Daughter of the Reef (37 page)

After a brief silence, an old dignified priest from the lesser ranks came forward. He said that he, too, had witnessed Ihetoa's failings. He had grieved over them, but had kept silent out of fear. “I am also guilty,” said the old man, “for not telling what I knew. This has long troubled me. Now I must make amends for my lack of courage.”
 

“At last we have something worth bringing to Knotted-cord's attention,” Eye-to-heaven replied. “Let us go to him and repeat what has been said here. Let the high chief decide the outcome.”
 

“Wait,” said Ihetoa. “Two men may see the same fish, but each tells a different story about its length. In my own eyes, I have done no wrong. If I appeared pleased during the offerings, it was only because I knew that I was making the gods happy.”
 

“There is more to it than that,” answered the old priest.

“I have not finished explaining,” said Ihetoa.

“You must step down,” said the old priest. “That is the only way to settle this. Let another take your place, until you are freed from your sin. Give this new high priest a chance to make prayers. If the breadfruit trees bud, then we will know I am right.”
 

“And if they do not?”

“Then take back your office, confident that your innocence has been proved. If that comes to pass, put
me
up on your altar and see if my flesh will appease the divine ones.”
 

When the old man stopped speaking, the crowd of
opu-nui
, swelled now by all the priests from the marae, began to shout and wave whatever weapons they carried. They advanced on Ihetoa, and his protests could not hold them back. The flood of men surged from the
marae
and toward the high chief's compound.
 

Tepua fled, taking another route, until she found refuge in a quiet grove near the shore. Then she fell down and hugged the warm sand until her trembling ceased.
 

 

She did not hear anyone approach. The sound of a voice made her start, and she jumped up to flee again.

“I have been searching everywhere,” said Matopahu softly, sitting beside her, taking her in his arms. She could not believe how reassuring his touch felt at that moment.
 

Her heart was still pounding. “I did not know—what they would do to me.”

“You are safe now,” he answered. “My brother has been forced to give Eye-to-heaven the high priest's office.”

“And Ihetoa?”

“He will be sent away—to serve at a lesser temple until he can cleanse himself of the sin.”

She let her breath out slowly. “Then you have all you wanted.”

“I have a victory. Are you not pleased?”

“For you, yes. And for the people harmed by Ihetoa. But I fear that your
taio
will learn about my offense now. He heard the priest's accusation. He will ask questions.”
 

“Do not fret, my coral flower. Eye-to-heaven cannot treat you as an ordinary woman. Not after the way you found that
opu-nui
. You must—as the poor fellow said—possess some gift from the gods.”
 

He pressed his nose warmly against hers. “There is something you have not told me,” he said gently. “How did you solve the riddle of my oracle?”
 

She stiffened, remembering Bone-needle's many warnings, but saw no way to keep her secret now. Of all men, surely Matopahu would be the most willing to understand. “I had a vision,” she confessed quietly, and explained how she used string figures to bring it on. “Ihetoa appeared, and
 

I witnessed his offense in the
marae
. I saw the other man also, but not so clearly.”
 

Matopahu's eyebrows arched in surprise. He told her that he had never heard of such an ability. “Then you
are
blessed by the gods,” he said, drawing back from her, leaving a sudden space of chilly air between them.
 

“Does that make me different in your eyes?”

His brows knitted. “It does not change my feelings.”

“Even so, you will return to court now,” she said, a bitter tone entering her voice. “And I, to the Arioi. There will be no more sporting in caves or splashing in mountain brooks.” As she spoke she realized that her own words had ended the short idyll. Had she kept silent about the insight from her vision, even for a day, she and Matopahu would have had that much more time together. It had been so brief...
 

“Tepua,” he answered sadly, “I cannot say what will happen yet. I do not even know how my brother will like having me back here. And what if that old priest is proved wrong? What if the breadfruit still does not flower?”
 

“Then the gods have forsaken us all.” She wiped away a tear.

“No, I do not think so. The gods have been angry many times, but they have always helped us when our need was great.” He rose on one knee, as if ready to depart. “You must return to Aitofa now,” he said. “Eye-to-heaven has gone to explain why you disobeyed her orders and returned from the mountains with us. Now that Ihetoa has no power to harm you, it is best that you remain here.”
 

“And near you ...” She stared at him expectantly. He still had said nothing of what was to happen between them.

His gaze turned from her. “You must understand this, Tepua. People will be watching me, reporting everything I do. It will be difficult—”
 

“To consort with a
motu
woman!”
 

“Do not be angry. It will not hurt us to stay apart for a while. Later, when this uproar over the change of priests has subsided—”

“Then you will send for me,” she answered harshly, “as you would for your favorite dog.” She pushed herself up and stood away from him. “Perhaps I will surprise you. Perhaps I will not come.” Before he could soothe her with his whispers and warm touch, she raced from the clearing.
 

 

Late that afternoon, in one corner of the high chief's compound, servants were readying Matopahu's house to be occupied again. Matopahu stood outside, watching the men carry in sleeping mats, when he saw Eye-to-heaven approaching. The priest's mood seemed unusually somber.
 

“What is it, my
taio
?” asked the chief's brother.
 

“I must speak with you. About Tepua.”

Matopahu regarded his friend with narrowed eyes.
Has the new high priest no more pressing problem
? he wondered as he motioned for his
taio
to join him in the shade.
 

“It concerns her trip to Fenua Ura,” said the priest.

“I heard about it,” Matopahu growled. “And if I ever find that eel of a fisherman who led her there, I know what I'll do to him.”
 

“So she has admitted it to you. I was not sure what to make of Ihetoa's blustering.”

Matopahu clenched his fist, wishing his fingers were around the fisherman's neck. “She was tricked. I understand what happened. The wretch concealed some
tapu
markers to ease her fears. Otherwise, she would not have stayed on the island.”
 

“Even so, the gods must be angry at her. She escaped Ihetoa's wrath only through Aitofa's protection. Yet something must be done. The gods can choose to strike her at an unexpected moment. Knowing this may drive her to despair.”
 

“Can you help?”

“Yes, but it will not be easy. The Arioi can protect her from any penalty I decree. She must come to me and agree to follow my instructions. Many prayers and offerings will be needed, and this will take time.”
 

“She is shy of priests, but I believe she trusts you, Eye-to-heaven,” said Matopahu. “Perhaps a suggestion on my part ...”

“Or better, from Aitofa. I must tell you this as well, my
taio
. It is prudent that you stay away from this woman until she is freed of her sin.”
 

Matopahu felt his face flush. He was not willing to admit, even to his
taio
, the true depths of his feelings for Tepua. “She will return to her place among the Arioi,” he said. “But I had thought, after a brief time—”
 

“As a friend, I cannot forbid you such pleasures, yet as a priest I urge you not to see her until she has come into harmony again with the gods.”
 

Matopahu gazed at his
taio
and felt his dismay turning to doubt. He and the priest had been close for so many seasons that he seldom questioned the man's motivations. Now he wondered whether jealousy might be influencing Eye-to-heaven's words.
 

Tepua's presence had already disrupted the partnership. She had explained the riddle that Matopahu's god spewed forth, succeeding where the priest had only met frustration. Perhaps Eye-to-heaven sought to restore things as they had been. Matopahu glanced at the priest and felt pangs of remorse.
He has always acted with my best interests at heart, yet now I find myself doubting him.
“For how long would you make her atone?” Matopahu asked.
 

“Several months, at least. I will know better after I have spoken to her.” Eye-to-heaven paused. “My
taio
, I see doubt on your face. My only wish is to restore Tepua to you, renewed and purified.”
 

Matopahu dropped his gaze. “Yes, of course.”

“Then tomorrow I will consult with the Arioi chiefess,” said Eye-to-heaven. “Now I must prepare myself for another task, a most important one—a night of prayer in the
marae
.”
 

“I wish you well,” Matopahu replied coolly. At that moment he could not think about the problems that weighed on everyone. The priest departed, leaving the high chief's brother to stare into the dust. Servants approached, asking how to arrange the sleeping mats.
What does that matter, Matopahu thought, if I must sleep on them alone?

He turned and stalked off, reaching the shore and plunging into the choppy waters. A storm was coming, but he paid no heed to it. He swam out into the lagoon, trying to exhaust himself so that he could think no more about her.
 

Why had he not been born a flying fish or a sleek-sided porpoise? The sea's creatures chose their own mates. They asked no permission from chief's or priests.
 

 

 

18

 

THE afternoon was almost gone when Tepua reached Aitofa's compound. She hoped fervently that the chiefess would be preoccupied, too busy to call her. Tepua wanted only to throw herself down on her mat and weep.
 

When she came through the gate, she heard no sounds of laughter in the courtyard. No one was pounding cloth or husking coconuts. A lone servant stared at her.
 

“Where is everyone?” Tepua asked.

“The noble chiefess has just gone out. The novices are still in the hills collecting food.”

“Ah.”
Aitofa gone
! With relief, Tepua went to the novices' quarters and unrolled her mat. She was too tired to cry; instantly, she fell asleep.
 

Later she woke in darkness, and thought she felt Matopahu's warmth beside her. No, it was only the cover that she had wrapped herself in. Suddenly she realized that she was alone, in a large and empty house. And this was a night when the long-toothed ghosts roamed...
 

She shivered, wishing for another wrap. It did not help that Ihetoa had announced her guilt within earshot of the
marae
. Not only the priests and
opu-nui
, but every spirit that lingered there had heard it. Against living men she might have a chance, but she was helpless against ghosts.
 

Tepua moaned softly, and prayed to Tapahi-roro-ariki. “I will dedicate myself anew to the Arioi,” she promised her ancestress. “I will work harder than the other novices so that I can quickly advance to Pointed-thorn. And tomorrow, at first light, I will bring you a fine offering.”
 

She tried to sleep, but whenever the thatch rustled overhead, her pulse quickened. In the near silence she heard insects clicking, rats rustling and squeaking. These sounds might be messages from the spirits, but she lacked the skill to interpret them. The thought made her shiver anew, yet finally she dozed off.
 

When Tepua woke, with a start, she saw the morning's welcome light filtering through the walls. She stood up, glanced at her body, ran fingers over her face. No harm had been done to her! At once she hurried out to find the gift she had promised her protector.
 

She had forgotten how difficult it would be to find a suitable offering at this season. In Aitofa's dusty storehouse she discovered only yams and taro. “These will not do!” she cried. One did not bring such lowly roots to an altar of the gods.
 

She headed toward the shore, hoping to find an overlooked coconut under the palms. Along her way she passed beneath the breadfruit trees, barely glancing up at the canopy of branches. Once these boughs had bent under the weight of heavy fruit. Now only shiny scalloped leaves hung there.
 

But amid the greenery something new caught her attention. She stepped up on a fallen branch and peered closely at the boughs. Was it possible? She rubbed her eyes, thinking she must still be half-asleep. When she looked again, she knew she could not be mistaken.
 

Just out of reach a bud was emerging, a speckled yellow-and-green catkin. When she glanced higher, she saw others. The tree was preparing to bear fruit again!
 

She was so excited that she almost lost her balance on the branch. She hurried back to the compound, shouting to the few remaining servants. “The gods have forgiven us! Come see! Everyone come!” She said nothing of her own part in this. But she felt certain that it was Ihetoa's dismissal that had brought this sign of hope.