Daughter of the Reef (41 page)

Abruptly she adopted a different voice, one that quavered and squeaked. “I am not only the chief. I am an oracle, too.” Several novices gaped at this pronouncement. “And what I say is for all of you to hear. This is what the divine ones demand of you. You must give up your old habits. From now on, when you eat
poi
, you must do it with one eye closed.”
 

“That is silly.” Curling-leaf squinted at Tepua, trying to keep one eye shut as she dipped into her imaginary
poi
.
 

“It is supposed to be,” Tepua whispered. A few in the audience were giggling while others looked on with puzzlement.

Tepua raised her wrapped hand again. “There is more, my obedient ones,” she said in her squeaky voice. “When you eat your
poi
, not only must you close one eye, but you may use only your crooked little finger. At the same time, you must stand on one foot.”
 

Curling-leaf made a show of trying to follow orders, dipping into the bowl with her little finger while balancing awkwardly on one leg.
 

“Now you are supposed to look doubtful and question the interpretation of my words,” whispered Tepua.

Curling-leaf giggled. “Can this truly be what the gods expect of us?” she asked. “I must consult the high priest.”

“I am the chief
and
the oracle,” Tepua intoned. “I am so filled with
mana
that I do not have to listen to any priest. Do as you were ordered.”
 

“I think I know what this is about,” said Curling-leaf, with a sly look.

Tepua felt her face redden. She puffed herself up to look indignant.' 'How dare you speak out of turn? And where are the gifts you promised? Bring me pigs and
tapa
, you son of a sea snail!”
 

“Enough!” cried Pecking-bird. “I will watch no more. We are novices. We cannot poke fun at great men.”

Or at great fools
? “Pecking-bird, I always thought that the Arioi were
supposed
to do just that,” Tepua retorted. “If you do not like my skit, work on your own, and we will see whose is better.” She stalked off, and was glad to see Curling-leaf coming with her.
 

 

For their rehearsals, the two found another clearing, farther from the Arioi house. After a day, other girls came. With more players, Tepua began to embellish the little production. Yet she kept worrying about how Aitofa would react to it.

At times she considered asking the chiefess if hers was an acceptable mode of satire. But what if Aitofa told her to stop? If Tepua did not ask permission first, then later she could not be accused of disobedience.
 

Days passed as the senior Arioi prepared for a major performance for the coming Ripening-of-the-year celebration. The novices continued to work at their own comedies, often giving up their afternoon sleep to practice. The time for the competition finally arrived.
 

Early one morning a nervous troupe of novices, men and women, assembled inside the Arioi house. Both blacklegs, Aitofa and Head-lifted, sat with other high-ranking Arioi on the viewing platform. Tepua watched the judges, seeing several yawning or with sleepy expressions. They would rather still be dozing on their mats, she realized. Perhaps they did not care how much time the novices had spent preparing for this.
 

Head-lifted clapped his hands and called for the first group to start. A small troupe of men began a pantomime on canoe building that brought peals of laughter from every side. The first man swung an imaginary stone adze at an imaginary log, grimacing with astonishment as the tool rebounded from the hard wood. When he tried swinging again, the invisible head flew from his adze and struck another player, whose silent reaction of pain as he clutched his belly made the audience roar. Though they used no props, the skill and timing of the mimes let the audience almost see the misbehaving tools that kept dogging their efforts to build the canoe. Tepua could not help but admit to herself that this skit was far better than her own.
 

When Curling-leaf glanced at her, Tepua merely smiled. But each group that came on seemed almost as good as the first. At last it was Tepua's turn.
 

With straw stuffed under her wrap to pad her belly, the “high chief took her place on a stool in the center of the stage. She studied the dour faces of the judges. The comedies so far had been amusing, but none had touched on politics. Perhaps she was about to break some rule that everyone else understood...
 

Tepua swallowed once, and began. “I am the high chief. I am Rooster-crows-too-early-gets-head-lopped off.” Not a single smile. She tried to ignore her audience and focus on the performance.
 

As the chief's pronouncements became more bizarre, and the action with
poi
bowls more frenzied, the onlookers began to warm to it. In the final scene, the players started a mad scramble to depose the demanding high chief. Tepua saw Aitofa's lips twitch, and even noticed several judges giving vent to subdued laughter. But Tepua had seen their responses to the other comedies. Hers ranked near the bottom. She tried not to show her dismay as she led her players off.
 

 

Tepua was not surprised when Aitofa called her late that afternoon. She still felt stung by her defeat, although she did not begrudge the “canoe builders” their victory. They were expert mimes, almost as good as seasoned players. But Pecking-bird's silly piece on fishing had also been declared a winner.
 

Aitofa sat on her stool, staring at Tepua with an expression that she could not interpret.

“I hope that our performance gave no offense,” Tepua said hastily. “I did not mean to be irreverent.”

Aitofa raised an eyebrow. “I give you credit for daring, if nothing else. I cannot remember when a novice last took on such a dangerous subject.”
 

“Then—you are not angry?”

“I did not say that. I will tell you, however, that Head-lifted and I have spent some time discussing your skit.”

“We should all forget it,” said Tepua sadly. “Compared with the others—”

“It showed poorly. That is correct. You have much more to learn before you can amuse an audience. Yet your performance was not entirely without merit. The piece had a satirical bite that I found refreshing.”
 

Tepua's eyes widened.

“With work, it might be made into a worthy comedy.”

“To be shown?”

“Yes. To the people.”

Tepua felt a sudden panic. She had started this, after all, with a hope that the senior Arioi might follow her lead. Now that it seemed possible, why did she wish to stop it? “But—if it is presented—”
 

“There will be effects, both good and bad, I agree. Everyone will know whom we are mocking.”

Tepua struggled to explain her feelings, which pulled her in two directions. “It is not the man himself, I would mock, but what other people wish to make of him. They are pushing him into something he does not really want.”
 

Aitofa smiled grimly. “Do not think that you alone have had these thoughts. As it happens, Head-lifted and I talked some time ago about this. We spoke of presenting a comedy to poke fun at our noble friend. After all, that is what we Arioi are expected to do. But the Ripening Celebration attracts visitors from other districts and even from other islands. We did not want to air our problems before strangers.”
 

Tepua felt vaguely relieved. “Then later, perhaps.”

“No,” said Aitofa. “We cannot keep your playlet a secret now. Too many people have seen it, and they will talk. If we do not put on a finished play at the first opportunity, then everyone will believe that we Arioi have lost our keen edge, that we are afraid of important people. Now you have forced our hand.”
 

Tepua looked down. The thought of how Matopahu might take this made her deeply uneasy. She knew that she had been moved by spite more than by any interest in politics. Yet she truly believed that Matopahu's life would be destroyed if he gained the high chief's office.
 

“What do you say, my rash novice? Do you wish now that you had chosen a more innocent subject?”

She lifted her head and answered hoarsely, “That is not the Arioi way.”

“Good. Then do not be surprised when you see our players tossing bowls of
poi
.”
 

 

The breadfruit grew fat on the trees as preparations for the performances went forward. The experienced players took the skit and transformed it into a masterpiece of comedy. Even Tepua burst out in gales of laughter when she saw the rehearsals.
 

Whenever she met Feet-out-of-water, Tepua tried to amuse him by imitating portions of the Arioi play. The nobleman did not call her often, for he had begun to suffer from an illness that even abstention from
ava
did not cure. Sometimes when she arrived, she found him in good spirits. At other times, when he seemed gloomy, she did her best to cheer him.
 

Meanwhile she kept hearing of Matopahu's exploits, not only in the high chief's district but in other parts of the island. Matopahu's pronouncements continued to win him renown. Men from outlying areas were seen almost daily carrying gifts to leave at his house.
 

People spoke of these exploits in admiring voices. When Tepua heard such talk, she focused her thoughts on the festivities to come. After the comedy was presented, some of these admirers might have second thoughts!
 

The time of celebration was almost at hand. Visitors began arriving from all over Tahiti, and from other islands as well. Every day Tepua saw new canoes drawn up on the beach. It had occurred to her that the guests might include
motu
people.
 

Atoll traders visited Knotted-cord on occasion, but so far she had avoided them by staying close to Aitofa's compound. This time she could not hide; on the night of the performance, she would have to stand with the other novices.
 

The risk of being seen began to worry her even more than how Matopahu would react to the play. She had known, when she joined the players, that some time she must face this. Now she wondered if she had put too much trust in the ability of the Arioi to protect her.
 

Every day she nervously searched the beach. Among polished hulls bearing upright bow- and stern-posts, she feared she might find the simpler but more seaworthy double-ended craft from her own islands. She found none.
 

Preparations grew feverish as the night of the performance approached.
Tapa
mallets clattered all day. Drums and nose flutes sounded as the Arioi practiced dance and pantomime. Tepua stood in the line of chest-slappers, swaying and chanting, never missing a beat.
 

At last the moment came when she found herself in costume, sitting with the other novices beneath the roof of the great performance house. She blinked, gazing up at the firelight reflecting from the timbers of the theater, listening to the roar of the bonfire. Then she turned to watch the festivities begin.
 

“The high chief!” came the cry, booming across the heads of the audience as Knotted-cord swooped into the performance house on the shoulders of his bearer. His face glowed with satisfaction as he was carried to his seat. Tepua wondered if he had been informed about the comedy to come. Perhaps he was eagerly awaiting the ridicule that would be heaped on his brother.
 

Next the royal family and favorites arrived. Missing from this privileged group, of course, was Ihetoa. The dismissed high priest would not wish to be seen now, in the depths of his disgrace.
 

Another man's popularity had taken an upsurge. Tepua could not help watching the arrival of Matopahu, resplendent in a tall black-and-red headdress and feather cape. He rode his human mount with evident enjoyment, waving to the crowd while the applause swelled around him. Yet his expression seemed forced, and she sensed a darker mood behind the gaiety. Perhaps he, too, knew what was to come.
 

With a burst of thigh-pounding applause, Matopahu was installed on a high seat near Knotted-cord. He sat regally, keeping up his confident appearance. But when the crowd's attention turned to something else, she saw a gloomy look appear. Then she noticed him send a searching glance around the theater, as if looking for someone he could not find.
 

Tepua turned away. She had painted herself thoroughly, and had draped herself with garlands and necklaces in a style she did not normally use. Matopahu—or anyone else—would have difficulty recognizing her tonight.
 

The time came for arrival of the Arioi. Aitofa and Head-lifted, howling and cock-strutting across the open floor, made the ritual greeting, casting the braided coconut leaf at the high chief's feet. Now, Tepua thought, the introductions would begin as each noble guest appeared and recited his or her lineage. She forgot her other worries when she realized that she had not gone today to look at the visitors' canoes.
 

The introductions began with Maohi high chiefs. As the genealogical recitations droned on, Tepua sighed softly to herself. So many noble families, not only from Tahiti, but from all the neighboring high islands!
 

She had fallen into a daze, staring at the firelight, when the crier's voice abruptly changed its tone. “Here is the welcome to noble guests, who come to us in their seaworthy canoes. Here is the greeting to far travelers. Here is the welcome we offer to the chiefess Hoatu and her consort, Ro'onui.”
 

Tepua instantly ducked behind Pecking-bird. She was trembling so that she barely registered the names that had been cried. But she had seen enough. Nobles from the coral islands had come, people who might recognize her. Tepua had heard of this visiting chiefess, who ruled an atoll not far from her own. She raised her head enough to see past Pecking-bird's shoulder.