The Navigator Read online

  The ascent was steeper now, the terraces narrower, the sunlight less and less intense, until finally, when they reached the rim of the crater, they were groping through long, ragged curtains of mist. As they paused to recover their breath and wait for a break in the mist, Ellen Ching pressed home her point.

  ‘You see what I mean, Chief. The working altitude is obviously critical. The old terraces stop about two hundred feet short of the cloudline. That place where we saw the pig was obviously the principal tribal area. It also had the greatest variety of edible plants …’

  ‘Maybe that’s what I felt.’ Tioto was still broody and uneasy. ‘Too many people, too much fighting. At home they make all sorts of pretty stories for the tourists; but our ancestors were rough and bloody warriors. They ate each other. They made human sacrifice. They used sorcery and torture.’

  ‘The mist’s clearing,’ said Ellen Ching abruptly. ‘Let’s push on while we have the chance.’

  The bowl of the crater was still invisible, covered with a deep lake of cloud, but the rim was clear, a razor-back of black lava where nothing grew but coarse tussocks. For the first time, however there was a clearly defined path – a narrow, moss-grown track winding round the inner lip. Thorkild took the lead, and they made easy progress for about half a mile, and then the track ended abruptly, in front of a high wall of lava. The wall was pierced by a tunnel, high as two men, at the end of which light was visible. The air that funnelled through it was fresh, with the taste of salt in it.

  ‘I think this is your place,’ said Tioto.

  ‘I know it is,’ said Gunnar Thorkild. ‘From here, I go alone. Wait for me.’

  He hesitated a moment, touched by an ancient dread, then he took a deep breath, drew himself erect and strode into the tunnel. It was empty for its whole length. The floor was rough with loose stones and sharp outcrops. It was no more than a hundred paces long; but the distance seemed interminable. Ten paces from the opening he stopped, gathering himself against the terror that might confront him in the place which was the end of all journeys. Then he stepped forward into the light.

  He was greeted by the screams of a thousand sea-birds that rose in clouds from the hollows in the rocks. Before him lay a boundless ocean, dazzling in the sunlight. He closed his eyes against the glare and the vertigo, and when he opened them again he saw that he stood on a broad platform that ran, on either hand, along the outer rim of the crater. Around the platform, against the wall, were set small blocks of stones. On each block was the skeleton of a man, the bones tumbled into disarray as the flesh and the ligaments that held them, had dissolved or been eaten by the sea-birds. Beside each skeleton was a wooden paddle, carved, some simply, some more ornately, with the symbol of the god, Kanaloa.

  Slowly, painfully, like a man in a fever-dream, Thorkild passed along the row of skeletons, not daring to cast his eyes ahead lest his courage desert him and he flee from the final encounter with his grandfather. The journey seemed to take a life-time. One stone, one pile of bones, one paddle; pause a moment to give reverence to the nameless spirit; pass and look again; wait for the stink of corruption to strike the nostrils, and pray for courage enough to look at the face of a loved one in the horror of dissolution. The panic grew and grew until it seemed to choke him; but still he moved on, pace by slow pace, to the moment of revelation. When it came, he was stunned by the serenity of it.

  Kaloni the Navigator, sat cross-legged upon his stone, his face upturned to the sun, eyes closed as if in sleep, the paddle held across his knees. There was no mark on him, no scar of discoloration. When Thorkild reached out a trembling hand to touch him, the flesh was still warm and pliant as if the last pulse-beat had gone only a moment before. Then, it was as if his own heart burst inside him. He turned his face to the sea and threw out his arms and in the tongue of the high ones, shouted his grief to the sun:

  ‘Ai-ee!

  Kaloni the Navigator is dead.

  Kaloni from whose seed I sprang

  Is dead!

  I am alone.

  I am blind.

  I cannot read the sea.

  ‘I cannot see the stars.

  O Kaloni,

  Speak for me to the high ones.

  Send me their answer on the wind.

  Ai-ee! Ai-ee!

  Roll back the dark, Kaloni.

  Make me see …!’

  As they worked their way back down the jungle slope Ellen Ching said:

  ‘You look strange. Are you sick or something?’

  ‘Leave him be.’ Tioto rebuked her quietly. ‘Was he there, Chief?’

  ‘He was there. All of them were there.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ It was a whisper of awe from the girl. ‘It was all true, then?’

  ‘It was all true. But there’s nothing to fear. It’s peaceful now…peaceful and terribly lonely.’

  ‘Can we help?’

  ‘No one can help.’ Tioto was grave and strangely tender. ‘I know…when Malo died, the stars went out for me. Was it like that for you, Chief?’

  ‘Very like, Tioto. I never knew my father or my mother. Kaloni Kienga was all the family I had. Whatever’s best in me came from him.’

  ‘The mana too, Chief. Don’t forget that.’

  ‘I can’t forget it,’ said Gunnar Thorkild. ‘I wish I could.’

  ‘The pake don’t understand it.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure!’ Ellen Ching was suddenly angry. ‘We may not understand it; but we feel it, whatever it is. Not all of us maybe; not always in the same way; but it’s there. It’s like this cloud, it changes every moment, but it’s always here. There’s something of the same thing in the Bible too. We learned about it at school: the Israelites in the desert followed a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night.’

  ‘Are you sorry you came with me?’

  ‘I am.’ Tioto was blunt. ‘If I hadn’t come, Malo would still be alive. But I don’t blame you. Don’t think that. It’s just the stinking way things turn out. Like that poor kid last night. Rough, very rough.’

  ‘I’m a fatalist,’ said Ellen Ching. ‘The fortune-teller casts the wands. You can’t change the way they fall. Can I say something to you, Chief?’

  ‘Whatever you like.’

  ‘Don’t worry too much about what we think or say. Don’t bend too easily. No one will thank you for it.’

  ‘Are you afraid I’ll be too weak?’

  ‘No. But once we’re settled, with full bellies and a rhythm of life, we’ll start to think for ourselves again. The things that Tioto says are in the blood, will come out. You’ll have to be very strong then.’

  ‘This woman’s got brains.’ Tioto said a grudging tribute. ‘You listen to her, Chief. That’s good Chinese talk. Money in the bank, land under the feet and the old ones holding the family together. That’s the rough part…how you hold us together.’

  ‘Let’s rest a while,’ said Thorkild. ‘We’re making good time.’

  They propped themselves against a tall tree, which Tioto remarked was the kind from which their boat should be made. Ellen Ching took the knife and began to loosen the earth round the roots of a big pepper plant. Tioto plucked a few hard husk-tomatoes, tiny red globules, handed some to Thorkild, squatted down beside him and began to talk quietly in the old language:

  ‘Chief, this business of the women…you got to do something about it. Eva Kuhio, she’s a fine smart girl. She and Willy make out fine. But Charlie’s wife – Ay-Ay! – She’s hot for every man but Charlie. That one over there …’ He jerked a thumb towards Ellen Ching. ‘She’s a steady one too – Hakka blood, all head and not much fire down below – but steady. Your little Japanese, now, she’s a trouble-maker. Oh, I know she’s sweet as sugar cane, and pretty as a china doll; but – Oh man! – you cross her and she’ll put poison in the poi bowl. I know I’m right, Chief. I’m closer to women than you’ll ever be. So you better start thinking, before Charlie Kamakau runs mad with the fire-axe.’

  ‘What do you suggest, Tioto?
’

  ‘Go back to the old way. The married woman is kapu to every man but her husband. The unmarried play what games they like; but the high chief has to approve any marriage or permanent arrangement.’

  ‘It sounds easy, Tioto; but I’m not sure it would work. These people come from a different society.’

  ‘But they’re back in an old one; and they’re going to stay in it! Listen Chief, I don’t care that much…except for Charlie. I could make him happier than his wife does. But if he breaks out…then I tell you there’s more grief than you can guess.’

  ‘Thanks for telling me, Tioto. I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Can I ask you a favour, Chief?’

  ‘What, Tioto?’

  ‘Keep me down on the beach. Don’t ask me to work up on the mountain.’

  ‘All right. But don’t mention it to anyone else. If it’s bad kapu for them, let them find out for themselves…Now you can do something for me, Tioto.’

  ‘Anything. You know that.’

  ‘I’ll spell it. You lose someone you love. You see all the others playing ring-a-roses. That’s bitter and hard to swallow…It makes a man sour sometimes and cruel…So! Don’t you be the one to put poison in the poi bowl.’

  Tioto gave a little nervous laugh.

  ‘So I bitch a little. What’s the harm? Still, you got a deal…You never treated me like a funny man. I appreciate that.’

  Ellen Ching came back and tossed them each a handful of roots.

  ‘Here, carry these back. We’ll make ourselves some happy juice.’

  Thorkild chuckled and shook his head:

  ‘Kava isn’t happy juice – far from it. It’s yellow and it tastes vile and after about twenty minutes you feel sad and drowsy. That’s why they used it for big occasions, like meetings of chiefs and divinations of the future. It makes you solemn and important. Try it if you like; but leave me out of it. I feel solemn enough for ten drunks. Come on, let’s move! There’s a two-hour walk ahead of us.’

  The campsite was like a junk-yard, piled with blankets, water-logged books, oil-cans, cordage, cutlery, tools, bottles of liquor, metal fittings, wooden panels, cabinet drawers, rigging wire, broken spars, scraps of sail track, pots, pans, odd shoes, articles of clothing, cans of food – a miscellany of booty, which was being sorted and stacked under the vigilant eye of Carl Magnusson, while Willy Kuhio and Charlie Kamakau and Adam Briggs worked on a rough shelter to house it all. Peter Lorillard was glowing with satisfaction as he made his report:

  ‘They worked like dogs. We must have made a dozen runs, back and forth before the tide came up. We salvaged the compass and most of the charts. We got Sally’s medicine chest. There’s a lot more stuff on board; but I doubt we’ll get much of it. She’s moving a lot; seems to be slipping seawards. The next big sea will finish her, I think.’

  ‘What about the signal buoys?’

  ‘No way. We couldn’t even get into the hold. I went down first and Willy Kuhio went down after me, but it was too dark to identify anything, and we couldn’t stay submerged long enough to work. It’s damn dangerous out there.’

  ‘Well, you tried…I’ll make sure everybody knows it.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ve got something of yours.’

  He hurried over to the hut and a few moments later came back carrying the box which contained Thorkild’s personal treasure, the adzehead of Kaloni the Navigator. Thorkild was deeply moved. He asked shakily:

  ‘How did you know about this?’

  ‘Sally asked me to find it. Apparently you showed it to her one night.’

  Thorkild held out his hand.

  ‘I owe you a big debt…I’ll try to pay it one day.’

  Lorillard shrugged.

  ‘It was there. I brought it. Simple…How did you make out on the mountain?’

  ‘Fine. There’s good ground up there and everything we need for cultivation. There’s pig too. We’ll need two settlements though. So we’ll extend ourselves here before we open up the high ground.’

  ‘Sounds wise. Anything else?’

  ‘I found the high place. My grandfather was there.’

  ‘That must have been a bad moment.’

  ‘Bad enough. There are thousands of sea-birds nesting in the ledges round the crater. That means eggs, if we want to climb for them.’

  ‘It’s another plus in the ledger. I felt good today, Thorkild. Better than I’ve felt in a long spell. By the way, you’ve got to believe we tried for those signal buoys.’

  ‘I believe it,’ said Thorkild easily. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

  Franz Harsanyi called to him. He was sitting amidst a pile of books and charts, with Mark Gilman beside him, separating the pages, trying to dry them in the late sun. He held out a black volume.

  ‘Here’s your log, Chief…and I found a few pencils in the wheelhouse. Don’t handle the book until we dry it.’

  ‘Thanks Franz.’

  ‘It’s important Chief – for young Mark here and those who come after us. We’ve got to record things, hold them in memory. We can’t let two thousand years of learning blow away, just because we’ve got shelter and full bellies. You agree with that, don’t you?’

  ‘I agree, Franz. I’ll help as much as I can.’

  ‘I’ll look after the books if you like – with Mark here. He and I have been trying some experiments.’

  ‘What kind of experiments?’

  ‘We’ll give you a demonstration when we’re ready, Uncle Gunsmoke.’

  ‘You say when, partner. Have you seen Sally?’

  ‘She’s down at the waterfall with Molly. They’re washing blankets or something. Want me to fetch her?’

  ‘No. I’ll wait till she’s finished.’

  As he walked towards the hut, he passed Hernan Castillo, squatting on the ground with a pile of stones on one side of him and a mess of wood-chips on the other. He held up the results of his labour, a single basalt wedge, with a serrated blade about four inches wide.

  ‘I’ve got the knack now, Chief. There’s a day’s work in that, but I can work faster now. That’s a damn good blade, even though I do say it myself. The hafts are easy. See?…when the others go out to cut wood, they should look for shapes like this and bring them to me.’

  ‘I’d like to show you something,’ said Gunnar Thorkild gravely.

  He opened the box, peeled off the sodden wrappers from the stone and handed it to Castillo. He held it in his hands with a kind of reverence, turning it over and over to examine every detail. Then he looked up.

  ‘It’s beautiful. Where did you get it?’

  ‘From my grandfather. He made it himself; built his first canoe with it.’

  ‘Thanks for showing it to me. I appreciate it.’

  ‘Keep it,’ said Gunnar Thorkild. ‘I don’t need it any more.’

  ‘You can’t mean that. This is a sacred thing.’

  ‘You’re the toolmaker now. That’s a sacred art. Please keep it.’

  Hernan Castillo stood up and held out his hand.

  ‘Want to know something Chief? I never felt so lonely in my life as I did sitting here all day, chipping at stones while the others were working and laughing together. This tells me what it means…Funny…It’s like seeing you and myself for the first time. You’re a big man, Professor. I’m proud to know you.’

  Thorkild shrugged off the compliment.

  ‘Don’t rate me too high. Otherwise you’ll want to pull me down, one day…Could you make spearheads too? There’s game up there on the mountain.’

  ‘Spearheads, bows and arrows – easy!’

  ‘Can you forge metal? If you can, we’ve got a lot of scrap over there.’

  ‘I don’t know. I could try. But let me work this thing out first. I’ve got a one-track mind. That’s why I was never a good student.’

  ‘That’s why you’re such a good artisan. Stay with it.’

  Thorkild gave him an offhand salute and walked into the hut to see Jenny. She was dozing; but she woke at his footfal
l and sat up to greet him. She felt better. She had eaten a little. She had walked a few steps. She would like to try again. Would he take her outside? He helped her to her feet, supported her to the door, and called to the others to witness her triumph. They gathered around her, excited and solicitous. Then Adam Briggs pushed his way to the front and took possession of her.

  ‘I’m going to carry you down to the beach, young lady.’

  He swept her up into his arms and carried her away to the applause of the little group. Peter Lorillard added a laughing postscript:

  ‘He damn near drowned himself on board, trying to find her dresses and a brush and comb!’

  ‘Love, it’s wonderful!’ Barbara Kamakau was deliberately provocative. ‘All my Charlie thought of was tools and oil-cans!’

  ‘And liquor.’ Carl Magnusson cut in swiftly. ‘We’ll crack a bottle tonight, just to celebrate…That is if the Chief approves!’

  ‘I approve.’ Thorkild played out the comedy of diversion. ‘Unless you’d like kava instead. Ellen brought back the makings.’ He held up the roots with the earth still clinging to them. ‘You chew these up and spit the juice into a bowl and brew it up afterwards.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Sally Anderton. ‘But I’ll have bourbon…And I need you, Barbara, to help lay out the washing. Those blankets weigh a ton.’

  As the group dispersed Charlie Kamakau exploded:

  ‘That Barbara! Always pinching and pricking. Nothing is right! Nothing is enough! One day I’m going to beat the hell out of her.’

  ‘Take it easy, Charlie!’ Thorkild drew him away from the group. ‘It’s been a long day for everyone. I’m going down for a swim. Join me?’

  ‘Sure. Give me ten minutes to finish the shed. I’ll meet you down there.’

  When he was out of earshot, Carl Magnusson growled his disapproval.

  ‘Damn fool! He’ll never learn! He’s forty years old. He picks up a pretty girl in a waterfront bar, marries her in a week, goes to sea with me – and expects to come home and find her darning his socks!… If I were Charlie I’d get rid of her and keep my self-respect. Mind if I walk to the beach with you, Thorkild?’

  ‘Please! How’s the shoulder?’