Paradise for a Sinner (18 page)

****

The next day, Adam lingered over his breakfast and generally delayed their start toward his home village, but eventually he could not put it off any longer. With Winnie at his side, Adam took the Jeep over Rainmaker Mountain again and this time turned off on the rutted road past its peak. Halfway down to the sea, only half-glimpsed where the forest gave way now and again, a small tree uprooted by the rains blocked their path. Adam got out and shoved it to the side. Winnie gave him a round of applause.

“Don’t. This just means they aren’t keeping up the road the way the village should, but that is pretty hard to do during the rainy season. I guess the
matai,
our chiefs,
will have it graded when the weather gets a little dryer.”

She remained quiet as they churned along over teeth-rattling ruts and potholes. They came around a final curve and the village lay before them stretched out picturesquely along the beach and a small stream that flowed from the mountaintop. Two identical white churches anchored each end of the town. A tiny elementary school, a clinic, and a large traditional open-sided
fale
with a palm-thatched roof held the center. Simple homes of cement block painted various colors and shuttered with louvers filled in most of the gaps. Only three houses rose to two stories and these hugged close to the
fale
and the churches. Adam parked in front of an exceptional rambling white frame, single story home with a wide verandah, red tile roof, and slender turquoise columns. A couple of inviting rockers sat on its porch.

Unfortunately, the village dogs arrived to cancel that invitation to linger with their snarls and barks. Unlike Macho, they meant business. Winnie drew her legs up on the seat. Adam got out, picked up a few stones and shouted, “
Alu!
” as he chucked them at the beasts. The mongrels slinked away and were replaced by an imposing woman nearly as scary. She dominated the porch with her height and breadth wrapped around by a queen-sized lava-lava of purple and orange. Her wide bare feet slapped on the wooden steps as she came toward the car. Much lighter in complexion than Adam, her skin tone hinted at an ancestry containing white sailors very taken with Samoan girls. She wore her thick black hair parted in the middle, drawn back and turned under at her neck.

“My mother, Ela Malala.”

“Son, you have been gone so long the village dogs have forgotten you.” With that statement Ela’s stern expression cracked into a smile. She kissed both of Adam’s cheeks, and after he helped Winnie from the Jeep, she applied the same greeting to her guest.

“
Talofa,
Winnie Green.
Afio Mai!
Come in, come in and see where you will stay!”

Following his mother’s impressive backside, Adam trailed behind with their bags. He cleared his throat loudly at the threshold, and Winnie remembered to slip her feet out of the pair of inexpensive slides he’d recommended for the trip. She half expected to find nothing but a sleeping mat in the bedroom, but it held a modern four-poster bed enveloped in a ring of mosquito netting and accompanied by a simple dresser and a single chair. Mats did cover the floor. Once Winnie assured her hostess that she would be very comfortable, they moved on to Ela Malala’s pride and joy—the bathroom with a sparkling white porcelain commode, a sink and a shower. A water-filled bucket and a roll of toilet paper sat prominently on the back of the toilet.

“After you flush, you must refill the tank and get another bucket ready for the next person, “Adam advised.

“From where?”

Adam gestured toward the creek and the sea. “Plenty of water all around.”

“But no need to use the beach for your business,” his mother pointed out.

As they returned to the porch passing through other sparely furnished rooms, Adam asked after his father. Ela answered, “Helping with the feast to honor you and Winnie. We used some of the wedding goods since there will now be no wedding—and the gifts the Tau family owed us for the insult.”

“They did a formal reparation because of Pala?”

“Yes, we let the Taus sit in the sun all day before we invited them in and accepted their presents, a good traditional way to end the matter. Now if you want nothing to eat or drink, you must go to the
fale
for the
’Ava
ceremony, and I need to help with the cooking.”

Adam answered for them. “Nothing for us if we are feasting later. Winnie, you must try all the foods prepared so as not to offend anyone, but only a mouthful or two, or you won’t last to the end.”

She nodded and tried to take Adam’s hand for reassurance. He drew it away. “No PDA’s in the village. Public affection between a man and a woman is immodest.”

“Okay. I understand.” She understood she was on her own and had to watch her every move. All the way up the mountain and back down to the beach, the usually laidback Adam had coached her in Samoan customs. Winnie wished he’d started this the second they left the mainland instead of leaving it until the last minute. Pago Pago, so Americanized, had given her no hint of what was to come.

Ela Malala walked with them as far as the ceremonial building, then slipped away to the cookhouse behind it. Before they could run the gauntlet of older men with imposing bellies waiting for them, another fellow came around from the rear and wrung Adam’s hand.

“My father, Noa.”

While Adam got his size from his mother, he certainly inherited his charm from his father. Under a bush of curly black hair and beneath two large dark eyes sparkling with mischief lay Adam’s broad smile welcoming her to the village. Noa Malala had a spare brown body made even darker by the sun and deep lines in his face grooved by the same source. His muscles were hard knots from hauling in the nets, and at the moment, though his hands were clean, he smelled vaguely of fresh fish.

He shook Winnie’s hand. “I think you are prettier than Pala, but I must not say that too loud or the Taus will want their presents back.”

Winnie mustered a nervous smile for him and a faint, “Thank you.”

“Now, I must go finish preparing the fish for the
umu
and you must drink
’ava
with the chiefs.” With a wink, Noa Malala returned to his more humble duties.

Adam steered her to the assembly of elders who shook her hand and preceded them into the
fale
. Each of the
matai
settled cross-legged before a particular post in the building and beckoned Adam and Winnie to a place of honor. The men continued to chat, slapping their thighs and shaking hands with new arrivals while Winnie studied the inside of the
fale
. Far above, the interlacing of the branches holding the thatch made a pattern like the most delicate of fretwork. Flowers and garlands of leaves adorned the rafters and twined up the posts.

They sat on comfortable mats. She mentally thanked both her Pilates and yoga instructors that she could sit like a tailor for long periods of time since Adam had told her pointing one’s feet at a person was the height of rudeness. Shoes left outside again and wearing only the flowered lava-lava Adam insisted on as the proper attire for
’ava
drinking, she made sure enough of her was modestly covered. Mentally rehearsing the ceremonial words she needed to say when given the
’ava
cup, she barely noticed a sudden cessation in the conversation.

A man younger than most of the
matai
entered and made his greetings to all but Adam. Bending his legs and tucking in his lava-lava to show his tattoos, he slipped into a less honored place in the hall. The beginnings of a prosperous belly lapped over the cloth tied at his waist. Winnie thought how much more attractive Adam’s muscular, sculpted thighs displayed the designs compared to this man’s meaty legs. She disliked his narrow eyes, flat nose, and heavy lips, even the fat ear lobes displayed by his close-cropped hair. No surprise when Adam whispered, “Sammy Tau.” How could any woman want that when she could have Adam?

Another young man, slight of build with short, wavy hair neatly combed back from a high forehead, entered tardily and did pause to shake Adam’s hand. He wore a dark lava-lava and shirt, and an incongruous clerical collar. Among all the bare-chested men, he seemed so very out of place yet sat among the most respected of the chiefs.

“My childhood friend, Davita Tomanaga. He is now the Methodist minister,” Adam said just before a sharp clap of hands declared the opening of the ceremony.

A young man entered bearing the kava root for inspection by the highest chief. Approved, he delivered it to a four-legged
’ava
bowl, and the village maiden entered. Masculine eyes followed as she progressed to her place behind the bowl. The hand-painted
saipo
cloth she wore clung to her rounded hips as she swayed to her ceremonial position and slid gracefully onto the floor cross-legged. She carefully positioned her skirt and exposed smooth, brown thighs looped with tattoos like ropes of pearls. Another young man rushed to fill the bowl with water. Pala, because it could be no other, began macerating and kneading the root to bring out its narcotic juices.

Winnie wanted to laugh at the absurd headdress the maiden wore, a nest of orange hair or fiber full of shells and tiny mirrors affixed to her flowing black locks with two carved wooden skewers that made the woman look as if she’d sprouted devil horns. However, the face that sat beneath that headdress was so beautiful in its symmetry, its smooth tan skin, its shapely lips, and luminous eyes that ridicule became impossible. If sailors had wet dreams of South Pacific women, they dreamed of the incomparable Pala.

Every movement graceful, the village maiden impassively continued her task. She rung out a muslin cloth straining the liquid and tossed it to one of the young men who discarded the debris and returned it to her. The process repeated as she made the brew while one of the talking chiefs leaned on his staff, droned on in Samoan, and gave his back an occasional swat with his official fly switch. What he said, Winnie had no idea. At last, Pala completed her task and filled half a coconut shell for the inspection of the head
matai
. He in turn indicated that the pastor should drink first, but did accept the next offering. Early in the order of names called, the maiden filled a shell for Adam who drank before Sammy Tau. He performed the offering to the old gods, said his ceremonial words, and tossed out the dregs after gulping down the
’ava
.

Winnie heard her name and accepted the refilled coconut bowl from the young man. She swore it contained double the amount of fluid resembling dirty water that Adam had downed, but she flicked her offering droplets, said her words, and choked the whole mess down. Murmurs and nods of approval followed from her audience. The ceremony continued until all had been served.

Winnie leaned closer to Adam. “My tongue ith numb and I feel dizzy.”

“Completely normal,” he assured her, but he did not slur
his
words.

The village maiden paraded out of the
fale
and the
matai
stood to stretch before the feasting began. Adam rose and followed Pala. Winnie unknotted her legs and, despite a little vertigo, went after him. He called after his former fiancée, and she turned with that fluid movement her limbs did so well to face him. Winnie stayed back and leaned against one of the poles of the
fale
to watch the confrontation.

“Pala, I respect your decision to marry someone else, but I need to know why.”

Yes, why would such a beautiful woman throw over Adam for the flabby Sammy? Winnie wondered and waited. She thought Pala’s dark eyes flashed at her, then away again. The woman answered in English as if she wanted Winnie to overhear.

“You do not live the
fa’a Samoa
anymore, Sammy said. You are wealthy and do not share enough with the village. You put yourself before the family. Sammy told me what my life would be like if I married you. We would live on the mainland and never come home to Samoa. There, I would be nothing more than another pretty face, your arm candy, and when you tired of me you would sleep with many
palagi
women because that is what American footballers do.” Pala stood tall and delivered her accusations like the stones tossed at the village dogs.

“That is not true of all of us. I waited a year for you. Did I not send money for new roofs for both churches? Of course we would visit the islands even if we lived in America, and a beauty such as yours would shine among others like a star compared to a light bulb.”

Pala had not finished. “I would have no honor, no status, other than being your wife. Sammy said in the States, a girl like me who did not choose to go to college is regarded lightly. The old ways mean nothing there. Here, I am revered as the village maiden and will marry a future
matai
. As Sammy gains in rank, I will oversee the women’s societies and support the church, and always be respected by my people.”

Adam nodded. “I see. If that is what you want, I wish you well, but do know you plan to marry a liar who betrayed his best friend.”

A heavy-set man pushed by Winnie as she wondered if Adam wanted Pala back, if he expected the maiden to the change her mind this very minute and marry him. Had he totally forgotten she existed faced with so much natural beauty?

Sammy Tau placed a heavy hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Is he bothering you, Pala?”

Before the maiden could answer, Adam summoned up the strength and lightning reflexes that made him an outstanding cornerback, spun and drove his fist into Sammy’s gelatinous gut. “Liar! Traitor!”

Doubled over, Tau sank to his knees in the sand. His share of the
’ava
spewed from his heavy lips. Pala screamed. Children and dogs gathered drawn to the excitement like sharks to chum. Several of the
matai
rushed past Winnie and called for a stop to the violence. The preacher grasped Adam’s arm as if to forestall another punch, but the cornerback merely loomed over Tau casting a dark shadow upon him.

“Come talk with me,” Davita Tomanaga said calmly and led Adam back to the
fale
where Winnie stood. “My good friend, you must know the
matai
decided the Taus should atone for Sammy’s actions. Your family accepted their apology. The matter is at an end for the good of the village.”