A Yankee doctor in paradise

by S. M. Lambert

Next morning, after we had implored our hosts to break their one-meal-a-day custom and cook us a fish, we went over to the harvest festival, which was drawing to a dramatic close.

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(I paused to light a cigarette, and Crocker prompted me with “What happened then?”)

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Well (I said) the show was held near Taupangi’s house. He and his rival, Tahua, with several other Big Masters, were the features. They had laid aside their bunchy loin coverings and wore nothing but strips of tapa between their buttocks and around their waists. From head to foot they were yellow with royal turmeric. Tahua’s first gesture, when he saw me, was to point at my bare legs. I didn’t understand, until I learned that Resident Commissioner Dick Kane, the first white man known to have penetrated as far as the Lake, had worn woolen stockings. When the natives were curious, he told them that in civilization only big chiefs were allowed to wear stockings. Next time I visited Taupangi I restored my status by covering my calves.

There was a rough dirt court, about fifty yards by ten. They had fenced it with sticks and leaves, higher than a man’s head. This was to keep women out. If any female looked in on the ceremony she would surely die, they said. There was some trouble about letting us into the enclosure. We were told that the gods, angered at our presence, might do us harm. Finally, as a measure of protection, Taupangi sat between us and danger. Before he rose to take part in the ceremonies he insisted that another Master, a very old one, should sit in his place, so that at all times we were well insulated against the supernatural.

The precious coconuts which we had been sleeping with were now piled in the center of the court; beside them was a rude platform where sat the two young men who had substituted as godheads for the two Big Masters.

Then the Masters—there were about twenty of the minor ones in all—began filing slowly around the coconut pile, their faces turned heavenward as they chanted. First Taupangi would take up the theme, then the others would join in a sort of obbligato. The walk sped up gradually to a curious leaping, first on one foot then the other; they hopped by rule, two on the right leg, two on the left. The pounding of drums and food-bowls, the howling song and general yelling increased to a hubbub. Abruptly the dancers would sit down, and the racket would cease. Finally Tekita (still monarch pro tem) rose from his platform and distributed coconuts from the pile.

The big moment came. The celebrants began working God out of the two substitutes and back into the heads of Taupangi and Tahua. The faces of both Big Masters were set in earnest religious devotion. The lesser Masters formed a line, four abreast, and hopped some distance toward the house where Tekita had been sitting. Singing at the top of their lungs, their hands outstretched toward Heaven, they hopped back. Their slow retreat and progress brought them nearer the house each time; they came at last within six feet of the eaves. At last with a bloodcurdling howl they rushed up and struck the roof with the flat of their hands. Then, apparently, God flew from his temporary dwelling back into the heads of Tahua and Taupangi.

The minute this transfer was made Taupangi’s substitute seemed to come back to normal. He had lost the superiority complex altogether, and was a relaxed, courteous and jolly fellow.