|
"Would you also have sewing machine needles?"
We found her a whole packet of machine needles.
"Are we happy now?"
"Yes. We are happy. You are very nice."
The woman reached across the table to hug me --- a sure sign that she had done well in the exchange and I had not stolen the pearls.
Squalls passed through in the night but by morning the rain had cleared, so we headed ashore for the only social event in town --- church! The entire population of 62 men, women and children filed in from the adjacent Sunday school, the men somber in dark jackets over Hawaiian shirts, the women bright in their long flowery dresses and pretty home made hats.
The service was in Cook Island's Maori language. When the pastor switched briefly to English for our sake, I had to poke Michael who was engrossed in Old Testament descriptions of having to "cleanse" the city by killing all the boys and the women who had sexual intercourse, as they had obeyed the old laws and worshipped Baal (the men, never!). The virgins would be kept alive so the men could start over!
The Sabbath is an orgy of singing. The singing could hardly have been called melodious. Polyphonious sound ensued in chanting cadences, the women at high shreik, the men singing a basso counterpoint.
The church built back in the late 1880's, is lovely. Three sets of pews fill its interior and a wide gallery wraps around three sides above. Behind the high pulpit tall colored glass windows open to let the breeze flow across the fanning congregation. The interior was lined in narrow planks, the ceiling set into patterns of diamonds and hearts. Over the high pulpit hung a large carved "dove" with an olive branch in its mouth. The bird looked suspiciously like a boobie and reminded me that the Polynesians had their own flood story which predated contact with Christians. In Polynesian myth a bird was sent out each day. One day the bird did not return. The flood had ceased.
Dogs are banned in this strangely silent village. Only an occasional cockcrow breaks the stillness. Most of the youth no longer live here, but there are a few. "God blessed us here with pearls for wealth," an old man told us. My son has been to Australia and New Zealand. He did a year course on business management. But he has returned to live here.
Another young woman, engaged to be married, was green to the elbows from weaving a straw hat. "I sell these for $100 NZ," she said. "They take me about a week. My fiancé dives for pearls."
We were just about ready to crank in the anchor to Penrhyn when all the traders came out again for one last go, this time really giving us the goods! Heaven only knows what I shall do with all the little pearls we collected, but as I look into the jewel case where they lie beside the larger and more opulent looking Gambier black pearls, I know they will bring back the memory of the tiny depleted vil
|
|
