Deception

DECEPTION

Ships were a delight for the natives of the islands, especially American ships and all would practice their otea native dances and aparimas or hand dance for hours every evening for months in anticipation of their arrival.

As we were entertaining our visiting General Authorities and their wives in Bora bora one balmy evening in 2004, after dinner by torch light, we were mincing our way through the flowered path to our bungalows in the dark, we could hear the faraway drums of one of these dance practices, and Sister Dallenbach turned to me and, with concern in her voice she asked:" What are those sounds? "Oh, they're drums, they are practicing their dances" I answered. " Ohh" she said with relief " I thought the natives were getting restlesss." Elder Dallenbach could only say ' Oh Mary Jane!"

The natives also loved the ships because, not only will they be able to visit many big foreign ships but they would habitually be invited to a very fancy dinner with real china setting and all,and afterward be free to enjoy the ship, meet and chat with the company-starved crewmen on the festive lighted bridge, such a dreamy romantic treat for the girls.

Debates lasted for years about what the bowls of hot water with the floating lime slices were for on the tables, lime tea? room freshner?to put the empty shell fish in, to wash your face with after dinner?

A french man described his arrival at the Papeete quay in the 1800's as an incredible blinding array of shocking bright colored fragrant flowers and fruits, and splashes of islands wraps, and all sorts of hats, baseball like hats made of plaited coconut fibers, or visors with their hair pulled through the open top for the younger radicals, while most of the women shaded themselves with wide brim pandanus straw hats casting shadows on their sleeping nursing children or, to his horrific delight, on the piglets or puppies nursing at their breasts! They gave a new meaning to nourishing pets!

For now the ships are gone, and the youth are still practicing their dances for the next show on the Mariposa Cruise Ship. They finish early so that everyone may go shower and get ready for the Mormon dance.

By the time the traveling young men arrive from Tiva, the dance is well under way.

Terai only danced with her brothers on the perimeter since she is not quite 14 yet to be elligible to go to Church dances. All that Kifa could do is to eye her as he foxtrotted the older girls around the dance floor.
His sideway glances were not lost to Mataute, her father, known as the meaniest man on the island.
Mataute has seen that look before, that 'tinito'(chinese)young man in the red pareo shirt can only spell bothersome trouble. After 22 children, and most of them daughters, he ought to know.

(to be continued in this entry)

NOCTURNAL RENDEZ-VOUS

It was my belief, from what my mother had recounted to me in the new room of my home in Provo, that the whole beginning of our family drama started at this point, on this night after the dance. But according to new knowledge, the dance should have been later and not on the night of the very day they met. Or the night when all hell broke loose at the Hapairai's happened on another night other than that dance night .

Since last July, after listening to tonton Abel(He graduated from being just 'cousin ' to " Uncle" because of age and because he was one of the grandchildren my grandparents adopted , or more correctly fostered, since their family name was never changed) told me how he was right in the middle of my parents "frequentation" or courting. So accordingly, I reconsidered what my mom said to me that might have been ambiguous, and surmised that maybe when she mentioned the dance and the red shirt, and the moon light being so bright that my grandfather recognized my dad right away and blamed my mother for setting up the rendez-vous., she connected two stories without meaning to do so.

Bu according to Abel they met quite a bit before. So here is his tale:

I slept in the long front hall, which had 4 twin beds lined against the wall beneath the flowery curtains blowing in the Leeward breezes. This gave access to all three bedrooms which contained two big beds each. Your mother slept in the first one from the stairs coming up into the sleeping house on stilts.

When I would hear Kifa's footsteps creaking up the stairs, usually about 8:30 to 9 PM, I would part the curtain by from the bed closest to the stairs and look down at him smiling at me.

"Good he didn't forget my treat." I thought.

I 'd get up and go part the curtain to Terai's bedroom and whisper "Ei" and with a tilt of my head toward the steps, she'd hurry and tie her pareu properly and go sit with her guest on the stairs, as Kifa would toss me his bribe, a pork or peanut chow pao(filled steamed rolls), a piece of meat pie, something my family never could afford to buy, to keep my mouth occupied and my mind happy so I wouldn't tell.

As long as I was eating whatever he brought me, they could talk quietly, but as soon as I was done, I'd part the curtain again and say "Ei!, uoti ra! That's enough! " "E haere vau parau! I'm going to tell ! "

So Kifa would reluctantly leave her on the steps where she sat as I watched mercilessly as they said their silent goodbyes with their eyes.

Eventually when they were together, they'd take me with them way up into the valley jungle, where only the Chinese would want to go, with only a piece of smelly dried fish and steamed rice in their pack , which lasted them for days by foraging the rest of their meals from what grew in the wild .

It was with them that I learned you could eat the "tari'a iore" -mouse ears mushrooms growing on the rotten logs laying around on their vanilla plantation, and that green shredded papayas made a very fine crunchy salad to go with the dried fish and rice. The Chinese could make anything taste delicious.

MOONLITHT TREACHERY

Grandfather Mataute gathered his family around him for the evening prayer, eloquently praising God for his matchless power to forgive and blot out the sins of the sniveling and debauched ways of men, when footsteps came sloshing through the flooded backyard widening to the river delta.

Everone one tries to keep reverent until the Amen, and Granfather leaps up from his kneeling position to peer out the window and spot the intruder.

The moonlight is resplendent in all its glory, you can even see the leaves of the trees grrowing far up the mountains. As as Mataute pans his eyes back and forth to spot anything out of the ordinary, he sees a flash of a red pareo shirt moving through the tall grass toward the sleeping house and calls out with rage:

"I know who you are , you are A Kien's son! Why are you prowling around my house! Make yourself known!"

When KIFA heard the voice he disappeared into the night and listened woefully as the scene turned dark and ugly.

"Terai! You are the perpetrator in this! How dare you behave like a whore at my house, right under my nose. How many time have I told you all that if you bring boys here I will hang you from the rafters above your bed!

Haven't I warn you! How many times did I say it? He roars as he grabs and pulls her up the back stairs going up into the Sleeping House.

"I didn't tell him to come, I swear papa!" Don't lie to me! Kifa heard from his hiding palce, then a scramble, a fall on the ciment landing, a cry of pain, then a shuffle.

"Come with me so I can hang you, I mean what I say and I do what I say!" Mataute menaces through his teeth.

"No Papa, I will never do it again , never, never..." "So you did tell him to come by! I will teach you what I do with liers and whores." he seethes as he pulls Terai by the hair up the stairs as she looks wildly about for an escape. she has not a shadow of a doubt that her father would do just as he says, hang her from the rafters above her bed.

She makes a last effort to break away and falls back to the ciment landing, her clothes ripping off her body from his tight clutch, leaving her just in her white slip and bra. She scramble away and ran into the night

" Terai! Wait! I am so sorry! I didn't mean for all of this to happen! Let me help you! Come I will take you to my house until he cools off in the morning!" he whispers as he grabs her hand from behind a bush.

All night they ran toward the other side of the island retracing the path Kifa knew well even in the dark, for a girl of fourteen it was arduous and treacherous, but she ran as if tupapa'u ghosts were in hot pursuit and on their heels, their stinking hot breath sniggering at her nape, pulling at her hair sticky with dried blood, brimy sea and sweat of terror.

She was silent, except for her labored breathing. Kifa urged her on with tenderness and with grave concern. Would her father really hang her? What now, would he listen to reason come morning or would he be even more incensed?

The lamp in the bakery barn was on when they arrive. His father looks out to the edge of the sea toward the splashing footsteps. "At least he brought a friend with him to help make the bread on time for morning." he says to his wife .

"I wonder what happened to him. He's never been late making the bread every night." she adds, " And who is that with him? It's a girl!"

The warmth of the light and of the ciment ovens put some life back into her mind. The strange features of the typical Chinese frontier store mesmerizes her, the smell of fresh yeast, rising dough, and burning charcoal seeding the air with fecund ripeness, like having babies she imagines, yards and yards of soft baguette dough swelling precariously on their 2x4 beds as they turn a golden hue right before her eyes.

She's been left alone in her discovery, while Kifa is having a very animated conversation with his parents, all in Hakka except for a few words the father exclaims " Mataute! She's his daughter! Aiaiaia!" Her mind doesn't want to go there for now...She watches the flickering flames lick the contour of the baguettes ever so gently coaxing a blush from their puckering, plump lip -like slits. The kiss of death. Yeah that's what I got!

"Eat this, my mother just finished steaming it in the wok for us." Sitting on a log bench near the ovens, he ahnds her a pair of chop sticks and her bowl of food.

The rice is soft and fragrant, the vegetables strange and delicious, but her favorite is the meat.

"E ina'i te ie?" "Is this beef?" Umm! It is delicious, I've never had beef before!" she says shyly, but her eyes shone with childish delight.

I have seen that grin of intense pleasure in her eyes as she told me of that fateful night. While most of the story is clouded over as with a veil of darkness, something forboding and ugly, that veil is parted slightly for a few moments as she reminisces each tantalizing spice on her tongue, her eyes bright with a gamine smile. " Is is meat? she asks.

"It's just fish" he answered her, amused at her naivete. " What you are tasting that's different are the spices. There's garlic, ginger, dried orange rind, dried lemon grass, soy and oyster sauce, fish sauce, hoisin sauce, MSG and sea salt."

" We get salt once in a while, when fishing is great. Are the other spices as expensive?"

"My mother grows most of the stuff except for the sauces, they come from main land China."

'From that time forward I've always had garlic, ginger, and dried orange peels in my cupboard" she confided when she share her story with me on a warm afternoonAugust 26, 1996 . Coming down stairs to see them my father related:

" You mother is so funny, this morning I woke up and realized that it was the 26 th of August , so when she woke up I said to her 'E e cherie e, Happy 35th year of our Anniverssary!' and she whispered ' yeah, 35 years of misery!' She is so blunt !"

I endeavored the whole day to find the right time to coax her to tell me her Story.

I suppose he was not hurt by her reaction , because he understood that she meant all the pains of their life as a sum, starting with 'their story' and ending with what she was feeling that morning, sitted on the bed, looking out over Utah lake from the bay window, her eyes shielded with white cups still from cataract surgery. After all, Dad and I had her fly her to the States after we got an urgent message from Erica, while we were still on our last days of our Holy Land Tour in Athen Greece, that she was in a diabetic shock and to hurry home.

A generation later I still keep garlic, ginger, and dried orange peels religiously as a staple in my cupboard. They make me feel well kept, warm, well nourished, and complete- more accomplished. I am sure that is the way aunt Karesty's grand mother feels when she insist on black olives on her Holiday table. You will have to ask Karesty for that tale.