—1677 AD, Maniha Komo (“Half-Moon Island”)

 

“You performed a great feat at the last battle, young Akamui,” said Hamaki. “If not for you, they would have overturned us! But you fought like five men! Not to mention that you saved my life, and that is something I’ll never forget.”

The inside of Hamaki’s bamboo hut was dim and dusty. The only light seeped through cracks in the straw curtain that covered the entrance. Besides two shelves with wooden and clay bowls along the wall, and a bucket with fresh water in the corner, there was nothing in the room. The two men sat face-to-face, cross-legged on shark pelts stretched over the earthen floor. Hamaki leaned on the central column that supported the thatch roof. At Hamaki’s words, Akamui’s face flushed with pleasure.

“Anyone would do the same in my place,” said Akamui.

“No, no, don’t underestimate yourself,” Hamaki objected. “Every brave deed deserves a reward and you shall have yours. I’ve decided to recommend you as a candidate for the Council in the next elections.”

Akamui’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. He tried to say something, but Hamaki stopped him with an imperial gesture.

“I know you think you’re too young, that you don’t have enough experience. Well, all that is nonsense. Take Ahaki, for instance. He is a little older than you, but he has been on the Council for years. The elders can choose any man, no matter the age, in virtue of his special merit among the tribe. Ah, stick with me, lad, and you’ll never lose; I’ve been on the Council for a long time and, believe me, my word carries weight there.”

“I don’t have the words to express my gratitude, wise Hamaki.” Akamui rose and bowed. “It is such a great honor for me.” He kneeled and kissed Hamaki’s foot.

“Sit down, sit down, don’t be ridiculous.” Hamaki patted him on the cheek. “You are a respectful boy. It’s the least I can do for you. Lima!” he shouted.

A graceful young woman, naked save for a loincloth, parted one of the straw curtains that separated the room from the rest of the hut. Hamaki had one of the biggest dwellings in the village, large enough to house his three wives and five children. By the tribe’s standards, he was one of the richest men in Maniha Komo, obviously a result of his long tenure on the Council.

“Do you know Lima, my third wife?” asked Hamaki and tapped her behind.

“Of course, I do,” muttered Akamui, smiling uneasily. “She is good friends with Kalia, my wife.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know that.”

“You certainly did; you even met her once here, remember?” said Lima.

“Yeah, maybe,” Hamaki scratched his head. “At my age and with all the responsibilities of the Council, I may forget things.” He tapped her again. “Bring us some tuka, sweetheart. We have a lot to celebrate!”

Lima nodded and glided lithely out of the room, flashing a smile at Akamui.

“I have the best palm wine on Maniha Komo, you’ll see,” said Hamaki.

Somebody called from outside the entrance. “May I have a word with you, wise Hamaki?”

“That must be Arataki,” muttered Hamaki, standing. “Stay here; I’ll be back in a moment.”

He hurriedly stepped out. Akamui gazed at the gently swinging straw-mat and strained his ears in a vain attempt to catch some of the muffled conversation. Something rustled behind him, and Lima returned from one of the other rooms, bringing two wooden cups full of transparent liquid. She scanned the room, approached Akamui, and pressed her bare leg to his shoulder.

“Where is he?” she whispered.

“Just went outside to speak with the chieftain.”

She bent over to lay the cups on the floor, her naked breast swinging close to Akamui’s face. She lingered for a while in this position, then swiftly kissed him on the lips and stood upright, her eyes shining.

“Are you crazy?!” he hissed.

“I missed you so much, my heart! I kneeled before Rakapi and prayed day and night to our god for you. ‘Please Almighty Kepolo,’ I said, ‘bring my beloved Akamui safe and sound back home because he is the sun and air to me.’”

“This is insanity, Lima. We must stop it once and for all! What if he finds out? Didn’t you hear that he wants to make me a member of the Council?”

“Well, I also heard that you saved his life. He certainly wouldn’t mind sharing his third wife with you as a sign of his gratitude,” Lima giggled, her perfect white teeth flashing in the dusk.

“Yeah, he’ll certainly kill both of us,” Akamui grunted.

“Oh, I see. My hero is afraid of some old limp-dick,” Lima giggled again. “Listen, tomorrow morning he said he would be in the Hive; the Council is gathering. I will be waiting for you at our place when the sun reaches its highest point…”

Hamaki rushed in. He was a big, stout man, but the age had slackened his muscles and his short hair had already turned gray.

“Sorry about that, my young friend,” he said, resuming his seat. “Tribe’s duties all the time. Ah, the wine is here, wonderful!”

“Yes. I just asked our guest how Kalia was doing,” Lima chirruped. “She is expecting a baby, you know… It’s a special time for women.”

“Good for you!” Hamaki tapped Akamui on the shoulder. “I wish for you to have a healthy boy who will become a great warrior, just like you!” He turned to Lima. “You can leave us now, my sweet butterfly. We have something important to discuss.”

***

It was almost dark when Akamui got home. When he saw him, Kalia’s face brightened. She threw herself into his arms and kissed him fondly.

“I’m so happy you’re back, my love,” she whispered. “I’ve been waiting the whole day for your return. Where have you been? You must be hungry. Come, sit! I’ve cooked you something delicious!”

Akamui grunted and slumped on the straw mat that covered the floor of his hut. He was dead tired. After returning from the raid yesterday, he’d had to go out early the following morning, so they hadn’t seen each other much. In the flickering soft firelight of the torch that cast playful shadows around the room, he watched her absentmindedly while she bustled around. The tiny place was hot and stuffy, with a large hammock in the middle that took up almost the entire space.

So small, compared with Hamaki’s hut, Akamui thought. You could die from suffocation in here. Well, that will change, once they accept me in the Council.

Kalia brought the meal on a wooden tray, kneeled, and laid it before her husband. She was beautiful and young, still slender despite her protruding abdomen. As Akamui eyed her sullenly, she smiled at him, flicked a lock from her face, and shook her long black hair, which reached to the small of her back. Her full, sensitive lips and shining black eyes could inflame every man on the island. Everyone but Akamui. Her deep love toward him, her willingness to be a devoted and submissive spouse, and her readiness to satisfy his slightest whims, filled him with disgust. In fact, he had never loved her. She had been very young when he took her as a wife, and he did it only to please his father, who was in debt to Tanuli, one of the Council’s members.

One day, one that Akamui would never forget, his father called him. When Akamui entered the hut, he found Tanuli sitting there. He was a tall man in his late forties, with short white hair and a long necklace made of the phalanges of his foes.

“I have six girls, and I have to find a match for each one of them,” he began, after the usual exchange of pleasantries. “It’s an enormous burden for every father to find even a single good guy to protect his daughter, let alone for six. But you are a good boy, Akamui, and I understand why your father is so proud of you. I have been observing you for a long time, and I think you will be a perfect fit for my youngest daughter, Kalia.”

Tanuli looked up at his father. The latter looked pleased. He smiled and said, “I am sure that my son will take good care of your Kalia. She will be happy with him.”

Akamui hadn’t been sure that he wanted the deal—at least not until he met his father’s stern stare, which eloquently spoke in favor of the proposition. He had bowed his head and said that he gladly accepted and would be honored to marry Tanuli’s daughter. What else could he have done, anyway? However, when he saw Kalia for the first time, his first thought was, What I’m supposed to do with this child? Should I fuck her or feed her first?

Kalia was a virgin and was soon crazy about him. In the beginning, he enjoyed her vehement love, her wild sexual passion, and her almost slavish attitude. She had never raised her voice to him and had never contradicted him. Year after year, she was growing up and her body blossomed into curvy, womanly shapes. His friends’ mockery gradually died away, and one day Akamui realized that all of them envied him for his beautiful wife. He was glad back then to have married her and had considered himself a lucky man.

Then Lima emerged and turned his world upside-down. She was Kalia’s best friend, two years older than she was, and her attitude hinted toward a rich experience with men. Lima was playful and flirted jokingly with him now and then, but he had never taken her seriously. Not until the day she set up a meeting with Kalia by Butterfly Waterfall and went straight to Akamui’s hut instead, playing innocent and looking for her friend. Akamui had a hard time catching her drift; taking hints was not his strong suit. Finally, Lima lost patience, grabbed his cock, and put it in her mouth. What happened then between them was so intense, so superb and incredible, that it forever changed Akamui’s perception of sex.

From that day on, he stopped being interested in Kalia. Sex with her was so boring, so conventional. Lima knew how to make him feel like a real man. Fulfilled. Gratified. Satiated. As he was too poor to afford more than one wife, he seriously leaned toward the decision of dumping Kalia and replacing her with Lima.

Destiny, however, had decided otherwise. About eight full moons ago, the news that Lima would become Hamaki’s third wife broke simultaneously with the announcement of Kalia’s pregnancy. When Akamui learned he would be a father, his heart softened toward his spouse. Kalia was so radiant, so beautiful the day she announced the news to him. He had taken her scarlet, tear-stained face between his hands, had looked straight into her shining eyes, from which emanated all the happiness in the world, and had kissed her on the lips.

“I’m so lucky to have you, my love,” he had whispered. “You will bear me a son, a great warrior, the pride of the entire Tipihao tribe…”

“Are you listening to me at all, or you’re drifting off?” Kalia touched Akamui’s hand, and he looked up, startled out of his reverie. “Eat! What are you waiting for?”

The meal still lay untasted before him. Akamui attacked it vigorously, noisily sipping the hot fish-broth and devouring the large swordfish steak.

“So, as I was saying,” said Kalia, “you told me this morning that you’d be back before noon. I was waiting all day for you. Where have you been, my heart?”

“I met Hamaki, and he invited me to his hut. It was just for a quick chat, but then he took out his famous tuka and the time flew.”

“Oh, it’s nice of him to welcome you to his home,” said Kalia. “Did you see Lima over there?”

“I did. She sent you her regards,” said Akamui, and added quickly, “Can you believe that Tanuli wants to propose me for membership on the Council at the next election?”

“Really?” Kalia looked impressed. “This is wonderful news, my love! How come he’s suddenly so kind to you?”

“He owes me something,” snorted Akamui and lapsed into silence. Kalia peered at him lovingly. To her, he was the most handsome man on the island. To the rest of her acquaintances, her husband was a pretty dreadful creature.

Akamui was in his early twenties, brawny and tall (almost a head taller than the average Tipihao man), with impressive bulging muscles and taut sinews. A tattoo of a man dangling upside down from a tree, his body being pecked by a large bird with spread wings, covered the left part of his torso, beginning from the shoulder and creeping to his chest and abdomen. As was true of most of Maniha Komo’s warriors, he had shaved his head down to the skin and it shone in the torchlight like a gigantic oily egg. A low forehead, full lips, and a flat nose, with a small white bone-ring through the left nostril, and similar rings hanging on both of his ears, gave him a fierce look. However, the most terrifying thing about him was his cold, murderous stare. His black eyes flashed with insane flame when he got furious, and nobody dared to confront him when he was in this state of mind.

Akamui finished his meal, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, burped, and stretched in the corner. Kalia cleared the wooden bowl and plate and snuggled up to him.

“Did you miss me, my love?” she whispered, eagerly pressing her naked body to his.

“Of course, I did,” Akamui answered sleepily.

“Both of us? Do you want to feel him kicking?” She took his hand and gently lay his palm on her stomach. Akamui was not in the mood. He snorted and pushed her lightly.

“He is asleep like I am,” he grunted.

After a brief silence, Kalia asked in a hurt voice, “So, how was the raid? The moon waxed and waned and became full again since you left. I heard you performed impressive feats there. It seems that everybody knows about them, but me! Tell me about Hamaki. What does he owe you?”

“Let’s leave that for tomorrow, shall we?” Akamui muttered. “I want to sleep now, but I’ll be all yours in the morning, fresh for a chat.”

He pushed her again, hauled himself up, extinguished the torch, and climbed into the hammock. A while later, she heard him snoring. She stared at the darkness for a long time, tears rolling down her cheeks.

The next morning Akamui got up late. He had not slept well. He’d dreamed of having sex with Lima and woke up in the middle of the night with a hard-on. Kalia lay beside him, her bottom turned to him, but he did not touch her. The image of Lima, just coming out from the lake under Butterfly Waterfall, wet, gorgeous, and naked, with shiny hair and a luring smile, was burning his heart. He realized he must end all this. It was too dangerous to continue seeing her, especially now that he was in Hamaki’s good grace.

My chances would be ruined in a twinkling if he found out, he brooded. Still, he could not restrain his lust. It took him a long time to fall asleep again, and when he woke up in the morning, the desire to see Lima was unbearable.

“Just this one last time, and then I’ll end it,” he muttered, not convinced at all. The hut was quiet and empty. Kalia was nowhere to be seen.

Perfect, Akamui thought and jumped from the hammock. He put on a small waistband of foliage that hardly covered his sex, slung a leather strap with a stone knife stuck into a wooden sheath over his shoulder, and fastened his bamboo sandals with their fiber laces. He glanced at the corner where three boiled seagull’s eggs, a slice of dry meat, and a bunch of bananas waited for him enticingly, hesitated for a while, shook his head, and then ran outside. The sun was high in the sky, and he was sure that Lima was already awaiting him.

Akamui’s hut was at the end of the village and he rushed straight into the jungle. The moment he reached the first trees, Kalia emerged on her way toward the hut, coming from the heart of the village, bringing a basket full of fruit. She saw her husband disappearing hurriedly into the forest, and her jaw dropped.

But where he’s going? She wondered as she rushed into the hut to leave her load and stopped short, stupefied: for the first time since they were together, Akamui had not touched his breakfast.

She quickly assessed the situation.

Yesterday he said we would talk in the morning. He overslept, so obviously there was not anything pressing… What’s the rush, then? He seemed scared, worried about something…

Grim anxiety hit her in the stomach, and piercing pain stabbed her heart. She got out and dashed toward the jungle, following Akamui’s path.

Her father had taught her to read the trail, and Kalia followed the almost-invisible path of bent and crushed blades of grass that wound through the lush greenery, where branches made a compact, low tunnel. The thick canopy blocked the sun, letting through occasional flashes of bouncing light. It was dusky and grim, and the hot, damp air made her breathing difficult.

Kalia faltered, often tripping against snags and roots, her sharp eyes scanning for crumpled grass or snapped twigs. She stopped now and then, panting, drenched in sweat, pressing her belly with both hands. The heavy load in her womb exhausted her. The baby fidgeted and kicked, agitated, and her heart thumped wildly. Every single step became a burden, and she slowed down.

“Please, Great Kepolo, watch over him, don’t let him be hurt,” her lips moved silently as disastrous scenarios passed one after another through her head. She took a sharp turn but lost the trail and stopped, straining her ears. Leaves rustling; birds screeching; wings fluttering; insects buzzing; toads croaking. The song of the jungle, as the old-timers called it, the sounds she had grown up with. Yet she detected something in the distance, a faint constant humming.

“Butterfly Waterfall,” she exclaimed and ran again.

This path must lead straight there. How dumb I am not to have guessed it earlier! I always take the other way, that’s why… But why would he go there?

The tangle of foliage lashed her face and body, but she hardly felt it. The humming was getting louder and louder, gradually turning into a roar, and the path grew larger. All of a sudden, the jungle ended, and she found herself in a small clearing, lit up by the shining sun and studded with tropical flowers.

A narrow mass of water fell with a deafening noise from a high, almost vertical cliff into a round lake. Kalia took a step forward and waded into the soft, succulent grass, whereupon an iridescent cloud of butterflies rose around her. There were everywhere, lovely and colorful as flying flowers, fluttering all over the glade and alighting now and then on the bright tropical blossoms, tinted in red, orange, yellow, and cream-white. She stopped short, enchanted by the breathtaking picture. This spot was her favorite, the place where she had played as a kid and had spent the happiest moments of her life. The sweet scent, wafting in the air, and the roar of the waterfall, made her dizzy and carried her back to her childhood.

And then, a loud moan coming from her left brought her back to reality. She turned sharply. Lima, her best friend, leaned against a solitary palm tree near the lake, her legs wrapped around Akamui’s waist and her arms folded around his neck. She was groaning and shouting as if mad, while Akamui thrust into her, moving back and forth faster and faster. Kalia’s jaw dropped open. She watched them, stunned: two wild animals clinging tightly to each other, burning with passion. Fiery rage burst in her chest and hit her brain, incinerating her insides. In that moment, she hated Lima so powerfully that the desire to kill her was the only driving force that made sense.

“Fucking betrayer!” Kalia bellowed. Blind with rage, she bent down, grabbed a thick, knotty piece of wood, and ran toward them. Akamui was just easing Lima to the ground when both of them turned, startled by the inhuman scream coming from Kalia’s lungs. She fell upon them, lashing the club at Lima’s head. Akamui flung himself to shield her, and the club landed heavily on his shoulder. He hollered in pain but did not flinch. Kalia lifted her gnarled weapon again with an effort, preparing for a new blow, and staggered, losing her balance under its weight. Quick as a flash, Akamui took a step forward and backhanded her across the face, knocking her onto her back. Kalia hit her head on the edge of a protruding stone and then remained still.

Akamui and Lima watched with terror as a red pool slowly spread from beneath her head. Lima gave out a shrill scream. Akamui kneeled down, lifted Kalia’s head, and started caressing her, muttering gentle words. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the sky, her face distorted in a grimace of pain and hatred.

Lima flung herself hysterically at Akamui, drumming his back with her small fists. Patiently, he lay Kalia on the ground, turned around, and tried to catch Lima’s hands. She wrung herself free and jumped forward, attempting to claw his face. He pushed her roughly. She fell, wailing loudly, sobbing and tearing at her hair.

Shock and confusion seized Akamui, and for a moment, he just stayed there, rooted to the ground, staring at Kalia’s dead body. He was aware of the consequence of killing a woman, especially a pregnant one…

Sharp pain in his left forearm brought him out of his stupor. Lima had flung herself at him again and had just bitten him. Her squalls were driving him crazy. He grabbed her, lifted her to her feet, and stared at her wandering eyes.

“Listen to me,” he said, shaking her. She was still absent, her look vacant. Akamui slapped her tear-stained face.

“Are you listening now, you stupid fish?” he cried, irritated. “She’s dead, all right! There’s nothing to do about it. Go to your house and play innocent. Did anybody see you coming?” He slapped her again. “Answer me! Did anyone—”

“I don’t know,” sobbed Lima, “leave me alone, please…”

“Listen to me carefully now. You go straight home and stay there as if nothing happened. If anybody asks you where you’ve been, tell him you just went to gather herbs, all right?” He smacked her one more time and shouted, “Look at me! Do you understand? If Hamaki suspects that we have been meeting in secret, we’re as good as dead. Got it? Stop crying now!”

Lima’s look gradually cleared up.

“What will you do?” she sobbed.

“Don’t worry about me. Do what I say and leave everything else to me. Go now, run!”

She jumped and ran, brushing away her tears. When she disappeared into the forest, Akamui looked at Kalia—the woman who loved him so much and who had been ready to sacrifice her life for him. He felt nothing for her. No more than for any other person who he had killed or raped during his life. It was different for the baby, though. He had longed for a son, and now everything was falling apart…

I’ll bring her to my mother. Maybe she can still save the baby, he thought.

He lifted Kalia and flung her across his shoulder, feeling her still-warm blood dripping onto his neck.

“What a mess!” he muttered and set out for the village, desperately shaking his head.

***

Several hours later, Akamui stood before the Council in the huge beehive-like bamboo hut, known by the locals as “The Hive.” The elders were sitting in a tight semi-circle in the middle of the room around a large round stone hearth. Akamui stood on the opposite side, his head bowed. The smoke from the hearth was biting his eyes and tears trickled down his cheeks. The elders smoked their pipes and nodded in agreement with Hamaki’s speech.

“We all know that killing a woman is a terrible crime, punishable by death,” Hamaki was saying. “The women are precious, and we have to take care of them. They bring us strength and comfort and are the most important source of inspiration in our life. For ages, all the wars break out over women, as foreign women bring fresh blood to the tribe and give us strong, healthy babies, which is crucial for our survival and prosperity.

“So, wise elders, the crime carried out by the young Akamui is outrageous. We all know that the punishment for such a misdeed is death. However, as the highly respectable Council can see, the death of poor Kalia was a pure accident. She had struck her husband with a club in her rage, the evidence of which is visible on Akamui’s left shoulder, and he had hit her back in self-defense. Sometimes our otherwise gentle spouses get irritated during their childbearing, don’t they?

“Here I want to emphasize the honesty and the courage of this young fellow, who immediately brought Kalia to his mother and did everything possible to at least save the baby. He did not hesitate afterward to come to us and to tell us the truth, thus taking responsibility for the demise of his beautiful wife. I’d like to draw your attention to the fact that the young Akamui struck only one blow at Kalia. It was fatal, it’s true, but come on, who hasn’t ever thrashed his wife or daughter now and then? It’s necessary sometimes, you know, just to keep them on the right track.

“With that said, I ask the Council to consider carefully the fate of this brave, smart, and fearless warrior, who is an irrefutable asset to Tipihao’s army. I don’t think it’s time now to deprive our troops of his might and cunning and to ruin his bright future because of this unfortunate accident.

“Thus, I respectfully request that the respectable Council not to be too hard on this young man. I suggest sending him in exile for two years to the remote outpost atolls as a lookout for the enemy’s boats. Thank you for listening to me, wise elders. My talk is over.”

            An agitated murmur met the suggestion. Hamaki bowed to the Council and sat down. Akamui did not budge. Kerully, the oldest of the elders, rose slowly, leaning on a long bamboo stick and shaking all over. He was bald, slightly stooped with age, and so skinny that could barely stand on his feet.

            “I don’t want to contradict the wise Hamaki, but I must point out that the sentence he proposes is too clement, given the severity of the crime. I’d like to offer my condolences to my old friend Tanuli.” Kerully bowed to the man who was staring at the ground, crushed with sorrow, before continuing. “The blood of his precious child is calling for justice. Let’s not forget that only three full moons ago we sentenced to death Tamali, a precious warrior, for a similar misdeed—he had beaten his wife so severely that she passed away from her wounds. So, I’m telling you now: this beating must stop once and for all. It’s true that in the case of Akamui it was more of an accident than murder, and I agree that a bright future lies ahead for him. But justice is justice. Two years is too short a punishment for such a crime. I vote for at least five to seven years in exile on the Coral Beck. Life is hard over there, at our most remote atoll on the northern boundary. Akamui will serve his time, building the great stone watchtower along with the slaves and the other law-breakers. His youth will fade in hardship and repentance and he will return wiser, stronger, and atoned for his misdeeds. Thank you, wise elders. My talk is over.”

Kerully slumped back in his seat, apparently exhausted. Each of the elders took their turn to speak, before taking a vote. As the debate grew more and more heated, they eventually agreed to leave it to the sacred smoke to decide the length of the sentence. After careful observation of its direction, Akamui was sentenced to five years in exile at the Coral Beck atoll.