This was a dread place to reach for any of the sons of men. But of
all who ever came there, the missionary was the most concerned;
and, to make things worse, the person next him was a convert of his
own.
"Aha," said the convert, "so you are here like your neighbours?
And how about all your stories?"
"It seems," said the missionary, with bursting tears, "that there
was nothing in them."
By this the kava of the dead was ready, and the daughters of Miru
began to intone in the old manner of singing. "Gone are the green
islands and the bright sea, the sun and the moon and the forty
million stars, and life and love and hope. Henceforth is no more,
only to sit in the night and silence, and see your friends
devoured; for life is a deceit, and the bandage is taken from your
eyes."
Now when the singing was done, one of the daughters came with the
bowl. Desire of that kava rose in the missionary's bosom; he
lusted for it like a swimmer for the land, or a bridegroom for his
bride; and he reached out his hand, and took the bowl, and would
have drunk. And then he remembered, and put it back.
"Drink!" sang the daughter of Miru.
"There is no kava like the kava of the dead, and to drink of it
once is the reward of living."
"I thank you. It smells excellent," said the missionary.
Pages:
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48