by Cowley, Joy
‘Is it so important?’ Vueti asked.
‘Yes, it is!’ Tasiri forgot himself for a moment. He quickly lowered his voice again. ‘Great Ratu,’ he whined. ‘It is you the man cheats. When he steals from your people, he is stealing from Taruga Vueti.’
‘Listen to me, Tasiri,’ said Vueti. ‘Listen, all of you. It will be a dark day when Vueti’s eyes see nothing but the white man’s money, when I have to fill my stomach with his silver and shelter beneath his pieces of paper. When that day comes, the sun will not rise for shame. But if it will please you, I’ll send to Sevu for a weighing machine. Then you can weigh the copra in front of the captain, and he will have to see that the copra is dry and light, of the highest quality – and all will be understood before the bags leave the village. Is that all?’
The men murmured and nodded and asked permission to leave. Yes, they were satisfied. Thank you, Ratu. There never was a village with a wiser chief or more grateful servants, O Ratu. May your days be as many as the stars.
When they had gone, Vueti lay back on his mat and closed his eyes. It was not the meeting that had taken his strength, not the complaints of greedy men like Tasiri. The pain in his chest had come back again, as sharp as a spear wound.
Some days it wasn’t bad. He could walk in the village, talk and laugh without coughing, imagine that he’d never known this weakness. But at other times the hollow behind his ribs was filled with the sound of dead leaves, and when he coughed there was a taste of blood in his mouth.
Taruga Vueti, the great Ratu. How much longer would the people hail him as their chief?
A movement in the bure opened his eyes. He turned his head and saw his son Aesake bowing backwards through the door.
‘Come in, boy.’
‘I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to disturb your rest.’
‘No, no, it’s all right.’
‘I’ll return later.’
‘Aesake, come and sit down. I want to talk to you.’
‘Yes, Father?’ Aesake sat at a respectful distance.
‘I need your advice, my son. I’ve told the elders that I’ll get them a weighing machine for their copra from the trading stores at Sevu. But how do I get such a machine? For anything else, I make an order with the captain of the copra boat, and he delivers it on his next visit. But not this. He would find some way of losing it at the bottom of the ocean, you can be sure.’
‘There are other boats, Father.’
‘They do not come here.’
‘No, but they go to the village of Ramatau. Father, there is a post office at Ramatau where mail for Sevu is collected, put in a sack, and delivered by mail launch once a week. If it please you, Father, I could write a letter for you to one of the big trading stores at Sevu. Then I could take it over to Ramatau. It’s only half a day’s walk.’
‘Good, good,’ said Vueti. ‘And you can collect the weighing machine when it arrives.’
Aesake hesitated. ‘How big will this machine be, Father?’
‘In truth I don’t know,’ said Vueti. ‘You have seen more of these things than I. Advise me.’
‘There are good machines that are quite small and do not require a great sum of money. They hang on a tree and have a hook at the other end to take the bag of copra. Shall I request one of those?’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll leave it all to you,’ said Vueti. ‘Write the letter tonight and go to Ramatau tomorrow. The sooner, the better to silence the unrest.’
‘Yes, Father, in the morning.’ Aesake bowed lower. ‘Father, there is another matter – ’
‘Speak.’
‘It’s about Jonasi.’
‘Luisa’s boy?’
‘Yes, the Silent One. He’s a good boy, Father. I feel sorry for him – ’
‘You said you had something to say,’ interrupted Vueti.
Aesake nodded. Then, in a rush of words, he told his father about the turtle. ‘White,’ he said, ‘as white as dried coral but gleaming like pearl.’
Vueti frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I touched it, Father. And Samu was there. He saw it also. It was tame. It followed Jonasi as a dog follows its master.’
‘If another had told this, I would not have believed it,’ said the chief. ‘White!’ He moved uneasily. ‘No turtle is ever white.’
‘It’s not unnatural, Father. Such creatures happen all the time. They are called albinos.’ And Aesake explained, as he had to Samu, how sometimes even men are born without colour in their skin.
‘You learnt all this at the mission school?’ said the chief with doubt in his voice.
‘Among other things, Father. But it’s not the turtle I care about. It’s Jonasi. You know what the men say about him – ’
‘Oh, they tease him a little.’
‘No, not just teasing. It’s got much worse since – ’ Aesake stopped.
‘What?’
‘Nothing, Father.’
‘Since I’ve had this sickness?’ said the chief.
Aesake was silent.
‘Come, boy, you must tell me,’ said Vueti. ‘I didn’t bring you home from the mission school because I thought you were wasting your time there. I needed you. The illness was taking my strength and making me a prisoner to my mat. I sent for you, Aesake, so that you could be my eyes and ears in the village, so you could tell me all that happened without my knowledge.’ The chief coughed and shut his eyes for a moment. ‘All right, what is it about Jonasi?’
‘The people are afraid of him,’ said Aesake.
‘Afraid? Of a harmless boy? Why?’
‘Because he doesn’t speak or hear. Oh, they are not wise like you, Father. They have small heads full of worms that keep them from thinking like men. And they have grown a great hatred for the Silent One.’
‘I did not know of this.’
‘They’d be too ashamed to tell you, Father. You would think they were cowards. Besides, they are well aware that it was you who accepted Jonasi into the village and gave him your protection.’
‘But what has the boy done?’
‘Nothing, Father. He does nothing. It’s because of the silence – they say he has a demon, and they’re afraid. It’s worse now. There has always been whispering, but lately the talk has grown so strong that every time something goes wrong in the village, Jonasi is blamed. If a man catches no fish, he says Jonasi has cursed the water. If a woman spills her cooking pot, it is because the Silent One has looked at her. Now the people are even avoiding Samu and Luisa – because they are supposed to have a demon under their roof. I’m sure they would turn away from me, too, if I were not your son. As it is they try to warn me. They keep hinting about the evil that will come if I continue to show Jonasi my friendship.’
Vueti sat still for a while, thinking. ‘I’ll have to speak to them,’ he said.
‘You have great understanding, Father. But I fear it will be wasted on minds as small as theirs. You know what will happen when they discover Jonasi with that turtle?’
The chief nodded slowly. He also understood that Aesake’s concern was not merely for Jonasi. If he, Vueti, went against the wishes of the people at this time, they could use his illness as an excuse to elect another chief.
‘You and I both know what is true,’ said Aesake. ‘Jonasi is lonely. He tames a turtle to be his pet, a turtle that happens to look different from the rest of its kind. But when people hear of it – ’
‘Then you must act quickly,’ said his father. ‘Kill the turtle!’
‘What?’
‘Get rid of it! And say nothing in the village.’
Aesake bowed his head again. ‘Yes, Father. Yes – yes, of course. I’ll – I’ll get rid of it. But please, Father, couldn’t we first send Jonasi away?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘An idea I have, Father. Near Sevu there is a school for people who are deaf and cannot speak, like Jonasi. I’m sure they’d take him. He’d be safe there, among friends, and they’d teach him how to speak.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know, Father. I only know that the boys there learn to talk like other people. It’s a good place. For a long time I’ve thought it would be right for Jonasi. Now I’m positive.’
‘This school – have you seen it?’
‘Oh yes, and I’ve seen the people who go there. Without any doubt, Jonasi would be happy with them.’
‘How can it be arranged?’
Aesake grinned. ‘I’ll write another letter, Father. Since I’m going to Ramatau tomorrow, I can mail two letters, one for the weighing machine and one for the school. It will be all right, Father. They’ll take him. When they see the letter comes from you, they won’t be able to refuse. I’m sure it’s the best – ’
‘All right, all right,’ said the chief. ‘Do that. Come in here when you’ve finished both letters, and read the words to me. Then we will go and talk to Luisa.’
‘Yes, Father. And – and the turtle?’
The chief smiled at the concern in Aesake’s face. In some ways, he thought, the mission school had made a softness in his son. Then again, it was no bad thing for a strong man to feel pity.
‘For now, the turtle is safe,’ he said.
Chapter 6
Others Plot Against the Boy
Jonasi no longer left his raft on the beach with the other boats, nor did he allow himself to be seen leaving the village. Since the meeting with Aesake and Samu, he’d lived with a fear for the white turtle’s life, and although he still went out to see the turtle each day, he made sure no one followed.
His raft was hidden in the next bay, drawn up under the mangrove trees, and each time he went there, it was by a different route. Today he walked past the watchful eyes of the women who sat in the shade, plaiting reeds for baskets, past the big bure of Taruga Vueti, past the place where the pigs were tethered, out of the village and into the jungle behind it. Then, when he was swallowed by the darkness of the trees, he stopped and looked behind him. Jonasi’s eyes and nose were keen. He was quick to notice the unusual, a leaf stirring where there was no wind, the smell of man among decaying wood, a stone turned damp side up. And his fingertips helped him to hear. He touched them to the ground, then pressed them against the earth, feeling for the tremors of footsteps. Nothing, today. No one. Toads under the leaves, lizards flickering after insects, and the distant thump of a falling coconut. That was all. He stood up and changed direction, moving quickly around the back of the village and then on a path parallel to the beach.
As well as fear, Jonasi carried a small shame for the bad thing he’d done to Aesake. He shouldn’t have drawn his knife on his friend like that. But what else could he have done at the time? Aesake had intended to kill the white turtle.
That same evening Aesake had brought his father to the bure of old Luisa.
Jonasi had been afraid. He’d waited with bowed head for the punishment that must come to one who’d attacked the son of a chief. But instead Aesake had put his hands on him in friendship and smiled, and Taruga Vueti had nodded with kind eyes. Tears ran down Luisa’s cheeks, but she too had shown him warmth.
Jonasi didn’t know what had happened between them, but he’d been greatly relieved, and pleased to know that Aesake bore him no ill will.
Samu did, though. Which seemed odd. Jonasi had fought with Aesake, yet it was Samu who avoided him whenever possible. Samu now turned away like the others in the village, and he’d shifted his sleeping mat to the far corner of the bure.
Poor little Samu. Was he afraid of Jonasi’s knife?
Jonasi shrugged and walked faster. The village was well behind him, and all the things he didn’t understand were falling away like shadows. He changed direction again, heading for the mangrove swamp.
The tide had left the raft in the mud, almost submerged. Jonasi struggled to drag it through the ankle-deep ooze, around the roots and branches that caught it on either side, down to the thin rim of water. It took much time and effort but at least it was a safe hiding place. When he finally had the raft afloat, he pushed it out a few yards from the trees and waited.
Close to the shore was best, he’d decided. Farther out he could be seen from the bays on either side, but no one was going to wade through the swamp, so there was little chance of being discovered in this particular place.
The white turtle came late in the morning, appearing as it always did, suddenly. It was now a game, this late arrival, as though the turtle wanted him to believe it wasn’t coming so that it could take him by surprise.
Today Jonasi was almost sure he’d lost it, when he felt a deliberate bump under the raft. So, the turtle was teasing him, was it? Well, two could play the game of No One There. Instead of diving over the side, he sat absolutely still, barely breathing. The white turtle nudged the raft for a second time. Jonasi didn’t move. Small waves were sucked into the mangroves, bubbles floated out again. The sea was as flat as green oil.
Jonasi waited and sure enough, the turtle came out from under the raft, its bird-like head arched with curiosity, those deep-set eyes glittering and alert. He slapped his hand on the water.
Ah, but it was too quick for him. Its head turned, it nipped his fingers, then it swam away, pretending to ignore him.
Jonasi grinned and unwrapped the usual parcel of chopped meat.
For almost a week now the turtle had been eating out of his hand. Sometimes he fed it from the side of the raft, sometimes from the water, and he’d learnt those foods it preferred, those it rejected. Often while feeding the turtle, he touched its head and neck with the fingers of the other hand, telling the creature in its own language that it mustn’t fear him. It seemed to understand everything. Like him, the white turtle lived in a world where the movements of lips had no meaning and a mouth was used to receive food. He could speak to it by touch, ride on its back and with gentle pressure say, go here, go there, faster, slower, turn back to the raft. In return the turtle would nudge him in ways that told him many different things. I’m hungry, it would say, or, Follow me, or, I am tired – let’s rest.
Now the turtle was simply saying, thank you. It had eaten the meat and was exploring his hand, the palm, the fingers, the way a dog licks the hand of its master.
Jonasi sensed that, running one finger over the surface of the pearl-white shell that was like nothing he had ever seen. He had never dreamed of anything so beautiful. Yet the white turtle had chosen him. And again he asked himself: Why?
He leaned over the side of the raft and scratched the creature’s neck with one finger. It was then, looking up, that he saw the canoes.
There was no doubt as to where they were going and what they wanted. Nor were they here by accident. Samu and Aesake must have spread the news of the turtle.
Jonasi shaded his eyes. There were three, no, four canoes coming around the point. As yet they were too distant for him to know how many men they carried, but they were approaching fast.
It was this that he’d dreaded. One man, he could fight. Two, perhaps. But not half a dozen. He knew that as long as he was on the sea, the turtle would stay with him and would, most certainly, meet someone’s spear. There was only one thing to do. He’d have to go ashore and leave the turtle so that it would swim away to deep water. Could he make the creature understand this?
He put his hand in the water and when the turtle came to him, he pushed it away. Hard. It swam back, and again he pushed it. It playfully bumped the raft. What was wrong with it? Didn’t it understand the urgency in his hand?
He picked up the paddle and headed for the shore as fast as he could. The canoes were coming closer. In the haze of sun and water they trembled like dark, angry insects.
Jonasi didn’t dare look back for the turtle. He steered his raft through the gap in the mangroves, head bent to avoid the overhanging leaves, and went as far as he could through the dim cavern of twisted roots and branches. Then he leaped into the water. Mud swallowed his legs to the knees. It was difficult to move. Dragging the raft behind him, he struggled inland,
one step at a time, panting with fear and anger.
What a fool he’d been to imagine they might be safe in this bay. The men would find the white turtle. They’d make a circle around it and close in with their nets and spears. In his mind Jonasi pictured the turtle’s death and his heart ached as though he too had been speared.
He could take the raft no farther. He left it in the mud and floundered on to higher ground.
Where were the canoes now?
He lay close to the earth and peered through the cage of branches. Yes, he could see them, yes, yes; but they hadn’t found the turtle. He breathed deeply. The men were paddling slowly out in the bay, looking this way and that and pointing in many directions. There was disagreement among them. Tasiri stood in the front of the first canoe, waving his spear, his mouth opening and shutting in anger.
Jonasi hoped that they would grow tired of the search and go away, but they stayed, paddling in circles, staring at the water. Then suddenly Tasiri pointed to the mangroves and the four canoes turned to the shore.
Once more Jonasi felt fear. Had the white turtle followed him? Was it now waiting in the shallows? In a few feet of water, that shell would be a target for a child.
But it wasn’t the turtle the men were now seeking. One by one their canoes slid under the overhanging branches of the mangrove trees as they followed Jonasi’s path to the shore. When they saw Jonasi’s raft, they paddled faster, beached their canoes and jumped out into the mud, their weapons held high.
Jonasi lay flat on the ground, hidden by leaves. He knew what they were going to do. He saw Tasiri’s machete, its blade as long as a man’s arm and nearly as thick. He saw the knives and clubs and spears.