Sister of the Sun (15 page)

"He asks—do women dance?"

"Certainly."

Nika seemed pleased by that answer. Then she heard footsteps. Holding their spears high so that everyone could see the sharp points at both ends, eight men ran into the clearing. Their skins gleamed with sweat and coconut oil; their shadows were dark against the sandy ground.
 

The men split into two parties, each group taking the opposite end of the field. They were garbed in the warrior's
maro
, a loincloth of finely plaited matting that was tied with a cord winding six times around the waist. In addition each man wore half a split palm frond wrapped about his hips to form a fierce-looking kilt. Another split frond tied about the head made a spiked headdress. The crowd grew so quiet that Tepua could hear the stiff leaves of the costumes rattle.
 

She glanced at her guests for their reactions. Nika was staring with rapt attention while Kiore shifted restlessly on his seat. She hoped that the men had understood her explanation.
 

With a guttural yell, the attackers rushed the defenders. Feet pounded, coconut fronds shook. On one side, the squatting men waited until almost too late as the enemy advanced. Only when the attacking spear points came within an arm's length of their chests did the defenders leap up and cross spears with their opponents. The crack of wood striking wood resounded across the assembly ground.
 

The conflict rolled back and forth as each side shouted the traditional taunts and replies. The battle kilts fanned in a spread of sharply tipped leaves as the warriors jumped and whirled. Pieces of war dress broke off and were trampled underfoot.
 

At last the battle ended when the attackers fell, groaning as if mortally wounded.
That is how we should deal with the Pu-tahi
, Tepua thought while the onlookers pounded their thighs in approval. Alas, there was a vast difference between drills and real fighting. The Pu-tahi had proved that they could defeat her warriors, but Kiore and Nika need not learn that now. The display had clearly impressed them— especially Nika—and she did not wish to ruin the effect. The younger sailor was moving his arms as if he were thrusting a spear of his own.
 

"You wish to learn?" she asked the younger sailor. His eyebrows rose with interest. "I will ask Paruru to teach you," she promised, glad that she had found a way to please him.
 

When the applause died down, soot-smeared cooks appeared at the edge of the assembly ground. "Let us feast!" shouted Tepua, rising. At her signal the crowd dispersed, boys and men heading to one side, girls and women to the other. Paruru came forward to guide the visitors to their places of honor among the men.
 

 

Paruru noted how Kiore's gaze lingered on Tepua as she left to join the women's feast. He did not blame the foreigner. In her cape and feathered crown she was a lovely sight. But Paruru knit his brows when he recalled the reports he had heard from her guards. There was too much friendliness between this pair.
 

Paruru refused to believe what some people whispered— that Tepua might take the outsider as her lover. If she took any man, it should be the one who had brought her back from Tahiti and had protected her ever since.
 

"Come this way," the
kaito-nui
said, guiding the visitors through the throng. The two seemed puzzled by the arrangements. "Men eat with men, women with women," Paruru told them. "Is it not that way in your land?"
 

He and Nika had been learning to communicate, with words of each man's language and with signs. But Nika's reply so shocked Paruru that he believed he had misunderstood.
Men and women sharing the same food
! No, that defied all good sense, and mocked the teachings of the gods.
 

He led the guests to their places, each well separated from the next. Bowls of seawater and coconut sauce lay beside little mats that had been quickly woven from
fara
leaves. The servers began to distribute the portions—leaf-wrapped parrot fish and cod, baked taro and greens, and large helpings of the atoll's mainstay—meat of the
pahua
or giant clam.
 

Paruru had watched with dismay how the foreigners dealt with the food brought to their
vaka.
Now he endeavored to give them a quick lesson in manners. "First we wash," he said, ordering a server to pour well water over each man's hands. "Now watch how I use my fingers. Before eating, I offer a morsel to the spirits....."
 

Kiore made an attempt to follow Paruru's lead while Nika grabbed carelessly at the food, dropping pieces in his lap. The
kaito-nui
had expected no more. Nika was like one of the wild birds that some men tried to tame. He was strong and arrogant, unwilling to submit to rules made by others.
 

Yet Paruru sensed that the younger man might ultimately provide him the knowledge he sought. Of the two sailors, Nika took a stronger interest in weapons and fighting, and he seemed to enjoy Paruru's company. With patience, the warrior thought he might bring Nika under his influence. When Nika finally understood the need to protect the atoll against raiders, Paruru would ask him for the secret of the weapon.
 

With these hopes, the
kaito-nui
unleashed his own hearty appetite. From time to time he glanced at the two sailors, who were seizing whole small fish, digging their fingers into chunks of bonito, eating steamed oysters from their shells. The only dish they left untouched was the raw meat of
pahua
.
 

Paruru urged the foreigners to try it. He showed them how to dip the meat in seawater, then in fermented coconut sauce to enhance the delicate flavor. He was pleased to see that Nika made the first attempt to follow his lead, warily taking a bite, pausing to savor the taste, then licking his lips. When Nika reached for his second piece, Kiore seemed to view this as a challenge. Slowly, and with determination, the light-haired sailor began to chew. A few people around him exchanged approving looks. "The food of our land is good," they murmured.
 

 

After the leavings of the feast had been cleaned up, and everyone had rested, the drums started up again. Hastily the audience assembled around the clearing. Paruru led the guests back to their places by Tepua and took a seat beside them. "The dancing begins," he announced with pleasure.
 

Both guests leaned forward to watch a group of lithe young women, arms outstretched, chins held high, race onto the assembly ground. Wearing skirts of swaying fiber strands and necklaces of flowers, they began to roll their hips to a slow drumbeat. Paruru was less interested in the dancers than in how the foreigners would react to them. He noticed that Nika's attention remained fixed on the performers, but Kiore's kept straying to Tepua. And worse—she kept glancing back at him!
 

In disgust, Paruru turned away. How was it possible that she preferred this overdressed buffoon to her own
kaito-nui
? The drummers picked up their pace, but he scarcely noticed the change. He paid little heed as one group of dancers departed and another came on.
 

Then a hand on his shoulder jolted him from his daze. He looked up at his warrior Two-eels and suddenly remembered about his own performance. Hastily he made his way through the crowd to the place where he had left his costume.
 

Two-eels helped him, settling the coconut-frond headdress into place, then rubbing Paruru's chest and back with oil. Finally Two-eels tied on the warrior's kilt, stiff, narrow leaves fanning out from Paruru's waist. As he hurried back to the clearing Paruru heard the drumming take up a fiercer rhythm.
 

He felt his pride and confidence returning as he strutted to the center of the open area, flourishing a spear in each hand, rolling his eyes, showing his teeth in a snarling grimace. Not only was Paruru the
kaito-nui
. He was the best male dancer on the atoll.
 

With a stamp, he halted and began to chant in a strong, clear voice. A chorus of warriors answered him back.

"What wood, O gods, is the best for a spear?" he sang out. "Is it the wood of the coconut?"

"No, a spear made from coconut will split," answered the chorus.

"Is it the white wood of the
fara
?"
 

"No, a spear made from white
fara
will rot."
 

Paruru drew himself up and raised his arms high for the final refrain. "Then here is the hard red heartwood of the
fara
. From this I will make my spear. A spear to thrust with delight!"
 

Everyone joined in on the last chorus. "A spear straight and strong. A double-pointed spear. A weapon to thrust with delight!"

A roar of approval came from the onlookers as the drumbeat switched to the pace of the warrior's dance, the
hipa
. Paruru now stood directly in front of Tepua, and he saw from her widened eyes that he had gained her attention. He took up his difficult dancing position, his arms extended to balance the two spears that lay across them. His palms were down, his hands opening and closing with the same rhythm as his step.
 

Paruru kicked out with his right foot as his left came down flat with a heavy thump. He repeated the step, moving to his right in a slow circle, all the while keeping the spears in place across his forearms.
 

At last, as he completed his circuit, his gaze met Tepua's. He watched her lips part and the look of understanding come in her eyes. Now Paruru did not care if the whole crowd saw it. He was dancing only for her. Just as the tropic bird wooed its mate, he was showing off his strength and agility. He was strutting for the eyes of the ariki, for the eyes of the woman he wanted to please.
 

 

The intensity of Paruru's performance surrounded Tepua, making her breathless. His body gleamed like the polished red wood of his weapons. Every move was controlled, perfect, as he went around several times in one direction, then in the other. His black eyes kept seeking her. She understood their message. Her body and spirit cried out to respond.
 

But she caught herself. She had told the elders that there would be no man for her here. Not Paruru. Not anyone else. She pressed her lips together and tried not to meet his gaze....
 

At the end of his performance, the
kaito-nui
wiped sweat from his brow as he received the adulation of the crowd. Then, as was customary, he issued a challenge. "Who will try it?" he called. Several young men came forward to show their own renditions of the dance. The crowd cheered each in turn, but no one could match Paruru's grace and power.
 

Tepua noticed Kiore eyeing the contest with growing interest. Soon her guest turned to her and said, "I try." She was startled by his offer.
 

"Sailors dance," he insisted. "I show."

She glanced uncertainly at the people around her, wondering how they would react to the foreigner's offer. "Send him out," called Ehi, who was seated close enough to have heard Kiore's request.
 

"Yes, let him dance," came other voices.

"No drums," Kiore said. This puzzled Tepua further, but she ordered the drummers silent. Then Nika reached into his garments and drew out a little tube that was the thickness of his finger.
 

Tepua leaned closer and saw what resembled a smaller version of the nose flutes played in Tahiti. Instead of blowing from a nostril, Nika placed the instrument at his lips, producing notes that were surprisingly loud and shrill. Then he paused, waiting for his companion to step to the fore.
 

Kiore stood up and began to remove his
tiputa
, pulling it over his head. Underneath, Tepua suddenly realized, he was bare-chested! From every quarter came a hissing of indrawn breath.
 

Kiore seemed to grasp that people were curious about the body that he usually kept covered. Tepua glimpsed his flush of embarrassment as he threw the
tiputa
aside. Glancing once at the curious faces, Kiore squared his well-muscled shoulders and strode forward to stand before the crowd.
 

Tepua recalled tales that were repeated about foreigners. It was true, she saw, that his skin was pale where screened from sun by clothing. His arms were thick and corded, his waist surprisingly slender.
 

As for thick pelts, the reports were obviously false. On his broad chest she saw only wispy swirls. He bore no tattoos, but the curling patterns of light-colored hair down ' his chest almost made up the lack.
 

Now Paruru came forward carrying the spears, and made a sign for Kiore to hold out his arms. But the sailor waved him away. "Different dance," he said. He called to his companion, who began playing his flute again.
 

The melody was lively, but totally unlike anything Tepua had heard before. Kiore launched into a step that left everyone breathless. He folded his arms across his chest, then crouched and began to kick his legs out from that difficult position.
 

Seeing such an outlandish display, the onlookers grinned. Meanwhile Paruru glanced about in bewilderment He had issued a challenge, but the foreigner had cheated him by starting his own performance. Tepua felt a momentary sympathy for the warrior as she watched him retreat from the center of the clearing. Poor Paruru! In an instant he had been forgotten.
 

From behind her, she heard cries of people who wanted to try the sailor's step. A few came forward, then more, children and even elders joining in behind Kiore. They quickly discovered that the foreign dance was not easy. People tripped over their own ankles and went sprawling. They accidentally kicked each other, backed into each other, and fell down.