The Floating Lei

Short Story ;

By Robin King

ONE day long ago I stood in the bows of a ship as it eased through a reef to a lagoon. Past Motuuta, the island in the centre of what seemed a mirror, and onwards to the wharf.

Long-tailed, white birds played in pairs over the township. There was the strong smell of copra from the sheds on the wharf. There was the odour of wood-smoke drifting out across (the water, for it was early morning and the people ashore were brewing their strong black coffee and serving their narrow, crisp, bread rolls. Over all hung the aroma of the native flower, the Tiare Tahiti.

I went ashore later. But it was not until nightfall that the townsfolk came to life. They walked between rows of flame trees, whose darker-than-the-sky branches weaved a delicate pattern over head. There was tinkling laughter, soft voices and string music from the cabarets down the road.

It was in one of these that I met Tetua. She was part-Spanish. Her skin was a delightful, clear, olive.

Black was her hair and in it a brilliant red Hibiscus rested attractively. Her figure was unsurpassed by any in sight.

We were seated at the same table. She was alone. Eventually, through my sparse French and her Pidgin English, I persuaded her to be my guest. We talked, wined and danced a little.

During the evening an old woman, Mama ruau, wandered among the tables.

She had a basket of white flowers, which had a strong, beautiful scent.

Tetua spoke softly to her. I could not understand: but Mama ruau selected a perfect blossom; from the cluster and fixed it above my left ear.

She did the same to Tetua. Some people at a nearby table laughed. The old woman laughed. Tetua and I laughed. It meant that she was mine.

It was the beginning of our friend ship and three days later when I sailed, she cried. As we moved out, I threw my lei of Tiare Tahiti into the lagoon.

It fell on the water gently and formed a perfect circle. When it did not break I breathed a sigh of relief; for the legend runs: a whole lei, you will re turn; a broken circle—never.

But that was long ago.

Now, as the ship leaves the wharf I take the white lei from my neck, and hold it tentatively in my hands. Tetua is on the wharf. She is crying. I am much older now, and I think of my wife and family in New Zealand, of my home, and the successful business trip from which I am now returning home. I think of all that.

I am smelling the copra, the wooa= smoke, the overall scent of the white tiare. I am watching Tetua who is still pretty and has not grown fat as many of the people do. I am undecided for here is paradise—the scented zephyr a drug that sweeps away all past from the mind, that dulls the senses of re sponsibilities; that surrounds the mind and compels it to say, yes-stay! Stay!

I am undecided, for the scent is strong in my nostrils. I am not sure what I am doing, but I throw the lei to the water.

It floats gently; forms a circle. My breath is still. The ripples of the lagoon fanned by the warm breeze caress the lei so that it writhes and moves seductively.

A vision of my two children is before my eyes. One blossom breaks away and drifts from the lei. Tetua stands before me. She is life. Two more flowers float away. I see my wife and her golden hair shining as it did in the sun, then she is gone. I grip the rail.

Slowly the white circle parts and opens out.

I look up at Tetua. She is staring at the lei, her lips parted over her white teeth. Our gaze meets and we wave slowly. The ship gathers speed.