“You mean you did try to seduce Belial?”
“He had taken every opportunity he could to lean in close to me and brush against me every time he was at Vailima. I did nothing to invite that. I did lure him to me that day, hoping Tusitala would hear me and catch him in the act and have him expelled from Vailima, yes.” Seeing my expression, she gave me a wise half smile, amused by a white man’s shock. “But Tusitala had gone outside, and Tulagi was closer to the room than I thought he was, and then it all went wrong.”
Her little smile disappeared, replaced by a quivering lip. Davenport must have heard all of this from her, too, when they were alone together, and I could envision a grin curving onto his face, as he would have admired her resourcefulness. I understood the weight of her guilt at her own actions, as much as Belial’s beastly behavior, drove her determination to punish Belial—then again, the extent and weight of our guilt drives so much of what we do.
In one corner was the banana leaf I used as a bed; in the other, Vao’s. Though as far as I could tell she never slept, but sat, once again cross-legged, staring. She said nothing was wrong, but I knew, in addition to mourning Tulagi, she worried how we were to succeed. The fact is, the little information we had was too flimsy for us to ever hope to find Belial among the vast places he could be hidden on the island—we wished we were simply looking for a needle in a haystack, but the fugitive bookaneer was a needle in a flaming haystack. Still, a flicker of faith rekindled in me as I listened to the incessant murmur of one of the nearby streams. We had moved closer to Apia and, I hoped, to my ultimate goal. I could leave nothing to chance.
I was woken by music. Beams of light were spreading over me, and through my heavy lids I saw Vao was not there. I pushed myself up and went outside, where I found her on the edge of the stream playing a kind of improvised pipe made of a hollow stick of bamboo. She seemed at peace.
“It is beautiful.”
“I only like to play music when the birds are singing; that is why I wake up with them,” she replied. “My father would never allow a bird or any animal to be injured. He was called ‘the bird chief.’”
“If we find Belial . . .” I began, trying to think how to remind her delicately that a confrontation could become violent.
She stared up into the sky. “He is lower than the smallest animal or insect, lower than any brute, for he sings only false notes. Tulagi would tell me that I must free my mind from thoughts of revenge.”
“Perhaps he would have been right.”
“As a woman, I am to inspire and support the men in their fights, but not fight my own, just as a dwarf he was never to be a soldier, never to be a husband, no matter how much a woman—”
Here she ended her comments abruptly and she played her pipe to hide fresh tears.
“My dear,” I said, gasping. “Forgive me. I never realized.”
She had loved Tulagi and, not allowed to, had to live through the torments of being presented one candidate after another for marriage by him. There it was. Had this driven her into the arms of Davenport, or had she been trying to show herself there could be a man for her other than the dwarf who had held her heart for so long—instead breaking his into pieces?
? ? ?
IF, MR. CLOVER, you happen to find yourself in the South Seas one day, you might notice the way many of the islands of importance divide themselves naturally into the places the whites plant themselves and those places the natives live, from which they observe the whites. Most of the white settlers and officials seem content in this. But the Germans in Samoa were an exception. They were never willing to keep their distance. The German consulate buildings and the German Commercial and Trading Firm, together referred to simply as the Firm, occupied almost 150,000 acres of land on Upolu, making it the largest portion of land controlled by a foreign entity in Samoa.
The coat of arms, a picture of a soaring eagle, greeted us when we rode up to the consulate the next day. German guards in bright blue jackets stood outside the door watching our every move. There was a moment when we simultaneously took deep breaths.
“We do not have many choices left,” I reassured her about what we were there to do.
She gathered herself. “I trust in you, Chief Fergins. I only wish I did not have to step foot on their so-called property. Their greed to have the lands my people deserve is what killed so many, including my father.”
The government building was rather plain and not very large, at least in the shadow of the commercial structure. After we sat for a while staring at the whitewashed walls, we were greeted by a peculiar bureaucrat whose sloppy smile directed itself nowhere in particular.
“First thing in the morning, so much business to be done,” he said, his interest in us flagging immediately. “I do apologize if you have been waiting. If you please follow me.”
The first man left us in a private room, then a new and less friendly arrival introduced himself as Becker, the consul, and asked our business.
“We wish some information about a friend of ours who is missing,” I said.
“I see,” Becker said in a neutral voice.
“The Marist missionary, Thomas.”
“I have met him on occasion. But as to his location, I’m afraid I cannot help. This island has many places where a man can disappear.” His English was fluent but the words were rocked uncomfortably by sharp Germanic pronunciation.
I looked at Vao and nodded. She removed a pouch, pinching her eyes closed with distaste as a mixture of American and British coins slid out from it. It did not add up to very much, perhaps twenty American dollars in all, but it was what Vao had been able to bring with her from Vailima.