Child of the Dawn (22 page)

Purea stared at him, understanding at last the reason for his capitulation. He would wait for her to lure the visitors to a feast, and then...

"What is the matter, my dear lady? This was your idea, was it not? Cut off the head of the lizard before it can bite."

"No!" Her retort was sharp. "Such an act would give grave offense to the gods."

"Only if these enemies are men like us," Tutaha tried to argue, but Purea remained adamant. She was surprised to hear Hau adding his voice to support her.
 

"Honored chief, I agree with Purea. Not only would such an act be a blow to our own honor, but it might well prove useless. The newcomers are too cautious to send all their principal people ashore. They will leave behind some who are resourceful enough to take over leadership. Then they will punish us for our folly."
 

At last Tutaha seemed to back down. "So you think you can save us from these strangers—without using force?" he asked Purea gruffly. "Try it, then. Use the great house in Ha'apape. I will provide whatever else you need. But I want nothing to do with these 'guests.' Whatever the outcome, send me word—if you survive." The Pare-Arue chief rose from his seat, indicating that the meeting was over.
 

When he was gone, Hau remained. The old man sat quietly while Purea turned the sharkskin over in her hands and put her fingers through the wound holes. She held the skin for a long time before returning it to Hau....
 

 

Tepua woke from her vision before dawn, trembling, and found no comfort in the thin cape that covered her. Resigned to wakefulness, she drew up her knees and reflected on the moments she had just experienced.
 

After living awhile as Purea, her own body seemed frail and slender by comparison. Tepua felt admiration for the physical presence of Te Vahine Airoreatua i Ahurai i Farepua. And something else about Purea inspired Tepua—a willingness to stand up to the most influential men of her day. Perhaps only a woman of Purea's eminence in Tahiti could dare such a feat.
 

Tepua's thoughts filled with the people she had seen. Through Purea she understood that the aging Tutaha of her vision was the
son
of the current Tutaha i Tarahoi, who had been such a poor host to her troupe. Now the son was barely a youth! These puzzling events would not take place for at least fifty years.
 

Yet Tepua felt an urgency about the visions, a need to learn why the gods had brought her them. Somehow they were tied to her own life, maybe even to the troubles that Land-crab had started. She lay back and tried to remember every detail of Purea's encounter. Perhaps the gods would help her understand.
 

 

 

 

ELEVEN

 

From the deck of an arriving canoe, Matopahu saw hundreds of people standing on the shore, all waiting to welcome Putu-nui's victorious archers. Young women carrying crimson hibiscus garlands waded into the shallows, almost swamping the vessels in their eagerness to greet the heroes. The girls draped wreath upon wreath around Matopahu's neck, embraced him passionately, whispered invitations. The young
ari'i
laughed with pleasure but offered no promises. The rich scent of flowers made him light-headed as he waded ashore.
 

These were the people of Putu-nui's district, in another part of Eimeo. The captain of the winning team had invited Matopahu and Eye-to-heaven to join his celebration at home. Now children leaped high for a better look at the new champion, or crawled onto their parents' shoulders. Boys waved their own small bows and arrows in the air. Even dogs were caught up in the excitement, one slipping through the crowd to beat its tail against his leg.
 

Matopahu bore this attention with good grace. He understood how long these people had been waiting for such a victory. Fat-moon was far too powerful to be challenged in war. Only in the archery contest had they ever had a chance to beat him.
 

At last, Matopahu's party reached Putu-nui's compound. Though the surrounding bamboo fence was only waist-high, it belonged to the chief, and no one would dare step over it. The crowd of onlookers remained outside as Putu-nui's guests filed through the narrow opening.

Inside the compound, the scene was almost as hectic as outside. The servants gawked at Matopahu while the women of the chief's household rushed forward to greet him. Every one of them made clear that she would welcome the hero's attentions. Most vigorous in flirtation was Putu-nui's prodigious wife, Feather-of-the-tropic-bird's-tail. Matopahu pressed noses with her, felt the grip of her huge hands, but gave her no encouragement. After light refreshment, the customary dance performance began, to be followed by sporting competitions.
 

Later Matopahu found himself standing in a large circle of onlookers surrounding a pair of sweating wrestlers. He knew that the two combatants had prepared for this match with the same reverence as archers, each making offerings to their tutelary god. Now they stood belly to belly, fiercely gripping each other, neck cords standing out as each strained for a throw.
 

The crowd remained totally silent as the struggle continued. The wrestlers broke their hold, then came at each other again with a flurry of tattooed legs. Dust and grass flew as feet scuffled for purchase. The larger man hissed through clenched teeth, his face turning red. He leaned slightly. His opponent's foot made a sudden move, knocking his leg out from under him. With a cry the larger man fell onto his rump.
 

Then a din rose on all sides, the kin and friends of the victor dancing and shouting while the loser's supporters raised their voices to drown out the others. After each side had finished praising their man, a fresh pair strode to the center of the ring. Matopahu had witnessed many such matches. Only when he saw an unusual hold or a subtle trick did these contests pique his interest.
 

At last the women had their turn. Matopahu was not surprised to see the chief's wife, Feather, step forward to issue her challenge. It was customary for people of high rank to attempt to excel at many sports—and often they succeeded.
 

Strutting about the ring, Feather struck her right hand against her left arm to make a hollow slap. She was not as tall as a man, but Matopahu imagined that her solid build would make her a formidable opponent. She had her black hair tied back and slicked with oil, to discourage the hair-pulling tricks that wrestlers often used. She wore a simple white bark-cloth wrap about her enormous girth. Each pale thigh was as thick as the base of a palm tree.
 

"I hear that she has beaten many men," whispered Eye-to-heaven.

Matopahu drew in a breath when he saw Feather approaching. She stopped right in front of him and issued the challenge again.

"
Taio
, you must accept," said Eye-to-heaven. All around Matopahu, voices urged him on.
 

Trying to make light of the situation, the
ari'i
laughed, put aside his feathered cape and his wrap of painted bark-cloth. Clad only in his maro, he stepped forward, urged on by cheers from the crowd. He glanced at Putu-nui's eager face and then at the pugnacious features of his wife.
I cannot harm my host's wife
, he thought. Yet to lose to a woman...How would that affect his prestige?
 

This is Putu-nui's trap
, he thought glumly.
He enjoys the victory I brought him, but not the glory I brought myself
. Matopahu was tempted to refuse, but insulting Putu-nui would not aid his cause.
 

The crowd hushed as the
ari'i
prepared to meet his opponent. What kind of woman was this, he wondered, who could whisper of passion one moment and ask for combat the next? She had greeted him warmly. Now her deep-set eyes glittered like the sea beneath a thunderstorm.
 

Extending his arm, he touched her fingertips in the customary opening gesture. Then he moved nearer, looking for a way to grab her. She took the initiative, seizing him at the arm and shoulder.
 

He felt sweaty rolls of fat as she pressed close to him, the great gourd mounds of her breasts squashed against his ribs. Her grip was as tight and unrelenting as the sennit that bound his brother's corpse. He leaned his weight against her hold, trying to drag her off balance, but to no avail.
 

Then he tried pressure from his leg, but she pushed back just as fiercely. He managed to wrench one hand free, and tried to get a grip across her back. Her oiled flesh oozed from his grasp. Her sheer bulk threatened to bear him down.
 

Now her arm was firmly about his neck, and he could not pry himself loose. Sweat prickled on his forehead at the prospect of defeat. The usual wrestlers' tricks would not serve him now, but perhaps he could try another. He sensed a mood of excitement in her that went beyond the thrill of combat.
 

Subtly he began to move his body, rubbing his bare chest against the thin cloth of the garment that covered her breasts. He felt her fleshy chin turn against his neck, and then he heard her speak, far too loudly. "That feels nice, my taro pudding." Matopahu's face burned as she began to undulate, complementing his motion.
 

Laughter broke out as Feather's coquetry reached the ears of the spectators. Putu-nui seemed to be laughing loudest of all. With a shock, Matopahu realized that Feather's meaty hand was now clamped over one of his buttocks, kneading fiercely. The match was in danger of turning into an exhibition of
hanihani.

"I want to feel your yam in my
umu
," she offered throatily, and the onlookers roared. "But not now." Suddenly she released her hold and slipped away from him. He came at her again, crouching low, but she grabbed him about the middle, squeezing so tightly that she drove the breath from his body.
 

He was only partially relieved when he felt the voluminous torturess laughing as hard as the audience. "Have no fear, my tall archer," she said sweetly. "You are too good-looking to be maimed."
 

Matopahu did not see what she did next. Somehow his feet came off the ground and his body went flying. He landed with a hard thud and heard the cries of triumph all around him. While Feather's raucous friends beat drums and loudly proclaimed her accomplishments, only Eye-to-heaven raised his voice for Matopahu.
 

The
ari'i
rose stiffly and dusted himself off. Casting a wary glance at Feather, he strutted once around the circle, bringing cheers for himself and a few more voices to sing his praises.

Eye-to-heaven gave his friend a measured look when Matopahu rejoined him.

"I trust you enjoyed that," the defeated wrestler whispered in exasperation.

"Do not look so unhappy," said the priest. "You did well. The people will think more of you now."

Matopahu wrinkled his brow. Perhaps his
taio
was right. The victory against Fat-moon had come through the aid of an outsider—himself. Putu-nui and his tribe needed to equalize things a bit, and this ridiculous match with Feather had served their purpose. Sighing in resignation, Matopahu accepted a servant's offer to pour cool water over his head, then tried to enjoy the rest of the matches.
 

The wrestling gave way to footraces along the beach. Matopahu was relieved when his host invited him to retire to the shady comfort of the compound. "This is a day that no one will forget," said Putu-nui as they sipped cool coconut milk.
 

Certainly I will never forget Feather
, Matopahu thought ruefully.
 

Putu-nui went on. "It is a day of celebration. Let us continue to put all serious things aside. But do not think I have forgotten how much I owe you. I know what is uppermost in your thoughts. Be satisfied that I have already spoken to my priests."
 

Matopahu accepted the chief's words, but with a sense of foreboding. Putu-nui understood Matopahu's desire for an ally to help him regain the land and
marae
of his forebears. Of course the chief would not make any such alliance without first consulting his diviners. The priests would have to declare that the signs were auspicious for such a risky adventure.
 

Alas, there would be no disputing the findings of the priests.

 

When the days of celebration had drawn to a close, Matopahu and Eye-to-heaven sat alone with Putu-nui on a shady knoll above the beach. Despite the genial manner of his host, Matopahu felt uneasy. He knew that Putu-nui's priests had gone out at night, some searching the forest, others gazing into the lagoon, all seeking omens. But with what result?
 

"I have heaped you with gifts, Matopahu," said the chief, "yet I know that rolls of bark-cloth and feathered headdresses are not what you want. I would like to give you a far greater gift, the birthright that has been taken by Land-crab."
 

Matopahu leaned forward eagerly. "Then you will call a council?"

"To debate this issue of war? Yes. My underchiefs are entitled to have a say. I am sure it is no different in Tahiti."

Matopahu raised his eyebrows in agreement. "Of course, the question must be discussed," he told his host. "But it is
your
influence that will sway everyone."
 

"That is so, my friend. And I have a good argument. If you are restored to your land and your people, then we will have an ally in return, someone to check Fat-moon's ambitions to rule all of Eimeo."
 

"Certainly." Matopahu studied Putu-nui's expression, wondering why the chief was being so evasive.

"And yet, my friend Matopahu, I ask myself if I really want to call this council. Everyone will enjoy hearing the fine speeches. In my district, some men think debating is a better sport than wrestling." Matopahu smiled, still faintly embarrassed over his match. "Yes"—the chief waved a hand—"the arguments will be loud and sharp."