Child of the Dawn (31 page)

"Cannibals!" Maukiri shouted in alarm and turned on Tepua. "What have you done to us?" She wrenched the weapon from Tepua's hand and swung it around to defend herself.

"No. They are our friends," Tepua answered. She gazed in dismay at the sea of approaching faces, frantically seeking one she knew. Where was the headman? Where were the others from yesterday?
 

As she watched the strangers advance, she shouted, "Pig-bone has invited us to stay with him." She plucked a young banana shoot, a symbol of peaceful intentions that everyone should understand. "Maukiri, lower that spear," she hissed as she held the shoot high.
 

"Pig-bone?" said one man, who strode cockily to the fore. "Pig-bone is your friend?" He turned to confer with a knot of men behind him. Others began gesturing wildly, with their hands or with their weapons.
 

One who was slightly taller and pudgier than the others approached Tepua. "I will escort you to the headman," he said roughly. With a swift motion, he plucked the spear from Maukiri's grasp. "You will not need this pig-sticker," he added with a harsh laugh.
 

The
manahune
closed ranks behind the two lowlanders. Tepua glanced back nervously, noting that all the weapons were held ready. With Maukiri pressing close to her, she marched along the path, until they reached a cluster of thatched houses.
 

Tepua felt goose bumps as she studied the unfamiliar scene. Unlike the houses she knew, these dwellings were raised above the sloping ground, built on platforms faced with stones. For walls, the houses had only dangling mats. Children peered from behind the mats, and a few brave little ones ventured out to stare at her.
 

The neatly kept yards of the lowlands were not in evidence here. Trees and underbrush grew densely around the houses. As she watched, a few chickens darted from cover, then quickly vanished in the greenery. The sunlight filtering through dense forest overhead bathed the whole scene in an eerie light.
 

"Here is the headman's house," said the escort, halting before the largest platform.

Tepua glanced up and saw a round-faced woman looking back at her. The woman, who wore earrings of bone that resembled fishhooks, emerged from behind her mat curtain. "My husband is gone," she said loudly. "Who are these strangers?"
 

The people all spoke at once. She silenced them with a gesture. Tepua noticed then how heavily tattooed her hands were; from a distance they appeared solidly black.
 

"Ah," said the headman's wife, looking directly at Tepua with new interest. "You must be the one who gave my husband that necklace of shells. A fine gift! What have you brought for
me
?"
 

After Tepua took from her basket one of her precious wraps of bleached bark-cloth, the headman's wife became more amicable. She beckoned the visitors up her rough stone stairway, accepted the gift, then ushered them into her house. "I am called Stay-long," she said. "I do not know your names."
 

Aside from her intricately woven headpiece of vines and flowers, the chief's wife was plainly dressed, with only a rough
tapa
cloth about her middle. She draped Tepua's garment over this and seemed delighted with the gift. Certainly it was made of far finer cloth than any Tepua had seen here. At last Stay-long put the new wrap away.
 

"My house is big," the headman's wife said proudly. "We have plenty of room for you both."

"You are kind," said Tepua, ignoring her cousin's disapproving look. The thatched-roof house was not very different within from those of coastal Tahiti. Plaited mats, cushioned by a layer of cut grass, covered a floor of hard-packed earth.
 

The furnishings were sparse, the utensils somewhat exotic in appearance. The wooden bowls bore tiny carved figures. A hollowed log with a broad slit along its length served to hold small belongings.
 

"Come," said Stay-long, "I will show you all the rest." Two open-walled cooking sheds lay behind the house, each merely a thatched canopy that sheltered a pit-oven—one shed for men, another for women. At the far end of the platform stood another small house. The chief's wife led them to it, pulled aside a hanging mat, and invited Tepua to put her head inside.
 

The strong odor of herbs made her wrinkle her nose and pull back. With a start, she realized that this woman was some kind of practitioner. Tepua's hands went protectively to her stomach as she remembered her earlier ordeal with a
tahu'a.

"This is your first?" asked Stay-long, who had somehow sensed Tepua's condition. "Do not worry. I will help you when the time comes."
 

Tepua did not wish to ask what sort of aid the woman would offer. She turned away, but Stay-long took her hand and led her down an irregular ramp from the rear of the platform. Maukiri trailed along with obvious displeasure.
 

"Now I will show you my little helpers," Stay-long said brightly. In the grove ahead, Tepua glimpsed a low stone wall enclosing a rectangle of stony ground—a simple
marae.
Just outside this sacred site stood a tiny house raised on poles. At Stay-long's insistence, Tepua peered inside.
 

In the dim light she could barely see anything. She caught a harsh, musty smell that repulsed her. Then she began to make out the shapes of tiny human figures garbed in cloth tied on with cord.
 

Maukiri grabbed Tepua's arm and dragged her back. "Do you want to die?" her cousin whispered hoarsely. "Stay-long is a witch-woman, a
vahine tahutahu
Those are her pet imps!"
 

Uneasily, Tepua glanced from her cousin to Stay-long to the house of images, then again to Stay-long.

"Do not be afraid," said the
tahutahu
, cheerfully. "You are my guests. Nothing here will harm you."
 

 

Soon afterward, Pig-bone and his two young brothers showed up at the house. Pig-bone's brothers, bushy-haired twins, were greatly preoccupied with a centipede they had caught. They vanished back into the woods almost at once. The headman lingered, pleased by his new visitors. "You will stay with us until the child is born," he insisted.
 

Tepua did not need to look at her cousin to know her reaction. Maukiri would already be back in the cave if her cousin had agreed to go with her. But Tepua tried to put aside her concerns about the headman's wife, who seemed to have little in common with the cold-fingered Nimble. In any case, she knew that it was better to have such people as friends than as enemies. Tepua might someday need aid from Stay-long's unpleasant little helpers.
 

At last, after telling of the wild pigs he had pursued that morning, the headman left to confer with his hunters. The women went out to gather vegetables. Now Tepua saw how these people managed to reap harvests from the difficult mountain terrain. Using stone retaining walls to hold back the soil, they had built broad, level terraces for growing taro and yams. They diverted river water to irrigate the terrace fields, and used layers of thatch as mulch and to discourage weeds.
 

By early afternoon the women had cut and wrapped tubers, bananas, and a few small river fish in hibiscus leaves. These now lay baking in the heated stones of the covered pit-oven. Six other women, relatives of Stay-long or Pig-bone, had come to join the meal. Two of these, Pig-bone's mother and aunt, were part of the headman's household. The others lived in a smaller house on a nearby platform.
 

Curiosity about the new guests kept the conversation animated. Tepua did not want to reveal too much about herself, but she found the company pleasant, and soon was answering the questions put to her.
Manahune
women, she discovered, knew little of the sea. Her atoll background seemed to mean nothing to them. When she spoke of the Arioi, they looked bewildered.
 

It was only when Tepua talked of her dancing that the women grew excited. "We will have a little gathering," Stay-long cried, and the others shouted agreement. "You will teach us the lowland way, and then we will show you ours."
 

 

Gradually the two visitors settled in, growing accustomed to a different way of life. In the days that followed, Tepua and her cousin were often called on to entertain, and did so with relish. They also began sharing the work of the women in Stay-long's household.
 

Days passed and the season changed, bringing cooler, drier weather. Tepua and Maukiri accompanied the highland women on long expeditions through the wilderness, gathering fern roots and other wild foods to supplement the dwindling crops from the terrace gardens.
 

The many new activities kept Tepua occupied, yet she found Matopahu constantly in her thoughts. As months passed, the changes in her body reminded her that she carried a part of him. Did he know about the coming child? she wondered. If he did, wouldn't he have tried to find her?
 

Her womb was starting to swell, rounding out her belly. She could feel herself loosening within, preparing to accommodate the growing child. Sometimes she caught herself trying to imagine the baby's face, and its tiny fingers....
 

As Tepua was gathering herbs one morning with Stay-long, she halted, troubled by an unsettling feeling in her stomach.

"What is it?" asked the
manahune woman
, eyeing her keenly.
 

"I think I ate too many bananas last night."

Stay-long put down her basket, a knowing expression on her face. "Let me feel," she said. Tepua hesitated. She had already endured too many meddling hands. But Stay-long conveyed a motherly feeling that Tepua needed.
 

"It must be too early for the child to be moving," Tepua protested as she opened her wrap. Stay-long just smiled and laid her palms against the swelling abdomen. Her touch was warm and comforting.
 

The
tahutahu
cocked her head and gave a delighted chuckle. 'Too many bananas, hah! I have seen many girls with their first baby, and they all blame something they ate. Come back to the house and I will teach you how to feel what is happening inside."
 

When they were under the roof, Tepua stretched out on a mat while Stay-long crouched beside her, placing the edge of her hand against Tepua's belly just above the curls of her nest. "Do you notice a little tickle right there?"
 

"You mean—" Tepua broke off, falling silent in order to concentrate on the sensation. There it was, a tiny flutter low down in her abdomen.
 

"Now you know," said Stay-long solemnly. "The child is stirring."

Tepua kept her fingertips on her stomach to mark the place. She could feel no movement from the outside, but inside...yes. She breathed out slowly, trying not to be overwhelmed by the emotions sweeping through her. She almost resented the tiny seed for reminding her that it was still alive, growing and moving. So long as it stayed still, she could almost persuade herself that she wasn't pregnant; she could ignore the problems that lay ahead.
 

Yet, at the same time, she felt a rush of joy and awe. Suddenly the child within felt real.

"Wait until he is beating around in there like a little typhoon," said Stay-long, cheerily. "Then you will really start to know him."
 

The headman's wife brought a stoppered gourd and poured a few drops of the contents into her palm. "This is rubbing oil," she explained. "I will show you how to keep your skin soft so that it stretches easily as the baby grows."
 

Stay-long began firm, yet careful strokes that kneaded Tepua's belly muscles without pressing too deeply. She alternated long strokes with a series of light fingertip circles that made the younger woman feel warm and at ease. Then Stay-long showed Tepua how to do the circling motions herself. "When the baby starts to come, this will feel good."
 

When the baby starts to come.
Tepua grimaced, wishing she did not have to be reminded of that moment. How would she feel when she held the infant in her hands? How would she find the strength to fulfill her Arioi duty?
 

Stay-long seemed to sense her turmoil. "There is something troubling you. Tell me."

The grief that Tepua had been able to push aside returned, tearing at her. She groped for words. "All this care...does not matter. It may comfort me. But the child...the child will not live."
 

"You are wrong," said the headman's wife, gently but firmly. "I'm sure that all is well."

Tepua wished she could keep silent. Why should Stay-long share her agony? But the woman's warm gaze melted her reserve. "The child will not live," Tepua whispered hoarsely, "because I must do away with it. That is the Arioi way. That is the rule of our order."
 

"Ah." Stay-long's eyes widened. "I thought you were keeping something from me." She fell silent awhile. "Tell me, Tepua. Do the Arioi know where you are?"
 

The younger woman paused. Aitofa had given her only general directions, and no one had followed her here. But on expeditions with the
manahune
women she had sometimes glimpsed foraging parties from the coast. What if someone had recognized her? That seemed unlikely, since she had always been careful to duck out of sight. "I do not think so."
 

"Then, perhaps, little mother, the decision is not yet made."

Tepua felt tears coming. Suddenly she was gathered up by Stay-long's small but capable arms. She laid her head against the other woman's breast and let her misery run. As she sobbed, the
manahune
woman cradled her and smoothed her hair.
 

The stream of tears slowed to drops and her sobs became sniffles. Stay-long still held her, rocking her, crooning over her. "What of the child's father?" she asked. "Do you care for him?"