Paradise for a Sinner (19 page)

“No one consulted me about it.”

“They never would. Their word is law here. As a Christian, I ask you to forgive Sammy in your heart.”

“Because you asked me, I will try.”

The clergyman dropped out of his expected role as peacemaker for a moment. “Adam, do you remember when we were in high school in Pago? All the girls ran after you, and Sammy ran after those girls and caught a few. He drank too much, he ate too much, he played too much to succeed the way you did. He still does. His spirit is greedy. He will not make a good
matai
, though because of his plans to marry Pala he has been accepted into a junior position by her uncle. She did not choose the better man, but perhaps she selected the life she wanted.”

“I understand that. My quarrel is not with Pala.”

Sammy Tau, back on his feet again, brushed the sand from his knees and being larger than the men surrounding him, shouted over their heads. “You are jealous because I will marry the village maiden, and you have only that skinny white bitch.”

Over the uproar his words caused among the
matai
, Adam roared back, “At least my woman is useful as well as pretty. She is a nurse, not some outdated figurehead.”

So, she was Adam’s woman and useful. That struck home. She’d been useful to Doug Hopper sending him through med school. Was her use besides caring for the sick helping Adam get over Pala? Did she continue to use Adam for the same reason, to get over a bad marriage? Winnie hoped they’d moved beyond that to true affection, but perhaps not.

The elders opened their circle around Sammy in a direction away from Adam and the
fale
and sent him on his way with some sharp remarks in Samoan. The pastor interpreted their actions for Winnie. “They are upset he insulted a guest. He is not welcome at the feast.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t go either.”

“The feast is given in your honor. You must attend,” Davita said. “The fault is not yours, but I’d say Adam is heading for trouble if he can’t contain himself.”

“I’m fine. Let’s eat. And remember, Winnie, try everything,” Adam prompted.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The
matai
reassembled in the
fale
and took their accustomed places. Sammy Tau’s space remained conspicuously empty. The parade of food began with the head chief and the pastor partaking first, then Winnie and Adam. She soon lost count of the many dishes.

Of course, succulent roasted pig formed the centerpiece of the meal, but moist, flaky fish baked in coconut cream followed. Also, chicken and turkey and a procession of seafood: sweet, fresh lobster, turtle tasting strangely like beef, and chewy octopus. Winnie managed to pinch off a tiny tentacle and get it down. She recognized the
palusami
, only this variety came with real taro leaves and corned beef. Chop suey and rice dishes galore added a little oriental touch, then the surprise of plain old American potato salad, all to be scooped up with the fingers or on a piece of baked taro.

She especially liked the thin, crispy tidbits offered in one bowl and took a second. Leaning toward of Adam, Winnie said, “These are good. What is it?”

“A type of fried worm. Try not to think about it.”

Winnie reached for her coconut shell full of a sweet, red beverage and took a large swallow. “Tell me what I’m drinking and that it won’t make me drunk.”

“You’re safe. Cherry Kool-Aid.”

A girl offered her a washbasin of sticky stuff turning out to be thickened coconut cream that could be eaten only by immersing the fingers and taking out a chewy glob of the
pisua
. Sweets appeared, enough cakes to compete at a county fair. Winnie, full to bursting, accepted only bites or just a dab of frosting when she could get away with it. At last, the feast ended with a bowl of water passed for washing the hands. The mats before them still overflowed with food.

“Is all this going to go to waste? Do you have enough refrigeration here to preserve all this stuff? I mean that potato salad will turn in the heat,” Winnie worried.

“No problem. This will all be gone by morning.”

At that moment, the rest of the village came to eat. Old women slid whole cakes into baskets toted by grandsons. The basin of
pisua
vanished along with most everything else in a very short period of time as everyone helped themselves to the feast and carted away what they fancied.

“Efficient, I guess,” Winnie said.

“No one goes hungry. You might want to rest before the
fiafia.
It’s likely to go on into the night.” Adam steered her back to his parents’ house.

She lay down beneath the veil of mosquito netting on the comfortable bed and curled around her overstuffed stomach like a python that had swallowed a pig. The drumming of a light rain on the roof lulled her to sleep. Louder drums woke her as well as the giggles of girls passing by her window. The house filled with their chatter as the group entered by the front door. Adam’s mother came to seek her.

“You missed evening prayer, but no matter. As long as you were not out and about, no one noticed. The young women are here to take you to the dancing,” Ela told her.

“Give me a minute or two.”

Winnie rushed to the bathroom to brush her hair and repair the light makeup she wore. She shed her lava-lava dribbled with food stains and chose her most attractive one of green with yellow flowers for the festivities. Fairly sure it wouldn’t fall down, she added a couple of safety pins just in case. As soon as she presented herself to the girls, all much younger than she, they crowned her head with fragrant plumeria blooms, and slipped a floral
ula
around her neck before hauling her off to a circle lit by a bonfire, lanterns strung between the trees, and a large tropical moon nude in the sky now that the rain had passed.

It appeared the entire village had arrived before her. A boy’s group similar in age to the girls who escorted her took up a large area. Mothers nestled small, dark-eyed children between their crossed legs. Some nursed chubby infants. The elderly sat near the front in the best seats to view the performances. Winnie searched among the crowd for Adam, the minister, anyone she knew, but found only Adam’s parents across the way and the snake-eyed Sammy Tau too close for comfort.

Her escorts deserted her and formed two lines, kneeling to perform an intricate percussive display of sticks snapped together. At the end, they were displaced by the young men who wore their lava-lavas rolled up tight to dance vigorously and sing a song accompanied by a guitar, two ukuleles, a traditional drum, and an oil can bass fiddle with one twanging string. In the next act, three old women related an obviously hilarious story with bawdy overtones even Winnie caught without understanding a word. A pause occurred to allow everyone a leg stretch.

Sammy Tau approached her. “I ask you to forgive my earlier words spoken so rashly. Though thin, you are very lovely like the plumeria blossoms you wear in your hair tonight.”

“Thank you. I’ve heard that before.”

“From Adam, naturally. He will be very busy proving he has not abandoned the
fa’a Samoa
in the coming days. I would be happy to show you around in his absence.”

“I appreciate that, but have plans of my own.”

“What plans?” he pressed.

“While I’m here I will offer to help at the clinic.”

“Very noble, but not much fun. I know
palagi
women seek fun when they come to the islands. I can show you a good time better than Adam. He’s always been like that stick in the mud Americans talk about.”

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

Though he did not touch her, Sammy sat very close blocking her view of the performance area. A male figure entered silhouetted against the fire. The drum rolled. “Please, you are in my way.”

Sammy did not budge. Winnie sifted through her tiny Samoan vocabulary and came up with the word Adam used to chase the dogs. “
Alu
!” That got Sammy Tau to move his oleaginous bulk, a look of pure hatred glinting in his narrow black eyes. If this was paradise, surely that man personified the snake that inhabited it.

As Sammy shifted away, Winnie recognized the male dancer who stood before her—Adam, every taut, muscular inch of him gleaming with coconut oil. The same combed through his hair made black ringlets fall down his back and across his chest, and tucked behind one ear, a red hibiscus flower. Two slashes of black much like the shading he used on the football field lay under his eyes. Anklets of brown nuts rattled as he began to dance. He wore nothing else but his tattoos and a thick skirt of shredded leaves tied round his waist.

The drumbeat matched the thud of Winnie’s heart as his feet kept time. His wrists turned in subtle motions, and his eyes glanced sidelong at her. The pounding accelerated, but he never lost control of the undulations of his legs, the smooth gestures of his arms. The tattoos on his thighs seemed to do a mesmerizing dance all their own.

The girls’ group had reformed around her and watched avidly. The one who sat closest, the single young lady of the group who had overdone both her makeup and the amount of her perfume, whispered, “You are one lucky lady.” A chubby one sitting behind prodded Winnie’s back. “You must dance with him!”

Totally untrue that people with any amount of black blood possessed a natural sense of rhythm. Winnie got slowly to her feet. The girl who loved blue eye shadow nudged her into the circle. Winnie dug deep and came up with some of the graceful moves from her brief flirtation with ballet in middle school. Adam smiled. In that second, she wished he’d take her hand and run away with her into the jungle to do this dance in a prone position. The music stopped.

The audience slapped their hands and thighs in approval, maybe not of her dancing but for being a good sport. Adam excused himself because, “I’m not going to wear leaves all night.” He returned shortly in his lava-lava minus the nut anklets, but with his skin still glistening in the moonlight and the hibiscus flower behind one ear. He stayed beside Winnie for the remainder of the performances with the strongly perfumed girl pressed near him a little too closely.

The last act began—a solo performance by the village maiden to end the evening. Pala wore a less absurd headdress, a simple crown of ti leaves. Like Adam, her every motion was exquisite, but graceful and feminine compared to his totally masculinity. Had they danced together, they would have been the perfect couple, Winnie admitted to herself. Pala and Sammy, the only two bad experiences in an otherwise beautiful and enchanting evening.

She knew she could not take Adam’s hand on the way back to the house or put her arm around him without offending her hosts, though some of the girls from her group held hands with each other, and in fact some of the boys did, too. Instead, she settled for murmuring, “Your dance was the sexiest thing I have ever seen my life, Adam Malala.”

“You think?”

“I do think. If it were allowed, I’d take you under the palms right now.”

His grin showed whitely in the moonlight. “Not a good idea, but I know of a banyan tree where we’ll never be found.” He veered from their path, and she followed him into the dense growth at the base of the mountain. Another handy thing about lava-lavas—easy to take off even when held together by safety pins and a great ground cover for two people who wanted to make love.

Winnie lay beside Adam and stroked her hands over his slick body all the way to the root of his awakening penis. She ran her fingers up and down its oiled length until he became fully rigid. Take that perfect Pala who knew nothing about men. A thought occurred. “It’s not part of the village maiden’s job to anoint the male dancers, is it?”

“Absolutely not. I greased myself. Makes great lubrication for more than dancing, lovely Winnie.” He sniffed her crown of pale yellow plumeria flowers. “Now you smell like the beautiful blossom you are.” He removed it from her hair, leaving her clothed only in the
ula
of brilliant red flowers like the single hibiscus he wore behind his ear.

He rolled over, parted her legs, and slid inside so well-oiled he soon built up a rhythm faster than his dance. Winnie grasped his ringlets, shredding the petals from the hibiscus, and held on for the explosion within. It came upon her gradually, building and building until she convulsed with its force. Moments later, Adam allowed his release. They lay side by side with hearts beating like the village drum, eyes staring up at the brilliant light of the moon that filtered through the banyan’s leaves as they caught their breath. A giggle came from the other side of the tree so wide around it could have housed a small family.

“We aren’t alone,” Winnie whispered, frantically trying to rip her lava-lava from beneath Adam and put it on. He sat up and covered himself with his own loincloth. Groans and sighs made their way through the many branches to their ears. The voices, high and adolescent, urged each other to completion, which judging by the boy’s great gasp and the girl’s angry response arrived far too quickly.

Adam stood. “Let me handle this. Stay here.”

Not trying for quiet, he rounded the huge trunk. Winnie caught a glimpse of bare, narrow brown buttocks as the boy flashed her way trailing his lava-lava and crashing into the bushes as he made his frantic escape. She moved soundlessly to the curve of the trunk where she could see and hear the rest of the drama. The overly made up girl from the
fiafia
lounged against one of the tree’s many roots and let the moonbeams play over firm, young breasts and a small, round belly flaunting the dark indent of her navel and shadowing the cleft between her legs. The teenager made no move to cover herself, as lacking in modesty as Eve before the apple.

“Get dressed, Lita, and go home. Shame on you for being out here with a boy who thinks so little of you he runs away and lets you take the blame,” Adam pronounced.

“He believes you will thrash him.”

“I probably would.”

“Doesn’t matter. He did not satisfy me. I think you could.” The girl stood and advanced on Adam like a famished mongoose after a tasty snake.

“You are a child. I am your elder. Go back to your parents’ house.”