A Yankee doctor in paradise

by S. M. Lambert

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Buia told me that Rennell Island was divided into five districts, each ruled by a kingly chief called a Big Master. The two most powerful Big Masters were Tahua, Lord of the White Sands, and Taupangi, Lord of the Lake—the lake was Tenggano, lying in the center of the island. The people did not worship images and they had few devils. They adored an unseen God (Big Master Walk along Sky, according to pidgin). The Big Masters were the most powerful because God lived in their heads. (“God does what?” I asked.) God lived in their heads, Buia insisted earnestly; so they were wiser and stronger than other men. Once a year, at the harvest festival up by the Lake, Tahua and Taupangi could wish God to leave their heads, just for the period, and dwell behind the brows of some chosen subordinate. Then the subordinates were very strong and wise, but God always came back to the Big Masters. The harvest festival was being celebrated right now, Buia said, and that was why Big Master Tahua was not on the White Sands.

Then Buia came out with a scandal which somewhat alarmed me for the future of these “untouched” people. It was a real-estate deal with more of Hollywood’s flavor than Rennell’s. Probably the five big chiefs were descendants of five sons of the early conquerors, and Taupangi, Lord of the Lake, was of the eldest line; at least he was the most powerful. Once he ruled both the Lake and the White Sands; but the beach looked useless to him. Perhaps God told Tahua of Kanava that beach property had a future. At any rate Taupangi was induced to give Tahua temporary use of the White Sands, but when he saw vessels anchoring there, with good trading in iron, Taupangi realized his mistake and ordered Tahua out. This started a war, and the enterprising Tahua must have won it, for when we got there he was well established as Lord of the White Sands.

The yams on the Lake were small and poor, but the beach was a different matter. Iron was gold. Iron would put Rennell on its feet. Rennell had girls, the incoming ships had knives, axes, scrap iron. With a corner on iron Tahua could become master of the Big Masters.

As a public health physician I didn’t like the sound of this. Trading love for iron was going to work havoc with these natives, unless this form of commercialism was soon discouraged.

Since the main object of my visit was to look into hookworm infection, if it existed, and to study the nature of the parasite which, if they had it, must have been borne by their ancestors generations before the dawn of our modern history, it was necessary to use Buia as a go-between. If he could get it through his head that we were here to examine feces specimens, he could explain it to his people. But after two patient hours of careful pidgin I saw that I was making no headway. Buia simply didn’t understand what I wanted. I had been using the lingo almost daily for thirteen years, and had never before had such trouble in making myself clear. Then it dawned upon me that it wasn’t entirely the man’s faulty knowledge of pidgin. He had no conception of disease, as we view it. All sickness was punishment from their offended god, penalizing the evildoer. That was the only reaction that I got from him after steady pegging away. Finally we changed the subject.

Gordon White and three boys went ashore and erected a tent and fly where we could go properly to work on our examinations. Walking along the sparkling beach I was surprised to find only one house, such as it was, a leaf-building with a steep-sloping roof, eaves that almost touched the ground and no doors. But where did the people sleep? In caves? On the bare ground, with the rain sifting over them? When I knew them better I found that was what they did.

I got around to the subject of murder, for I never quite forgot Dr. Deck’s three murdered evangelists. I asked Buia what he would do if somebody tried to kill him. “Who would want to kill me?” he asked, surprised. Suppose somebody should steal his land? “But who would want to steal my land?” Then I got around to Mr. Deck’s slain teachers; Rennell people had certainly killed them—and I had heard that they had eaten them, too. Buia’s face clouded. “Those mission boys were very bad fellows. They asked our people to build them a house, and when the work did not suit those mission people they were very cross. They gave no presents although they were rich. So our people killed them.” And ate the bodies? “No!” Indignantly. “My people have never eaten men. It is not the fashion.” I knew he was telling the truth. Cannibalism might be like many another curse, imported. The Rennellese had never acquired a taste for long pig, or for pig of any kind. Their diet was simple in the extreme: the small variety of fruit and vegetables they could grow, what fish their clumsy wooden hooks could bring in, what birds their arrows reached. They ate just one thing at a meal. If it was fish, it was fish and nothing else. If it was yams, it was yams alone.

There were many things they couldn’t understand, but their bright minds were quick to learn. Our ornithologists were out for specimens, and Hamlin had given a few native boys their first lessons with a shotgun, half an hour’s target practice on the rare birds flying about. Then he had casually handed guns to the boys and told them to go to it. They came back loaded with feathery game. What was still more wonderful was that nobody had shot himself in the foot.

So I sat down at my typewriter to write a report, something that couldn’t be done in sociable Kungava Bay. The boat was swarming. Native heroes and their women had gone into about everything on board, and were helping themselves rather freely. It was neither politic nor polite to offend these charming people by telling them to go home and stay there until they were invited. As a counter-attraction I had set the phonograph up in the bow and ordered little Ga’a to keep the needle going till it wore out. The ghost-music attracted part of the crowd part of the time, but they always came back to me. The phonograph was all right as a miracle, but what really puzzled and charmed them was my portable typewriter.