WHEN I FIRST CAME TO PUKA-PUKA the house on the west side of the trading station was occupied by old man Breadfruit (Kuru), his wife and family. One of his children was a tall thin lad named Wail-of-Woe (Tangi). He was given this name because at the time of his birth neighbours were wailing over the body of a dead baby. Thus most native names are acquired. A man may be called Sickness (Maki) – a common name – because of some illness in the family at the time of his birth. Likewise he may be called Blind Eyes (Mata-Po) in memory of a blind relative; Many Fish (Eikarai) in honour of a father or an uncle who had lately brought in a record catch of albacore. Little Sea got her name from her mother, who, being born aboard a schooner, was called Great Sea (Moana-rai). When they named Desire there must have been a presentiment as to the bewitching little creature she was to become.
As I have said, Wail-of-Woe was thin. He coughed frequently, and I soon realised that he was consumptive – in other words, doomed, for I have never known a Puka-Pukan to survive tuberculosis. Two thirds of the deaths on the islands are caused by this terrible disease.
Nevertheless, Wail-of-Woe attended the love fests and soon found the girl of his heart, one Sun-Eater (Kaira), the unwieldy daughter of a Gilbert Islander, Rock Grouper (Tarau) by name.
My first intimation of the match was when Rock Grouper came into the store to spend a carefully hoarded bag of money on trousers, shirt, armbands, red necktie, green hat-ribbon, a bottle of scent and Boston garters for his intended son-in-law. It is the island custom for the bride’s relatives to clothe the groom, while the latter’s relatives dress the bride.
Later in the day Breadfruit came into the store with some of his kin and purchased a great quantity of finery for Sun-Eater: ribbons, calico, Jap lace, Swiss embroidery, and yards and yards of white muslin.
On the day of the wedding Little Sea came to me in a great flurry of excitement. Wail-of-Woe and Sun-Eater were going to the church and she wanted me to see them pass. Wail-of-Woe walked ahead, very stiff and self-conscious in all his new clothes and some borrowed ones as well. His red necktie and the green ribbon wound many times around George’s bowler hat were very conspicuous – almost as much so as his Boston garters, which had been attached outside the legs of his trousers, and as there were no socks to support, the ends flapped rhythmically against his bony legs. He had also borrowed Abel’s squeaking shoes for the occasion.
Sun-Eater walked demurely a modest distance behind, her comfortable girth increased by twenty yards of muslin and a dozen chemises borrowed from her relatives. Her dress reached to the ground and lay in folds and ruffles about her person so that only her chubby face and the tips of her fingers were visible. It was a dress to gladden the hearts of the missionaries. Perched on top of her head was a pandanus-leaf hat decorated with polychromatic ribbons and streamers, including two red-and-black typewriter ribbons that I had contributed.
Little Sea and I followed the crowd to the church, and after Sea Foam had duly spliced the couple in the presence of the assembled community, including scores of naked urchins who filled all the church windows, laughing and cracking more or less obscene jokes, Wail-of-Woe and his wife repaired to Breadfruit’s house, where they sat stiffly on a mat placed before the door.
Then the fun began. With the whoop of a Filipino gone amuck, Rock Grouper, the bride’s father, rushed from his house across the street with an old singlet in one hand and two yards of dungaree in the other.
Stopping before the married couple, he did an extemporaneous dance to the accompaniment of a weird Gilbert Island song. Then, holding the singlet and dungaree aloft, he yelled: ‘This is a day of great sadness! Gaze at these, O people of Puka-Puka! A new singlet which cost me twelve shillings [I had sold it to him six months before for three], and all thrown away on this worthless, good-for-nothing, ugly imbecile Wail-of-Woe!’
Here, to my astonishment, Wail-of-Woe nodded his head sympathetically, apparently in full accord with his father-in-law’s aspersions.
With another whoop Rock Grouper continued: ‘This marriage is none of my doing! I have been against it from the first! Yes, people of Puka-Puka, for years I absolutely refused to let my fine fat daughter marry this ne’er-do-well. Look at her, people of Puka-Puka! She has the royal blood of Peru Island in her stomach; a finer, fatter woman is not to be found – and all, all thrown away on the worthless idiot, Wail-of-Woe! Curse him, the bag of bones! Not only does he steal my beautiful daughter, but likewise he bleeds me of my substance! See! The very clothes on his back – it was I who bought them, for I was ashamed, knowing that otherwise he would come naked to the wedding! And now he greedily takes my beautiful singlet too! Aué! My beautiful twelve-shilling singlet!’
With that he furiously threw the ragged singlet at Wail-of-Woe, crying, ‘Gone are my beautiful twelve-shilling singlet and my fine fat daughter! Aué! I am now a pauper!’
Again Wail-of-Woe nodded sympathetically. Rock Grouper was working himself into a frenzied state. Tears were actually flowing down his cheeks. Hundreds of people had gathered about, and all nodded sympathetically.
I felt sorry for Wail-of-Woe, but, as I soon learned, my sympathy was wasted.
After another harangue further disparaging Wail-of-Woe and extolling his daughter to the skies, Rock Grouper flung the two yards of dungaree at the bridegroom and retired.
Then came Breadfruit, as speedily as his elephantiasis legs would permit. Six yards of cheap print cloth streamed from one hand, and in the other was a rat-gnawed pair of women’s stockings.
‘This is a day of great sorrow!’ he yelled. ‘Weep with me, people of Puka-Puka, for today a penniless woman, old enough to be his mother, has stolen, no less than stolen, my son! I absolutely forbade the match, for years I forbade it, but at last the tears of Sun-Eater’s family softened my heart, and I reluctantly consented to this unnatural marriage. Look at her! A mere Gilbert Island savage! It was I, Breadfruit, who bought every yard of cloth on her back; without me she would have come naked to the marriage! I was ashamed, so I threw away the savings of years to clothe the hussy! Look at her great mouth that would frighten a shark! Her hair is falling out with old age, and she hasn’t a tooth in her head! And gaze upon my noble son, the flower of the young men of Puka-Puka, thrown away upon this hideous Gilbert Island cannibal!’
At this Sun-Eater nodded sympathetically, as did the rest of the inhabitants.
With many a despairing grunt, Breadfruit moved feebly through the steps of a dance, and then, flinging the stockings at the bride, he screamed: ‘Now I am a pauper! Everything is taken, these beautiful stockings, my son – all, all is thrown away on this loose woman!’ With that he sank to the ground, weeping, at the same time throwing the print cloth at Sun-Eater, claiming that it cost four shillings a yard (only a few hours before I had sold it to him at ninepence).
Thus went the ceremony of ‘Making Big’ (Akamaata). Bosun-Woman, of whom I shall have more to say, came next. She was past her day and ugly, but she held the audience in suspense for ten minutes with an indelicate song and dance. Then she gave the bridegroom a box of matches and danced off into the crowd.
With a whoop and a wild waving of his arms, George, the dandy, sprang before the couple flourishing a bottle of hair-oil and yelling that it had cost him eighteen shillings (everyone knew that one and sixpence was the price, but that mattered nothing). However, he, George, son of the exceptional man whose name was Abraham, and of the woman from Windward Village known to be one of the daughters of the redoubtable Ura, chief of police and deacon of the church – he, the generous George, cared nothing for expense; he was more than willing to buy costly gifts for Sun-Eater, for, he admitted, he knew her rather intimately, having won her maiden love years ago. He added that he had generously given her her freedom when he found that poor old Wail-of-Woe wanted to marry her.
Then he buttoned his overcoat closely about him – he was never without it at public functions – took from Wail-of-Woe’s head the bowler hat he had loaned him, put it on his own head, threw the bottle of hair-oil into Sun-Eater’s lap, and strode off at a manly gait.
Old Mama came next. She was waving a handkerchief over her head. (I had sold it to her that morning for ninepence; the real price was a shilling, but it was somewhat shopworn.) Mama screamed that it was no ordinary handkerchief, but a particularly fine one that her friend the trader had brought from Cowboyland, and that the trader had reluctantly parted with it for nine shillings; all of which, she added, was quite thrown away on Wail-of-Woe. Nevertheless, as a matter of family pride, she felt it her duty to give it to him. She then put her withered limbs through a hula-hula and departed.
So the ceremony proceeded. Little Sea and Desire offered their presents, lying as outrageously as the rest, and I presented a bag of flour. When I turned away without ‘Making Big’, Benny jumped up and spoke in my stead, bouncing the price of the flour to as many pounds as it was shillings. Then old William joined him, and together they disparaged the bride and groom with equal venom, at the same time exalting me to the sky. They closed with the inevitable song and dance.
‘There!’ said Benny, coming to me; ‘if I hadn’t spoken they would have thought that was only an ordinary fifteen-shilling bag of flour.’
‘So it was‚’ I replied.
Benny gave me an astonished glance. ‘But it isn’t now!’ he said, and I think he believed it.
Many brought presents of roast chickens and pigs, swinging the fowls by the legs as they extolled their succulence. Others brought drinking-nuts, fish and taro cooked into puddings (oro-vai-kai).
When evening had set in, the food was divided so that everyone who had taken part in the ceremony should receive a share. But the other presents were kept by the newlyweds, although, at some marriages, even these are divided. Thus, if a man attends a marriage and gives the bridegroom a pair of trousers, he may very well take them home with him again, or perhaps a pair of women’s stockings in place of them. At this type of ‘Making Big’, George invariably gives his army overcoat with the understanding that, when the division comes, it will be returned to him. This presentation of Puka-Puka’s most sumptuous piece of apparel is a long, noisy and tearful ceremony, always attended by great excitement.
That night Little Sea was thoughtful. All at once she jumped up and cried: ‘Ropati! Let’s you and I get married!’
Desire was lounging on a mat at one side. She clapped her hands in hearty agreement with this proposal.
‘All right, I’m willing,’ I said. ‘But why do you want to get married? We are happy enough as it is.’
‘Te apinga! Te apinga!’ squealed Desire.
‘Oh, so that’s it! You want a grand ‘Making Big’, so that you will get all sorts of things, like Sun-Eater. But she got nothing but a lot of old stockings and worthless dresses.’
‘Yes,’ said Little Sea; ‘but she had a fine time getting them.’
‘Is that your only reason for wanting to get married?’
‘Yes.’
‘Very well, then, we’ll be married tomorrow.’
And so we were. Sea Foam tied the knot; then came the great gift-giving ceremony. It was much the same as Wail-of-Woe’s, so I will not describe it except to say that among other presents I received George’s army overcoat, King-of-the-Sky’s vivid green, brass-buttoned coat, and old William’s hat brim. During the presentation of these articles the groves reverberated with yells and groans, and I was afterwards told that it was the greatest spectacle seen, or heard, on Puka-Puka within the memory of the oldest inhabitant.
This is, perhaps, as good a place as another in which to speak of Puka-Pukan house-building, for it is shortly after his marriage that a man prepares to build for his family a permanent coral-lime house.
This is quite an undertaking, requiring far-sighted plans that strain the profound Puka-Pukan mind to the utmost. First of all, one must obtain a pig and fatten him for two or more years, and must so arrange matters that when the pig is full grown the wife will have plenty of taro ready to be eaten. If there is no taro when the pig is ready, he is then killed and a young pig is procured. Arrangements must then be made to ensure a supply of taro by the time the second pig is grown.
This food is for those who help the house-builder, for usually the whole village takes an active part, most of them sitting in the shade, generously giving the builder advice, while a few of the more foolish ones assist with the mere manual part of the labour.
The initial work is to dig a pit eight feet by eight feet and six feet deep. This is filled with dry wood, coconut logs, etc., and on top are piled a hundred or more great slabs of coral. When this work is finished the wood is lighted, the pig is killed, the taro made into pudding, and everyone has a grand feast while the coral is being burnt into lime.
The husband then deserves, and takes, a long rest: a year or more is needed for recuperation and for talking over plans for the house. It may very well be that the married couple have no need for a house, for their father’s house is large enough for all. But the children – yes, they must leave a suitable dwelling for their children. All natives feel a strong sense of obligation toward their children and this is fully met by building for their future occupancy a coral-lime house. I often hear them speaking of their children, whether or no they have any; for if they have none they adopt some from a more fortunate neighbour. On Puka-Puka such adopted children are regarded exactly as though they were the flesh and blood of their foster parents.
After his period of rest, the house-builder sets to work gathering more coral blocks. This requires a year or more, and when enough have been assembled another pig is killed and more taro cooked for the helpers.
Then comes a period that may cover any number of years during which the builder chips his blocks into squares suitable for building the walls of his house. On some nights he may chip as much as a whole block; on rare occasions as many as two. Usually he chips no more than the side of one, and often many nights pass in succession when no work at all is done.
By the time the blocks are all ready the husband will have been married a number of years and has become the father of an increasing family, either adopted children or his own. He now rests for a year or two, deciding that on a certain New Year’s Day he will start erecting the sides of his house. Meanwhile, when the time approaches, he discovers that the thatch-roof of his so-called temporary abode is leaking and that he must have a new one. So he delays work on the new house until he can re-roof the old one – that is, his father’s house, where he is sojourning for the time being.
It is quite possible that by this time ten years have elapsed. Several of his children are going to school; like most of his neighbours he has become a deacon of the church; he is in rotund, contented middle life; it would be foolish to spoil the serenity of his life with too much work.
Nevertheless, he at length goes to work with a will, for he has children who must not be left homeless. He fattens two more pigs. When, in the twelfth year, they are ready, the villagers gather again with advice while he cuts down trees from which to make rafters, doors and window-frames. When these have been made the pigs are killed and all join in another feast.
No further work can be done, of course, until more pigs have been fattened, and somewhere about the fourteenth year this deficiency is supplied. Thereupon the villagers gather as before, and one side of the house is erected.
‘Ah!’ sighs the father, virtuously, ‘there shall be a house for my children when I am gone!’ and with this he ceases to worry and rests for another year.
Fifteen years have now slipped by and his oldest daughter is attending the love fests. She will marry soon. The father realises that haste is necessary, so he starts feeding another pig. But at the end of seventeen years the eldest daughter decides to get married, so this pig is sacrificed for the wedding feast and the house-building is still further delayed.
Then another new roof is needed for his temporary house – his own now, for his father has died. Then his eldest son decides to marry, so again the pigs are sacrificed, and the house waits for its second wall until the twenty-first year.
The father now observes that he is getting on in years; but never say die! If he lives to a ripe old age he may yet finish all four walls of his house; and it is now his married son’s duty to re-roof the old house, and only a few of the children are left to be married.
When at last the house is finished it will be of no use to his children (except, of course, as a temporary abode), for they are now all married and have long since started building coral-lime houses of their own. They too are now saying that it is a man’s duty to prepare a house for his children.
Thus the inhabitants of Puka-Puka live always in temporary houses, merely stopping there for the brief period of their lives until their own houses are ready.