Chapter 5

"DANCES WITH FIRE"

Chapter 5

Hassie Gaugau 

  Gasps of fright rushed across the audience like floodwaters through a ravine.  The drum's steady pulse grew louder and more savage as the flames took shape.  A man!  A primitive, fierce, warrior!  He threw fire into the air, caught it, whirled it, he DANCED WITH FIRE!

Who was this man?  Where did he come from?  What was he doing?  Questions came from everyone.  They wanted to leave, they were frightened!  But they sat spellbound, held in their seats as if tied there, by this wild creature who spun himself and the fire back and forth across the stage.

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Tavita could feel the tension that emanated from the audience as well as from his own body.  This was to be the performance of his life.  He was home, after ten years.  Now, he danced for his people, their own warrior's dance.  No one had even heard of the Siva Afi (fire knife dance,) but he had read about it while he was in America.  Wherever he went he worked attended school, danced and read everything that he could find about his home, Western Samoa.  He went out of his way to befriend librarians, that way he gained access to restricted areas that were set aside for professors and instructors to research the subjects that they taught or were interested in.

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Now, with two knives, flames bursting from each end of each knife, he hurled them higher and higher, never failing to catch them, as they plummeted back toward the stage.  He bent his supple body backward with his head touching the floor.  Then he passed the flames under his back and flipped feet over head to an upright position, never missing a single beat of the rhythm.

The crowd had grown as wild as the dance.  Applause, cheers, and whistles almost drowned out the thundering drums.

Sweat, mixed with the coconut oil that covered his body, created a sheen that reflected the fire, as if his entire being were aflame.  The ti leaves around his neck and ankles began to curl from the flames.

The drums grew louder, faster, louder faster, louder!  Then darkness!  Silence!

But within seconds, the world seemed to erupt!  The audience went wild!  Everyone was on their feet and the applause thundered, the whistles deafening, and the cheering endless.  "More!  More!"  they demanded!  "More!"

Stage lights came up.  The din began to subside.  The school principal walked out onto the stage, and held up his hands to quieten the audience further.  "Ladies and gentlemen, I don't think that there is a need for any further discussions or debates as to the winner of our competition, this year! Upolu Wins!!!  Upolu Wins!

These shouts were heard over and over from every seat in the auditorium!  Then, "TAVITA!  TAVITA!  MORE!  MORE!"

The principal stepped back and motioned for Tavita to come out on stage.

Then Tavita, the warrior, walked from behind the curtains and once again the building shook with the uproar of cheers and applause.

He strode to center stage, blackened fire knives, in his hands.  He raised them in salute and then bowed.  The theater, again, erupted!  Not a single person remained seated!  Not a single voice was quiet!  No hands were still!

"Ladies and gentlemen," Tavita tried.  "Ladies and gentlemen," he struggled to expel the words.  His entire body heaved from the effort.  Sweat dripped from every pore as he tried to regain his breath.  He had performed, nonstop, for forty-five minutes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you!"

The deafening roar surged again.

"Thank you," he bowed over and over.  "Ladies and gentlemen, the dance that you just witnessed is YOUR dance!  The Samoan Fire Knife Dance!"  He bent and laid the knives, on the stage.

An almost visible wave rolled across the audience.  Questions, looks, wonder, what was this man talking about?  The Samoan Fire Knife Dance?  There was the Knife Dance, the Love Dance, hundreds of Samoan dances, everyone knew them, had done them from childhood, but this?  There was no such siva (dance.)

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you."  His breath came easier now.  "I know that you are not familiar with this dance, but believe me, it belongs to the people of Samoa."

An old woman, from the audience, hobbled to her feet, came forward, with a towel, and handed it up to Tavita.

He looked at her as she nodded for him to accept it.  "Thank you ma'am," he smiled and began to dry himself.  Then he swung the towel as a makeshift fan.

"As most of you know," he walked across the stage as he continued to fan.  "I went to the United States, as a boy of fourteen, while the war was still being waged.  I remained there for ten years and only recently returned.  While there I searched out any in information that I could find about our home.  Much of it, I knew to be false, but one book, written by a German doctor, who was here during the time of German power, before World War 1, told of the time when the Tongans ruled our land."

A roar surged through the crowd.  This was not one of enjoyment but of anger!

"Yes, yes, I know, we don't like to think about that time, but it happened."  He offered the towel back to the woman, who had continued to stand at the foot of the stage.  She took it, pressed it to her face and smiled up at, "her hero."

Tavita blew a kiss to her and resumed the story.  "This doctor had done extensive research, during his tour of duty, here, in Samoa.  He talked to all of the elders of the different villages, that he could find.  Ones who remembered the stories of their fathers and grandfathers and even their grandfather's forefathers."

The auditorium was silent.  Everyone honed in to the story that they were hearing, for the first time.  Their own history.

"We all know that the Samoan Warriors rousted the Tongan soldiers and their king from our lands, but this doctor told why much of the battle was won."  Tavita lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the stage floor.  "There was to be a birthday celebration, for the Tongan King, held at Aleipata.  Samoan warriors, through secret correspondence, decided that the time was right for them to regain control of our country."

The audience seemed to swell forward, as everyone tried to get closer to the tusitala (story teller.)

"During preparations for the King's grand feast, the Samoans buried knives, stones, and any other kind of weapon that they could secret, into the sand, in front of the festival area."

Tavita stood again, and strode across the stage where he picked up the knives that he had just used.

"You see," he raised the knives over his head. "These are the blades of our warriors.  The ones used for beheading our enemies.  The ones, with the hook for carrying the "trophy."

A cry went up from the crowd, almost as if they had returned to the bloodthirsty days of old.

Tavita waited for the silence to return.  "The warriors, who were assigned to entertain the King, devised a plan.  They tied coconut sinnet (twine) around both ends of their knives, this concealed the blades and readied the knives to be ignited into flaming signal fires.  For several days before the celebration the "jungle telegraph" (drums) had sent word around the island that the attack would erupt on the kings birthday."

Not a sound came from the seats.  No one coughed, sniffed, squirmed, or even bothered to wipe at the sweat that covered their faces and bodies, in the airless building.  Total silence reigned as they leaned forward, eager for the story to continue.  Tavita took a breath and then spoke again.

"That night, the king feasted on roast pig, fish, plenty of Samoan taro and palusami, and drank "bush gin"(liquor made from fermented fruits and taro.)  The Samoans "entertained" the king by dancing with their knives of fire.  They twirled the fire and signaled the many places where the weapons had been stashed.  The warriors, waited off shore, in pao paos (outrigger canoes,) on this moonless night, registering every point that was shown to them. 

Tavita walked slowly toward one end of the stage, the weight of the room seemed to lean with him.  Then with the knives over his head, he turned.  EEEYYIIEEE!!!  The yell came from the bowels of his ancestors as he stormed across the stage.

Excitement, fright, anger, at the Tongan suppressors  rumbled through the audience. 

With the knives held high in each hand, his face contorted in rage, Tavita's war cry rang from the walls and ricocheted from floor to ceiling and back again.

Then silence.  He dropped his hands to his sides and lowered his head.  The spectators sat open mouthed and waited to see what this wild man would do next.

At last he raised his head, looked, it seemed, at each individual, then continued.  "The warriors from the ocean stormed onto the beach before the Tongans could recover from their drunken stupor.  The buried weapons were recovered and used against the dazed Tongan troops.  Then as most of you already know, the Tongans, including the king, were forced all the way back to the westernmost point of Upolu.  There they boarded their own boats to leave our islands forever."

Quiet.  The building was completely hushed except for the thunder that followed a blinding flash of lightning.  Then CHEERS!  Resounding applause again.  The assemblage rose in unison and stormed the stage.  Everyone tried to be the first to reach Tavita, the first to shake his hand, the first to congratulate him for bringing their dance, and their story all the way from America.  The story of their freedom returned to them by a DANCE OF FIRE!

A'e Tavita Vaoifi Tauiautusa Lauofo Laufalealo Gaugau

The man who rediscovered, perfected, and returned the   

SIVA AFI

to the people of Samoa.

 

 

"DANCES WITH FIRE"

Chapter 4

Hassie Mildred Gaugau

 

"Tavita.  Tavita!"

"What?"  English came out before he could think.  They had asked him something, what was it?  He tried to come back to the present.  Finally his subconscious came through to him.

"Why do I have a beard?"

Ah.  That was the question.  What do I tell the?  They've heard stories about me, but how much do I want them to know?

"Tavita?"

"Ioe (yes) I'm sorry," he switched back to Samoan.  "The beard, yes.  Well it's just easier when you're on the r---, I mean when you're traveling."

"Son, you are home now," his uncle, the high chief said.  "We think it's time that you shaved that thing off.  We want to see what our celebrity looks like, don't we?" He turned to the other chiefs and the family.

Everyone nodded and no one seemed to notice his slip of the tongue.  Maybe he was paranoid.  After all unless Vi had talked, which would have been stupid when he was supposed to have make people, the mafia, believe that he was dead.

"Sure, I'll shave," he stood up.  "Uncle, you have a razor I can use?"

Everyone applauded when he came in cleanshaven.  "No wonder we heard so many stories about all the women being after you." One of his aunts stood and touched his smooth olive face.  "If I wasn't so old and kin, I'd go after you myself."

"Thank you Auntie Sulah, and I'd go after you too," he hugged her.

"Oh Tavita!" she pushed him away.

More stories, laughs, and questions, then it was time to return to Luatuanu'u.  As they boarded the bus, he saw the boat that he had taken, to Pago Pago, all those years before.  Mele realized that he was lost in thoughts of the past and didn't interupt.

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The boat ride had taken over eight hours.  At first he was excited, then scared, then tired.  He fell asleep, on the deck, rolled in Toese's lavalava.  When he woke the sun was bright and they were sliding quietly into a huge bay.  Rock cliffs rose almost directly from the ocean.  Only occasionally did he see sand beaches.  An inlet here and one there gave evidence that people indeed lived here.  But there were no taro patches, only a few coconut trees, hardly any bananas.  How did these people live?  What did they eat?  He looked around and wondered then realized, with relief, thank goodness, I'll only be here a few weeks until I go to AMERIKA.

The boat docked.  "Now what?" he puzzled.

"Tavita Vaoifi?"  A voice interrupted. "Are you Tavita Vaoifi?"  A tall man stepped toward him with his hand out.

"Yes sir," Tavita returned the handshake.

"Welcome to Tutuila, I'm Bishop Tao.  Congratulations on your scholarship.  You'll stay with my family until time to go the the United States."

The bishop's family lived in a very nice fale.  After they heard his story about the hasty departure, they gave him new lavalavas and all the other things he needed.

During the weeks that followed, he helped with everything that he could and waited to leave.  But the war soon surrounded Samoa on all sides and it was impossible to leave the island.  Even boats to and from Western Samoa were few.  Only naval vessels steamed in and out of the protected harbor.

"Bishop," Tavita bowed his head as he spoke to the high chief.  "I appreciate everything that you and your family are doing for me, but I want to do more to help out.  I notice that you buy all of your taro and bananas from the market."

"Yes son, we do.  I'm just too busy with my job and duties with the church to work the land."

"I see that there is plenty of land for a plantation in back of your fale," Tavita motioned toward the hill.  "If it would be okay with you, I would like to plant taro and bananas, maybe some papaya and yams."

He was excited now and raised his head, speaking directly to the chief.  "I've seen trees, up the mountain, that I could use for posts and there's plenty of pandanas for thatches, I could make my own fale, right there on the plantation."

"Yes, my son," Bishop Tao smiled at his eagerness.  "That would be fine, but you know that you don't have to?"

"Yes sir,," Tavita bowed his head again, ashamed that he had forgotten to respect his elder.  "But I would like to."

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  The bus rocked to a stop and Mele touched his arm.  "Tavita we're home."

"Oh yes," he looked around, stood up and helped her from the bus.  "Sorry, I was just remembering my stay in Tutuila."

"That's okay son," her footsteps crunched over the coral.  "Maybe you will share some of those memories with me."

"Yeah, I'll do that," he trotted off ahead of her.  "But right now I want to check with Vaoifi about the plantation."

He found his dad, seated on the floor of their fale, braiding sennit. (coconut fibers)

"Tama (father), I know that you are not strong enough to work the fields, and Villiamu is with his wife's family."  He sat on the coral floor, picked up some strands of sennit and tried to imitate Vaoifi's deft movements.  "Tennie is at school, Toese has her only family to look after and Samita isn't old enough to do all the work that has to be done.  Do you even have a plantation anymore?"

"There's only the one that you helped me start before you left."  The old man's hands rested in his lap.  "I've been sick, as you know and haven't been able to keep them productive.  We get by, but nothing like when you were here."

"I'll go check it first thing tomorrow," Tavita looked at his once robust father and was glad for the events, no matter how challenging, that had caused him to return home.  "I hope there's still some cocoa left.  Right now, though, I'm going to the ocean and get fish for our aiga o le po (family dinner.)"

The next morning, he was up, before the sun crested the mountain.  With a machete in his hand, he followed the long forgotten trail up the side of the cliff and into the bush.  First one plantation, then the next, one disappointment after another, as sucker taro plants struggled to mature.  Spindly little bananas, only a few per bunch, hung from trees that hadn't been propped or thinned.  The one thing that grew in profusion was breadfruit.  The trees flourished without care and continued, twice a year to give food for the taking.

Well, at least the cocoa is still here," he slashed at the vines that grew almost as he watched, over the gray barked trees.  "Maybe if I get this cleared and they get some sun, we'll have cocoa in a few months."

The sun poured golden rays onto his sweat soaked body.  But his knife continued to rip through the incessant growth that threatened to devour everything that was left of his and Vaoifi's hard work.

His had raised to strike, but there in the middle of the vines stood a gnarled stunted orange tree.  Fruit studded every twisted limb.

"Oranges," he picked one and began to peel the green fruit.

"Oh my God," he laughed out loud, as the pungent spray of delicious fragrance took him back to the boy in American Samoa.

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Oranges, to him, even though they were ripe, had always been green in color on the outside, only shades of orange touched the portions of the peel.  These were the only ones he had ever seen or eaten.  One day he saw an orange that was actually orange.  He took the fruit, looked it over several times trying to decide how to eat it.  At last he slipped behind the store and bit into the strange orange food.

"Anggh, pfft!"  He spit and sputtered.  "This is bad!  But I see people buy these, they must eat them."

With each bitter bite his face contorted.  Even his eyes smarted when the juice sprayed upward, but he made himself finish every morsel.  After all, he had been taught to never waste food.

The last caustic swallow had just gone down when he saw a little boy, maybe five or six, walk over to a rubbish can with the same kind of fruit he had just finished chocking down.  But the boy stood there and took off the outside of the fruit and threw it into the can.  Then he ate the inside.

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"What a stupid kid I was," Tavita laughed to himself as he bit into the ripe green orange, after peeling it.  "It's a wonder I ever lived to make it back here."

He cleared a few more cocoa, then returned to the village.

"Vaoifi, Mele," he joined them as they readied for their evening meal.  "I need to get a job.  There's lots of work to do getting the plantation back into production, but it's going to take money."

"Yes son," Vaoifi lowered himself onto the mats, "we'll talk about that, but now it's time for evening prayers."

Tavita looked at Mele and Samita, who were also seated, on the floor.  He could hear hymns coming from neighboring fales.  Then Vaoifi's voice broke into song joined by the others.  At first Tavita mumbled the words as the long forgotten ritual came back to him.  Then a peaceful spiritual cloak embraced him as the words remembered came out strong and proud.  As soon as the song finished, Vaoifi gave a long prayer of thanksgiving.  Amen's all around followed and then the evening meal was servedl

"Now son," Vaoifi ate from his banana leaf plate and drank from a coconut.  "What were you saying about the plantation?"

"There's lots to do to get your land back into production and I want to clear and claim as much as I can for my own use."  He scooped into the palusami (a dish made from taro leaves, coconut cream, and sea water) with a chunk of taro (a root vegetable.)  "This is going to take money as well as hard work.  I'll go into town tomorrow and find a job.  I'll work during the day then get the plantation in shape after I get home."

"But son," Mele served the roasted chicken, that she had had Samita kill after school.  "You can't do all that yourself and there's no one here to help you."

"Sure I can," he licked chicken bits from his fingers.  "We'll be rich again, like we were before I left.  You'll be able to buy some new lavalavas and we'll use kerosene lamps instead of this charcoal fire for light, just you wait and see."

The next morning, he was out by the road where he waited for the bus.  No one walked into Apia anymore, everyone rode the "pesi."  In town, he went to the post office, then the police station where he filled out applications and was told that they would know something in two weeks.  Well he needed something before that, but while he waited, he cleaned and improved Vaoifi's plantation and started to clear a place for himself.  He also built his own fale near Toese and her husband's, on the beach.

"Tavita," Toese said one afternoon while she helped him with his house.  "Are you still looking for work?"

"Yeah," he was deep into tying the thatches and answered in English before he thought, "I mean, ioe," he changed back to Samoan.

"Well I heard that the church school is looking for a teacher and I thought that you would be good for the job."

"Sis, that's great!"   He gave her a hug.  "I'm sure I can do that.  I'll go first thing in the morning."

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  That night, in his own fale, he thought about the similarities of his life now and when he was in Pago Pago.  The plantations and the hunt for a job.  The only differences were his age and abilities.  But when he thought about it they weren't so different either.

He had planted, weeded, and watched the taro reach maturity.  The bananas came along at almost the same time.  Papaya seemed to multiply on it's own and the yams would be there for years to come.

"Son," Brother Teo looked at the beautiful crops.  "You've done a wonderful job.  You've given us much more than we've given you in your stay with us."

"Thank you sir," Tavita beamed at the praise.  "But now that things only have to be tended occasionally, I'd like to get a job to earn real money.  I feel badly when my father has to send money to buy my supplies.  I want to support myself."

 "Well, if you really want to," the chief said, "I saw an ad in the paper wanting a boy to help at Haleck's store. You could ride the bus into town with me, to apply."

The next morning, at the store, Tavita took a test along with several other boys, to see how much English they knew.  His school training and the association with the Marines paid off and he was hired.

His job consisted of keeping the grocery store clean and serving ice cream and making shakes for the sailors who came in every day.  Like Aggie's this was the only store in town that served ice cream so they stayed busy and Tavita's vocabulary improved tremendously, but some of the words he was careful not to use around the Teo family.

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"I hope I can do as well here," he thought as the lullaby of waves outside his new fale soothed him to sleep.

The next morning he hurried into town and went directly to the church school where he was hired and put to work that same afternoon.  He was to teach fifth and sixth grades.  This was great.  The job schedule gave him time to work the land after school and on weekends.

"Tavita," the school principal approached him after he'd been there almost two months.  "You've probably heard about or remember the fiafia (party-luau) competition that we have every year.  The one where Upolu, Savai'i and Ttuila try to outdo each other with our traditional songs and dances."

"Yes sir, I remember," Tavita gathered his books to start home.

"Well, someone mentioned that you danced professionally, in the states, is that right?"

"Yes sir, I did some."

"We were wondering if you might come up with something for us," the principal shuffled his bare feet on the coral.

"I had heard a little about it."  Tavita moved his feet carefully across the coral, not yet accustomed to going without shoes.  "What kind of show did you want?"
"Anything!  Anything that you come up with, I'm sure would be great!"  The official couldn't seem to believe his good fortune.  "We'll be happy to do whatever we can to help, of course, I know this is short notice.  Savai'i is tonight, Tutuila tomorrow night, and we're scheduled for the next night."

Aghast at such a huge request, on such short notice, he almost turned it down, but at the last minute decided to accept the challenge.  He took advantage of the offer for help and the next two day sent people in every direction.  One of the errands was to find So'olotoga, one of his friends from school, before he had left for American Samoa.  They had played in the school band together.  Others were sent to find warriors knives.  Still others brought burlap sacks, wire, and kerosene.  The principal was assigned to operate the lights while Tavita's classes worked to set the stage just right.  From the class he also chose the best dancers, since all Samoan children learn to dance early,  and while the errands were being completed, he gathered the dancers together and worked out a simple routine for them, that would be the preamble to the big finish.

When everyone returned there were five or six knives, piles of sacks, enough wire to fence half of Apia and enough kerosene to light all the houses in the village.

The big day arrived.  Tavita gave last minute instructions to the principal for the light positions and times, then taught Sa'olotoga the drum cadence he needed.

"Son, I heard that you needed ti leaves and coconut oil."  Mele walked into his classroom.  "I hope that these are okay."

"Thank you," he took the last pieces of "equipment" from her.  "These are just what I wanted.  The show will start in about an hour, is Vaoifi here?"

"Oh yes, we wouldn't have missed this for anything.  We'll be out front."

Tavita watched with pride, as the class preformed their numbers amazingly well, with so little practice.  As their routines were coming to an end, he gave last minute instructions, wrapped the burlap around the knives and secured it with wires. Then he dipped the burlap into the kerosene.  He fashioned garlands for his arms and legs from the ti, rubbed his entire body with the coconut oil and fixed a short lavalava around his waist.  Then he hooked two ti leaves together, slashed them into a fringe and placed the resulting ornament around his neck.  He was ready.

As the class finished their numbers, the lights went out.  Total darkness enveloped the crowd.  Drums sounded.  a cadence throbbed from the depths of the past.  A warrior's cry slashed through the black, as fire streaked from left to right.

 

 

"DANCES WITH FIRE"

Hassie Gaugau

Chapter 3

 "You remember my son Tavita?  He's home from America."

Vaoifi walked in front on their way to the market.  His goal seemed to be that everyone in Samoa knew of his happiness.

Tavita accepted the notoriety with trepidation.  He didn't know, for sure, that the federal agent might not be somewhere close.  Or maybe they had changed men?  Maybe there was someone right here watching him, someone that he didn't recognize.

"Dad," he caught up with Vaoifi.  "That's enough,  people will learn that I've arrived all too soon as it is.  Which bus do we take to Luatuanu'u?"

The Samoan language had come back to him quickly, as if he'd never spoken anything else, but it did curl around his tongue with a different twist.

"What's the matter son?"  Vaoifi looked hurt.  "I just want everyone to know that you're back."

"It's okay dad," he turned to see all the brightly colored busses that pulled into the parking area of the market.  "I'll tell you everything when we get home.  Now, which one of these do we take?"

 The Luatuanu'u bus was bright blues and yellows.  Wooden seats, bolted to a wooden floor surrounded by a wooden frame and a body made of wooden sheeting created a very unusual and creative mode of transportation.

They climbed aboard and Vaoifi began again to proclaim the return of his long lost son.  This time Tavita just smiled and accepted the warm wishes and welcomes.  After all, unless the federals had recruited a Samoan, there was no other nationality on the bus and no cause for concern.

As he fielded question after question from Vaoifi and the others, they passed through familiar villages.  Each curve brought a remembered sight.  The coconut plantations covered the hillsides and spilled right down onto the coral covered beaches.  The iridescent blue of the lagoon sparkled like jewels between the groves.  Waves lapped lazily up onto the shore.

"It's great to be home." Tavita lapsed into English.

"What?" Vaoifi questioned him with a surprised look, on his face.

"I was just thinking." he returned to Samoan.  "That for anyone who has never been away from this tiny world, they can't realize what a true paradise it really is."

"Uh huh." Vaoifi gave that questioning look again, wondering what his son was mumbling about.

At last they entered Luatuanu'u.  It seemed more changed than all the rest.  There were so many people now.  Fales and bush stores had popped up everywhere.  Areas that had been plantations and even mangrove swamps, now had houses and yards.

Finally they crossed an alia (a small stream) and almost before the bus could stop, Tavita jumped from the door and began to run.  His lungs were about to burst as he raced toward the fale that had once been his home.

No matter his speed, it wasn't fast enough to reach the fale before his mother Mele, saw him.  They met, tears streamed down both their faces as they embraced.  Wails of grief and joy tore through the air as she remembered her little Tavita, naked and skinny but  she now saw a big strong man who no longer needed her.

"Our son is home." Vaoifi walked slowly up beside them, "Wife, your prayers have been answered."

Mele and Tavita stood apart now, as neighbors from every part of the village gathered.

Without any spoken orders, Mele and Vaoifi's house became a flurry of activity.  Young girls cleared the house and spread fine mats to cover the entire coral floor.  Young men and boys climbed breadfruit trees, dropping the green orbs into palm leaf baskets.  Others gathered firewood and started umus (outdoor ground ovens.)  Chickens squawked and pigs squealed as they were chased, stoned, and cleaned to be  put into the umus.  Chiefs from every  part of the village began to enter the house and take up their traditional positions at the different posts of the fale.

After the feast and the welcome home ceremonies, ukuleles and guitars were brought out.  Songs and dances were performed into the night.

Tavita listened and participated in the festivities, but much of the time his mind strayed.  He remembered when he had left this beautiful land.

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 "Hey kid," Hank called.  "You want to go to the US with me?"

The hand motions and what little English Tavita had learned from the marines enabled him to understand. "Ioe (yes!)" he ran and jumped on "Haank."  "When we go?"

"Wait!  Wait kid!  I'm just askin'."  Hank straightened them both.  I'm tryin' to figer' a way to sneak you on the ship, when we leave."

Tavita didn't understand everything, but his "best friend" Hank was going to take him to America, he understood that much.

"I'll come up with a plan," Hank tried to calm the exuberant kid, "when I do you'll be the first to know."

Tavita was disappointed, but felt sure that they would go soon.  Until then, he was content with Hank's daily lessons on "how to drive a jeep."

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A shake of his arm brought him back to the festivities.  It was Mele.

"Son, you dance now."

He rose and danced a brief warriors dance.  Not wanting to "show off" with any of the dances he was now famous for, in the states, he did the ones that everyone knew.  But he couldn't hide the grace and professionalism that came to him naturally.  A hush fell over the gathering, then a mummer of excitement and awe that swelled as they watched the movements that they all knew, done in a way that they could never have imagined.

Some people began to come forward to drop money at his feet, coins, bills of every domination.

"What's this?" he was astounded.  Then he remembered.  they were showing their respect.  This was tradition.  It all came back to him.  The dances held to raise money for new school buildings, new churches, or funding for any occasion.  People showed their support by giving money to the dancer that they liked best.

He was embarassed, but knew that he couldn't return the money without offending the giver, so he smiled and continued for a short time.  Then he bowed and accepted the money with his show of respect.  He gathered and placed it atop his head.  Applause and laughter rippled across the crowd as he worked his way toward his mother.  "Here Mele, this is for you."

The applause and laughter increased to a roar as she accepted and placed it atop her head, smiling up at Tavita.

At last the villagers began to return to their own homes and soon Tavita was left with his own family.  Older sister Toese, had heard of his return and hurried over from her own house.  Brother Villiamu had received the news, on the far end of the islands eastern shore, from riders of the bus.  He had come as fast as he could.  Samita, the youngest brother had been there for every exciting moment.  The only member, of the family, not present, was Tennie, who was away at school.

"Son, you must be so tired," Mele brushed his bearded face, "you will sleep now.  Toese have you  prepared his bed?"

"Yes," Toese hovered nearby, only too happy to serve her long lost younger brother.

"Hey sis, thank you." a big hug startled and surprised Toese, "I've missed you."

Toese stepped back from the show of affection, not used to such things.  "I've missed you too."  She decided that it was good after all and returned the hug.  "Come, I'll show you where to sleep."

"Manuia le po," (good night) my family, I am happy to be home."

At last he was alone.  Tired didn't begin to describe how exhausted he was, but sleep did not come.  He lay on the mat spread over the coral floor and shifted, rolled, and tossed.  "How the hell are you supposed to sleep like this?" he mumbled.  "I'd forgotten about not having a real bed.  My legs are already permanently bent from sitting most of the night, on the floor.  Can I do this?  Can I get back into this way of life again?

But before long, he began to drift.  Between tosses his mind returned to Hank and the plan he had devised

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"Hey kid," he placed a big duffel bag on the ground in front of them.  "Crawl in here," he motioned.

Tavita didn't know why, but his friend Hank has asked him to do it so it must be right.

Once inside, he curled into a ball and felt the cords being pulled taut as the bag closed over him.  Next he felt himself being lifted and swung over Hank's shoulder.

"YEOW!"

"Hush kid, we've gotta' see if this is gonna' work."

Tavita bounced along on Hank's shoulder and tried to be quiet.  But how could he tell Hank that he was upside down?  Now he was dizzy and thought that he might be sick if Hank didn't put him down soon.  I don't want to go to America if I have to go this way!

At last Hank put the duffel down and jerked the cords to open the bag.  Tavita crawled out, staggered, and fell.

"What's the matter kid?" Hank picked him up.

The world spun around as he tried to lock his eyes onto Hank.  But nothing would be still.  When he reached to touch Hank there was no one there.  His feet moved on their own trying to steady themselves.

"Kid, you all right?"

"Leai, no like go Amerika.  Faafetai Hank, but no go Amerika.

"Hey kid, we'll find another way."  Hank held him firmly as he tried to help.

"Leai, I go home now."

I wonder where he went. Tavita relived the moment.  The troop had shipped out soon after their big experiment and he'd never seen Hank again.

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Not realizing that he had gone to sleep he was startled when Toese shook him.

"Tavita.  Tavita, your breakfast."  She placed sliced papaya and limes before him along with a teapot filled with steaming cocoa samoa.  "We'll have taro soon."

"Don't you have any coffee?" his voice rasped from all the cigarettes he had smoked the night before.  "I really need some coffee."

"No." Toese hung her head, ashamed that she hadn't pleased her brother.

"That's okay," he realized that he'd been too harsh and tried to make amends.  "I'm just used to it in America.  I'll get by," he lit a cigarette.  "This looks good."

"Mele says you will go back to Apia today, to her village.  Toese rolled the mats and placed them on the rafters.

"Shit!" Tavita lapsed back into English.  "I'd forgotten about all the fa'alavelave (an event) crap.  We'll have to go through the traditions with all the families."

"What?"  Toese couldn't understand what had  upset him and why he spoke foreign words.

"I'm sorry," he changed back to Samoan.  "I'll be ready in a little while.  Thank you sis."

After breakfast, they did go into town.  This time it was Mele who announced to everyone that her son was home from America.  Her family had already gathered at her brother's house.  After all, there was no question but that Tavita would come that day to show his respects.  Chiefs here had also assumed their positions.  Villagers ringed around the outside and young men were busy with the umu's cooking fires.

One chief after another gave speeches of welcome.  Tavita sat with his legs crossed under him and felt that he would never be able to stand again as hour after hour droned on.

Most of the orations were given in Chief's Language, which was almost as foreign, to him, as Greek.  To keep from yawning and embarrassing himself and Mele he thought about the last time he had been in this village.

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After telling Hank that he didn't want to go to Amerika, he had gone to the church school that his parents had wanted him to attend for a long time.  Several false starts and a few runaways later he had settled in to become one of their best students.  In his third year, a contest was held for all young people who attended any church school, in all of Samoa and American Samoa.  The winner would receive a scholarship to attend school in Salt Lake City, through their Senior year.  Tavita won.

He and Toese had come into town, to their mother's village, for his farewell party, the night before his scheduled departure for Pago  Pago, where he would stay until a boat would take him to Amerika.

"Toese, just one more movie before I go, okay?"  After his first movie he was addicted.  "Let me borrow your clean lavalava for the movie, while mine dries.  Then when we come from the party, I'll pack my things."

After the show, the boat from American Samoa was preparing to sail.  He ran over to watch.

Names were read for those who had visas and tickets to board. 

"Tavita Vaoifi.  Tavita Vaoifi, will board now."

"Hey, that's me!"

"But you can't go!" Toese looked around frantically.  "You don't have any clothes, just my lavalava, no shirt, no shoes, and you don't have any money!"

"I still have this pound note," he reached into the small pouch that was tied around his neck. "And my visa and tickets.  Mele told me to keep them with me all the time.  I gotta' go!"

"But Tavita," Toese objected, "what about the party?  What about Mele and Vaoifi, they were going to be here tomorrow to see you off?"

"They called my name!" he started to run.  "They called my name, I have to go now!  Bye Toese, I gotta' go, bye!"

Tavita waved at Toese until he could no longer see her.  He waved as the boat sailed past Luatuanu'u.  He waved as Western Samoa slowly faded away.