Rich Man's Coffin (17 page)

His mama had always told him about offers:
You don’t ever want to refuse ‘em lest you really want to insult your host.
 
Black Jack took his mother’s advice to heart at this moment. He uprooted himself from his spot and picked up the small feather.

         
At the instant he picked it up, the shift in mood within the confined bay was so great, it was as if a large stone had been rolled away from the entrance of an awesome and sacred cave somewhere. He felt as if he had been granted sanctuary among all the people of this new world.
 
In the recesses of his mind he heard a large tower bell tolling the strokes of twelve Noon in some distant imaginary square.
 

A hundred women in full Maori dress began to sing and dance in a lovely harmony even more refined than that of their men.
 
Black Jack was led up the hill by the huge entourage into the forest.
 
He was amazed to see a full Maori village just a few hundred yards from where he had spent the last couple of days.
 
Hidden among the trees and brush were many huts, canoes, and one structure which actually resembled an English house.
 
Its frontal facade consisted of large red beams joined in a sloping gable, covered with elaborate carvings.
 
It reminded him of his recent tryst.

         
Being brought into the great house, Black Jack was offered a robe of soft skins and feathers by several women.
 
Upon being clothed, he was led to a great table at which sat three large men in similar robes and feather caps.

         
“Kia Ora.”
 
Said the biggest man.
 
Greetings
.

         
Black Jack felt very welcome now. He began to feel more so when the women started bringing in the food.
 
They brought in various dishes, one after the other, until the table was full of steaming delicacies much like those at Black Jack’s first feast.
 
He was introduced to two new delicacies: Duck and fern bulbs.
 
Another new item caught Black Jack’s eye, a basket of big, orange, egg-shaped vegetables.
 
As the men gestured for him to eat, Arthur went straight for these strange objects and discovered that they were sweet potatoes. The familiar flavor of yams brought back a multitude of memories and emotions for Black Jack.
 
He felt closer to his present company, despite the cultural gap. He felt a bond forming.

         
A large man spread out his arms over the table, then up at the ceiling.
 
He looked around with a distant gaze that seemed to penetrate the walls and encompass infinity. He declared, “Pukatea!”

         
The other feathered men grimaced, which was really their smile.
 
Through their teeth and tight lips, they said, “Pukatea!”
 
Then they resumed stuffing their faces with food using both hands.

         
Black Jack kept pace, not slowing down in his eating.
 
He and the men had been left alone in the large hall, with women scurrying in occasionally to replenish certain dishes or attend to one thing or another.
 
The men did not talk for an hour.
 
The food was excellent. Black Jack felt very relaxed.
 
He realized that the men were very important within this villa. He was being treated, at least for now, as an equal.
 
It was a very honoring yet humbling experience.
 
As the meal proceeded into the second hour, Black Jack saw that the rest of the pa was getting on with its daily activities, leaving him with the impression that perhaps he and the men would be attended to hand-and-foot for some time to come.
 
His theory proved correct.
 
When the men were through eating, they made no movements that suggested that they intended to rush off to work.
 
Black Jack was game for that plan.
 
He leaned back with them, and waited for them to initiate conversation.
 
The first thing they did was break out their pipes and light up a smoke.
 
Then they commenced to engage in animated chitchat and manly laughter.
 
Black Jack remained the pleasant observer, sitting there attentive and smiling.
 
He wondered how he would ever communicate with them.

         
In the middle of one of their exchanges, the largest man turned from his compatriots in mid-sentence and began to address Black Jack in Maori, as if he were saying, “Yes, yes, dear fellows; and what do
you
think of the matter, chap?”
 
His friendly inquisitor looked at Black Jack and smiled. The awkwardness became painful.
 
And after such a lovely breakfast
, thought Black Jack.
 
All four men seemed to empathize with Black Jack’s embarrassment.
 
Their sensibilities took hold, and they relied on the simpler social niceties. They pointed to Black Jack’s hand. He suddenly realized that he had been clutching his harmonica the whole time. He nervously blew a few notes, then stopped.
 
The men laughed.
 

The Maori men put their hands to their chests, stating their names one-by-one.
 
The largest of the Maori pointed to his chest and said, “Ruaoneone.”
 
Black Jack responded with his newfound whaling moniker. He thought that it gave him more prowess.

         
“Black Jack!” they all repeated in unison, impressed with his name.

         
“I know a little English.” Said Ruaoneone, to Black Jack’s surprise. “I am the Chief.”

These Maori men, it seemed to Black Jack, had all the time in the world to do whatever pleased them.
 
All of their needs were attended to throughout the day, and Black Jack was content to remain with them and learn the Maori language and customs.
 
The men actually knew enough English to fill in the gaps when an impasse arose; but, Black Jack soon picked up enough Maori words to communicate a good deal of his story.
 
What could not be translated verbally was helped with body language.
 
Between hand gesturing, Maori words, and bits of English, a fairly decent conversation unfolded over the hours.

         
“You speak the white man’s tongue, and yet you are as black as night.
 
What of that?” the Chief asked Black Jack.

         
“I come here from the land of the white man.
 
They captured my people as slaves from the land of the black man.” Said Black Jack.

         
“I did not know that such a land existed.
 
That is good to know.
 
But to me, you are a black white man.
 
I call you, ‘Black Jack White.’ That will be your name among my people.
 
This day, Black Jack White came to Pukatea.”
 
The Chief leaned forward and took one of Black Jack’s hands and clasped his fingers.
 
With his other hand, he pulled Black Jack’s head forward and touched his nose to Black Jack’s.
 
He stared into Black Jack’s eyes for a moment, and then released him.
 
The other two men repeated the
hongi
with Black Jack. Everyone continued to eat, drink, smoke, laugh, and talk.

         
“When you first came out of the water, we thought you were the Taniwha.” Said the Chief.

         
“What is the Taniwha?” asked Black Jack.

         
“He is a great beast of the land, sky, and sea.
 
He takes many forms, and one never knows where he will appear next.
 
We must always keep a lookout for the Taniwha, or he will destroy us.” said the Chief.

         
“I am not the Taniwha.” Said Black Jack, smiling.

         
“We knew that, when you did not kill the Moa.
 
The Taniwha would have seized upon the Moa and eaten it.” Said the Chief.
 
Black Jack knew that he spoke of the giant chicken.
 
He was relieved that it had not been a hallucination.
 
“Then we thought you were the angry ghost of one of our ancestors.” Continued the Chief.
 
“You see, when one of our people dies, we leave their bodies in a cave until they turn completely to bone.
 
Then we return for the bones and bury them.
 
When you went into the cave, we thought that perhaps we had overlooked someone, and they had come back to punish us!”
 
The Chief began to laugh at his own story, and the other three followed suit.
 
The Chief went on, “Then you ate, drank, relieved yourself, and slept!
 
No ghost that we know of would desecrate his own tomb, so you had to be human!
 
From then on, we just watched you to see if you were the kind of person we wanted to meet.”
 
Black Jack chuckled nervously.
 
He supposed that he had passed the test.
 
The Chief began again, “You show great skill and power in using your surroundings, Black Jack.
 
That impresses us.
 
We have never seen a white man do the things you have demonstrated.
 
Especially the fire!”
 
The Chief sat back, admiring Black Jack.

         
Black Jack said, “I did not build that fire. Did you not build it?”

         
The Chief looked at his advisors, who reflected his concern. They all turned to Black Jack.
 
The Chief spoke up, “Black Jack, my people are under serious threat these days.
 
We have word that a great warring chief is moving south along the coast in hopes of conquering all other tribes. It is possible that he may have built the fire.
 
You saw no canoes, and no people.
 
We have been fishing and hunting at night to avoid him, so he may have been looking.”

         
“Well without fire, then how was this food cooked?”

         
“The Earth is our oven.
 
No flames or smoke dance about and say,
here we are
, so that our enemies may come and cook and eat us with our own fires!”

         
“Who is this other chief that you speak of?”

         
“It is Robulla. He is a bad chief.
 
He makes war for no good reason.
 
We don’t like him.”
 
Ruaoneone motioned for one of the women to come to him.
 
He spoke with her in hushed tones.
 
The Chief motioned her to bring something to him.

         
She returned with a large, round stone.
 
It was larger on one end, resembling a rock raindrop.
 
The Chief removed a fern root from a bowl on the table, placed it on the floor in front of him, and brought the large stone down on top of it.
 
The bulb was pulverized.
 
He looked at Black Jack.
 
Black Jack, not sure of the purpose of the bizarre display, simply smiled and nodded.

         
Ruaoneone gestured to the woman again. This time she returned with a dried human skull and handed it to the Chief.
 
Ruaoneone placed the skull on the floor. He raised the heavy, round rock above his head with both hands and paused. He slammed the stone down squarely onto the skull. It smashed to smithereens with sharp bone shards scattering everywhere. The Chief looked at Black Jack and shouted, “Robulla!”

Chapter 12

         
“I wish I could write down everything that goes on in this village, like the Captain does on the ship.
 
I guess I will just have to think out loud. Besides, it will help improve my English speaking.”
 
Black Jack said to himself one day.

They gave me a house and a woman.
 
Fed me like a king, and told me to enjoy myself.
 
They must like me.
 
Said I was the first white man to come without a canoe or the evil spirits.

         
It seems that they believe the white man travels with some sort of invisible demons that kill their people without weapons.
 
They have told me that every time a new white man’s canoe arrives, the bad spirits march slowly down the coast from village to village.
 
The spirits are cowardly warriors, the people here say, because they attack without showing their faces, and they kill children and old people.
 
The people here say that the evil spirits have killed more Maori in the last few years than all the bad chiefs put together.
 
The only good thing about the spirits:
 
The people here say that the evil white man’s spirits kill all Maori equally, without favoring one tribe over the other.
 
In that way, they say, the killing has been fair without destroying the balance of power.
 
Although, they say, with all the tribes being smaller now, it is the more peaceful tribes that suffer at the hands of warring chiefs like Robulla.