1979
Mapa
March 1979


“Mapa,” Friend, Mar. 1979, 45

Mapa

The sun shone warmly on an outrigger canoe as a father and son dipped their paddles into the smooth water. Mapa, the boy, stared into the clear depths, not conscious of the beauty there or of the beautiful morning around them. Somewhere deep inside he hurt, like a leg hurts when the water is too cold for swimming and a boy goes swimming anyway. But the ache was even worse whenever he looked down at his little Puaka Tea asleep near his bare feet—all curled up and scrubbed clean and pink. She’s not very big yet, he thought sadly. How he wished he could keep her until she was grown and the mother of many little pigs. But she must be sold at the marketplace, because it would soon be time for school and there was not enough money to buy the uniforms and sandals all Tongan students wear.

Father had planned on cash from his crops, but the hurricane winds had destroyed most of them this year. Then Mother had tried to help by weaving baskets and mats and making tapa cloth to be sold at the market. Little brother Sione had sent his two best chickens in a cage to be sold. Their legs tied together, they seemed quite content just to be blinking out at the world.

The whole family was anxious to help Mapa get ready for school. And when he thought about their concern for him, a good feeling began to push away some of the hurt about having to sell Puaka.

“Rest awhile, Mapa,” Father advised, as the canoe slipped gracefully across the water. “There will be much to see and do when we reach Tongatapu Island.”

“Have I ever been there?”

“When you were very small.”

Mapa leaned back against the boat. “I want to go to a store and buy something for Mother and Sione,” he said.

Mapa reached inside his vala (dressy skirt-like garment) to make sure his twenty-seniti (cent) coin was still there. Nestled there also was something else. It was hard and round. Mapa frowned. He had forgotten to leave his newfound treasure home. He and Sione had been playing with it just before Father called him to the boat. It was a different color from the tui tui nuts the boys usually played with. He had found it that morning inside a shellfish. It was silvery white and lustrous.

The gentle rocking of the boat lulled the boy to sleep. He saw himself running with Puaka Tea at his heels. His bare legs, bronzed by the sun, were strong and fast. The wind blew warm on his smiling brown face. The pig followed him wherever he went, through the tall grass, along the sand on the beach, even into the shallow water. He heard her squealing.

Mapa opened his eyes. Puaka Tea was awake and squealing loudly. The boat trembled and lurched sideways.

“Father! What is happening?” Mapa shouted.

The chickens clucked and banged their beaks against the side of the cage.

“Hold on, son!”

Another plunge. The frightened pig scampered back and forth in the bottom of the canoe. Mapa reached for her just as the boat tipped again. Puaka Tea tumbled into the ocean, her feet flailing as she went under.

“Oh, no!” Mapa cried, as he jumped in after her. Then up the pig came, floundering near an overturned basket. He grabbed the animal and pulled her with him to the boat. Still squealing, Puaka Tea went up over the side to safety.

“What happened?” Mapa asked as soon as he had pulled himself inside the canoe.

“Well, I think a young whale wanted to visit us. Thank goodness, I was able to nudge it away. This serves for more than just rowing!” Father declared, holding up a long paddle. Mapa and Father laughed together, and the animals settled themselves.

Mapa saw a faint line on the far horizon as he shaded his eyes with the palm of his hand. Soon a shoreline began to take shape. Anticipation brought a smile to his face. He could see the same expression reflected in his father’s dark eyes. “We will soon be there, son. Look, there is the king’s palace.”

Stately Norfolk pines towered above tall white walls. The red roof matched the colorful hibiscus and poinsettia flowers blooming in the courtyard.

“Red and white, the colors of the kingdom,” Mapa said softly. “I have never seen anything so magnificent. Look, there is a big ship in the harbor. Where do you think it came from?”

Father’s eyes studied it. “From Australia, I think.”

Soon the outrigger was securely tied to the dock and, with the pig pattering along beside them, they carried their wares to market. Mapa had never seen so many people. He tied Puaka Tea to a pole and she began to root around contentedly in the soft ground.

“May I go to a store now?” Mapa asked.

Father knew the boy wanted to be away when someone came to buy the pig. “Yes, but be careful.”

Mapa’s heart was heavy. “Good-bye, my little Puaka Tea,” he whispered, and turned and hurried across the street.

The store seemed very big, for Mapa was used to only the small thatched huts of the village. This building was made of wood and filled to capacity with all kinds of supplies. The pungent odor of spice cake and new leather filled the room. Three small children at the counter were laughing and playing with their new toys. The trinkets from New Zealand, Japan, and India fascinated Mapa most. He was so engrossed, his curly head bent over the shelf, that he did not notice a lady customer come into the store.

Finally he reached into the folds of his vala for the coin, and out fell the stone. Clattering to the floor, it rolled across the boards almost to the lady’s feet.

Malo-e-lelei (Hello),” she greeted him. Her voice sounded strange.

Mapa’s eyes opened wide. The voice was not nearly as strange as the lady herself. Her skin was very white, and her eyes were as blue as the horizon where the ocean meets the sky. Her hair was golden like a sun blossom.

“Malo-e-lelei,” he answered and picked up his treasure.

The woman smiled and came closer to him. “May I see it?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’m,” he replied and handed it to her.

“It is lovely.” She studied it closely. “I would very much like to buy it. Will you sell it to me?”

Mapa thought for a moment. I wonder why this lady wants it? Perhaps I can find another one.

“Yes, you may buy it.”

He was astonished at the many slips of paper pa’anga (dollars) the lady placed in his hand.

Malo’aupito (thank you very much),” he said.

Mapa ran back to the marketplace. His father would be surprised, for his son held more money in his hand than anyone would pay for baskets or chickens or a little pig. He could keep Puaka Tea!

“Father! Father!” Oh, if only I’m in time!

A tall, neatly dressed man stood by his father, holding onto the rope tied around Puaka Tea’s leg.

“What is it, Mapa? What has happened?”

“Do not sell my pig! I have money. It is enough. See, here!”

Father’s mouth opened in disbelief. “But where did you get it?”

“I sold a stone I found to a lady from the ship. I can keep Puaka Tea and still buy things for school.”

“That was not an ordinary stone, son. It must have been a pearl! I am happy for your good fortune,” Father said.

The tall man, understanding, left in search of another pig.

Mapa bent down and untied Puaka Tea, who gave a happy little squeal.

Illustrated by Mike Muir