“Well,” cried Ngutu from the corner, “the teacher says that our fathers lied about Rokola’s canoe—that the mast fell at Malake and dented the mountains of Kauvandra. He says that a canoe cannot sail so far in a day, even with the wind on the outrigger.”
“The teachers are the foreigners’ mouths, and bark at all our ancient customs, seeking to dishonour them,” growled Natuyalewa. “I am growing old, and the land is changed. When I was young we listened to the words of our elders, but now the young men——”
“Ië! Tell us tales of the old time,” interrupted Bongi: “we will each bring nambu: mine shall be the sevu of my yams.”
The elders grunted approval from the darkness.
“My nambu shall be fish.” “A bunch of white plantains.” “Mine shall be prawns from the stream,” cried several.
“I want no nambu,” replied Natuyalewa, with dignity; “the nambu should be given to those who tell tales for gain, seeking to entertain the chiefs, that mats, and fine masi, and other property, may be given to them. These will tell of gods and giants, and canoes greater than these mountains, and of women fairer than the women of these days, and of doings so strange that the jaws of the listener fall apart. Such a one gains great honour, and the chiefs will promise him nambu before they even hear his tale, remembering the wonders of the last. And he, being known for a teller of strange tales, must ever lie more and more, lest, if he turn back to the truth, the chiefs hearing him may say, ‘This fellow’s tales were once like running water, but now they are like the village pool: why give him nambu?’ But I will ask no nambu, for I can only tell of that I have seen with my own eyes or heard with my ears; and though I tell you tales of the old time or of distant lands, yet can I tell only of the doings of men and women like to yourselves, who did deeds such as you yourselves do; and when all is told, you will call the tale emptier than the shell of the Wa-Timo fruit.”
Then Natuyalewa began to tell of Rusa, the fisherman of Malomalo, and the foreigner, himself a story-teller in Natuyalewa’s line of business, thought ruefully of the wonder-mongers of his own land, and the nambu they won, and so pondering, fell asleep.