Baptism of Fire by Christine Harris Page A

forced people to slow down.
    From her vantage point she could see the unusually slim man from the morning’s class. His fine features unleavened by any sort of humour, he had arrived late, remained standing the whole time, said nothing, then slipped out before the lesson was over. Now Hannah could see that his walk was strange—jerky, with small steps as though he were in danger of toppling over. Again he stood, with his back to a bure. He didn’t appear to be handicapped in any way, because both legs were long and straight, and he had a correctly shaped foot attached to each leg. She was mystified.
    â€˜Good after … noon.’
    Hannah was delighted to see Merelita. Her solemn, careful greeting suggested recent practice. Unlike most of the other women, Merelita wore acamisole top over a petticoat, and she had a pink flower tucked behind one ear.
    â€˜Hello, Merelita. Are you in this afternoon’s class?’
    â€˜I help you.’
    â€˜See that man over there …?’
    â€˜His name Beni.’
    â€˜Is it a special custom that he remains standing?’
    Merelita’s brown eyes shone with amusement. Sometimes Hannah felt entirely ignorant in this place. She couldn’t comprehend the language, the customs and, often, even her new family.
    Merelita shook her head. ‘Beni, he go underwater.’ She mimed swimming. ‘He go into house under water.’
    Cave: that seemed to be what she meant, unless Beni was amphibious.
    â€˜In waterhouse all is dark. Then Beni see something very bad. With teeth.’ With drawn-back lips she revealed a white row of teeth. ‘Beni turn in water quick. Try to swim away. Shark not like Beni.’ Arms out, she showed the shark taking an uncomfortably large lump from an invisible target. ‘… bite him here.’ She patted her rear. ‘Beni no sit down no more.’

Besides learning English, the forty women gathered in the church had another interest in common—Hannah. They wanted to know everything about her: things personal, others even more personal.
    The afternoon became a bottomless well of questions. Hannah repeated main words in Fijian to expand her own minuscule vocabulary and, with the help of Merelita, encouraged the women to try English words.
    Luata of the picket-fence teeth and mountainous body was there, smiling again. Stumbling and faltering with her English, she spoke first. Did Hannah have brothers and sisters?
    No.
    They liked Hannah’s answer. It explained why she was such a good shape and size. A white woman, being the only wife, often had too many children. So many white men were shrimps.
    How many dresses did she have ?
    Five, plus several blouses and skirts which could be mixed and matched.
    That elicited ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of good-natured envy.
    In Hannah’s country, was it true that all the fowls laid their eggs at exactly the same moment—in time for breakfast?
    She laughed.
    What did they eat, instead of ‘bokola’?
    The woman who asked that question was inundated with noises of reproof from the others.
    What did that word mean? Merelita’s English temporarily and miraculously vanished.
    Could she choose a man to whom ‘her heart flew’?
    Yes. Most women, but not all, chose their own husband.
    A thoughtful silence followed.
    Unaccustomed to sitting with them crossed, Hannah sighed and began to stretch out her legs. Frowns told her that this was not allowed, so reluctantly, she tucked them back under.
    Where were her mother and father?
    She hesitated. Killed. In a carriage accident.
    What was a carriage?
    You sat in it and horses pulled you along.
    What were horses?
    When she replied, the women suddenly lit up. Ah, yes. Some time ago a missionary on a far island had brought prancing, four-legged creatures in a ship. The people there had never seen such animals. On their first sighting, the men had scuttled up coconut palms; and it took some time