"Just come to my presentation," Dave repeated.
"I'll come," Lewis said. "That final session will be quite something, though. I don't expect there'll be an empty seat in the place when Robinson speaks once this episode is reported to the rest of the group when we get back."
"There's lots going on between now and then," Dave said. "There are papers being presented from noon today on. I'll hope to see you all at mine." Moira rolled her eyes.
"Evil forces may be gathering," the gypsy said. "Remember what Cassandra de Santiago has told you."
"Look," Moira exclaimed, and we all turned in the direction she was pointing as the van slowed to a halt. We were down by the sea, and between us and the surf was the most extraordinary sight. Fifteen towering moai stood in a line on a long platform, backs to the sea, sightless eyes staring across the landscape toward the quarry.
"Ahu Tongariki," Dave said. "Impressive, isn't it? What did I tell ya?"
It was: the moai framed by the crashing sea behind and headlands beyond. I have traveled so much in my life that, sad to say, it takes a fair amount to truly impress me, but even for me, Ahu Tongariki was a jaw-dropping place. I could hardly believe my eyes.
"Tongenrique," Enrique said, tapping me on the shoulder to get my attention. "My name, like I told you."
"Right," I said. What was he going on about?
"I like this place," I said to Moira. "I believe it is actually going to live up to expectations."
"Me, too," she said. "Even with that Cassandra de Santiago person around. Do we think she made up that name?"
"Count on it," I said.
"An abnormally large proportion of people with made-up names at the congress," she said. "Poikeman, indeed!"
We spent the afternoon at the hotel, in a large building just off the main road, taking in the lectures—lectures, I might add, with titles such as Lapita cultural complex and ancestral Polynesia or The myth of Hotu Matu'a: The reliability of oral tradition in the study of the Rapa Nui prehistory.
It did not take me very long to realize that for all the backslapping, shoulder-punching bonhomie, and the hey-great-to-see-yous, several of the people attending the Moai Congress didn't like each other very much. Indeed, if the congress could be said to have a personality, it was one of thinly veiled, but genteel, hostility. There was the very public spat between Robinson and Fairweather to be sure, but beyond that I began to notice that certain people went out of their way to avoid each other or looked for opportunities to argue over some esoteric point. These were academic disagreements, but it seemed to me the feelings went way beyond the professional and were charged, in some cases, with a level of animosity that surprised me.
That first afternoon alone, a delegate by the name of Edwina Rasmussen, a short, intense woman of rather unpleasant disposition, publicly called into question Brian Murphy's credentials and then talked loudly throughout his presentation; Brenda Butters walked out of Rory Carlyle's speech in a rather obvious fashion; and Jasper Robinson smirked and squirmed through any of the papers that did not support his theories.
There was clearly a very fundamental disagreement between those who believed that Rapa Nui had been settled by Polynesian mariners and the other group which was convinced that Rapa Nui had been inhabited originally by people from South America, Peru, and Bolivia primarily, who had brought their great stonemaking skills to carve and erect the moai. Some went even further, postulating, as Moira's hero Thor Heyerdahl had, that the New World was civilized a very long time ago by people from as far away as Egypt and that these people in turn had discovered Rapa Nui.
It seemed to me that science was on the side of those who supported the Polynesian theory, but science did not in and of itself stop the arguments from the other side.
Then there was the disagreement as to whether local legends and myths were just that or if they represented real events and people—history, in other words. For example, was there really a Hotu Matu'a, who in legend was the leader who brought the first people to Rapa Nui and became their first ariki mau, or king, or was this simply an interesting tale?
By the end of the afternoon, my "never again" life list had a new entry: I will never attend any event with the word congress in it again. I was convinced all this suppressed tension was giving me a headache. Moira must have felt it, too. "I don't think we actually need to attend the mixer this evening, do you?" she said. "I vote we get away from here. I think we should go into Hanga Roa for a look at the town— it's not on the archaeology tours—and stay for dinner and a drink or three. It's on me."
We went out to the main road and hailed a taxi, leaving Dave telling a group of delegates about the terrific time slot he had and how they must come to hear his presentation, and in a few minutes found ourselves on the main street of Hanga Roa, a sprawling town of low-rise buildings, never more than two stories, where apparently most of the 3,500 inhabitants of the island live.
We had no specific plans, which was very pleasant after what had been a rather structured day at the congress, so we just wandered along, looking at the various restaurants and souvenir shops, trying to get our bearings. I found an Internet cafe and picked up my email—three from Clive asking me where I'd put things. I'd left him a list of everything he needed for the antique show, but obviously it was easier to send an email asking for the answer than it was to open the file. I resolved not to mention this to Moira. There was also an email from Rob. My heart soared when I read the first sentence in which he told me my kitchen counter had finally arrived, but it sank at the second in which he broke the news that the hole for the sink was cut in the wrong place and we were back at square one.
Next, we found the town's church at the top of a slight incline, and the doors being open, we went in. While much like any other church on the outside, inside it was a surprise. The church enjoyed a rather unusual melding of Christianity with an ancient local religion, that syncretism most obviously expressed by wood statues, all carved by hand. There were saints, recognizably Christian, but carved wearing Rapa Nui attire. One saint had the face of a bird. I was enchanted, and Moira had trouble pulling me away.
Across the street from the church was a craft market— several rooms of little booths selling crafts and souvenirs. Almost everyone was selling wood carvings. There were thousands of carvings, many of the moai. I went immediately into my shopkeeper mode, looking for something special I could ship home to the shop. Then it struck me. I was on vacation. There was nothing I had to do, no purchase I had to make for the shop, no appointments with agents, no new suppliers to track down.
Still, I couldn't stop myself from looking. The carvings varied considerably in quality, and they were not inexpensive. Having said that, some were really lovely. Although my home will soon collapse under the weight of all the treasures I have brought back from my trips over the years, I couldn't resist buying one. Then, in keeping with my holiday mood, dampened only slightly by the news about the kitchen, I bought a flowered shirt for Rob. It was relatively subdued—lovely taupe and cream flowers on a black background—but still, as soon as I'd handed over the cash, I realized I couldn't see him wearing it. That's what happens to you when you go on vacation, I decided. Your reason, to say nothing of your innate good taste, deserts you. It's all that sun on your head. "I think you are going to have to keep me away from the stores and markets," I told Moira. "Let's go see some sights instead."
"We'll head for that little cove," she said. "The caleta, it's called, according to my map. Watch your step. No doubt you have noticed that there are many things that distinguish this street from the one on which you and I own businesses, the most obvious being horse poop. Did you notice how many people have horses in their backyard?"