Mrs. Adams, who must have put away food equal to her weight, belched our way as she asked Eddie to pass her some orange beer, and said, “They are worms.”
“Worms?” I repeated stupidly.
“A great delicacy,” the old woman said. “They come out of the coral and surface twice a year. Very easy to catch, simply scoop them out of the water with a pail.”
She finished a shell full of orange beer, most of it running down her dress, then said, “Weddings are wonderful affairs, aren't they, Ray?”
“Yeah. But take it easy, Nancy .You been needling me the past week and... well!” The hair tonic-rum punch made my tongue too thick for talk.
“I am like one drugged,” Ruita said, getting up on her hands and knees. “Mama, we must sleep off this food.”
“Indeed, we shall sleep and return to the feast again.” Nancy peered past me. “Where has Eddie gone to?”
“Off trying to make time,” I mumbled, staggering to my feet. All my weight seemed to be in my stomach, Ruita grabbed my legs and pulled herself up. Nancy tried to stand but sprawled out. Ruita and I pulled her to her feet; then, holding onto each other, we staggered a few yards away and sat down in the sand again. I opened my belt and stared up at the sky full of stars for a moment, felt Ruita's even breathing beside me, heard Nancy's snoring.
I awoke several hours later. My clothes were damp and the sky cloudy, so it must have rained. It was early morning but judging from the sounds, the feast was still going strong. I felt cold and rubbed my arms. Ruita was still sleeping; curled up with her dress way past her hips, showing tight panties. I pulled her dress back over her cold legs. Mama Adams was gone.
I considered going back for some coconut beer—my mouth was dry—then walked heavily down to the lagoon and relieved myself. A number of people were doing the same thing.
As the saying goes, I immediately felt like a new man, and after knocking off a drinking nut, I returned to Ruita. Nancy Adams was sitting beside her daughter, a blanket over the both of them. The old girl was finishing a cigarette as I sat down; she held up the blanket and I put my legs under it. She asked, “How do you feel, Ray?”
“Like a stuffed tomato.”
“These feasts are great fun. Where else in the world—this world of want—can one stuff himself to the point of unconsciousness?”
“Have a point there.”
“I love the atolls—and happily they haven't been of much value to the popaas, especially after the pearls ran out, so they have been left alone. Forliga is almost untouched, and I only pray it always stays this way.”
I smiled up at the moon peeking through the clouds. The way she said “popaas” as though she wasn't one herself. Although what makes a popaa? Certainly not a white skin, for the Chinese traders were popaas, too.
“I first came here about a year after Tom died,” Nancy said, thinking aloud over her cigarette. “I was a young woman but already starting to take on that dried-up look which seems to be an occupational disease among missionary wives. I came here to write a paper on the lives of the atoll people, came to Forliga because they were so untouched by Western ways. That seems like another life ago.”
“You ever write the paper?” I asked, not really caring. I was watching the beauty of Ruita's face in sleep, the rise and fall of her bosom under the blanket.
“Lord no, I never even started it. That was merely an excuse. With Tom dead I was at loose ends, yet I had this feeling I didn't want to return to the States. So I gave myself this would-be scientific task, tried not to be too much of a pest. I spent about six months here taking notes. The islanders were very polite to me. There's a coral head not far out in the lagoon—you can easily see it in the daytime, a speck of land with a few palm trees and brush. They had a custom on Forliga which has since died out, due to the lack of women. On a certain night young men and women went out to this islet, undressed, and everybody simply made love as often as possible.”
“Eddie would have gone for that.”
I saw her cigarette end turn toward me like a tiny beacon in the darkness. “And you, wouldn't you have been out there, too?”
“I guess so.”
Nancy sighed. “You remind me of myself in those days— you wear the so-called conventions like a badly fitting suit, refuse to make yourself comfortable. I went to the islet, as a spectator, of course. But it was a dark moonless night, and soon as I stepped ashore among all those trembling bodies, a man pulled me down. In a way it was much like this feast, you made love again and again, rested, then blindly searched for the nearest free man. Before dawn, everybody swam back to the atoll. You know I forget many things these days, but I hope I shall never forget the joy of that night. Within a few seconds I passed from blushing protest, even shame, to outright enjoyment, on to a passion which both surprised and left me proud.”
“Why did you ever leave Forliga?”
“When I adopted Louise I decided to raise her so she would have the benefit of both cultures. That was a mistake. She's been very unhappy ... till you came along. Her father was the son of the last chief of Numaga, so legally the land was hers upon his death. After the hurricane nearly washed this atoll away, we settled down on Numaga.”
I thought for a moment. “Why do you say it was a mistake? Don't you think there is such a thing as a popaa culture?”
“Of course there is, but she never had a chance to appreciate 'our' culture. Ruita was swamped with racial bitterness and frustration.” The old woman hesitated, looked down at Ruita to make sure she was asleep. “Ray, growing up is a wonderful and serene experience here—not a time for doubts and grasping, as it is elsewhere. Actually, in our 'civilized' countries, adolescence is a time of cruel torture. In the islands there are no hidden secrets of life, no worry about the future—each young man or woman knows exactly what his... uh... life's work, profession, will be. Nor are there sexual frustrations But in Louise's case, and I shall never forgive myself for this blunder, when she was sixteen instead of being on the beach with a young man of her fancy, she was in a stuffy school for 'young ladies' in Sydney, not only learning the banal inhibitions of our day, but also that she was 'colored.' I imagine she even got a small taste of that in school in Papeete. So she returned to Numaga bitter, afraid, upset. A weakling. You're weak, too.”
“I'm what?”
“Come, come, Ray, being a weakling can often be a happy circumstance. What I mean is this: Louise couldn't forget the white world she had run from. The false standards she had picked up in Sydney prevented her from enjoying the freedom of the island women, while her travel and education spoiled her ability to be happy with an islander. Then you came along—with your own problems, too weak to solve or forget them. Perhaps that is why Louise likes you, this weakness you have in common, this self-pity. Only you needed a push, a swift kick in the pants.”
“Which you gave me, so subtly!”
She shrugged. “Should I be subtle about my daughter's happiness?”