Silent One

by Cowley, Joy

  Luisa stood in her doorway thinking how quiet it was with the men away. ‘And good riddance to them,’ she muttered. ‘All they do is sit under the trees filling themselves with food and foolish chatter. Work? Ha! The Silent One works harder than any of them.’ She spat in the dust, still angry because of the bad thing they’d done to Jonasi that morning. She knew why they’d left him behind. It was not Jonasi’s fault. The men had been afraid.

  It was as well the boy couldn’t hear the things they said about him. Because he could neither hear nor speak, they said a demon dwelled within him and held his tongue so that he could never reveal its true identity. Such nonsense! And this from grown men! Sometimes she longed to be younger so that she could grab them by the hair and crack their idle skulls together.

  Bulai and Tasiri would be behind this latest rumour. They always were. If the air was tainted, one knew to blame the rotten meat of the village, fat and lazy Bulai, and Tasiri whose eye flickered like a snake’s tongue. It was they who had put fear into the minds of the men this morning, they who had turned Jonasi away.

  Now he had gone out on the sea to be lonely, and this worried Luisa. When he was small, he’d come to her for comfort. She’d put her arms around him to protect him from the children who teased and threw stones. But that was years ago. He’d grown too big for her lap, and now he turned to the sea for understanding.

  Luisa watched the small lizards that scuttled over the woven walls of the bure, after insects. That’s all very well, she thought. Jonasi knows the reef better than he knows the paths on the island, but the sea has no heart. It can rise up and swallow a boy as a lizard swallows a fly.

  The afternoon grew old, and still Jonasi did not return. A heavy shower of rain passed, cooling the air and reviving the noise of birds, and the village was scented with the flowers the women had gathered to make garlands for their men. Soon the hunting party would be back from the mountains. All was ready for them. The stones on the fire were hot, and heaped nearby were baskets of dalo root, tapioca, bananas, shellfish, and fat river crabs.

  Luisa sat inside her bure, waiting for the Silent One. In her mind she saw his body drifting on the tide, lifeless, turning over and over like a log as the waves nudged it towards the shore. She shuddered with fear. She crawled over to the wooden crucifix that hung above her sleeping mat and eased herself back until she was sitting on her heels.

  ‘Dear God and Jesus and Holy Mother, take care of the Silent One. Bring him back without harm.’

  It wasn’t until she stood up that she thought of her own flesh and blood, Samu, the youngest of her nine children, little Samu out on his first pig hunt. She bowed her head. ‘Samu, too,’ she added.

  She went out to the doorway and sat down again to wait. She didn’t doubt that God would look after the Silent One, but all the same she cursed the affliction that stiffened her bones and prevented her from going out on the reef to look. What had happened to the boy? Never before had he been away as long as this.

  Luisa had always loved children. It was more than the usual love of a mother for her offspring. When she was young, she was never so happy as when nursing a baby over a belly big with yet another. Eight children, she had, eight in as many years and then no more. She didn’t know why they stopped. She and her man were still young and both healthy, but time passed and no more babies came.

  When her family grew up and moved away to make new homes in other villages, Luisa’s loneliness became unbearable. She pined and fretted and grew thin with longing for the days past. The older women gave her advice and made her mixtures of herbs, but no good ever came of them. Luisa remained empty, and her hunger for a child grew worse.

  Then Luisa learnt about the church that had been built in the neighbouring village of Ramatau, and she saw yet a small hope. She insisted that her husband take her there every Sunday and help her pray for a baby. Within six months she was pregnant again. Her belly swelled proud and beautiful, and she gave birth to a fine son she called Samu.

  But one baby wasn’t enough. She wanted another, and soon. It was too difficult to walk to the church with Samu in her arms, so she prayed to another god. When no one was watching, she called on the ancient Snake God, Degei, who had created all the islands and the people on them. To Degei she offered sacrifices of chicken blood. To Degei she prayed for a child.

  Again the miracle happened, and once more Luisa was pregnant. But the God of the church was angry with Luisa’s faithlessness. He punished her with weeks of bad pain, and when the child was finally born it was dead.

  It seemed to Luisa that she must die too, such was her grief. She lay crying and holding the little corpse until it was taken away from her. She wouldn’t eat anything, wasn’t interested in the little one, Samu. She wouldn’t let her husband comfort her. She lay on her mat moaning night and day.

  After two days the God of the church heard her cries and his heart softened towards the wretched woman. He decided to replace her child with another.

  The new baby came with the copra boat. The captain brought it into the village and told a story too strange to be believed. It was lying in the bottom of a canoe, he said. No one else. Just a newborn boy in an empty canoe adrift in the middle of the ocean. He took it aboard and headed for the nearest island.

  The people of the village didn’t want the child. It was not human, they said. It would bring evil in their midst.

  Luisa knew better. Happy beyond words, she got up from her mat, cured instantly of sickness in body and soul, and within minutes the foundling boy was in her arms, being nursed as her own child.

  The great God had forgiven her.

  But not quite. Lest she forget the wrong she had done, the baby’s ears had been sealed so that he would never know her voice. Jonasi grew plump and strong and soon was bigger than Samu, but he didn’t learn to talk, and Luisa could never tell him why.

  The sun was near the horizon, glowing red through smoke and rain clouds, and the small moths of evening fluttered like dried leaves. Soon it would be dark.

  Luisa knew that doubt was a sin, but her fear had grown so great, that when Jonasi suddenly appeared in front of her, she shrieked as though he were a ghost.

  The Silent One smiled and put a handful of shells in her lap.

  Luisa staggered to her feet, scattering the shells on the floor. ‘You dog with no heart!’ she shrieked. ‘Is this how you repay me for all I’ve done, eh? Worthless one! Even if you could speak, your tongue would die of shame for letting an old woman grow sick with worry. Ah, if my husband were still alive, he would sort you out. A big stick, that’s what you need.’

  Seeing her anger, Jonasi tried to put his hand on her arm.

  ‘Get away from me,’ she cried. ‘Go back to the water, you fish of the cold blood. See if I care what becomes of you.’ She limped away to fetch the prawns and some slices of dalo. ‘Now I suppose you want food. That’s why you come back to old Luisa, eh? You think she’s useful after all, when your belly is crying.’

  She stood, arms folded, and watched him. She knew from the hunger in his eyes and the way he filled his mouth that he hadn’t eaten all day. She grew suspicious. ‘And why look so pleased with yourself? You don’t need to talk to tell me you’ve been up to something. You stay away from morning to dark and forget to eat, and now you sit grinning like a crazy man.’

  Jonasi looked at her, his face alive with some secret. He had caught no fish. What had he been doing all day?

  Luisa would have gone on scolding, but at that moment the air began to tremble with the distant beat of drums. The sound came thin but fast and triumphant, wood on wood calling from the lower slopes of the mountain. We are coming, was the message. The hunt has been successful and we bring a feast for all. Prepare your ovens, bring out the kava bowl, be glad for our return. Boom-boom-ba, boom-ba. To our chief, Taruga Vueti, we bring honour and pride and the best of our kill. Let him order that the ceremony begin.

  Luisa knew well the voice of the drum and how different it so
unded when the hunters were coming home empty-handed, or worse, when one of them was hurt. She thought of Samu, and felt younger with relief. Now both her boys, the Silent One and the little bag of chatter, were safe. She could relax and look forward to the feasting.

  Boom-boom-ba. The village drum was answering. Heavy sticks brought the hollow log to life and drowned the talk of the old men, the children’s laughter. Half a dozen hens, roosting in the breadfruit tree, fled squawking. Dogs ran in circles, barking, leaping at each other, their eyes red in the firelight. A party of women, bearing flowers, ran to meet their men.

  Jonasi came to the doorway to watch the return of the hunters. There was no look of hurt or bad feeling on his face. Whatever the day had brought him, it had changed his mood completely so that there was laughter instead of anger in his eyes.

  Jonasi touched Luisa on the shoulder and pointed. The men were in sight.

  The drumbeats grew frantic, and the air was full of wild noises – dogs yapping, children shrieking, men laughing and shouting.

  Aesake came first as the carrier of the torch that had guided them through the darkness. He stuck the burning stick in the ground in front of his father, Chief Vueti, and bowed low, his head almost touching the dust. Behind him came the rest of the group, more than twenty men and boys, who brought with them the smells of a successful hunt, the warm odours of sweat and animal blood. Six of the men carried the carcasses of three pigs, each pig trussed to a pole that was held on the shoulders of two hunters.

  The tallest of the village elders marched in front – Tasiri who boasted his strength by wearing two half-grown pigs round his neck like a garland of flowers. The pigs were still alive and had their feet tied together. When Tasiri halted, they woke from a stupor and writhed and squealed like angry children, but Tasiri paid no attention to the kicking against his neck and shoulders. He stood in front of the chief for much longer than was respectful. His back was straight with pride. The firelight flickered orange on the muscles of his spear-throwing arm. Very slowly he bowed, and as he did so, he slung the struggling pigs on the ground in front of the chief.

  The people waited in silence for Taruga Vueti to accept the gift.

  The chief smiled. He took a whale’s tooth necklace from his own neck and placed it around Tasiri’s. Then the chief clapped three times.

  A shout went up from the people and again the air was full of excitement and laughter. The women ran forward to throw wreaths of frangipani and ginger blossoms around the necks of their men and to help hang the dead pigs over the cooking fires.

  Luisa, whose vision was poor at night, peered this way and that through the crowd. Suddenly she cried, ‘There’s Samu! There he is!’ She put her hands on her hips and laughed scornfully. Then she said in a loud voice so that the other women could hear, ‘Look at them! Such great hunters! Ha! Half this village would go hungry without the fish of the Silent One!’

  She turned to look at Jonasi, but he had gone. He was running to meet Samu and Aesake.

  Chapter 3

  The Turtle Returns

  On the morning after the feast, Jonasi went out on the reef while the sun was still sleeping behind the mist. He took his raft to the place where he had last seen the turtle. There was no sign of it. The water bubbled and rippled as thousands of fish answered the call of dawn and searched for food – small fish seeking the dust-sized creatures, big fish chasing the small fish, the whole reef seething with a struggle for life.

  Along the shore the seabirds flew over the water, so low that their wings almost broke their own reflections. They, too, were hungry.

  Jonasi caught a large fish for old Luisa, but he did so without interest, his thoughts still in yesterday and full of pictures of the turtle.

  It must have been a dream brought on by sadness. There were green turtles and brown turtles, but who ever heard of a white one? Jonasi felt foolish that his imagination could have so tricked him; but all the same, he kept searching.

  Then the turtle came back.

  It was late in the morning, and the sun was so bright on the water that Jonasi didn’t see the turtle until it was near his raft. It appeared suddenly in a pool between two ridges of rocks and coral, swimming idly as though it had been there all the time.

  Jonasi’s heart stopped, and then began to hammer at such a pace he thought his head would burst. His throat swelled and he couldn’t swallow. He sat absolutely still.

  The turtle was much more beautiful than he’d remembered.

  It swam slowly almost beneath him, the plates of its shell shimmering through the water like pale fire, its head held high and alert. Its eyes held more wisdom than Jonasi could ever measure in a lifetime. Its shell seemed newborn, a fragile thing spawned by the morning sun; but its eyes looked as though they’d seen a forever of yesterdays and tomorrows. They were eyes that spoke of a time when earth and sky were one and the gods lived in caves of eternal night, eyes that could read the pictures in Jonasi’s mind.

  He leaned over the side of the raft, beckoning with both hands, hoping the turtle would come to him as it had the previous afternoon. But it stayed where it was, beneath the surface. Long branches of stag coral threw shadows across its back, and small fish rose and fell above it like petals in a wind. It was still and watchful.

  Jonasi had saved some scraps from the feast, pieces of pork that he’d kept from the village dogs and wrapped in a banana leaf. He tore the meat to shreds and spread some of them on the water. Before they could sink far, the surface was swarming with little fish that snatched, fought, gulped, then disappeared again, leaving nothing behind but a slick of grease.

  The turtle watched, motionless.

  Jonasi took the rest of the pork and slid with it into the water. Swimming very slowly, he moved nearer the turtle. It edged away. He stopped. It stopped too, looking at him with knowing eyes. He swam a little farther, and the turtle backed away again. And now Jonasi needed to breathe. He dropped the meat on the bottom of the pool among the sand and broken coral, then he went back to the raft.

  It was a game of waiting, the turtle watching Jonasi, Jonasi holding the edge of the raft, treading water, watching the turtle. The handful of meat opened in the current and attracted the coral fish. Streaking the pool with colour, they crowded in on the shreds. The turtle moved. A quick twist of its flippers and it was in the middle of the struggling mass, its jaws snapping. The fish darted away, and the turtle was left with a few fragments of meat that settled slowly on the bottom.

  To Jonasi’s delight the turtle ate them, snatching each piece as it drifted near. When the meat was all gone, it paddled in small circles, looking for more.

  Jonasi climbed on his raft. He would go back to the village and get her more food. It wouldn’t take long. Would the turtle wait for him?

  It was following. It was behind his raft and following him like a pet dog. Jonasi paddled faster, and the turtle increased its speed. He slowed. It slowed too.

  Jonasi felt giddy with pride as he paddled towards the shore with the creature behind him. Half a dozen women were gathering shellfish in the shallows and he wanted to stand on the raft and wave to them. But suddenly his heart, heavy with warning, realised he was leading the turtle to danger.

  He turned the raft as quickly as he could and headed back towards deep water and the edge of the reef, looking behind him every now and then to make sure the turtle was still with him.

  He had sought the white turtle’s friendship, and the turtle had given it to him. Its trust had made him happier than he’d ever been. But if he tamed the turtle to stay in these waters, then it would be killed by those who would see only a white shell of great value.

  In sadness he sat on the raft and watched the turtle. He wanted it to go away, over the reef and into the deep ocean it had come from. He also wanted it to stay. In truth, he didn’t know what he wanted. All sorts of questions were making pictures in his mind.

  The turtle swam near his raft, its head out of the water, its face that of an ol
d woman.

  Jonasi stared at it.

  Why had it chosen him?

  Chapter 4

  Friends and Enemies

  Samu and Aesake had spent most of the morning helping at the copra sheds.

  This, they discovered, was the other side of growing up. If they were old enough to hunt, they were old enough to share the adult work – to gather coconuts with the men, split them on pointed stakes, and scoop out the meat for drying. The husks went on one heap to feed the fire of the kilns, the flesh went on another. When the copra boat came back, the boys would have to carry the bags of dried coconut down the beach instead of watching with the children while others worked.

  It was exhausting work, all of it.

  Aesake said nothing, although his skin was shining and his muscles ached with effort. He tried to keep pace with the men, for he knew it would not be right to show weakness. He was the chief’s son, the only male child of Taruga Vueti, and he must not let the pain of his arms and back show in his face. Nut after nut he cracked down on a sharp stick, yet the pile beside him never seemed to grow less.

  Samu didn’t bother to pretend. He opened one coconut to every four of Aesake’s and used the rest of his energy to grumble. ‘Where’s that Jonasi? Lazy rat. Makes out he doesn’t understand and then goes off swimming. Why doesn’t someone make him help?’

  ‘His turn will come,’ said Aesake.

  ‘He should be here,’ said Samu. ‘It’s my mother’s fault – she spoils him. It makes me sick to see the way she fusses, and all because his head doesn’t work right.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with his head,’ said Aesake. ‘He’s deaf, that’s all. A lot of people are like that.’