cherubs of paradise

"They spell it Vinci and pronounce it Vinchy: foreigners always spell better than they pronounce."

-Mark Twain-

 

The blue, Samoan sky appeared fluffy and light. The scorching yellow orb overhead caused the Peace Corps Volunteer to scratch his sweaty head.

     Should have worn a hat.

     He kept on walking.

     Got to get into the water soon or I'm fried, thought the fair skinned twenty-seven year-old. He picked up his pace. His feet trudged on almost knowing the way to Palolo Deep by themselves.    

     Palolo Deep remained one of Samoa's many secrets, an underwater nation park. And the PCV knew the best time to go - Sunday because 99% of the Samoans attended church.

    The transition to accepting the norms of Samoa had been ingrained in training, but they still caused strains at times.

     Never show the bottoms of your feet, stoop in front of a chieftain, never walk during holy hour, and the toughest one - never be alone. Samoans couldn't believe that anyone wanted to be alone. But that was exactly what this PCV desired...TO BE ALONE!

   He swore to himself in Samoan when he spotted the two seven or eight year-olds at he waters' edge. OH, God here we go again.   

   “Foreigner, foreigner!" the kids yelled with joyous delight.

    “Hit the road,” he replied in Samoan slang and knew it was a mistake as soon as he had said it. They ran over and deluged him with the typical questions.

  "Where is your wife?"

  "I don't have one."

  "What is your father's name?" A fair enough question for a Samoan because it defined lineage, roots, titles, one’s essence. But it didn't really matter if you hailed from Connecticut.

   "Monkey Butt."

   They laughed but were a little put off and it set them up for what they really wanted to ask.

  "Give us the money."

  "I don't have any."

  "Liar! You are a rich Peace Corps."

  "Hit the road," he snarled.  He pushed past them, sat ankle-deep in the warm water, adjusted his flippers and spat inside his face mask to make sure it didn't fog up. The kids gave him one parting shot,    

   "Malie, malie." (funny in Samoan.)

   Yeah…right, I'm real funny, he thought as he headed out to the depths. Up-wellings of water plumed skyward on both sides of him as he dove to deeper water.  

    Little turds are throwing rocks at me.

   "Malie, Malie, Malie!" they yelled in unison. He swam beyond the coral ledge and out of the kid's stone throwing range. He glanced back at them from a safe distance.

     "Turds!" The PCV sucked in a full breath and shot down until his head hurt. The white sand below bottomed out at about sixty feet. He wasn't anywhere near that. Currents of heated water circulated around him and dispersed. Without moving, he let the air in his lungs pull him to the surface. He spun a little and decided not to fight whatever position he ended up in. Closed his eyes, Alone at last. Wonder if I'll see THEM out here again?

     THEM were Polynesian gar. A kind of miniature two-foot long marlin. Only the last time he had spotted them they writhed in a  mass of at last five thousand. Together they had formed a weighty frantic mating darkish ball.  He’d nearly gotten within an arms' length of them.

     The Peace Corps volunteer hit the surface and sucked in another breath. He swam out a little farther than usual which he knew was dumb. I’m breaking all the rules. I shouldn't really be out this far OR…alone. He dove down again, Well, I'll be darned.

     In the distance about three feet below the surface a darish mass loomed. The gar!" He kicked toward them. Man, this place is unbelievable. Wait 'til I tell the guys I spotted them again.

     At fifteen feet the mass becoming one clear object. The PCV nearly choked on his mouth piece. No quivering mass of gar mated in front of him. The first thing his eyes focused on were large vertical row of gill slits. The dark fined silhouette seemed to hover in front of him! TIGER SHARK! Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic!"

     The volunteer shot back in the direction he had come from much like a squid.  His arms swept in front of him creating a backwash motion. As soon as he could no longer see the shark he completely turned around.

     Rather get bit in the ass then the head!  Lose a leg I have a chance. CHRIST!

     He kicked and stroked for all he was worth.

    GET TO CORAL! Coral, coral, coral.

    He never though he'd make it.  A shark, A SHARK! JESUS H! He kept on swimming. It seemed forever. Keep going, go go go go! Coral, I just want to see coral!

     Eventually the PCV gouged and scraped his knees as he scrambled over the mucus covered coral ledge. Fear and the mucus made him tumble and slip like a drunk. He tore and ripped his skin numerous times. As soon as he reached the shallows he plopped down in the oozy carpet of slimy coral.

   To heck with this. I'm hitting the beach. I want 100% out of the water! He stood dragged himself to the beach, closed his eyes and shivered in the sun.

   Dear lord, A shark, a SHARK!  I swam TO a shark!

  Something blocked the sunlight. He opened his eyes to see the two kids.

    "Va'ai ile malie?" they asked. (Did you see the funny?) The PCV nearly exploded at the kids when it hit him. Malie? Malie didn't only mean funny did it? Malie also had a second meaning. Shark. The two kids squatted near him and patted his bloodied legs and knees. They touched him with concern.

   The rocks they had thrown hadn't been mean-spirited. They had been warnings!

    His stomach churned. The volunteer took off his flippers, mask, snorkel, and gave them to the kids. He wouldn't need them any more.

    "Presents for your families," he smiled.

    The kids couldn't believe their good luck and they left full of giggles.

   The PCV lay on the beach shivering in the brutally hot equatorial sun.

 

   He couldn’t believe his luck either.