Nothing Lasts Forever Page 2

  Tusitala had written his requiem, and expressed his wish that it be inscribed on his tomb:

  Under the wide and starry sky,

  Dig the grave and let me lie.

  Glad did I live and gladly die,

  And I laid me down with a will.

  This be the verse you grave for me:

  Here he lies where he longed to be;

  Home is the sailor, home from sea,

  And the hunter home from the hill.

  Tusitala was so loved, his epigraph was later translated into a Samoan song of grief.

  Mana felt lost for a long time after Tusitala’s death, and took comfort in the stories of the missionaries, who assured her of life after death if you were a good person. And there was no doubt in her heart that Tusitala was one of those.

  Mana, from a very young age, true to her name, had found herself gifted with the ability to see and communicate with spirits, and to predict some events in the future with amazing clarity. She accepted this gift without question. She rarely spoke of her ability, for there were some who would use this against her and cause problems for the King, her husband. Tusitala’s spirit visited her just a few times after his death, and assured her that he was happy, in a good place, and that she should stop grieving. He told her to devote her time to the education of her children, to teach them of peace and productivity and the ways of the world. Mana overcame her grief in time and did as Tusitala requested. Mel learned with little effort to speak fluent English, to write and to understand numbers. His father shook his head at all the lessons in ‘nonsense’, as he believed it to be. But the look on Mana’s face forbade interference.

  King Metafet constantly attended meetings called by one or all of the consulates. He found this very tedious, but told himself it was part of the job, so reluctantly did his duty. His life’s enjoyment came from teaching his eldest son ‘fa’a Samoa’, the traditional ways, in contradiction to Mana’s teachings. Their culture was built on legends and folk lore, and it was important that Mel was initiated, traditional tattoos and all.

  Quite often King and son, accompanied by a selected group of warriors from the village, would depart in outriggers to visit the other islands in the group. Mel’s favourite was the ten mile trip across Apolima Straight to Savai’I, the largest island in the Samoan group. Here the ancient volcanic mountains were very high and made the terrain very rugged, but well worth the effort of climbing the highest summit, Mt Silisili, where Mel could pretend he was on top of the world.

  Their most frequent trek, however, was through the local forests to the volcanic mountains in the centre of their home island, Upolu, the climb not as high and exhausting as Mt Silisili, but quite rewarding, none-the-less. Sometimes they would stay overnight in the caves, and Mel loved these adventures, and was intrigued by the talks around the cooking fires.

  He listened in silence to the stories about the Pa-Tonga (Tongan walls) built many hundreds of years ago when Tonga ruled Samoa. Large boulders weighing several tons had been miraculously moved by the underdog Samoans to form defensive walls or forts. These walls stretched long distances, over hills and valleys as protection from invasion by sea. Mel listened in fascination as the talk moved to another place over the great ocean where huge pyramids, it was said, were built thousands of years ago using huge stone blocks quarried from the earth, and miraculously moved great distances.

  The Tongans had been evicted long ago in a series of well- planned battles, executed by a very cunning and determined Samoan King; his brave ancestor, Metafet proudly boasted. Mel wondered why the talk of the men always seemed to centre on conflict, but he listened in respectful silence as each man told his story. In the Eastern end of the island the Tongans were beaten in a bloody battle. The naming of the village at the centre of that battle was named Malaela (Basking ground). In the old stories it was said that the captives were tied and staked in the blazing sun. On the windward side of the island the Tongans were defeated at a village named Solosolo-ga-toto (wiping of blood). There had also been many bloody civil wars spoken of in respectful tones, as though the speakers were talking of hugely important events. Maybe Mana’s vision of a world without conflict was the ideal way, Mel thought. So much blood had been spilt in the name of war.

  1899

  There was a major uprising in Mel’s eighteenth year. A large force of Samoan rebels fought their way towards King Metafet’s village stirring up unrest, flying their own flags in defiance of the three powers. They added numbers to their growing armies by using lies and deceit. Although warned by the three powers to desist, they aimed to dethrone King Metafet and take over the very important port of Apia. The leader of the rebel group claimed to have Royal blood, and therefore had a right to rule. The rebels openly defied the current treaty which had bought peace for a surprisingly long time. The Americans made the decision to put a stop to the uprising, before it got much worse.

  After a quick conference between several captains of the war ships, and before anyone realised what was happening, the English and American man-o-war ships had moved into a quiet bay and demolished much of the foreshore where the rebels had made a stand. The shells flew fast and furious.

  Mel doubted that the hard-won peace would last. And it seemed to him a rather strange way to promote peace. It wouldn’t take long for someone else to get the urge to rule; it was the Samoan way, and so it would start all over again, he thought sadly.

  King Metafet, like others around him, was appalled that the destructive shelling had happened at a cost of so many lives. It had been carried out without consulting the King and his chiefs. Outrageous! Most Samoans were in shock…never had one of their wars escalated to anything like this. Who could guarantee that any of their villages in the future would not be flattened in this way, with loss of innocent life?

  And to add to the confusion, the three powers were drawing up plans to divide the Samoan Islands. Upolu, along with Savai’I, was to fly the German flag. King Metafet was appalled. They were united, their islands, and the people didn’t want it any other way. It was adding insult to injury.

  Mel knew his father’s mind was greatly disturbed by the devastation of his island home, even though their village was some distance away and suffered no damage. Metafet’s confidence was shattered, his health suffered, and he had trouble keeping his mind on important things. Not only had a rebel force come so close to his village, forcing his best warriors to retreat in the face of overwhelming odds, his two oldest sons had been recruited to fight in the next confrontation. He couldn’t bear to think about that; but the intervention of the three powers had displayed their superior destructive force and put an end to that revolt.

  Metafet seemed to have lost direction and was constantly scanning the ocean with worried eyes. He became withdrawn, touchy and temperamental. How could this have happened under his rule? His people could lose confidence in him, and he could be ousted. He could be thrown off the throne. That would be a fate worse than death.

  Just a few weeks after the shelling, an impressive brigantine cargo vessel approached the quiet bay which their village overlooked. Mel watched in fascination as it sailed in, the square-rigged sails deflating in flapping protest as they were furled, and an enormous anchor splashed into the ocean. He stared in wonder at the two huge masts, and estimated the size of the trees felled. He found it amazing that such a feat could be achieved considering the weight of each log. And the bowsprit was another thing to be considered: a huge length of tree-trunk protruding off the bow and suspended as if by magic in the air. Attached to it were triangular sails which were secured back to the first huge mast. To his mind the ship was a complete confusion of masts, ropes and dingy patched sails.

  Many of his curious fellow villagers rowed out in outriggers to circle the ship, the occupants intrigued with this unusual visitor to their peaceful bay. The Captain of the ship in full dress uniform, obviously out to impress, was ro
wed ashore, gold braid and buttons dazzling in the sunlight. One of the men with him was a translator, but still communication was difficult.

  The Captain and his translator requested a friendly meeting with the King and his chiefs, and so began a lengthy talk, King Metafet on his throne, chiefs and visitors on the ground before him. It was clear the sailors were unaccustomed to sitting on the ground, as they were constantly fidgeting. Mel found that amusing, watching unseen from the shrubbery, though he could hear nothing of the conversation.

  The meeting was long and intense, and Mel noted the troubled look on his father’s face when an agreement was obviously made.

  The master of the clipper, Captain Knowles, shook hands with King Metafet in the way of the Europeans, and Mel realized some sort of arrangement had been made, and there would be no going back on it. When the Europeans shook a hand, there could be no reversal of the agreement.

  Mel later found himself stony faced with shock when his father sent for him and told him that he, with nineteen other young men from the village, would be leaving next morning on the brigantine. Their destination was a new land over the sea called Australia, where they would work on a sugar cane plantation, receive many riches, and be returned to Samoa within one year. They would supposedly return as wealthy men, and be revered by all.

  Mel bit back an angry response as he silently battled his rage. The fury was consuming him like a plague. It was his duty to obey his father, regardless of the inner turmoil within. What had possessed his father to make this crazy decision. Why did he have to go? It made no sense to send his own son, heir to the throne. And that thought provoked other feelings for Mel. He’d never before considered his responsibility as future king. Now it only added to the anger.

  He loved his life here, and held the respect of all as the ‘son of the King’. But to King Metafet’s troubled mind, to send his beloved son to a safe shore, away from the possibility of more horrific shelling of his island, was of paramount importance. It would only be for a short time, anyway, and the celebrations they would have on his return…

  A huge feast and ‘siva’, their local dance, was quickly organized for the Kings’ sons’ last night in Samoa. Mel was too depressed to enjoy any of it, and was battling to cope with unaccustomed feelings, but tried to make an effort for the sake of his family. He spoke with Elei, a pretty young Samoan girl his parents had hinted he should consider for a wife, but he felt none of the longings for her he’d felt at previous meetings. What was the point? He was being sent away from everything he loved.

  Mana refused to talk to anyone. Her eyes were red from weeping, and she wore her anger like a shield.

  As the celebrations proceeded, Elei took Mel’s hand and led him away from the festivities into the privacy of the shrubbery. She looked up at him shyly, and treated him to her wide, beautiful smile. Mel put his arms around her and drew her close. He loved the feel of her; her fragrant hair, her glossy, healthy glow, but the desire for her just didn’t happen. He had other things on his mind. She would probably be with someone else before he returned, Mel thought dejectedly. His heart was heavy.

  “So you are leaving tomorrow, and I can’t understand why you would consider this at this time. We have planned a wonderful future together; we’ve talked about it so much. Why, Mel? Why?” Elei’s eyes were huge with hurt.

  “I don’t want to go,” Mel said gruffly. “But my father, our King, has decreed it, and so it has to be.”

  Elei pressed her body to his. Mel was a bit surprised by her unaccustomed provocative action. “Please don’t go.” She was sobbing now, and Mel hated to see her like this. She was offering herself to him as a reason to stay, and Mel felt his anger rising again.

  “Elei, I must do as the King says. By all the Gods who guide us, I say now to you I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you.”

  Mel held her as she sobbed, and was surprised to find he didn’t have the usual urge to seduce her. Not now. Not under these terrible circumstances. He just couldn’t do it. And his anger would not make it a loving event.

  “They say I’ll be back in a year….” Before he could say more, she tore herself away from him, running through the shrubbery until he lost sight of her in the darkening trees.

  Mel watched her blend into the evening shadows. There was no point going after her. The decision had been made, and he couldn’t change it.

  Feeling completely overwhelmed by it all, he sank down to the ground and sat with his back pressed against the trunk of a huge palm. With his arms crossed across his drawn up knees, he lowered his head to his arms and allowed the tears to fall, quietly, unseen.

  Anger had never been a problem for him. In fact, Milano always told him he was her little angel, never letting things get to him, never throwing tantrums like his siblings.

  But what he felt now was beyond throwing a tantrum. He was furious! He was livid! How could this happen to him? His whole life was turning upside-down. It was so….unfair.

  Taking a few gulping breaths, he fought for control. He should return to the siva before someone came looking for him, to catch him in this lowest of emotional states. He wiped his eyes clear of tears with the back of his hand, and reluctantly made his way back to the music and dancing.

  The crew from the brigantine were welcomed guests at King Metafet’s feast, and bought their own drink…rum…which left most of them unconscious and snoring as they littered the ground in ungainly poses. A few young Samoan’s had been tempted by this fiery drink, and they, too, cluttered the ground with the sailors, feeling the wrath of the God of sobriety.

  Mel barely slept that night. What lay in store for him in this strange land he was committed to go to? His mind was troubled and touched by fleeting, terrible visions. He had no illusions that he was heading for good times. In fact, he had a premonition of unspeakable hardship, so pronounced in his mind it bothered him immensely. He needed to talk to Mana about this new insight, but lacked the opportunity, which added to his growing frustration.

  At first light, the families of the twenty unfortunate young men waited on the beach for the life-boat to come ashore to take them in groups to the ship. Mel deferred until the last trip across the tranquil bay, hoping Elei would at least come to say goodbye and wish him well.

  His chilling premonition was now a consuming dread, and he felt near to panic. But he could do nothing about it. He couldn’t risk his father losing face; the agreement had to be honored. He wondered briefly why the ship wasn’t bought in to the docks in Apia central, the next bay around. It would have made boarding a lot easier.

  Mana kissed him lightly on the cheek when he was told to step into the life- boat. “Do what they ask of you, my son, and come back to us safely. If things get bad for you, remember that nothing lasts forever. I’ll miss you, Mel Milo.”

  Mel wondered at her words. Had she experienced the same awful premonitions as he had? He noticed the tears in her eyes, and the disguised anger towards her husband who had allowed this dreadful thing to happen. He felt the urge to fold her in his arms to give her comfort, but that would never do. He was off on a very important mission, and at eighteen years of age, was considered a warrior. He had the traditional tattoos on his thighs to prove it. He had to be strong.

  He didn’t fully realise it then but his carefree life was left far behind on that eventful day. King Metafet clasped Mel’s shoulders as they stood beside the waiting boat. “Do us proud, my son. And when you return we will have a celebration so big, it will be one to go down in history.”

  Mel’s luggage consisted of a woven mat made from mulberry bark. This bark cloth was called siapo. His mother had lovingly made this for him, plus a change of clothing…a kilt-style garment. Metafet draped his woven strap over Mel’s shoulder. It was his symbol of royalty, which he now bestowed on his son to give him some rank in his adventure.

  Mel took a final sweeping look along the beach.
With a heavy heart he realised Elei would not bid him a fond farewell. With as much dignity as possible, he stepped into the lifeboat.

  As the tender drew near the ship, Mel felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. The stench was bad enough and was an overpowering assault on his senses, but the muffled wailing from many distressed throats bought about an urge to jump overboard and swim away from this overwhelming threat of misery.

  He found himself being prodded up the rope ladder to the deck of the ship, and quickly realized he had no rank, no dignity, and no pride. He was shoved below through the opened deck to the cargo hold below, tumbling into the bowels of the ship, dark and reeking of human excrement; just another unfortunate soul amongst another hundred or so Pacific Islanders who were huddled and moaning in frustrated anger.

  Chapter Two

  Mel shed many tears that first night, and fought to control the rage which threatened to consume him. This rage was something he had never experienced before in his entitled life, and the intensity of it frightened him. From the little he could understand from his fellow captives…for that was how he perceived their situation…this was their destiny: to be locked in the dark, stinking belly of this ship and fed slops.

  This was not how he had been told it would be. He had envisioned his own cabin, good food, with respect for his rank of Royalty. Instead, he found he was treated worse than cattle, and it was humiIiating to find himself just one of many treated this way, sleeping on narrow wooden shelves one above the other with little room between. Each Island group was segregated with wooden partitions to prevent the inevitable fighting.

  The surly crewmen allocated the job of feeding the imprisoned natives found an ally in Mel, who chose to be helpful rather than angry and resentful. The pushing and shoving among the captives resulted in wasted food, and there was too little of that in the first place. Maybe he’d inherited his father’s leadership skills, Mel thought briefly, but he understood that some order was necessary for the survival of all. The crewmen responsible for delivering food to the captives had no communicating skills, and their yelling and abuse stirred up more antagonism.