“At this moment the goddess slightly swerved her outstretched arms around to the north-east so that she might catch the fairer wind. In this sudden action of hers, her mass of beautiful hair fell about our shoulders, for she had slowly moved her head likewise, so that her face should be turned to the south-west; so that, while her left arm point north-east, her face turn south-west. Whether it was this movement of the changing winds that made her tresses fall and prove my kinsman’s undoing, I know not. But it is certain that, as her masses of hair fell tenderwise on his face and shoulders, her eyes, inclined sideways, gazed on him and on me in such a way as surely goddess never gazed to tempt mortals before. And then, alas, whether the knees moved through the soft swaying of the canoe or through the sudden veering of the night wind, I know not, but my kinsman’s lips did suddenly touch the left knee of the goddess!
“In a moment, as though lightning swept across the moonlit waters, a flash of light leapt from the goddess’s eyes—the canoe wherein we sat vanished—was as nothing!
“For longer time I did swim and swim. And when at length I sat on the shore, only the great goddess Pafuto sat beside me! It was then I knew that my sad kinsman had been unable to control his mortal thoughts, and so was lying somewhere dead at the bottom of the moana uli (the blue sea). Gazing upon me, the goddess said, ‘O Le Tao, thou art a great chief. Thou hast seen mucher beauty of the goddesses of Langi in their true nakedness, and thou hast proven that thou lovest the light of heaven in their eyes only.’
“At hearing this, I felt much pride. Yet, true enough, my heart did quake overmuch, for well I knew how near I was to falling as my kinsman fell.”
The old Samoan chief ceased for a moment. The night winds blew softly, drifting the scents of ripe lemons and breaths of decaying flowers to our nostrils. Cenerita, under the influence of her parent’s story, peered into the forest glooms. The grand chiefess, Madame O Le Tao, puffed her cigarette and revealed by the erect pose of her scraggy neck that she realized the import of her position as O Le Tao’s faithful spouse. The old chief, continuing his story, said:
“O Papalagi, when the goddess Pafuto said that to me which I have just told you, I feel much proud and thankful for her mercy. I well knew that she know in her heart that I too had been near to breaking my promise when the taumualua swayed. But, still, she know what great soul O Le Tao am!—so she say no more. Indeed, it was at this moment that she did bend forward, softly touching me on the shoulder with her lips, and so did make me taboo (a sacred personage). When I did get back to the village and told the chiefs all that had happened, they, though much grieved to hear of my kinsman’s death, thought little more of the flight of the lovers, Lao-mio and K-ko-ko. They did at once prepare great festival to celebrate the glory that the goddess Pafuto had sent back such a great one as I to still dwell amongst them.”
When he had made an end, the old chief lifted his shoulders majestically, surveying me keenly the while with his dim eyes. It was then that I realized how those island chiefs and the ancestors of knights and kings of all lands had first gained their power, their possessions, and mighty insignia. I instinctively knew that not only in those wild isles were men gifted with an imagination that made them have firm belief in all that they dreamed of over their own greatness. I half envied O Le Tao’s gifts—gifts he had so well utilized. For as he sat there I saw that he was enthroned on the heights of magnificent imagination and lived in the light of respect from all men’s eyes.
Such was O Le Tao’s story of the goddess Pafuto, as told me while the Samoan night doves moaned musically in the tamanu trees.
During my stay the semi-heathen chief took me to many interesting places, showing me spots in the forests and along the shores where once some great tribal battle had been fought, or some cave wherein, on certain occasions, gods and goddesses met in midnight council. After that, O Le Tao took Cenerita, Tamariki, and myself to a night dance in the shore village near Monono. I am assured that Man cannot improve on Nature’s handiwork in building roomy halls for secret congregations of human beings who would indulge in heathenish capers that endeavour to express the inherent impulses of mankind. The gnarled pillars and flower-bespangled curtains of that wonderful forest opera-house, decorated by Nature’s artless, silent-moving hands, left nothing to be desired even by the most critical Maestro who might happen to perform on the wide, branch-roofed stage. The moon hanging in the vaulted roof of space over the trees, was sufficient for all purposes. The acoustic properties were perfect, the neighbouring hills echoing back each orchestral crescendo and each encore in obsequious, weird diminuendos. In the intervals of silence it would often seem that I heard some phantom-like accompaniment, and faint encores coming from the gods of shadowland, ere the barbaric orchestra of fifes, bone flutes, and drums once more recommenced its terrific ensemble. I was more than astonished to see O Le Tao suddenly throw his stiff legs out as he commenced to dance with an elderly chiefess of enormous girth. A hundred dusky Eyes seemed to tempt a hundred willing Adams as the sarong-like robes swished to tripping feet when the whole audience began to dance before the footlights of the stars! With the characteristic restraint of my race, I clenched my fist in a great mental, virtuous effort, but only to fail through my miserable fallibility, for, opening my closed eyelids, I stared with unblushing effrontery at the prima donna’s exquisitely woven concert-robe—the equivalent of the South Sea fig-leaf!
She still danced on, a fascinating being, with the golden light of some witchery in her eyes. Her clustered tresses were distinctly visible by the pale glimmerings of the moon that silvered the huge colonnades of the stage. And, all the while she danced, she sang an ear-haunting melody, swaying her limbs, a scarlet blossom nestling in the hollow of her bosom. “Aue! Aue! Talofa!” came from the lips of the tiers of gay warriors and great high chiefs who squatted in the royal boxes. When the handsome young chief, Tusita Le Salu—the head-dancer’s affianced—stepped down from his perch in the breadfruit tree on the stage, the hubbub was immense. He at once faced the dancer in a god-like style, and commenced to sing a duet with her. They danced and tumbled about in a marvellous way. And when she lifted the pretty blue sarong robe up to her knees, I distinctly heard the aged O Le Tao groan through some pathetic realization over his departed youth. Yet the most fastidious could have gazed with delight on that scene: the whole thing was fairy-like, the girl’s dancing creating an atmosphere that was full of poetic mystery and nothing more.