Fara Way 3

We rejoined the girls and continued towards the smoke. Young boys were eating mangos and throwing a rugby ball around, in the water. Beside them, some older ones played vollyball. But the smoke was a bit further, on the far side of the plaited-palm thatched roof, that appeared to be an outdoor kitchen.
“Picnic.” Said one of the girls. “For Av mane’a.”
“What’s Av mane’a?” Robyn asked.
“Time to play.” She said, explaining that Av mane’a was the hybrid traditional Rotuman and Christian harvest festival, the hottest season of the year, beginning in December and ending in mid-January. Time is spent on picnics, harvest festivals, kava drinking, playing cards, chatting, and going Fara. “Nobody works hard now, they take it easy.”
Everyone in the picnic scene we entered was definitely taking it easy, especially the biggest ones, lounging half asleep on pandanus mats in the shade. The only movement in the heat was that of the food, which migrated to us, in huge portions of tuna and poat kau corned beef, cooked noodles and rice and a’ana taro, and watermelon and mangos. The flies were having their own festival on top of everything.
“Picnic.” Was all one large Pickwickian Polynesian could muster, between puffs on a cigarette. Between the heat and the flies and the scenery, we didn’t have much of an appetite, but it would have been impolite to refuse. We stayed long enough to show our interest and gratitude, and returned to Julie’s, in time for dinner. The inside of the house had Western furniture, but it was cooler on the pandanus mats. Julie brought out the shark and the palusami (my favorite) and the fekei coconut milk and tapioca and taro pudding, while the girls used their pandanus fans to cool our heads, and keep away the flies. At sundown, there was a change of guard, when the mosquitoes took over. We had a quick shower, before the water supply was cut off, as it was every night, to allow the reserves to refill. Robyn and I felt momentarily refreshed, until we emerged from the shower, to as much heat and humidity as there would be every day. Except perhaps for that golden half an hour, just before sunrise, when it cooled off just enough to allow your sweat glands reserves to refill.
We said goodnight to Julie and the rest of our new family, and retired to the confined comfort of our tiny square shack. We lasted on the sponge mattress for less than five minutes, before rolling onto the only slighter cooler linoleum. The atmosphere was only marginally more breathable than that on Venus, and there would be no chance for Venus, in this atmosphere.
“Robyn?” It was Julie.
“Yes, Julie?” Said Robyn.
“Would you like a fan?” I watched the tension fall away from Robyn’s grim perspiring face, replaced with the ecstatic delight she was anticipating, in having some moving air. I looked up at the two bare wires, protruding from the concrete, and thanked whoever had put them there.
“That would be wonderful.” She said. And Julie, true to her word, handed Robyn a fan. A spade-shaped, tightly woven pandanus fan. I watched her face drop, as she thanked Julie, and began the repetitive wrist motion that would accompany her through the next week, even when she was asleep. I would watch, transfixed, as Robyn became Rotuman, able to fan herself continuously, while comatose. In the ultimate paradise of heat and flies, it was a primary habitat adaptation but an essential survival skill.
“Robyn?” It was Julie again.
“Yes Julie?” Said Robyn.
“You know tonight is the first night of Fara.” She said.
“Fara?” Robyn Asked.
“Fara.” Said Julie. “So much fun.” And she was gone. And then, for an hour or so, so were we.
My eyes were just beginning to wobble, and then I heard it, just once.
Strummummummummummumm.