Sister of the Sun (9 page)

The first rays of sunlight touched the beach. She stopped a moment to gaze out at the foreign vessel, anchored beyond the underwater reef flat. With its wide, red-painted hull, the boat seemed utterly out of place there. Lagoon water lapped quietly, disturbing the reflection of the bare mast and its stays. She could see nothing of the sailors and assumed that they were sleeping beneath the thwarts.
 

Tepua glanced about her, noting that the shore was almost deserted. What a change from yesterday's commotion! Yet she knew how fast word of the remarkable arrival could spread. Soon the waters would be teeming with canoes. If she wanted a quiet visit with the strangers, then she must go to them now.
 

Guards stood waiting to join her on her
pahi
. They held their spears upright, the ends resting lightly on the ground. "Stay here," she told the men.
 

"The
kaito-nui
said we must remain with you," the leader of the guards insisted.
 

"Then where is he? I will have him change your orders."

The guard looked first at his companions and then down at his feet. "Paruru's hand touched the foreign vessel," he said in a low voice. "A priest sent him away—to make sure that he took no taint."
 

Tepua scowled. She had not heard anything about this from Faka-ora. "I admire the priest for his caution, but with Paruru gone you must take orders directly from me. No warriors. I do not want the strangers frightened again." She turned, signaled to a brawny paddler, and was carried through the shallows onto the waiting craft.
 

"
Ariki
!" the warrior captain cried from shore. "We do not know what weapons these foreigners have. Let us follow you in our own canoe. We will not approach unless you need us."
 

Tepua sighed. The strangers had shown no signs of hostility since yesterday's unfortunate event, yet she knew that the man's advice was sensible. "Launch your canoe," she told him, "but stay near shore. I will signal if I want you nearer." Then she stood on the deck while the
pahi
was quietly paddled toward the outsiders' vessel.
 

She came far closer than she had on the previous day, almost close enough to climb aboard. In the bottom of the boat, between the thwarts, lay slender paddles, coils of rope, and other gear. In the stern, a long seat held uneaten coconuts and leaf-wrapped packets of food. She saw round, drumlike constructions of wood, but none seemed large enough for a man to crawl into. Where were the sailors?
 

Then the faint sound of snoring made her look again.

"They sleep hanging!" exclaimed a paddler.

When Tepua saw what he meant, she began to laugh. A long bundle of cloth hung just above the thwarts, one end tied to the mast, the other to a pole that was lashed upright. A sailor's arm dangled from the bundle. From a second, similar sling she saw a foot protruding, but neither man stirred.
 

"All you paddlers—out of the way," she ordered, motioning them toward the stern of her own boat. She did not want the waking sailors to see a crowd peering at them.
 

While the outsiders continued dozing, her attention returned to the drumlike containers. Most lay turned on their sides, reminding her of the hollowed logs used in Tahiti for holding valuables. The walls of these foreign boxes were of thin planks, tightly joined, but with no sennit binding. What kept them from falling apart?
 

One container stood on end in the stern. The top was open and she caught a tantalizing glimpse of bright colors within. She leaned closer. While the men slept, she thought, she might easily step aboard and look inside....
 

No. She remembered what had happened to Paruru. She would have to wait for Faka-ora to tell her when she could safely go aboard.

Then she noticed another thing that made her cautious. Near the suspended bed lay a pole with a blade lashed to one end. The tip was made of some lustrous material—perhaps a kind of shell—that she had never seen before.
 

This was surely a weapon, though it appeared to be something that the men had hastily put together. The handle was short for a spear and lacked a proper grip, but the blade looked extremely sharp. Each of the men had one.
 

Her concern grew as she searched the boat for anything else that might be dangerous. The strangers might have lost one weapon, but they knew how to improvise others. Her first impulse was to command her warriors to go aboard and confiscate the crude spears, but Faka-ora had forbidden any contact. Uneasily, she gave an order to the paddlers, widening the gap between herself and the foreign craft.
 

"Life to you!" she shouted from a safe distance, hoping to wake the two sleepers. A hand stirred. The light-haired sailor swung his legs out and got down from his hanging bed. His appearance was less shocking now than when she had first seen him, certainly less bristly. Evidently he had scraped the whiskers from his face. The ointments of the
tahunga
had helped his skin.
 

She pointed to the sailor's spear, trying to make clear her displeasure. Then she pointed to her own vessel, showing that her men had put aside their weapons. This seemed to relieve the sailor, for he set his implement behind him, its blade facing away from her. He did this hastily, as though something else was on his mind.
 

The sailor made signs, first pointing his finger at Tepua, then making a motion with his arms. When she did not respond, he put his hands over his eyes, then pointed once more at her. Was this a game? she wondered. Or an insult? Among her people, pointing with the forefinger was considered rude.
 

The foreigner seemed in distress, making odd grimaces and shifting his weight from side to side in an impatient dance. Shaking his head and frowning, he finally turned his back to her and urinated noisily over the side. When he returned, his face was even redder than before.
 

Tepua wished that she could grasp his thoughts. She suspected that a custom or
tapu
of his people had been broken, though she was not sure how. For a moment she stared at him in frustration.
 

She had thought about the problem of communicating with the strangers. Signs would not be enough. She would have to teach them her language, or there could be no hope of making them feel at ease, or of learning anything about them.
 

She began with a simple first step, placing her hand on her chest and speaking her name.

The sailor looked up at her, and he seemed to regain his composure. Again she took in his alien yet compelling features. Compared with the faces she knew, his nose appeared narrow, even pinched. Yet an ordinary nose, she thought, would ruin the strange beauty.
 

He opened his mouth, and she realized that he was trying to repeat what she had said. "Mua-ariki ..."

She spoke it again, and this time he managed the whole name.

"Tepua-mua-ariki."

"Well done!" she praised, then gestured toward him, hoping he might speak his own name in reply. He did make a sound, while poking a thumb at his chest. When she heard his strange noise, her mouth fell open. "Again," she urged. Once more he made sounds that she had never heard before.
 

Suddenly she felt foolish. Some time ago she had come to grips with differences in speech, discovering that the people of Tahiti could not pronounce the "k" and the "ng" of her atoll language. Now here was a stranger who made sounds that even she could not manage.
 

She tried to repeat what the sailor had said, but one part eluded her. "Kiore!" she said at last, coming as close to his name as she could manage. "You are Kiore. Tell me what you call your friend." She turned in the direction of the other hanging bed. The ruddy-haired stranger was looking out through half-closed eyes. At her insistence he emerged, warily, and sat on his own thwart at a distance from her. He put his spear across his lap.
 

This second outsider seemed much younger than his companion. His eyes were gray-green, his face sunburned and peeling; a few wisps of reddish beard decorated his chin. She asked again for his name, and Kiore answered, "Nika."
 

"Nika." This name came more easily to her tongue. "Nika, you do not need that weapon," she told him. Kiore said something in his own language, and his companion finally put the spear aside. But she could not induce Nika to come closer, so she turned her attention back to Kiore.
 

She gestured at the sky and spoke. When he mastered that word, she taught him "paddle" and "mast," then started on parts of the body—the lips, the eyes.
Eyes
. She paused and cocked her head as she studied his. "Brown eyes," she said, pointing to her own. "Lagoon-water eyes!" she said, pointing to his face.
 

He laughed and repeated what she had told him. What a pleasant expression he showed at times! He seemed willing to continue, though she sensed that he was still weary from his ordeal at sea. What could she teach him next? She could not help staring at the garments that fully covered his arms and legs and feet. If only she could reach across, touch the strange cloth, and feel what lay beneath.
 

"Foot," she said, bending to touch her own, which was bare. She rose and waited to see how he would respond. He hesitated, finally sat on a thwart, and began to adjust his stiff foot covering. Tepua watched with curiosity as he pulled it free....
 

"Foot," he repeated, but there remained a tube of cloth that started at his toes and ran up his leg. Why so many layers? In frustration, Tepua bit her lip as she thought of more questions she wished to ask him. What were the women of his people like? Did they also wear so much clothing? How long did it take to unwrap themselves? She stamped her heel, wishing she could find some quick way to make herself understood.
 

Kiore began to take the initiative, sometimes speaking his own words as well. He pointed to his knee, gave his name for it, and then repeated hers. His hand slapped against his thigh and he made another foreign sound. Tepua lifted her mat skirt to point to her own thigh, and noticed his face redden again. From the side, Nika shouted something, and Tepua realized that the other sailor was finally taking an interest in the lesson.
 

They continued awhile longer, until Kiore grew tired. He moved to a seat under a length of sailcloth rigged as a shade. Tepua watched him with regret. The lesson had been like a child's game, yet more fun than any she had played in a long while. "I will send fresh food," she promised, miming as she spoke to make herself clear. "The
tahunga
will look after you. Tomorrow we will talk again."
 

Arriving on shore, Tepua ordered the guards to keep all her people away from the foreigners. As she glanced across the lagoon she saw canoes coming even as she spoke. A fleet of outriggers had arrived, all so packed with people that they were barely afloat. She sent the warriors out to hold them back.
 

Then she went to see how Kohekapu was faring. Lately he had been too weak to say anything to her. Today, when she entered his house, she was pleased to hear him speaking.
 

Natunatu sat at his side. Tepua made no attempt to greet the woman, for she knew she would get no response. "Daughter," said Kohekapu in a fragile voice when Tepua knelt close to him. "Tell me what you think of these outsiders. Yesterday, I heard whispers that they might be demons."
 

"No, Father. They are just men from some far-off island. It is true that they wear strange garments and talk in a gabble. But they eat and drink and void water just as we do."
 

"Are their bodies not covered with hair?"

She realized that he was just repeating tales heard from travelers. Perhaps those travelers had never actually seen foreign men. "I do not know about their bodies," she confessed. "It is not easy for them to take off their clothing."
 

"But the outsiders must bathe."

"That is true. The
tahunga
insisted on it last night. But the men waited until moonset, so the
tahunga
saw nothing."
 

"That is puzzling, daughter. Perhaps they have something to conceal."

Tepua sighed. "These men follow customs we do not understand. Perhaps that is why they keep their bodies covered."

He looked up at her with a skeptical frown.

"Father, I wish you could see these sailors! After a short while you would not think them strange at all."

"I am curious," he admitted. "If I had the strength, I would go to their boat."

"Then I will tell you all about them—every new thing I learn."

"That will be enough." He paused, still frowning. "Daughter, I ask you to be cautious about approaching these...men. Take Faka-ora's advice."
 

"I am doing that."

"Good. Then all will be well." He closed his eyes wearily.

"Yes, all will be well," she agreed. As she watched her father slip into a doze, she hoped that his confidence was not misplaced.

 

Several days passed. Each morning, Tepua went out early to see the sailors. Nika seemed unwilling to make much effort, however. He often sat alone in the bow and occupied himself shaping bits of wood with his gray-bladed knife. Kiore welcomed her visits, and when he grew stronger, she began going twice a day, despite the crowds that watched from shore.
 

Whenever Kiore saw her coming, he took out a strange assembly and held it on his lap. The thing looked like many small squares of cloth, all cut to one size and stacked neatly together. He would turn aside the first sheets, then make marks on a fresh one with a sharpened quill. Every time he learned a new word, he made more marks in this thing he called his "puk." She understood that the marks helped him remember.