'' she said when Kiore kneeled close to her. "Only this tiny motu. Only the two of us. The first man and woman."

  "Atama and Eva," he said. "But with no demon to misguide us." He came closer, pressing his lips to her cheeks and then to her mouth. Hungrily she pulled him on top of her. This is how I please my gods, she thought as she wrapped her legs around the small of his back. And if Kiore's god is not happy with him...But the pleasure was beginning again and she could think no longer.

  The night had seemed endless to Tepua, but finally dawn approached. She and Kiore paddled back hurriedly, aided by a gentle wind at their backs. There were no words to be spoken at parting. She touched his hand gently, laid her cheek against it, and ran off.

  Slipping past her dozing guards, she dropped on her mat and pulled a cape over her. She could tell by the quiet sounds of breathing that everyone else remained asleep, but Tepua had no desire for slumber. She lay in the darkness, her eyes open, gazing at her memories.

  The pounding of waves on the reef grew louder. She fried to lose herself in the sound. At this time of day, she thought, the voice of the ringoringo was sometimes heard. Long ago, her father had promised to send her a message when he reached the world of night. She wondered if the voice would come now, when she might hear it.

  Her skin seemed warm, still flushed from Kiore's touch. She felt herself drifting as she listened. Her body seemed to grow light. And then she did hear a whisper, but it was Kiore's voice, speaking of the beauty that he found in her, the blackness of her hair and the whiteness of her teeth, the taste of her lips and softness of her skin.

  The crashing of the surf took her back to Ata-ruru, lifted her as he had done, made her want to cry out his name. As she lay, engulfed by the sound of the sea, she imagined him beside her. The memory of his warmth made her forget the troubles that had come and would come again....

  FIFTEEN

  Tepua was still adrift on tumbling seas when Maukiri woke her. The high chief rubbed her eyes and sat up, wondering hazily why her sleep had been disturbed. Normally, it was her right to doze as late as she wished....

  "A messenger from Cone-shell just arrived," said Maukiri, slightly out of breath. "Varoa's chief is coming. Today. With gifts for
the ariki."

  "Today! Then Umia was right.... But why did Cone-shell have to choose this day?" After the dancing the servants had been up late, and Tepua even later.

  "Cousin, I see how weary you are," said Maukiri, speaking in the familiar manner she used when no one could overhear. Maukiri seemed to be waiting for an explanation, but Tepua offered none.

  Surely it was no secret by now that the chief had vanished during the evening and had not been seen until dawn. Tepua hoped that no one knew more than that. "You must help me, Maukiri. Order preparations for the feast. Find some dancers who did not exhaust themselves last night."

  Her cousin stared at her, a slight smile forming on her lips. "Dancers...Yes, there were many on the beach." Her eyes asked a question.

  Tepua tried to hold back her irritation at Maukiri's prying. "I am aware of that, but we have to entertain Cone-shell—" She stopped speaking as Maukiri's look of amusement grew. "Aue!" cried Tepua. "Cousin, will you give me no peace? The drumming was loud last night, and the air inside very warm. I went out to walk on the beach and watch the stars."

  "And nothing more?"

  "If there was more, you will not hear it now. Go. Start the work."

  Tepua watched her cousin leave, then rubbed her eyes again. Poor Maukiri had been unhappy since Paruru took Nika away. She claimed that she was consoling herself with someone else, but Tepua guessed that this was more pretense than fact.

  Separating the two men had been helpful, forcing Kiore to speak only in the island language and to immerse himself in the way of life. But Tepua sympathized with Maukiri's plight and had recently insisted that Paruru bring Nika back.

  Tepua was keeping this news as a surprise. Perhaps it was time to tell Maukiri.

  When Cone-shell's pahi arrived, in early afternoon, the earth ovens had already been lit. Pleasant aromas drifted toward Tepua as she stood above the shore waiting for him. She was dressed in royal finery—her best mat skirt and a cape trimmed with cowrie shells. A new headdress of stiff, shiny tropic bird tail plumes encircled her head.