Child of the Dawn (44 page)

He grabbed another weapon, a short club, but now he barely had strength to swing it. "Not the
aha-tu
—you will not bind me," he breathed as he backed away from Matopahu. His gaze went suddenly to the sharks, still circling in the water below. For a moment he hesitated. Then, with a howl, he threw himself off the fighting deck and plunged into the lagoon.
 

The leap was so unexpected that Matopahu could do nothing but watch. While the cries and drams of victory sounded all around him, the two fins converged and then vanished beneath the lagoon's waters. There was no thrashing or frothing on top of the water, only a horrifying calm and then a blooming of blood at the surface.
 

Still consumed by battle fury, Matopahu found it hard to put his weapon aside. He half hoped that Land-crab would rise again, but he knew that was impossible. The water remained still, reddening from beneath.
 

The drums fell silent. The priests ceased their chanting. Everyone around him seemed stunned by the outcome.

Matopahu's head swam with the dizzying sense of victory. For a moment he could not believe what had happened. He turned, looking at the terrified faces in the usurper's canoe. Knotted-cord's death was avenged! The
aha-tu
curse was broken!
 

"Bring me your banners," he shouted at last to the men who had served Land-crab. "Then cut your vessels loose and go back to shore. I have no quarrel with any of you."
 

As he returned to his own canoe, the paddlers below stood up to hail his victory. "Death to Land-crab's kin," they shouted. 'Treat them as he treated your brother."
 

Matopahu listened patiently, waiting for the tumult to die down. "It is time to stop speaking of war," he answered loudly. "Land-crab is gone. Now we must send the spirits of war back to the Room of Night, and call the spirits of peace into the Room of Day."
 

The men shouted back their disagreement. Again they called for revenge.

"You will see that I am right," Matopahu answered. 'Take me to shore. The victory celebrations are waiting for us."

 

By the time Tepua reached shore again, the war canoes were coming in. Her spirits soared at the sight of Matopahu's craft, flying twice as many streamers and banners as it had before. The larger canoe behind it was stripped of decoration.
 

But she did not let loose her shout of exultation until she saw the
ari'i
standing victoriously on his canoe's fighting deck, his arms lifted in triumph.
 

"Praise to the gods!" Tepua cried.

Eye-to-heaven's sonorous voice rang out, joining with hers. Maukiri gave a raucous yell. Little Ruro, cradled in Tepua's arms, added baby laughter. Te Kurevareva filled out the chorus with a few sharp yelps.
 

Eye-to-heaven stood close beside Tepua. "No man could have a better
taio
than you, Eye-to-heaven," she said, her eyes moist with emotion.
 

"And no man could have a better woman or a finer son," the priest answered.

Te Kurevareva danced around them, her tongue lolling. After getting muddy from all the digging, she had taken a bath in the stream, and now she was white again. When she jumped up to claim her share of affection, neither Eye-to-heaven nor Tepua pushed her away.
 

As Matopahu's war canoe drew up into the shallows, a solemnness came over Tepua. She felt the warm weight of her child in her arms. Her eyes followed Ruro's father as he descended from the fighting deck, reflected light from the water rippling over his face. She saw that he had lost his bark-cloth turban in the fight. Now his black hair was tousled by the wind.
 

He came triumphantly ashore on the shoulders of his men. Overhead, a tropic bird swooped, its scarlet tail feathers aglow in the brilliant sunlight. A breeze from the lagoon blew against Tepua's cheek as she watched the crowd of warriors bring Matopahu to her.
 

The face of the
ari'i
was regal, noble, almost the remote countenance of a god. But something in her breast tightened when she saw the depth of hunger and affection in his eyes. Yes, he was a man, though he had battled like a god. He was a man who had a son...and a woman as well, if he wanted her.
 

He gave an order and the men set him down in front of Tepua. "Land-crab is dead," he said, his voice husky. His gaze went to the child. "My son is safe. And the curse is gone." He lifted the child so that its gaze met his. Ruro's eyes were wide open and so was his mouth. His head wobbled, but he met the attention of his father with an equally courageous stare of his own.
 

"
Maeva ari'i
!" Matopahu roared, raising his son above his head. "Hail to the new chief!"
 

"
Maeva ari'i
!" came voices from all around as a crowd began to gather. Then silence fell again as Matopahu turned to Tepua. She knew what he was thinking. He had his son now. If he wished, he could keep Ruro and send her away.
 

He seemed in no hurry to decide. She heard the wind rattling the branches overhead, and waves booming against the distant reef. Then the hardness of his eyes melted and he laid his son back into her arms.
 

Her heartbeat threatened to overwhelm her as he stepped closer, embracing her, his arms about mother and child.

A crowd stood in the shallows, men in one party, women in another. The people were fishing, but not for the colorful lagoon fish that flitted beneath the surface, nor for the eels hiding in the rocks. Aitofa, Curling-leaf, and other Arioi women helped Tepua and Maukiri pull a net of plaited coconut fronds across the bottom of the lagoon.
 

As the stiff net moved, it gathered small pieces of broken coral. The women plucked these fragments from the meshes until their baskets were full. Shouting gaily, they brought their "catch" ashore.
 

Eye-to-heaven's powerful voice rose over the splashing of the people and the lapping of the lagoon against the shore.

 

Let the land be purified.

Let the defilement of war be erased.

So that evil is cleansed from the land.

So that we may abide on the soil and eat of its fruits.

 

The priest raised a piece of broken coral and others did the same as he chanted,

 

These are our offerings, great gods.

We bring you these white fish.

Let the land be made as pure as coral,

Fresh from the sea.

 

Then everyone rejoiced. At last, they were free of the taint of battle. The land was theirs again. The spirits of peace reigned once more.
 

 

 

 

TWENTY-THREE

 

Three days after the coral-fishing ceremony, an enormous crowd of spectators gathered in the clearing around the new performance house. Late-afternoon sunlight slanted in under the high roof, illuminating the platform that held stools for the honored guests. The highest-ranking men and women of the district had already taken their places. Wearing an elaborate feather headdress and ornamented cape, Tepua occupied the foremost seat, next to the one high stool that stood empty.
 

The celebration today was for Ruro, though he would not be present to watch. Tepua was being honored as his mother, and Matopahu as father and regent—if and when he arrived, she thought in exasperation.
 

Her thoughts turned to young Ruro as she had seen him just a short while before on Maukiri's lap. He was wearing a little
tapa
turban with a parakeet feather on the front. A small loincloth made of the softest white bark-cloth was wrapped around his fat stomach. Ruro was growing fast. From the size and the strength in his plump little limbs, she knew that he would attain the powerful physique of his father. But he also had the atoll heritage, which would make him as tough and sinewy as the pandanus tree.
 

But where was his father? The guests on the platform grew restless, muttering quietly as they waited. The Arioi stared at each other, making subtle signs.
 

Then, suddenly, far to the rear of the crowd, she saw a wave of activity. At last he was coming! A swell of cries and cheers developed as the
vari'i
appeared from the direction of the high chief's compound.
 

He had dressed himself modestly in a simple
tapa cloak
, his head crowned only by a plaited sunshade. As he mounted the platform and took his seat, Tepua glanced at his expression of indifference. On this grand occasion, Matopahu was acting as if he preferred to be elsewhere!
 

While she listened to the chanting begin, Tepua tried to understand. Though he had said nothing to her, she sensed that he still resented her lies about the child. As the thrill of victory had waned, his coolness toward her had become more apparent. Perhaps this was why he showed little enthusiasm for today's celebration.
 

With a sigh, Tepua turned to watch the Arioi. Attending as an honored guest, instead of a member of the troupe, gave her mixed feelings. Though the Arioi honored her as Ruro's mother, she could never again participate in their rites. She must serve Oro now in other ways. She hoped that she could find alternatives.
 

She watched the ceremonies begin, Head-lifted strutting forward to make his welcoming speech. To Tepua's eyes he had aged greatly in only a few days. His refusal to take a stand against Land-crab had cost him much support. Soon, she was certain, he would step down and let someone younger lead the men's lodge.
 

A renewed Aitofa addressed the crowd. She, too, had changed, but much for the better. Now her step was light, her voice charged with spirit.
 

As for Pehu-pehu...Tepua felt satisfied that the woman would trouble her no more. Pehu-pehu had fled to Eimeo to beg her old troupe to take her back. There was no longer room for two Blacklegs in Wind-driving Lodge.
 

Now the chanting of the chorus began again, recounting the history of the order—the deeds of Oro and the founding of the Arioi. The obligatory performances followed, portraying tales from long ago. Tepua drew in her breath and waited patiently, sensing that everyone in the crowd felt as eager as she did for the event that would follow. Honoring the gods and ancestors was necessary, of course, but people had also come here to have fun.
 

Rumors about a surprise performance by the Arioi had been on everyone's lips. The rehearsals had been done in secret. Perhaps Matopahu knew more about it than she did, Tepua mused. Perhaps that was another reason for his lack of enthusiasm. It was customary for the performers to poke fun at everyone, even heroes such as Matopahu.
 

At last, to the approval of all, Aitofa announced the piece that all had awaited. It was to be a reenactment of the battle between Land-crab and Matopahu. Faces brightened. People leaned forward in anticipation. Everyone knew that this would be a parody of the actual events.
 

The slit-log drums clattered wildly as the players, clad in outrageous costumes, arranged themselves in a tableau. On one side stood Land-crab's warriors. On the other stood Matopahu's forces. And in the center, the two champions faced each other.
 

Their weapons were enormous "clubs" stitched together from pigskin and stuffed nearly to bursting. The fighters were painted absurdly, with dots and streaks of red over cheeks and bodies. The actor portraying Matopahu was the tallest in the troupe. He waved his club as the chorus spoke his challenge. The actor playing Land-crab was short and stocky, with a heavy wrapping of cloth to make his big belly seem even larger.
 

Tepua gasped as a new performer—a hefty male Arioi dressed as a woman in a dancing skirt and flower crown— sashayed onto the stage. "She" was lugging a youth garbed in baggy diapers who pretended to suckle greedily at his mother's breasts. The oversized infant kicked and squalled as his mother shoved him under a massive muscled arm. 'Tepua-mua," the audience roared, while they pounded their thighs in applause.
 

She felt her face burn as the hefty actor did a crude imitation of her dancing while trying to keep the mischievous infant under control. Well, she had certainly helped cast the sharp spear of Arioi humor at others who deserved it. Perhaps it was right that she also feel the sting.
 

Onstage, "Matopahu" shook his weapon angrily at 'Tepua" while the chorus chanted his words of rebuke for bringing the child into battle. The skirted actor struggled to lift the infant in order to display him to the crowd, while the chorus spoke Tepua's answering lines in falsetto. The youth playing the infant assumed a look of idiocy, stuck his thumb in his mouth, and let his saggy diaper slip.
 

"Matopahu" turned to his enemy. Without preamble, the fighters began to swing their weapons wildly, soft "clubs" smacking loudly into flesh. As each man was hit, he mimed great pain, hopping about in anguish.
 

The audience roared its approval as the upper hand in the match went back and forth, "Matopahu" falling to his knees, then rising again to defend himself. All the while, 'Tepua" kept lifting the squirming child and making grimaces of dismay.
 

Suddenly the lively infant slipped from his mother's grip. On all fours he scampered across the stage with his mother in hot pursuit. He capered about the two fighters, scuttling around them and then diving between their legs, disrupting the battle. "Matopahu" tripped over him and went down.
 

Dancing with one hand holding up the diaper, the infant seized his father's oversized club and began raining blows on "Land-crab." The club split and grass stuffing flew about the stage. Then "Tepua" joined the fray, grabbing her enemy's weapon from his hand. "Matopahu" lay on the stage and rolled his eyes while the two beat "Land-crab" around the stage.