afterwards.’
A gleam of reluctant respect appeared in the big man’s eyes. ‘You would, would you, Sergeant?’ he gritted. ‘All right, go ahead. Sort them out, and at least I’ll give you the time of day afterwards.’
‘First I must persuade them to take me to their temple in the trees, the
faata abu
.’
‘You’re wrong about that, for a start. They don’t have a temple,’ growled the Australian triumphantly. ‘I’ve been here eighteen months and I’ve never seen one.’ He looked at the men behind him. ‘Have any of you jokers?’
The others shook their heads.
‘That’s because they’ve never let you see it,’ said Kella, walking away. ‘Stay here. And leave those rifles alone.’
He reached the Malaitans. ‘Do you want to go back to work?’ he asked Zoloveke, the leader.
‘Only if the signs are right,’ replied the older man. ‘We will not ignore the
faata maea.
’
He was referring to the unfavourable omen known in pidginas
show death
. Kella nodded understandingly. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to. Suppose I can lift the curse?’ he asked. ‘Will you go back to work then?’
Zoloveke conferred briefly with the men nearest him. ‘If the ceremony is performed properly,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘We know that you have been given the power to do that.’
‘Then take me to your
beu aabu
,’ said Kella. ‘Not all of you; what I am about to do is not for everyone to see. Choose half a dozen men to come with us.’
The custom temple was half an hour’s walk away through the outer ring of trees. There was no path through the densely matted undergrowth, but Kella could see that unobtrusive strands of red drachmae plants had been secured to the boles of some of the trees to indicate a route already prepared through the bush. Such signs would have meant nothing to any expatriates who strayed into the undergrowth. They struggled through knee-high grass, disturbing clouds of small yellow butterflies, which scudded ahead of them.
The temple, when they encountered it, was simple, consisting of little more than a one-roomed hut of sago palm thatch lashed together with creepers, under a sloping roof supported by posts. The opening in the front of it was only a few feet high, meaning that a man could only enter on his hands and knees, thus showing due deference to the holiness of the building. In front of the
beu
was a round flat flintstone to represent the outdoor altar. Detritus of ashes and charred sticks on its surface showed that sacrifices had been made there quite recently. On the ground around the altar were scattered minor offerings of yams, taro and twists of tobacco. Kella knew that inside the place of worship would be a collection of clubs and spears, all plaited with red and yellow vines to show that they had been dedicated to the gods. Being itinerants, the labourers would have no priest among them, and would be forbidden from practising all but the most basic ceremonies before thespirit people, otherwise he would never have been shown this sacred spot. Even now, he knew that he would not be granted much time in which to lift the curse. The spirits did not like temples that did not have permanent custodians. They would not go out of their way to assist him.
Before he made his approach to the altar, Kella stopped and opened his rucksack. He took out a well-worn sacred bag containing his own holy relics and attached it by a swathe of cloth to his head. Next he brought out a handful of areca nuts from the bottom of the rucksack, moving deliberately so that the Malaitans, watching his every move intently, could see what he was doing. He was aware of their impressed gasps as he prepared to start his ritual. Only a custom priest of the highest rank and in great favour with the ghosts would be allowed to hold in his hand so many areca nuts, the favourite food of the gods, without being struck down for sacrilege.
Impatiently Zoloveke gestured to the Malaitans to stand back while Kella
A gleam of reluctant respect appeared in the big man’s eyes. ‘You would, would you, Sergeant?’ he gritted. ‘All right, go ahead. Sort them out, and at least I’ll give you the time of day afterwards.’
‘First I must persuade them to take me to their temple in the trees, the
faata abu
.’
‘You’re wrong about that, for a start. They don’t have a temple,’ growled the Australian triumphantly. ‘I’ve been here eighteen months and I’ve never seen one.’ He looked at the men behind him. ‘Have any of you jokers?’
The others shook their heads.
‘That’s because they’ve never let you see it,’ said Kella, walking away. ‘Stay here. And leave those rifles alone.’
He reached the Malaitans. ‘Do you want to go back to work?’ he asked Zoloveke, the leader.
‘Only if the signs are right,’ replied the older man. ‘We will not ignore the
faata maea.
’
He was referring to the unfavourable omen known in pidginas
show death
. Kella nodded understandingly. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to. Suppose I can lift the curse?’ he asked. ‘Will you go back to work then?’
Zoloveke conferred briefly with the men nearest him. ‘If the ceremony is performed properly,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘We know that you have been given the power to do that.’
‘Then take me to your
beu aabu
,’ said Kella. ‘Not all of you; what I am about to do is not for everyone to see. Choose half a dozen men to come with us.’
The custom temple was half an hour’s walk away through the outer ring of trees. There was no path through the densely matted undergrowth, but Kella could see that unobtrusive strands of red drachmae plants had been secured to the boles of some of the trees to indicate a route already prepared through the bush. Such signs would have meant nothing to any expatriates who strayed into the undergrowth. They struggled through knee-high grass, disturbing clouds of small yellow butterflies, which scudded ahead of them.
The temple, when they encountered it, was simple, consisting of little more than a one-roomed hut of sago palm thatch lashed together with creepers, under a sloping roof supported by posts. The opening in the front of it was only a few feet high, meaning that a man could only enter on his hands and knees, thus showing due deference to the holiness of the building. In front of the
beu
was a round flat flintstone to represent the outdoor altar. Detritus of ashes and charred sticks on its surface showed that sacrifices had been made there quite recently. On the ground around the altar were scattered minor offerings of yams, taro and twists of tobacco. Kella knew that inside the place of worship would be a collection of clubs and spears, all plaited with red and yellow vines to show that they had been dedicated to the gods. Being itinerants, the labourers would have no priest among them, and would be forbidden from practising all but the most basic ceremonies before thespirit people, otherwise he would never have been shown this sacred spot. Even now, he knew that he would not be granted much time in which to lift the curse. The spirits did not like temples that did not have permanent custodians. They would not go out of their way to assist him.
Before he made his approach to the altar, Kella stopped and opened his rucksack. He took out a well-worn sacred bag containing his own holy relics and attached it by a swathe of cloth to his head. Next he brought out a handful of areca nuts from the bottom of the rucksack, moving deliberately so that the Malaitans, watching his every move intently, could see what he was doing. He was aware of their impressed gasps as he prepared to start his ritual. Only a custom priest of the highest rank and in great favour with the ghosts would be allowed to hold in his hand so many areca nuts, the favourite food of the gods, without being struck down for sacrilege.
Impatiently Zoloveke gestured to the Malaitans to stand back while Kella
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