Читать книгу The Far Lands - James Norman Hall - Страница 9

Table of Contents

When Maui was twelve the Koro war fleet sailed on a new expedition against their enemies on the islands to the north. Not long after they had gone, the Tongans prepared for the marriage of Tauhéré, Maui’s sister, with Nihau, one of the younger chiefs, the son of Tavaké. Tauhéré was now a beautiful girl of eighteen; she was to be married at the same time with several other daughters of the Tongan ariki and great preparations were made for this event. An invitation to attend the ceremonies was sent to Vaitangi and whatever other Koro chiefs he might wish to bring with him.

Many pigs and fowls were killed; great quantities of fish were caught, and on the night before Vaitangi’s arrival the lagoon was lighted far and wide by torches along the reef where women and children were gathering shellfish to be added to the feast to come. The earth ovens were prepared and the fires in them lighted to burn through the night so that the logs beneath the stones would be reduced to beds of coals and the stones white-hot and ready for the cooking of the food.

On the morning of that day Téaro with his ariki were on the beach surrounded by their people, awaiting the arrival of Vaitangi. He came in his pleasure ship built for him by the Tongans. It was double-hulled, the high prows and sterns decorated with banners and streamers. There was a platform across the hulls, forward of the mast, protected by a roof of pandanus leaf thatch supported on slender posts, beautifully carved, of tou wood. Beneath it sat Vaitangi; his son’s wife, with Hina, her daughter; and Uri, who was the nephew of Puaka, priest of Koro. Hina was a child of ten years at this time, and Uri was fourteen. Vaitangi also brought with him some of the older Koro chiefs who had not gone with Puaka and his warriors. With the household servants and the paddlers the ship carried sixty persons. It approached far out on the lagoon and when opposite the place where the Tongans waited a sweeping turn was made. The ship came seething in and the bows slid well up the beach where Téaro and his ariki stood to welcome their guests.

While the greetings of ceremony between Téaro and Vaitangi were taking place, Rata came to Maui who stood with a group of his friends near Vaitangi’s ship.

“Maui,” he said, “the young chief yonder is Uri, nephew of Puaka. Never before has he come to our valley. Go to him and greet him well in your father’s name.”

Maui had little liking for this task but did as directed. Uri stood apart, his arms folded, looking around him with an air of pride, of insolence, as though he considered the Tongans not worthy of his notice. Maui approached him and said: “I am Maui, son of Téaro. I have been asked to welcome you here in my father’s name.”

Uri looked him up and down without replying. He then turned his back and spoke to the boat-steerer of Vaitangi’s ship who stood in front of it. The paddlers stood in the shallows on either side.

“Carry the ship up the beach into the shade,” he commanded. “Quickly!”

Rollers had been placed nearby for that purpose and the boatmen sprang to obey. Maui waited for a moment, but as Uri paid him no further attention he turned and left him, hot with anger at this insult. He was joined by other young sons of the chiefs, who had witnessed it. Rata observed them walking away from Uri and halted them. “Maui, you dare behave in this manner to the nephew of Puaka and our guest?” he said.

“He would not speak to me,” Maui replied.

“Let him be your guest, Rata,” Faanui said. “We will have nothing to do with him after the shame he has put upon Maui!”—and the boys went on into the valley.

Near the river, on the opposite side of the assembly ground from Téaro’s dwelling, was the house reserved for Vaitangi’s use during his visits to the Tongan valley. The floor was deeply covered with sweet fern overlaid with mats. Vaitangi was now seated here with Téaro and Métua; he leaned back against a great roll of tapa cloth provided for his comfort. Servants brought refreshments: green drinking coconuts, fruits, and the greatest delicacies in the way of shellfish prepared in various ways, meant to stay the appetite; or, rather, to sharpen it in preparation for the feast to be held at midday. Vaitangi, whose huge body required a store of food, ate with keen relish, but at last he leaned back, shaking his head reluctantly as more food was urged upon him.

“Paia vau,” said. “Room must be left for what is to come. I shall be fit for nothing but sleep when the feast is ended.” Servants then brought bowls of water and the napkins with which the chiefs rinsed and dried their lips and fingers. “Téaro, you make me feel at home here. I look forward to these visits, and to this occasion in particular.”

“Why should you not feel at home in your own lands?” Téaro replied. “We repay as best we can a little of the hospitality bestowed upon us since the day when you gave us refuge here. It is beyond anything we had reason to expect.”

Vaitangi smiled. “From the high chief of a Koro-worshiping clan?” he said. “Even one of these may have moments of forgetfulness and show humanity in spite of himself.”

Métua said: “It is a long moment that extends itself to ten years.”

“Métua, there has been no strangeness between us in all that time,” Vaitangi replied. “How is this to be explained?”

“Because you remember the time long past when your own forefathers were lovers of peace,” said the priest. “Because you are half Tongan at heart. Would that we might make you a whole one!”

“That you may do when Tané is able to change human nature,” Vaitangi replied. “I have great respect for you, my friend, but none whatever for your belief. As for the Far Lands of Maui ...” He shook his head. “How is it possible to hold such faith generation after generation in the face of endless disappointment, in view of all that has happened to your people? In proportion to your numbers, far more lives are lost on this quest for a Homeland than with us who are followers of Koro and lovers of war! Well, you must go to your doom, which is certain.”

“Whether to our doom or not, we would go in peace,” said Métua. He was silent for a moment and then added: “Vaitangi, both of our clans are fast increasing in numbers. The time may come within this generation when the valleys on this eastern side of Kurapo will be needed for your own people.”

“That is more than likely,” Vaitangi replied. “You may then go in peace insofar as I am concerned.”

“We have no ships,” said Téaro.

“But great skill in building them,” Vaitangi replied.

“That would be permitted?” Métua asked.

Vaitangi gave him a steady glance. “Métua, neither of us are young men. Who can say when our time will come? When I am gone my son, Tomai, will reign in my stead ...”

“He is a stranger to us, as you know,” said Téaro. “We would gladly have welcomed him here but he has never come. What is his feeling toward us?”

“It is one of neither good will nor ill will,” Vaitangi replied. “If I may say so without offense, it is, rather, one of surprise and contempt that you should be lovers of peace. His time and interest are wholly given to the training and leading of our young warriors now with Puaka. If I should die and my son be killed in battle ...”

“A woeful day that would be for us Tongans,” said Téaro, grimly.

“You say nothing but truth,” Vaitangi replied; “so look to yourselves in good times. Lay your plans well in advance against the hazards of the future.”

Métua gave him a searching glance. “Vaitangi, you are saying ... ?”

“Have I not made myself clear?” Vaitangi interrupted, impatiently. “Is it for me to tell you Tongans what you must do? Only this: your people have faithfully respected the tabu set when you first came here. See that they continue to do so.”

“That we shall,” Téaro replied.

Vaitangi laid a hand on Téaro’s knee. “What kind of talk is this for a day of festival? Tell me now what sports and games I am to see.”

The midday feast was long in progress. Vaitangi and his chiefs sat with the Tongan ariki, and at a little distance were the sons of the chiefs, each with his food baskets arranged before him. Rata, knowing how matters stood between Maui and Uri, had assigned his son, Pohi, to sit with the latter. Pohi, in part because of the awe he felt in the presence of the nephew of the dreaded priest of Koro, in part because of the commands of his father, treated Uri with great deference, which added to Uri’s self-esteem and the mean opinion he held of the Tongans. He spoke loudly so that the others might hear, boasting of the skill of the Koro youth in all games and sports; of his own leadership in such games, and of the great strength of his uncle, Puaka, whose war club was so huge that none but himself could wield it. Pohi encouraged him in this talk, for his father was watching from a distance.

Maui and his friends ate in silence for the most part; then some of them, led by Faanui, began to speak in the allusive manner common amongst the Tongans when they would not be understood by strangers, a form of speech in which words are given special meanings familiar only to themselves. Uri guessed that he was being discussed in no complimentary terms and it enraged him to be mocked to his face without his being able to resent it. Despite Maui’s frowns the others kept it up at intervals until the feast was ended. As they watched Uri going off with Pohi, Faanui said: “It was a poor revenge, Maui, but better than none. He deserved such treatment for his discourtesy to you and his boastful talk.”

In Téaro’s household there was an old man, Tamuri, the father of Vahiné, Taio’s wife. He was very tall and so thin that when he walked he seemed to be all knees and elbows; and when he wished to be he was the greatest of clowns. Among our ancestors of centuries ago were to be found a few men known as taata-mata-épiti, men with two faces. One face was that of the clown; the other, that of a man deeply serious, of great dignity of speech and bearing. Tamuri was one of these men, deeply loved and respected by the Tongans. He was in charge of all festivals given by them. On the occasion of Tauhéré’s wedding he had been busy for days in advance preparing the entertainment that was to follow the sacred ceremonies of the wedding itself.

Vaitangi had eaten so well at the feast that he spent the rest of the afternoon in sleep. At dusk his servants wakened him. He bathed and refreshed himself in the river and as night came on Téaro arrived to conduct him to the assembly ground. The people were already gathered there, waiting in the darkness. Upon the arrival of the chiefs, torches held by young men stationed around three sides of the assembly ground were set aflame, lighting the full extent of it and sending streamers of light through the gloom of the groves beyond. A pavilion beautifully decorated with ferns and flowers had been erected for the stately ceremonies connected with the marriage rites. When the chiefs were seated, these began.

Three young daughters of chiefs were to be married at the same time as Tauhéré, Téaro’s daughter. They now appeared together, and, in the presence of the bridegrooms, performed the beautiful ritualistic dances connected with the rites of marriage. These occupied the early part of the evening. When they had ended, the brides retired to the House of Virgins to await the wedding solemnities which would take place the following morning.

When they had gone, all of the people—men, women and children—seated themselves before the pavilion to sing the ancient songs of the Tongans, telling of their history for generations past during the quest for the Far Lands of Maui. After this came boxing and wrestling contests which were favorite sports of the Tongan youth. Following these, when the children were sleeping, stretched out on the grass or with their heads on their mothers’ laps, came the time for gaiety and abandonment.

Tamuri was now like a different man. He threw aside his dignity, and with his company of clowns, performed pantomimes and dances that kept his audience shouting with laughter. Vaitangi’s huge body shook with merriment, and seeing how well he was entertained, Tamuri and his clowns outdid themselves. The night was far advanced when he came forward with Fatéata, his wife, who was as bony and loose-jointed as himself, followed by a company of young men and women.

Tamuri halted before the high chief of the Koros and said:

“Vaitangi: here you see me and my old woman, a pair of dry forked sticks. There is no more sap left in us than in a dead purau tree. Nevertheless, we wish to honor you as best we can, and the drums will beat loudly so that you may not hear the creaking of our joints. If only you could have seen us years ago when our hearts were gay and our bodies filled with the warm blood of youth! But we have with us ten of our grandchildren who are now as we were then. They will join us in this dance and make up for the poorness of our own performance.”

Then the drums began to beat, and Tamuri and his old woman danced with such bone-stiff gestures and movements that Vaitangi laughed until the tears came into his eyes. Of a sudden, at a word of command from Tamuri, the supposed grandchildren stepped forward: five young men and five lovely girls dressed in kirtles of colored grasses reaching to their knees, with wreaths of flowers pressed down over their dark hair, and necklaces of fragrant blossoms half concealing their bare bosoms. As the drums beat in quickening tempo all the stiffness left the limbs of Tamuri and the old woman. They leaped to either side of the line of young men and women, dancing with a loose-jointed ease in the widest possible contrast to their movements of a moment before. The granddaughters, having advanced to within a few feet of Vaitangi, danced with all the abandon of youth, eyes alight, lips parted, with gestures so appealing, so gaily wanton and provocative that Vaitangi could not resist them. Ponderously he heaved himself to his feet and joined them, forgetting the dignity of his years and his position as high chief of the Koros, while the Tongans shouted their approval. The drums beat faster and faster and the girls who had formed a circle around him gave him no rest, vying with one another for the honor of dancing directly before him. At last Vaitangi, losing his balance, sat down with a heavy thud, breathing hard, his face and body streaming with sweat.

So ended the events of the evening. The people, Tongans and Koros together, dispersed reluctantly, as though they had been members of one clan.

As Téaro conducted his guest back to his dwelling, Vaitangi said: “Téaro, I have never been better entertained. I should come here oftener. You Tongans are a gay-spirited people.”

“There has been sorrow enough in our lives, tragedy enough in our history,” Téaro replied. “We gladly accept what opportunities may come for laughter.”

On the following morning came the sacred ceremonies when Tauhéré and her husband, Nihau, were united in marriage, and the other young chiefs and their brides. In the afternoon there were spear-throwing and archery contests by the Tongan youth, and water sports and games in which both men and women took part. These I pass over to speak of Maui and the boys of his age, who were to match their skill at stone slinging. All the people were now gathered on the beach where the contest was to take place. A plantain stalk had been set up at a distance of sixty paces, and the people lined either side of the course. Téaro and Vaitangi stood near the boys who were to try their skill. Faanui was the first contestant; others followed until it came to Maui’s turn. As he stepped into the circle marked in the sand, Uri came forward and, with a commanding gesture, held out his hand for Maui’s sling. Maui glanced questioningly at Rata, who was judge of the contest, and his uncle said: “Maui, your father’s guest and yours wishes to honor us by taking part in this match. Will you let him have your sling?” Maui did so, and stepped back among the other contestants.

With an air of insolence and pride Uri went to the pile of sling-stones and carefully selected three. Placing the first one in the sling he whirled it around his head and let go. He struck the target squarely. The second stone barely grazed the plantain stalk. The third was a miss.

Maui then took his turn. He saw his mother standing with Hina and her mother nearby. He saw Rangi, one of the shipwrights, teacher of the apprentices and father of his friend, Ma’o, regarding him with an air of confidence. Maui loved this man next to Taio himself. In his heart he made a little prayer to Tané that he might humble the pride of this nephew of the high priest of Koro. He made two direct hits; the third stone glanced from the plantain stalk but was nearer than Uri’s grazing hit. As he gave the sling to Uri for his second try, he heard the loud murmur of pleasure that came from the throng of spectators. In the second throwing they were equal, with two hits and one miss each. Uri’s face was sullen with anger that this son of a Tongan chief, two years younger than himself, should have the lead.

Vaitangi now spoke: “You will try again, Uri?” he said.

The boy nodded. “I misjudged the weight of the stones,” he replied.

“Then see to it that you choose carefully this time lest you shame the Koros,” Vaitangi said, with a grim smile.

There was deep silence as Uri stooped to select his stones. He threw many aside before making his choice, and the result of that throwing was again two hits and one miss. He scowled as he handed Maui the sling. Without hesitating in his choice Maui took up at random three of the stones that Uri had rejected, and he made three hits in the center of the target. The murmur of approval from the spectators was even louder than before, and Rangi could scarcely contain his joy. The crowd then moved farther along the beach where a tall coconut palm leaned out over the lagoon. A boy perched in the nest of fronds let down a new target: a log of dry wood attached to a long cord, which he set swinging in a wide arc.

“What is this—a further trial?” Vaitangi asked.

“It is the custom of our boys to end the contest in this manner,” Rata replied; “but ...”

“Then so it shall end,” said Vaitangi, “unless Uri is willing to accept defeat.”

The boy made no reply but took the sling once more and turned to face this last, more difficult target. The boy in the tree set it swinging at a level a little above the heads of the contestants. Uri waited long before each throw but failed in all. Maui failed in his first try, set the light wood to spinning at his second, and while it was thus spinning, struck it again.

Now the crowd cheered wildly, and Rangi’s joy was so great that he ran to where Uri was standing and danced in derision before him, shouting, “Aita faufaa, Uri! Aita faufaa, Uri!” (“Worthless is Uri!”) Rata stepped forward quickly, seized him by the arm and put his hand over Rangi’s mouth. It was only then that Rangi realized what he had done. It was a serious matter for a man of common blood to mock one of the ariki, and to have publicly shamed the nephew of the high priest of Koro was an offense not to be forgiven. The crowd dispersed in silence, casting sober glances at the place where Téaro stood with Vaitangi.

“It shall be forgiven, by me, at least,” Vaitangi said, with a grim smile. “No bonds of friendship unite me with the uncle of this boy, and Uri has only himself to blame. But ... what is the name of the man who mocked him?”

“Rangi,” Téaro replied. “He worships my son. No other excuse can be found for him.”

“That is excuse enough,” said Vaitangi. “But have a care for him! And let him have a care for himself; for what he has done will be known to Puaka as soon as he returns. He will never forgive it.”

So great was Uri’s shame and anger in his defeat that he would stay no longer in the Tongan valley. Without speaking to Vaitangi of his intention he returned home that same afternoon with two of his uncle’s servants. Vaitangi’s visit ended the following day, but at the request of Maui’s parents, Hina and her mother were permitted to remain for a longer time. Maéva, Maui’s mother, had never forgotten that she owed the life of her son to Hina’s mother who had suckled him at her breast at the time when the Tongans first came to Kurapo. There had been warm friendship between the two women from that day.