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.