The Turtle and the Shark

Short story taken from an old Samoan legend

The Turtle and the Shark

    I’m standing on a cliff overlooking the sea where my people have stood for more generations than anyone knows.  I am singing, as my people have sung.  Not a song, but a chant that has been passed down from father to son, mother to daughter.  The ocean is calm today, unlike the night Measa jumped from this very spot.  But I am not calm.  My thoughts are troubled.
    The chant must be perfect to work.  No deviations will be responded to.  Only the chant given to us hundreds of years ago will do the trick.  I know it by heart and do not deviate.  I am singing to the grandmother of my grandmother, who was maybe her grandmother as well.  Who knows how far back it goes?
    A few of the people of Vaitogi are singing with me, but for them it is only a show.  Tourists surround those of us who sing, waiting for the magic to reveal itself.  They do not understand the words of the chant, for it is done in my native language.  Nor do they bring cameras.  Cameras are forbidden, for the magic will not work when they are present.  The tourists wait, some with smirks on their faces, doubting that the legend is true or the magic will work.  They have come only because there is little else for them to do so early in the morning.  Most are still sleeping.
    I ignore the tourists and sing with a heavy heart.  Let them doubt, but the magic will work as it always has.  I sing to my ancestor, and she will appear.  The tourists will ooh and awe, then try to explain it in some logical way, for they know not the ways of my people, whose magic is real.  I lift my eyes to the sea and sing to my ancestor, sorry for the transgressions of those who mistreated her, and I apologize for them.  Soon she will come and accept my apology, as she always does.  For one more day we will be forgiven.  Tomorrow I will sing again, and the day after.  And every day until I die, which will not be far away, for I am old now.
    Behind me, on a hill overlooking Vaitogi, is a resort hotel.  It is called the Turtle and Shark, named after the legend.  Many people come here.  Tourists, business travelers, writers, anthropologists.  To them the magic is a mystery that must be explained away in some natural manner.  Although it defies Nature there must be some natural phenomenon at work here, they say.  It cannot be what it is, they insist.  But it is, and I sing to my ancestor, imagining how it must have been for her, the grandmother of my grandmother, and perhaps her grandmother as well.

    Tiasane died in a battle against the invaders from Leone.  He was a great warrior, but fell to the battle axe of some unknown invader whose name is lost to memory.  Tiasane himself is only remembered as the husband of Measa, who became a legend along with her granddaughter, Liatasi.  Measa was blinded in the battle with Leone by a young warrior whose throw was aimed poorly, and lived the rest of her life without sight.  Liatasi took care of her lovingly, staying in her fale and treating the aging woman with care.  Then came the great hurricane.
    Hurricanes in Samoa are not uncommon.  They come every few years, usually only strong enough to tear down the fales and destroy villages, but not so strong that they cause a lot of death and destruction.  Even the mild ones are followed by periods of famine, however, until the papaya and cane and coconuts return.  During those famines the people live on fish and what taro they can gather before it goes bad.  The famines are usually worse than the hurricanes that cause them.
    The great hurricane was the worst in the memory of my people.  For a day and a half terrible winds swept over the islands of Samoa, destroying villages and forests and plantations.  Many people died in that storm.  Those who sought refuge in the forests were stricken by falling trees, and those who stayed on the beaches to avoid the trees were threatened by the waves that swept over the lower lands.  Nowhere could there be found a safe haven, except in caves.  There was a cave near the village of Vaitogi, and Liatasi took her grandmother there to huddle with many others of the village until the storm blew itself out.
    The rain continued for a day after the storm passed over, so the villagers remained in the cave until there was sunshine once again, and then they emerged to find their world gone.  The forests were mostly leveled, the village gone, their crops of taro and ta’amu devastated.  The coconut trees were lying on the beach; apu, lemon, orange and avocado trees turned on their sides on the slopes behind the village.  Banana trees were torn to shreds, the fruit rotting on the rich but shallow Samoan soil.  The village was gone, only a few rock foundations remaining to suggest that a village had ever been there, and even those were damaged beyond repair.
    Of the forty homes that had stood in the village, only one miraculously survived the storm - the home of Measa.  My people had little use for cripples in the time of Measa.  Those who were stricken by elephantitus or crippled while hunting wild boars were shunned, for they couldn’t work as the others could, and being blind was a crippling condition that made Measa shunned as well.  Her home was built at the edge of a hill far from the village, and ironically it was the hill that protected her fale from the storm.  Since it was the only shelter left in the village, Measa shared it with as many survivors as the small fale could hold.
    She mourned with those who lost loved ones, weeping and wailing in the traditional manner while Taumatea, the high chief, organized every able-bodied man or woman into work details.  The first detail was assigned to bury the dead who hadn’t been washed out to sea.  Their bodies were bloated by the tropical heat and hoards of flies, some lacerated by the insects and crabs that were feasting on them.  The older women and men cared for the wounded, of whom there were many with varying degrees of injuries.  The second detail began rebuilding the village, which was in total ruin.  The foundations, built with piles of lava rock and coral, were strong enough to weather the wind but not the waves that ripped them apart and carried some of the debris back to the depths.
    The third detail went to work gathering what food could be salvaged from the wreckage.  Taro and ta’amu had to be located and dug up before it rotted in the ground, the plants above shredded or completely gone.  Coconuts and bananas were plucked from the ground, fruits gathered or picked from fallen trees.  The pigs and chickens that had survived were rounded up and placed in quickly erected pens.  For a few days the villagers would eat well, and then the famine would begin.
    A pit was dug far from the village, for a masi pit isn’t pleasant to smell.  All the food that couldn’t be eaten before starting to rot was thrown in the pit and covered, then left to ferment.  In time it would become like cheese, only without the creamy taste.  It not only smelled bad, it tasted bad as well, and few relished eating it, but it was better than starving to death.  Hunters and fishermen would begin to seek other sources of food as soon as possible, but first the village had to be rebuilt, the dead buried and the easily available foods harvested and taken care of.
    Fresh water was the most pressing problem that had to be dealt with.  The stream that had furnished the village’s water supply had been muddied by the storm and uprooted trees, and it would be some time before it ran clear again.  A couple of men followed it to the spring that gave it birth, removing dead animals and other contaminants, as well as clearing trees that might restrict its flow.  Until it ran clear again they would have to rely on rain water, so all the bowls or implements capable of holding water were brought to Measa’s fale to catch the runoff from her roof.  Outrigger canoes that hadn’t been washed away were cleaned of the salt water that had filled them and left upright to catch the rain when it fell.  Even so, water would be in short supply, and would have to be rationed carefully.
    Although she was blind and aged, Measa did her part to help rebuild the village.  Throughout those first critical days she sat weaving the mats and thatching that were so crucial to the building and use of the homes being built.  Then at night she slept sitting upright so there would more room for others who needed shelter.  At first her small home hosted as many as twenty villagers, some sitting up and others laying across each other.  Each day a new fale was completed, so the crowds in her home grew smaller with time, but she never once complained about the need to share with the same people who’d shunned her and made her build her fale at the far reaches of the village, against the hill where the mosquitos were the worst.
    Liatasi was a whirlwind of activity as well.  One minute she’d be braiding rope to bind the new homes together, and the next carrying baskets of gathered food to a shady shelter where they’d spoil less rapidly, then do what could be done to make them last as long as possible.  She helped lash together upright poles and support structures in the construction of fales, helped to bring the materials that would be needed to the workers who lifted them into place, prepared, cooked and delivered meals to the workers and tended to her grandmother as needed.
    In three days four fales had been completed and moved into, a cookhouse had been erected and a crude outhouse built over the ocean.  And then the food began to run out.  The supplies that were beginning to turn bad were taken to the masi pit and hunters and fishermen returned to their regular duties.  Fishing was worse than it had been before the hurricane, but the fishermen managed to bring in enough to help, but the hunters had it the worst.  Wild boars and chickens were hard to find, their numbers decimated by the storm or forced to migrate farther from the village.  On the first day out they managed to net two parrots and a fruit bat, but brought in nothing bigger than that.
    By the fifth day the workers and hunters were using more energy than they consumed, and fatigue began to set in.  That’s when Taumatea decided to throw a feast.  All of the remaining usable food would be prepared for the evening meal, there would be dancing to appease the gods, and everyone would fill their bellies in the hopes that the gods would see fit to provide from then on.  And so it was.  Liatasi and Measa spent the day preparing for the feast, making the best of what they had available, along with a host of other villagers.  It wouldn’t be a feast by normal standards, but compared to what they’d been eating it would be a meal fit for a king.
    When night was nearly upon them and the day’s work was done the villagers gathered at the malae, the sandy patch in the center of the village, and prepared to eat what could be their last meal.  Measa, tired from her days of labor with too little rest, and concerned about trying to make her way through the work areas she’d never been through, sent Liatasi to bring her share of the feast so she could eat in her home, which was largely her own again.  Liatasi was also tired and malnourished, and felt that a meal alone with her grandmother would be a blessing.  She went to the feast in good spirits, anxious for a quiet meal and full belly, but when she expressed the request of her grandmother to Taumatea he exploded.
    “No!” he exclaimed.  “There isn’t enough food to feed the feeble and blind who can’t work.”
    “Taumatea” Liatasi shot back at him, “Measa has labored long and hard for the village, and will continue to do so, but she must eat like anyone else.”
    “Let the old woman starve” Taumatea retorted.  “We need no such in our village.  You may join us and eat, but the old woman will be given nothing.”
    “Very well” Liatasi said, standing straight before him, which is not how one addresses a high chief, “give me my share and I will share it with Measa.”
    “Sit and eat, Liatasi” he replied, “but no food will leave the malae.  We have little enough, and must feed those able to work.”
    “But my grandmother will die!”
    “Good.  That will be one less useless belly to fill.”
    “Useless?  Who made the mats for your new fales, Taumatea?  Who made the thatching so they could be built?  Who helped to prepare the meals for your workers?  How can you call her useless?”
    “Sit and eat or go away” Taumatea said with a dismissing wave of his hand.  “I grow tired of your noise.”
    “If my grandmother will not eat, neither will I” Liatasi hissed, “and you will lose two workers instead of one.”
    Taumatea waved her off impatiently, giving all his attention to the mat of food before him.  Liatasi turned away, then went to the cookhouse where the women were gathered, waiting their turn to eat when the men were done.  “There is nothing left here” Samana sighed, lifting her arms in a helpless gesture.  “If there were I would give it to you, but all is at the feast.”  Liatasi, resigned to her fate, left the cookhouse and returned to the fale of her grandmother, afraid to tell her what had been said.  When Measa heard it, she too was angry and indignant.  “Taumatea is a fool” she said, “who squanders away his tomorrow for his today.”
    “He is a fool who will make us starve, grandmother” Liatasi added sadly.
    “No.  You will not starve, nor will I.  Go.  Eat with the village and fill your belly that you live long.  Don’t worry, granddaughter.  I will not starve.  I will teach Taumatea a lesson that he will remember for the rest of his life.”
    “I will not leave you, Measa.  If you may not eat, nor will I.”
    Measa paused for a moment, pondering what her granddaughter had said, then spoke in a sad voice.  “You have been a good granddaughter, Liatasi, and I love you more than words can say, but now it is time that I leave you.  One more favor I ask of you, then you must leave me to my fate and go eat with the village.”
    “What is this favor, Measa?  I will do anything you ask.”
    “Lead me to the cliff overhanging the sea, then, and I will ask no more of you.”
    Liatasi, not understanding what her grandmother had in mind, led her down the path to the cliff, then helped her climb to the edge overlooking the sea.  Many times they had come here together, for Measa loved the sound of the waves crashing against the rock, the exhilarating whoosh of the nearby blowhole as it spewed seawater high into the air.  The tide was in and the sea was rough that night, and Measa listened to it for a brief moment, enjoying the sound that had always filled her with awe at the world the gods had created, then she turned toward the village and called out.
    Her voice, normally soft and feeble, was strong that night.  It rose above the sound of the waves, over the trade winds, reaching to the malae where the villagers feasted.  “Taumatea!” she called out, then called even louder.  “Taumatea!  Come to the cliff and see what your foolishness has done this day.  Come to the cliff and see what your foolishness will cost you tomorrow and every day from now on.”
    Taumatea, hearing the cries of Measa, tried to ignore her at first, but the villagers left their meal and went to see what mischief Measa was causing, and finally the high chief followed.  At the cliff he saw Measa and Liatasi standing at the edge, the waves lapping angrily against the rocks below them, and spoke.  “What is this foolishness you speak of?” he demanded.  “Why do you call me away from my meal to hear the words of a stupid old woman?”
    “How is it you call me stupid?” Measa cried out, “when you are the stupid one, Taumatea, high chief of Vaitogi.  A curse I put upon you, for the magic of my ancestors is in me.  A curse of drought I put upon you that only I can lift, and then I will jump into the sea.”
    “Jump then, foolish woman, for I believe not in your magic.  You will die in the sea, which will crush your bones and feed your torn flesh to the fish, but the rains will still come.”
    “You will see that my magic is real” she replied, shouting over the sound of the crashing waves, and then you will beg me to lift the curse.  You and your village will come to the cliff each morning, and you will beg me to lift the curse, and I will do so for that day only, that the rain still come to nourish you.  You will sing a chant that I give to you, and I will visit you each morning and lift the curse.  Here is the chant you will sing: Measa, Measa, we beg your forgiveness one more day, for we have wronged you.”
    “I will sing no chant” Taumatea retorted, “and your death will mean nothing to me.”
    “I will not die” Measa laughed, “and we will see if you sing or not, Taumatea.  When your lips are parched and your guts withered, then you will sing.  And each day thereafter you will sing again, in the morning, for the rains to continue.”  And then Measa stepped to the edge of the cliff and jumped.
    Liatasi grabbed her hand as she dropped, holding tight to save her grandmother, but lost her footing and fell over the edge as well.  The villagers watched in horror as the two women plunged into the ocean’s angry waves, crashing mercilessly against the cliff walls, and then the magic happened.  Measa turned into a shark, red like no other, and Liatasi turned into a sea turtle of bright and unmistakable colors.  Side by side they began to swim out to sea, but the voice of Measa drifted back to them.  “In this form will we come when you sing the chant I have given you, Taumatea, and for that day lift the curse.”  Then they swam into the distance and disappeared.
    The people of Vaitogi were shaken by what had happened, and most of them spoke in favor of singing the chant just to be cautious, but Taumatea refused to allow it.  “There is no curse” he insisted.  “It was the ravings of a crazy old woman who has no magic.”
    “Then how did she turn into a shark?” Tuana asked.
    “It was a trick, nothing more.  The shark was already there, and Measa was crushed by the waves.”
    “And Liatasi?  We all saw the turtle alongside the shark, as she was always with her grandmother.  Oh, you should have allowed them food, Taumatea.  Now we are doomed.”
    “You fools!” Taumatea cried out in anger.  “Have we not seen sharks and turtles in abundance in the waters around us?  Why do you fear to see them now?  There is no magic, and there is no curse.”
    But that night it didn’t rain, or the next day and night, or the day and night after that, and the people complained to Taumatea.  “We must sing the chant or die of thirst” they said, gathering as a group before him.  But Taumatea was stubborn, refusing to sing, and again it didn’t rain for a day and night.  The next morning even Taumatea was weakened by the lack of water, and went with the village to the cliff.  He sang the chant with them, over and over, and on the third time they sang it a shark appeared below them.  Red, it was, like no shark ever seen before, and by its side was a sea turtle of unmistakable color.  Together they swam to the base of the cliff, and as the people of Vaitogi looked down on them the sky opened up and it began to rain.
    From that day the people of Vaitogi went to the cliff each morning to sing the chant, and each morning the turtle and shark appeared to them, removing the curse for yet one more day.  And so it has been for longer than anyone remembers.

    I’m standing on a cliff overlooking the sea, where my people have stood for more generations than anyone knows.  I am singing, as my people have sung.  Not a song, but a chant that has been passed down from father to son, mother to daughter.  The ocean is calm today, unlike the night Measa jumped from this very spot.  But I am not calm.  My thoughts are troubled.
    Behind me a tourist squeals.  “Look.  There it is.  It’s coming toward us.”
    I see her, as I have so many other mornings.  Measa, in the form of a red shark like no other.  And at her side is Liatasi, a turtle of unmistakable colors.  For generations they have come to the sound of the chant being sung, and lifted the curse for one more day.  Only this time I will not just look at her in wonder at her magic.  Today I will join her.  I edge closer to the edge of the cliff, and speak to Measa in a whisper so that no one else will hear.  But she will hear.  “Measa, grandmother of my grandmother, and perhaps her grandmother as well, hear me.”
    “I hear you, Tomasi, son of Amasita.  Speak.”  The voice actually startled me for two reasons.  First it was so clear, yet Measa was still a hundred feet away from the cliff.  And second, because she referred to me as the son of my mother rather than my father, as it had been in ancient times.
    “How is it you know my name and lineage?” I asked her.
    “Is it not right for a woman to know her children and grandchildren?”
    “Yes, of course, but...”  I wasn’t sure I dared go on with that train of thought.  “Are you a woman, then, or a shark?”
    “I am what I am.  As are you, Tomasi, high chief of Vaitogi.  What is it you wish of me?”
    I took a deep breath, not sure if my desire would be granted, or if indeed it could.  “I wish to go with you, grandmother.  I wish to become a denizan of the sea, as are you.”
    “Why do you wish this thing?”
    “The world has changed, grandmother.  In your time, and in my youth, a chief could walk the land of his people and talk to them, then make decisions that were fair and helpful.  But the chiefs no longer make the decisions.  They are made by a man who sits at a desk with a computer that tells him what to do.  He never stands upon the ground of the village or talks to the people, yet he decides what will be.  There is a resort hotel behind me, grandmother.  It, too, is run by a man with a computer, a man who has never come to Vaitogi, yet has made our village as he desired, not how the people of the village want it to be.
    “Yes, the world has changed.  The chiefs have no power now, only men with computers have power.  The forest and jungle are covered with cement and asphalt, the paths are stone.  I am a stranger in this new world, and wish to depart it as you did.”
    “Did I depart, Tomasi of Vaitogi?  Am I not here now?”
    “But you became a... you used your magic to make yourself into a shark.  Will you use your magic to make me into a sea creature as well?  I have no wish to remain in this ruined land.”
    “The land is changed, Tomasi, not ruined, and it is up to you and the other chiefs to see that it survives.  No, you must remain and be the chief you are destined to be, to watch over my people and village, and keep the memory of my time in yours.”
    “But I have no computer, Measa.  I have no power.”
    “You are a man, and as a man you have power.  Use it.  Fight against those who would defile our land.  Be a force for the good of what was, and keep it alive.  There is no magic in the land anymore, so you must use the strength and wisdom of a man if you would keep your world sane.  It is your calling, your destiny.  If you fail my world and yours will be lost forever.”
    “Can it be done?”
    “It must be done, Tomasi.  Tell the people they need sing no more, for we will not return.  Our time is done, but yours goes on.  Make it a time to be proud of, that others will sing chants to your memory.”
    “But if you don’t return, the curse will go on, Measa.”
    She laughed.  “The curse was put on Taumatea.  It ended when he died.  The rains have come without my aid since then.  Now go.  You have much to do for your people.  For our people.  Then, when your soul flies to the heavens I will be there to guide you home.  Farewell, Tomasi, son of Amasita.”
    And with that she and Liatasi swam out to sea.  They were never seen again, though a few of the villagers tried to sing her back.  I didn’t sing again.  I was busy guiding the destiny of my village and my people into a world in harmony with the world of men with computers.  It was a daunting task but I succeeded, for I had been given a clear vision of the challenge and the solution.
    I even bought a computer, and in time learned to turn it on.

Author's Note

BE honest and straightforward. Don't be polite or hold back, but not too brutal.

Reviews

[Rae Elizabeth]

I enjoyed this very much, and honestly have no complaints. Brava. (:
Very well written and the imagery is outstanding...