Fanua, who danced the swimming Siva by the light of
the phosphorescent waves
Dancer with head knife
Fanua reeled on through some of the quieter movements of the swimming siva in the weird blue-green glow of the half-dozen waves that came before another one big enough to start the "blow-hole" spouting arrived again. As the latter gave its premonitory growl, the shadow of a second figure appeared beside her and Tofa announced that "Fanua now dance 'Shark-he-chase-her' siva-siva."
Into the jet of golden mist launched "shark" and "swimmer" as the fountain began to play, weaving about each other in the movements of flight and pursuit. The "shark" darted and dashed and strove to seize, and the "swimmer" ducked and doubled and eluded, all within the circle of the drifting particles of glowing spray. Under, over and around each other they floated like frightened gold-fish in a globe, arms, legs and bodies weaving evanescent webs of shimmering brightness but never seeming to touch. Till the last luminous puff from the "blow-hole" they danced thus, and then, as the flickering jet died low, there came a ringing shriek, the lambent light streaks of the reeling bodies seemed to meet and mingle, and—whether by accident or intent I could not tell—went plunging over the ledge into the receding welter of light below.
My gasp of consternation was not echoed by the rest of the company. Most of them were laughing and chattering as though the "plunge to the depths" was the regular finale, and Tofa seemed to think that his laconic comment of "He shark he take her," was all that the occasion called for. And so it proved. Before another jet had spouted there came two soft thuds on the floor of the ledge, while a ripple of silvery laughter and a shower of dewy drops from a couple of vigorously shaken heads told that "shark" and "swimmer," having circled around through the surf to the beach and dropped down to the grotto through the back entrance, were waiting for the cavernous growl from beneath to sound the cue for the next number.
As in its sister dance, the hula, there always comes a stage in the siva which is not subject to the restraining influence of the presence of dignitaries, where even impressionistic description must cease, so on this occasion I have deemed it meet that the "dead-line" should be drawn at the finale of the "Shark-he-chase-her" number. I trust I have recorded enough, however, to make it clear that Tofa's suggestion to stay over and see that "ver' fine gal," Fanua, dance the swimming siva was not an unwarranted one.