The Atua Man: A Novel

David got up at sunrise with Ama’s words in his mind; “I will save your friend.” That night, desperate for hope, he had believed her. Now, beginning his second day in Taiohae, he doubted her. He had slept on the lanai of Ama’s room at the Pearl Lodge, and he left before any of the others woke up. It had rained all night—a hot, tropical deluge that made the road along the strand a muddy bog. It was now up to David to save Jason. No one else could or would.

Sloshing through the mud he made a mental list of what he thought he knew. It was the last day of the native competitions, a part of the Bastille Day Festival. The highlighted performance that night would feature the Ua Pou dancers. Were they already here, in Taiohae, or were they arriving later? He had watched one troupe from Ua Pou practicing the day before and he couldn’t imagine they were the final act. If another group was arriving, David wanted to be at the wharf to meet them. He had convinced himself that Jason would be among them. David hoped Ama was right, and that Jason would perform with the troupe. Even if the ritual had damaged Jason, if his mind was gone and he was a babbling idiot, David wanted to pull his best friend out of this mess. He loved Jason more than he’d ever realized.

David hung around the wharf all morning. He sat on the edge of the jetty watching the children jump into the water. It began to rain again and that seemed to increase the joy of the kids swimming in the bay. They wanted him to play too, but he wouldn’t. This reminded David of the way he and Jason used to play as kids. It was too painful watching them, and he left to get something to eat. He bought some fried breadfruit from a vendor and drank a warm orange soda. No boat had arrived from Ua Pou.

Late that afternoon David headed back to the Pearl Lodge to talk to Ama. He needed her positive spirit. He wanted another shot of hope, someone to hug him and tell him it had all been a dream. Ama was the only contact he had in this remote corner of the Pacific, but even that was a stretch. She was the one who had originally drugged Jason to make him a candidate for godhood. How could that even be considered rational?

David suddenly had a vision of why so few white people lived in these islands. Unless you were part of the culture, there was nothing to do. The foreigners all sought some sort of paradise, and when it never appeared, they grew complacent, apathetic, and then they couldn’t escape. Eventually they died here, like Paul Gauguin. That wasn’t going to be David’s fate, and hopefully it wasn’t already Jason’s.

When David returned to the hotel, he learned that Ama and her boys had checked out. Another betrayal. His only hope now was that Jason would be one of the dancers.

That night David got to the pavilion early and found a seat in the front row. If Jason was going to show up, he would find him. The dancers from Ua Pou were the last act, and David didn’t see anyone from Hakamaii in their company, not the haka‘iki nor his servants, and definitely not Jason. As the crowd left, happy and content, David sat alone in the bleachers until they shut off the lights. That was it; he was defeated.

He walked back to the Pearl Lodge and took a room for the night, pulling out the trusty American Express card that he hadn’t used since Europe. It was hard for him to fathom that he’d been in Barcelona in April and three months later he was stranded in Taiohae, his best friend missing and perhaps killed. David ordered a bottle of whisky sent to his room and drank until he passed out.

That night, in his sleep, Jason came to him bathed in an unholy light. He brought the sounds of haka—warriors slapping their bodies and shouting insults at unseen enemies. Jason was in the front line, beating himself. Then it all dissolved in a fog of nothingness.