Daughter of the Reef (24 page)

Aitofa nodded. “I give you credit for thinking about your decision. But perhaps you have not considered everything.”

“I thought I knew—” Tepua began.

“By the scared navel, they all think they know,” said Aitofa in another burst of laughter. “You intrigue me, though,
motu
daughter. It is fortunate that you do, or else I would have given in to Head-lifted and thrown you out on your pretty little bottom.” She held up one warning finger as Tepua opened her mouth to protest. “Now listen, and answer the questions that I put to you.”
 

Tepua stiffened her spine, eyeing Aitofa warily. Amid the mixture of spice and generosity in the lodge leader, she sensed a tinge of ruthlessness that had probably served to propel her to this high position.
 

“There is one rule,” said Aitofa, “that we enforce without exception. Though every initiate knows it, some women refuse to believe it until the truth falls upon them. Do you know which one I mean?”
 

“About—children?”

“We Arioi women have none.”

“Yes.”

“And not because we give up men. No. That would be too harsh a price for membership. But tell me this. What happens if a noblewoman of your island conceives the child of a commoner?”
 

Tepua answered without hesitation. “The child is done away with. Before it can draw breath. The family will not let it live.”

“Then I need not explain to you how we Arioi remain childless.”

Tepua swallowed. “You need not. Even so, I feel sorry for a woman who grows a child and then must destroy it. How much better if the child did not start at all. I thought the Arioi had ways—”
 

“One can make prayers to spirits, of course. And the sorcerers offer a few remedies, but none are certain. There are also ways of pleasure that do not require a man to spill his seed within you.”
 

“Will I be taught these things?”

“You will.”

“Then I will not conceive a child.”

Aitofa looked away, her eyes becoming distant. “How clear this one is, shimmering like the mother-of-pearl of her island.” Tepua heard her whisper.
 

“Is that all you wish to tell me?”

“That is only the first part,” said Aitofa. “If you join us, you will start as a chest-slapper. Discard any notions of performing before a crowd as you did last night.”
 

“I thought I had the talent—”

“Perhaps you do, but you first need the discipline and the knowledge to use it. Remember that we perform as a group. Each dancer is but one leaf on the tree. Is that clear?”
 

“Yes.”

“Finally, let me remind you that a novice must serve in the household of a high-ranking Arioi. And we do not believe in assigning only light tasks. The character of a young woman is improved, we think, by husking coconuts, digging in the garden, carrying firewood.”
 

“I was a servant in the household of Pigs-run-out,” Tepua answered firmly.

“Good. If you join us, you may look back fondly on that time. I ask you to think carefully about this. Head-lifted has convinced me to go slowly in your case. I urge you to speak to the novices you see around my house. Then come back and tell me your decision.”
 

“And if it is yes, will you accept me?”

“I have prayed for guidance. Let us hope the gods lead us both in the same direction.” Aitofa dismissed her with a curt gesture.
 

Tepua, her head swimming, went out into the courtyard. Part of her rebelled against Aitofa's imperious manner, the chilly voice, the tattooed fingers crooked at her as if she were a child. Yet how could she give up this chance? Oro had called her! She already knew how she would choose.
 

 

She found Rimapoa near his canoe, on the shore beside the fisherman's communal house. Behind him, water lapped quietly at the black sand beach. “I watched you dance,” he said moodily as he repaired his lines. “I offered a fine pair of albacore at the fisherman's
marae
, hoping that the god would turn you away. Instead—”
 

“My acceptance is not certain yet,” Tepua said softly, wishing she could find some way to ease his pain.

“It will be.” He turned from his work to study her face. “I hear a new note in your voice, and I see how your eyes shine.”

Tepua sighed. “Yes. I believe the Arioi will take me in. It is your problem that worries me now. When your month here is over—”

“Ah, but the spirits did hear my plea. Though they would not keep you from the Arioi, they granted me another favor.” He gazed at her with a satisfied expression.
 

“Must I guess?” she asked cautiously. How volatile he could be, swinging from sullen anger to joy with the swiftness of a child.
 

“No. Listen. Recently a local fisherman fell from a big fishing canoe and drowned. This morning the other men asked me to take his place in the boat until his son returns to claim it. I will be able to stay beyond the time that the high chief gave me.”
 

“Then I am glad,” she said, taking his hand, seeking the familiar warmth. “You will be safe here. And I know you would like to fish from a
tira
again.”
 

“And you may change your mind about the Arioi,” he said. “After you stay with them a time, and learn how they treat you.” He offered her his other hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “So you see, I have not given up my hopes.”
 

“I do see,” she answered with a laugh.
And I will prove you wrong
. But now, watching his roguish grin, she could not be angry at his persistence.
 

 

Two days later, under the high roof of the Arioi performance house, the women of the lodge assembled in rows. Tepua, standing alone before them, could see by their tattoos that these Arioi ranked from novice all the way up to grades just below blackleg. Aitofa, the only blackleg in the lodge, stood at the front of the group.
 

Tepua scanned their faces, some beautiful, some plain, some young, some approaching middle age. She had asked these women about their lives, as Aitofa suggested, but she knew her questions had been far too few. Now Aitofa stared intently at her. Her eyes spoke to Tepua, saying that if she wished to change her mind, she might still do it now. No. Tepua met the blackleg's gaze. She would not retreat.
 

“Here is our candidate,” Aitofa said, turning to the women beside her. “And here is what she must pledge.” She glanced again at Tepua before starting the ritual questions.
 

The candidate drew in her breath. Just a few words now, and all would be changed for her. Her skin prickled as she realized that she was entering a world she knew far too little about. She had been a chief's daughter and a servant, and now she would be less than a servant. Yet through talent and hard work she might become so much more...
 

“Our new novice must obey her leaders without question or hesitation,” boomed Aitofa's voice. “That is the first pledge. Does she agree?”
 

Tepua struggled to answer. “I do,” she said in a breathy whisper. When Aitofa scowled and cupped her hand behind her ear, Tepua repeated herself in a firmer voice. “I will obey.”
 

“And she must dedicate herself to studying the history, chants, songs, and dances of our order.”

“I will.”

“She must uphold the ideals of the society by embracing youthfulness in all its aspects. She must strive for physical perfection and grace of movement.”
 

“I will.”

“She must never show cowardice, or refuse to fight. We Arioi women learn the skills of war and serve alongside the men if war should come to our district.”
 

“Yes,” Tepua said, remembering her skills with bow and spear. She had exercised for sport at home, but she knew she could learn to fight.
 

“And last, she must swear to remain childless, so long as she is one of us.”

Tepua straightened her shoulders. This was the most difficult answer, and yet she was prepared to make it. “I agree.”

Then Aitofa raised her hand, and gave the ritual words that Tepua knew must come. “
Manau, manau, haere mai
! You are one of us, come here.”
 

Tepua stepped forward, her chin lifted, her pulse quickening. A sharp tap, almost a blow, fell upon her shoulder.

“Then welcome, blessed of Oro,” chanted Aitofa. “I invest you with the
maro pipi
, the girdle of the pea vine.” Another woman, heavily tattooed with scroll designs from shoulders to hands, brought the novice's girdle to the blackleg. The ritual sash had been woven from fresh vines, dark pods showing amid the bright green leaves.
 

Tepua lifted her arms as Aitofa bound the sash around her waist. The other women broke into a chorus of songs and clapping, welcoming the new novice among them.
 

“It is done. Oro is pleased,” Aitofa concluded. “And now we feast in honor of our new novice.” The women filed out to the clearing beside the performance house, where places had been set—broad plantain leaves spaced neatly on the ground.
 

Tepua had not expected this. She glanced at the nearby sheltered cooking pit and saw servants already parceling out steamed plantains and yams, baked fowl and taro greens. She stepped closer and saw a huge fish, an albacore, that had just been unwrapped from its covering of fragrant leaves.
 

The new novice gazed at the bounty with astonishment. This morning, Curling-leaf had led her on a long walk through the hills, to gather flowers for the ceremony. All the preparations must have been done while they were away. But at whose expense?
 

Evidently noticing Tepua's confusion, Aitofa came to her. “Usually the relatives of a candidate provide all her feasts,” she explained. “Since the first is a small one, and you have no kin here, I made the arrangements this one time.”
 

“Your kindness ... honors me,” Tepua answered, feeling awkward. Here was a gift she could not possibly repay.

“You will have ample opportunity to show your appreciation,” said Aitofa sweetly. “I have decided that your service will be in
my
household.”
 

Tepua tried to cover her surprise. “I will be pleased to serve you,” she said, hoping her words sounded humble. After all the chiefess had done for her, Tepua knew she should be glad of this chance to give something in return. Why then did she find the prospect so dismaying? “This is a fine feast,” Tepua added. “I cannot imagine one better. Look at the albacore!”
 

“That part I did not provide,” said the chiefess. “A fisherman left it with one of the servants. He ran off without giving his name.”
 

Rimapoa
!
 

Later, as she sat at her place, Tepua nodded with pleasure when a servant brought her portion of the repast. According to custom, women did not eat albacore. Yet Arioi women were different. At their feast, nothing was denied them.
 

But what did this offering from Rimapoa mean? He had not admitted defeat, but was still courting her. The gift of albacore proved that. He had not accepted her decision at all...
 

 

Tepua took up her new life and found it as exacting as Aitofa had warned. The season for Arioi performances had ended, but this did not lighten the burden on the novices. Part of each day she spent training, practicing dance or mime or spear exercises as she was ordered. The chiefess had told her that she must stay close to the house and have nothing to do with men until she mastered the main body of chants. Exhausted after every day's work, Tepua found this restriction no burden.
 

Her mornings were always devoted to labor, usually grating coconut for use in making
monoi
, scented oil. Tepua sat on what the novices called a “grating pig,” a short log that had a long piece of coral sticking out at one end. Pressing the white meat of a halved coconut against the coral, she gave a rotary motion to the shell, letting the shavings fall to a plantain leaf below.
 

The coconuts were well aged, the nut meat tough. The work went slowly, tiring her wrists, arms, and fingers until they felt numb. One day Curling-leaf sat beside her, waving flies away, occasionally dumping the shavings into a trough when the pile grew high.
 

“You are slowing down, and we have scarcely begun,” said Curling-leaf as she handed Tepua another open nut to replace the one she had finished. The odor of rancid coconut milk made Tepua's stomach queasy. The buzzing of flies grew louder.
 

“Let's start on the creation chant again,” said Curling-leaf. “Remember what Aitofa told you.”

That I am a prisoner here until I learn all the basic chants
. The long names of characters and places seemed to slip from her mind as if they were covered with grease.
 

“Oro dwelt with many gods in the sky's vault,” Tepua began. “Over them he ruled as high chief. He had his wife, Ax-with-eyes—”

“The wife's name was Stand-to-unfold-the-sky,” interrupted Curling-leaf. “Ax-with-eyes was a daughter's name.”

All right, go on
, Tepua told herself. “He had his daughters, Ax-with-eyes, Eater-of-the-summit, and a son, Sworn-friend. Ooops, forgot the other daughter, Fog-of-many-owners.” Tepua stopped to wipe sweat from her brow, then pushed the coconut down onto the grater again.
 

“One day, in a fit of anger, Oro pushed his wife out of the sky. Probably because he couldn't remember her name,” Tepua added, and Curling-leaf giggled. “Oro missed his wife and grew lonely. His sisters, Darkness and Grossness, went to earth to find him another. Clad in
ti
leaves, they came to Tahiti.