to his face so he could kiss them.
He needed to fish. His stomach was grumbling with the hunger the smell of the cooked tern had aggravated. So he stood up, the shells of his lei still in his hand, and moved sure-footedly along the meager path to the edge of the cliff. At one point, he was tempted to look behind him, back towards where Teto had killed and eaten the bird with his sidekicks. But it would only aggravate him, he knew, and if any of them were close enough to see him, he didn’t want them to catch him looking back.
Grabbing a long, pointed stick, it was easy enough to scrabble down the edge of the cliff. It was sheer, but not terribly high, perhaps the height of four men. Nothing like the imposing cliff of the main island that overlooked the small islet. He used the opportunity to review things he’d trained himself for, using only the smallest handholds and tiny ledges of the volcanic rock to position his feet. There was no guarantee the large cliff he soon needed to face would have large pieces of rock to grab onto.
It tired him to climb down the cliff, and he’d been tempted to dive into the water from one of the places on the islet where it was safe. Yet it was satisfying to test himself, even in his state of hunger, by making the climb.
The water was deep where it met the cliff, and he needed to hold onto the rocks as his keen eyes looked for fish that might swim near enough to catch. It was not often that he was successful; it was a poor way to fish, but the only way he could.
Letting his toes dip into the seawater, his mind drifted to the time Hefua was washing her clothes in the crater lake. It was always a hike to get to the lake, formed atop one of the multiple volcanoes that had combined eons ago to form the impossibly isolated island, so that whenever he ventured to it, he would stay for some hours. It was the only source of fresh water for the island, an ancient caldera kept filled by the plentiful tropical rains. That day, he was there to fetch water for his family, and perhaps collect some fruit that grew from trees sprouting at the fertile edges of the caldera bowl.
Hefua had been standing knee-deep in the water, scooping a basin into the lake. She was dressed in the most simple of clothing, little more than a frock, but the way it hugged her body was like nothing Poke had ever seen. The water lapped her hem when the wind blew, wetting it so it clung against her legs. It was perhaps the first time, in that incredibly peaceful and still place at the top of one of the island’s hills, that he saw how her body had completed its transformation. The chrysalis of her adolescence was gone, and her body was no longer that of a young girl but of a young woman. Her curves were wonderfully gentle and smooth, enhanced in myriad ways by the radiant brightness of the midday sun.
Poke had felt a deep stirring within his body that was new to him. He had known carnal desire, of course, but it had always been the awkward craving of an adolescent. What he felt that day was instead the desire only a man could know for the woman that he truly loved. As she bent to run her clothes through the basin to wash them, he could not help but stare at her and the way her body moved. The ache that stirred within him was not just a craving of his body, but of his entire soul. He wanted to be mated with her, with all the complexity that entailed. Not just to have his body joined with hers, but to be the single one who would be responsible for her. To be the one man she’d turn to in every way for guidance. To be the one man who would protect her with a fierceness no one could match. To be the one man who would know her love like no other.
He wanted to be her husband.
Poke walked to the edge of the water, not far at all from her, but knowing she hadn’t heard him approach. The way the sunlight reflected from her brown skin, dancing with the water’s movements, made her all the more lovely.
“I could watch you all day,” he whispered, keeping his voice soft so he wouldn’t startle her.
“Poke!” She turned and looked at him, her smile broadening at the sight of him standing with the lean muscularity that would only become even more defined in the next couple of years. The smile caressing her face was no longer the smile of a young girl with toothy gaps. No. This was the smile of a beauty who had emerged from the cocoon of youth. When her face turned in his direction, she gave him the special smile she always reserved just for him. Even then, it was different that day, and not something he could’ve explained. Still the same smile she had given him since she was a little girl, it had a new sensuality. “What are you doing here, Poke?”
On any other man, his grin might have seemed cocky, but on Poke it conveyed only playful innocence. “Just getting some water.” He added, looking around at the various fruit trees growing wild in the potent soil around the caldera, “And I think I may get some figs and oranges.”
“Oh, oranges!” Her every word was tinged with excitement. “I would love to have some oranges while I wait for the clothes to dry.” With shyness creeping into her eyes to bring out the sweetness within her, she added almost bashfully, “Would you keep me company and share, Poke?”
There was no hesitation at all in what he wanted, to sit with her on some rocks while her clothes dried, the two of them enjoying the juice of the oranges while they were alone in this special place. But the moment was so magical that he just stood and stared at her in the water for a moment, his smile expressing a deep contentment.
“I would like that very much, Hefua,” he said finally. “I can think of no better thing to do than spend time with you.”
With that, she laughed playfully and strode from the water. When Poke reached out to help her with the basin, she kicked a bit of water at him. The action was a timelessly flirtatious one. And it was so natural for Poke to respond to it, for it gave him the reason to do what he longed to do.
“Why you ...” he said with a merriness that matched her own, grabbing her arms after he put down the basin. “I’m not going to let you get away with that!”
She struggled gleefully, not really wanting to escape. The motion of her body within his arms aroused all those feelings within him and, for the first time in his life, he kissed a girl with real passion. He pressed his lips to hers, his hand on the nape of her neck, and let the natural flow of his desires course through him. It was wonderful the way her body molded itself against his, sandwiching his lei between them. He felt a hint of what it means for a man and a woman to join together and become one.
Her struggle faded, the play forgotten. The way she returned his kiss told him she wanted this as much as he. She’d never been kissed before and her inexperience was plain. But Poke didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was having Hefua in his arms, her own emotions mirroring his.
The two of them kissed for a long moment, alone together under the warm sun by the caldera lake. That moment sealed a bond between them that had grown and strengthened for most of their lives. Neither said anything afterwards. Poke simply took Hefua by the hand and led her to one of the rocks. They faced the sun, and she nestled into his arms while he fed her segments of the fruit.
Poke could never afterwards eat an orange without the memory of that first kiss being felt all over again. And it was as he saw a flash of orange in the water at the edge of the islet cliff that his stomach growled angrily at him, pulling him abruptly from his memory. With pure instinct, he plunged the pointed stick into the sea and pierced the fish. It was small and would only barely quell his need for food, but at least he would not go completely hungry tonight.
He made his way on the islet to a private place, one he’d found during the two weeks he’d spent alone before the others came. He wanted to cook and eat alone, away from the tiresome banter that Teto would no doubt be dominating. He still believed none of the others had found this place. He was certain at least that they hadn’t determined its true importance.
They knew that he came this way, of course; there could be few real secrets on the tiny islet. But he knew they dismissed it as one of his idiosyncrasies. Just a place for Poke to be alone. A place for hapless Poke to brood and mope. A barren part of the islet that was of no interest to anyone else.
&n
bsp; But there was a real secret of Poke’s here, wanting to occupy his thoughts as he ate the fish. It tasted good and satisfying, but was so small an amount of food that his body still craved the more substantial flesh of the bird.
It was not like this on the main island, Poke knew, where there would no doubt be feasts of fish and chicken, fruit and sweet potatoes, all in preparation for the result of the competition. Poke could remember being there last year, among the sense of anticipation and excitement that was palpably felt through the crowd at the top of the cliff. It was an excitement that grew each day that passed without one of the competitors winning. He knew there must be a similar pulse of expectancy this year; all of them could feel it when they looked out from the islet at the immense cliff on the island, squinting to see the gatherings.
Of course, it had also been springtime then. A crowd had been assembled, just as there had been for every day of the previous week or so. The first thing every person did upon arriving was to look around, checking to be certain they hadn’t missed the victory, and then to approach the cliff to look out over the islet and wonder what the competitors were doing at that moment. Sometimes they would wave, if they could resolve the