Peleiupu fanned herself with quick pecking movements as she observed the village and sea. From her parents’ house eased the chorus of children reciting their times tables: ‘Two ones are two, two twos are four, two threes are six …!’ She visualised Maualuga, eyes shut tightly, trying to fish the correct answers out of her memory, and I’amafana, Sao’s namesake and as over-confident as his namesake, trying to outrace the other children.

  Two canoes were crossing the bay, struggling against the receding tide. She paddled with the fishermen as they dug their paddles into the water and pushed back, dug and pushed, dug and pushed … Ahh, it was good for easing the tightness and pain in your neck and shoulders! Tavita usually massaged the pain away before she settled into her chair, but he was in Upolu with Mikaele and Faranisisi checking the viability of four trading stores they might buy from German owners who were leaving the country.

  Jutting out from Totoume Point was the jetty that, with the help of the whole village, they had built a few years before when they’d bought their first motor vessel and renamed it the Lady Poto. Roni, Tavita’s fourth brother, who’d spent four years on foreign ships, captained the vessel, which they used to supply their other stores and transport passengers and goods to and from Apia.

  Before the Great War they’d worked closely with the German company, selling it all their copra and buying nearly all their goods from it. So when New Zealand took control of the country at the start of the war, and the company was forced to sell its trading stations, it gave them first option in Savai’i, and they’d bought six of the stores cheaply. Against Tavita’s wishes Peleiupu had put Semisi in charge of the chain of stores, telling Semisi that ‘your oldest brother thinks you’re going to make a mess of it’.

  ‘Does he, does he, now?’ Semisi had exclaimed in English. ‘Well, I going to show that … that Afakasi son-a-bitch, who don’t even speak proper English, that I the best bloody businessman in this afakasi family!’ So far, Semisi was proving just that.

  Since the start of the war, they’d bought three adjoining German businesses in the centre of Apia. At the moment people were renting them, but she planned at the end of the war to demolish them and build a large business complex that would be the headquarters of their company.

  With pride Peleiupu gazed up at their new steepled church with the fifty front steps, amazing stained-glass windows and bright red roof. To the right of that was the pastor’s new house, a spacious rectangular building with red corrugated-iron roof, an abundant communal room and bedrooms. To the left of the church was the new school made up of two long buildings divided into classrooms.

  A year after Lefatu’s birth Sao and Mautu, through the fono, had declared that God wanted to be praised by Satoans in a new church reflecting His importance and value. (Other nobody villages, orated Sao, are building churches that make our church look like a nobody church!) So she and Tavita had had to work behind Mautu and the fono, to ensure that the church was built properly, efficiently.

  For the building fund the fono had levied monthly contributions on all aiga, and had all the copra cut and sold through Peleiupu’s store. When she discovered that Sao and the other trustees were misusing the building funds, Peleiupu got Tavita to ‘persuade’ Sao to appoint Poto as a trustee. Poto ensured that none of the trustees misused the funds any more. The others knew little accounting, so Peleiupu had to keep all the books, and an incensed Sao complained to Tavita that ‘your cheeky wife is getting too cheeky treating me like a dishonest child’. (She’d stopped all Sao’s and his friends’ unauthorised spending on tobacco, chewing gum, corned beef and other ‘essentials’.) And when Tavita had cautioned her about ‘mistreating’ his grandfather she’d handed him the books and told him to keep them, and pay for his own grandfather’s ‘expensive habits’. It didn’t take long for Tavita to realise that his interest did not lie in satisfying his grandfather’s insatiable appetites but in getting the church built as quickly and honestly as possible. She also persuaded him — and through him, Sao — to have the school and pastor’s house built. It would be cheaper that way and he’d also earn the love and respect of all Satoans.

  The lavish official opening of the new buildings, attended by ‘nearly all of Samoa’ — Sao’s description — brought in enough money to cover all their costs and make a profit, which Peleiupu had to get Tavita to persuade Sao (who wanted to keep the bulk of the money) to divide evenly among all the aiga. She laughed about it now but the whole building project had often threatened the unity of her own family, and of Satoa, with some aiga threatening to convert to other churches and Sao and Mautu threatening to ostracise them from Satoa (and the ‘true Christian heaven’) forever.

  A few months after the church opening, Sao had summoned a meeting of their aiga and, with tears in his rheumy eyes, had declared, ‘My favourite palagi grandson, David, otherwise known to you as Tavita, in his dynamic, selfless service to me and Satoa in building our church, pastor’s house and school, has proven he is a true Samoan, a true Satoan, and a true and most loyal member of our aiga. He has through his service raised this difficult, sometimes factious aiga to the level of being number one in this jealous village, in this envious district, in this faction-ridden country.’ Pausing dramatically and blowing his nose on the corner of his ie lavalava, he’d then ruled, ‘Toanamua, the second-highest title in our obedient aiga, is to be conferred on my grandson.’ With his regal right hand he’d motioned to Tavita to come forward and patted the mat next to him. A shy, suitably humble Tavita took that place. Then Sao had looked at all the leading matai of each branch of his aiga and asked them for their views — objections — to his God-inspired choice.

  Each elder had spoken solemnly, expressing support, and Sao had congratulated them on agreeing with his ‘suggestion’. Happiness had filled every part of Peleiupu: Tavita deserved the title. She’d been happier still knowing that the matai of their aiga were pledging their support to Tavita not because of Sao but because they recognised that their self-interest would now be best served by Tavita (and ‘the unusual but gifted pastor’s daughter’). They would continue to pander to the old man’s vanity but Tavita was their new Sao.

  A month later the title Toanamua was formally conferred on Tavita in the ‘largest, most generous, most aristocratic saofa’i ever witnessed in Samoa: thousands of pounds, hundreds of pigs and ie toga, and enough food to sink every glutton in the world!’ Sao would boast for the rest of his life. Peleiupu hadn’t minded the extravagance in this instance: the patronage had further strengthened their position in Satoa and the district and had declared to the country that a new leader had emerged in Savai’i. It was all good for business.

  Though everyone now addressed him as Toanamua, Peleiupu would never want to call him that — he would always be Tavita, the reticent, sometimes clumsy young man who’d obeyed her decision to go to Pago Pago and get married there. That reckless courage had changed the course of her life, making her part of what that infuriatingly racist American Freemeade had described as ‘a beachcomber’s half-caste family, neither Samoan nor British, but lost between those cultural and genetic poles’. Freemeade, look where that in-limbo half-caste family is now! Peleiupu wanted to shout.

  She wandered up to the windows and, letting the soft breeze cool her body, surveyed their compound. Barker’s old store was gone; in its place they’d built this large complex of store, warehouse, offices, bakery, copra-drying unit and shed. Her aiga’s faletele, with the highest paepae in Satoa, remained in front on the edge of the malae. And Sao and Vaomatua now had a new house just like the pastor’s.

  Behind Sao’s house, nestled under sprawling monkeypod and mango trees, was her double-storeyed house with four bedrooms, a large sitting room, dining room and kitchen, designed after Jeanne Somerset Maun’s home in one of her favourite novels, The Sun and Shilling, by Graham Creme.

  She’d almost died giving birth to Maualuga, the youngest, who was almost seven. She tried to suppress the memories of the pain: it felt as if she were being turned inside out. Everyone had sympathised with her, saying how sorry they were that Maualuga’s difficult birth had ended her chances of having any more children. But she was glad she would not have to go through that terrible experience again. Having children had been a matter of duty. She’d never had what Freemeade had described as ‘the maternal instinct’, but had never told anyone because they would have considered that unnatural. She loved her children more than anyone else, of that she was sure. Lefatu, at ten, had her Aunt Lefatu’s facial features, Lalaga’s small and tight body, Tavita’s stocky legs and Mautu’s large feet. Her green eyes and blonde-tipped hair were straight from Barker. Iakopo, nine, and named after Peleiupu’s brother who’d died of the Satoan Disease, had Lalaga’s prominent forehead, Sao’s bulbous and alert eyes, Vaomatua’s squatness, Poto’s slim legs — and Mautu’s large feet. I’amafana, eight, was Sao’s favourite, and Sao claimed that ‘the son of my daughter’s son looks just like me when I was his age’. There was no resemblance at all, but no one was foolish enough to tell Sao that. Mautu was partially brave and had told Sao that I’amafana’s large feet were his. Feet being lowly parts of a person, Sao had agreed with the pastor. Once, when I’amafana was talking excitedly, Vaomatua had commented to Sao, ‘Aren’t his blue eyes beautiful?’ Sao had accused her of being colour-blind. ‘Can’t you see his eyes are brown like mine?’ he’d ordered. Maualuga, Tavita’s favourite, was as beautiful as Ruta and Naomi were at her age, except she had cats’ eyes and golden brown hair. It was strange but no one in their aiga had ever said that any of Peleiupu’s children resembled her. Not even Tavita.

  The large fireball was sinking into the western horizon, setting the sea and sky ablaze with a molten-lava red. As the crimson red flowed in from the west and over the beach and malae and up towards the range, Peleiupu followed its progress. Their plantation was spreading up over the foothills.

  This was what they had achieved since their return from American Samoa, about fourteen years before. No one in Satoa had ever achieved so much in so short a time. Mautu told everyone that Peleiupu had ‘the Midas Touch’. Sao and the children wanted to hear that story, and Peleiupu had to tell it.

  She’d never intended the success, but she was proud of her achievements.

  She shielded her eyes and gazed into the sunset.

  She woke at 5.30 am, as usual, kissed Maualuga, who was asleep in her father’s place, washed, dressed and hurried through the rich aroma of fresh bread to the bakery. She was free of all household chores. Poto and other relatives took care of those — and the children.

  The two bakers, whom she’d sent to Apia to learn the skill, were taking the bread out of the oven. The room was a sea of heat, and the bakers and their two helpers were drenched with sweat. Another hot day in Paradise, Tavita would’ve remarked. The horses and cart were ready outside. She checked the orders, and the helpers loaded the baskets onto the cart for distribution to stores in the neighbouring villages. She thanked the bakers, wished them well for the day and hurried to the store.

  She glanced up. The sun was squatting on the rim of the range. As usual a non-stop-talking Semisi and his assistant, Feleti (but known to everyone as ‘Frederiko’) were serving the customers. She discussed with Semisi what needed to be done that day. ‘Gosh, you still look young!’ Semisi made her day.

  As usual Sili, Mikaele’s plantation foreman and his uncle, was waiting for her in the tool shed, where he and his six workers were having their morning meal of tea and bread. She greeted them formally. He told her what needed to be done. She approved it. As she started to leave, Sili said, ‘Isn’t that the Lady Poto?’ She turned to the bay.

  Tavita was standing on the prow, arms folded, as the boat nosed through the slight swell. She waved; he didn’t see her.

  She tried not to run as she made her way to the jetty.

  The cheerful crowd, many still wrapped in their sleeping sheets, parted and let her through to the boat. Roni, Mikaele, Faranisisi and the crew were greeting their families, but she couldn’t see Tavita or any passengers. She embraced Roni, then Faranisisi, and felt puny in Mikaele’s huge arms. Of all the Barker children, Mikaele most resembled their father in size and appearance.

  ‘An epidemic has started in Apia and is spreading to other parts of the country,’ Mikaele told her.

  ‘It’s sweeping through the whole world, killing more people than the World War that’s just ended,’ Roni added.

  ‘We left Apia before we got sick,’ Faranisisi said. ‘We didn’t want to bring it to Satoa.’

  ‘That’s why we didn’t bring passengers,’ Roni said.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ve had epidemics before!’ Tavita declared so the crowd could hear him. He stepped over the boat railing. ‘We’ve had smallpox, the fever, measles, mumps — and we’re still here!’ Some people laughed.

  Peleiupu moved to him and he enveloped her in his arms and kissed her deeply. Embarrassed by this ‘very papalagi behaviour’, the others tried not to look. Breaking breathless from their kiss, Tavita said, ‘We’ll defeat the epidemic with kisses!’ Most of the crowd laughed again.

  Later, as they moved through the crowd, Peleiupu heard them whispering about the epidemic ‘killing hundreds in Apia — killing them like flies’.

  Tavita hurried her away from the others. ‘It’s very bad,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve instructed Roni and the others who were on the boat that if they start feeling sick they have to report to the clinic.’

  They found Fa’amapu, the government nurse, bandaging a boy’s knee. She’d been in Satoa for about three years, with her husband and child, and was respected. Tavita told her about the epidemic. She would prepare the clinic in case people got sick, she said. She didn’t have enough medicine but would do her best. Peleiupu promised she would help her.

  Most people greeted Tavita as they hurried through the village. Tavita waved and called but she sensed he was as focused on her as she was on him. The familiar burning sensation was cruising through her belly and down. A quick touch on his arm and shoulder. A long caress of his fingers over her hip, side, flank. ‘Accidental’ bumping of hips and thighs …

  By the time they were on the veranda and Tavita was mobbed by their children, she was trembling almost visibly with desire. They had to be patient while the children had their breakfast — they weren’t allowed to talk, but Maualuga kept breaking that rule. Peleiupu sat on her hands to still her shaking — while Galu, Poto’s sister, fussed over the children and Siniva checked their clothes and combed their hair, and then took them to school. They had to be patient while Tavita answered Galu’s questions about the epidemic. Then finally, pretending he was tired, Tavita got up and headed for the bedroom. Pretending she had to hurry to her office, Peleiupu left too.

  At the corner of the veranda Peleiupu checked, then slid around the corner of the house and around to the back. The door to their bedroom was ajar. She pulled it back quietly and slid into the room. Every pore and nerve of her was alive — more alive than ever before.

  Wearing only an ie lavalava, Tavita lay on his back on their bed, eyes shut, but she knew — and was aroused knowing — that he was only pretending to be asleep. She cherished making love to him, though she rarely came. That only happened, they had discovered, when she was aroused in her head. Usually she would take her time, savouring the sight of him caressing her body, then she would watch him arousing himself. They could be bold and take their time now they had their own bedroom. For years, she’d not enjoyed it because they’d slept and lived in communal quarters. Always confined to making love at night and noiselessly so as not to wake the others. More recently when it had become a bit routine, she found she loved describing to him how she was feeling as he made love to her. He loved it too — the frank language of sexual desire.

  Now, because they’d been apart for twelve days, she needed none of that. She lifted her ie lavalava, pulled off her wet panties and, trying to suppress her throat-deep groaning, she straddled him, knees on either side of his hips. He felt full and hot in her left hand as she raised her buttocks and then lowered herself down and around him, slowly. He started moaning and moving his hips. ‘Don’t, don’t!’ she stopped him. She clutched him and moved. ‘I’ve missed you so much, so much … ’ She pulled off her blouse, bent forward and, holding her full breasts, she rubbed her nipples over his quivering mouth and tongue.

  He pumped his hips up hard, once. She gasped. He thrust up again, then again. ‘Ahh! Ahhh!’ she cried each time. When he thrust up again, she remained suspended, her whole body ready to burst. Then, gasping loudly, her body broke out in long shuddering waves as she came, burying her face in the pillows, clutching his thighs between hers.

  As usual they waited until her sensitivity eased, then he started moving again.

  A short while later she was in her office. Relaxed, feeling utterly safe now that Tavita was back home.

  Running footsteps approached; she recognised them as Poto’s. ‘I was at the clinic helping Fa’amapu, and they’ve just brought in Samani. He was in Apia with Tavita!’ Poto said. ‘Fa’amapu ordered me out so I wouldn’t get infected. It’s definitely not our Satoan Disease. He’s delirious and vomiting and with the hottest fever I’ve ever felt. He feels as if he’s going to burn to ashes!’

  On their way to the clinic they tried to walk normally so as not to alarm the others. ‘I’ve seen other epidemics, Pele,’ Poto said. ‘This is terrible.’