Child of the Dawn (24 page)

But Hau had gone up safely. She realized that the fear was a foolish thing. Drawing in her breath, she reached up and began to climb. Yet the sights, sounds, and smells of the ship battered at her resolve.
 

Purea knew from experience that voyaging canoes took on unpleasant smells after days at sea. Without fresh water for bathing, crew and passengers began to stink. Bilge water in the hulls turned sour. Odors lingered from fish that had been gutted on deck. But this...

Aue
! Not even sacred feathers could ward off the unpleasantness. From the men, though some looked freshly scrubbed, came a cloying, rotten-pork odor. From others came a daunting reek of feces, urine, and old sweat. The briny, wet-wood smell of the ship's timbers was combined with harsh odors that stung her nose and made her eyes threaten to water.
 

Purea was sorely tempted to retreat to her
pahi
, or even to dive into the lagoon. She had to exert great willpower to keep her expression pleasant and her manner gracious as a ghost-pale hand extended to help her aboard.
 

At last she stood directly facing these strangers from afar. Now she could see that they were no taller than men of her own kind, and, if she ignored their bizarre clothing, similar in most ways. Only their features—eyes and noses and lips—seemed odd.
 

A curly-haired man who seemed to be a leader swept off his blue headpiece and bowed low before her, speaking hard-edged words that Hau said were a greeting. The foreigner was well muscled and hearty, with crisp brown hair and a cheerful disposition. As soon as Tupaia joined the group, this man took charge, escorting Purea to what looked like a square pit in the deck, surrounded on three sides by a kind of fence. Wooden planks, stepped like terraces on a hillside, led into the depths of the ship.
 

As Purea stared into the unfamiliar opening she once more fought her revulsion. Why would the strangers want to show her their bilges? She stood fast for some time until Hau convinced her that living space lay below.
 

The ship's interior, she discovered, was like an enormous house partitioned by numerous walls. The passageways were narrow, and the ceilings too low. Some portions were lit by holes overhead, others by lanterns that shone far more brightly than any candlenut lamp.
 

Her party was ushered into a long whitewashed chamber whose inward-curving wall had small, square openings for light, spaced at intervals. Here the visitors were invited to sit, not on low stools or mats, but on high seats with wooden backrests. Food was brought to a platform with legs that reminded Purea of a sacrificial altar in a
marae
. The food was not placed on banana leaves or served in wooden troughs, but laid on shallow round platters.
 

Purea picked up an empty platter, turned it over, tapped it with a fingernail. This was stone of some kind, but stone carved to such fineness that it rang sweetly when struck. There were no coconut shells to drink from. Instead liquids were poured into cups made from the same thin, fine stone. The cups had loops on the sides for fingers so that they were easier to hold. How clever these strangers were!
 

When she was invited to partake, Purea regretted that she had to refuse. 'Tell them I am under
tapu
," she said to Hau.
 

"They do not understand our ways," the old man replied, "but I will try."

The dismayed looks on the faces of the strangers told Purea that they, like her own people, wished to have their hospitality accepted. For a moment the welcoming atmosphere turned uncertain, then tense. Purea did not want to insult her hosts, but neither would she risk the gods' wrath. The restrictions placed on her, first as a woman, second as mother of the noble Teri'irere, could not be ignored.

It was Hau who broke the strained mood, accepting a small round cake offered to him by one of the blue-coated men. He uttered the customary prayer and flicked a crumb to the spirits. This act made the foreigners frown, as if they did not comprehend. Then Tupaia threw off his priestly caution and accepted a slice of a loaf that smelled faintly like cooked breadfruit. He, too, made the offering, took a bite, chewed slowly but with evident appreciation. At last, the foreigners showed signs of approval.
 

Purea relaxed. Hau and the priest had spared her from insulting her hosts, and for that she felt deeply grateful. "I wish to visit the chief of all these men," she said to Hau. "Can you arrange it?"
 

"They say their commander has been ill. He is recovering but is still weak."

Purea shuddered inwardly at the thought of a sick man having to lie in these dark wooden caverns with their dank smells. "It would be better for their chief to lie in the shade and enjoy the breeze. Say that I wish to meet him and invite him ashore."
 

She waited while Hau conveyed her reply to the man in authority. At first he shook his head at the request, a gesture that Hau had told her meant refusal. But as the old man continued to speak with the foreigner, and Purea added one of her coaxing looks, the sailor finally laughed tolerantly and agreed.
 

"He will take us both to his chief," said Hau. "Tupaia will stay here."

Purea wondered if their escort was a subchief in the foreign hierarchy. He seemed to have an air about him that commanded obedience and respect from the others. After leading her and her companion along a narrow passageway, he paused at the threshold of a room and swung aside the slab of wood that closed it off. Purea heard him speaking briefly with someone; then he motioned his visitors inside.
 

A weak, high-pitched male voice spoke Hau's name and then words of greeting. Purea peered past Hau at the sick man, the master of this great vessel. She half expected to see him lying on a mat on the floor, but of course these people did things very differently than did her own. Instead the invalid reclined, propped up on pillows, on a raised bed that was built into the wall.
 

He was a short, middle-aged man, gaunt with illness. Purea imagined that he had once been stout. His hair, sparse and thinning, was plastered to his head with fever sweat. His skin was pale with a tinge of yellow, except for a flush over his cheekbones.
 

The skin crinkled at the corners of his watery blue-gray eyes as he beamed in welcome at Hau and then gazed curiously at Purea. His appraisal evidently gave him pleasure, for his eyebrows rose, and the careworn lines that illness had etched in his forehead momentarily vanished.
 

She waited while Hau introduced her, giving her titles and then the shorter name by which she was known. The old man then tried to speak the commander's name. It had odd sounds in it that Hau could not pronounce. To Purea's ears it sounded like "Tapani Vari."
 

"
Ia ora na.
Life to you, Tapani Vari," she said.
 

Reaching out with a tremulous hand, the invalid patted the cushion of another backrest seat, near the bed. He spoke briefly with Hau, and she could hear the astonished pleasure in his voice. His eyes never left Purea as she took the seat and extended her hand to him. Weak as he was, the commander struggled up from his pillows, raised the back of her hand to his face, and touched it briefly to his lips. Though she was not acquainted with the gesture, Tapani Van's demeanor made his intent clear. He was greeting her with the honor and respect due a noblewoman.
 

The commander spoke briefly to Hau, but his gaze remained on Purea.

"He says that he is greatly pleased to have such an important ari'i visit him. He wishes that he were in better health so that he could extend a fitting welcome to you," said Hau.
 

"Tell him that his hospitality is most gracious. Say also that I invite him to visit me ashore. There he will get well."

Tapani Vari replied through Hau. "He cannot come now. He must rest and gain strength. Tomorrow morning he may feel better. Perhaps then." Hau listened as Tapani Vari added some more remarks. "He speaks of you with great respect," Hau said. "As if you were high chiefess over all of Tahiti."
 

Purea felt a glow of pleasure. It would do no harm to let the foreigner have an exaggerated sense of her importance.

'Tapani Vari is a wise chief," she said mischievously. "All he lacks is the belly of a great man. If he comes to my house to eat, he will grow one." She patted her own stomach, then made a circle with her arms and puffed out her cheeks to emphasize her meaning.
 

Tapani Vari laughed heartily before Hau had finished the translation.

"He says you are a fine lady, and that he is eager for tomorrow to arrive."

Then he brought out gifts. Sitting up in bed, he draped her shoulders with a pretty blue cloak made from cloth much finer and stronger than
tapa
. The garment tied loosely at the throat with ribbons. He also gave her something that resembled a short-handled paddle. Its center was clear like shallow water. When she lifted her gift by the silvery handle, she cried out and nearly dropped it. A face appeared, as if she were looking at another woman who stared with equal amazement back at her.
 

It was a reflection, of course, but far clearer than any she had seen in any pool. The water in it was perfectly smooth and flat and did not run out. What a wonder to show to the ladies who attended her!
 

 

When the visit was over, their curly-haired escort accompanied them to the gap in the rail, where the rope ladder hung down to Purea's canoe.
 

'Tell them that we enjoyed seeing the ship...." Purea began, turning to Hau. She did not complete her request. A raucous yowl erupted as she hastily withdrew her heel from something ropelike and furry that whipped away from beneath her foot. An animal's tail?
 

Tupaia gave a shrill battle cry and lunged to protect his chiefess from the small but ferocious beast that crouched, hunched and hissing, in front of her. Its eyes were orange coals aglow in its black face. In an instant he snatched it up in his two big hands. Holding the writhing black-and-white animal above his head, he turned to throw it into the water.
 

Shouts of protest rang out from the foreign sailors. A pale-haired youth ran at Tupaia, tried to seize his arm. The priest's eyes flashed and he shifted his squalling captive quickly to one hand. The other went to his shell dagger.
 

Purea knew that everything she had accomplished could be undone in an instant. She grabbed Tupaia's weapon hand. The priest's face turned to hers, his eyes bulging, his features contorted with battle frenzy and bewilderment. For a moment he froze.
 

Then with a disgusted grunt he thrust the struggling animal into the hands of the red-faced boy. The youth clutched it tightly and shrank against the tall, curly-haired man, who lifted both hands to calm the other men down.
 

"Have we broken some
tapu
?" Purea asked Hau as her priest stood stiffly beside her with an air of affronted dignity. She could not guess what this creature meant to the foreigners. Her people kept only dogs and pigs—animals raised for meat—yet sometimes coddled and fondled young ones.
 

Purea turned to the curly-haired sailor and tried to make him understand, with words and gestures, that her priest had intended no harm. He seemed to grasp her meaning, for as he took the little beast from the flustered youth and stroked it, he smiled with his eyes. The creature also seemed soothed by his touch. Its lashing tail stilled and its flattened ears came up. As it turned its head to fix a baleful gaze on Purea, the intense copper of its eyes startled her.
 

"Oh," she cried as the curly-haired man began to hand the little beast to another sailor, "do not take it away!"

The foreigners exchanged puzzled looks, but the curly-haired man turned back with the animal in his arms. Her interest seemed to please the others.
 

Intensely curious, Purea peered at the creature. At first she had taken it for a strange kind of short-muzzled dog, but as it opened its mouth in a yawn and blinked at her, she saw many differences. The large lustrous eyes fascinated her. They shifted and shimmied like the light on the lagoon at sundown. The unwavering gaze seemed to reach deeply into her and touch something there.
 

A god would have such eyes
, she thought, looking into the leaf-shaped black pupils that narrowed to slits in full sun.
 

"What is this animal called?" she asked, reaching out to feel the shiny black fur. The curly-haired man caught her hand, but instead of thrusting it away, he guided her fingers over the fur in a stroking motion while speaking softly.
 

"
Nai puhi
," she imitated, struggling with the hissing sound that these people put in their words. The fur of the "
puhi
" was not like a dog's—it felt soft and silky beneath her fingers.
 

She was amazed when the curly-haired man eased the creature into her arms. The only animals she had ever held were puppies and piglets, which felt rigid in her hands. The
puhi
melted warmly into the crook of her elbow and reclined there with a certain regal grace that enchanted her.
 

"The foreigners do not permit anyone to harm these animals," Hau explained. "It is
tapu
to cast one into the sea. Their gods will send punishment."
 

"Then they
do
have gods." Purea cradled the
puhi
thoughtfully. What would Tutaha say about this? she wondered. Would he still insist that the foreigners were ghosts from the Darkness?
 

When the curly-haired man extended his hands for the
puhi
, she returned it with a reluctant sigh. He evidently noted her reaction, but did not, as she had hoped, offer the creature to her as a present. Perhaps Tapani Vari would be more generous....