The Atua Man: A Novel

It was the third day since Jason’s abduction, and David awoke hung over and depressed. He had a vague recollection of Jason in his mind. It was raining again, and Taiohae was a swamp. He saw no way to get to Hakamaii, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stay in these god-forsaken islands.

David really couldn’t blame the turn of events on Jason, but they did seem to follow the same pattern every time he hooked up with him. Jason was like the god Shiva, destroying the plans made by humans until they learned not to plan but to live in the moment. All of David’s depression was due to the fact that he was mourning the loss of his best friend. The hope of the past couple of days, with Ama’s assurances that Jason would show up, evaporated like rain puddles in the sun. Everything was futile. David’s willingness to abandon all rational thought, in the fantasy that he could rescue Jason, left him longing for an order he could understand. This was an upside-down world that he could not navigate. He accepted the fact that Jason was gone and checked out of his room. A taxi arrived, the only one on the island, and drove him to the airport.

The village was as hung over as David was. There were four more days of partying, dancing, and sporting contests leading up to Bastille Day. The craft booths would be in full swing by the afternoon, and all this gaiety further depressed David. It took over an hour to get to the airport in the rain. The flight that day to Papeete was filled so David bought a ticket for one departing the next day. He drove back to Taiohae and hung out at the wharf watching more people leave than arrive. He was beginning to believe that Larry was right. Jason was already dead.

David had lunch at the Pension Moana Nui. The name made him nostalgic for Hawaii. He lingered over a glass of wine, looking out to the bay, when he spotted Mata‘i motoring in at top speed, towing her dinghy. David threw some money on the table and raced down to the wharf. By the time he got there, Melanie had already anchored the yacht and carelessly tied up Mata‘i Iti to the pier. When she saw David, she ran into his arms. She was frantic—Larry was deathly sick. He needed a doctor.

“Dad insisted we see these tikis in Taipivai.” She burst into tears.

After what he’d experienced with Larry on Hiva Oa, David could picture the whole thing: Larry’s arrogance, his belief that he was somehow connected to the Hiva people and yet be immune to their beliefs, the rightness of his mission—all that infuriated David.

“Did J.J. show up?” asked Melanie.

“No. I tried everything.”

“I’m sick and tired of being manipulated by Larry and all his bullshit,” she grumbled as they headed to the infirmary. “Even now I can’t feel sorry for him.”

David took Melanie’s hand. “Maybe this is your dad’s karma.”

“Dad was so gross.” She shuddered at the thought. “He said, ‘who wouldn’t want to die that way, having sex with a bunch of gorgeous little island girls? There’re a lot worse ways to go than fucking yourself to death.’”

David pulled her close and held on to her.

“He’s such an asshole, but I don’t want him to die.” She released herself from his hug, and they continued on toward the infirmary. “He browbeat this little kid for directions, and we found the overgrown trail where the boy said the me‘ae would be. We hiked about half a mile and came upon kapu sticks, just like in Hawaii. I didn’t want to go on, but Dad made me. It was the biggest me‘ae I’d ever seen, breathtaking, the size of a football field. We climbed onto the platform and went up to the altar.”

Melanie stopped, as if she was about to faint.

“I don’t have to know.”

“I need to tell someone. It was awful. I got sick. The altar was covered in blood.”

They were almost to the infirmary. “You don’t have to say any more.”

Melanie walked ahead of him and entered the infirmary. “Dad put his fingers in the blood,” she continued. “He thought he could tell if it was animal blood or human. It was just stupid, his stupid curiosity, wanting to know everything. He laughed. He rubbed it between his fingers, smelled it and announced it was a pig. We headed back and Dad was in a triumphant mood, the conqueror of superstition. When we got to the village, he was breathing hard. By the time we got to the boat he could barely climb onboard. I got him into his bunk, but he couldn’t move and now he’s struggling to breathe.”

They waited a few minutes in silence for the doctor. David understood Melanie’s rage. Was this nightmare ever going to end? The doctor came out with his little black bag, and the three of them headed back to the Mata‘i.

David and Melanie waited in the cockpit while the doctor examined Larry. It was not unusual for doctors to go out to people’s yachts to treat someone. When he was done, he kept his face neutral. “Where did he fall ill?”

“Taipivai. We’d hiked up to see the tikis.”

The doctor sighed, not sure how to tell Melanie and David this. “He’s dying and there’s nothing I can do.”

“Come on!” David didn’t believe the doctor. “This looks like some kind of respiratory problem. Certainly, you can do something.”

“I’ve seen this with a native before, never with a European. I’m sorry.”

Melanie rushed into Larry’s cabin, and David followed, leaving the doctor wondering how he was going to get to shore. Larry struggled to draw air into his lungs. David hated to see anyone suffer. He turned away, but Larry grabbed his hand, gasping, “Heal me, Dave.”

David held onto Larry’s hand for a moment and then laid it back on Larry’s torso. “I can’t. I’m not Jason.”

Melanie began to cry again and ran up to the cockpit with David on her heels. “He must be oxygen starved,” she said. “Help me get him to the infirmary.”

“I need to get back,” said the doctor insistently, looking at David. There was nothing more he could do. “You’ll need to get the harbor master to bring out a gurney.”

“Can you do that for us?” Melanie asked.

The doctor shrugged—maybe yes, maybe no. “But he’ll die anyway.”

David flopped down on the cockpit seat and put his head between his knees. The doctor could swim ashore for all he cared. His ticket to Papeete hung out of his pocket. He was in agony. “Why on earth would your dad think I could heal him?”

“I don’t know what to do, Dave.”

The doctor stood irritably by the boarding ladder, thumping his fingers on the stanchion.

“Please,” she implored David, “help me. I can’t do this alone.”

David reluctantly got up, brought the dinghy around and helped the doctor down the ladder. He kissed Melanie and took the doctor to shore.

David sat alone in the cockpit of the Mata‘i, watching the sunset send shafts of light onto Taiohae Bay. He had not been successful in finding a launch or a gurney, so Larry was still on board. Melanie was with her father in the aft cabin. The Mata‘i wasn’t shipshape: there was no awning over the cockpit in case of rain; the dinghy was tied off and not onboard; and Mata‘i swung on just one anchor, not the way Larry liked. Melanie and David were in no mood to do anything on the boat. But who cared about all that crap anymore? David and Melanie had spent the whole day on the yacht hoping Larry would improve.

No one was hungry. David poured a glass of wine, but it tasted foul and he tossed it overboard. He still thought Jason could be alive, but in what state? David could commandeer Mata‘i and sail back to Hakamaii, given that Larry was in no condition to stop him now. Besides, David was still furious with the bastard for leaving Jason. Larry had brought all this on himself, so why should he feel guilty about wanting to find Jason? Larry had left! He wouldn’t be in Taiohae if he hadn’t fallen sick. No, the only right thing to do would be to sail back to Ua Pou. Would Melanie agree after all she’d been through? She could stay with the boat. He’d go ashore alone; Larry still had his guns.

At sunup David was flaked out in the cockpit. It had been a horrible night, filled with guilt and self-recrimination, but David awoke ready for action. He would take the boat to Ua Pou. He looked into the aft cabin and Melanie was sleeping soundly. He couldn’t tell if Larry was asleep or dead. He pulled the dinghy around to the boarding ladder, got in and rowed a few yards before starting the outboard. David tied the Mata‘i Iti to the pier, climbed the steps to the jetty and noticed that a cruise ship and a trading steamer had arrived during the night.

At seven o’clock in the morning the town was alive and bustling. The islanders had set up their stalls for the tourists, and the merchants expecting cargo crowded the foot of the jetty as stevedores hauled carts of goods to the vendors who were waiting with their trucks. It was a different crowd from the festival crowd celebrating the fête. It was a mix of people—natives getting on with everyday life and tourists arriving to celebrate the last couple of days before the Bastille Day ceremonies. David made his way up the jetty to the market to grab a quick croissant and coffee. He found the market overrun with tourists. He bought half a dozen croissants and headed back to the dinghy.

David heard someone call his name. He looked around but didn’t see anybody he recognized. Then he heard his named shouted again. It sounded like Jason’s voice. Again, David didn’t recognize anybody. Then someone grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around.

“What is wrong with you? Don’t you know your own name?” Jason gave David a bear hug. David was speechless. Jason smelled like diesel fuel and old hemp. He wore dirty jeans, a chambray work shirt, and heavy boots. His hair was greasy and clung to his neck and he had a four-day-old beard. David hugged him back and began to cry, it was such a relief to see him.

“Are we going to finish our voyage, or what? I see Mata‘i anchored off the jetty.”

David composed himself. “You asshole.”

David turned away, his face still streaked with tears. “I tried to find you in that fucking orgy.” He then turned back. “I saw you walking away with that dancer. I called your name, but you didn’t answer. Then Melanie was attacked, and Larry just fucking abandoned you. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Jason pulled David back and hugged him again. In that moment David felt something new, something powerful. It was what he had felt with Jason as a kid, only now it had matured. Something flowed between them that David had never felt. It wasn’t physical but filled him with a love so strong and pure that all his guilt and sorrow vanished. He was washed clean by the power in Jason’s embrace and felt the freedom that came with true forgiveness. David knew this feeling could not be the result of a tuhuna. It was the triumph of spiritual awareness over material belief, and that had nothing to do with a native ritual. David knew that Jason had entered a new dimension of consciousness. And he now understood his part in all of this. He was the witness, and he saw the power that his recognition brought. It was the reason they had been together their whole lives.

Jason released David. “You have nothing to regret, my friend.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then David said, “I think Larry died last night.”

“Bollocks,” said Jason mimicking Larry. “Where’s Melanie?”

“She’s on the boat.”

“Then what are we doing ashore?” The two of them ran to the wharf.

As they sped out to the Mata‘i, David wanted to know what had happened at Hakamaii, but Jason wouldn’t talk about it. Instead, he wanted to know about Larry’s death.

“A curse was put on him,” David replied with a straight face.

“That’s ridiculous.”

David tied the dinghy up to Mata‘i, and the boys climbed on board.

Melanie was in the cockpit weeping. When she saw Jason, she flew into his arms. “He’s gone,” she sobbed. She hugged Jason so tight that he could hardly breathe. He gently pushed her away and, at the same time, embraced her with his eyes. Her relief came with a shudder, and she sat back down on the cockpit bench. Knowing her father was dead, she shook her head at Jason, and the tears came again. Jason went aft and descended into the owner’s cabin.

David sat down next to Melanie and put his arms around her. He held her until she stopped crying. Then David felt an incredible peace come over him. It wiped his mind of all thoughts and filled him with joy. At first, he started to resist it. Why would he feel joy at someone’s death? But he found he couldn’t resist it. He didn’t judge the feeling; he didn’t question it. He just accepted it as the grace of God. David hoped Melanie felt it too, but he didn’t look at her for fear of losing the moment.

Melanie shook David from his meditation and pointed to the aft cabin. An intense light radiated from the portholes and the passageway. They grabbed hold of each other and waited. The light grew, like a musical chord reaching climax, and then it was gone. All that was left was a pale blue glow.

Jason came out and sat across the cockpit from his shipmates. He smiled. “He’s fine. Asked me what the fuck I was doing here. I told him we had to finish our voyage.”

“This is crazy.” Melanie jumped up and went in to see her father.

“I’ve got to get out of these clothes.” Jason kicked off his boots and stripped off his shirt and pants. For the first time David saw that he was covered in native tattoos – front to back, shoulders to ankles. They looked like they had been there for years. There was no redness around the ink. David knew that in native cultures the tattoos were powerful talismans, portals to another world where death and life coexisted in a different dimension. These same tattoo designs had shocked and intrigued the early European explorers of the Pacific. They were one of the elements that began a debate as to what was civilized and what was savage, and that debate continues to this day.

David started to comment, but Jason raised his tattooed arm, “I’ll tell you later.” Jason ducked below to find his own clothes.

As David looked back at the island, the images of the past couple of days flooded his mind, like the tattoos covering Jason’s body. Everything he thought he knew had been destroyed here, in the Hiva Islands. He knew nothing. Right, wrong, good, evil; it no longer made any sense. Jason had just healed the man who wanted to kill him. Could all sins be forgiven? Were they now going to sail home to civilization and pretend nothing had changed? He wasn’t sure he could do that.

Melanie came back on deck. “Dad wants to go home. Are you guys ready?”

Half an hour later the crew had the dinghy stowed, the anchor up, and Mata‘i was sailing out of Taiohae Bay under a sunny sky. They left the fête before the finale on July fourteenth, Bastille Day. They sailed away from the crowds and the people hoping to glimpse a bit of native culture. They had more than fulfilled the purpose of the voyage, but in ways no one had anticipated.

It took all day to sail around the west side of Nuku Hiva to Anaho Bay. They had the place to themselves. The deep bay was a perfect anchorage with flat, pristine water and a crescent of white sand. There was no permanent settlement, only a few shacks for fisherman, and the land was lush with coconut trees.

They stayed there a week, eating fish they had caught, picking pamplemousse, hiking the ridge behind the bay, and snorkeling the one untouched reef in the island chain. They played music and began to heal.