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Stoned

  Clay Spann

  Copyright 2012 Clayton Spann

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons (except for historical figures), living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All actions, thoughts and dialog attributed to any and all characters are entirely products of the author’s imagination.

  “Democracy and socialism have nothing in common but one word, equality. But notice the difference: while democracy seeks equality in liberty, socialism seeks equality in restraint and servitude.”

  Alexis de Tocqueville

  Stoned

  In the wide Pacific

  When the Chief Elder reached Wuu’s hut, the guard outside straightened. In salute the guard tapped his club against his chest. The Chief Elder answered the salute with a curt nod, then stepped from the searing sun into the darkness of the hut.

  The hut provided scant relief. It wasn’t any cooler inside, and the low reed roof scraped his hairless head. Nor did the floor strewn with shards soothe his weary feet. The Chief Elder muttered.

  The squatting stonemaster cast him an eye but said nothing. With his bone chisel Wuu continued to chip the jagged surface of a white rock. The rock had half taken the shape of a bird egg. Beside Wuu his two helpers stroked other stones smooth on slabs of dark wood.

  “How many stones today?” the Chief Elder asked the stonemaster. “It must be more than before.”

  The wizened form appeared not to have heard, then his face jerked up wearing a toothless smile. “The rock is hard,” he cackled. “Even the words of a Chief Elder cannot soften it.”

  The Chief Elder battled his temper. “Wuu, you now have two helpers—men young and strong. Why do they only polish? If one joined you in chipping, the stones from your hut could be made double.”

  Wuu laughed again. “A chisel in their hands leaves a stone pitted as a nut in a dog’s mouth.”

  The Chief Elder reddened. “We must have more stones! The island cannot return to the old ways. Fish for yams, yams for pots, pots for cloth, cloth for wine. In our youth we wasted half a day trading.”

  Humor faded from Wuu’s face. “I remember. I know the stones are needed. Still, only patient hands can shape this rock.”

  The Chief Elder sighed. “Yes. But you must teach these men your skill.”

  “I do teach. In time they will make stones the match of mine. But that time is not in this moon, or twenty moons.”

  The Chief Elder sought other words to spur Wuu. In the silence one of the helpers ventured with a voice both muted and hopeful.

  “Chief Elder, will there be a feast this moon?”

  The other helper wore the same look of hope.

  The Chief Elder wanted to snap that polishing rocks should be the only thing on their minds. But both youths had this season come to voting age.

  The Chief Elder forced a benevolent smile. “That the council must decide. But, yes, I will speak in favor of a feast.”

  The two helpers beamed.

  Then Wuu’s cackle split the heavy air. “Yes, Chief Elder, another feast this season is wise. The choosing nears and Sonru hungers for your post.”

  The Chief Elder balled his fists, but kept them at his side. “Wuu, master you may be of your hands, but little else. The feast rewards the people’s toil. Whoever is chosen, the feast will live on. All know this—save old fools.”

  Wuu’s eyes returned to the rock and his chisel again tapped, tapped. His smile did not fade. The Chief Elder glared, then stormed from the hut.

  “Bring all finished stones to the vault before the sea takes the sun,” he ordered the guard. “Dark tempts thieves.”

  On the trail through the hills the Chief Elder plodded toward the village. The midday heat broiled, but it alone did not slow his step. As he grappled with worry, several fishers from the far shore overtook him. He absently returned their greetings and barely heard their banter as they bounded on with staves from which hung many fish.

  How could he persuade the council to hold another feast? The vault did not hold enough stones for wine, let alone fish, yams and music makers. Yet he must persuade them. No matter once this season and twice last season the people had enjoyed a feast. If he failed to provide another before the choosing, Sonru would make much of it. They said the sleek viper already slipped from hut to hut and whispered, “When I am Chief Elder there will be a feast every moon.”

  He must have enough stones for the feast. If Wuu could chip no faster, then the takes must be made greater. Another stone on the trade take would buy a feast and a half. But all gave the trade take. With only two moons to go before the choosing, the council would not dare its doubling.

  Safer to raise the stall take. The stallmasters were but three. In the council he would point to Gonka’s five servants and Jasti’s four wives. Nor, would he tell them, had the stall tax robbed La of wine or whores. The council would agree forty more stones would do the three no harm.

  When the Chief Elder crested the highest hill between Wuu’s hut and the village, he stopped. Always he stopped here to relish the cooling wind and the scent of the sea, and to savor the work of the gods that spread before him.

  Beyond the palm grove that hid the village curved the gleaming white shore, with spots of women drying fish and children running. Orange arms of coral reached out to hold the broad green lagoon and the needles of racing canoes. Beyond the coral stretched the vast blue sea and the soaring sky.

  The dart of a figure on the trail ahead yanked him back to land. His eyes strained, then he smiled as he recognized his grandson.

  “Paho,” he shouted. “Wait!”

  The stave thin boy stood rooted. The Chief Elder was puzzled, for the seven year old usually raced to greet him.

  As the Chief Elder neared, he saw the boy’s eyes were cast down. Paho edged a small sack behind his back.

  “Paho,” he called, “what have you there? Yam cakes from your mother’s fire?”

  Paho’s foot dug at the grass flattened trail and the Chief Elder knelt beside him.

  “Come, Paho, let me see what you have. I promise I will return it.”

  The little arm extended. The Chief Elder took the sack, fingered loose the knot, then gasped. Within lay five white stones, round and smooth as only Wuu could shape them.

  “Where did you get these, Paho?”

  The boy said nothing.

  “Where?” shouted the Chief Elder.

  The boy backed away, but the Chief Elder grabbed and shook him.

  “You stole them! Shame, shame you have brought to your father’s name.”

  At mention of his father, drowned two seasons before in a storm, the boy’s eyes watered.

  “No!” he shrilled. “I found them! In a stream.”

  An arm thrust toward the deep green hills behind them.

  The Chief Elder stroked the boy’s thick black hair. “Paho, you must tell me who you took them from. Nothing will happen to you, I promise. I will only return the stones to the owner.”

  The boy shook his head. “I found them—in the steam. Two hills away.”

  The Chief Elder made to strike. The boy flinched and began to cry. Words poured out.

  “I was wading. In the stream. I dove into a little pool and on the bottom I saw stones. Many stones, all like those used in the market. There were so many. But I only took five.”

  The Chief Elder led him under the shade of a tree. They sat and he wiped away Paho’s tears.

  “You speak the truth, Paho?”

  The boy croaked a yes.

  “In a stream?”

  “Yes.”

  “The
n only we know?”

  Paho nodded.

  The Chief Elder stared into the air before him. After awhile, he turned back to his grandson.

  “You must promise me, Paho, you will tell no one of this pool. No one, even your mother."

  Paho mumbled a hesitant yes.

  “Paho, your promise is very important. If this pool were known it would rouse great greed. Men would leave their toil, hunt the hills for the pool, perhaps fight if they found it. You must swear silence, on your father’s memory.”

  The boy swore firmly. The Chief Elder patted him.

  “Paho, you must go with me now to the pool.”

  The boy’s eyes questioned,.

  “Paho, it is not enough we be silent. Someone else may one day find this pool and bring the trouble I speak of to our island. We must go to the pool and empty out the stones. We will hide them in the brush near the trail. Then when the sea has taken the sun but before the moon lifts from the hills, we will carry the stones to the vault. There they will be safe from the greed of men.”

  When three days later the elders