A strong smell of alcohol was coming through their bedroom door. She sat up in bed, knowing he was entering. He was a black, unsteady shadow swaying through the darkness. She sucked in desperate air as the bitter revelation and truth clutched at her breath; sucked it in through her mouth until the air was clear again and her pain was replaced by the most savage fury she’d ever experienced. She turned up her bedside lamp. The light ballooned out and netted him bending down, trying to take off his shoes.
‘Turn id off!’ he insisted, pulling off his left shoe. He staggered as he stood up and threw his shoe at the cupboard, where it thumped and clattered to the floor. ‘Why didya have ta waidup for me?’ His vision, as he tried to see her, was in fragments he couldn’t stitch together. He bent down to take off his other shoe and stumbled over. ‘Shhiittt!’ he cursed. He rolled onto his side and tried to get up. He had to get up — stand up to her!
She was looming above him — she wouldn’t remember how she got there. He wasn’t the Tavita she loved, the man she’d devoted her life to. With both hands she grabbed his side and pushed him over. He crashed onto the floor and rolled over, laughing and pedalling his feet in the air. ‘So it’s true, eh?’ she demanded.
‘Whad’s true?’ he started taunting her. He didn’t care any more if she knew, he just wanted to hurt her. He tried to regain his feet but she pushed him over again. ‘Now that’s enough, Pele!’ he muttered. Placing her foot on the back of his shoulder, she pushed him face down onto the floor. ‘Ya can’t do that ta me!’ his body was a massive bag of liquid he couldn’t control. ‘No, Pele, who the hell da ya think ya are?’ He reached up; she slapped his hands away.
‘I can smell her all over you!’ she said accusingly. Since their return from New Zealand, she’d refused to believe the rumours about his affair with Bileen Griff.
He was bloody well going to give it to her. ‘So whad? At least she cares for me; she doesn’t treat me like a hopeless weakling.’
He grabbed her ankles and didn’t understand why, though he tried with all his might, he couldn’t lift her, topple her.
‘Again the whimpering, pathetic Tavita who can’t cope!’
‘See whad I mean? Pele, ya love ta control everything, everybody: your children, me, our aiga!’ He thought he was shouting but she could barely hear him. ‘But, ya Mighty Majesty, ya can’t control my cock. No, ya can’t!’
That remark was the bushknife blade that slit into her moa. ‘Yeah, I can’t control it because that’s all you are — you want to fuck everything in sight. That’s all you’re good at!’ She drove her knee into his ribs and he toppled to the floor again, with a winded gasp.
He had her. ‘So you admid, your majesty, that my cock is good enough for you, eh?’
He believed he was laughing as she locked her arm around his neck and, lifting him up, dragged him out of their bedroom and across the corridor into Iakopo’s empty room, where she dumped him onto the bed.
Later, much later, she’d forgive herself for what she did next. He rolled onto his back and, in the shadows, she glimpsed him trying to unbutton his fly. ‘I’ll help you!’ she shouted. Shoving her hands in, she clutched both sides of his fly and, in one violent motion, ripped the buttons apart.
He thrust his hips up towards her. Her arm arched back, her furious shadow danced on the walls and then her unforgiving hand cut down swiftly, hard. ‘Sshhiiitt!’ he cried, choking, the pain bursting up from his groin into the pit of his head. He grasped his genitals with his hands.
‘No one betrays me, nobody!’ she shouted. She wheeled and stormed back into their bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
He knew even before he was fully awake he was suffering yet another relentless attack of remorse and guilt. It now happened after every bout of drinking, and this time it was doubly tenacious because adultery was mixed in. He couldn’t remember much of what had happened with Peleiupu that night, only that she knew about his adultery and her fury had known no limit. He struggled out of bed, shielding his eyes from the blaring morning light. The quick sharp pain between his legs reminded him of her unforgiving slap, right there.
Staggering to the bathroom, he stripped off his clothes and shoved his head under the cold tap. The cold soaked into his hair and into his skull. He couldn’t face her. But he dried his hair and face furiously with the towel and hurried over to their bedroom. He was going to apologise, admit everything. No, it wasn’t his fault! Their marriage had started going wrong long before their trip to New Zealand. He turned the doorknob quietly, opened the door and peeked in. The bed was made. She wasn’t there. He slid in, got a clean shirt and pair of trousers from his cupboard, dressed, shoved on a pair of sandals, and turned to leave. Naomi was in the doorway, uniformed and ready for school.
‘Morning, Uncle,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Are you all right?’ He nodded, his insides and hands trembling, shaking. ‘I brought you this.’ She extended the glass of whisky to him. He hesitated — what was the child going to think? His right hand acted against his wishes — it stretched out and took the glass. Then his two disobedient hands raised it to his thirsty mouth. She looked away as he sucked back the drink. ‘Did you and Auntie have a scrap last night?’ she asked, after he’d returned the empty glass to her. He nodded; the warmth of the whisky was permeating his throat and chest and the insecure rest of him. ‘Mum and Dad had a couple of fights when Dad got sozzled,’ she said, eyes twinkling. ‘He came off second best and he never took Mum on again. He also made sure he never got drunk while Mum was around.’ Wise advice but he didn’t welcome it.
When they got to the dining room the women serving the breakfast greeted him respectfully, with eyes lowered, and hurried away. ‘Where’s Pili?’ he asked.
‘Pele’s taken him to school,’ replied Naomi.
‘Are you going to eat with me?’
‘No, I’ve had mine. Had it with Pili and Pele.’ He sat down.
She handed him his serviette. ‘I’ve got to go to school now,’ she said. But she lingered. ‘You’re my parents now,’ she added. It was a plea. Before he could speak, she ran out of the room. He started shaking again.
Two more quick whiskies eroded the relentless sharp edge of his guilt, made him feel more anchored. He’d disappear before Peleiupu returned, avoid further confrontation for the sake of their children, family, and Naomi. However, after his fourth consoling drink, he decided not to be a coward and face the consequences of his betraying her, take his just punishment. A fifth drink. Yes, he’d face her — after all, it wasn’t all his fault.
Just then she entered and, with the luminous light from the windows armouring her, glided into the centre of his vision. Challenging him. He continued eating. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat down opposite him. He wasn’t going to apologise, he wasn’t going to grovel: he’d done enough of both in their relationship. She was also deliberately daring him — her whole silent, accusing, defiant presence told him that. ‘Did you take Pili to school?’ he heard his voice asking. What a bloody stupid question. He glanced up.
‘Are you going to use alcohol as your excuse?’ she asked in English. No way was she going to back off: he’d treated her like shit.
‘See, there you go again!’ he retorted in Samoan. ‘You don’t even want to use our language in our relationship!’
‘I’m not going to be distracted,’ she countered in English.
‘You’re so taken with palagi ways, you use English all the time now.’
‘You are not going to get me to argue about other things!’
‘I don’t have a hope of doing that. Pele, you’re the cleverest, most perceptive person in Samoa and in our family.’ He couldn’t stop himself. ‘You’re so perceptive you’ve always been able to read me like the kids’ faitaupi, eh.’
She was determined not to be diverted. ‘Have you been unfaithful?’ A direct, clean move which, as it penetrated his defences, made her feel braver, angrier. He stabbed his fork into his bacon and looked away. ‘That’s all I want to know. Have you?’
It was unfair, unwarranted, it wasn’t his fault. He looked up at her. He couldn’t escape those fierce, truth-seeking eyes. ‘No!’ he lied. Even as he said it, he regretted it. But ‘No!’ he repeated.
‘So not only are you a slave to your genitals, you’re a liar too.’ She said it slowly, digging it in.
The plate broke in a loud metallic clack as he slammed his knife and fork down on it; his chair screeched as he pushed it back and jumped to his feet. ‘So I’m a liar, eh? And you, what are you?’
‘You’ve been unfaithful, Tavita. I know that. Don’t try to …’
‘What about Bart?’ He enjoyed that.
She couldn’t believe he could be so devious. ‘What about him?’
He smiled, deliberately. ‘Well, what about the thing between you two?’
‘What thing? I can’t believe you’re capable of such lies!’ Don’t get angry, she told herself. That’s what he wants.
‘Admit it — you were attracted to him.’
She was losing control again. ‘Yes, I was attracted to him, but that’s all!’
‘Keep your voice down,’ he cautioned. ‘The whole bloody family and neighbourhood can hear you.’
‘I don’t care!’ she was not going to play his game.
‘What about the lies you’ve been living?’ He ventured into his real pain. ‘What about those?’
She knew what he was referring to but wasn’t going to admit it. ‘What lies?’
Knowing she was unprepared, he went on the offensive. ‘Firstly, the whole noble, censored life of your noble brother that you’ve given to our family and people to swallow.’
‘I’ll deal with that later,’ she countered. ‘What other lies were you referring to?’
‘You gave the order, didn’t you?’ He watched his question triggering anguish in her quick mind. ‘Didn’t you?’
‘What order?’ She tried to regain her composure.
There was no going back: let it all out and let her experience some of the guilt and pain. ‘Darling, you gave Tom, your noble brother’s assassin, the okay to go ahead with Blundell’s execution.’ She cringed, tightening herself protectively around her vulnerable centre. He enjoyed it. But when he saw her tears, some part of him wanted to protect her. He reached out. She slapped his hand away.
‘Someone had to do it.’ She paused. ‘I had to do it because, as usual, you didn’t have the guts!’ There, she stabbed him right where he lived.
‘You don’t mind having people killed?’
‘It was them or us. He killed Arona and you know the police weren’t going to do anything about it.’
‘The Arona we found was a thief, a liar, a murderer and a bloody gangster. You didn’t like him and don’t lie to me about that!’
‘But he had honour and courage!’ She got him again. ‘Besides, Blundell was going to kill us and the kids.’
‘Pele, I’ve watched you being corrupted by wealth and power. You love it!’
‘It’s not true!’ She tried to persuade herself. ‘Blundell wouldn’t have left us alone.’
‘And, you hid it from me and that’s as good as lying to me.’ Keep weaving, keep putting her on the defensive.
‘Look at your own noble family,’ she continued her attack. ‘I learned from your beloved father.’
‘What did you learn?’ he asked warily, sensing she was changing tactics.
‘Remember? Your dad didn’t tell you very much about his early life, eh? Or about anything else, did he?’ Smile, stick it to him. ‘No, your talkative, soulful dad preferred to confide in me and my dad. And I was the one who filled you in on your father’s life.’ She could feel his anger — and pain. ‘So let me remind you of your heritage, darling.’ She paused again. Let him wait in trepidation. ‘Your noble father was not a lord or an earl or anybody. He was a poverty-stricken abandoned orphan who, like Arona, went to sea and had many noble adventures. To save some orphans and avenge his abuse by a ruthless, heartless villain, much like Blundell, he plotted and captured the abuser and, after torturing him, with pleasure, stabbed him to death. The villain, like Blundell, deserved his execution. And your father, like me, felt no guilt about it.’
‘My father exaggerated …’
‘You mean he made up adventurously heroic stories? Like the ones I’ve made up about Arona and his adventurous, honourable, courageous life and rebellion against monsters like Blundell?’
Tavita grew paler. Peleiupu stepped back and steadied herself.
‘You’re just like the rest of them,’ he snapped. ‘You all think my father was a strange, hopeless palagi: a braggart, a good-for-nothing! But he loved you, Pele. He loved you and Arona and your father. He loved you more than my mother and his own children!’
She hadn’t expected this: he was confessing some of his deepest, most secret fears. Her love for him surged; she suddenly wanted his forgiveness.
‘You can go to hell, Pele. I didn’t need my father’s love, and I don’t need yours. Besides, you’re so in love with money and power you’re betraying your own parents, Sao, our dead son, and all our dead.’
There was some truth in his accusation but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘At least I’m not — I’m not fucking a papalagi!’
Time stopped still, gasping in fright; it didn’t want either of them to make another move in this moment of truth, this threatened breach of the faith and alofa that had bound them together for so long. But the future was inevitable.
Desperately she wanted to take back her insult, her truth. She stepped towards him. He moved towards her but it wasn’t in forgiveness and alofa. He would later tell the elders of their aiga that he’d done it because she’d trampled on his mamalu, honour and mana as their ali’i and head of their aiga.
The incredible shock of his fist in the centre of her face reverberated beyond physical pain and forgiveness. It was the first time he’d ever hit her. The second blow punched into the core of her being and as she tumbled away from him into the darkness flooding her eyes, she cried, ‘Tavita, Tavita!’ knowing that when she surfaced from that dark they would be beyond trust and forgiveness and they’d not meant it to be that way, that future …