Child of the Dawn (45 page)

Finally, with a bored expression, "Matopahu" got up, snatched the club from 'Tepua," and with a casual blow, knocked his opponent to the ground.
 

At this moment, the crowd of "Land-crab's" supporters began shrieking with woe, throwing down their mock weapons, tearing off their garlands and necklaces. "Matopahu's" allies danced in triumph.
 

The infant continued to tear around the stage, flourishing what was left of his stolen club and eluding all efforts at capture. Ignoring the celebration and the antics of the child, "Matopahu" and "Tepua" stood glowering at each other.. The battle was over, and now they were finishing their lovers' quarrel.
 

The chorus began to recite accusations, each more outlandish than the next. Growing impatient with the arguments, the infant bashed both parents over the head with his club and watched with delight as they too sank to the ground. Then he strutted about waving the tattered remains of his weapon. "
Maeva ari'i
," shouted the chorus, and the crowd joined in gleefully.
 

Tepua stole a sideways glance at the real Matopahu beside her. He was trying to control his amusement. She saw his lips pressed together, his belly heaving. Suddenly he could hold it in no longer. When he began to laugh, the actors took this as a signal. The partners revived, turned to each other, embraced, touching noses. "All is forgiven," the chorus chanted.
 

In the play that is true, but only in the play
, Tepua thought glumly.
 

Then the drumbeat quickened and the entire company of Arioi began to dance. The people in the audience rose to their feet as well. Head-lifted waved his arms and tried to restore order so that the closing chants of the performance could be said, but no one paid him any heed.
 

When Tepua saw the sea of dancers outside the meeting house, she knew that she could not stand by and simply watch. She flung off her headdress and cape. It did not matter if Matopahu came with her. This celebration was for Ruro.
 

She was no longer an Arioi in good standing, but no one could stop her from joining the crowd. With cries of greeting, the people outside made an opening for her. She suddenly felt charged with the energy she had thought would never return.
 

The soles of her feet tingled with delight at the feel of the hard-packed earth of the dance floor. Stepping forward and back, her knees bent, she swung her hips boldly. Matopahu remained in his seat on the platform, his feet planted, his arms folded.
 

She felt a sharp pang of disappointment that slowed her steps for an instant. But the joy of the dance itself was too great for her to stop. As she spun around, feeling her skirt whip against her legs, disappointment gave way to resolution. He was going to be stubborn, was he?
 

She remembered how she had danced for him long ago, when she was new to Tahiti. And in Eimeo she had danced to challenge him, to taunt him into fierce competition with Uhi. She had driven both men to exhaustion, but now she meant to put on her best performance ever. She meant to cast a lure so enticing that even the stubbornest cliff climber would be drawn into her arms.
 

Oh, Tapahi-roro-ariki, give me your spirit. Give me the strength of the shark, the suppleness of the eel,
she prayed as she danced
. Let me be all that my atoll home made me
.
 

Oh Purea, daughter of my son in afar-distant time, give me your spirit. Give me your visions, your patience, your courage. You are the one who will risk everything on the unknown, who will rise up to see with true vision. I am the canoe that launches from the beach. You are the canoe landing on the other shore. Let me be worthy of you.

She felt the spirits come to her, filling her with power. Now she was dancing not just for Matopahu, but for herself, her son, for Maukiri who had come so far with her, for Aitofa, who had believed in her. She was dancing also for something greater—for Tahiti, her adopted land, its people, its pride, and its future.
 

Her hands wove patterns in the air. Her fingers seemed to move of their own will, as when she wove figures out of string. And it seemed to her that she was weaving a vision of the future, this time not with fingers and cord, but with the entirety of her being, both mind and body.
 

She moved in ways both ancient and new, using the motions of the dance to tell the story of her life: how she had been swept into the sea, how the gods had allowed her to survive and reach this land. She had struggled, suffered, grieved, and at last, triumphed.
 

The people, and even the Arioi, slowed their steps to watch. Some understood her message. Some, perhaps, did not. But all seemed to understand that they were witnessing something extraordinary.
 

Matopahu remained sitting on the platform, but his arms were no longer folded, and the expression of tolerant amusement had left his face. Now he was staring as if entranced, a hunger starting to burn deep in his eyes.
 

Oh, but he was strong-willed, this cliff climber! Strong enough to stand against the highest wind. Strong enough to deny anything, even the call of his spirit.
 

She flung her hair over her shoulder and laid her head back, calling out, not only with the silent voice of her mind, but with the movement of her limbs, the nearly visible images forming between her fingers. And she prayed once again.
 

Oro-of-the-laid-down-spear, forgive me for choosing the life of my child over obedience to your order. I cannot believe that I was wrong.

Perhaps I ask too much of such a god. Yet if my action did not offend you, show me by giving a small part of your spirit.

In answer, a shimmering brightness began to grow, not only in front of her eyes, but deep at her center. It was the crimson of the sunlight shining on sacred red feathers, and the color of flames leaping against the dark night.
 

As if from a great distance, she heard the cries from the crowd. "
Nevaneva
," they said. 'The spirit has entered her." She smiled to herself, pleased with the words of admiration. Indeed, she felt infused with the essence of the great god, but this was not the same divine frenzy that had gripped her before.
 

No, this was different. Oro filled Tepua but did not take her. His strength became hers and the dance remained hers, even through the fiery nimbus that surrounded her.
 

And then there was a shape moving in that fiery brightness—the form of a young god, dancing with her, laughing with her. He spoke in a voice like the rush of a wind-fanned flame.
 

"You have no need to ask forgiveness, Tepua-mua-ariki. You have served me well."

Her rejoicing grew until she felt she might burst with the power of it.

"Oro," she whispered, and reached out for his hand. She felt not only the incandescent touch of the god, but the solid warmth of a man's palm. Perhaps it was this touch that made the fiery halo start to fade, and the god's form shift and harden into the shape of Matopahu.
 

Her spirit leaped, perhaps even more than it had for Oro. The one dancing with her was the beloved quarry she had sought to draw. She looked into deep brown eyes, as molten as the god's fire. Her gaze traveled down the powerful bronzed swell of his shoulders, his arms.
 

"Even my pride cannot hold against you, atoll woman," Matopahu said in a low, fierce voice. "You have no need of line and lure."
 

She danced then for him, and he for her. Each displayed to the other in a blazing courtship driven by the drums. And when the beat ended, with a rattling flourish, they stood with their gazes locked on each other, bound together by the fevered lash of the dance that had married their bodies and their spirits.
 

Awed by the performance, the crowd pulled back, leaving a broad aisle open. Tepua felt every joyful face watching her as she walked hand in hand with Matopahu to the shore. The sun was low, casting a golden light across the water.
 

They stood together, whispering of Ruro and all then-hopes for him, and of their plans with each other. The marriage ceremony would come soon. The ancestors would be brought down from their cave to witness the formalities and celebrations. But in the eyes of the gods, Tepua knew, the union was already sanctified. The gods had shown her what was to come.
 

At last Matopahu flung his head back and gave a whoop of sheer joy. He plunged from the beach into the water. Tepua went after him, refreshed by the coolness that swept over her. The two splashed like children in the gentle waves as night came on.
 

 

Inside the special house erected for the mother and young son, Tepua sat one night and let her gaze rest on the cozy glow of the candlenut lamp. A pleasant weariness weighted her limbs. Ruro lay contentedly asleep. By all rights she should also be deep in slumber.
 

When the final candlenut burned out, she drew a
tapa
robe over herself and closed her eyes. Though drowsy, she did not immediately fall asleep. Images flickered behind her eyelids, images that were faint but growing brighter....
 

Suddenly she was once again riding the waves of Matavai Bay. She was Tepua but she was also Purea, standing on the raised deck of her regal double-hulled canoe. She felt a sharp sting of loss as she gazed out across the water.
 

The great ship of Tapani Vari was leaving through the pass, heading for open sea. All her pleading had failed to keep it here a day longer. Tears slid down her face, for she doubted that she would ever see Tapani Vari again. Despite the trouble he had brought, the anger he had stirred between chiefs, she had come to count the strange pale-skinned commander as a true friend.
 

Tapani Vari had praised her with grand words and had presented many gifts. As she watched the square sails billowing from masts that grew smaller at every moment, Purea cradled the best gift of all. The warm purring weight in the crook of her elbow was a precious comfort. Tapani Vari had given her one of the remarkable creatures she called
puhi
, an animal with the golden eyes of a god.
 

With a sigh of mixed grief and joy, she caressed the fur between the
puhi's
ears. The animal turned its gaze up to her with a soft mew. Looking into its eyes, she felt a new calmness and serenity come over her, as if she were floating in a tranquil sea the same color as those eyes.
 

The days of trouble seemed far behind now. Yet she could still see Tutaha's livid face when he berated her for protecting Tapani Vari.... But in the end she had kept Tutaha from harming the visitors.
 

Now Purea looked up from her reverie and watched the ship passing the outer reef, flags fluttering from the mastheads as if offering a farewell salute. To watch any longer would only prolong her pain. Once more she gazed down at the
puhi
, stroking its soft belly, feeling the slight swelling there and the little teats. Soon there would be more of the delightful creatures.
 

The animal stirred in her arms, rubbed its head affectionately against her hand. Far more than just a gift, the
puhi
was a token of an enduring friendship. There would be many disturbing changes in the land, she sensed. Despite their good intentions, the foreigners would bring much suffering.
 

But the people of Tahiti would survive. She had assured herself of that much. The sons and daughters of her great ancestors would live on....
 

 

Tepua returned slowly to herself. She was still filled with Purea's feelings—the warm weight of the golden-eyed animal in her arms, the overflowing affection and friendship for the stranger who had gone, the sparkling beauty of Matavai Bay.
 

The vision was gone and might not come again. But one day she hoped to see an infant in arms who would grow up to be the proud, strong
vahine ari'i
, a great woman of Tahiti.
 

I will be old and faded, a grandmother. Yet, with the help of the gods, I will be able to teach her, to prepare her, for what is to come.

With that last thought came contentment. Tepua reached out and caressed her own child. Then she drew the wrap around her and drifted into dreamless sleep.
 

 

 

 

AFTERWORD

 

The "discovery" of Tahiti by the outside world occurred in June of 1767. H.M.S.
Dolphin
, under the command of Samuel Wallis ("Tapani Van"), cruised around one side of the island and eventually entered Matavai Bay. Our knowledge of what happened in the following weeks comes from the logs and diaries of the Englishmen. One can only speculate about the Tahitian side of the story.
 

The interactions between Englishmen and Tahitians described in this work of fiction are based on the historical records, though certain incidents have been combined for brevity and dramatic effect. The actions and attitudes of Tutaha, however, come from the novelist's imagination. History does not tell us why this powerful chief remained in the background, allowing Purea to appear to be the "queen" of the island. We do know that a strong political rivalry eventually developed between Tutaha and Purea, and that Tutaha was not shy about presenting himself to Captain Cook in 1769.
 

The impression that Purea made on Wallis had a surprisingly vast impact on the outside world. Wallis's accounts of this gracious "queen," along with his descriptions of her island, captured the public imagination. In France, influential writers pointed to the seemingly freer and happier way of life in Tahiti as proof that European society was unnatural, contrary to man's innate virtue. Though some of their conclusions were based on misunderstandings, there is no doubt that they helped bring on the French Revolution.