South-Sea Idyls — Under A Grass Roof. A Leaf Torn At Random From A Tropical Notebook
A LEAF TORN AT RANDOM FROM A TROPICAL NOTEBOOK.
At Kahakuloa, under a terrific hill and close upon a frothing tongue of the sea, I draw rein.
The act is simply a formality of mine; probably the animal would have paused here of his own free will, for he has been rehearsing his stops a whole hour back, during which time he limped somewhat and reaped determinedly the few tufts of dry grass that Nature had provided him by the trail-side.
The clouds are falling; the cliffs are festooned with damp gauze; the air is moist and cool; a grass hut of uncommon purity stands invitingly by.
A moon-faced youth, whose spotless garments appealed to me as he overtook our caravan a mile back, says, "Will you eat and sleep?"
I am but human, and a hungry and sleepy human at that; so I tip off from my mule's back with gratitude and alacrity.
In a moment the fine linen of mine host is hung upon its peg, and a good study of the Nude returns to me for further orders.
I am literally famishing, and the mule is already up to his ears in water-cress; but then I have ridden and he has carried me.
How just, O Mother Nature, are thy judgments!
With the superb poses of a trained athlete, the Nude swings a fowl by the neck, and shortly it is plucked and potted, together with certain vegetables of the proper affinities.
Then he swathes a fish in succulent leaves, and buries it in hot ashes; and then he smokes his peace-pipe.
Pipe no sooner lighted than mouths mysteriously gather: five, ten, a dozen of them magically assemble at the smell of smoke and take their turn at the curled shell, with a hollow stalk for a mouth-piece.
Dinner at last.
O, fish, fruit, and fowl on a mat on a floor in a grass hut at evening!
How excellent are these--amen!
Night--supper over--some one twanging upon a stringed instrument of rude native origin.
Gossip lags,--darkness and silence, and a cigarette.
The Nude rises haughtily and lights a lamp that looks very like a diminutive coffee-pot with a great flame in the nose of it.
He hangs it against a beam already blackened with smoke to the peak of the roof.
Again the peace-pipe sweeps the home-circle, and is passed out to the mouths of the neighborhood.
Guests drop down upon us and fill the one aperture of the hut with rows of curious, welcoming faces; assorted dogs press through the door in turn, receive a slap from each member of the family, and retreat with invisible tails; sudden impulses set all tongues wagging in unison;
impulses, equally sudden and unaccountable, enjoin protracted intervals of silence.
The sea breathes heavily; there is a noise of rain-drops sliding down the thatch.
Guests disperse with a kind "_aloha_."
We are alone with the night.
The spirit of repose descends upon us; one by one the dusky members of mine host's household roll themselves into mummies and lie in a solemn row along the side of the room, sleeping.
I, also, will sleep.
A great bark-cloth (_kapa_) that rattles as though it had received seven starchings, is all mine for covering,--a royal _kapa_ this, of exceeding stiffness.
I lie with my eyes to the roof, and count the beams that look like an arbor.
What is it, as large as my thumb, cased in brown armor?
A roach!
--a melancholy procession of roaches passing from one side of the hut, over the roof, with their backs downward, and descending on the other side by the beams,--a hundred of them, perhaps, or a thousand: the cry is, "Still they come!"
There is a noise of tiny feet upon the roof, and it isn't rain; there is a sound as of falling objects that escape before I can catch them.
My hand rests upon a cool, moist creature that writhes under it,--an animated spinal column with four legs at one end of it.
Away, thou slimy newt!
Something runs over the matting, making a still, small clatter as it goes,--something looking like a toy train of dirt-cars.
Ha!
the venomous and wily centipede!
Put out the coffee-pot, for these sights are horrible!
Now I will sleep with my face under the _kapa_,--silence, serene silence, and darkness profound; the sea beating in agony at the foot of the big hill,--a time for lofty and sublime revery.
More rain outside the hut; gusts of wind, wailing as they rush past us.
Thanks for this shelter.
My pillow saturated with cocoa-nut oil--ah, what savage dreams may have disturbed these sleepers!
No matter.
Will get a wink of sleep before daybreak.
Sleep, at last,--how refreshing art thou!
Hello!
the coffee-pot in a blaze again; the Nude smoking his peace-pipe; children eating and making merry.
Daybreak?
No; midnight, perchance,--darkness without, darkness once more (by request) within.
"Come again, bright dream."
Horror!
the house shaken as by an earthquake,--gnashing of teeth distinctly audible; the mule undoubtedly eating up the side of the grass hut!
Anon, quiet restored.
A suggestion of moonlight through the open door; the twanging of the stringed affair;
a responsive twang in the distance.
Some one steals cautiously forth into the starlight.
All is not well in Kahakuloa.
Rain over; mule vegetating elsewhere; roaches subdued; sea comparatively quiet.
Welcome, kind Nature's sweet restorer!...
Humming of voices; rolling of dogs about the house; ditto of children ditto; broad daylight, and breakfast waiting.
Mule saddled, and, with a mouthful of roses, looking fresh and happy.
Mule-boy eager for the fray.
Time up.
Adieu, adieu--O beautiful Kahakuloa!
I must away, Above the terrible hill hang clouds and shadows; fringes of rain obscure the trail as it climbs persistently to heaven; but up that trail, into and through those clouds and shadows, I pursue my solitary pilgrimage.
[Decoration] [Decoration]
