Daughter of the Reef (38 page)

The servants scrambled after her, and when they saw the buds for themselves, they began to dance about the grove, singing and clapping. Then they raced along the shore to spread the news.
 

Staring after them, Tepua remembered her unfulfilled pledge. Perhaps in the nearby hills she would find something. A
nono
, or some other small fruit would do for the altar, so long as it was unblemished.
 

She chose a steep path, ascending while the sun rose, but found nothing of interest along the way. Hot and thirsty, she sat to rest awhile as the sun approached noon. Then she heard shouts from the trail above. She looked up and saw a crowd of Arioi descending, the same foraging party that had taken her to the mountains.
 

They filed past, their faces damp and dusty, their clusters of ripening
fe'i
hanging heavily from poles laid across their shoulders. When they heard Tepua's news, they began to shout and sing.
 

At last Tepua spotted Curling-leaf, who was carrying a basket of small mountain apples. They walked together to Aitofa's courtyard, where the Arioi threw down their burdens. The others rushed to the breadfruit groves, but Tepua, with three of Curling-leaf's best apples, made her way to the women's shrine.
 

The altar stood almost bare. Tepua's gift seemed a trifle in the midst of that emptiness, yet she knelt in prayer. “Here is my gift, Tapahi-roro-ariki,” she said. “I beg you to intercede for me with the high gods and ask them to forgive my transgressions against them.” She kept silent about Matopahu, and the harsh words she had said to him. He would forget them in time, she thought. He would not forget their afternoon together in the highlands.
 

But how long must she wait before he called her into his arms again? And how would she put by her pride when he did? She stared at the heap of black stones, the
ahu
of the shrine, but found no answer.
 

As she headed back she heard a sound that had been missing far too long—drumming. Following the deep-toned rhythm, she reached the performance house, where a group of Arioi were starting an impromptu celebration. Fires were already burning in the pit ovens, though she could see from the preparations that the mountain food would be used sparingly. After all, many days must pass before the new breadfruit was ready to be eaten.
 

When Tepua saw the others celebrating, she rushed to join them.
Dance. Dance for Oro. Chant praises to the god.
That was all she wanted to do now. But before she could even start, a servant came after her. “Aitofa calls you,” the girl said. Tepua's words of joy died in her throat. With a heavy step she followed the servant.
 

“I did not expect to see you here so soon,” the chiefess said coldly as Tepua stepped into the guest house. “But I am willing to accept what Eye-to-heaven told me. Let us say nothing more of your ... adventures in the mountains. Or of what took place among the
opu-nui
yesterday.” She paused and took a long breath. “I have other things to say to you.”
 

Tepua, squirming inwardly, forced herself to stand erect. “Eye-to-heaven has spoken to me of your troubles,” the chiefess continued. “He has offered to perform whatever ceremonies are needed to help you. But you must take time to atone. Until then, you remain under a cloud.”
 

“That is—a kind offer—by the new high priest.”

“It is. And he asked that you speak with him about it.”

“Yes, I will do that,” Tepua said softly. But the thought of approaching Matopahu's
taio
filled her with dismay. She was certain that he, too, would be a far different man here from the one she had known in the highlands. She wished she could find some other way to redeem herself.
 

“There is something else,” said Aitofa sharply. “Concerning our important friend, whose name I need not speak. I must tell you that he will not be calling you to his mat. Eye-to-heaven insists. Your guilt might taint our friend. Your touch might even cause his god to fall silent!”
 

Tepua reeled under the impact of Aitofa's words.
It is too late. In the stream, he touched every part of me, yet his god still came to him
. She dared not say this aloud.
 

Her fury at Matopahu flared again. He had warned her that they must part. He had said that people would be watching him, but not that the gods would be watching as well!
 

Or was this a convenient lie, making it easy for Matopahu to cast her aside? Her throat tightened. “The man does not matter,” she whispered. “I must rise to Pointed-thorn. That is my only wish now.”
 

“I would also like to see you advance,” said Aitofa. “Eye-to-heaven believes that the gods will now grant us our season of plenty. And you may be ready before it ends. Yet you still have the burden of providing a feast for the entire company. Other novices made their arrangements long ago, but you were too proud.”
 

“I will do anything,” said Tepua. “I do not need M—I do not need—”

Aitofa frowned. “With your reputation, what man of rank would be interested? Everyone knows how you clawed that fisherman.”

She bristled at the reminder. Was it her fault that Rimapoa's foul trick had sent her into a frenzy? But she did not wish to argue with Aitofa. “Then what am I to do?” Tepua asked in desperation.
 

“Your only hope is to find a patron who cares nothing about what others think of him, who does not even listen to priests. ...” Her voice trailed off into awkward silence. A gust of wind blew, making the rafters creak. “I know one such man, only one,” Aitofa said at last. “Even then, I hesitate.”
 

“Tell me.”

“He is not young and you will not like his appearance. He drinks too much
ova
. Do you know what that does to the skin? I have sent other novices to him, but none stayed.”
 

“I will. Let it be part of my punishment.”

Aitofa sighed. “That is appropriate.”

“Then you will talk to the man?”

Again Aitofa paused. “I see no other way to help you. And Head-lifted often reminds me that I should not have taken you in. If you advance to Pointed-thorn faster than anyone else has, then I will have a way to answer him.”
 

 

In the next few days, the Arioi who had gone away during the idle season returned to the lodge house. Every morning and afternoon the drums sounded as the dancers practiced again. When her turn came, Tepua joined them, standing in formation with the other novices and following the lead of the dancing master.
 

She had found that blending her performance with the troupe's was more difficult than the dancing itself. At home she had grown used to being the featured dancer, dazzling the audience with her speed and agility while the other girls formed a backdrop for her performance. Now Tepua had to match her movements with the others. Yet sometimes she lost control, and every so often she found herself so caught up in the music that she forgot everyone around her. Then she would see the leader's angry face and have to bear his tirade.
 

Tepua still was obliged to labor for Aitofa every day. She spent her mornings sitting cross-legged, making finely plaited mats to be given as gifts. When she had time, she also practiced weapon handling or mime. One warm afternoon, while Tepua exercised with an ironwood spear, Curling-leaf interrupted her. “Aitofa sends word,” she whispered, “of an admirer who wishes to see you. You must go to him now.”
 

Tepua felt gooseflesh as she turned to stare at her friend. She had accepted Aitofa's offer in the heat of her anger at Matopahu. Now she felt far less certain about it. “First I must wash,” she answered. “I am covered with dust.” With one final lunge, she drove her weapon into the target of tied straw.
 

They walked to the stream, and when Tepua felt the cool water around her, she wanted to prolong the bath as long as possible. Curling-leaf was already dry, and arranging her wrap. With her head down, Tepua came out on the bank, then listlessly rubbed herself with scented oil from a coconut shell. The other women in the stream were laughing excitedly as they discussed the men they were preparing to meet. Tepua had no one to care about now. Perhaps she was better off that way.
 

Curling-leaf vanished for a few moments, returning with a garland of coconut leaves and hibiscus flowers for Tepua's hair. “Now I will lead you to his house,” Curling-leaf said. “To the house of the man called Feet-out-of-water.”
 

They took a wooded path that paralleled the shore. Here, stately ironwoods dangled needlelike leaves over a thicket of smaller trees.' 'Why were you chosen to lead me?” asked Tepua. When Curling-leaf did not answer, a discomfiting thought reached Tepua. “Is it because you know the way?”
 

“Yes,” her friend answered unhappily.

“You went to this man, and yet you remained a novice.”

“I could not please him,” Curling-leaf replied, turning so that Tepua could not see her face. “He sent me away.”

“Then I cannot hope to do better.”

“You are prettier,” the other woman insisted. “And I have seen how you dance. Feet-out-of-water will not send you back.”

Tepua frowned. For a moment she thought she might not be able to go through with Aitofa's plan. She stared at her downcast friend, trying to imagine what had happened between Curling-leaf and the nobleman.
 

Then anger strengthened Tepua's will. She had come this far with the Arioi. She had learned their chants until she could say them awake or asleep. Now she would not give up her hopes.
 

Breathing deeply, trying to keep her thoughts from what was to come, she followed Curling-leaf. They passed a stand of glossy-leaved
hotu
, crossed a stream, and approached the shore. Here breadfruit trees stood in neat rows, surrounding a compound that was almost as large as the headman's.
 

“Remember that this is a nobleman you are visiting,” said Curling-leaf as they drew closer to the low fence. “His father was a well-known chief, long ago. This man has influence as well as wealth. He can help you.”
 

“Are those your words or Aitofa's?”

The other woman hesitated. “Those were the words Aitofa used when she sent me to him. I hope you heed them better than I did.” Curling-leaf embraced her quickly. Tepua saw the glimmer of a tear on her friend's face as Curling-leaf turned back to the path.
 

Standing alone now before the compound fence, Tepua recalled the words of challenge she had shouted so many days ago. The people at the performance had asked who she was, and Tepua had answered:
I am the sister of the shark. I am the daughter of the reef
. She straightened her wrap, swept her black hair over her shoulders. Proudly she strode toward the guard who stood watching her.
 

A servant came to take her in. Children glanced up from their games, then looked away. Brown dogs eyed her and returned to scratching their fleas.
Good
, she thought,
I draw no attention.

But suddenly it seemed that every woman of the household was watching her. She saw mats pulled aside at the doorways and faces pressed to cane walls. Her cheeks burned as several finely dressed women came out into the courtyard to gaze at her openly. Tepua forced herself to meet the challenging stares.
 

The servant led her, not to the main house, but to a smaller one with latticework walls that lay at the edge of the compound.

“Welcome to my little guest house,” said a deep voice from within. “I am pleased that you accepted my invitation.”

The servant stepped aside, allowing Tepua to enter alone. Her eyes took a moment to accustom themselves to the dimmer light within. Then she saw a heavy, pale-skinned man sitting on a broad stool. He was of middle years, a good deal older than either Matopahu or Rimapoa, and was dressed in a simple printed wrap that did not disguise the bulge of his belly. Beside him lay polished coconut shells and a wooden bowl filled with muddy-colored liquid. Tepua sniffed the peppery scent of
ava
root.
 

She stepped boldly into the room.

“The last time I saw you,” he said, “was the night your face was smeared with red paint. I could not get a good look at you then. Now I see that you are as beautiful as Aitofa promised.”
 

“You are kind,” she answered quietly. Her stomach fluttered.

He smiled. “I could not stop watching you that night. I would like to see you dance again.”

Tepua lowered her gaze. “Oro came to me. I cannot call up such a frenzy at will.”

“Frenzy? No. This is not a sacred occasion!” He picked up one of his cups and dipped it into the bowl of murky ova, then shouted an order through the wall.
 

From just outside, the sound of a drum began softly. Tepua remained before Feet-out-of-water, trying not to stare at the white, scaly patches that covered his skin—the result of overindulgence in
ava
. The thought of touching him repulsed her.
 

“Is the beat to your taste?” he asked. “Tell the drummer what you want.”

“It will do.” She remembered how she had managed to begin on the night she danced for the Arioi. Perhaps if she did not have to endure his stare ... She turned, facing the source of the drumbeat. Through the wall's openings, she caught a glimpse of the drummer's smooth, well-muscled back. If she were dancing for him instead of this wreck of a man, she might manage a bit more enthusiasm.