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From Call It Courage
By Armstrong Sperry
It was the sea that Mafatu feared. He had been surrounded by it ever since he was born. The thunder of it filled his ears; the crash of it upon the reef, the mutter of it at sunset, the threat and fury of its storms-on every hand, wherever he turned-the sea.
He could not remember when the fear of it first had taken hold of him. Perhaps it was during the great hurricane which swept Hikueru when he was a child of three. Even now, twelve years later, Mafatu could remember that terrible morning. His mother had taken him out to the barrier reef to search for sea urchins in the reef pools. There were other canoes scattered at wide intervals along the reef. With late afternoon, the other fishermen began to turn back. They shouted warnings to Mafatu’s mother. It was the season of hurricane and the people of Hikueru were nervous and ill at ease, charged, it seemed, with an almost animal awareness of impending storm.
But when at last Mafatu’s mother turned back toward shore, a swift current had set in around the shoulder of the reef passage: a meeting of tides that swept like a millrace out into the open sea. It seized the frail cart in its swift race. Despite all the woman’s skill, the canoe was carried on the crest of the churning tide, through the reef-passage, into the outer ocean.
Mafatu would never forget the sound of his mother’s despairing cry. He didn’t know then what it meant; but he felt that something was terribly wrong, and he set up a loud wailing. Night closed down upon them, swift as a frigate’s wing, darkening the known world. The wind of the open ocean rushed in at them, screaming. Waves lifted and struck at one another, their crests hissing with spray. The poles of the outrigger were torn from their thwarts. The woman sprang forward to seize her child as the canoe capsized. The little boy gasped when the cold water struck him. He clung to his mother’s neck. Moana, the Sea God, was reaching up for them, seeking to draw them down to his dark heart…
Off the tip of Hikueru, the uninhabited islet of Tekoto lay shrouded in darkness. It was scarcely more than a ledge of coral, almost awash. The swift current bore directly down upon the islet.
Dawn found the woman still clinging to the purau pole and that little boy with his arms locked about his mother’s neck. The grim light revealed sharks circling, circling….Little Mafatu buried his head against his mother’s cold neck. He was filled with terror. He even forgot the thirst that burned his throat. But the palms of Tekoto beckoned with their promise of life, and the woman fought on.
When at last they were cast up on the pinnacle of coral, Mafatu’s mother crawled ashore with scarcely enough strength left to pull her child beyond reach of the sea’s hungry fingers. The little boy was too weak even to cry. At hand lay a cracked coconut; the woman managed to press the cool, sustaining meat to her child’ lips before she died.
***Taken from Teaching Literary Elements by Tara McCarthy
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