real live person turn into an urchin?”
“No, Nana, and neither has anyone else, for she would sink into the sea before the change comes upon her.”
“Yina, I don’t believe you.” Rasula heaved a long sigh, with a faraway look in her eye. Saliya looked at Rasula and in her heart answered her sigh, thinking: It wasn’t my wish for you to have such a pair of pearly eyes, daughter of mine.
“Yina, I don’t believe you. I want to build a
talawaka
of my own.”
“What? No, you can’t. A
talawaka
is not for a woman to own.”
“I want to
build
a
talawaka
.”
Saliya knew that when Rasula had made up her mind she was as irretrievable as a stone sunk to the bottom of the sea, and so she said nothing more.
When a man made a
talawaka
, Rasula would stand off to the side and quietly observe. Sometimes when she was chatting with Nale’ida she would ask lots of questions about the techniques of
talawaka
construction. She knew that Nale’ida was deeply in love with her, and that if she had conceived Atile’i’s child Nale’ida would be obliged as Atile’i’s older brother to care for her. This was another Wayo Wayoan custom. But she did not love Nale’ida back. Atile’i and Nale’ida were like
Yigasa
(the sun) and
Nalusa
(the moon). She loved Atile’i’s sunny disposition, not Nale’ida’s lunar nature. There was nothing she could do about how she felt, for no one can pit her heart against the sea. She let Nale’ida visit her at dusk simply because she wanted to listen to him tell stories of the sea and tell her more about the principles of navigation.
But you had to give him credit: Nale’ida, who looked like Atile’i except for his nose, talked a lot of sense. “The sea cannot be taught. You learn it with your life,” he said. But even though Nale’ida loved Rasula the way a fisherman loves an enormous fish, he still did not dare break the taboo against lady guests riding in a
talawaka
.
Without telling anyone, Rasula began gathering and preparing the building materials on her own. She cleared a place in the woods a fair distance from her house, keeping the unformed, fetal
talawaka
covered during the day, coming only at night to work on it in secret. Weaving was no trouble, as she had inherited Saliya’s nimble hands; moving the bigger branches out of the woods was harder, though she could do it with a bit more patience and a few bruises on her arms and legs. Rasula’s
talawaka
was taking shape. She used a file made from a sea urchin to do the finishing work and carve an image of the seafaring Atile’i on the hull.
The island was small, but Rasula did everything with the utmost secrecy, so almost everyone remained ignorant of her seafaring scheme. Nale’ida was blinded by love, the other men who visited the house by burning lust. The only one who knew, her mother Saliya, chose silence, believing that Rasula would quit. Saliya could tell Rasula was pregnant from her posture and smell, and assumed that when she discovered the soul of a little Atile’i inside her she would give up as a matter of course.
Thrice the moon died and thrice it came back up to life. Early next morning, Rasula burrowed under the covers and to her mother said: “Yina, tomorrow I’m going out to sea.”
“Going out to sea?”
“Yes. My
talawaka
is ready. I’ve heard many stories of the sea. Atile’i was my teacher, and Nale’ida, too, has taught me well, so even though I’ve never gone to sea I know its ways. Now all I need is your blessing, and nourishment for the trip, that I may find Atile’i safe and sound.”
“Atile’i’s dead and gone, Nana.”
“He is not dead. I know. I feel it.”
“Nana, do you realize there’s a little soul in your body? Atile’i is in your belly.”
“Yina, I know. I want to show Atile’i the Atile’i growing inside me.”
“Nana, do you know where Atile’i is?”
“I know that he is somewhere on the sea.”
“The sea is too big, Nana. You are dooming
“No, Nana, and neither has anyone else, for she would sink into the sea before the change comes upon her.”
“Yina, I don’t believe you.” Rasula heaved a long sigh, with a faraway look in her eye. Saliya looked at Rasula and in her heart answered her sigh, thinking: It wasn’t my wish for you to have such a pair of pearly eyes, daughter of mine.
“Yina, I don’t believe you. I want to build a
talawaka
of my own.”
“What? No, you can’t. A
talawaka
is not for a woman to own.”
“I want to
build
a
talawaka
.”
Saliya knew that when Rasula had made up her mind she was as irretrievable as a stone sunk to the bottom of the sea, and so she said nothing more.
When a man made a
talawaka
, Rasula would stand off to the side and quietly observe. Sometimes when she was chatting with Nale’ida she would ask lots of questions about the techniques of
talawaka
construction. She knew that Nale’ida was deeply in love with her, and that if she had conceived Atile’i’s child Nale’ida would be obliged as Atile’i’s older brother to care for her. This was another Wayo Wayoan custom. But she did not love Nale’ida back. Atile’i and Nale’ida were like
Yigasa
(the sun) and
Nalusa
(the moon). She loved Atile’i’s sunny disposition, not Nale’ida’s lunar nature. There was nothing she could do about how she felt, for no one can pit her heart against the sea. She let Nale’ida visit her at dusk simply because she wanted to listen to him tell stories of the sea and tell her more about the principles of navigation.
But you had to give him credit: Nale’ida, who looked like Atile’i except for his nose, talked a lot of sense. “The sea cannot be taught. You learn it with your life,” he said. But even though Nale’ida loved Rasula the way a fisherman loves an enormous fish, he still did not dare break the taboo against lady guests riding in a
talawaka
.
Without telling anyone, Rasula began gathering and preparing the building materials on her own. She cleared a place in the woods a fair distance from her house, keeping the unformed, fetal
talawaka
covered during the day, coming only at night to work on it in secret. Weaving was no trouble, as she had inherited Saliya’s nimble hands; moving the bigger branches out of the woods was harder, though she could do it with a bit more patience and a few bruises on her arms and legs. Rasula’s
talawaka
was taking shape. She used a file made from a sea urchin to do the finishing work and carve an image of the seafaring Atile’i on the hull.
The island was small, but Rasula did everything with the utmost secrecy, so almost everyone remained ignorant of her seafaring scheme. Nale’ida was blinded by love, the other men who visited the house by burning lust. The only one who knew, her mother Saliya, chose silence, believing that Rasula would quit. Saliya could tell Rasula was pregnant from her posture and smell, and assumed that when she discovered the soul of a little Atile’i inside her she would give up as a matter of course.
Thrice the moon died and thrice it came back up to life. Early next morning, Rasula burrowed under the covers and to her mother said: “Yina, tomorrow I’m going out to sea.”
“Going out to sea?”
“Yes. My
talawaka
is ready. I’ve heard many stories of the sea. Atile’i was my teacher, and Nale’ida, too, has taught me well, so even though I’ve never gone to sea I know its ways. Now all I need is your blessing, and nourishment for the trip, that I may find Atile’i safe and sound.”
“Atile’i’s dead and gone, Nana.”
“He is not dead. I know. I feel it.”
“Nana, do you realize there’s a little soul in your body? Atile’i is in your belly.”
“Yina, I know. I want to show Atile’i the Atile’i growing inside me.”
“Nana, do you know where Atile’i is?”
“I know that he is somewhere on the sea.”
“The sea is too big, Nana. You are dooming
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