Weeping with an Ancient God

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Melvill awakes to Tinor's entreaties. The old woman keeps pointing at him and covering her nose. He remembers these gestures and strips off his clothes, removing his breeches while still under the sheet. She takes the pile, the fish smell clinging to them heavily. He awkwardly covers himself in the togalike sheet, leaving his left arm exposed and most of his right leg. His shoes are there by the mat but he chooses not to put them on. Melvill goes out of the hut into the bright day. It must be almost noon: he has slept all morning. The fishy taste of his breath assures him that his recollections of the night's proceedings are real. 

The village is lazy and none of Marheyo's clan is in view. Melvill is acutely hungry. He recalls the bananas and other fruit in the hut but at the moment he has more pressing needs and walks toward the stream. There he is struck by how natural and comfortable the Typees' methods of toilet have become to him. He thinks of the privy in the afterhouse on the Acushnet and of carrying the sloshing stinking pot to the side of the ship as the whaler rolls and bucks on the ocean. 

On his way back to Marheyo's hut to find something to eat Korykory intercepts him. He is with a group of his young friends--five dark men-boys lively and eager. Korykory insists that Melvill join them and they herd him along. 

"I need to get something to eat--kiki--but I will join you later. Where will you be? At the Ti?" 

They smile and chatter and continue to steer Melvill toward a jungle path. Two of the men-boys are carrying large earthen jugs; another has something wrapped in an old smudged sheet, about the size of a baby, which he holds pinned under one arm. Korykory is the tallest and strongest built of the young men--he is probably the eldest. 

Melvill ceases his objections and goes with them. The path they begin is the one leading to the place of the cannibal ritual but soon they diverge onto a less traveled path, so narrow they form a singlefile line and still heavy waxy leaves continually thump against Melvill's exposed arm. They seem to be in a rush, which is not a normal pace for the Typees, unless going to war or to meet a trading ship. But they are not heading toward the mountains for an encounter with the Happars nor toward the sea. 

They move through the jungle, Melvill in the middle of the line. The path is slightly uneven underfoot and Melvill wishes he had put on his shoes. 

Suddenly there is an opening in the vegetation where several logs lie around a tree stump that is still rooted to the ground. The natives sit on the logs while the one with the shrouded object places it on the stump then removes the soiled cover with a jerk. It is a small statue, one of their myriad gods no doubt. This is a smiling beatific god. Its size and its grinning countenance make it a stark contrast to Boolaa, the god carved in the mountain, although the gray stone is the same. 

This god is "Moa Artua," according to the young men, who keep repeating the name and patting the idol affectionately, like an old faithful dog. The flat nose and the square shoulders of the statue remind Melvill of the one guarding Marheyo's bamboo shrine, Marheyo's granite avatar. They were possibly rendered by the same artisan. 

Melvill smiles and says the god's name to demonstrate his comprehension. 

Korykory makes a few opening remarks; it seems almost that he is introducing Melvill to the little god. Then the men-boys with the jugs drink from them and hand them off--one to Melvill. He immediately knows the scent of arva-wai, and it instantly twists his gut in recollection. Nevertheless he takes a bitter sip and passes the jug along. 

The natives alternately tell stories or make claims, all sounding highly boastful. Often Happar this or Happar that. And the jugs are passed steadily. Melvill thinks about how much the Typees are defined by the Happars. Without their ancient enemies, the Typees would not be who they are. So if to have a life, one must have purpose--then the Happars are lifegiving to the Typees, and vice versa: ironic. Melvill thinks of the French encampment at Nukuheva Bay and their mounting encroachment. One day the Typees and Happars may have to join forces against a common enemy. Melvill takes another drink. That day--when that alliance is declared--both cultures will cease to exist. All the indigenous cultures of the island will cease in time. All the natives will be like Marnoo, an odd assortment of many tribes but not recognizably one tribe. Then inevitably the European blood will mix with the islanders'. No doubt it already has and the mixture courses through the veins of bastard children. Melvill takes another drink. And then what will there be here, in a generation? In two, three? Melvill sees an archipelago of European-island-not-European-not-island peoples. With no common culture to recall and to honor. . . .