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Authors: Barry Sadler
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men?"
Kini's eyes started from his head. "If you... I do not know. I do not know. I do not like to think about such a thing."
"And I do not like to think about it," said Semele, "but now it is necessary to do some thinking."
"But this is evil thinking."
"Of course it is. But if what we hear from Viti Levu is true, and I fear it is, Cakabau has already done this thinking. We are told that he has already offered for sale all the men of our village, and that he has already been paid much money. Now he must take our men. And what is a village without men? It is the end of the world for us."
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning Casca awoke beside Vivita, a slim, quiet woman who had—he couldn't tell how—won him from three or four competing women the previous night. But he was glad she had won.
She was not beautiful. Her forehead was too high, her nose too broad, the nostrils large and flared, her lips thick, a front tooth missing. But her slim body was a fount of sexual energy, and her placid silences were pleasant to be around.
She gestured to him that he should get up quickly, that there was much happening. She pointed toward the beach and toward the chief's house, and made gestures of fighting.
She brought him a length of tapa cloth and showed him how to wrap himself in it, forming a sulu, the long kilt worn by men throughout the South Pacific.
" Vanaka vaka levu , thank you very much," Casca said, appreciating the admiration in Vivita's eyes now that he was dressed like any other warrior. But how to carry his gun and knife?
He put on his jacket, and Vivita clapped her hands in delight. Reassured, he added his belt, but left his arms concealed in his jacket pockets.
Casca hurried to the chief's house, on the way noting that there were many strange canoes drawn up on the beach and many strange warriors standing around them.
From Semele he learned that these men came from Lakuvi, a village on the other side of the island, a traditional enemy. The lands that the people of Lakuvi farmed ran up toward the village of Navola, and they laid claim to some of the coconut trees and breadfruit trees that belonged to Navola. The dispute had been going on forever, every so often leading to wars between the two villages.
The battles resolved nothing about the long-standing dispute but were welcomed by both sides, since each battle meant that one village or the other was likely to feast on meat that night.
If the men from Lakuvi won the battle, the killed Navola man would be partly eaten on the beach in front of the village and the remains taken back to Lakuvi for a feast in their own village. The victors would also strip Navola's fruit trees and taro patches of their food, and the disputed trees on the far slopes of the mountain would for a time belong to Lakuvi.
If Navola won, as the defending village usually did, the slain man would be eaten, the trees would become their undisputed property for a while, and they would also seize most of the enemy's weapons and some of their canoes.
But just now, as far as Casca could see, the battle was going in a very leisurely manner. The men below on the beach were making no preparations for attack, and the Navola villagers appeared quite unconcerned, going about their normal tasks, working in their food gardens, cooking, children playing about.
Eventually the men below on the beach began beating drums and forming up in something like battle order— drawn up in three ranks, chanting, shouting and waving their great, black war clubs.
Casca spoke to Semele and was given a beautiful, shiny club, about the heaviest weapon he had ever hefted. It was the root of a tree that grew deep in remote jungle, the root branches cut short to sharp knobs. The wood was extremely hard, heavy, and very unlikely to split or break even when pounded against another similar club. When pounded with all the force of a warrior's arm against a man's head, death was the inevitable result.
After some long time the
Kini's eyes started from his head. "If you... I do not know. I do not know. I do not like to think about such a thing."
"And I do not like to think about it," said Semele, "but now it is necessary to do some thinking."
"But this is evil thinking."
"Of course it is. But if what we hear from Viti Levu is true, and I fear it is, Cakabau has already done this thinking. We are told that he has already offered for sale all the men of our village, and that he has already been paid much money. Now he must take our men. And what is a village without men? It is the end of the world for us."
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning Casca awoke beside Vivita, a slim, quiet woman who had—he couldn't tell how—won him from three or four competing women the previous night. But he was glad she had won.
She was not beautiful. Her forehead was too high, her nose too broad, the nostrils large and flared, her lips thick, a front tooth missing. But her slim body was a fount of sexual energy, and her placid silences were pleasant to be around.
She gestured to him that he should get up quickly, that there was much happening. She pointed toward the beach and toward the chief's house, and made gestures of fighting.
She brought him a length of tapa cloth and showed him how to wrap himself in it, forming a sulu, the long kilt worn by men throughout the South Pacific.
" Vanaka vaka levu , thank you very much," Casca said, appreciating the admiration in Vivita's eyes now that he was dressed like any other warrior. But how to carry his gun and knife?
He put on his jacket, and Vivita clapped her hands in delight. Reassured, he added his belt, but left his arms concealed in his jacket pockets.
Casca hurried to the chief's house, on the way noting that there were many strange canoes drawn up on the beach and many strange warriors standing around them.
From Semele he learned that these men came from Lakuvi, a village on the other side of the island, a traditional enemy. The lands that the people of Lakuvi farmed ran up toward the village of Navola, and they laid claim to some of the coconut trees and breadfruit trees that belonged to Navola. The dispute had been going on forever, every so often leading to wars between the two villages.
The battles resolved nothing about the long-standing dispute but were welcomed by both sides, since each battle meant that one village or the other was likely to feast on meat that night.
If the men from Lakuvi won the battle, the killed Navola man would be partly eaten on the beach in front of the village and the remains taken back to Lakuvi for a feast in their own village. The victors would also strip Navola's fruit trees and taro patches of their food, and the disputed trees on the far slopes of the mountain would for a time belong to Lakuvi.
If Navola won, as the defending village usually did, the slain man would be eaten, the trees would become their undisputed property for a while, and they would also seize most of the enemy's weapons and some of their canoes.
But just now, as far as Casca could see, the battle was going in a very leisurely manner. The men below on the beach were making no preparations for attack, and the Navola villagers appeared quite unconcerned, going about their normal tasks, working in their food gardens, cooking, children playing about.
Eventually the men below on the beach began beating drums and forming up in something like battle order— drawn up in three ranks, chanting, shouting and waving their great, black war clubs.
Casca spoke to Semele and was given a beautiful, shiny club, about the heaviest weapon he had ever hefted. It was the root of a tree that grew deep in remote jungle, the root branches cut short to sharp knobs. The wood was extremely hard, heavy, and very unlikely to split or break even when pounded against another similar club. When pounded with all the force of a warrior's arm against a man's head, death was the inevitable result.
After some long time the
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