Daughter of the Reef (42 page)

The
motu
chiefess was arrayed in a regal headdress, a high wicker cylinder covered with iridescent green pigeon and parakeet feathers, decorated with shark's teeth and pearls. She wore finely woven garments of white hibiscus bark, fringed at the edges. The man beside her wore a simpler headdress. She stared at him, openmouthed, as she took in his familiar face.
Rongonui
!
 

She realized that the crier, unable to pronounce the nasal “ng” sound, had garbled her brother's name. As she watched the guests take their seats she continued to marvel. Rongonui had seemed so young when she left home, and did not look much different now. Yet her brother had become consort to chiefess Hoatu!
 

Tepua stared at the woman, who seemed notably older than Rongonui. Tepua could not fault her for her choice. Hoatu could have her pick of men, so why not take one in his prime?
 

As the pair came forward the firelight shone on their faces. The chiefess appeared calm, with the serene dignity of one who accepted homage as her right. Yet Tepua could see a hidden ferocity in her high-boned cheeks and the sculpted flair of her nostrils. She was a sturdy woman, with plenty of strength to put behind a spear thrust. If Hoatu's tribe went to war, Tepua could easily imagine this woman standing in the forefront of her warriors.
 

Beside her walked Rongonui. He was as tall as their father, his arms and torso thick with muscle. His eyes were the most striking part of his oval face. Black-lashed, they seemed to have been drawn in charcoal on his bronzed skin. His gaze was the same as Tepua remembered it—measuring, challenging, but she noted a new element, a sense of smoldering resentment. How different it must be for him to live always in the shadow of power.
 

She barely listened as first Hoatu and then Rongonui recited their lineages. How she wanted to run to her brother and ask what had happened at home. But she could not go to him. Not now ... not even at the end of the night's festivities. He must never learn of her presence here.
 

Tepua was caught in such a fever of longing and despair that she wondered if she would be able to concentrate on her performance. Soon the novices were getting to their feet around her and forming the line of chest-slappers that made a living boundary to the Arioi stage. Hurriedly she found her place.
 

For a brief time she was able to lose herself in the rhythmic beat of chants and songs. The Arioi performed a dance symbolizing the graceful beauty of the breadfruit tree. Then came another dance and then it was time for her comedy.
 

Rongonui's arrival had nearly made Tepua forget about Matopahu. She cast a glance at Knotted-cord's brother and imagined that she saw him narrow his eyes. Hastily she looked away. She could not think about him now. Her mind was too full of thoughts about her family.
 

The play began with the chorus chanting “praises” for the new high chief. Each compliment carried its barb, and soon laughter from the audience almost drowned out the words.
 

Then the “high chief bound his right hand with a gaily painted cloth and began to stride about, miming his proclamations. For this scene, the Arioi used no props. But when the “subjects” dipped their little fingers into their imaginary bowls, Tepua could almost see the long, gooey strands. Soon pandemonium reigned, with bowls flying and imaginary
poi
getting smeared everywhere.
 

Knotted-cord roared so hard that Tepua thought his high stool might tip over. Matopahu wore a faintly embarrassed grin, but Tepua saw his hands fiercely gripping the underside of his seat. She felt a moment of pity and wondered if she might have found a subtler way to handle the subject.
 

At last the play ended in a flourish as the subjects rebelled, dumped
poi
on their troublesome ruler, and pantomimed tossing him over a cliff. The audience broke into a rumble of thigh pounding as the players bowed. It took a long time for Knotted-cord to stop laughing, and Matopahu's rigid smile seemed carved on his face.
 

The festivities continued, but Tepua began to think that the high point had been her satire. From Knotted-cord's reaction, he would probably want the skit done at each Arioi performance for the rest of the season. She assumed that the Arioi would be glad to oblige. Poor Matopahu!
 

Her gaze turned back to her brother. She waited impatiently for the end of the evening's celebration, yet at the same time she dreaded that moment. If she went to Rongonui, would he recognize her? And what would happen when Rongonui sent word to their father that she still lived? He would insist that she come home, and then he would learn of her defilement. She gazed at the Arioi around her. She did not know if they would defend her from the wishes of her own family.
 

The celebration ended for the night. The chest-slappers began to file from the hall. Tepua saw her brother rise, his profile clear against the dying flames of the bonfire. Had he sorrowed over losing her? she wondered.
 

Rongonui turned, staring her way, as if he could see her, though she knew that she blended into the crowd. Perhaps he sensed something.
 

Curling-leaf tugged Tepua's hand impatiently. The novices were leaving. Tepua thought of going with them—to hide like a rat under a leaf.
 

Her decision to conceal herself from the trader had been easy, but now it was her brother who stood here. How could she know if she would ever see him again, or anyone else from her family? Suddenly she broke Curling-leaf's grip. She cut through the milling throng toward her brother, crying out to him in the atoll tongue.
 

The scuffling and muttering of the crowd ceased at the sound of her shouts. Rongonui turned, raising his brows in confusion, even fright. “Who speaks with the voice of my lost sister?” he challenged.
 

The costume and the face paint
! Tepua spat on her wrist, scrubbed her forehead, then her cheek. As the paint wore away, Rongonui's expression turned to one of astonishment.
 

“Tepua-mua?” He came down from the platform.

“Yes, my brother. I survived the storm and drifted here, to Tahiti.”

Rongonui opened his arms and Tepua flung herself into his embrace. “So many tears have been shed for you, so many prayers spoken,” he said. “Why did you not send word that you were safe?”
 

“I had no way to reach you. I did not even know if any of my kin had survived.”

“But our traders come here often,” he answered, in a tone of rebuke. “And yes, we certainly did survive. We kept most of our canoes from capsizing, and lost no one but you. I thank the gods that the squall was brief.” Rongonui grasped her shoulders and held her away from him, studying her keenly. She became aware that others were watching, especially those still seated on the platform. The high chief cleared his throat.
 

Her brother turned to Knotted-cord. “You have been a gracious host, noble high chief. This is a gift I did not expect. It gives me great happiness.”
 

Knotted-cord leaned forward on his perch, glancing first at Tepua and then at Rongonui. “This woman is your sister?”

“Yes. We had thought her dead, but I see that you have kept her safe. For that, my father Kohekapu will be greatly pleased.”

Hearing these words gave Tepua a chill. Soon she might have to confess that she had not been cared for as well as her brother assumed. If she could somehow avoid that ...
 

Knotted-cord puffed himself up. “She wished to enter the Arioi. I recognized her worthiness and aided her.”

“My family is honored to receive your help.”

Knotted-cord flicked his elegantly carved fan. “It may be,” he said cautiously, “that a few fools disregarded your sister's rank. You can be certain that they will be more careful after this.”
 

With that, the high chief grunted an order to his bearer and waited to be lifted from his seat. Suddenly he turned to Matopahu, who was staring with evident astonishment at the scene. “I trust you enjoyed the entertainment, noble brother,” Knotted-cord said with a parting laugh as the bearer lifted him.
 

Hoatu, the chiefess, took Tepua into her own embrace and spoke to her in the atoll tongue. “I am glad to find you alive, Tepua-mua, after hearing so much about your family's grief. When we take you back with us, I will order a great feast. All your kin will come—”
 

Tepua stiffened. “Let us talk of that later.”

“Then join us in our guest house,” said Hoatu. “I wish to get to know the sister of my husband.”

Tepua glanced again at Matopahu, who had scorned his bearers to remain on his stool. Clearly he had heard the conversation between Rongonui and the high chief. Now Matopahu looked bewildered. Did it please or dismay him that his guess about her ancestry had proved true? And how badly had the play stung him? She wanted to run to him, to say
something
that might heal the breach between them... With a sigh, she turned away, to go with her brother.
 

“I will visit with you, but I must sleep in my own quarters,” Tepua said at last as she walked with Rongonui outside the performance house. Servants carrying palm-rib torches lit the way to the high chief's compound. “I am still bound by the rules of my lodge.”
 

“You should stay with us,” said her brother, brushing back a strand of wavy hair that fell over his face. “One of our family should not debase herself by capering with Tahitian players. You will be returning home now, so you may as well tell your troupe leader that you are resigning.”
 

Tepua spun around to face her brother. The black-lashed eyes were cold. “That is not my plan,” she answered.

He grasped her arm. “There is no question. You are Kohekapu's daughter, and that is what he expects of you. You must forget this Arioi nonsense and return to your sacred duties until another marriage can be arranged.”
 

“Rongonui,” said Hoatu sharply. “We are in Tahiti now, where we have no authority. Let us not offend our hosts by quarreling.”

“You would let her defy her father's wishes? I think I know already why she refuses to return. She cannot have stayed so long among these dissolute Tahitians without taking a lover.” Rongonui pulled Tepua to him, stared down at her with a hard gaze. “Have you been corrupted by these eaters of
poi
? Have you lost your purity?”
 

Tepua tried to tear herself free from him.

“So I am right.” He gripped her so hard that she nearly cried out from pain. She gasped, then stamped down, grinding her heel on his bare toe. Rongonui let go and she pulled away.
 

Hoatu interposed herself between the two. “My husband and his sister will not fight,” she said calmly. “Rongonui, you disgrace yourself.”
 

“Will you stand by while she destroys the reputation of my family?” Tepua's brother hissed. For the moment the chiefess gave no answer.
 

Just ahead stood the guest house, where servants were bringing in candlenut tapers. Others carried coconuts freshly opened for drinking, and bowls filled with fruit. Hoatu waved the servants out as soon as they had delivered the refreshments.
 

The chiefess seated herself on the highest stool. Tepua saw her brother's resentful expression as he took another seat. “You leave me with a problem, Tepua,” said Hoatu. “It is true that your father will expect you to come back to him.”
 

“I have not joined the Arioi for frivolous reasons,” Tepua answered in a firm voice. “The god Oro seized me. Everyone saw that I was inspired. To tear me away from here—from the path I have chosen—would risk angering Oro.”
 

“How do I know that?” asked her brother bitterly.

“Do not answer spitefully, my young husband,” chided Hoatu. “I understand something of Tahitian customs. The Arioi would not have taken her in if they had not seen her in a state of
nevaneva
.”
 

Tepua turned to Rongonui. “You have said, noble brother, that I was the only one lost in that storm. Does that not tell you something? The gods wanted me to leave my home island and come here. If you try to take me away, how do you think they will answer?”
 

He beat his fist against the leg of the stool. “You are my sister and Kohekapu's daughter. Yet you wish to serve as a lowly chest-slapper in the Arioi! This is the disgrace that everyone will know about. Even if we hide your defilement from our father, he will hear this.”
 

His hand shot out, grasping her wrist. She gave an angry cry as he brought the back of her hand closer to the light, showing the altered tattoo. “And this is the final proof of your debasement,” he shouted. “You have defaced our emblem, the mark of our ancestors. How can I tolerate such an insult?”
 

“Is it true, sister?” asked Hoatu.

Tepua pulled her hand free. “It was the only way I knew to keep the wrong people from finding me. I would have been carried home in a trader's boat, like a fat sow, and bartered to my father.”
 

“As you deserve—” Rongonui began.

Hoatu interrupted, “Enough, husband! I know it was no easy decision for Tepua to make. And now she can again wear the emblem of her family. I would like her to do that. But this question of being an Arioi chest-slapper ..."She gave Tepua a penetrating look.
 

“I will not remain so for long. I will advance to Pointed-thorn, and then higher.” She paused, thinking for a moment of Feet-out-of-water and the promises he had made to her. No, she need say nothing of that. “If you wish me to rise quickly, to the most honored ranks of the Arioi, here is what you can do. You can ask Kohekapu to send me gifts of pearl shells and fishhooks, so that I can arrange my advancement feasts. That is the way to end this quarrel with honor.”