The Atua Man: A Novel

Six hours after leaving Hakamaii, just as dawn was breaking, the Mata‘i sailed into a crowded Taiohae Bay, the capital of the northern Hiva Islands. Melanie pounded on the aft cabin hatch, but Larry was still fuming and didn’t answer. David maneuvered the boat to the west side of the bay, away from the thick cluster of yachts around the jetty, and Melanie dropped the anchor. As soon as the anchor was set, David lowered the dinghy and started the motor. He needed to go ashore and tell the authorities that Jason had been kidnapped on Ua Pou.

Larry, hearing the anchor drop, came on deck. He was in a foul mood and saw David in the dinghy. “You better take all your gear if you go ashore because you’re not getting back on this boat.”

David had his wallet, slippers, and T-shirt; what else did he need? He certainly didn’t need anything from Larry. “I guess I’ll take my passport and plane ticket then.”

Larry went back to his cabin and returned with David’s papers.

“I thought you had more backbone.” Larry handed him his papers.

“You’re the coward, man. Do the right thing. Get the authorities involved. This is a kidnapping.”

Larry laughed. “Jason willingly went with those girls… No, happily! Besides the French won’t go near Hakamaii. They think it’s cursed.”

“I’m not getting back on your fucking boat unless it’s to get Jason.”

“Dave,” Melanie pleaded. “He’s serious.

“I guess this is it. Goodbye, Melanie. He’s going to rot in hell.”

Melanie was torn between David and her father. “Larry be reasonable. How are we going to get the Mata‘i back to Honolulu without a crew?” She could no longer call him Dad.

“I’ve made that crossing alone, before you were born, in a boat more difficult to sail than this one.

“So, you’d leave me too?”

“If it came to that.” He watched his daughter poised to get in the dinghy with David. “I made this trip for you. It’s the best gift I can give you. I want to complete it with you—and Dave.”

“But not Jason?” Melanie was disgusted.

“There’s nothing I can do for him. I wish I could, I really do.” Melanie sensed a tinge of regret in her father. Maybe this was as close to an apology as he could muster. But it wasn’t enough.

“Why would I ever want to stay with you?” Melanie climbed over the side joining David in the dinghy. Did David see a moment of anguish flood Larry? He couldn’t tell.

“Somebody’s got to bring the fucking dinghy back,” Melanie took control of the Mata‘i Iti and drove David to shore.

“You don’t have to go with him. He’s quite capable of sailing back by himself.”

“I know.” Melanie started to cry. “But he’s not really that tough.”

“Please, Melanie, help me find J.J.

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this anymore.”

Melanie dropped David on the beach near the Temehea Tohua monument, quickly turned the boat around and left him. She was still crying and didn’t say good-bye.

The weeklong Bastille Day Fête had started. There were hundreds of people wandering up and down the road between the center of town and the school. All kinds of stalls lined the road. Some were elaborate bamboo structures with thatched roofs, others were store-bought tents, and many were just mats spread out on the ground. And everything from woodcarvings and print fabrics to musical instruments and food was for sale. David passed a tattoo artist—the only one on the road. He was giving a tourist from one of the yachts a native design on his leg. David stopped to watch for a moment. He couldn’t help himself. One of the reasons he signed on to this voyage was to see some Marquesan tattoos. He had studied them in his Arts of the Pacific class in college and he saw in their curving, floral designs a hint of Antonio Gaudi. He was disappointed so few natives wore them. Perhaps they still were not accepted by the French.

David reached the government house feeling a little guilty that he had interrupted his mission to rescue Jason by watching someone being tattooed. When he entered the administration building, it exuded as festive an atmosphere as the street. Musicians were singing and strumming their instruments in the foyer. The clerks wore flower leis. David asked to see the governor and was told he was in Papeete. “He’s too French,” one clerk said laughing, wearing a head lei made from petite mountain ferns.

David told her he needed to rescue his brother from Ua Pou, and she very sweetly told him she couldn’t help. When David mentioned that he was at Hakamaii, she turned and walked into her office, slamming the door. The others in the foyer moved away from him like he was contagious.

David left, heading back to the heart of the festival, all the while scanning the bay for new boats. He saw the Mata‘i leaving, motoring out and pulling the dinghy. So, this was it. He was alone like Melville, but Melville hadn’t landed in the midst of a fête.

David needed to find a way back to Hakamaii. He was less than six hours away with the right boat. His first thought was the wharf. Perhaps there was ferry service between the islands. He checked out the kiosk at the end of the wharf. No ferries for two days. He looked in to chartering a boat, but there were none. David then headed back to the main drag, desperate to find someone who would take him to Hakamii. He discovered that name was toxic.

It began to rain heavily and didn’t let up. The people on the road and in the stalls hardly noticed. Umbrellas came out, more tarps went up, and the festival shifted into high gear.

Like on Hakamaii, the night brought out the primeval in the celebrations. The pavilion, just off the park where the Temehea Tohua monument stood, was packed. The excitement was high. A trio played a mix of “Island Pop,” the islander’s take on Western pop songs, and local meles, ancient chants put to music. On one level it was entertaining, but emotionally, the dances and chants touched something basic, something frightening. To David they were savage. Were these ceremonies the way societies survived? Did celebrating ancient sacrifices to appease fierce gods perpetuate a culture? Did it make people feel safe, connected? How could one celebrate sacrifice and maintain one’s humanity? Who chooses the sacrifice? And if you are the sacrifice, does your blood give humanity its nobility? David was bombarded with these thoughts as the first dance began. It was the pig dance; the same one David had seen at Hakamaii. It made the hair on his neck stand up.

The next group to perform was a troupe from Atuona, and David believed that their kumu was the woman he had visited there. In his current state of mind, he wasn’t one hundred percent certain, but then her sons came onstage, and David knew for sure that it was Ama. Their troupe was mostly female, and their dance was graceful and melodic. Their costumes blended Tahiti with Hawaii, and their movements told another story—a story of love and caring. Was this also traditional, the yin and the yang of Hiva culture? On the one hand there was hunting, sacrifice, and survival, and on the other, love and compassion?

When the dance ended, David made his way backstage. Many people crowded around the Atuona group and the performers struggled to get away. David had to push his way in to get Ama’s attention. At first, she didn’t recognize him. David could see her wondering why this white man wanted to get so close to her, and then her face lit up in recognition. She threw people aside and hugged him warmly.

“Where is Larry and his charming daughter?” she asked.

David told her he wasn’t getting along with Larry at the moment and that he needed a place to stay for the night.

She patted his hand. “Not to worry. Nobody gets along with Larry.” And she ushered David out with her troupe.

Ama and her sons had a bungalow at the Pearl Lodge, just a ten-minute walk from the pavilion. Did she know Jason’s fate? According to Larry she was in on the ordeal, but she showed no sign of awareness about the ritual. She wouldn’t let David tell his story until they were on the lanai of her bungalow and David had a glass of wine in his hand. When he’d finished his story, she embraced him and held him tight.

“Your friend is in the bosom of the gods. We cannot change our fate. You must move on.”

David freed himself from her hug and was repulsed by her attitude. “This is not J.J.’s fate. This was a conspiracy by a bunch of old farts wanting to rekindle something that’s been long dead.” He put the glass of wine down untouched and left.

“I will save your friend,” she called after him, and he heard her telling her sons to find Jason. She caught up to David outside and laying a hand on his arm, stopped him. “Even if we had lured your friend to the ritual under false pretenses, the mana surrounding Larry and his loved ones would not allow his destiny to be diverted.” She explained mana as Larry’s spiritual power, which he had always had. He had lived in the islands all those years and everyone there knew his mana. The French were afraid of him, and some of the tuhunas feared him, but it would be their death to plot against him. David realized this was why the haka‘iki didn’t go after Larry.

These people believed the unseen world was as real and as powerful as the seen world. To the modern person it’s all superstition, and fake. But in many parts of the planet the unseen and the unworldly is more powerful than the visible, and the shaman and the priest are more powerful than the king and the ruler. Jason would never call that world spiritual, David thought. To him the divine was without opposite, omnipotent and good.

“If Jason completes the initiation,” Ama went on…

If he survives, David thought…

“He will become the Atua Man, god incarnate, and he will be recognized as the new Tuhuna O‘ono. The haka‘iki would bring him here to announce the new beginning of the Hiva people, and their connections to the gods.”

David didn’t take any of this seriously, except that his best friend could be dead. Hiva gods, fate, and destiny were woven into these people’s lives like the fibers in a matt. He had to concentrate to hear what Ama was telling him.