A Paumotuan Funeral
NO, I had no guess of these men’s terrors. Yet I had received ere that a hint, if I had understood; and the occasion was a funeral.
A little apart in the main avenue of Rotoava, in a low hut of leaves that opened on a small enclosure, like a pigsty1 on a pen, an old man dwelt solitary2 with his aged3 wife. Perhaps they were too old to migrate with the others; perhaps they were too poor, and had no possessions to dispute. At least they had remained behind; and it thus befell that they were invited to my feast. I dare say it was quite a piece of politics in the pigsty whether to come or not to come, and the husband long swithered between curiosity and age, till curiosity conquered, and they came, and in the midst of that last merrymaking death tapped him on the shoulder. For some days, when the sky was bright and the wind cool, his mat would be spread in the main highway of the village, and he was to be seen lying there inert4, a mere5 handful of a man, his wife inertly6 seated by his head. They seemed to have outgrown7 alike our needs and faculties8; they neither spoke9 nor listened; they suffered us to pass without a glance; the wife did not fan, she seemed not to attend upon her husband, and the two poor antiques sat juxtaposed under the high canopy10 of palms, the human tragedy reduced to its bare elements, a sight beyond pathos11, stirring a thrill of curiosity. And yet there was one touch of the pathetic haunted me: that so much youth and expectation should have run in these starved veins12, and the man should have squandered13 all his lees of life on a pleasure party.
On the morning of 17th September the sufferer died, and, time pressing, he was buried the same day at four. The cemetery14 lies to seaward behind Government House; broken coral, like so much road — metal, forms the surface; a few wooden crosses, a few inconsiderable upright stones, designate graves; a mortared wall, high enough to lean on, rings it about; a clustering shrub15 surrounds it with pale leaves. Here was the grave dug that morning, doubtless by uneasy diggers, to the sound of the nigh sea and the cries of sea-birds; meanwhile the dead man waited in his house, and the widow and another aged woman leaned on the fence before the door, no speech upon their lips, no speculation16 in their eyes.
Sharp at the hour the procession was in march, the coffin17 wrapped in white and carried by four bearers; mourners behind — not many, for not many remained in Rotoava, and not many in black, for these were poor; the men in straw hats, white coats, and blue trousers or the gorgeous parti-coloured pariu, the Tahitian kilt; the women, with a few exceptions, brightly habited. Far in the rear came the widow, painfully carrying the dead man’s mat; a creature aged beyond humanity, to the likeness18 of some missing link.
The dead man had been a Mormon; but the Mormon clergyman was gone with the rest to wrangle19 over boundaries in the adjacent isle20, and a layman21 took his office. Standing22 at the head of the open grave, in a white coat and blue pariu, his Tahitian Bible in his hand and one eye bound with a red handkerchief, he read solemnly that chapter in Job which has been read and heard over the bones of so many of our fathers, and with a good voice offered up two prayers. The wind and the surf bore a burthen. By the cemetery gate a mother in crimson23 suckled an infant rolled in blue. In the midst the widow sat upon the ground and polished one of the coffin — stretchers with a piece of coral; a little later she had turned her back to the grave and was playing with a leaf. Did she understand? God knows. The officiant paused a moment, stooped, and gathered and threw reverently24 on the coffin a handful of rattling25 coral. Dust to dust: but the grains of this dust were gross like cherries, and the true dust that was to follow sat near by, still cohering26 (as by a miracle) in the tragic27 semblance28 of a female ape.
So far, Mormon or not, it was a Christian29 funeral. The well-known passage had been read from Job, the prayers had been rehearsed, the grave was filled, the mourners straggled homeward. With a little coarser grain of covering earth, a little nearer outcry of the sea, a stronger glare of sunlight on the rude enclosure, and some incongruous colours of attire30, the well-remembered form had been observed.
By rights it should have been otherwise. The mat should have been buried with its owner; but, the family being poor, it was thriftily31 reserved for a fresh service. The widow should have flung herself upon the grave and raised the voice of official grief, the neighbours have chimed in, and the narrow isle rung for a space with lamentation33. But the widow was old; perhaps she had forgotten, perhaps never understood, and she played like a child with leaves and coffin-stretchers. In all ways my guest was buried with maimed rites35. Strange to think that his last conscious pleasure was the CASCO and my feast; strange to think that he had limped there, an old child, looking for some new good. And the good thing, rest, had been allotted36 him.
But though the widow had neglected much, there was one part she must not utterly37 neglect. She came away with the dispersing38 funeral; but the dead man’s mat was left behind upon the grave, and I learned that by set of sun she must return to sleep there. This vigil is imperative39. From sundown till the rising of the morning star the Paumotuan must hold his watch above the ashes of his kindred. Many friends, if the dead have been a man of mark, will keep the watchers company; they will be well supplied with coverings against the weather; I believe they bring food, and the rite34 is persevered40 in for two weeks. Our poor survivor41, if, indeed, she properly survived, had little to cover, and few to sit with her; on the night of the funeral a strong squall chased her from her place of watch; for days the weather held uncertain and outrageous42; and ere seven nights were up she had desisted, and returned to sleep in her low roof. That she should be at the pains of returning for so short a visit to a solitary house, that this borderer of the grave should fear a little wind and a wet blanket, filled me at the time with musings. I could not say she was indifferent; she was so far beyond me in experience that the court of my criticism waived43 jurisdiction44; but I forged excuses, telling myself she had perhaps little to lament32, perhaps suffered much, perhaps understood nothing. And lo! in the whole affair there was no question whether of tenderness or piety45, and the sturdy return of this old remnant was a mark either of uncommon46 sense or of uncommon fortitude47.
Yet one thing had occurred that partly set me on the trail. I have said the funeral passed much as at home. But when all was over, when we were trooping in decent silence from the graveyard48 gate and down the path to the settlement, a sudden inbreak of a different spirit startled and perhaps dismayed us. Two people walked not far apart in our procession: my friend Mr. Donat — Donat-Rimarau: ‘Donat the much-handed’ — acting49 Vice-Resident, present ruler of the archipelago, by far the man of chief importance on the scene, but known besides for one of an unshakable good temper; and a certain comely50, strapping51 young Paumotuan woman, the comeliest52 on the isle, not (let us hope) the bravest or the most polite. Of a sudden, ere yet the grave silence of the funeral was broken, she made a leap at the Resident, with pointed53 finger, shrieked54 a few words, and fell back again with a laughter, not a natural mirth. ‘What did she say to you?’ I asked. ‘She did not speak to ME,’ said Donat, a shade perturbed55; ‘she spoke to the ghost of the dead man.’ And the purport56 of her speech was this: ‘See there! Donat will be a fine feast for you to-night.’
‘M. Donat called it a jest,’ I wrote at the time in my diary. ‘It seemed to me more in the nature of a terrified conjuration, as though she would divert the ghost’s attention from herself. A cannibal race may well have cannibal phantoms57.’ The guesses of the traveller appear foredoomed to be erroneous; yet in these I was precisely58 right. The woman had stood by in terror at the funeral, being then in a dread59 spot, the graveyard. She looked on in terror to the coming night, with that ogre, a new spirit, loosed upon the isle. And the words she had cried in Donat’s face were indeed a terrified conjuration, basely to shield herself, basely to dedicate another in her stead. One thing is to be said in her excuse. Doubtless she partly chose Donat because he was a man of great good-nature, but partly, too, because he was a man of the half — caste. For I believe all natives regard white blood as a kind of talisman60 against the powers of hell. In no other way can they explain the unpunished recklessness of Europeans.
1 pigsty | |
n.猪圈,脏房间 | |
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2 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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3 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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4 inert | |
adj.无活动能力的,惰性的;迟钝的 | |
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5 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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6 inertly | |
adv.不活泼地,无生气地 | |
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7 outgrown | |
长[发展] 得超过(某物)的范围( outgrow的过去分词 ); 长[发展]得不能再要(某物); 长得比…快; 生长速度超过 | |
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8 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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9 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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10 canopy | |
n.天篷,遮篷 | |
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11 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
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12 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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13 squandered | |
v.(指钱,财产等)浪费,乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14 cemetery | |
n.坟墓,墓地,坟场 | |
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15 shrub | |
n.灌木,灌木丛 | |
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16 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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17 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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18 likeness | |
n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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19 wrangle | |
vi.争吵 | |
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20 isle | |
n.小岛,岛 | |
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21 layman | |
n.俗人,门外汉,凡人 | |
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22 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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23 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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24 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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25 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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26 cohering | |
v.黏合( cohere的现在分词 );联合;结合;(指看法、推理等)前后一致 | |
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27 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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28 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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29 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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30 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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31 thriftily | |
节俭地; 繁茂地; 繁荣的 | |
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32 lament | |
n.悲叹,悔恨,恸哭;v.哀悼,悔恨,悲叹 | |
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33 lamentation | |
n.悲叹,哀悼 | |
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34 rite | |
n.典礼,惯例,习俗 | |
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35 rites | |
仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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36 allotted | |
分配,拨给,摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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38 dispersing | |
adj. 分散的 动词disperse的现在分词形式 | |
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39 imperative | |
n.命令,需要;规则;祈使语气;adj.强制的;紧急的 | |
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40 persevered | |
v.坚忍,坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41 survivor | |
n.生存者,残存者,幸存者 | |
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42 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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43 waived | |
v.宣布放弃( waive的过去式和过去分词 );搁置;推迟;放弃(权利、要求等) | |
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44 jurisdiction | |
n.司法权,审判权,管辖权,控制权 | |
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45 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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46 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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47 fortitude | |
n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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48 graveyard | |
n.坟场 | |
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49 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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50 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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51 strapping | |
adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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52 comeliest | |
adj.英俊的,好看的( comely的最高级 ) | |
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53 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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54 shrieked | |
v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55 perturbed | |
adj.烦燥不安的v.使(某人)烦恼,不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56 purport | |
n.意义,要旨,大要;v.意味著,做为...要旨,要领是... | |
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57 phantoms | |
n.鬼怪,幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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58 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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59 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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60 talisman | |
n.避邪物,护身符 | |
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